🔥Words Are Poor Things || Leon x Wife!Reader || RE9
(18+) How many times would you have to watch him walk through the door, with insufficient words to offer as goodbye?
Sunshine In My Pocket || Leon x Wife!Reader || RE9
After Leon found an old polaroid camera from a garage sale one day, he appeared intent to take as many boring pictures of you as possible. What you'd never understand is what he needed them all for, and so far, he wasn't saying.
The Coursing of Our Breath || Leon x G/N!Reader || RE6
The devastating events from his time in China may be months past, but it was clear that Leon had never truly left. You wondered which part of the mission haunted him this time, waking from what was clearly a nightmare. It was all you could do to remind him that he was home, that he was safe, and he deserved to rest.
Nobody Will Win This War || Leon x Girlfriend!Reader || RE6
Pushing back against his alcohol dependence was a war of attrition with no end in sight. Each argument, a skirmish. Every attempt at offering help, a diplomatic failure. And after so long, even a victory would leave one of you with nothing left.
🔥Call It By Its Name || Leon x Fem!Reader || RE4
(18+) Your situationship with the dashing young agent would come to an end eventually, that had always been the deal. No-strings-attached sex. No dates, no labels. Clean and easy. But over time, his rules only serve to hurt you deeply as feelings come into play. Strange, then, that it's Leon breaking them all first.
Look How Time Has Treated You || Leon x Ex Girlfriend!Reader || RE4
You'd been young and stupid, ending things with the charming police rookie, Leon Kennedy; the single biggest regret of your life. News reports about Racoon City in the days after made you certain he was dead. No one survived something like that. But seeing him now--so familiar yet so different from before and decidedly not dead--dredged up all the guilt you'd let haunt you all these years.
A Soul Set In Darkness || Leon x DSO Agent!Reader || Post RE6 - RE9 || Eventual 18+
0 of 16 chapters released (Coming soon!)
Agent Leon Kennedy had been the DSO's poster child almost since its inception. You were a highly successful agent in your own right, specializing in--and largely preferring--solo assignments. Working together as a team without being driven mad would require...compromise.
Explicit. Leon Kennedy x F!Reader. First time receiving oral sex, emotional vulnerability, praise, established relationship.
You'd told him once.
It was late—late the way nights get when the world has finally stopped demanding things from you, when your body goes loose and your mind unspools and you say things you'd never say in the daylight. You were tangled up in him on the couch, half-asleep, your guard somewhere you couldn't remember leaving it, and the words just drifted out of you like smoke.
No one's ever gone down on me before.
You said it the way you'd say you'd never been to the ocean. Or that you'd never had anyone stay the whole night just because they wanted to. Like it was a small thing. A blank spot on a map you'd stopped trying to fill in. You'd made peace with it so long ago that the peace had become part of you—smooth and worn, something you'd forgotten used to have edges.
But Leon heard the edges.
He heard the thing beneath the throwaway tone—not self-pity, not bitterness, just a quiet, aching kind of acceptance. The kind that comes from wanting something for so long that you've learned how to live without it. The kind that says I've already grieved this. I've already closed the door.
He didn't say anything. Just pressed his mouth to the top of your head and held you a little tighter and let you fall asleep against his chest. But something settled into his bones that night. Not a plan. Something quieter. A promise he made to himself in the dark, the kind you don't break.
It took him two weeks.
Not because he was nervous—or not only because he was nervous—but because he wanted it to matter. Not just the act itself, but everything around it. The timing. The setting. The way he'd look at you beforehand and the way he'd hold you after. He wanted to build something you could step into fully, without flinching, without watching the clock, without bracing for the moment it would end.
He wanted it to feel like the opposite of every time you'd been made to feel like an afterthought.
The right moment chose a Sunday.
Rain came in soft and silver, blurring the windows until the world outside looked like a painting left out in the weather—indistinct, unreachable, belonging to someone else's life. Inside, the bedroom was gray and warm and held its breath. You were on the bed in that old shirt of yours, the one washed soft as a memory, your phone casting quiet light across your face, your legs stretched out over rumpled sheets like you'd finally, finally let yourself be still.
Leon leaned against the doorframe.
You didn't notice him at first. Too caught up in whatever was on your screen, your brow slightly furrowed, your lips parted the smallest amount. He took the moment the way you take a photograph you know you'll need later—carefully, storing it somewhere deep. Your hair dark against the pale pillow. The way the shirt had slipped up above your thighs without your noticing. Your toes curling against the sheets, slow and absent, like a cat dreaming.
"Take a picture," you said without looking up. "It'll last longer."
"Thinking about it."
Something in his voice made you glance over. What you found there stopped you. It wasn't his usual half-smile, his dry and gentle deflection. This was something else—something unguarded and serious and so tender it made your chest tighten. His eyes were dark and focused on you the way they got when the world had narrowed to a single point, except the point was you, and the focus wasn't tactical. It was devotion.
"What?" you asked, suddenly aware of your bare legs, of how small you must look curled up there.
He crossed to the bed and sat at the edge, near your hip, and the mattress gave beneath him the way it always did—tilting you toward him like gravity had already decided where you belonged. His hand found your ankle, his thumb tracing a slow, absent line along the bone, and even that small touch sent warmth spreading up through you like the first sip of tea on a cold day.
You set your phone down without thinking about it.
"Remember what you told me?" His thumb kept moving—steady, rhythmic, an anchor. "A couple weeks ago."
You blinked at him. "I tell you a lot of things, Leon."
"That no one's ever…" He didn’t finish the sentence. Just let it hang there, soft and precise, and watched your face as understanding bloomed across it.
Heat rushed into your cheeks. Your chest. Your stomach—a deep, spreading warmth that had nothing to do with shame and everything to do with the way he was looking at you. Like you were something worth being careful with. Like the thing you'd told him hadn't made him pity you or dismiss you or look away. Like it had made him want you more.
"Leon—you don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to." His voice was quiet. Certain. His thumb never stopped its slow arc on your ankle. "I want to."
Something behind your ribs cracked open. Something you’d sealed shut years ago and forgotten was there.
"You're sure this is—" You swallowed. "The right time?"
He looked toward the rain-streaked window. Then back at you, and the corner of his mouth lifted—not a smirk, just something soft and real. "Got nowhere to be. You?"
You shook your head.
"Then yeah." He said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like of course this was the right time. Of course it was him. Of course it was now, in this room where the rain had made the rest of the world disappear.
You searched his face. For obligation. For the hollow politeness of someone doing a favor. For any crack in the sincerity that would let you say it's fine, you really don't need to without feeling like you were turning away the one thing you'd always wanted and never let yourself ask for.
You found nothing but earnestness. A kind of hunger he wasn't trying to hide, dressed in the gentle care he always brought to you—like he was holding something fragile and knew it, and was grateful for the weight of it.
"Okay," you whispered.
He leaned down. The mattress shifted beneath him, one hand bracing near your ribs, and he kissed you.
Not a beginning. Not a gateway to something else. Just a kiss—warm and slow and full in a way that made your eyes sting. His mouth soft against yours, parting your lips just enough, giving you time to meet him there. His other hand slid from your ankle up the outside of your leg—your calf, your knee, the curve of your thigh—leaving trails of heat that sank through your skin and into something deeper, but the kiss stayed the same. Unhurried. Each time his lips left yours and returned, it felt like a question. Are you still with me? Can I keep going?
He kissed the corner of your mouth. Then the other corner—unnecessary, devastating in its tenderness—and you felt your throat tighten. Your jaw, just below your ear. The place where your pulse lived, just beneath the skin. He pressed his lips there and stayed, and you felt the thrum of your heartbeat against his mouth, felt his slow exhale warm against your damp skin, and your pulse kicked harder like it was reaching for him.
"I'm going to take my time with you," he said against your jaw, close enough that you felt the words more than heard them, each one a small warmth. "And I need you to tell me if anything's too much. Or not enough. Can you do that for me?"
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
He lifted his head. Met your eyes. "And I want to hear you. No biting your arm. No hiding." A beat. "Please."
That please—soft, almost bare—undid you more thoroughly than any demand ever could.
"Okay."
He kissed your forehead. The bridge of your nose. Your mouth again, briefly—a quiet seal, a promise—and then he began to move downward. Your chin. The hollow of your throat, his lips barely grazing you. Your pulse one more time, pressing close and lingering, and then lower still—tracing the collar of your shirt like he was following a path he'd walked in a dream.
His fingers gathered the hem and pushed it up. Slowly. The fabric bunched as it went, and cool air touched your stomach, your sides, raising goosebumps in its wake—every inch of you suddenly, impossibly aware of itself. He didn't take the shirt off. Just gathered it above your chest and left it there, your arms still in the sleeves, the cotton bunched soft around your collarbones.
And you were grateful—deeply, wordlessly grateful—because having it on felt like having something to hold onto. Something between you and the terrifying vastness of being completely seen.
