All of these writers/creators are absolutely amazing and i highly recommend following them and showing them some appreciation for their work. I will more than likely update this post every once in a while with more fics I love.
Leon:
@tothelions - White Noise (so domestic i absolutely love this one)
@/tothelions - under neon lights (I love this one so much!!!! It captures vendetta Leon perfectly)
@/tothelions - you still have all of me (another really sweet one, everything they write is absolutely beautiful)
@julymist - quality control (I love it when my porn also gives me lore)
@/julymist - positive reinforcement (Puppy boy Leon<3)
@/julymist - YGBO. (I’ve only read the first part so far but trust I will be reading ALL of it)
@/julymist - I’ll give you a holy body (dead dove but delicious)
@girlwithadragonheart - big chested reader. (As a big titty lady this made me feel seen<3)
@/girlwithadragonheart - that damn quarter zip (reader and Leon equally thirst for each other and I love it)
@/girlwithadragonheart - bicep riding (it’s so yummy)
@/girlwithadragonheart - somno (it’s not everyone’s thing but it’s DEFINITELY mine)
@midnightsummerrain - you can see it with the lights out (genuinely such beautiful writing)
@/midnightsummerrain - just like you (I loooove re9 Leon x wife reader)
@/midnightsummerrain - just a touch of your love (touched starved Leon you have my heart)
@leonsleatherjacket - Salt and Pepper (AAHHH DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THIS SERIES.)
@/leonsleatherjacket - drabble for an upcoming series (I’m so excited for this omfg)
@lilacgrayskies - insatiable rookie!leon (so so yummy)
@lilacgrayskies - calling re2 leon a pretty boy (HES SO FUCKING CUTEEEE)
@fi1iat3rra3 - older neighbor Leon (I have no words to describe how much I love this fic.)
@multi-fandom-imagine - Rich Leon (I love a wealthy man)
@seribun - calling Leon ‘Scott’ (this and the the follow up are sooooo good)
@lolalov3s - Leon makes you squirt (omfg literally creamed the first time I read this.)
@/lolalov3s - Fine Wine (I loooove old man Leon he’s so respectful until he’s balls deep inside you then he’s so nasty)
@a-dsoagent - pretty please (normally I’m not one for rough sex but this is delicious.)
@ginsvault - He kept bringing me coffee (re2 Leon does not get enough love and they genuinely wrote him so well its beautiful)
@latenightcig - need to breed (dead dove, religious themes but so so yummy)
@alloftheimagines - stick to me like caramel (always been a fan of sex pollen fics but this definitely solidifies it.)
@chanif-art - resident evil master list (Not fics but I love these comic styles art ‘fics’ (for lack of a better term) and I looove how they draw older Leon)
@littledisasters - stray bullets and strays (read this from a recommendation in the comments and I’m so glad I did. Absolutely beautiful writing, I love the chaotic cat i love domestic Leon I love their dynamic.)
@tokkiwrites - retired hearts (YES YES YES I LOVE DADS BESTFRIEND’S LEON ITS SO GOOD OMFGGGGGGGGGGG)
@vinnyandthephenomena - desperate for you (I love puppyboy Leon so much omfg ESPECIALLY RE2 PUPPYBOY LEON)
Summary: One new message with a photo of the dog in a new collar and one word.
Leon Kennedy can salt a driveway. He can buy a collar, paint a living room, pick out a bracelet. Everything except the one thing. It's finally Christmas and you're done waiting for him to say it.
WC: 7k
Warnings: MDNI, angst, age gap, alcohol, crying, minor injury, canon-typical references to violence and past trauma, comfort and soft ending, I promise.
Notes: Still no smut again in this part but I promise you - I've got something up my sleeve for new year's eve!
You didn’t know how long you’d been staring at it.
Leon - 1 new message
Five months. Five months and now his name was sitting on your lock screen.
And of course you opened it.
Hey
You kept staring at it like there might be more underneath.
Your thumb was still hovering when you heard another ding. A second message popped up but this time it was a picture. It was Buddy sitting with a dark-brown leather collar and a silver name tag with Buddy engraved in it. Behind him, soft and out of focus, was Leon’s kitchen you’d last seen with that stupid backsplash.
You sat all the way up. You couldn’t believe Leon actually went out and got the dog a damn collar. I mean, maybe he already had the collar and just put it on. There’s no way he would’ve gotten in that ridiculous car, driven to the pet store and got the nametag engraved in a span of a few hours.
Either way, none of that mattered, it really would have cost him nothing to type. I'm sorry.
You stared at the photo until the screen dimmed and you had to tap it awake again.
You typed: are you serious
Deleted it.
Five months of ignoring me and THIS is what you send me?
You deleted that one too.
You typed:
Why
You thought about just sending something like:
Cute dog.
But that wasn’t enough. You thought that was too easy and didn’t show how angry you truly were.
Then it occurred to you, if he was paying attention, he could see those three little dots. Appearing and disappearing over and over again.
You heard two soft knocks on the door, you placed your phone face-down into the quilt.
“You alive in there?” said your dad, his voice muffled through the door.
“Yeah,” you said more cheerily than you meant.
You waited for him to leave and walk back downstairs but he didn’t.
Your door opened a few inches with the hall light cutting a wedge across your bed.
“Hey, dinner’s almost ready, just thought I’d wake you up.”
“I’ll be down in a few.”
Your dad stepped away like he was going to leave but then walked back towards your door.
“Honey.”
“Yeah.”
“You alright?”
