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🍓 I write for a variety of fandoms, though I write for myself predominantly since requests would stress me out. I write and post very sporadically so there's no set schedule for anything on this blog!
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man I started my period today and I have been cramping nearly all day. and nothing really helps at all. and on top of that I've been so hungry but everytime I eat I end up feeling nauseous after ☹️
and I've had lower back pain too
my period are only like 3 or 4 days but the first day is always so miserable. and sometimes day 2 is better but sometimes it's not
I read your requests are open, and I was hoping I can give it a shot?
You don’t have to write this, but if you’re ok with it…
Is it ok if you write a smut where the reader is on her period and in severe pain. But like the painkillers aren’t working, and she needs some sort of relief because the pain just isn’t going away.
At this point, Leon has tried everything but her pain isn’t going away. And she can’t even sleep it off, so Leon does the one thing he hasn’t tried yet;
Sex.
He suggests it, she’s in pain and is willing to try anything and everything at this point, and Leon helps her reach her orgasms (maybe some pinv if it’s ok?)
After her orgasms she feels better and is out like a light, so Leon feels relaxed because even in sleep she’s more relaxed.
Also can you tell I’m a virgin and have no clue if this actually works…just yesterday I had an unrealistically painful period to the point I drank too many meds to stop the pain, but I passed out before I could feel the pain go away.
If you’ve written something like this before and I missed it or if you’re uncomfortable, don’t worry about it! No pressure to write it at all! <3
【⠀new ִ ࣪𝑠ᴀvᴇ 𝑓ɪʟᴇ ׅ🎮 】 hello dear bunny reader !! thank you for this request, I've been meaning to post this as a full fic but i figured it was too short so hopefully you enjoy! sorry it took so long :( also also due to health reasons i dont have normal periods so i hope i also described that part okay ㅜㅜㅜ
🇹🇦🇬🇸 : established relationship, period sex, fluff.
By the time the sun had disappeared behind the apartment buildings, Leon had officially run out of ideas. The heating pad had long since gone cold, the tea he'd made sat forgotten on the nightstand, the painkillers hadn't touched it.
You'd managed maybe twenty minutes of sleep before another cramp had folded you in half hard enough to wake yourself with a strangled little cry.
Leon was beside you before your eyes had even opened. "Easy, baby.." he murmured, one hand finding your shoulder. "I've got you."
You only buried your face deeper into the pillow, whining. "It still hurts."
"I know."
"No.." Your voice cracked. "You don't."
He didn't answer, because you were right. He'd been shot, stabbed, beaten half to death more times than he cared to count, so he knew pain. But watching you curl tighter and tighter into yourself while there wasn't a thing he could do about it, that was something else entirely. He rubbed slow circles against your lower back.
"Little higher?" You shook your head. "Lower?"
"It all hurts.." Your words dissolved into another miserable groan as your stomach clenched again.
"Jesus.." Leon exhaled quietly. "I hate this."
A weak laugh escaped you. "I noticed."
"I mean it." His hand never stopped moving. "If somebody was doing this to you.." He stopped himself. "I'd know what to do."
After another few minutes, you whispered into the pillow "I just want to sleep."
"I know."
"I don't even care if it still hurts.." Another cramp hit. You squeezed your eyes shut so tightly tears escaped anyway. "I just.. I can't—"
Leon watched you for a long moment, thinking. "Can I ask you something?"
You made a tired little sound that could've meant yes.
"I read something once–"
"You read?" One if your eyea cracked open as he rolled his own. "Very funny. I'm serious, baby."
You waited.
"It said–" He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking far more uncomfortable than he'd been while stitching gunshot wounds. "Sometimes orgasms help."
You blinked. "What?"
"With cramps."
"Who told you that?"
"I don't remember."
"You don't remember?"
"It was a long time ago." Another pause. "I think it was Claire..?"
"Didn't you say you read about it?" That actually made you snort before immediately regretting it as another cramp twisted through you. "Ow.."
Leon frowned. "I'm not saying we should! I'm saying..." He sighed, searching for words that didn't sound insane. "I've watched you hurt for almost twelve hours and we've tried everything else."
You stared at him. Despite everything you laughed only a little. His shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit.
"There's my girl.. I missed that."
Your smile faded as another wave of pain settled low in your stomach. "I don't know if it'll even work.."
"Neither do I. And if you don't want to.." He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "We won't."
You looked down at your intertwined fingers.
For a little while, neither of you spoke. The apartment was quiet except for the rain tapping softly against the windows and the occasional hum of traffic somewhere far below. Another cramp came without warning. You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers tightening painfully around his.
"I feel ridiculous."
"You aren't, baby." His brows pulled together while you shrugged weakly.
Your eyes stung all over again. "I'm sorry.."
"What for?"
"For ruining the whole weekend.."
Leon let out a soft breath that almost sounded like a laugh. "You think this weekend mattered more than you?"
"I just..." You looked away, embarrassed. "I know it's gross."
His expression changed immediately. "What?"
"My period? I've got blood on the sheets, I've been crying all day, I probably smell awful and now we're sitting here talking about..." You gestured vaguely between the two of you. "Fucking."
He stared at you for a second as though he genuinely couldn't understand where your mind had gone.
"Honey. I've stitched my own leg closed with used fishing line, I've crawled through sewers, I've had zombie guts thrown on me. I don't think a little blood is going to gross me out."
A tiny laugh escaped you. "Okay.. Fine, let's uh— let's do it."
"You sure?"
You rolled your eyes, though there wasn't much strength behind it. "If I change my mind, I'll tell you."
"Okay.." Leon nods. "Come here."
You shifted closer, settling against him with a quiet sigh as he wrapped an arm around your waist. He kissed your forehead first, lingering there for a moment before brushing another kiss against your temple. "You tell me if anything hurts.." As his fingers slowly pull at the hem of your comically thick sweat pants. The towel underneath you gets shifted to accommodate his knees between your thighs as he pulls you down, down, your blood soaked panties long thrown on the floor.
In a few seconds he discards his undergarments as well, spreading your thighs for more room, before his pelvis dips down. His already hardened cock poked at the clenching entrance, as the suddenness of the situation gets you all flushed.
"I'm sorry if it hurts more.." Leon hums before letting the tip slip inside. With ease, he manages to push in inch by inch before he's completely burried in you.
"Good?"
You nod, eyes already teary. "Mhm.. y-yes, you can move.." Slowly and softly he holds your hips down as he starts to gently snap his hips, the wetness surrounding him making muffled squelching sounds.
"S-Shit.. it's like a slip'n slide.." He chuckles all breathy as his hips stutter a little.
"Leon!" A small whine escapes your lips, hitting his chest in a futile attempt to make him focus.
"Sorry, baby, sorry, I– fuck.." He cuts himself off with another moan when your walls contract around him.
After a few more pumps you were a moaning mess, the pain long off your mind as you urged Leon to go 'faster' 'harder' 'deeper', which, of course, he obliged.
"You're s'pretty.." He mumbles more to himself as his thumb runs through your slick folds, over your clit and around it.
"Leon– mnh, I'm close.."
"Yeah? You wanna come?"
Eagerly you nod. "Ye-yes.. please?"
Leon chuckles low in his chest as he shifts closer, his pace steady as his finger circled your puffy clit "Go on, you can come.."
"Th-thank you.." your eyes close as a small frown forms onto your face, the flush of your cheeks wilder by the minute.
"No need to thank me, baby.. You're doin' so good.."
Leon lifted your hips slightly, his palm pressing into the small of your back, and the position had been good before, but it was dangerously good now, the sort of angle that left you feeling like you’d just run a bloody (haha get it?) marathon. His fingers tripped over your clit, movements becoming clumsy.
"Oh, mnh, gosh— please don't stop.." You moaned again, higher this time.
He nodded jerkily and picked up the speed, not much, but god, it was enough, and you could feel the unbearable tension start peaking in your gut, and it was only a few more thrusts, only a few more passes of his fingers, before you were coming. You weren't alone either because Leon followed soon after. He slowed, his fingers pressing into your soft hips and his rhythm erratic as he fell apart. You watched the orgasm blossom across his face, the flush on the high points of his cheeks, the way he tipped his head fovard as his eyes fell closed before he stilled.
He took a second breath before, still inside you, he lowered himself down onto his forearms and kissed your bitten lips.
"You–" he said between kisses "Are gorgeous." You smiled up at him and reached up to brush the hair from his forehead.
"The pain still as bad?" Leon asks, still slightly panting. You lay there for a moment, taking inventory of your own body. The ache was still there, but distant, no longer the sharp, relentless thing that had held you hostage since morning.
"No.." Your voice sounded surprised.
Leon searched your face. "No?"
You shook your head, a sleepy smile finding its way onto your lips. "It still hurts a little.." You let out a slow breath. "But not like before."
The relief that crossed his face was comical. "Thank God."
You laughed softly. "I think you're more relieved than I am."
"I absolutely am." He brushed his thumb lazily over your cheek. "I was starting to think I'd have to fight your uterus."
"I'd have paid to see that." You reached for his hand beneath the blankets, threading your fingers through his. "Thank you."
Leon looked at you with that same impossibly soft expression that always made your very soul ache.
"You never have to thank me."
"I love you." A smile spread slowly across his face, warm enough to make the whole awful day feel distant.
"I love you." As he leaned down, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling you gently against his chest.
"Now.." he murmured, his lips brushing your hair "Go to sleep, baby."
“I never want to plan another wedding,” you groan as you nearly stumble into the elevator, your movements slightly limited by the makeshift leash of your skirts in Leon’s hands. Bundles of ivory fabric are stuffed into his grip as he follows you through the doors, pressing a glowing button on the interior before stepping to your side.
“Already thinking about the next one, are we?” He says with a slight chuckle, arching his brows. The gesture deepens the fine lines across his forehead.
“Of course not,” you reply, glancing up at him from low lids. “I’m just saying that I’m glad all the color matching and dress fittings are over, and I can focus on what’s really important.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
You look down at the white box resting on your forearms. Inside sits the top tier of your wedding cake in its almond and raspberry glory, all cream and sugar. “I didn’t get to finish my slice at the reception, and it’s all I’ve been thinking about the whole night.”
“That’s all you’ve been thinking about?”
“Yep.”
He tosses his neck back, head meeting the wall of the elevator. “Mmm,” he hums.
Truthfully, you had something else on your mind from the moment you woke up, through the exchange of vows during the ceremony, through the party that came after. You have no idea what you said ‘I do’ to because all you could think about was the long, laundry list of ways you could mess up your first time with Leon that night. You nearly blacked out during the reception, disassociating as you socialized with friends, and clinked champagne glasses that never touched your lips, trembling hands barely able to keep it resting in your grasp.
It was a personal conviction, not based on any religious teachings or cultural practices engrained in your being, telling you to wait until you are legally and lawfully bound to another before experiencing the act. It was a decision you made early on, when life was romantic and rose-hued, and you kept it tucked away in your heart, behind lock and key, as you got older.