His hand settled flat on your side, just above your hip. You could feel the warmth of his palm like a sunbeam—steady and present—against the cool air on your skin. His mouth found your stomach. Just below your navel. Warm. Dry. In no rush at all. Not a prelude to anything. Just a kiss—a gift given for no reason except that he wanted to give it.
Your muscles tensed beneath his lips, involuntary, and you felt him pause. Felt him exhale a long, slow breath against your skin, like he was settling in. Like he had nowhere else in the world to be.
He kissed you again. Slightly lower. Then again, and again—a slow, warm trail descending from your navel, each press of his mouth lingering long enough to sink beneath the surface. You could feel the heat of him spreading outward through your belly, your hips, pooling somewhere low and trembling between your thighs. He was learning you—the landscape of you, the way your breath stuttered when he passed a certain place, the way your muscles fluttered and couldn't decide whether to tense or yield. He was learning you the way you learn a language you want to speak fluently, and the care of it—the attention—made something ache somewhere you'd forgotten existed.
His hand slid from your side to your hip, fingers curving over the bone, and he shifted lower on the bed. You felt the fabric of his shirt brush against your inner thigh as he settled between your legs, his weight pressing the mattress down around you—making you aware of every place you were soft and open and desperately alive. He paused. His breath warm against your lower stomach. His thumb drawing a slow circle on your hip.
Giving you time.
You took a breath. Let your knees fall open a little wider.
And felt the faintest hum against your skin—quiet, involuntary, like he was pleased and couldn't keep it inside.
His fingers hooked the waistband of your underwear. He didn't pull. Just tugged gently, enough to make his intention clear without crossing it. His eyes rose to meet yours, checking.
You lifted your hips.
He drew them down slowly—past your thighs, your knees—until they slipped from your ankles and were gone, somewhere beyond the reach of your awareness. Cool air touched you everywhere, and your body's first instinct was to close—to pull back into itself, to retreat behind whatever walls it could find—but his hand was already there. Warm and flat against your inner thigh, pressing gently outward. Not forcing. Not demanding. Just a quiet, steady reminder.
Stay. I'm here. You're safe.
He kissed the inside of your knee. Then higher—where your thigh met the crease of your hip—his stubble a rough whisper against the sensitive skin there, sending a sharp, bright sensation straight through you that made you gasp. He did the same on the other side, slow and unhurried, and by the time his mouth drifted to where you were already aching—where you could feel yourself tender and swollen, the emptiness between your legs almost unbearable in its need—your hands had found the bunched fabric of your shirt and were holding on like it was the only solid thing in the world.
The first touch was barely anything.
Just his mouth against you—warm and soft and so light it might have been a breath, a whisper, a question asked in the dark. Your breath left you in a broken sound, and your hips shifted toward him without your permission, chasing something your body recognized before your mind could catch up. His hand pressed flat against your stomach—not firm, just present, an anchor, the heel of his palm resting just above your pubic bone, and even that small, steady pressure sent a throb of need through you so sharp it made your eyes sting.
Then he began in earnest. And you understood why he'd asked you to let him hear you.
Because your first instinct was to silence yourself. The sound that came out of you was raw and startled, torn from somewhere deep and guarded—a place you didn't know could make noise—and it filled the quiet room like a bird suddenly taking flight. Your hand flew to your mouth on instinct, clamping down, and you felt him stop.
Not pull away. Just stop.
You felt the cool air replace the warmth of his mouth, and the loss of it was its own kind of anguish—your body already reaching, already grieving the absence of something it had known for only a moment. He waited below you, still and patient, and in that silence you felt what he was offering. Not a demand. Not even a request. Just permission. Just a door held open, waiting for you to walk through it on your own.
Slowly, your hand dropped.
A soft sound left him—not quite a sigh, not quite a word, something closer to thank you—and then his mouth returned. Slower now. Deliberate. Exploratory, the way fingers trace a page in braille, reading you by touch and response and the small, involuntary language of your body. His tongue was warm and slick against you, and the sensation was unlike anything—concentrated and overwhelming, dissolving thought, dissolving everything that wasn't this exact point of contact.
Something worked. You felt it happen—a place, a rhythm, a specific slow stroke followed by a flick of pressure exactly where you needed it—and your back arched off the mattress and a sound tore out of you that you didn't recognize. It was desperate and unguarded, like something that had been locked away your whole life suddenly kicking open the door.
He stayed there. Found it again. Repeated it—slower, then faster, then slower—listening to every broken breath, every shift of your hips, every half-swallowed noise you made. Adjusting. Attuning. It was methodical in a way that should have felt clinical but didn't. It felt like being known. Every nerve ending you possessed narrowed to a single bright point, the rest of the world falling away until there was nothing—nothing—except his mouth, his hands, the building pressure low in your core like something being wound tighter and tighter.
Your hands moved before you decided to let them—tugging your arms free of the bunched cotton, sliding down to the crown of his head, threading through his hair like they belonged there. He paused for a heartbeat, and then pressed into your touch. Leaned into it. His eyes were closed, his jaw soft and focused, and when the tip of his tongue dragged a slow line that made your grip tighten and your thighs try to close around him—the pleasure too sharp, too much, your body not knowing how to contain something it had never been taught to hold—he didn't pull away. Just shifted, hooked his arm under your thigh, opened you wider, and pressed closer.
The new angle broke something open in you. You could feel yourself yielding to him in a way that felt unbearably intimate—like he was reaching places that had never been reached, touching something that had never been touched, finding rooms in you that had been locked since before you knew you had doors.
The pressure built. Slow, then faster, coiling hot and tight and trembling in your stomach. Your breathing shattered. Your hips moved on their own—small, desperate rolls, grinding against his mouth without shame, without thought, your body chasing something it had never been allowed to chase before. You could feel yourself approaching an edge—some precipice you'd only ever stood at alone—and your whole body drew taut, vibrating with it.
Your hand tightened in his hair and you heard his name break in your throat, and he didn't change a single thing. Just kept going—steady, unhurried, relentless in his gentleness—even as you came apart beneath him.
It didn't shatter. It surrendered.
Your whole body went rigid—your back arching, your hand pulling his hair hard enough that you'd feel guilty about it later—and then every tense, guarded muscle you had simply let go. The relief was rhythmic and overwhelming, your body clenching and releasing around nothing while his mouth stayed with you, working you through it, refusing to leave you even as you shook apart. The sound that came out of you was loud and wild and nothing like the quiet, controlled person you'd spent years learning to be. It was the sound of walls coming down. Of something being released that had been held so long it had forgotten it could be let go.
It felt like a deliberate laying down of arms. Every defense you'd ever built had been taken apart not by force, but by patience, by care, by someone who refused to look away from the parts of you that you'd been taught to hide.
He didn't pull away.
He stayed with you through it all—his mouth slowing but not stopping, easing you down the same way he'd built you up. Carefully. Gradually. Like he was carrying you down from somewhere high, one careful step at a time, afraid of nothing except dropping you. You felt aftershocks ripple through you—your body twitching with each gentle stroke, the sensation almost unbearable now, too bright—but you didn't want him to stop. Couldn't bear the thought of losing the warmth of him, the connection, the impossible reality of being held like this through something so enormous.
When your body finally went slack against the sheets—your chest heaving, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your mind quiet in a way it hadn't been in years—he pressed one last soft kiss against you and then rested his cheek against your inner thigh.
Just breathing.
His breath came warm and uneven against your damp skin, and you could feel the slight movement of his jaw. The reality of it—that he had stayed, that he had wanted to stay, that this was something he'd given you not out of obligation but out of something that looked terrifyingly like love—made something crack open inside you that you didn't have a name for. Something that hurt and healed at the same time.
The rain was still falling. The room was still gray and soft and sealed away from the world. And you were still trembling—small quakes rolling through you at random intervals, your body slowly, slowly remembering how to breathe.
You tugged weakly at his hair. "Leon. Come here."
He pressed one more kiss to the inside of your thigh—unnecessary, devastating—and then moved up your body, slow, his hand trailing warmth along your side as he went. He settled beside you, propped on one elbow, and looked down at you.
His mouth was glistening. His hair was a ruin from your fingers. And there was a flush across his cheekbones that you had never seen before—faint and pink and so human it made your throat ache.
You stared at him. "Where did you learn to do that?"
The corner of his mouth lifted. "There's a manual."
"Leon."
He exhaled through his nose—not quite a laugh, just something soft and close. "I don't know. I just…" He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his fingers impossibly gentle. "I listened."
Your throat closed around something that felt too big for words. You reached up and touched his jaw, your thumb grazing his lower lip—swollen still, warm. "You didn’t have to—"
"Don't." Quiet. Not sharp. Just tired—so tired—of hearing you talk about yourself like you were something to be accommodated. His hand covered yours against his face and held it there for a moment, stilling it, and then he turned his head and kissed your palm. Slowly. Like it was something he'd been waiting to do.
"You're worth taking my time with," he said, his mouth still against your hand. "That's all."