“Mhm.” You nodded but you knew that wasn’t the truth.
“You slept all afternoon,” he said matter-of-factly. “Your mother thinks it’s the travel.” He paused.
“I don’t.”
“I’m fine, Dad. Really,” you said.
He stepped into your room and the bed dipped when he sat on the side of it next to you.
“I think I know what it is,” he said.
Your throat went tight.
“It’s your mother.” He shook his head slowly. “She’s been a nut-case all week. Woke me up at five this morning. Five, honey. Because one bulb was out on the roof lights. One bulb. I couldn’t even find the thing up there. Had to call her from the roof so she could stand in the yard and point to where it was.”
The laugh came out of you uncontrollably. It was more relief than humor though.
“It’s not Mom, Dad.”
“No?”
You stopped there. You didn’t really want to tell your dad the whole Fourth of July saga and how you fucked a man that was pretty much twice your age. So, you waited for him to ask.
He sat there in the dark room with you, hands on his knees.
“Anybody do something I need to know about?” he said calmly but with a concerned look on his face.
“No, Dad.” You almost smiled at what he was offering.
“Mm,” he said.
Downstairs you could hear a chair scrape and Mason shrieking about something.
“You talk to your sister?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He nodded.
He got quiet and you thought he was building up to leave, instead, he looked out the window.
“Your mother didn’t talk to me for a month once,” he said. “Before we were married.”
You looked at him. “What did you do?”
“Put new brakes on her mother’s Buick.”
“No — what did you do. To make her stop talking to you.”
“That’s between me and the Buick.”
He rubbed his knee. “I spent a few hours in her mother’s driveway fixing them.” He shook his head at the memory. “I didn’t know how to say sorry out loud.” He paused. “I liked her mother fine. But I wasn’t out there for her mother. I was out there for your mom.”
He scratched his jaw. “Came back the next week and offered to change her wiper fluid and then the week after that, an oil change.”
“So, what’s your point?” You said.
“My point is, whoever it is,” He said gently “Some men can’t say what they’re feeling out loud. So. They do things instead.”
You breathed in and stared at your dad. There was no way he could know it was Leon. Was there?
“Honey, I know I seem like a guy who doesn’t pay attention. But I see things. And I see you’ve been walking around all sad and depressed since you got back.”
Tears pricked hot behind your eyes and your throat was aching.
He reached over and squeezed your shoulder.
“I’m not asking you to tell me everything,” he said. “You’re old enough. You don’t owe me that. But if someone’s got you twisted up like this… you don’t have to carry it alone. That’s all I’m saying.”
Downstairs your mom shouted. “Dinner’s getting cold!”
Your dad huffed and shook his head. He stood up slowly, the bed creaking as his weight lifted.
“Come down when you’re ready.” He said calmly.
He paused at the door, one hand on the frame.
“If you ever want to talk about it… I’m here.”
The door clicked shut behind him. You sat in silence with your heart hammering and the tears finally slipping free.
You picked your phone up from the quilt and looked at the messages from Leon again. Maybe. Maybe if he could have said anything, anything, about how he was feeling. You would have considered his text an apology. Instead, you put your phone face-down on the nightstand and went down to dinner.
⋆꙳·❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
It was the next day on Christmas Eve, and at nine in the morning your mother discovered she was short a bag of brown sugar, two cans of evaporated milk, and butter. She announced this the way other people announce a house fire. And since you were the only one in the family who wasn’t busy, you offered to go get the groceries.
The store was chaotic. You could barely walk down any of the aisles without bumping into someone. When you finally grabbed everything, you stood in the self-checkout line that reached all the way back into the seasonal aisle. You were behind a man buying a cart full of food, and your brain trailed off to last night. Leon hadn’t sent you another message since and you still had him on read.
You finally after what felt like forever, checked out and bagged up two bags of groceries. The roads thankfully were scraped and cleared off but you still drove home carefully keeping your distance from cars in front of you.
You pulled up into the driveway and grabbed the bags from the passenger seat. You took the direct line to the front door and because it was cold you were not in the mood to be careful.
A patch of ice took your boot out from under you before you could regain any balance. Your hip hit first and your elbow was second before you landed completely on your back. The bags went everywhere. Somewhere behind you, a can of evaporated milk was rolling down the driveway.
You lay there with the cold seeping up through your coat, staring up at the flat gray sky, and thought bitterly. Of course.
Then you heard a car door shut.
You turned your head. You saw Leon’s Porsche in the driveway and then Leon walking towards you.
Fuck.
He was in a dark overcoat you had never seen before and a black collared shirt. For a second you didn’t recognize him. He was moving quickly, his eyes went across your parents’ house before landing on you. He saw you on the ground and everything in him changed gears all at once.
“Hey — hey.” He was already crossing the yard of snow between your driveway and his. “You okay?”
You were still too dazed and furious to answer.
He stopped a few feet away from you, taking in your situation. He looked at the bags, the groceries splayed out the driveway and to you flat on your back in the middle of it all. Buddy was barking his head off somewhere inside his house, muffled and hysterical.
Leon looked above you and tipped his head slightly.
“Nice landing.” He said.
You rolled your eyes. “Really?”
“Just a thought.”
You managed to get your elbow under you and pushed up but the ice took your boot out from under you again. You were going down for the second time and then his hand closed around your arm.
He caught you like you weighed nothing. One hand gripped around your forearm, the other one at your elbow, and hauled you up. You came up into him closer than either of you had planned, close enough that you could feel his cloudy breath on your face. So close you could see the crinkles around his eyes and the small white line of an old scar you had once, in July, in the dark traced your finger on.