It made more sense as the years went on, and came in handy as it acted like a sieve, sifting through the suitors who only wanted to get in your pants without commitment laid out like a brick path beforehand.
And it all paid off when you met Leon. He was older and more experienced, and with that came a graceful sort of patience and restraint the younger men you had dated severely lacked. He never pressured you to go down on him, indiscreetly pushing your head down to his crotch while you tried to cuddle, like so many previous partners had attempted. He didn’t poke or prod about what made you decide to wait until marriage, or call your decision ‘weird’ or ‘creepy’ like others had before. He was respectful, though he never let you go a day without confirming his attraction to you in ways he made sure you were comfortable with, never wanting to cross a boundary.
You can feel the tension between you, desire practically radiating from your new husband as he guides you further into the hotel room. You can definitely feel it as he pulls you into a kiss, your bodies meeting, his erection poking through his dress pants as his hands roam your satin-clad body.
“Can I be honest?” You ask, retreating slightly.
He’s slightly out of breath, panting from the last long-winded kiss the two of you shared, not sparing a moment to suck in any air. “Of course.”
“I’m a little nervous,” you confess, suddenly unable to meet Leon’s eyes as he gazes down at you. This is a man who knows you inside and out, every secret, every hope, dream, fear. Yet, in this moment, you cannot bring yourself to make eye contact as you have a million times before. “I didn’t think I would be, but I–I am.”
“Hey,” he says softly, a hand coming to tilt your jaw upward, dragging your eyes with it. “It’s alright. We can go slow, or wait until tomorrow or the day after, or whenever you feel ready.” He leans in slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Though I’d really love to show you how good I can make you feel.” His words ignite a flicker of warmth in your belly. “But we’ll do it all at your pace.”
You nod. “I want to, I really do. I think I’ve just built it up in my head for so long, that I'm worried I’ll be bad at it or it’ll be…I don’t know…disappointing?”
You’ve never been good at getting over the speedbumps of seemingly easy things: ripping off bandages, getting shots in the arm at the doctor’s office, walking into first dates. What you are good at, however, is letting things fester in your mind, building up mole hills until they’re as tall and vast as Kilimanjaro.
He chuckles. The low, rumbling sound makes your gut gurgle, a warmth spread across your chest. “It won’t be disappointing, I promise. Not if I have anything to do with it.”
He’s right. It’s not disappointing when you come violently on his tongue, nor is it when you finish on his fingers. Twice.
Breathless and panting like an animal stranded in the heat, you fall back onto the mattress, your skin adhering to the bedding with a thin layer of sweat. Leon crawls over you, sucking the last drops of your orgasm off his fingers as he kneels between your legs.
Your dress has long been discarded, his tuxedo thrown on the back of the chair. It’s now just you and your husband, completely bare together, another second closer to a kind of union not forged in ink and paper, but flesh and heartbeat.
You have seen him shirtless before, all pale skin and taut muscle, but the complete picture is something entirely new, and far more delicious than your imagination could ever conjure. As he stands above you, his abdomen tenses and releases while he catches his breath, the valleys and mountains of his muscles rousing a pool of saliva beneath your tongue. You’ve never in your life seen a man of his age that looks as spectacular as Leon, and it makes you wonder if you married a human at all, or some godly being descended from the mount.
Taking in the sight of his brawny arms, the veins that trail up and down his thick forearms, the lithe grace of the fingers that were once plunging in and out of your cunt, you hesitate before lowering your gaze any further than the line of hair below his navel. You promised you were ready–you cried out how you needed to take all of him as his tongue worked you through your climax–but looking at the sheer size of him has you doubting your ability to take it all.
“We’ll go slow,” he assures as though he’s able to read your mind. Perhaps your worries are scrawled across your forehead. Perhaps he can see the fear clouding your eyes. His hands come to your thighs, parting them so as to accommodate his hips as he settles between your legs, coming down to his forearms, bracketing your head. “You okay?”
You nod eagerly in confirmation, trying to ignore the way your walls clench and tighten in anticipation of his arrival. “I’m ready,” you verbalize before taking his lips into another kiss, trailing your fingertips up and down his biceps, drinking up the mass beneath his opaline skin. “I want all of you, Mr. Kennedy.”
“I’ll give you whatever you want, Mrs. Kennedy.”
He pumps himself in his hand until he’s at full stiffness. You watch the movement between your bodies, eyes intently focused on the way he aligns the head of his cock with your entrance. Inhaling and exhaling, you fully relax into the stretch, savoring the sting as he slowly eases into your pussy. It’s decadent, the way your body shifts around him, walls squeezing and pulsing with every inch he gives.
Leon hisses through gritted teeth, tossing his neck back in ecstasy as he plunges the fulness of his size into you. “Fuck,” he swears. “You’re so tight.” He glances down at you, eyes wide, brows furrowed. “Are you alright?”
You move to cup his cheek, stubble tickling your palm. “I’m okay. Keep going.”
He nods as he removes half of himself, diving back in. It doesn’t take long to find the right pace, for the sting to melt into white-hot pleasure. The discomfort lent itself to euphoria the more Leon thrusted in and out of you, the more he sang your praises, praying to the altar between your legs.
“Oh god,” he bellows, face contorting as you clench around him. “You’re doing so good, baby.” His voice is low and rumbling like a predatory growl as he gives into his own pleasure, hardly able to speak eloquently without being interrupted by the primal moans that leap from his chest. “So fucking good.”
His fingers interlace with yours, pushing your knuckles into the bedding, dragging your arms above your head. He uses the position as leverage so angle himself upward as he pistons into you, the head of his cock kissing the button behind your front wall, the spongey spot that has you babbling like the spigot of a fountain.
“I think I might–”
“Go ahead, baby. I’ve got you,” he rasps, palms still pressed against your own. The sight of his triceps flexing from above is enough to push you toward the edge, the all too familiar sensation building in your core. “I wanna feel you come around me. Let me have it.”
As he continues to roll his hips, another wave of pleasure crashes over you, holding your body ransom to your climax until it dissipates and leaves you quivering on the bed, limbs useless and trembling. Your husband’s name pours from your lips along with wet dribble pooling at the corners of your mouth.
Leon fucks the mess you made back into your pussy. “That was so fucking hot,” he slurs, close to his own release. “My gorgeous wife.” He leans in to press a sloppy kiss on your lips, the tip of his tongue licking up the slobber threatening to drip down your chin. “My beautiful, stunning wife–fuck–I’m so close.”
You lock your ankles around his hips, commanding the jelly that was once your muscle, to hold onto him as he continues to thrust. “Inside,” you order softly. “I want to feel all of you tonight.”
Leon’s pelagic eyes shoot open, the white glistening as he stares down at you, a look of utter bewilderment splashed across his features. “Are you sure?” He sobers up enough to ask for confirmation. “What if–”
“I’m sure,” you blurt. “I want it. I want all of you.” You snake your arms around his torso, pulling him down until his chest is flush to your own, until you can feel the beat of his heart, the curl of his abdomen.
“Oh fuck,” he curses. “Fuck. I’m gonna come.” It’s hardly a warning, because just when you part your lips to give permission, he meets his release, spilling the evidence of his orgasm into you, his cock twitching as he gives you one final thrust.
older .ᐟ leon kennedy and his utter need to feel and worship your pretty boobs. every time he gets the chance to, he’ll pull them out of your lacy bra— and sometimes, almost all the time, leon finds you wearing a bra unnecessary. when, really, you shouldn’t be covering them up and make it much harder for him to shove them inside his mouth.
he’ll stare down right through your tank top and think of your boobs going up and down his throbbing hard cock; covered in your sticky drool, while your perky nipples rub on his tip. he can be such a nasty pervert, especially when he can’t have you. you’ll bend over and he’ll get a peek at your cleavage, feeling his crotch twitch in his boxers.
leon always grunts with your soft tit in his mouth and you perched in his lap, the tip of his starved tongue flicking around your nipples one by one, then kissing them, as if your two little buds are the sweetest things he’s ever tasted in his entire life. it doesn’t help that he’s got you so addicted and used to this tingling, overwhelmingly sensation either— neither that you’re so into it and sensitive to having your boobs worshipped by your older boyfriend.
you love the attention. you drip wet and rub your pussy, soaked and lonely under a pair of panties, against his thigh, fingers running through his blond hair. he presses your boobs together and you unzip his jeans and pull his cock out, spitting in the palm of your hand and forming a tight fist around it, jerking it off with lazy strokes. all while he’s preoccupied with worshipping every single inch of your boobs, now glossy and coated in his saliva— a well deserved gift after being gone for nearly three weeks on yet another mission.
A few miles away from the castle is a beautiful clearing that lives in the thicket of trees. Lush grass tickles your legs as you walk through, bees buzzing around as they flitter from flower to flower in hopes of gathering more pollen. The setting sun casts golden yellow light on your skin as you giggle and twirl, arms spread wide as you welcome the fluttering breeze. The sweet scent of flowers greet your nose as you turn to look at your lover.
Alucard hardly noticed your stare. He was too busy admiring the way the sun made you glow, illuminating the beauty you seemed to have effortlessly. He couldn't seem to get enough of you. The slope of your nose, the curve of your lips. The sun made sure to show off your best features with a warmth that made him want to melt into you—if only just to being himself closer to you.
You held out a hand, an unheard music playing in your head as you danced around playfully. "Join me, Alucard!" You beckoned him closer, a smile curling your lips in that sweet way that never failed to make him fall deeper in love with you.
Stepping forward, he linked your hands together and bowed, tilting his head up to look at you through pale lashes. "Might I have this dance with you?"
It was so cheesy—almost cliché—the way you felt warmth crawl into your cheeks at his words; he was ever the gentleman around you. Unable to keep from teasing him, you shrugged a shoulder and glanced away coyly, fighting a grin. "I suppose. You asked nicely enough."
He took that as permission enough to gather you in his arms, spinning you around in a rhythm that only you two knew. Alucard stared, eyes watching the way you dipped your head back. Sunlight shone over your face delicately, washing over the slope of your features as you spun and twirled in the safety of his arms. You looked radiant.
If only he knew though, the way your heart wanted to race out of your chest at his proximity. No matter how long you two were together, you could hardly believe he chose you out of everyone. You were still shy around him sometimes, your breath stuttering in your lungs whenever you caught him staring. Even now, his eyes were locked on you with an intensity you weren't used to. A softness lived in his gaze as his eyes ran up and down your body.
You watched how he took you in. He always looked at you like it would be the last time he ever got to catch a glance at you. You didn't think you would ever get used to it. His hands slid down to hold your hips as he tugged you closer. His warmth bled into you as he leaned down to nuzzle his noze against your cheek. Tipping your head, you returned the gesture with a shy smile.
Birds chirped their musical melodies as the two of you swayed beneath the golden sky. Nothing compared to this shared moment in time—the bliss of the two of you in each other's arms, dancing to a rhythm that only you two would ever know.
I think I’m literally never gonna be sick of this masterpiece. I think watching it on a loop for eight hours could fix me. Dancing’s what clears my soul. Dancing’s what makes me whole.