The words settled into you deeply, finding all the dry and cracked places and filling them in. You didn't know what to say. You didn't know if there were words for what you were feeling, for what it meant to be someone's enough. So you just lay there, trembling and quiet and held, with his cheek against your palm and the rain falling silver against the glass, and let yourself believe it.
Just for now. Just for this one gray, soft, impossible afternoon.
You let yourself believe that you were someone worth being careful with. And he let you see that he already knew it was true.
So, this is my very first fic on Tumblr and my first time writing anything remotely like this. First time posting anything I've written at all, actually. I'm nervous, but this one felt important to get out of my head. If it made you feel something, I'm glad. Thanks for reading. 💛
re4r!Leon Kennedy x f!reader
summary: after six years of silence, you stumble into a ghost from your past at a crowded bar; only to find the boy you once knew replaced by someone hardened, haunted, and barely holding himself together.
wc: 11.5k (whoops)
content warning: SMUT MDNI!, porn w plot, brief use of y/n, alcohol consumption, swearing, kinda mean leon (at the beginning), fingering (f receiving), unprotected p in v, rough sex, aftercare, angst at the end, happyish ending
check out Picking Up The Pieces , a short continuation of this
note: my first work! i apologize for the length i got far too carried away but i hope you enjoy! This is the first thing I've ever written for leon so if it's not as true to his character i will try to work on that. i'm very new to posting on this platform so if there's any issues please bear with me lol
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The local dive bar was crawling with people. It was a Friday night, dead of summer, everyone eager to start the weekend off right. Including you. It was a long, exhausting work week, and all you wanted was a night out with your close work friends and indulge in a drink. You’d lost count of the drinks somewhere between just one and definitely too many. All you knew was that the music was vibing well tonight and the alcohol coursed through your veins. You were dancing in the middle of the bar, bumping and grinding against your friends as they all laughed and sang terribly along with the music. Your head felt featherlight as you kept dancing, clearly feeling all the good effects the drinks had to offer. You lifted your cup and downed whatever was left of your drink, tossing the cup into the nearest trashcan. You looked over to one of your friends who wasn't the most fucked up, and leaned into her ear and slurred that you were going to get another drink. Your friend gave you a look, as to say are you sure you need another one? But you just shrugged it off. You deserved to get wasted tonight.
You sauntered your way across to the bar, hips swaying in your tight black mini skirt, along with a skin tight black tank top that definitely left nothing to the imagination. Your hair was curled loosely and laid gently across your back. Your eyes beelined to the bar, not aware of all the lingering stares from various men eyeing your ass or trying to get your attention. You also didn't register another familiar pair of eyes clocking you approaching him at the bar.
Leon was slumped in the barstool, like he usually was every weekend. Head hung low, eyes dark and brows in a permanent furrow on his face. He cradled a glass of whiskey, neat, also unsure of what number he was on now. Although he wasn't drinking in celebration. He was drinking to forget.
It had been a month since Spain, a month since he endured that treacherous mission and saved the President's daughter from whatever fucked up cult she found herself entangled with. As rewarding as it was to complete his mission, it never made up for the amount of trauma Leon would endure afterwards. Constant nightmares as soon as he had gotten home, memories of the Plaga coursing through his veins and almost causing him to fail his only mission, keep Ashley Graham safe. The only thing that would subside the nightmares and triggering thoughts was getting blackout drunk every night. That way he couldn't think straight, could forget about not only Spain, but everything that had led up to this moment in the past six years.
So here he was, downing yet another glass of whiskey to lull him to that so-called "safe space". He wanted to blend into the shadows of this bar and drink himself to death. The last thing he wanted was for someone to approach him. And as he sluggishly lifted his head to order another drink from the bartender, he couldn't help but feel his breath hitch as he saw you approach the bar.
He felt like he was transported back to his college days, about to graduate from the police academy, eager to save the world as he watched you put two supporting hands on the bar. They had known each other since high school, friends for years that coincidentally ended up going to the same college. Back when all Leon had to worry about was upcoming exams and whether or not you could tell that he was in love with you. He could feel his chest swell at the memories of debating whether he should upright tell you, those late nights they would spend together in each other's dorms studying when all he really could do was stare into your beautiful eyes. But that was six years ago. He wasn't that same enthusiastic, go getter boy that believed in the best in the world anymore, and he hated being reminded of that. Hated being reminded of what his life could've been, a police officer that just wanted to make the world a better place. He quickly turned his head back down to stare into his empty glass, hoping he could curl up enough to make sure you didn’t notice him.
You stumbled up to the bar, hands coming up to stabilize yourself so you didn't face plant into the hardwood of the counter. You got onto your tip toes so you could lean into the bartender's ear to shout your drink order over the loud chatter and music. Double vodka cranberry slurred out of your mouth and the bartender gave you a thumbs up. You settled back down, looking across the room to your friends absentmindedly dancing together. You turned your head the other way, towards the bartender, and watched with somewhat blurry eyes the other people trying to order drinks. Just then, you noticed someone sitting down at the end of the bar, shoulders hunched over and blond, shaggy hair hanging over their face. A full drink was slid over to their direction, a hand coming up to instinctively grab it before it slid onto the floor. At that point their head lifted to welcome the drink into their mouth, and you finally caught a glimpse of this familiar someone.
Holy shit, you thought to yourself, as none other than Leon Kennedy was at the end of the bar. The last time you had seen him was just before everything that happened at Raccoon City. You remembered how excited he was to have gotten a position at RPD, but after that fateful night you didn't know what had happened. You thought the worst, he was killed on duty trying to save the city. But it wasn't until a couple of weeks ago that you had heard through someone that he was the guy that rescued the President's daughter in Spain. You were more than relieved to hear that he was still alive, but what was more confusing was why you hadn't heard from Leon in the past six years. You thought that they were relatively close, but perhaps not.
If you weren't so hammered right now, you would've been able to read Leon's body language and realized that he was not in the mood to chat tonight. But the vodka was working overtime, and the man you thought was dead for the past six years was in the same bar as you right now. The bartender slid over your drink, and you picked it up before sauntering your way over to him. You approached Leon, head still hung low, eyes fixated on the brown liquor before him. You rested your elbow on the counter, leaning down to try and get a good look at him.
"As I live and breathe," you spoke a little too loud, trying to get your voice across the loud music and chatter, "Leon Kennedy? Is that you?"
Leon's grip tightens around the glass, knuckles almost white as he exhales a slow, agitated breath out his nose. He kept his head down, eyes closing tightly as the last thing he wanted to happen tonight came true. His free hand taps against the counter of the bar in an impatient rhythm, as if he was counting down the seconds until this encounter was over.
"Christ," he muttered to himself, voice rough from the lack of talking and slight burn of the whiskey down his throat. His icy blue eyes slowly make their way to look up at you, and he almost forgot why he was so upset.
You were even more beautiful than he remembered. Older now obviously, but all of your features had found their place to compliment yourself. Your hair was longer, cheeks slimmer, breasts fuller and your tiny black skirt hugged curves that weren't there six years ago. But you still had those bright eyes, still just as much fire and joy behind them. That's what brought him down to earth. As far as Leon could tell, you were still the same girl that he knew you to be. And you would be terrified to know that he was completely different. His eyes linger back up to yours, dark and unamused, the left side of his mouth twitches almost as if he tried to smirk, but came out more like a warning.
“Yeah, it‘s me.” His tone is flat, dismissive. He lifts his drink up to his mouth, glass clinking against his teeth as he takes another slow sip, trying to draw out the feeling of the burn down his throat. He takes another look at you as he lowers his glass, down at the drink you’re holding, then back up to your face, eyes hesitating a second too long at your tank top that hugged just tight enough around the swell of your breasts. He didn’t mean to stare too long, but he was drunk enough for his eyes to wander before focusing back at you.
“What do you want, y/n?” He said your name like it sliced his tongue, stinging over the feeling of who they used to mean to each other. “I’m not in the mood for a fucking reunion.”
You should’ve taken that as a warning and let him be, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. He looked good. A little rough around the edges it looked, and definitely way too many late nights as you noticed the dark circles under his eyes, but his features were much more defined than they used to be. He lost all of the baby fat he once had, jawline sharper and cheeks hollowed out, his striking blue eyes laced with something darker that he didn’t have before. You glanced down at his drink, more so at the huge bicep straining over the grip he had on the glass.
You took a sip from your drink, barely registering the harsh taste of vodka on your tongue. You lean in just a tad closer, “Shit, didn’t realize you had a stick up your ass or something,” you laughed, your eyes grazing over the black compression t-shirt he was wearing, all his muscles perfectly accentuated, “it’s been awhile, no? Like, six years now?”
You could hear Leon scoff, and definitely not in a good way. He barely looked at you, and when he did, his gaze was sharp. Almost as if it pained him to see you here. You pulled out a stool beside him, as much as he would’ve rather you not, and sat down. You placed your drink down on the bar and propped your elbow up to rest your chin on your palm. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol talking, or if it had been far too long since you had gotten laid, but the smell of Leon’s cologne and the whiskey that came off of his breath had you going crazy.