Neither of you moved.
His hand stayed where it was on your arm and his eyes went over your face like he found something before looking away.
“You can let go now,” you said.
And he did let go.
You bent down for the nearest bag and so did he.
“Don’t,” you said. “I got it.”
But he didn’t stop, he was already crouched in your driveway, picking up the cans of evaporated milk.
“I said don’t. I don’t need your help.”
His hands stopped and he crouched there for a second, holding the brown sugar.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”
He picked up one of the now wet grocery bags in the driveway and threw everything back in it. He stood and held it out to you.
You snatched it out of his hand harder than you needed to and turned away to the front door. Your hip was screaming and your eyes were welling up. You tried not to look back but you did anyway.
He was still standing in your driveway with the snow starting to fall looking at you like he was working out how to fix it. But all he said was.
“Watch the ice.”
You could feel yourself about to say something but you choked it down. You turned away and shut the door behind you.
⋆꙳·❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
Most of the day you were wrapping presents on the floor of your parents bedroom with the door shut so the kids didn’t see. Then your mother called you down to peel potatoes and set the table. The house filled up with Christmas music and chatter from your family.
You spent the later part of the afternoon in the kitchen with your mother, baking cookies for the kids to leave out for Santa. You both decided it was best to make simple sugar cookies since Mason was so eager to decorate them himself and of course Ellie just wanted to eat the frosting.
The kitchen was warm from all of the cooking. It smelled sweet too, that thick buttery and vanilla air that you loved. The oven ticked and the window over the sink fogged at the corners. In the living room the Grinch was on with your sister and the kids were propped up on the couch.
You rolled, cut and placed the cookies on baking sheets. Your mother was rambling about tonight's turkey and gravy and how she was stressed out she was going to mess it up. You kept assuring her it was going to taste delicious. She also started worrying about dinner tomorrow. She kept saying things like, I hope Leon likes ham, is six-o-clock too early or too late for him, I hope he doesn’t think we’re weird.
To which, you kept replying, “I don’t know.” or “I’m sure it’s fine.”
Your dad came into the kitchen with a beanie and coat on.
“I went to salt the driveway again but it looks like someone already did it.”
He looked at your mom and then at you.
“Oh, that’s nice honey.” Said your mom.
“Yeah,” he slipped his gloves off. “How’s the hip?”
“It's better. I took some Tylenol a while ago.” You said.
“Good.” Your dad nodded and went to hang his coat back up.
You slid the sheet of cookies into the oven and shut it. You had flour to the elbows and managed to get some in your hair too.
“Hey, I’m gonna go clean up a bit before dinner’s ready.”
“Mm,” your mother said, cleaning a bowl in the sink.
Upstairs, you grabbed a pair of jeans out of your dresser and a burgundy sweater from your closet. You carried them into the bathroom, and when you shut the door behind you everything was quiet for the first time today.
You turned the shower on and looked at yourself in the mirror. Flour on your cheekbone. Hair a complete mess. You looked like a walking disaster.
The water was hot against your skin. You stood under it with the water trailing down the back of your head.
You looked down at the bruise coming up on your hip, blooming under the heat. It was a deep ugly plum color with a jagged shape to it. It was sore but you touched it anyway. Then your elbow too that you turned to rinse. The whole left side was evidence of all of the events this morning whether you wanted it or not.
You put your face up to the stream and then turned the water off.
The bathroom was clouded with steam. You wrapped a towel around yourself and another around your hair while you stood there dripping.
Then your phone buzzed on the counter and dinged.
You wiped the condensation off the screen with the corner of the towel.
Leon - 1 new message
You opened it.
Leon: you okay?
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.
You typed: no
You deleted it even though it was the truest thing you’d typed all day.
You set the phone back down on the counter and went to change back into your burgundy sweater. And put on the jeans with your hair still damp. When you came back to the bathroom to brush it out the phone was still there. You looked at Leon’s message again and left it unanswered.
You picked it up and took it downstairs with you anyway.
⋆꙳·❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
Your mother’s turkey was perfect, which didn’t stop her spending the first ten minutes of the meal apologizing for it being bad. While everyone around ate and said otherwise with their mouths full.
The kids got up from the table after dessert demanding to put the cookies out for Santa.
Mason decorated the cookies himself that afternoon, and they really had no discernible designs and were covered in a mountain of sprinkles. One was frosted in such a bright neon green color that even Santa would be afraid to eat it. He carefully placed five cookies on a red plate. Ellie poured the milk herself and filled the glass to the absolute brim somehow without spilling.
“He needs carrots,” Mason announced. “For the reindeer.”
“Honey, can you grab some carrots from the fridge,” Your dad called to your mother.
“They need carrots.” Mason said again.
Your mother grabbed a handful of baby carrots from the bag in the fridge, because in this house, apparently, even the reindeer got a full spread.
The plate was set out on the living room coffee table. The kids stood back and looked at it smiling.
“Okay, time for bed now,” said Dani. “Santa won’t come if you’re awake.”
The kids of course protested and insisted on staying up for a little while longer. But Dani said no. She herded them upstairs and tucked them in for bed.
You spent the rest of the night watching Elf with your family. At around eleven everyone brought in the Christmas gifts from your parents’ bedroom.
Your dad handled the evidence. He ate a bite out of each cookie, even Mason’s green one, he winced at that one. He bit off the ends of some of the baby carrots. And “For realism,” he said. Your mother drank half of the milk.