I just love that this very video is an accumulation of thousands of years worth of art made by people who have never met each other. The concept of this video was so completely unfathomable to every single artist who made the sculptures and yet they’ve all put something toward the creation of it.
Notes: had this in drafts for months and I've hated it but figured id still post. finally oops. badly proofread so probs lots of errors:/ around 6.8k words sorry
Warnings: reader and leon get a little freaky but it backfires! vomit, mentions of gore and death, concussion, panic and some hurt/comfort
divider by @/kodaswrld
Irritation and disappointment surged through your veins, desperately but failing horribly at trying to keep your anger beneath the surface. You felt like a balloon ready to pop.
If you were paying attention, you would’ve felt bad for brushing off Leon, ignoring the way he touched you—hands roaming over your arms, your fingers, the line of your back— helplessly trying to get you to return the gesture. The quiet grumbles and whines that fell from his lips went in one ear and out the other, too focused on the multitude of things happening in front of you.
You’d already rolled your eyes at Jack's expression when he saw how freely you let Leon touch you, a look that screamed of ‘you’re really letting him touch you like that?’ mixed with some sort of envy. You couldn’t find the energy to care anymore, lazily answering with a murmured, “body heat thing.”
The tension between you and Jack grew as the clock ticked. Whatever energy that had shifted, solely on his part, had been spurring him to make quick one off handed comments here and there. You just about had it with the way he talked about Leon, almost regretting your decision to pair up. Not having any idea why this random stranger felt so entitled to you, you rapidly shut down any weird advances he made, reinforced by Leon’s deep rumbling.
In addition to his snarky comments, the universe was showing just how much it truly loved you. Standing in the middle of the largest lab you’d ever seen, dead zombie guts splayed on the floor, chairs strewn and knocked over, Leon’s hands still obsessively touching you, and now Jack's grating voice in your ear, you wanted to scream. There was no cure.
Well, if there was- it wasn’t here. You’d managed to log onto the computer, the password conveniently being written on a sticky note that was stuck to the top frame. If it was right, the cure- or the basis for the cure- should’ve been in the small metal fridge. It wasn’t.
You shined the flashlight everywhere, eyes scanning through all the notes, searching the lab for any other documents, hints, ideas, throwing book after book at the ground when you found nothing. Your heart was pounding, ears ringing, jaw clenched. You felt like for the first time since everything, you were actually losing it.
“What’s your issue? It wouldn’t have fixed your dog,” Jack spat, almost as if he was amused watching you hastily search through documents and fail, while he stood there uselessly. Your eye twitched, a small sarcastic smile forming on your face.
You exhaled, carefully choosing the words you wanted to sourly spit back. “Do you think I’m fucking dumb, Jack?” At the aggressive edge of your tone, Leon’s hands finally stilled, settling on keeping one splayed on the curve of your waist. He wasn’t growling, but his head had turned directly towards Jack, white gaze pointedly staring. Observing. Waiting. Like if you decided to say the word, Leon wouldn’t hesitate. Like a good guard dog.
The faux pleasing tone came next. “I think you’d agree that a cure would be in your best interest too, right, Jack? Or do you want to live the rest of your life with zombies? I don’t think you’d have much time left, honestly, walking around with a fucking pipe,” you bitterly replied, unclenching your hands that had subconsciously formed into fists.
Jack scoffed, arms crossing over his chest before he smirked, ignoring Leon’s burning look. “What’s got you so stressed, baby? Puppy can’t please you?”
Leon’s fingers curled into your waist, but instead of wincing away, you grounded yourself in the feeling letting it anchor you. Focus on his touch, focus on his touch.
He didn’t growl, didn’t make a noise, just stared directly at Jack. Leon was always freezing cold to the touch. Now it felt like there was a heat radiating off of him, like a burning anger that was flaring up inside, hand hot on your skin. You could feel the pounding of your pulse throb in your head, the silence thick in the room as you let his words hang.
Jack’s smugness slowly drained from him, awkwardness replacing his prior bold composure as he became clearly uncomfortable by your lack of response. His fingers rhythmically tapped against his arm, eyes now looking around the room instead of just at you.
Usually you weren’t so rash, so petty, but the combination of a random man who clearly wanted something from you mixed with no fucking hope of a cure mixed with this entire zombie apocalypse had you at your wits end. Plus, the fact that the man you were in love with- or falling in love with— was now a loving zombie. Fuck. Everything felt hopeless.
You had been so kind, wanting the best for the three of you, wanting- no hoping- that Jack successfully found what he was looking for so you could feel some semblance of optimism. So that you could feel like maybe good things could come out of something horrible. You thought of Leon.
With a quiet but long breath, you ultimately chose to ignore Jack's attempt at riling you up, instead opting to turn yourself around in Leon’s arms, hand still planted firmly on your waist. Leon had never seen you like this, only having been exposed to your sweet, concerned behavior, but he could tell by the look on your face, the edge to your tone, that something was wrong.
And it was all because of Jack. That he knew.
Slithering your hands around Leon’s toned waist, you planted your chin on his chest looking directly up at him, eyes wide and lips jutted in the smallest of pouts.
Finally, Leon tore his gaze from Jack, white irises now focused solely on you. Your movement was bold, for you at least, but you tried to fight back the blush that warmed your face, tried to keep your behavior confident.
Jack's comment bothered you more than you revealed, baffled at the idea that Jack almost thought Leon was some sort of competition. There was never a competition, and there would never be one.
Leon, zombie or not, would win time and time again. He could’ve been an actual zombie that ripped away at you, and you still would’ve picked him over that.
But the fact still remained. Jack himself, had the audacity to believe he was in some sort of contest that he had made up in his own head, against Leon. You wanted to scoff at the thought.
Leon’s free hand raised to cup your cheek, fingers delicately dancing across your skin that had recently been decorated with scratches and dust. He looked at you like you were everything. Your hands rubbed at his back, feeling the hardness beneath his uniform.
He leaned down, gifting you a slight nose kiss that made your eyes automatically crinkle and lips curve upward, before moving on towards your neck. Truthfully you had been almost mortified the first time he licked you, blushing profusely like a school girl getting her first kiss, thinking of how you’d explain that to Jack if he saw. Now, you wanted him to see. Wanted to get it through his thick skull that there was no place for him here.
You felt prideful that Leon seemed to be able to read your mind, knew exactly what you meant. Or maybe if he didn’t, that on his own volition he too wanted to show Jack where his place was. You didn’t have to say or ask for anything, and it made your heart skip a beat. He was quiet, silent in his victory. Jack already knew where he stood and hated it.
At the first contact of his tongue against your neck, you couldn’t hold back the sigh that released from you. Your eyes fluttered shut letting Leon do as he pleased, hand still cupping your cheek as you leaned into his warmth. Unlike last time, which felt rushed and eager, Leon took his time, tongue gently lapping at your pulse.
Your breathing picked up, still quiet yet heavier, too focused on his breath hot on your neck. He wasn’t planting kisses, but you could feel his lips touch the spots he licked, tenderly mouthing along the side of your neck. He moved lower, trailing his tongue further, tonguing your flushed skin. The hand that cupped your cheek dropped as he switched hands, gently tugging at your hair to expose the untouched side of your neck.
Little pants escaped you, eyes glazed over and set on Leon. He leaned back in, but harsher this time. You could hear the wetness of his tongue, the saliva that dripped from his mouth as he made a mess, the vulgar noise sending heat to your face.
Your eyes snapped open remembering that there was an unwanted guest in the room. You hadn’t thought that the both of you would’ve gotten so… intense. Leon quietly whined as you gently pushed him back just enough so that you could turn around to face Jack again.
He stood, eyes wide and mouth open like a trout. Frozen in place, eyes locked in on the both of you like a car accident he couldn’t look away from. You didn’t tell Leon to stop when you felt his lips continue their work on your neck from behind, fingers finding their rightful place on your waist.
A small fake laugh escaped from your lips, eyes jokingly rolling and smile decorating your face as you did your best to put on a put together friendly voice. You gently shook your head. “Body heat thing, ammirite?”
It was comical in a sense how rattled Jack looked, absolutely blind sided from the act you just pulled. You had to bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing right in his face.
Leon pulled back, a string of saliva following and stretching from his slightly parted jaw to the side of your neck. He didn’t pay attention to Jack, eyes narrowed in on the little wet patches that decorated your skin. Jack remained silent, but the look on his face screamed everything.
“So, there’s no cure or anything I guess. I’m not sure what you’re planning but I think we’re ready to get out of here and split,” you spoke, breaking the silence first. It was funny how fast your anger seemed to disappear after the little stunt.
But clearly, it only heightened jacks. He stood, silent. Watching. Movements small but not unnoticed by you.
His grip on the pipe tightened and for a split second you thought he might swing. He knew you were out of bullets now. You tensed, trying to calculate just how fast you might be able to dodge him, trying to plan what you could do to take him down.
You quietly sighed in relief when you heard him huff in fake amusement, figuring he’d take the verbal way out. Leon wouldn’t let you get hurt, but there was no doubt that Jack would be able to get a handful of hits in, and you’d be damned if Leon was the only one to receive them.
A small ‘tch’ noise sounded from the man, and you could hear the heaviness of his breath growing louder and louder. Your intention was to make it clear that Jack didn’t even come as a second thought to you, motive fueled by what you thought was some twisted idea of ownership that he had developed for you in the span of your short time together. It still seemed beyond incomprehensible that a random stranger could feel angry at your display of affection, even if it was for the purpose of eliciting a reaction.
A reaction he had no reason to rightfully feel.
“You know,” and he scoffed your name like he was hurling an insult at you. “I saved your life. Your little zombie boyfriend was nowhere to be found when you had your little freak out in that morgue room back there. I could’ve stood there, watched them eat away at you- let you die.”
You slightly tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to understand the point of what he was saying. Leon had wandered off, he hadn't led you into that room that you got yourself into and ditched you. There was no blame to hold over him.
“I think you’d find it wise to show me some respect. Next time I just might let you get bit- if your boyfriend doesn’t do it first.” He took a large step forward.
A low growl rumbled from right behind you, Leon’s fingers curling into you.
With your patience wearing thin all over again, your jaw slightly gaped open as you internally cursed at how dramatic the man was. A fucking zombie apocalypse and there’s drama about this? You rolled your eyes, trying to gather yourself before you lost it and said something stupid.
You’re out of bullets.
Leon’s possessive and defensive growls were background noise, your hand coming to rub at your forehead and pinch the bridge of your nose as you processed a response. This was all so absurd.
“Alright Jack, I think we’ve done enough together now. There’s no cure for anything here, so there’s no point for me to keep exploring this shit hole. Thanks for your help, good luck now,” you deadpanned, exhaling and prying Leon’s fingers from your waist to move on.
The lab was huge, but you were positive you’d torn through every shred of paper, any file you could get your hands on. The computer was a lost cause in and of itself. You needed to get the fuck out of here. There was no time for this petty bullshit and you’d already entertained it enough, already participated.