He still had not said anything to you, so you tried to bring something up to talk about. You remembered his latest mission in Spain, and your eyes lit up.
"Celebrating tonight? After saving the President's daughter? That had to have been interesting."
Leon's jaw clenched and his grip seemed to grow impossibly tighter on his glass at the mention of Spain. As if he had been trying all night to forget about that had gone down the drain. He looks over at you, noticing how much closer you had gotten and the way your eyelashes batted gently as you spoke. A hint of something sweet, like salted caramel, wafted into his nose instead of the stale bar air. He was getting pissed off. He didn't want to talk, and he was getting frustrated that you weren't getting the hint.
"Celebrating? Yeah. Real fucking party." His voice was a low growl, laced with something dangerous. "You wanna hear about it? Fine. It was a total shit show. People died. and I got to play hero as the whole goddamn city turned into a fucking graveyard." He watched as your eyes widened, still attentively looking at his own.
“Fuck, Leon, I didn’t know-”
"No, you don't fucking know," He cut in, leaning in just enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, the sharp edge of his cologne mixing with the whiskey on his breath, "I'm not here to reminisce. I'm here to drink. So unless you're gonna buy me another round y/n, get the fuck out of my face."
His eyes dropped down to your lips for just a split second, pink and plush from your lipgloss, slightly parted as you listened to him speak. Just as quick as it left, something soft flickers in his gaze. The woman he was once in love with was standing right in front of him, and you’re looking at him like how you used to; like he's not a total mess. He grinds his teeth, and knocks his head back to finish off the rest of his whiskey. "Or don't. I don't give a shit."
Leon's tone was just enough to snap you back to reality for a second. Sounds like whatever he had been up to the past six years was not treating him well. You knew he was angry, but as you watched his eyes, how dark they had gotten after mentioning his mission, you could sense he was hurting. Like he's longing for what he's lost over the years.
You don't say anything when you signal the bartender down, and order two more drinks for the both of them. You looked over at Leon again and smiled,
“Can I stay then?”
Leon almost rolls his eyes as he grunts, neither saying yes or no to your invitation. You took that as a yes, and settled into the barstool further. The bartender slid the drinks their way, and you grabbed yours and clinked the glass against Leon's before lifting it up to your lips.
"Here's to drinking our problems away, right?" You teased, giving him a wink and throwing your head back to fuel the liquid courage.
"Fucking hell..." Leon said under his breath, watching as you clinked your glass against his. Watching your neck extend as you drink causes him to shudder. He can't help but have his eyes wander again, the way your legs are crossed in the stool, skirt riding up far more than he's comfortable with. He has to tear his eyes away to his glass before he acts on something he shouldn't. You placed your drink back on the counter, and watched as Leon traced his finger over the rim of his glass, tongue licking his bottom lip unknowingly. You remembered that was a habit he had when he wanted to say something but wouldn't let himself.
You leaned in closer, one of your hands slowly snaking itself to the one Leon was using to toy with his glass, just gently hovering over it.
"You know," you dragged, words just slightly slurred and eyes lolling across Leon's face, "you're still just as handsome as I remember you."
Before you can react Leon's hand grips tightly around your wrist, just enough to make you gasp and yanks you closer, noses just inches away from each other. You can smell the whiskey off his breath, you look up at Leon's blown out pupils that are already burning holes into your face. His voice is low and rough when he speaks,
"Stop this game, y/n. You think I don't know what you're doing? Think I don't see the way you're looking at me?" His thumb presses into your pulse, feeling it drum against him. You swallowed a lump down your throat, not daring to break eye contact.
"I see the way you're looking at me too, Leon. My eyes aren't on my tits." A playful smile creeps up your face, wriggling your wrist free to glide a hand up Leon's forearm. Leon retracts his arm like your hand is on fire, and pulls it down into your lap. His hand stays pressed firmly against your thigh as he moves his lips to the shell of your ear, just ghosting over the skin.
"You don't know me anymore. I'm not the boy you remember, y/n." He pushed himself off of you, and leaned back over to his drink. Another second longer against you and he would've given in. Would've forced his lips onto yours and kissed you like it was his last day on earth. But he can't do that to you. Can't have you believe that he's someone he even recognizes anymore.
But just as quickly as Leon pushed away from you, you lean back over to him, hooking a finger onto the collar of his shirt and pressing your lips flush against Leon's ear.
"You seem to be forgetting something, Leon. I'm not the same person from six years ago either." You smiled against him, teeth grazing over his ear. You pulled back to look at his face. If he wanted to be rough with you, you could handle that.
"You've got this, hard front you're portraying," you began, letting go of Leon's collar to wave your hand gesturing to him, your free hand grabbing your drink, "mad at the world that you were the one to get caught up in its shit." You finish off your drink, clinking the glass down onto the counter.
“That’s not-”
"Do you want me to feel sorry for you? Is that it?" You’re leaned over the bar again, fingers tapping against the counter. "I can do that, if you'd like me to," you purred, your other arm coming to rest on Leon's shoulder, "but I think what you really want is for someone to take your nightmares away."
"You don't know what the fuck I want." Leon's voice is a razor blade, a bitter laugh claws against his throat. His hand wraps around the wrist hanging over his shoulder, not shoving it away, but gaining control. He leans into you, forehead almost touching, his breath hot and uneven against your face.
"I don't need your sympathy, y/n. I need-" He stops himself before he can say it. He realized that maybe he does need someone to help him forget. The whiskey was only doing so much, and for the time that you had been talking to him, all he'd been thinking about was how it would feel to kiss you. To slide his tongue into your mouth, to press his chest against yours.
Your hand intertwines with his, your head nudging just slightly to test the water. Your nose brushed against his and you felt Leon's breath shake. As standoffish as he was trying to come off right now, what you could really see was the hesitation. He kept stopping himself from doing what he truly wanted to.
"What, Leon? What do you need?" You whispered, your free hand coming to rest at the back of Leon's neck, fingers playing with his nape. You could see the contemplation behind his eyes, darting between your eyes and lips. Before you can ask him again, his lips crash against yours. It's rough and unsteady, teeth clashing and lips bruising. You melted into his touch, hands coming to cup the sides of Leon's face as you pulled him in closer.
Leon puts a hand in your hair, pulling it gently to tilt your head to kiss you deeper. Your lips part gently to gasp, which Leon takes advantage of to slide his tongue into your mouth. He can taste the vodka and cranberry juice against your tongue, he slides his free hand up to your throat to place gentle pressure, enough to make you moan into the kiss. For a minute, the thoughts in Leon's head go silent. All he can think about is you.
It doesn't stop him from pulling away just as quickly, though. His chest heaving as his wild eyes roam your face, the furrow in his brow just slightly loosening. the grip around your neck pulses, feeling your heartbeat racing against his palm.
"You wanna take my nightmares away? Show me that you can handle what's left of me."
Your lips pout slightly at the loss of Leon's touch, your eyes wild and roaming. You started to notice stares from other people in the bar now paying too much attention to the two of you. The way Leon's hand is gripped around your throat could be taken as something more malicious than it actually was. You turned to look over at your friends at the other end of the bar, still dancing and completely unaware of the situation. What harm could be done if you went home with him?
You got up from the barstool, your hands sliding up Leon's shoulders, a chaste kiss planted to the side of his neck. You could feel his neck strain at the feeling.
"People are watching, Leon," you whispered, your eyes pointing towards the exit, "you got somewhere we can continue this?" You could feel the adrenaline starting to flood through your veins, the heat between your legs making itself more known by the second. Without waiting, you made your way towards the exit of the bar, feet stumbling just a tad from the alcohol. You glanced over your shoulder to see Leon take his last sip of whiskey before throwing himself out of the barstool.
Leon couldn't have given less of a fuck if people were watching the two of you. Let them, he thought, let them watch how easily I can make you melt. He throws a wad of cash onto the bar counter and beelines his way to catch up to you. His blood boils as he watches you sway out of the bar, hips moving from side to side, your skirt riding up to just above the swell of your ass. He can already feel himself stiffening from just looking at you. It doesn't take him long to catch up behind you, pushing the door open to lead the both of you outside.
"My place is just a block away, unless you've changed your mind," He growls as he leans down to your ear, his hand coming down to press firmly on your hip. The cool air feels like nothing to the two of you from the way the heat of this tension radiates off of their skin. You placed a hand on top of his, looking up to meet his ice blue eyes.
"Lead the way, baby," you whispered, leaning in to kiss him passionately, your tongue swiping Leon's bottom lip. He groans into the kiss, using all of his strength not to just take you right now on the brick wall of the bar. He resists, pulls his lips away and leads you to his apartment.
Up ahead, a skyscraper is now in your line of vision. You almost got dizzy trying to look at the very top covered by the clouds. Leon pressed a couple of buttons and you heard the doors unlock with a click, where then Leon ushered you inside and walked towards the elevator. They enter the elevator, and Leon presses the button that leads up to the penthouse. You let out a breathy laugh, crossed your arms and leaned against the wall of the elevator.