You stood back when it was all done. The tree, the pile of presents, the bitten cookies, and the half glass of milk.
Next Christmas, you thought, you won’t be flying in for this. You’ll just be here.
⋆꙳·❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
You couldn’t sleep. You lay there running tomorrow on a loop. Leon at the dinner table. Whether he’d speak to you. Whether you’d speak first. And the announcement. You were going to tell your sister before dinner to wait on the whole thing. You decided you didn’t want Leon to know.
And just as you were finally dozing off another ding came from your phone. You looked at the lockscreen and, of course, it was Leon.
Leon - you don’t have to respond
“No,” you whispered in the dark. “I don’t.”
Even if there was a part of you that wanted to. You put the phone on your nightstand and closed your eyes. You didn’t sleep much.
⋆꙳·❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
Christmas morning arrived way too early with the kids shrieking.
Ellie and Mason both were thundering down the hall past your door, and by the time you made it downstairs the living room was already destroyed. Paper and ribbon trailed off the couch and Ellie was sitting by a pile of dolls and stuffed animals.
Mason was standing at the coffee table holding up a bitten cookie like a fossil.
“He ate the green one,” he reported, with awe. “He ate it.”
“Brave guy, that Santa,” your dad said, from behind his cup of coffee.
You sat on the couch with your own coffee and let the morning wash over you. You tried once, between the chaos, to catch Dani’s eye. “Hey, can I—”
“Mom!” Mason was holding a toy red truck up in a box. “It needs batteries!”
By noon your mom started cooking. She had entered a state somewhere beyond stress. She vacuumed rooms nobody was going to enter. She straightened towels. The good tablecloth came out, and two bottles of champagne went into the garage fridge to chill.
“Is Buddy coming?” Ellie asked.
“We are not having a dog at Christmas dinner.” Your mother said sternly.
Ellie whined.
You found Dani in the kitchen after lunch, but she was elbow-deep in making the cranberry sauce. Your mother was two feet away narrating her fears about the rolls, and you knew this still wasn’t a good time to talk about the announcement for tomorrow.
Later, you told yourself. There was still time in the day.
At four you went up to get ready. You’d packed a cute red dress that you brought along on a whim. You curled your hair and put on earrings. You looked at yourself in the tall mirror in the corner of your bedroom. You weren’t dressing up for him; you told yourself that while you fixed your hair and then once more when you did your makeup.
Your phone sat on the dresser the whole time.
It had been silent all day. No merry christmas. Nothing. You’d noticed the silence all morning and afternoon and you hated that you noticed.
At twenty to six you almost got Dani alone. She was coming down the stairs with her hair half done.
“Hey— about tonight—”
“GIRLS.” Your mother shouted from the kitchen. “One of you. Napkins.”
“Hold that thought,” Dani said, and she was gone.
At ten to six you were setting water glasses around the table. You had just put one down at the empty place your mother had set for him when you looked up through the dining room window and saw his front door open.
He came out of his house with a bottle of wine in one hand, blocking Buddy at the door with his leg. You watched Leon’s mouth move, with the dog's nose in the gap of the door and the door shut. Then he came down his driveway and along the sidewalk. He was wearing a dark button down shirt with an open leather jacket.
He passed out of the window’s view, toward the front porch and you stood there holding the last water glass.
You put it down and the doorbell rang.
Your mother beat everyone to it and flung the door open. “Leon! Merry Christmas — come in, come in, oh you didn’t have to—” She grabbed the wine out of his hand and Leon hung his coat up on the coat hanger by the door.
Ellie sprinted toward him. “Where’s buddy?”
“Home,” Leon said. “He’s grounded.”
Ellie looked scandalized. Somewhere behind you Mason was already explaining what Santa ate.
And then, over your mother’s shoulder, across the noise of the entryway, his eyes found you.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
Your mother had him by the arm in an instant, towing him toward the living room, showing him the tree and pointing to an old ornament you made when you were six. Dani walked up next to you, already holding a glass of champagne.
“He cleans up nice,” she said.
“Dani—”
“What? He does.” She took a sip.
“Dani, I need—”
“Mom! Look at my truck!” Mason tugged at her arm and pulled her away before you could say the thing you’d been trying to say all day.
You walked back into the kitchen, grabbed a glass and poured yourself a glass of champagne too. You pulled out your phone and typed a message to your sister.
dont bring up the announcement tonight. i’ll explain later
You hit send hoping she would see it.
⋆꙳·❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
Dinner was ready on the table. You sat at the end of the table, facing your dad at the other end, with Dani and the kids down the right side. Ellie had begged to sit next to Leon and was overruled, so she settled for staring at him across the table instead. Your mother took the left side and put Leon next to her, which left one empty chair between him and you.
The ham was perfect with Leon announcing, “best ham I’ve had in years,” with sincerity, and your mother lit up. She stopped apologizing and for a second you almost forgave him just for that.
“Honey, pass Leon the gravy.”
You picked up the boat and reached across and he reached to meet it.
“Thanks,” he said.
You nodded at your plate.
Dinner carried on with Ellie asking more questions about Buddy.
“Did he get presents?”
“He got a bone.” He said.
“Just a bone?” she asked.
Mason kept talking about all of his new toys, while your mother kept everyone’s plate full. Your dad said very little, which was normal and just watched. And tonight you knew what he was watching.
Dani, somehow, was on her third glass of champagne.
She kept getting louder and louder as dinner went on. She got funnier and sloppier. She was telling a story about airport security and under the table you checked your phone against your thigh.