“Seriously?? You’re going to just walk off with him again? There’s no cure- just leave him!” Jack sneered, tone sharp and full of anger. He threw his free hand up, gesturing to Leon like he was some sort of freak show. Well.
“Okay Jack, we’re just gonna go now, alright?” You spoke slow and calmly now, voice almost sweet but entirely apprehensive. As each second passed his behavior grew more and more aggressive. This was not someone you wanted to argue with anymore.
Slowly you stepped back, light and gentle as if you didn’t want him to notice. You didn’t. Your hand closed around Leon’s taking him with you. He silently growled, but let you move him.
The man threw his head back and laughed, a big belly hearty noise that echoed off the labs walls and surrounded you. You froze, heart racing not from anger and frustration this time, but from a newfound fear. You thought zombies would be your biggest issue, but you weren’t sure if that was true anymore.
Your grip on Leon tightened, unsure of what to do as you frantically tried to think of how to get out of this. Jack was a coordinated living man who could react, who could gauge things, not a zombie that only wanted to eat your guts. He’d be harder to dodge, especially if he started swinging.
Leon stared at Jack, his feet planted in place right next to you. You didn’t know what he was thinking this time, mind too panicked on how you’d possibly get out of this. Neither of you could do much if you got smashed in the head.
You didn’t say anything, chest rising and falling, palms starting to become damp. You thought your hands were begging to shake. You waited for what felt like forever, for jack to show his cards first.
He rested a hand on his stomach, dramatically sighing as if he was recovering from a hard laugh with an old friend. “God, this is just perfect for you isn’t it? I fell for your trap right? Make me jealous, lead me on… and then you pull that stunt?”
You had to hide the look on your face, had to stop your jaw from hitting the floor. Your breath hitched, eyes widening and for once, you felt relieved that there was no electricity to reveal just how taken aback you were. This had to be some sort of sick joke. You didn’t dare move, silently begging Leon to do the same.
There was no movement, no shift of your hand, no squeeze in Leons. you didn’t dare move an inch, horrified that Jack would be set off. You were unable to wrap your mind around his words.
“Hm? Nothing to say? Because you know I’m right?” He pushed, taking another step forward, the pipe that hung in his hand begged for your attention but you didn’t dare risk moving your eyes from him.
The room was sizable, Jack needing to cross at least 20 feet before being in proximity of the both of you and still, he felt too close.
You didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, body frozen and eyes unwavering as you stared at him, words so caught up in your throat you couldn’t find it in you to respond. Maybe it was because you were too naive, too hopeful, but you hadn’t been prepared for Jack to become a threat.
“Jack,” you tried, voice breathless and unsteady. The air in the lab had grown too thick, too sticky almost, and the way it prickled at your skin made your stomach sick, beads of sweat forming at the nape of your neck and sides of your brow. You became hyper aware of the energy in the room, the faint buzzing of the static in the too still air, Jack's heavy breaths, Leon’s complete stillness that if you weren’t holding his hand, you wouldn’t have even known he was there.
He didn’t respond, muscles flickering in his jaw from where he was visibly clenching his molars, mouth set in an ugly snarl as if you’d truly done something so offensive and vile.
“Jack. We should go,” you spoke and it took everything in you to keep your words calm and firm, putting on a facade that maybe- if you ignored how crazy he was acting, he might relax and listen. A small huff of air left him as he kissed his teeth, an exaggerated smile growing on his face. He nodded his head to himself and your grip on Leon tightened, nails more likely than not digging into his calloused palms as you prepared to yank him back with you.
“Come here,” and your name rolled of his tongue low and gravelly, his eyes glued to yours. You would’ve scoffed if it weren’t for how dire the situation was, the thought of him thinking he had the ability to call you over towards him like a dog was extremely laughable. Just not now.
You stayed put, feet glued to the floor and hand still clutching Leon’s. He hadn’t moved either, didn’t even go as far as tilt his head at Jack or flex his fingers in yours. No growling, no grumbling, just silence.
With a long and loud sigh like he was being forced to do something against his will, something he didn’t want to do, he bolted.
“Jack, no!” You screamed, eyes wide and full of panic as you realized he was genuinely about to take everything way too far. You should’ve known better than to doubt a psycho.
In the blink of an eye, Jack was rapidly crossing the room, veins bulging in his neck and forehead as his hands that were latched around the metal pipe raised it high, clear with one intent.
Your heart pounded, brain not fully processing and hitting on all cylinders as you watched his movement, the anger on his face, the whiteness of his knuckles. Everything was moving too fast now, a complete 180 from the stillness that suffocated the air just a minute ago, but now it felt as if you could feel everything, every heightened emotion, every thought, every synapse that fired off in your brain, but as his pipe raised higher in the air, it felt like it was too late for you to act.
“Oomph!”
Your body flew to the side, grunting on impact as you hit the ground, or well, as you landed in a set of arms, right at the exact moment as a loud thwip of the air sounded from above you. Right where you had been standing.
Leon, who had thrown himself into you just as Jack took a swing, hit the floor with barely a grunt, taking the fall as his thick forearms wrapped tightly around your torso, a hand protectively cupping the back of your head.
As quick as Leon was there to shield you, he was just as quick to help you stand, gentle yet hurried as he silently urged you behind him, hands rapidly running over your cheeks and arms before he turned to face Jack.
Leon was silent, white irises unshakable as they stuck to Jack, an arm behind him to make sure you were actually behind him. Everything was moving too fast now. Your chest heaved. Leon stood tall, but guarded.
Jack snickered, almost pleased as if Leon reacted exactly as he was supposed to, but you could see the anger seep under his skin, frustration revealing itself whether he expected his movements or not. It wasn’t what he wanted.
You stayed put behind Leon.
“Dumb zombie,” he spat, and took his time to lift the pipe, thinking Leon would wait for the swing to react. As soon as he raised the pipe, Leon launched himself from where he stood, arm wrapping around jacks torso and the other hand going for his wrist that held the pipe.
Gasping you ran forward, unsure of what to do but not wanting to intervene and make matters worse or harder for Leon.
Jack wasn’t particularly tall or strong or good looking, just your plain and average joe, and even if he was, you didn’t think he would hold up much fight against Leon.
It was the strangest thing, honestly, the way Leon could be so lethargic, so easy to lead or pull and just overall a little puppy, but you had seen it before in him, seen it in other zombies.
The unexplainable drive and hunger that absolutely consumes and takes over them. How once they finally dig their hands into what they want, nothing can stop them. Pure power and strength.
And while the thought usually flustered you, you were finally seeing Leon's strength come into play against a human, the horrifying fact that sent a chill down your spine. You wouldn't stand a chance against Leon. Not in the slightest.
It was the way other zombies got when they were about to dig into their next meal, and it was the way Leon got when a threat revealed itself to you. He didn’t bare his teeth at Jack, didn’t growl. Just pinned him down as if it was a mere chore.
Jack let out several grunts as he struggled and squirmed beneath Leon, hands pushing at his chest and trying to get out from under him. Leon fought back almost coolly, like Jack had been his easiest opponent yet. One hand pinned his wrist that held the pipe, fingers digging into it so harshly that he dropped it with a loud clang. His other hand maneuvered to wrap around his neck.
He didn’t try to kill him. Yet. He waited for you to say the word.
“Tell him to get the fuck off me, you bitch!” Jack spat and you would’ve laughed at how pathetic he sounded, how red in the face he got from Leon’s increasingly tighter grip.
You sped forward, kicking the pipe away from his reach.
“Are you gonna be a good puppy Jack? Or does Leon need to rip your throat out to teach you a lesson?” You seethed, anger finally seeping into you.
“Fuck- fuck you!” He choked out and you reveled in the sight as he let out noises of panic as Leon began to lean in, mouth inching closer towards his neck. “Wait- wait, stop!”
Leon’s gaze fluttered to yours for just a moment to seek your approval, but you shook your head. Leon paused.
Gaze narrowing on the sight of him squirming and panicking, you forced yourself to exhale to slow the thrumming of your pulse and the pounding in your head, to try and still the moment and make a rational decision. You didn’t want to kill him, didn’t want to hurt anybody at all. All you wanted was to get out of this place, take Leon home with you and crawl under the covers and mourn what used to be, grieve the life you might’ve had with Leon if he was still human.
The feeling of sharp stinging prickled at your eyes and a burning sensation ran up and down your throat, adrenaline a fleeting impression as Leon held Jack down, forcing everyone to still while you processed what he had just done. You held back your tears, not because some stranger betrayed you, but because you were so beyond fed up with every single thing, so beyond defeated that there was no give in anything you tried to do, and the one chance at finding someone who might have, or could have, had the same goals as you, turned on you for not showing him any affection? Want? Lust?
Leons fingers curled into jacks flesh, a bruising and unrelenting grip that was meant to hurt, meant to dig and make him value that pain over the other choice of getting the contents of his neck mauled out. Leon waited patiently, white irises now flickering between Jacks and yours, but you could see the way they lingered on you, the first sign of anger he showed as he gave the smallest of snarls. He was almost calculative, observing the signs of panic and distress in your body like he knew exactly what you were thinking and feeling. You thought he might make the decision himself.
“You were trying to hurt me, Jack.” you hated the way your voice cracked at the end, hurt and realization tasting bitter on your tongue as you let reality sink into once more. A fucking zombie apocalypse and then this? He would’ve killed you had he hit you hard enough. Would he have made sure you were dead?
He sputtered babbling words and sentences that didn’t quite make sense, hissing as Leon’s fingers pressed harder and a small rumbling began, trying to find anything that would suffice as an excuse to justify hitting you with a metal pipe that would leave you begging for death if hit hard enough in the wrong spot.
“I won’t, I-I I’m sorry, I wouldn’t- just get him off, p-please!”
Clenching your jaw, you ran your tongue over the back of your teeth as you contemplated your decision. You knew you weren’t going to have Leon gut him, so it left only one option. You sighed reluctantly, nodding your head, unable to find the words to grant his satisfaction.
Leon looked disappointed, frustrated almost at letting such a threat walk free, and more importantly, free around you. The deep grumbling in his chest revealed his unhappiness in the choice, not that he tried to hide it.
Jack exhaled in relief, throwing his head back against the dirtied rotten floor, wincing and moving to rub at the spots where Leon had gripped, splotches of dark red already beginning to form.
Leon stood, more stable and steady than ever as he stared Jack down, predicting his next movements. Head tilted and eyes sharp, he only seemed to look more murderous and threatening, and god were you glad he was on your side.
With heavy breaths, Jack finally made the attempt to stand, shakily taking a few steps back from Leon and unintentionally closer towards you, sneakers squeaking.
But he didn’t look apologetic, just angry that his plan fell through.
His nose crinkled and his breaths picked up, each heavier than the last like he was forcing each huff of air through his nostrils to come out like a bull ready to charge. He stared at Leon just as fiercely, and without a word he spun, quickly catapulting himself directly at you.