"Penthouse, huh? President pay you handsomely after saving his daughter?" You could see Leon's shoulders tense, he slowly turned around to face you. He stalked toward you, an arm coming to cage you in between him and the elevator wall.
"Yeah. Government pays well for silence," he muttered, tone coming off more painful than he'd prefer. You looked over at the mirror on the other side of the wall, watching the way Leon's back muscles twitch under his shirt.
"Not as scrawny anymore either," you hummed, hands reaching up to feel up his biceps to his shoulder blades, "bet they whipped you into shape after Raccoon City, huh? Lucky me." A lustful smile crept onto your face, flashing your pearly white teeth. Leon's body presses harder into yours, pushing you deeper against the elevator wall. His other hand comes to grip your jaw, tilting it to have your gaze on his face.
"Lucky you?" His voice is a dark, dangerous purr, lips just gently brushing against yours as he spoke, "Sweetheart, you have no idea what you just got yourself into." The elevator dings just as Leon puts a firm grip on your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin as he lifts. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, arms resting on his shoulders and leaned down to plant another sloppy kiss.
Leon walks backwards into the foyer of his apartment, the darkness of the living room engulfing them the further he went inside. Your hips ground into Leon's waist, your hands trailing up to rake through his hair. A low groan vibrated out of Leon's lips, eyes wiring shut and brows in a tighter furrow than before. It feels like he's walking for forever until you get tossed onto a couch, eyes flying open to Leon looming over you.
You took a quick glance at your surroundings. Everything about the penthouse is dark. The walls, furniture, even whatever lights on are dimmed low. The floor to ceiling windows are wide open, beautiful views of the city and night sky surrounds them. You noticed how pristine the place is. No pictures of friends or family, except for a singular picture of a blonde little girl in the corner of the room. Empty whiskey bottles are littered around the coffee table and kitchen island. You wondered if Leon ever actually spends any time here, if it actually feels like a home.
Before you can ask any questions, you feel Leon's presence quickly closing in on you. He's propped up on top of you, hands a mind of their own. They’re on your thighs, hips, waist, chest, neck, and finally tugging at your hair. His lips come down to kiss along your neck, sucking hard enough to definitely leave marks in the morning.
You moaned, your eyes fluttering closed and your lips parted slightly. Leon's hands left your hair, his right hand coming down to play with the hem of your tank top before yanking it high enough to expose your lacy bra. He pulls himself off your neck to look at your chest.
"You're just fucking asking for it aren't you?" He gives you no time to answer as his hand gropes your chest over the bra, calloused fingers pinching at your nipple. A breathy gasp leaves your mouth, locking eyes with Leon as he continues to stimulate you. The friction between the fabric is becoming too much, you pull his hand away to pull your tank top and bra over your head in one swoop. A lazy grin forms over Leon's face, eyes trailing down to your now exposed breasts.
"Cutting to the chase are we?" He purred, both hands now reaching to grab at you. You let out a tsk, hands quick to grab Leon's wrists.
"Your turn." You looked at his too clothed torso, eyes practically burning through his shirt. Leon sits up, breaking free from your grasp.
"So needy, not even a please?" Leon pulls the shirt over his head, throwing it on the floor next to him. His chest glows from the light out the windows, collarbones hollow, ab muscles tightening with each breath. What you didn't expect to see was a long scar going diagonally across his right pec. Something, or someone, had done that to him. You tried to rise from the couch, fingers extended to try and reach his stomach, but he stopped you. With enough force he pushed you back down onto the cushions.
"Enough of that," he said, hands coming to rest on your knees, spreading them apart before him, "you don't get to touch me without my permission now." A whine escaped your lips, eyes never breaking contact with his. He reaches for your skirt, your hips lift off the couch at the same moment he goes to tug it off of you. All that's left is a matching lacy black thong, already soaking wet.
Leon pushes your knees all the way apart, hands slowly creeping their way down your thighs, one stopping right at your pelvic bone while the other feels your mound over the underwear. Leon groans at the wet spot, the fact that you’re already so turned on for him makes him feral.
"Already so wet for me," he slowly rubs circles with his index and middle finger on your clothed clit, hips bucking up in reaction. He picks up the pace, other hand pressing firmer on your hip to stop from squirming. Your chest is heaving, one of your hands grasping at your breast to increase the stimulation.
"Fuck, Leon, been so long since someone's made me feel good like this," you moaned, "you do know how to make a woman cum, right? Or did they not teach you that in the military?" A laugh escapes your lips but is just as quickly morphed into a high gasp as your panties are ripped off of you, and two fingers are forcefully inserted deep in your core.
Leon wastes no time in pumping his fingers in and out of you, eyes transfixed on the way his fingers disappear inside of you. He can feel the way your walls are already tightening around him, causing the strain in his jeans even more unbearable. Your body writhes under his touch, your hands begging to wrap around his shoulders and claw your nails into his back.
"Leon..." you moaned, eyes pleading and lip pouting, "...need to touch you, please." You exhaled, breaths erratic as you felt that familiar knot in your stomach tightening.
"So you do know your manners," Leon purred, the pace of his fingers only getting faster, "you wanna touch me? Will that make you feel better?" A sloppy nod is your response, voice occupied with whines and moans.
“Use your words baby.”
“Y-yes! Please, Leon, let me touch you.”
"Good girl," a smile crept onto his face, pearly teeth catching the light. That gave you enough to lunge your arms around him, pulling your chest flush against his. Leon met you halfway with a kiss, never wavering in the motion of his fingers. He used his thumb to rub deep circles over your clit, causing a moan to vibrate against Leon's lips. That gave him the opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth, deepening the kiss much more passionately.
You can feel yourself getting closer and closer, your hips grinding against Leon's fingers to reach that one sensitive spot. A third finger slips inside, the stretch burning your entrance in the best possible way. Your hands rake down his back, crescents indenting his back from your fingernails.
"You getting close? You gonna cum all over my fingers?" He teased, all three fingers curling right up inside of you, pace quickening at the reaction of your body.
"F-fuck, I'm so close," you whimpered, hips bucking and back arched off of the couch. The knot is taught in your belly, and with a few more strokes of his fingers and the deep circles over your clit, the knot snapped.
The orgasm flooded over your body, thighs shaking around Leon's hand, walls clenching tightly around his fingers. He continued to pump to ride out your high, until your back relaxed onto the couch and breaths evened.
You watched through lidded eyes as Leon pulled his fingers out of you, the digits soaked in your slick and glistening in the moonlight. Before you could realize what he was doing, the fingers prodded at your lips and you welcomed them into your mouth, tasting yourself on your tongue.
You sucked on his fingers, tongue swirling around them to swallow every last bit. Leon’s eyes were glued to your mouth, lips parted in awe and eyes full of lust.
“Fuck sweetheart, just like that,” he encouraged, taking the moment to register the beauty laid before him. Your hair was tousled over your shoulders, cascading down your chest and framing your breasts. Deep purple splotches were already beginning to form down your neck and chest, nipples pebbled from the brisk air of the apartment.
Leon’s mind was racing. You were so beautiful, so obedient to him, and that almost scared him. You didn’t know the extent to what he had been through in the last six years, you barely even knew who he was at all now. And he had convinced you to follow him back up to his apartment to let him bruise you? Let him ravage you? He felt sick. He felt like he was spoiling the last good thing left on this earth. He shook his head, cleared his throat and pulled his fingers out of your mouth.
“Turn around.”
You paused for a split second as you watched Leon’s hand exit your mouth and move to his belt buckle. You quickly flipped yourself around on the couch, hands and knees scrambling to prop yourself up. Your thighs still trembled from the orgasm that ripped through you not too long ago, your entrance aching at the emptiness. You could hear the clinking of Leon’s belt being unbuckled, jeans being unzipped and the soft thud of them hitting the floor next to you.
Leon’s large hands came to grip at your hips, hiking them higher up causing your face to smush against the couch cushions. One hand left your hip and you heard him hiss, sucking a breath through gritted teeth. It was your turn to gasp as you felt the tip of Leon’s aching cock swipe through your folds, coating the head with your slick. He lined up at your entrance, and wasted no time in fully pushing himself inside, bottoming out.
You yelped into the couch cushion, the hard smack of Leon’s hips against your ass is enough to make it sting. His cock hooks into that perfect spot, slamming it down again and again.
“God! Leon!” You whimpered, thankful now for his fingers stretching you out to prepare for what was about to come. You reached your hand in between your thighs to rub tight circles over your clit, matching the rhythm of the thrusts hitting your sensitive spot. Leon’s hands grip down hard on your hips, fingers pressing deep into your skin to keep him grounded. As if he needed to be touching you everywhere, he leaned down to press his chest against your back, grunts now purring in your ear.
“Fuck-” His voice is a growl, his lips brushing your ear as he feels you tighten around his cock, your walls fluttering as you once again get closer to that release. “So fucking pretty with my cock inside you.”