Your message was still on delivered, not read.
Then Dani picked up her spoon.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
“Oh! Y/N—” She held her glass up, cheeks pink, beaming down the table at you. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell everyone?!”
Everyone turned toward you all at once.
You gave her the smallest shake of your head – no, not now – and watched it sail right past her.
For a second you tried to think of something, anything and nothing would come up. You wanted to say It’s nothing but Dani would push and tell the truth anyway.
In the corner of your eye, you could see Leon go still.
Your mother had already put her fork down, lit up and waited for you to say something. Ellie was looking around to see what she’d missed. At the far end, your dad had stopped chewing.
There was nowhere to go.
“Um.” You didn’t smile. You scratched at the back of your head. “I– yeah. I got a new job.”
“Oh — that’s great, honey!” Your mother’s hand went to her chest.
“You gotta tell them where!” Your sister exclaimed, slurring her words a bit.
The words sat in your mouth for a second.
“Here.” You said it to your plate, and then made yourself look up. “About thirty minutes away.”
While everyone around ate your mother recalculated everything.
“You’re coming home?!”
“Yeah,” you nodded. Not smiling.
Your mother shot up out of her chair and went around the corner of the table with her arms open. Your dad stood slower and hugged you with one arm when it was his turn, and said, quietly, into the top of your head, “Good.” Ellie attached herself to your leg. Mason demanded to know what was happening.
Everyone was up. Everyone but two people.
Dani was still in her seat, glass half-raised, and you watched the delight drain out of her face as she looked at you. You being hugged and not smiling, it was the first sober look she’d had all night.
And Leon.
Over your mother’s shoulder, through the crowd of your own family, you found him. He hadn’t moved. His hand was resting on his glass of wine and he was looking at you.
Then he looked away.
A knock on the door interrupted everything.
It was your brother-in-law, Josh, who walked in with a large garbage bag slung over his shoulder.
“Merry Christmas, everyone!”
Everyone’s attention switched over to him in an instant. The kids hit him at a dead run and he dropped the bag just in time. Dani was up and across the room with your mother exclaiming, and your dad was already reaching for the bag. Somewhere in the pile of it you caught flight landed early and didn’t want to say anything in case.
After everyone got their hugs in they quickly migrated into the living room with the large black bag of gifts.
Everyone but you and Leon.
You sighed, picked up your champagne glass, and walked to the kitchen.
The party came through the wall as happy muffled shrieks. You could hear the crinkle of the bag and your mother shouting. You stood at the counter and drank what was left in your glass in one go.
It wasn’t enough.
Leon’s wine was sitting by the fridge where your mother had abandoned it, still corked. You went at it with the corkscrew, the cork fought you, but you fought back with a grip that had nothing to do with wine. You had just gotten it loose when you heard him come in behind you.
You poured his wine into your champagne glass about halfway.
“What is this, cabernet?”
“Zinfandel.”
You nodded and took a sip.
“It tastes like shit.”
“Guy at the store said it was good,” Leon said.
You pictured him standing in some grocery store aisle, asking a stranger for help, because your mother had invited him. You drowned the thought in another sip of wine that did, in fact, taste like shit.
Behind you, you heard him shift.
“Congratulations,” he said. “On the job.”
“Thanks.”
The party swelled through the wall. Somebody had found something in the bag and Ellie was screaming about it. In the kitchen it was just the two of you and the hum of the refrigerator, alone together for the first time since July, and you were about to say something to end that — I should get back — when you turned around and he was holding a box.
It was a small, blue and rectangular box.
“What is this?” you said.
He didn’t answer. He just held it out and you took it.
You opened it.
A bracelet. A thin chain, delicate, with one small pale stone that caught the kitchen light.
“Leon—”
“Here.” He held out his hand for it.
You should have said no but instead you handed the bracelet back to him, and then you put your arm up with your wrist out.
He was careful with it and he bent his head over your wrist and worked the tiny clasp with steady hands. He rested his fingertips on the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse was. He could probably feel how fast it was beating.
He held his hand there and looked up.
You were going to say something — thank you, maybe, something small but it died.
He was looking at you the way he had never once looked at you. Not the dry cover. Not the deflection. It was something open like he was saying, sorry, aimed directly at you.
He didn’t look away.
For the first time since July, he didn’t look away and he always looked away first.
But you did. You looked down at the bracelet, his apology sitting on your pulse and saying everything he wouldn’t. You were not going to cry in your mother’s kitchen with your whole family in the next room.
“I—” you said. “Excuse me.”
You put the glass down and walked away.
Through the doorway, past the living room. There was a wall of noise, wrapping paper crinkling, nobody’s head turning, only Dani’s eyes catching you over her husband’s shoulder. At the front door, you jammed your feet into your black boots and didn’t grab a coat on your way out.
The cold hit you like a wall but you walked into it anyway. You went down the steps, down the driveway and onto the sidewalk. You didn’t know where you were going but away was good enough for you.
Behind you, the front door opened.
“Y/N.”
You kept walking. The footing was sure under your boots, all the way down the sidewalk. It was salted every inch of it.
“Y/N—”
You tried to walk faster but his hand closed around your elbow.
You pulled it out of his grip and turned to him.
You both were in the cold, breath fogging between you, the street quiet and strung out with everyone else’s lights. You looked at your parents’ window glowing warm and gold, full of your entire family.
You realized you were standing in front of his house.
You stared at him.
“Was the wine really that bad?” Leon said.