Gasping, your eyes widened and you rapidly brought your arms up to shove him back, but the force was too strong, hitting you like a defensive lineman and you had the ball. The hit sent the both of you flying, and with no one to intercept your fall and take the hit, you slammed fast and hard on the tiled floor, pain shooting through your back, and brain rattling in your skull.
You groaned, vision swarming with double and inklings of black dancing in your sight as your hands twitched. Too slow, you were too slow to move, to process, to defend yourself.
You couldn’t even react other than the little pathetic movements of your jaw that opened and shut, not even reacting when the body above you was immediately thrown off and away with far more impact than you had been hit with.
You weren’t sure how long you laid there, seconds feeling like minutes feeling like hours, no concept of time as muted growls and yells blurred into background noise, vision unclear as you zoned out. Wetness pooled at the nape of your neck.
Focus, you’re fine, you’re okay.
But the dull ache that stemmed from the back of your head slowly began to wrap around your entire skull. There were choked noises, gurgled screams and the sound of flesh tearing, of flesh being forcibly ripped apart, clashing of teeth and bone and guttural seething. None of it registered.
A pit formed in your stomach, then the room spun, and you were turning, no, you were rolling your body over as fast as you could force it, painfully puking up your guts. Tears blurred your sight from the intensity, fingers attempting to find purchase in the broken tiles.
Then there were hands on you- but the confusion and panic and pain had all blurred into one. You were too unfocused on what it was, who it was. All you could think about was the thrumming of your own pulse pounding right behind your eyes. You hurled again, lack of food causing you to spit up whatever liquid your body could muster- ah fuck, and the granola bar Leon had found you.
Definitely concussed.
You groaned, slowly and unsteadily trying to force your body onto all fours.
Move move move. You’re not safe here, not safe.
But the hands again, shaky but more firm. They traced down your spine, fingers dancing lightly against your sides, small silent breaths and whimpers panting near you. The figure moved closer and around you to directly position itself in front of you, kneeling.
You lost the strength to keep your head up, a string of saliva connecting from your mouth to the puddle of your bile on the floor and you prayed your limbs didn’t give out so that you wouldn’t have to fall face first in your own vomit.
“F-fuck,” you mumbled, slightly slurred as your lips tingled, struggling to fully move and take shape. You blinked, then blinked again harder to try and rid all stars of your vision, to make the doubling of the entire room fade.
Warm wet hands found your cheeks, touch so light you weren’t sure if they were actually on you until your chin was being gently lifted up. A sigh of relief escaped you, pressure of having to support it yourself, not even, of having it dangle, being lifted off of you.
Leon. You’re Leon in all of his horrifying glory.
He was covered, drenched, in blood. It stuck in his hair, coated the bottom half of his face, his uniform, his hands. The sheer amount dripped from his chin, and if your eyes could focus, you would have noticed the tiny chunks that decorated him too. You lazily grinned, not at the sight of blood, but at him.
“L-Leon…” you were weakened beyond belief, an injury and struggle that couldn't just be walked off this time.
The position on all fours was unhelpful, an entire pain radiating throughout your entire back with each labored breath and suddenly the floor was much much closer than before, arms losing their ability to hold you up right.
Leon whimpered, white irises scanning your face, frantically darting from your head to your lips to your body to him.
He couldn’t speak and your thoughts were so jumbled up you weren’t even quite sure what happened, but still, part of you knew, could feel the panic and worry that Leon was radiating. His hands danced around your face and your elbows were bending more and more, legs were slipping from their position and Leon closed in on you, nose rubbing yours, eye lashes tickling your skin as if it might help you, as if it might cure you.
He pulled away, exhaling in frustration and groaning loudly as he shook his head side to side. You collapsed, cheek not finding cold tile but instead muscular thighs. Black Splotches danced all around the air, blinking only to find more adorning your vision, but fuck were you so tired. a tempting drag that wanted to lull you to sleep and it felt so good to give in, to instead of blink and force them open to just give in.
A whine sounded above you, hands raked through your hair. A part of you felt bad causing Leon to worry, but his hands just felt so good, so comforting. You’d rest your eyes just for a moment. Recoup your thoughts. Just for a minute.
When you woke, you were in a different room. The wall in front of you spun and you groaned, raising your blood splattered hands to dig your palms into your eye sockets. Your head was killing you.
A noise sounded behind you, a pathetic little whine mixed with a groan and growl all in one that had you shifting and realizing the position you were in. Leon laid behind you propped against a wall, your body tucked and nestled gently in between his legs, your back comfortably resting against his chest. One strong arm was wrapped around your torso, hand splayed wide to keep you close while the other gently patted and played with strands of your hair, head perfectly positioned under his chin.
“Leon,” the words were less than a whisper, throat far too dry it felt like sandpaper, but it was enough. Enough for Leon to hear and whimper again, for him to clutch you tighter towards him and press his cheek to the top of your head as if you were a precious stuffed animal.
“I’m okay baby, I’m okay.” The statement was somewhat a lie, but the concussion wasn’t deadly, more so an added annoyance to the hell you were going through, but at this rate it seemed the universe was strongly against you. Leon groaned again, his tone sounding every bit of argumentative and final, not needing words to absolutely tell you that no you were not okay.
He nuzzled into you, arms constricting tighter and tighter but not painful. You let yourself be squished, the feeling of being held so desperately a foreign experience. But then his hand left you, momentarily, but too long for your liking.
The two of you needed to move, but for the first time, you wanted to indulge yourself in a longer period of rest trapped in the embrace of something that made your heart flutter inside of its ribcage.
You slowly turned, and like the usual surprise that would course through you when Leon would surprise you over and over again, you relished in it now more than ever, grin automatically growing on your features and eyes welling with tears.
Another granola bar and a sealed bottle of water. How the fuck did Leon find that??
You sniffled, overwhelmed with the admiration you held for Leon, shifting and turning in his hold so that your cheek rested against his chest, arms snaking around his small waist to cling to him. You let the tears fall, hiding your face into his chest, completely exhausted and completely smitten.
“T-thank you, Leon,” you cried and his fingers curled, grasping the fabric of your clothes tightly.
Minutes passed until Leon released a hand, being the ever so responsible zombie to motion towards the water and granola bar- the latter less appetizing given your earlier sickness. you sat up, chugging the liquid an almost one entire go.
Your gaze focused on Leon, face and clothes smeared with blood, but you could tell he tried- tried so hard to wipe at the gore that had stained his face and neck. the gore from jack.
If Leon could blush like a puppy being scolded, he would have, features contorting into what could only be described as shame and disappointment. his white eyes fluttered, turning his head to stare at the ground to shield how monstrous he looked. He was exactly that. A monster, a zombie. He killed someone and he didn't care. enjoyed it if anything, and if he had the ability to do so, he would have done it earlier.
A faint rumbling vibrated in his chest. He failed to protect you once. It wasn't supposed to happen again.
instead it was worse.
watching your body be pummeled by a man twice your size, your frail body slamming into the tiled floor with such force that it had your body locking up as if it was momentarily glitching, unable to process the devastating hit.
he was ashamed, fearful. He waited for you to show it. to scold him and panic and run to leave him. maybe you'd try to kill him. realize he was no different from any other zombie at all and needed to be put down.
you winced, positioning yourself to sit back on your thighs in between his broad legs as your eyes scanned his face, read the look in his eyes that caused a mixture of gratefulness and guilt to pool in the bottom of your stomach. He had saved you. saved you again.
"Leon, sweetheart," you cooed, slowly resting your palms against his now chilled cheeks, fingers brushing away the bloody strands of hair that laid against his forehead. "you saved me. again."
and like clockwork, like every time you tried to praise your devoted zombie boy, he mumbled in protest. in disagreement. you never should have been hit in the first place, never been hurt.
you wondered if he had felt scared, but thought was dismissed as soon as it formed. a stupid question. you had seen it in his eyes, in his actions, the way his hands had hovered and ran over your body in some sort of attempt to soothe both you and him. with no real solution, with nothing he could actually do, Leon was helpless.
with the way he held you while you were unconscious, you knew he wouldn't have left you alone. would have held you while you died. would he have bit you? turned you? you prayed if he did, you'd become like him. succumbing to an eternity of death with him by your side didn't seem so bad.
Shaky thumbs swiped against his cheek, under his lash line, and gently you gripped his chin to face you. You leaned in, lips pressing a soft kiss to a bloodless spot on his forehead.
"you saved me, Leon. I'm sorry for making you do that." and suddenly his hands were mirroring yours, cupping your cheeks and frantically shifting to rub his nose against yours again.
it was twisted, basking in this moment after what had happened, but you hadn't decided for things to go this way. jack did.
a small grin, your cheeks warmed. hands found his wrists to lightly back him away. you scanned the hallway you were in, eyes widening and jaw going completely slack when it clicked. Leon had found the exit, had dragged or carried you all this way.
"Holy shit leon. You did it- you found it!" you were standing before you could think, standing far too fast for the trauma your body had just been forced through and you winced, hands gripping your head and squeezing your eyes shut.
but Leon was there. Leon was always there. Already up, hands gripping your waist to steady you. You didn't know what he could feel, what he could remember. but Leon looked at you like you were everything. you didn't need words to know that.
With a shaky exhale, your hands found his, interlocking your fingers and smiling like he had hung the moon. the two of you would escape. go back to your apartment and wait whatever the fuck the two of you needed to wait out. you would figure it out.
summary: leon would not describe himself as good or kind, and he's cut open and bleeding at your feet, but you know he can be gentle | leon kennedy x f!reader
word count: 6.2k
warnings: a sickening amount of yearning, leon taking care of you, seriously this guy is down bad, leon being self deprecating, alternating povs, acts of service as a love language, mentions of injuries, sherry birkin appearance /// 18+ MDNI, SMUT!!!, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), creampie by technicality, trust me there's plot, this is LOVE MAKING at its core
notes: re9 gave me the leon bug BAD. personally, I wrote this with DI!leon in mind but re9!leon also works here bc that old man's still got it | ao3
“That was stupid,” Leon says, hauling you into him. The words aren’t unkind, but they’re not gentle either. You stumble against him.
“Have I been known to be anything else?” you ask. He grunts. “Besides, I’ve got you to take care of me,”
He doesn’t respond. He finds a quiet spot, a reclusive corner where he can assess the damage. There’s a wicked gash along your side, cutting from near your navel up towards your ribs. It makes your vision tunnel when you finally lay eyes on it. You hadn’t known how bad it was. His fingertips are gentle around the surrounding skin.
“You’re lucky evac is two minutes out,” he says. His voice is hushed, like he’s telling you a secret. Maybe he is.
“Yeah?” you ask, a breathy noise that you’re not certain you could recreate. The sound is deep, rooted in desperation and blood loss. Leon’s eyes flick up at you from where he’s crouched, icy gaze cutting through his lashes. He looks pretty like this, bent low in front of you, looking at you with something you can’t place. It makes you shiver.
“You’re losing blood,” he says. You nod.
“Gonna give me yours?” you tease. Your vision tunnels a bit, and you slump forward. Leon catches you, pulling you flush against him. He smells like sweat and cedar and smoke, something that nearly lulls you into sleep. You hear a distant rumble as the building continues to crumble.