All that can be heard in the penthouse was the crack of his hips, balls slapping against your cunt as Leon quickened the pace even more. Moans just slipped out of your mouth involuntarily, forgetting the dominant front you had been putting up all night. He was making you feel delirious, eyes clouding with pleasure, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.
“Don’t stop baby, it’s right there, don’t stop…” You babbled, back arching into his chest the closer you got to another orgasm. Leon’s hand slid around your throat, not choking, but holding, claiming. His thrusts slow, just enough to tease, and you can feel a smirk press into your temple.
“You’re all mine, y/n. Say you’re mine, or I’ll stop.” His hips rolled against yours, his cock dragged against that soft spot inside of you, breath hot on your face.
“Yours! I-I’m all yours, Leon!” You cried out, hips backing into his to try and regain the stamina, orgasm fighting to flood all over you. You craned your head back to try and look at him, eyes watering and saliva dripping down your chin, eyes begging for more. “I belong to you Leon, please, belong to only you.”
With that, Leon’s body shudders, and his hips pick up their speed again, pounding deeper than before. You cry out in pleasure, hand fumbling at your clit to add intensity to that familiar knot tightening in your core.
“That’s it- take it,” Leon snarls, taking his hand off of your neck to replace it with his whole arm, stabilizing your head better the deeper he rammed inside of you. His bicep pulsed in front of you, and without thinking you buried your face into it, teeth sinking down into the hard flesh.
A guttural groan tore from Leon’s throat as the pain mixed with the pleasure, his cock throbbing inside of you. He unleashed a whole other wave of energy, cock rammed its way into your core, hard enough to almost split you in half. With every thrust that reached your sensitive spot, your teeth sunk deeper into his bicep to muffle the screams.
“Fuck! Yes, Leon!” You muffled into his arm, tears streaming down your face as the walls of your cunt constrict around Leon’s cock.
“Cum on my cock, baby, wanna feel you fucking soak me,” He groans, his hips never letting up on the pace, one hand still firmly gripped on your hip. With a few more thrusts, and your fingers pressing into your clit, the knot snapped. Your orgasm crashed into you, your entire body vibrating as the pleasure made its course.
your high. But he wasn’t done yet. The silence between them is thick, all that can be heard are the ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city below them. Leon’s fingers twitch against your hip, loosening slightly. Just enough to let you breathe, but not enough to let you go. His lips press against the back of your shoulder, his teeth grazing the skin just hard enough to make you shiver. Every sense on your body is heightened, nerves shot and overstimulated.
“Fuck.” Leon exhales, almost like the sound of a chuckle. His hands slide up your waist, fingers splaying over your ribs like he’s mapping you, mesmerizing you. “You’re gonna be the death of me, y/n.”
You whimper as you feel him pull out, his cock still throbbing and red hot. “I think it’s gonna be the other way around, Leon. You haven’t even cum yet.”
“Yeah, about that.”
Leon gives you no time to react as he’s flipping you around, back against the couch and his body caging on top of you. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, his voice a low, dangerous purr,
“Round two.”
His mouth crashes onto you before you can respond, his kiss bruising and demanding. His hands roam all over your body like he’s starving for you, he grabs a handful of your breast and squeezes the soft flesh.
“Oh good,” you moan, “I’ve been dying to look at your pretty face while you fuck me.” Your hands cup the sides of Leon’s face as you kiss him deeper, your hips coming up the grind against rock hard member. Leon groaned into the kiss, his own hips grinding back letting his cock slide between your slick, swollen folds.
“Yeah? You wanna watch me as I pound into you? What a dirty girl.” He pulled his face back to meet his gaze to yours, eyes dark and possessive. You stared back at him with half lidded eyes, exhaustion slowly beginning to take over you with the alcohol wearing off.
You just smiled, hands leaving his face to rest on his shoulders. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his hips flush to your core, begging to fill that empty void between your legs. Leon wastes no time and recognizes what you’re doing, he lines himself up and buries himself into you in one rough thrust.
“Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart,” he groaned, a hand reaching to grab ahold of your jaw. His grip is firm on your face, keeping it still and locked on his gaze. Your jaw slacks open, saliva dripping down your chin and onto his hand. He pounds into you, his cock repeatedly hitting that sensitive spot over and over again. His gaze burns into you, watching you as your back arches off of the couch, legs tightening around his waist to push him deeper inside.
“Oh Leon-” you whine, nails raking down his back, feeling every muscle tensing in his body. His pace is ruthless, hips snapping rapidly against you, the grip on your jaw tight enough to ache.
His possessiveness should scare you, but all you can do is writhe under his touch, walls clamping down around his cock. Your hand flies back down to your clit, rubbing tight circles around yourself as the intensity in your core builds up for the third time that night.
You watch as Leon’s gaze trails down to where you connect, where your hand sloppily teases at your clit. He grunts, slapping your hand away from your mound and replaces it with his own, thumb pressing down hard where your fingers once were. Your hips buck in reaction, rolling against his hand to create further friction. Leon lets out a breathy chuckle,
“Pussy’s all mine, love the way it’s fucking milking me,” he leans down to kiss you, tongue spreading your lips apart forcing his way in, “you’re gonna cum for me one more time, yes?”
“Mm- yes, one more, please-” You said, voice raw from whines and moans.
“You’re so close, I can feel you. Cum on my cock and then I’m gonna fill you right up it’ll be coming out of you for days.”
Your hands dig into Leon’s back, indenting the skin as he rams deeper into you, your stomach tightening with a third orgasm. The feeling is too much for you, your senses overstimulated and your body begins to shake.
“Oh f-fuck Leon!” You scream, eyes wiring shut and head thrown back on the couch cushion as the final knot snaps. Your body locks tight, feeling the pleasure consume you as Leon continues to pound into you, never slowing down the pace.
At the peak of your high, you feel a gush of liquid soak between your legs, you pull your head up to look down at where you’re connected. Your face goes red hot with embarrassment as you realize that you had squirted all over Leon. You don’t dare to meet his gaze as your head slams back down onto the couch eyes rolling into the back of your skull,
“Shit- sorry, I-I’ve never done that before…” You whisper, hands coming up to cover your face. Leon never slows the pace, but he leans down and tears your hands away to make you look at him.
“Don’t be sorry, it was fucking hot.” He smiles, coming down to plant a kiss on your lips. It was softer than before, lips pressing gently against your own almost as if to reassure you. Your body began to relax, legs loosening around his waist, arms now just resting around his neck. You looked over at Leon’s arm, a deep red bite mark left over on his bicep.
Leon’s thrusts became more sporadic, breathing uneven, you could tell he was nearing the end. You went to caress his face, holding his cheeks so you could stare into his icy blue eyes, looking just a little lighter than earlier in the night.
“You close, baby? Gonna use my pussy to get yourself off?” Leon’s body shudders, brows knitting together and lips parted ever so slightly.
“Fuck-” He groans, cock swelling inside of you, balls drawing up tight the closer he got to his release.
“Let me help,” You whisper, and with whatever energy you had left you lifted your hips slightly, letting him plow deeper inside. You clench around him tight, ready for him to fill you up.
“You want it? You want me to cum for you?” His hips thrust faster and more shallow as he chases his release, your walls almost too tight for how sensitive his cock is.
“Please, Leon, fill me up until it’s dripping out of me.”
The sound of almost a whimper escapes Leon’s lips, and with a final bruising thrust he buries himself inside you, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. You can feel the hot ropes spurting inside of you, feeling impossibly full as he completely drained himself. He lets out a raw, desperate groan, his body trembling as he marks the inside of your walls.
Leon collapsed on top of you, the weight crushing your chest but also giving a sort of comforting pressure. You can feel his heart stammering against your chest, his sweat coated skin sticking to yours and his breaths fanning across your face. All that could be heard were the deep breaths the two of you were trying to regain, and the silence wasn’t tense. It was comfortable, and you could sense that Leon was beginning to accept that welcoming quiet.
Your foreheads are pressed together, your eyes fluttering open to see Leon’s wired shut, eyebrows still knotted together. Your hands come to gently hold his cheeks, one lifting to brush the hair that had messily fallen in front of his face. You placed a gentle kiss at the furrow of his brow, on the tip of his nose, and then his lips. He kissed back, strong at first, but then you could feel his muscles relax and melt further into the kiss. You pulled away, and brushed your thumb across his cheek.
“You okay?”
Leon’s eyes opened, scanning your features. Your tear stained cheeks, mascara smudged under your eyes, cheeks flushed pink and lipgloss that had been kissed away quite a while ago. He thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid his eyes on. And you were looking at him like how you used to. Like that optimistic twenty one year old who was still madly in love with you, who still felt like he had a purpose in life. That’s what scared him, that you weren’t aware of who he had become and you still trusted him. After he had used your body for pleasure, it definitely went far too rough than you were comfortable with, and you’re still here. Not running. He blinked a couple of times to register what you had just said, and nodded lazily.