“Are you fucking serious.” You say turning away again.
He grabbed your arm again.
“Y/N, okay, okay, please don’t go.” Leon pleaded.
“Why!” You turned back around to face him.
“I— don’t want you to go—”
“Oh! So now you don’t want me to go!” You were already sniffling and shivering.
He didn’t say anything.
“You want me to stay but you never say anything!”
“y/n, please.”
“Please, what.” You bit back.
“Please just come inside.” He looked up at his house.
“And why would I do that?”
“I can explain,” he said. “And you’re shivering.”
You looked at the house to the right of you, it was dark except for the light he’d left on for the dog.
Your teeth had started chattering. You hated that they’d taken his side.
“Ten minutes,” you said.
His shoulders came down slightly.
“And if you say ‘it’s complicated’ even once, I’m gone.”
“Okay,” he said softly.
He turned and walked toward the door with you following behind him.
Buddy hit the door like a cannonball the second it opened and the silver tag on his new collar caught in the porch light. He shoved his head under your frozen hands like the five months never happened.
“Buddy.” Leon’s voice was quiet. “Off. Sit.”
And Buddy sat.
You looked around at the warm and finished house. It smelled clean and faintly of coffee. Leon grabbed a folded blue blanket off the back of the couch and held it out to you. You took it because you were still shivering and your teeth were still chattering.
Then your eyes trailed over to the kitchen.
The same kitchen that when you were here last, was unfinished. The same kitchen that you saw completed in the photo Leon sent you. That stupid backsplash was real now. You were standing inside the picture and you hated it a little less.
Then your eyes moved over to the living room which you hadn’t seen completed yet. The walls were white, he had a dark espresso brown leather couch and a fireplace with a TV above it. You noticed the unopened Christmas tree box right beside the couch.
You pulled the blanket around your shoulders and turned to face him.
“So explain.”
He stood on the other side of the kitchen island like it was a cover. For a long moment he didn’t say anything. You were about to turn and walk right back out into the cold when he said:
“You were leaving.”
You waited.
“In July. You told me you had a job back east, a whole life, two thousand miles away from here.” His jaw tightened. “And I did the math.”
“The math.”
“Yeah.”
“You did the math. On me.”
“On what it would cost you,” he said. “Flying back and forth. Waiting around for—” he gestured at himself. “You’d have gotten tired of it. Eventually. Better it stopped before it started costing you anything.”
“Better for who?”
He didn’t answer that.
“What else,” you said. “That can’t be the only reason you didn’t respond to me for five months.”
His eyes came up.
“You’re young,” he said, quieter. “You’ve got — everything’s still in front of you. I’m pushing fifty.” A breath. “You’d have woken up one day next to an old man and wondered what the hell you did with your—”
“Did you ask me?”
He stopped.
“Did you ever, one time, ask me what I thought about any of that?” Your voice was shaking now. “The distance. The age thing. Did you ask? Or did you just sit here and decide for me? Because that’s the part, Leon. That’s the part I can’t—” Your throat closed but you pushed away the tears. “You don’t get to assume things for me. You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”
“I know.”
“You don’t KNOW—”
“You’re right.” It came out low and fast. This was the most words he’d ever given you at once. “You’re right. I decided. I haven’t been able to decide anything for myself my whole life. This was the only—”
You stood there breathing at each other across his kitchen island.
“The only what Leon?”
“It’s compl—”
He stopped himself. Mid-word. You watched him swallow it and he looked genuinely lost. Like his only door had just been bricked over.
Then he pushed off the island.
“Come with me.”
He led you up the stairs, down the hall and past a door that stood open. You looked straight ahead to the last door on the left.
It had a deadbolt. On the inside of the house.
He took out a key in his pocket like he just kept that around in his everyday life. And while he worked the lock you crossed your arms and said:
“I hope you’re not planning on kidnapping me. The mysterious locked room isn’t helping your case.”
“I’m usually on the other end of those,” he said.
You scrunched your eyebrows at that statement.
The lock turned and he pushed the door open. He reached over to the light switch and flicked it on.
It was the one room in the house he hadn’t touched. No new paint, the old carpet and the old wallpaper seam peeling in one corner. There were boxes, stacked and labeled in neat handwriting. Hard black cases along one wall, also labeled, with what seemed to be names of guns. A shelf. And leaning against the wall were framed pictures not hung up yet.
You stepped in behind him.
You crouched down and the first frame was a photograph of what looked like Leon, in his early twenties maybe, in a police uniform. He was smiling. It took you a few seconds to understand you were looking at Leon.
Next to it, framed, a newspaper.
RACCOON CITY DESTROYED. With the date October 1st, 1998, and photograph of a mushroom of smoke where a skyline should have been.
“I was there,” Leon said next to you. “Raccoon City.” A pause. “It was my first day.”
You looked back at the young man in the police uniform. He looked so full of life.
You wanted to say something but you couldn’t.
There were more pictures. Another photo of him where he looked older. He was standing in the oval office, shaking hands with a President of the United States, a young blonde woman beside them with her arm around Leon like he was something she’d won. Another photo, candid, Leon with his arm around a dark auburn haired woman, a huge dark-haired man on his other side laughing at someone outside the frame. People and a whole life, decades of it, boxed and labeled and shut behind a locked door in a house on a random suburban street.
“The government job,” you said.
“Yeah.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Yeah.”
You turned all the way around. Took in the cases of guns along the wall, the size of them and the smell in the room.
“This is why,” he said.