He helps you out of the derelict building. You’re barely even walking, just sort of stumbling beside him as he carries most of your weight, and you feel strangely guilty for making him do all the work. The helicopter’s blades never slow as it touches the ground. Leon helps you into your seat, guiding you gently. He’s soft as he slides the headphones over your ears, even going as far as to smooth a piece of hair out of your eyes. You can hardly keep them open.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs. It feels like a promise. “Can’t have you dying on me, now,”
“That would ruin your whole week,” you say, trying to smile. It’s a weak attempt at a joke, and he knows it. You can see tension make its home under Leon’s skin. It rears its head with every pull of muscle, every furrowed brow.
“We’ll be home soon,” he says. You nod. You’re not sure if he’s reassuring you or himself.
When you do finally land, you’re pulled away from him for medical attention. You fight as best as you can, attempting to sit in on the briefing, but Leon levels you with a gaze you’ve never seen him wear, and you accept defeat. There’s two medics standing idly in the room, and they turn to see you hobble in, eyes widening.
“What the hell happened?” one of them asks. You shrug, sitting down on the bed.
“Caught something sharp,” you say. They lift your shirt, which is in ribbons. A shock of pain rips through you, and you stifle a groan.
They work quickly, giving you a tetanus shot. You wince as the needle sinks beneath your skin. The pain only adds to the rest of it searing through your muscles. Now that you’re sitting, adrenaline having dissipated, everything hurts. The gash oozes blood, which makes you feel dizzy. Your back hurts, your legs hurt, your side hurts. Every time they touch you, you suck in a breath.
Finally, you’re stitched up. They tell you to take it easy for a week, shove pain meds into your hands, and send you out the door. Leon leans against the opposite wall, watching his boots. He looks tired, run down. He’s covered in dirt. Black streaks smear across his cheeks, his biceps. His hair falls like a golden frame over his eyes. You sigh.
He looks up then, watching you. He scans over your body, checking for any lingering injuries the medics managed to miss. You offer him a weak smile.
“No hospital?” he asks, pushing off the wall to meet you where you stand. His steps are heavy, tired. You shake your head. “Good. Let’s get you home,”
You follow him out of the building. It’s winding turns and desolate hallways until fresh air smacks you in the face. You take a deep breath, trying to let the residuals of the mission fall off of you. Leon’s car faces you, a beat up old Buick–he refuses to get anything newer–and it stares at you like it knows something you don’t. You fit easily into the passenger seat, like you were made for it. You lean back against the headrest. You feel suddenly exhausted, like a two ton weight rests in your chest. You just want to sleep. The drive to your apartment isn’t long, and you’re counting down the seconds until you’ll be able to slip into the shower and let the day wash down your back.
Leon helps you upstairs. You try to protest, tell him that the elevator isn’t going to exert you any more than the walk to the building itself, but he refuses to listen. He follows silently behind you until you reach your door. He’s like a shadow as you enter the apartment, still bathed in the darkness of night. You hate to do it, but you turn on the light, flooding the room and making you wince. Leon holds your arm to keep you steady as you toe off your shoes.
“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” you say, not looking at him. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been hurt,”
He doesn’t say anything for a long, pregnant moment. But then, “I would like it to be the last, preferably,”
You huff a weak laugh, something hoarse and weary. “You and me both, partner,”
He follows you from room to room, picking things up as you drop them. Your right arm is effectively useless because any movement on that side sends shockwaves of pain through your entire body. You sigh heavily, fighting back tears. Leon stands in the threshold of your bathroom, holding your bundle of clothes and hairbrush. He looks at you with something you can’t identify–not quite pity, but something adjacent. He looks so pretty, so collected, even in his dirty state. You clutch your side.
“I can take it from here,” you say, breathless. “I’ll see you in a week,”
Leon stares at you. His fingers fidget with the hem of your sleep shorts. He opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again. Then, “Do you want help?”
You blink at him. You hadn’t considered he’d be willing to help you. You hadn’t thought so far ahead as to know what you’d do to get out of your clothes.
With a breath, you say, “Yes, please,”
He nods wordlessly. Your clothes find their home as a heap on the sink counter. He pats the top of it once as if casting a spell to make them stay put. He turns to you then. He’s broad, forces you to dial in on him. His hands linger at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
You lift your left arm above your head, a silent encouragement to get him to touch you. His hands fall on you like a caress. Gently, he lifts your shirt up. His knuckles brush against your side, making your breathing hitch. He’s not watching you, fully focused on his task, but you can’t look away from him. He looks so focused, like one wrong move would paralyze you. He catches one end of the shirt in your armpit, pulling the other side out so you can slip your arm through. He helps ease your head through the collar, then pulls it off entirely via your other arm. He breathes in heavily through his nose at the expanse of skin he’s revealed. Then he takes a step back. You swallow thickly.
“I need…” you mumble, brain rotting inside your skull. “I can’t reach-”
“I got it,” he says. The words sound broken on his tongue.
You spin for him, presenting the clasp of your bra. You purse your lips when his warm hands make contact with the smooth skin on your back. He makes surprisingly quick work of it. Within seconds, you feel it loosening around your ribs, a small blessing. You breathe out something heady and heavy.
“I’ll be out there if you need anything,” Leon says. He leaves little room for argument by bustling out of the room as quickly as he can. You blink.
The shower water is hot on your skin, but it feels good. You can feel the tension slipping down your shoulders in rivulets. Somehow, you manage to wash yourself one handed, which you feel mildly proud of. The steam loosens you. It’s only when you step out of the water that you remember that you have to put a shirt on.
You struggle for what feels like hours. Every movement pulls on your stitches. You’re near tears when you finally call out for Leon.
“Yeah?” he asks, cracking the bathroom door. You sniffle.
“I can’t…” you say, taking a breath to recollect yourself. “I can’t get my shirt on,”
“I’ll help,” he says. His voice is so soft, so intimate. He enters quietly, staring at anything that isn’t you.
The shirt looks miniscule in his hands. Carefully, almost reverently, he eases the collar over your head. His gaze still lingers just past your shoulder. You frown. You slip your good arm through the sleeve.
Leon finally looks at you. You nod, letting him know it’s okay to put his hands on you. You see the turmoil in his eyes, the need for consent.
“You can touch me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He nods once.
He grips the hem of the shirt, pulling as far down as the fabric will let him. Then, softly, he helps guide your arm through the sleeve. His fingers brush against you again, just along the curve of your breast, but the touch is electric, crackling with something unsaid. The moment is so intimate, so personal, you could burst into tears. Then the shirt is fully on your body. You wonder if Leon can hear your heart hammering against your chest. If he can, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Thanks,” you say, breathless. He nods. “I can handle the rest,”
“You sure?” he asks. There’s no suggestion in his tone, and that almost makes it worse. You breathe heavily through your nose, nodding.
He stands there as you fumble with your hairbrush. Your lips are pursed as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You’re barely halfway through the tangled strands before he stops you.
“Let me help,” he says–no begs. You glance at his reflection. He looks as wrecked as you feel. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, gaze unblinking as he waits for you.
“Okay,” you say softly, voice hollow and breathy as you pass him the hairbrush.
He’s gentle as he works the brush through your hair. His gaze remains focused on the wet strands, but yours is on him. His brow furrows slightly, that bottom lip pulled snugly between his teeth as he pulls on a particularly tough tangle. His eyes look so blue in the yellowing light above the mirror. The care he takes with you is enough to make you sick. His hands are frustratingly warm as they bump against the back of your neck. He never once pulls or yanks, never scrapes the bristles against your skin, never gets frustrated. He works until it is done, unwaveringly, and you didn’t expect anything less. The moment is so soft, so delicate, you’re afraid that something might break when you pull away.
“I think I got it,” he says, soft as a whisper against you. You nod.
“Thank you,” you say. You stay idle for a moment, just watching him. He looks so unsure.
You think, in another lifetime, miles and miles away from here, that you could’ve loved him. He’s funny when he wants to be, charming in a boyish sort of way. You count on him, but he doesn’t let it get to him. He gives because he thinks it a privilege that you let him. You reach up to wipe away some of the dirt still smudged on his face. He stiffens beneath your fingertips, not prepared for such affectionate contact.
He swallows thickly. You remove your hand, and you see him relax just a fraction.
“Do you need any more help?” he asks in an almost broken way. You shake your head. “I’ll see you later, then?”
“Yeah,”
He ducks his chin at you, then shuffles out of the bathroom. You hear the front door open and click shut a moment later, leaving you alone in your apartment.
...
Leon is not sure that he would describe himself as kind or good. But on his drive home, as he thinks about your withered form presented to him in the dim light of your bathroom, looking up at him through your lashes like he was something holy, he starts to think that that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if he is kind or good because you kept looking at him like he was all you ever needed. He can still feel your skin against his fingers, sending shivers down his spine.
He’d frozen up. He knows that he probably looked ridiculous, like a flushed school boy who had just stumbled into the girl’s locker room by accident. Your skin had been so soft. The expanse of flesh he’d discovered beneath your tattered shirt lives in his brain as he shuffles into his apartment. The space is dark and empty. He has very few personal items, unlike you. His space looks abandoned, which he guesses it usually is. He really only uses this place to sleep and eat sometimes.
He crashes onto his couch, still unshowered and unclean. He just needs a moment, he tells himself. Just one moment, to collect the memories of you like precious items to set on his vacant shelves. The way you shivered against him when he brushed your side, the way you watched him, doe eyed, in the mirror as he brushed your hair, the humidity of the room clinging to you; they all go, framed and perfect, on shelves in his mind. He breathes out, something heavy and soft all at once.
He’s unfamiliar with this feeling. He doesn’t know how to embrace it, so he decides that he shouldn’t. He’s not sure he deserves something as sweet and gentle as you. You’re better than him, in almost every way. You don’t let the job wear you down, you take pride in what you do. You tease him. The mercy and compassion you give him are foreign in his brain. And he feels so selfish for accepting every last scrap. He eats up the way you look at him, the way you laugh at his weak attempts at jokes, the way you worry after him even with a ten inch gash on your side that very easily could’ve gutted you. He is gluttonous and greedy and selfish. You are consuming him, and he is letting you. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t let you plague him this way. He knows that it could all too soon be ripped away from him, but in this moment, in the dim light cast by the moon streaming through his curtains, he doesn’t care. A shudder rakes through his body, from head to toe.
It would be all too easy to blame you. He could curse you for whatever spell you’ve cast to make him stupid in this way. But he knows the fault is his and his alone. It’s his fault that he mistakes your casual compassion for anything more. It’s his fault that he devours whatever good comes his way, just to corrupt and blacken it. And he doesn’t want to do that to you. He doesn’t want to see where this will end, even if he has before and knows it as intimately as he knows every other aspect of death and decay.
He tips his head back against the couch. There’s a crack in his popcorn ceiling, cutting through the expanse of white like a vein.