“I should be asking you that, sweetheart,” he muttered, his thumb coming up to brush against your bottom lip, “I’m fine. Better, actually.”
“Good.” You smile, placing a kiss on his thumb. You look over across the apartment, the night sky dark without the bright lights of the city illuminating it. You glance over at a nearby clock, reading far too late to want to catch a cab at that hour.
“I hope this isn’t the part where you kick me out of your apartment,” you awkwardly chuckle, not meeting Leon’s gaze, “because honestly, I don’t think I’ll even be able to get off this couch if I wanted to.” You slowly look back at him and his brows are furrowed again, but not in that cold, dismissive way. It was more concerning, like how you could even be questioning that he would throw you out after everything? He shakes his head quickly, the hand at your bottom lip coming to fully caress the side of your face.
“What? No, I-I wouldn’t leave you like that. You’re staying.” His eyes widened slightly, like the thought of you leaving at a moment like this actually bothered him. His shoulders slumped a little, the exhaustion creeping its way through his body. You nodded, your eyes fixed on his so he could fully take in that you weren’t going to leave.
“Okay, I’ll stay.” You nudged your head against his as your arms came to embrace him. It was soft, genuine, and comforting. Not just for Leon, but for you too. What the two of you had done was intense and barbaric, and even though you had loved every second of it, you knew you needed this moment to come back down to earth.
You could feel Leon’s breath shuddering above you, his body tensing as if he’s not used to this type of comfort. Not used to somebody holding him without a sort of expectation. Your hand reached up to cradle the back of his head, gentle strokes through his hair. You turned your head slightly to place a soft kiss onto his temple.
“I’ll stay as long as you need me to, Leon,” you whispered, “I meant it when I said I can help you. You don’t have to talk about it, but you’ve gone through some tough shit. Might help to talk to someone who will listen.” You spoke carefully, not wanting to say the wrong thing or get him upset.
You knew that was a difficult thing to ask him, hell, it’s been six years since you’ve last seen each other. You’re practically strangers now. But there was a past, there was a time where the two of you could speak so openly to each other, you hoped that there was still a part of him that remembered that.
You continued to stroke his hair, and looked over his shoulder at the apartment around you. This place wasn’t home to him. It was somewhere to crash in between missions with the lack of personal decorations, except for that singular picture of the little girl. The bottles of whiskey littering the place left a bitter taste in your mouth, realizing that the only thing that could “ease” the pain was the alcohol. You wanted to be able to take that pain away from him, wanted to hold him close like this and tell him that everything would be fine.
You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, breathing getting a little erratic as his mind started to spin. He thought he wanted a distraction, something rough and meaningless to drown out the thoughts and forget the pain. But then you held him, fingers gliding through his hair, your gentle, genuine words.
Something inside him cracks. He remembers before Raccoon City, remembers the amount of joy you brought into his life. How he could come to you to talk about anything. His heart ached at the memories, he didn’t deserve to spill his trauma onto you after all this time, he didn’t want to burden you more than he had already done tonight. But your words were so soft, your lips against his temple so comforting. Years of building those impossibly tall walls felt like they were beginning to crumble.
His hand slid up your back, fingers trembling as they splayed over your spine, pulling you closer. His head nestled into the crook of your neck, hiding his face as he could feel it getting hot. His voice is a rasp, like he’s afraid to speak too loud or the moment will shatter.
“You don’t get it, y/n. I don’t deserve this,” his breath shakes against your collarbone, “I-I did what I could in Raccoon City, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t save everyone, I couldn’t save-” His voice cracks, and he stops himself. He lifted his head to look at you, and you instantly raised your hands to cradle his face. His eyes were red and glassy, breath stuttering as he whispered,
“I survived that day. And everyday since then, I wish I hadn’t.”
You can feel your own eyes start to get well up, but you swallow it away. You have to stay strong for him, be the one to bring him back. You push yourself up on the couch, sitting Leon up and settling yourself in his lap. You grab ahold of Leon’s face again, a little firmer to make sure he’s looking right at you.
“Stop thinking you’re a lost cause, Leon, because you’re not,” you said with a firm tone, not meaning to scold him, but to try and reason with him. “The guilt is eating you away, and it may not feel like it, but you do deserve this. You deserve to feel better.”
Leon lets out a deep, shaky breath, hands resting at your hips, fingers digging into the flesh gently.
“You should run now before it's too late,” he mumbled, “I’m just gonna drag you down.”
“Don’t say shit like that.” Your voice couldn’t help but break, it killed you to hear him talk about himself so lowly and watch the defeated expression on his face. Your arms wrap around his neck, face leaning in to press light kisses onto his cheeks. “You tell me to run, and it only makes me want to stay even more. I’m not gonna give up on you Leon, you hear me?” You notice his gaze shifted, eyes looking at the picture of the little girl. His face hardened, trying to contain the emotions beyond the surface.
“Who is she?” You said ever so softly. You felt his muscles tense at the question, surprised you even noticed the picture. His fingers press into your hips deeper, trailing his gaze back to your eyes.
“Her name’s Sherry,” He rasped, looking down at your hips where his hands are holding, “she was twelve when I found her in Raccoon City. Twelve, y/n.”
“And you couldn’t..?”
“N-no, I did get her out. We were both taken under the government. But no kid should ever go through what she had to. That I couldn’t save.” Leon’s head drops to your shoulder, breath fanning over you as he tries to calm himself down.
“We can stop-”
“-And I still hear the screams,” he begins, voice cracking, “I hear them in my dreams. I see the blood, the fire, and I can’t fucking escape it.” His shoulders begin to shake, and you wrap your arms around them tight. You hold him as silent sobs rake through him, brushing your hand up and down his spine.
“Oh, Leon,” you whispered, softly shushing as you felt his hands slide up your waist and pull you closer against him, “you’re okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
You let him hold you for as long as he needed, rubbing soothing circles over his back to help calm his breathing. You could feel a tear of your own roll down your cheek, letting yourself feel everything he had been dealing with on his own for all of these years. You were unbelievably proud of the amount he shared with you, you knew this wasn’t easy for him and you were just grateful that he was able to trust you.
Leon’s shoulders stopped shaking, and his breathing returned to a steady rhythm. When you felt like he had calmed down enough, and you felt composed enough, you pulled away from the embrace, arms resting on Leon’s shoulders. His head hung low, not meeting your gaze, but you noticed his flush face and tear streaked cheeks nonetheless. You brought a hand to gently lift his chin, his blue eyes; once dark and icy now slowly melting into a sky blue meeting yours.
“Thank you for talking to me, Leon,” You began, voice steady and comforting, “you don’t have to go through this alone anymore. But I’m gonna need you to trust me.” Your thumb circles his shoulder, watching as his brows twitch at your words. He’s crying for help, even if he doesn’t realize it. The liquor bottles scattered all over the place, his under eyes dark, the self deprecating talk. He’s needed a shoulder to cry on for years.
“If this is gonna work, you’re gonna have to put your guard down, and let me in. You’ve already done a great job, Leon.” It wasn’t stern, wasn’t demanding, but enough to put your point across. He scoffed, head leaning into the touch of your hand,
“Don’t know if crying like a baby is considered a good job.” You sighed, the hand on his shoulder coming to wipe the tears off of his cheeks.
“Letting yourself cry about it is a great start. You’re allowing yourself to feel that pain. To own it.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” You confirm, giving him a confident look to make him believe your words. You give him another tight embrace, rubbing soft circles on his back, feeling the scratches from your nails earlier. You could feel the sweat sticking to your skin, the smell of sex and whiskey on his body. His hair was sticking up in various places from your fingers running through it, while yours clung to your forehead and the sides of your face. You needed a shower. Bad.
The night had been exciting enough, but now all you wanted to do was take care of Leon. It was time to wind down. You slowly let go of Leon and stood from the couch, your hand still holding one of his.
“Where’s your bathroom, honey? Can I help you clean up?” Leon shuddered at your words, fingers tightened around your hand, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His gaze drops down to your entwined hands, your thumb brushing over his knuckles.
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” his voice is hoarse, uneven, “second door on the left.”
You nod gently, and guide him off of the couch and towards the bathroom. He follows slowly behind, intensely watching you find your way. The alcohol is fading away, the adrenaline, and all you can feel is exhaustion. Your body aches, and your mind is flooded with all different sorts of emotions. The severity of Leon’s condition was a lot worse than you had thought, and you wouldn’t lie and say it didn’t scare you. But he had been going through this alone, didn't have anyone to speak through his feelings with, he was carrying this burden all on his own. He didn’t have to do that anymore.
The bathroom was dark, the only light coming from the city outside the shower window. The tile is cold on your feet, and you switch on the light and stark white illuminated the room. Both of you squint at the harsh light, eyes slowly adjusting from the contrast of the dimly lit living room.
You let go of Leon’s hand and move to the shower to run the water, getting it hot enough to handle on your skin. You turn around to face him and he’s resting against the sink, head slumped, gaze on the floor. Now you can clearly see him. The scar on the right side of his chest is a lot more noticeable, long and jagged. You now notice smaller, more faded scars littering his torso ranging from thin and long to thick and rugged.