You turned to face him.
“The distance was real. The age—” his mouth pulled, “that’s real too. But this.” His eyes went over the room. “Almost thirty years of this. Everybody who ever stood close to me ended up in it. And five months ago you were—” he stopped and his voice softened. “You were the first thing in a long time that had nothing to do with any of it. And I wanted to keep it that way more than anything—”
“So you disappeared,” you said. “To keep me safe?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you said you were retired?” you asked.
“Mostly,” he said, looking at the cases along the wall.
You reached down and picked up the photo of him in the RPD uniform. You smiled.
“How old were you here?’
“Twenty-one”
“You were cute.” When you said it you could’ve sworn he blushed.
“Were,” he huffed with a smirk tugging at his lips.
You laughed and then set the photo back where it had been leaning and grabbed the photo of him with the president and the blonde girl.
“I can’t believe you met the president.” Your finger traced the wooden frame.
“Wasn’t exactly a meet-and-greet. His daughter was kidnapped and I got her back.” He said.
“Should you be telling me any of this?” You looked up at him.
“No,” Leon said.
You set the photo back down and walked toward the door. Leon followed you, switching off the light, and locked the door.
You walked down the stairs and Buddy was waiting patiently at the bottom of the steps. You crouched down and he shoved his head into your hands. You scratched his ears. The new collar was stiff under your fingers and the little silver tag flipped over against your knuckle.
You turned it face-up.
BUDDY
“Leon.”
“Yeah.”
“You named him Buddy.”
You stood up and he was standing by the dining room table.
“You did,” he said, looking at you.
“I did?” You questioned, furrowing your eyebrows.
“Yeah.” He scratched his head. “You called him that the morning you left. I thought it suited him.”
You looked at him in disbelief. “Of course you did.”
“Y/N,” he said, almost whispering.
“What.”
“I’m sorry.”
You told yourself once that those two words would have cost him nothing. Here he was saying them and you finally saw the price.
“I know,” you said.
Something that was almost a smile crossed his face and then was gone.
You had to go home. You understood with total clarity that if you stayed in this house one more minute you were never going to leave it.
“I should go,” you said. “Before my family sends a search party.”
Leon nodded. “Yeah.”
He walked you to the door with Buddy trying to follow you out. For a second time the three of you were crowded in his doorway.
“Merry Christmas, Leon.”
“Merry Christmas,” he said quietly.
You went down his steps and across the driveway. The salt crunched beneath your boots, with his bracelet cold on your wrist and your breath white in the lit up neighborhood. You didn’t have to look back to know he was standing by the window watching you, making sure you got home safely.
⋆꙳·❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
You stepped back inside and the house was quiet besides the Christmas movie playing on the tv. Everyone was huddled up on the couch, including the kids who were up past their bedtime. You slipped behind them without anybody noticing and walked up the stairs to your room.
You sat down on your bed and there were three missed texts from Dani.
I’m sorry I didn’t see this until now. I hope you aren’t mad at me.
Summary: Post sex pollen. You and Leon both work at the DSO and you still hate each other (?) kicking my feet, giggling
part 1
Notes: Oh wow you guys, the first part of this was popular af. So I figured I should probably give the people what they want.
word count: 4.6k
Warnings: nsfw, age gap, younger reader, semi-public sex, oral f!receiving, bratty reader, yummy jealous Leon, RE9 Leon eating ass
Masterlist
The anteroom doors hissed as you and Leon stepped in. You awkwardly stood beside each other, both covered in part of Leon’s…genetic material.
The doors hissed again, on the other side this time and in walked Sherry Birkin, wearing a face mask and latex gloves.
“I’m honestly glad to see you both in one piece,” she said, placing two stacks of dark grey clothes at a safe distance from you. “We have to cremate your clothes to reduce the risk of contamination. Leave them in the bin over there and put these on.”
“Underwear too?” you asked.
“All of it,” she said, clearing her throat, eyes flicking between you and Leon. “Leon, you’ll go straight into quarantine.”
Leon nodded.
“Do I quarantine too?” you asked.
“Depends,” Sherry replied. “We’re gonna swab your…mouth, I think.” She wrinkled her forehead.
“Yeah, her mouth,” Leon confirmed and Sherry flinched, holding up a hand.
“You’re like a father to me, Leon. I don’t want to—I really don’t need to—” she broke off. “I didn’t want to know that about you. Like ever.”
“I know,” Leon said. “I’m really sorry.”
“I mean it’s kinda my fault,” you murmured. “I made him beg.”
Sherry and Leon stared at you.
“And…climax,” you added, barely audible and cleared your throat when you realised that was probably a little too much information. Sherry crinkled her nose, turned on her heel and walked out of the room, a shudder racking through her on the way out.
“That was unnecessary,” Leon said, turning away and slipping his shirt over his head. Oh, so now you were concerned with giving each other privacy all of a sudden?
You cleared your throat, turning around as well. “What was I supposed to say?” You slipped your shirt over your head.
“Not that,” Leon grumbled and you heard the rustling of heavy fabric.
The tiles covering the walls were sort of reflective and you got a great look at a particular back, a whole lot of muscles dancing under scarred skin with every movement. You swallowed, as your gaze trailed lower and you tore it away at the very last moment, your cheeks becoming hot.
His taste still lingered on your tongue. The truth was, you couldn’t wait to taste him again.
You cleared your throat and got rid of your bra, cupping your breasts as you threw your clothes into the bin in the corner, careful not to turn too far so Leon wouldn’t get an eyeful.