He knows he’s cut open and bleeding at your feet. He’s wounded in a way that doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t want you to help him. Not because he doesn’t ache to feel your gentle hands smooth over his scarred flesh, working out the evil with every electrifying touch, but because he does, and that would make you the universe’s top priority.
He is cursed, a bad day after a worse one. And he knows that if he were to let you have him the way he wants, you’d become cursed too. Cursed with him and his aches and pains, his scars and bruises, his anger and resentment.
When he settles beneath the sheets that night, he dreams of you. He dreams of your soft skin against him, your laughter, your easy smiles. He dreams of the life he could have were it not for his exceedingly awful luck.
He could save you. He could prevent you from ever coming nearer. But that somehow feels like a worse, more torturous ending. And he is nothing if not selfish.
...
The next time you see Leon, it’s nearly a week later. The swelling on your side has gone down and most of the pain has subsided, but it’s still tense and unforgiving, especially so early in the morning. There’s little light coming through the curtains thanks to the steady stream of rain pelting the earth.
His hair is soggy, casting thick shadows over the high points of his face. There’s crystal droplets on the shoulders of his jacket, ones you want to reach out to shake off, but you refrain. He smiles at you, that gentle half smile he only ever wears when he’s half exhausted.
“Came to check on you,” he says softly, words turned plush on the corners of his lips. You smile.
“Unfortunately, I’ve succumbed to sepsis. You’re seeing a ghost,” you joke. He rolls his eyes and pushes past you into the apartment.
He shakes off like a dog as he hangs his coat on the hook. A few rogue water droplets smatter your face. You take a moment to observe him. The lines of his body are rigid like there’s something pulling him taught. For a moment, you ache to reach out and smooth your palms over his muscles, to help him relieve some of that tension. You wonder if that’s something that would be okay, if he would welcome your touch. There is a line that stands between you, and you’re not sure which side of it you reside on.
“Anything interesting happen in the week that I’ve been gone?” you ask, leaning against the back of the couch.
Leon hums, pursing his lips as he thinks back on the last few days. “There’s a new coffee machine in the break room,”
You huff a laugh. “Can’t wait to try that baby out,”
Silence stretches thick between you, like a rope that’s been left out in the rain. You watch him move with careful precision, finding where would be the best place to exist within. You wonder why he never seems to relax, even in your space. You wonder if he knows how much you care. Subconsciously, you run the pads of your fingers over your injury. It’s a rough stretch of skin now, bubbled with scar and scab. You frown.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, suddenly standing again to get to your side. He catches your wrist where it hovers near the tear.
You shrug. “Only when I think about it,”
He purses his lips and emits a low hum, giving you a once over. “Have a fever at all?”
You shake your head. He nods, once and curt, before dropping your wrist and stepping away from you.
“Do you need any help?” Leon asks, avoiding your gaze by scanning around the room. “Any chores that have been neglected? Any errands I can run for you?”
You feel the corner of your mouth tick up in a small smile. Shaking your head, you say, “No, Leon. I’ve been able to manage on my own,”
“I know,” he says. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing on the soft flesh there in thought. Then, soft as a whisper, he says, “I was worried about you,”
You feel your heart catch in your throat. You think back to the way he looked at you that night, like you were broken before him and he couldn’t do anything to fix you. You think about how gentle he was with you, how careful he was like you were bursting at the seams. You see his cheeks turn a tinge of pink as the silence stretches thick between you. You reach out, placing a flat palm against his chest. There’s no sound in the apartment, just the rain outside and your own heavy breathing.
“You don’t need to worry about me, Leon,” you say, just as soft. “I know you’ll always take care of me,”
He swallows, something heavy and unsaid, and nods. “I will,”
It feels like a promise. It feels like a vow.
With an intake of breath, you say, “Anything on our docket?”
Leon purses his lips. “Not on yours,” he says. You frown. “You’re on light duty for a while,”
You twist your face up in a nasty expression, which makes Leon smile a fraction. “I don’t like that,”
“That’s what I figured you’d say,” he says. He moves around you to finally sit down. You’re almost surprised as he gets comfortable on your couch. You move to join him. “I tried to tell Hunnigan you wouldn’t go down easy,”
“I can’t imagine I have much choice,” you say, grumbling. “Did they say for how long?”
Leon shakes his head. “Could be a while,”
You groan.
“Hey,” he says, gently. “You took a hard hit. It’s either office duty or a grave,”
You scowl at him, and he flashes you a smile. “Promise me you won’t get yourself killed while I’m gone,”
He makes a motion over his chest. Cross my heart.
The next week, Leon is shipped out to God knows where. They won’t tell you, probably afraid you’d commandeer a craft to chase after him. You’re checking in with Hunnigan by the hour, who tells you you’re being paranoid. How can you not be? He’s out there, alone, doing something, something dangerous, and you’re stuck writing reports and drinking watered down coffee from the new machine in the break room. He could be hurt, he could be dead, and you would never know the difference. It makes you sick, it makes you scared.
“Separation anxiety?” Sherry asks, taking a seat beside you. You’re staring at a monitor, feeling like your eyes are melting out of your head.
“Shut up,” you retort, making her laugh. “I just worry about him,”
“Y’know, I think I had this exact conversation with him a couple weeks ago,” Sherry says, grinning at you. You scowl at her. “You two act like if you’re not attached at the hip, you’re basically dead,”
“That’s what it feels like,” you murmur. You sigh. “You don’t get it,”
“Maybe not,” Sherry says, shrugging. “But I do know what it’s like to feel,”
You blink at her. “Don’t you have somewhere else to go be annoying?”
Sherry jabs a finger into your side, making you yelp. “Don’t be mean to me just because you’re grumpy,”
You huff.
You are not grumpy.
...
Leon feels half dead on his feet as he trudges up the stairs of your apartment building. He’s been gone almost two weeks, with little to no contact with you. It feels like it’s killing him. He feels like it’s sucking out his will to live. He just wants to see you.
He knocks gently on your door. It’s late, just past midnight, but he knows you’re still awake, always the night owl. You open it a second later, wearing a shirt three sizes too big and an old pair of sweatpants; he thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful. You give him a once over, scanning him for injuries, and when you don’t appear to find any, you crash into him. He lets out an oomph as his arms settle around your waist. You smell like home, and he feels his heart crack open a little.
“Worried about you,” you whisper into his shoulder. He holds you a little tighter.
“Not over yet,” he says, and you pull away, squinting at him. He shrugs his jacket off to reveal a nasty cut along his bicep. He smiles sheepishly at you.
You sigh, and it’s like the greatest symphony ever written. “Grab a seat at the table. I’ll patch you up,”
His pain ebbs as he sits. You return to him moments later with a first aid kit and a scowl. Your soft hands against his skin are what keep him tethered to the earth. Pain threatens to eat at his muscles and sinew, to consume him. But you’re gentle, easing through it like a softbed creek, curving over already smooth stones.
“Did you even try to get out of the way?” you murmur. You don’t look at him, but he’s watching you. He sees the twitch at the corner of your mouth as you clean the wound, the pull of your brows in concentration. You look so beautiful like this, like a pink sunrise, a reminder that good is out there.
“Sort of,” he mumbles back. You frown at him. “I didn’t really have time,”
You hum. Once the wound is thoroughly disinfected, you prime the needle for stitches.
“This will hurt,” you say, sinking the steel beneath his flesh. He doesn’t react. You make quick work of the area, making sure to tape over it to protect the stitches. When he’s all patched up, you pat his other arm, saying, “Try to make time so that this doesn’t happen again,”
He nods, watching you. You’re a breath away, inspecting him for any other injuries he may be sequestering. He reaches up hesitantly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He feels giddy at the way your eyes widen.
“Pretty,” he says, so softly he’s not even sure you hear it. He wonders if he’s concealing the deep, desperate love he has for you, or if he’s bearing it all with his gaze. At this point, he’s not sure he cares.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Kennedy,” you say, smiling at him. “I’m still mad at you,”
Soft as a whisper, he says, “I think I can handle that,”
Without much further thought, Leon closes the gap. You let out a little squeak when his mouth meets yours, but you almost melt into him. He’s so relieved that he could cry. Your hands find purchase along the curve of his jaw, his own grasping at the loose fabric of your shirt. You sigh sweetly into him, coating his nerves in a saccharine so destabilizing he can’t help but return it. When you fall into his lap, parting your lips and winding your arms around him, he’s afraid he’s died and gone to Heaven. And when your tongue finally meets his, he groans, something deep and guttural and unbecoming.
You pull away, a string of saliva hanging from your kiss bitten lips. You rest your forehead against his. His every perception centers on you; your hands on his chest, your nose bumping his as your chest heaves, your smell, the skin of your neck, open and exposed for him. He wants you, needs you like you’re the only thing that can save him. And when you kiss him again, a fire burns anew in his chest. Your hands are everywhere; his arms, his shoulders, his chest, and they find a home winding into his hair. A gentle tug against his scalp has his hands tightening their grip on your hips, begging you to still.
“Leon,” you murmur against his mouth, heady and soft all at once.
“I’m here,” he says, and he means it. He has never been more present. And then he’s standing, lifting you with him to place you back on the floor. You stare at him, pupils blown wide, gnawing on your bottom lip.
He pulls you flush against him because he can’t help himself. He is nothing if not selfish, nothing if not gluttonous and greedy, and now that you’ve given him this small victory, he wants to see if he can keep winning you. He sees the quiet desperation in the deep color of your eyes, the way you’re watching him with your full, rapt attention.
“You can touch me,” you say, voice low and barely audible. He wants to eat you alive.
He wastes little time after that, mouth crashing against yours with renewed energy. His heart swells in his chest when you cling to him all the same. Your fingers dig into the tops of his shoulders. He taps his fingers once against your thigh, signaling you to jump. He catches you, carries you close against him until you’re laid out against the sheets. He doesn’t stray far, following you into the linen, soft and sweet.
He watches you for a moment, taking it all in. You’re smiling at him, grinning really as he hovers above you. You brush your fingers against his cheek, smoothing away whatever doubt may be lingering. He ducks his head, pressing feather light kisses to the column of your throat, making your breath hitch there. He doesn’t get far, not when you pull his mouth back to yours, grasping at his shirt in an effort to rid him of it. Leon is a compliant man, flashing you a grin as he pulls back to yank it off. He wonders if your cheeks warm like his, if you can hear the hard hammer of his heart in his chest.
...
Leon is all rigid muscle, sinew pulled tight and corded along his arms, the plans of his stomach, his shoulders. You feel almost animalistic, feral. You run flat palms over him, feeling him twitch and tremor under your touch.
“Pretty,” you say, soft as a whisper. He huffs a laugh.
You push him back slightly, only giving yourself enough room to sit forward to pull off your own shirt. You watch him swallow thickly as it gets discarded somewhere across the room. His hands are soft, gentle against the revealed skin as he kisses you again. Feather light touches across your waist, your stomach. Rough and callused palms against your breast, thumb finding your nipple. You arch into him at the contact, tightening your grip on his shoulders.