“Job’s not been very kind to me,” Leon muttered, now looking dead on at you. You meet his gaze, cheeks getting slightly warm from being caught staring. You just give a weak smile, and walk towards him.
“I didn’t mean to stare.”
“It’s fine.”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “let me take care of you.” You rest your hands on his shoulders, giving them comforting rubs. Leon just nods weakly, and you slide your hands to hold his as you guide him into the shower.
The room is filled with steam as you let him step in first, standing under the water to wash away the initial sweat on his body. His hands grip on yours a little tighter as the water hits his back, the heat stinging against the fresh scratches. You tighten your grip back for just a second, enough to ground him, before letting go and reaching for the soap.
“Let me know if anything hurts.” You lather the soap in between your hands, the scent of something clean and citrusy cutting through the humid air of the bathroom. You start with his shoulders, your fingers working the soap into his skin. You carefully move across his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, the ridges of his scars. There’s no ounce of pity in your movements, just care. You stand behind him to work on his back, and you place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck.
“You’re not alone in this, Leon,” your hands move down to his arms, scrubbing over the red bite mark on his bicep, “Anything you tell me won’t scare me away. I’m here for you.” You step around to face him, putting down the soap to grab the bottle of shampoo. His eyes are already looking at you when you look up, blue irises tired. He doesn’t say anything, but from the way he’s looking you know he’s listening. He always listened. You put some shampoo in your hands and lather them together before reaching up to spread it through his hair.
Just as Leon’s clean, you go to grab the soap and begin to clean yourself when he gently grabs your wrist. He takes the soap from you, and guides you to stand under the water.
“Your turn.”
You chuckle, remembering from earlier, and let Leon take care of you. He lathers the soap against your body, the valley between your breasts, down your thighs, and across your back. His fingers are firm over your muscles, working out the knots already beginning to form. You flutter your eyes shut as you feel his fingers massage shampoo and conditioner through your hair, taking in the moment.
Just as quickly as it began you hear the shower shut off, and Leon grabs your hand to guide you out of the shower. You drip on the bathroom floor before Leon wraps a towel around you, then wraps one over himself. You dry off in a comfortable silence, absorbing all the water off of your skin and shaking the towel through your hair so it stops dripping.
You wrap the towel around yourself before taking a step out of the bathroom, “Where can I find some pyjamas, hun? Your room?”
Leon’s towel is wrapped very loosely around his waist, damp hair sticking out from all angles as he nods his head.
“My room’s down there,” he rasps as he points towards the end of the hall, “but you don’t have to-”
“I know. I want to.” You take a step closer to him, acknowledging him. You grab one of his hands, and brush your thumb over the outside of it. He squeezes it back gently, and the two of you head to his bedroom.
Leon’s room was what you had expected. Dark walls and furniture, king sized bed with black, plush sheets. More floor to ceiling windows to the right but with a balcony that overlooked the city. To your left you found his closet, and made your way over there. There wasn’t much clothing, mostly work clothes and athletic wear, but you were able to find some grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. You also picked up a pair of briefs for underneath the sweats.
You emerge from the closet, finding Leon standing awkwardly in the middle of the room looking like a lost puppy. You couldn’t understand how he could look so uncomfortable in his own home. You laid his clothes on the bed, and walked up to him carefully not to scare him.
“Can I put these clothes on you?” A slight nod from Leon was the consent you needed to peel away the towel from his hips, dropping it to the floor next to him. You carefully threaded his legs through the briefs and sweats, and pulled the shirt over his head, brushing his hair back into place with your fingers.
“Thank you, y/n.” He whispered, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. You cover it with your own, giving him a warm smile.
“Don’t mention it,” you reach on your tip toes to place a soft kiss on his lips, quick and sweet. You turn back to the closet, in search of something to wear yourself. You sifted through the closet, and landed on an old RPD hoodie. It was oversized for you, but it would work for the night. You threw it over your head, pulling your damp hair from the hood and letting it rest on your shoulders.
You walked back into the bedroom, your hands stuffed in the pockets, “I hope it’s okay if I wear this, probably more comfortable than sleeping in a mini skirt.”
Leon’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, eyes scanning your body, reading the old, faded letters of ‘RACCOON CITY POLICE’ on the front of the hoodie.
“It’s fine,” his gaze drops to the floor, his fingers twitching at his sides, “looks better on you than it ever did on me.”
“I very much doubt that,” you scoff, a sheepish smile forming over your face. Leon pats the bed beside him, voice softening.
“Come here.”
You waste no time sitting next to him, and he pulls you in close. His arm wraps around your shoulders, fingers tracing absent circles on your arm. You rest your hand on his chest, feeling the soft patter of his heart. The city casts long shadows over the room, lights flickering outside the windows.
“I’ve never had anyone stay here before.” Leon whispers in a confession, chin resting on the top of your head. Your head nestles into his chest, taking in the clean smell of his clothes and skin. No scent of whiskey lingers anymore, no vices to hide his true self.
“Thanks for letting me be the first,” you whisper back, kissing the base of his neck. He just holds you closer, a heavy sigh escapes his lips. You let him hold you for as long as he needs to. It feels too normal, cuddled up to Leon like this, in his clothes, smelling like his shampoo. Like it’s always meant to be this way.
You turn your head to look out the window, the city lights still glittering in the night sky. You get up from the bed and walk towards the window, arms crossed over your chest.
“I’ts a pretty view,” you said mostly to yourself, looking down at the still busy streets even at this hour.
“Beautiful.”
Leon’s voice was hoarse in your ear as you felt him come up behind you, chest pressed against your back and head resting on your shoulder. But he wasn’t looking out the window, he was looking down at you. A wide, goofy smile spread across your face as you tilted your head to rest against his. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you in close.
“Peaceful, huh? Quiet can be good at times,” you mumbled, relaxing into his touch. You could feel his heart pattering again, as if he’s fighting the urge to enjoy the silence. The calm. You turn to face him, arms wrapping around his waist, “I’m proud of you, Leon. Proud of you for opening up to me. That’s a big step.”
“I don’t deserve your pride.”
You sigh, and instead of arguing, you stand on your tip toes to give him a passionate, but caring kiss. Nothing further, just enough to ease his nerves. You pull away, but stay on your tip toes, faces inches apart.
“Too bad. Pride’s just pouring out of me, baby.” For the first time that night, and maybe for the first time in a while, Leon genuinely laughs. He rests his forehead against yours, and pulls you into a tight embrace.
“Alright then.”
You stay like that for a minute, until a yawn escapes your lips. You pull back and rub your eyes with your hand.
“Bed?” Leon inquires.
“Please.” He chuckles, and places his hand on the small of your back to guide you to bed.
You slide under the covers, cool on your skin, but is quickly replaced by the warmth of Leon’s chest. You curl into his side, head resting on his chest, fingers tracing patterns over his heart. One of Leon’s hands slides into your damp hair, nails scratching against your scalp. You hum in content, eyes getting heavy with sleep. With the gentle rhythm of Leon’s breathing, the scratches on your scalp, and the plush bedsheets, it doesn’t take long for you to fall fast asleep.
Leon stays awake a while longer, just watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you sleep peacefully.
He thinks about earlier in the night, how much he tried to push you away at the bar, how many warnings he gave that you completely ignored. And he couldn’t be more grateful that you did. He doesn’t wince as he remembers your time together in college, actually reminiscing about how young and carefree the two of you were. He realizes that the love he had for you so long ago never went away, and all it took was for you to drunkenly stumble into him at that shitty dive bar.
For the first time in years, Leon sleeps through the night.
You would think maybe the hatchet contributes a lot to highlighting Leon's ass in RE9 and the booty may not be as noticeable without the swinging hatchet but HOLY FUCK
MY GUY IS JUST SIMPLY CHEEKED UP LIKE THAT LAWD HAVE MERCY
Bringing appreciation to the implication that as of RE9, Leon's wisecracking is so notorious that even his enemies are being pre-warned that he's a smart ass.
"Mr President, your daughter has been kidnapped from her college campus. But don't worry, we're sending our sexiest agent in to save her single-handedly."
"Uuuh, I'm not sure that's the best--"
"Our. Sexiest. Agent."
- whoever's in charge of the Secret Service in Resident Evil 4
I really appreciate the tag @midnightsummerrain! It's very nice to be thought about <3
Go on pinterest and type in the prompts down below. Whatever image pops up first is your image.
Prompts: Color, quote, character, hobby, accessory, song lyrics, flower.
I've been a little MIA lately, sorry about that. Between several hyperfixations that all grabbed my attention span at the same time and working full time I've not had much time to be on here. (Can you tell one of them is Batman and the lovely hunk that is Nightwing? lol)
I don't feel like I know a whole lot of people in this fandom yet to really give tagging any justice, but @theraccoonkween if you'd like to participate? No pressure if you don't want to <3