You’re aching, cut open and bleeding. His hands leave goosebumps and fire in their wake as he lays you back against the sheets, tracing his lips down your torso, stopping at the waistband of your pants. He looks up at you, chest heaving. You nod, a gentle duck of your chin. Your breath catches in your throat as he slowly–painstakingly slowly–tugs your pants down. He lets his hands wander over your exposed thighs, hopefully ignoring your choice of underwear. Light touches against your hips cause them to fall open. You wonder if you look as vulnerable as you feel. He presses the gentlest kisses to the insides of your thighs, head bouncing between them.
“I’ll take care of you,” he says, a mumble against your skin. It sends shivers down your spine.
When he presses an open mouth kiss to the apex of your thighs, you think you black out for a second. A breathy gasp echoes off the walls. He tugs your underwear out of the way to flatten his tongue against you. The sound you make is unbecoming, head dropping back against the pillows. He wastes little time, sucking and kissing and licking as he finds his rhythm, finds what you like, what makes you the loudest. He eats you out like it’s a game, like he’s determined to get the highest score. Your vision is nearly white, fingers buried in his hair. When you tug on it a bit, he groans, deep and sultry, sending shocks to your brain.
Your thighs begin to shake when he pulls your clit between his teeth, a breathy moan escaping you. He locks an arm across your hips to keep you in place. You’re shamelessly grinding against his face, chasing release. You keen high and whiny as he slides two fingers into you.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, low and heavy. “Make a mess on me,”
He curls his fingers against you. The stretch and tempo and timbre of his voice were nearly enough to send you over the edge, but what does you in is seeing him lean back to watch you, stubble brushing the inside of your thigh. You clench around his fingers as you come, writhing and panting like an animal. You watch him lick his fingers clean before you’re clawing for him, pulling his mouth back up to yours. You groan as you taste yourself on his tongue. Your fingers fumble with the clasp on his belt, fighting to free him of it. You feel him chuckle against you as he reaches down to help you. He pulls away a bit to shuck off his trousers.
Your mouth waters when his cock springs free from his boxers, thick and flushed and dripping. Instinctively you reach for it, but he stalls you, gently grasping your wrist. You frown up at him.
“Won’t last very long,” he says by way of explanation.
“Next time, then,” you say, chest heaving. He grins at you, climbing over you again.
His kisses are addictive, you decide. You’re not sure how you ever went without them. They’re all consuming, send you spinning. You’re flat on your back again, pulling him as close as you can, running your hands down the expanse of his chest. He lines himself up with your entrance, gently pushing himself inside. The stretch is devastating. You break the spell of his kiss to gasp, jaw slack. His chest heaves as he buries himself in you, arms flexing on either side of your head. He stalls once he’s fully seated inside you. You smooth his hair away from his face, thumb swiping against his cheekbone. You feel so full; of him, of want, of love.
“You okay?” he asks, voice hoarse and heavy. You grin at him.
“Never been better,” you say.
You lock your legs around his waist, begging him to stay close to you. He drops his head, turning into your palm more as he begins to slowly pull out of you. The drag of him against your walls has you keening. He almost pulls out fully before pushing back in, setting a languid pace that has you boneless. One hand smooths up your side, cupping your breast. You pull him back down to you, mouth meeting his in a devastating kiss. He sighs heavy against your lips, a whimper so delicious it has you rolling your hips just to hear it again. He moves to bury his face in your neck, pressing gentle kisses to the skin there.
“So pretty,” he mumbles. You sigh. “Like you were made for me,”
The praise has you scratching your nails lightly down his back, earning you another pretty noise. His thrusts pick up their pace but never lose their softness. He ruts into you like a man consumed, mumbling against your sweat slick skin.
“Dreamed of this,” he says. His hands wander over you, fingertips gentle against your injury. “Dreamed of you. My pretty girl,”
There’s a pressure building in your stomach, a coil wound tight, threatening to burst every time he opens his mouth.
“Yours,” you say. “Always have been,”
His thrusts turn shallow, deep. He says, “Doin’ so good, fuckin’ perfect,”
You clench around him, huffing a breathy moan. “Leon,”
“I’m here,” he says. “I’m right here,”
His thumb finds your clit, and you’re seeing stars. White hot pleasure radiates throughout your body, threatening to consume you. He picks up the pace, chasing his own release. He thrusts one, two, three more times before he’s groaning in your ear and filling you up. He collapses against you, chest heaving and panting. Your fingers wind into his hair, toying with the ends. Every now and then you feel him press kisses to the column of your throat.
“Leon,” you whisper. He hums. “I think your stitches split,”
He laughs then, a bright, airy sound that splits your chest open with want. He pulls back to look at you, and you note the way his eyes brim with adoration. You feel suddenly shy.
“You gonna patch me back up?” he asks, soft against you. You grin.
“Yeah,” you say, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “I will,”
do yall think Heisenberg would put his cigar out on you???? or do you think he would tap the ash off on your skin??
maybe if you were into being burned he might. though I imagine if you didn't mind, he'd smoke a cigar while fucking you doggystyle and tap the ash off on your ass or lower back.
on another note, I think my rabbit is getting/has a cataract in one eye :(
I got her six years ago so I know she's getting old but it just feels like the reality of knowing and acknowledging the fact that she's getting old is setting in
and I'm so upset. I've had her since I was like a sophomore or junior in high school. and while she can be a bit of a brat and have a temper, I absolutely love her. she's so sweet when she wants to be and she's the cutest little black and white lionhead rabbit you'd ever see :(
my cat does this weird thing where she just sits on the bathroom counter in the dark and waits for someone to enter so they can turn the faucet on so she can drink from it 😭
like she has this huge water bowl that she regularly drinks from so I know she isn't dehydrated, but she still loves the sink water. and she always scares me when I go in because it's so dark and she's just this mass sitting on the counter and staring 😭😭😭
but she's cute so I guess that excuses her
but then I also have to wait to wash my hands until she's done with the sink 😒
cw: age gap (older!char. x younger!reader), gn!reader, no pronouns used, mentions of character being an ass, inspired by the video game 7 Days to Die, set in a zombie apocalypse, reader gets a sprained ankle, vague ideas, slight enemies to lovers?? (maybe?? either way older!char. does not like reader at first)
I was playing 7 Days to Die the other day and accepted a mission/quest thing from the trader Rekt, and he gave me the line saying like "Good luck, kid". anyways, he's an absolute ass for most of his voice lines and that line had me thinking.
like imagine: You're in an apocalypse and you come across an actual living person who decided to fortify a base and provide equipment to other survivers. he's definitely older than you, hair greying and wrinkles lining his facial features. he's gruff and rude and absolutely done with life.
surviving is hard, dealing with other survivers with their shitty attitudes and ungratefulness was even harder.
when you first step into his shop he takes one look at you and decides you're not even worth his time. dirty and unkept and holding weapons that are barely staying together thanks to the duct tape you managed to find in an abandoned house. he makes a sharp remark about your intelligence right off the bat, saying you should stop by a bookstore cause you obviously need it.
it bristles you a bit, a retort sitting on the tip of your tongue that you manage to bite back, instead asking him what he has in stock. it wasn't much, but he had supplies of seeds and food that you could definitely use.
handing over a few tokens, you roll your eyes when you makes another remark as he passes over your goods. something about him "treating you this good and not even getting a tip!" he's definitely aggravating and the last thing you want to deal with in the apocalypse besides the zombies.
still, he has good shit. whenever you're low on something, you always happen to find yourself in his area. more and more you find yourself browsing his selection, sometimes buying, sometimes not.
you can recall one time when you went in. you were short on anything to cash in and trade so after browsing for a bit you turned to leave, keeping in mind what you needed so you could trade for it next time you were in the area. as you turned to leave, his voice rang out in the store—gruff and annoyed. "You again, what you got a fucking crush on me or something?"
you don't even remember what had gotten into you that day, but you had turned around and raised an eyebrow, lips thinning. "Yeah, so what if I do?"
to this day you don't think you have ever seen the older man fumble around as much as he did that day. his face had gone through a myriad of emotions as he sputtered and pointed at the door, telling you to fuck off. you remember laughing as you left the store, ignoring the insults and curses he spat.
something had changed that day though. he started making little quips, gruffly saying if you brought him a cold one he'd give you a discount. a few weeks later you showed up with a case of beer you had found while searching for supplies. he really seemed to warm up to you then, the sharp tone in his voice softening to something special whenever you went through his store.
eventually he started to show concern when you left for jobs he gave you, quietly telling you to be careful and watch your back. the first time he told you to be careful, you had sworn you imagined it, desperate to believe that the man couod have a soft spot for you. which immediately made you question why you even wanted him to care in the first place.
the day you had come back injured was the day everything had changed for good.
it had been a job gone wrong, a zombie managing to catch your ankle and snapping the bone when you stumbled back. you only had enough time to wrap it half-assed before hobbling back towards the store.
he had been beside himself when he saw you. for once, he no longer had his snarky attitude, his face pale as he helped you wrap it and put an icepack over the swelling. when he confessed to thinking he had lost you—thinking that infection would soon spread through a bite—neither of you had been able to hold yourselves back from sharing a long overdue kiss.
I added dirt because it's more canon but he looked cute without the dirt layer too <3 My original post is -> here <- Timelapse is -> here <-
I was 9 in 1998 and I killed this poor man over and over and over and over again because I couldn't move past the zombies on the way to Kendo's....I had to come back to the game a few years later xD
They needed to see if humans were compatible with the growing population of harpies appearing in the world, and you needed money, so it was somewhat natural that you signed the contract, NDA, and filled the medical history forms in the moment they hit the table. Page after page of legal language and medical terms that you spent half your time looking up on your phone, all while the research team was busy picking out the willing harpies for the other side of this little research endeavour.
The benefits of this experiment were too good to pass up, your rent is paid for the length of the experiment, you're getting paid rather well, and you won't have to travel too far to actually participate as the testing area is just outside of town.
Now, if only you had known a little more about the harpy you were being paired with and just how eager he was to have a pretty human nest mate.
All the initial meetings and exchanges happened easily, almost too easily, but the researchers were just happy none of the humans had been harmed during this beginning phase of the tests. Soon, you are spending more and more time with the harpy you're paired with, sitting with him in the makeshift nest of blankets, pillows and his own feathers, apparently each one tucked into the edge of the best was chosen by him to show off how pretty his feathers are, an attempt to woo you into being his mate one of the researchers says when you ask them during a check up.
Apparently, your willingness to nap in the nest with him and the acceptance of food from him during the evenings was good enough acceptance, now look where it had landed you.
Sprawled out in the nest, legs pressed open as the harpy above you makes sure you're watching as he pushes another of his clutch into you. Warbling out soft noises, chirps and preening coos as he lets his feathers ruffle with pleasure and joy as he feels another of his eggs begin to push down and into you, lidded yellow eyes watch as you go limp under him, his wings blocking the cameras view into the nest as he coos down at you.
"One more... One more and you'll have my whole clutch, pretty nest mate all full and sweet for me."