Like you had. You creep.
You slipped into the shapeless crewneck Sherry had brought with her, the fabric brushing over your already taut nipples. Leon paused in his movements, you saw it from the corner of your eye.
He wasn’t also looking at the reflection, was he?
While you waited for the medical staff to come pick you up, Leon and you awkwardly stood at opposite ends of the room.
“Maybe we should,” Leon started.
“Totally,” you chimed in without looking at him.
“Keep this private,” he went on.
“And not tell anyone, yeah,” you replied.
Leon cleared his throat, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You did the same, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, then back again.
Finally, the doors opened once more and someone from contamination control guided Leon out of the room. You let out a heavy breath and relaxed your shoulders a little.
Shortly after, one of the doctors came in and motioned for you to follow them to the infirmary.
Watching the medical staff from the DSO take turns in microscoping a sample of the mucous membrane from the inside of your cheek was probably one of the more mortifying moments of your life. Because you knew they would see something wiggling around in there.
Maybe more than one. You had no idea what Leon’s sperm count was.
Probably a lot. You had never seen this much cum before. Or maybe that was the plant. It had enhanced every sensation for him, so why wouldn’t it affect his sperm?
If it affected his sperm, maybe you were contaminated after all. Your face anyway. What if you had actually hooked up? Would the plant enhance your senses too?
An image flashed in your mind. Leon hoisting you up against the walls of the shipping container, the cold metal biting into your back at every thrust. You had your hands buried in his hair as you took him deeper and deeper until you cried out his name and—
“You’re all clear,” the doctor announced, looking at you over his clipboard. You jumped, being awoken from your daydream so crudely. “We couldn’t detect any infectious material, so you’re free to go.”
You blinked. “That can’t be right. Are you sure?” You pressed your thighs together, your folds slick with arousal already.
“No, you’re good.” He signed off on a document and opened the door for you.
You shook your head. “No, I-I’m pretty sure I was infected too.”
“And I’m 100% sure you weren’t,” he replied, smiling at you, softly. “No need to be nervous.”
Yes need to be nervous. Nervous as hell.
But you echoed his smile and stepped out of the medical examination room. Rubbing your forehead, you walked up to the elevator and frantically pushed the button. You could still hear Leon in your mind. The way he had hissed through his teeth, followed by helpless moans falling from his full lips. You wanted to kiss those lips so badly. Horny spores or not, a guy who was that vocal and filthy during a blowjob knew how to kiss you senseless.
He probably also knew how to do a whole lot of other things expertly. Agent Kennedy was very skilled in general. Granted, he had also had plenty of time to practice. He was what? In his fourties? Fifties maybe?
Old enough to make the blowjob even more problematic than it already was.
The elevator doors opened. One of the two female agents inside broke off mid-sentence when she saw you.
“Sorry,” you whispered, squeezing in beside them and pressing the button for the gym in the basement. You needed to get some of this energy out. You really couldn’t live like this. You felt like you were about to burst into flames.
The agent that had listened to the other one raised an eyebrow and looked over inquisitively. The other woman shot her a warning look.
You wrinkled your forehead and tore your gaze away from them, staring at the little ball of light dancing from one story to the next.
“So how big is it?” the one with the raised eyebrow leaned in to whisper in your ear just before you reached the lower levels.
Your head whipped around. “How big is what?”
“You know, Agent K–” she stopped as the elevator doors opened again, Leon standing in front of them.
You did a double take and looked at the buttons in the elevator. Instead of down, you had gone back up for some reason.
“I thought you were in quarantine,” you squeaked.
Leon stepped into the elevator. “They cleared me pretty quick.”
“That’s great,” you whimpered, his shoulder just inches away from yours in the tight space. “Where to?”
“Gym,” Leon replied and pressed the button for the basement again.
A nervous smile crept onto your lips.
“Where are you going?” Leon asked.
“Gym,” you croaked. “But if you’re going to the gym too, maybe I’ll give it a miss this time.”
Leon shrugged. “It’s big enough for the two of us to share.”
The agent behind you snorted a laugh that turned into a wince, as the other one rammed an elbow into her side.
The gym absolutely wasn’t big enough for both of you. Whatever Leon did, even if he was at the other end of the room, you were incredibly aware of his presence at all times. No amount of weight, no amount of cardio stopped your fantasies from running wild. What had started with you bent over his desk, had turned into you bouncing on his cock looking down at his blissed out face as he came inside you. Before it had a chance to turn into passionate missionary and breathy moans between whispered sweet nothings, you decided that it was time to clear your head.
You walked over to the wall and stretched out your hands, bringing yourself into a handstand, eyes closed. You breathed in deeply, feeling your chest expand as you focused on balancing yourself on your palms.
On your next exhale, you shifted your weight onto your left shoulder, carefully lifting up your other hand and stretching one leg out to the side at the same time. Maintaining full concentration was crucial, or else your wrist would wobble and you’d topple over.
Another inhale.
No Leon, no dicks, just breathwork.
Heavy breathing.
Panting.
Moaning and panting together.
Your wrist wobbled and you set your other hand back down, leaning your legs back against the wall. You groaned. This wasn’t an infection, this was a curse. Satanic, evil, from hell.
“Do you mind if I correct your form?” an annoying, grating voice sounded from beside you.
Nostrils flaring, you closed your eyes again. “What do you want, Kyle?”
The young agent tapped at your feet and you lost your balance. Before you face planted, you elegantly brought yourself back up into a standing position, hands propped against your hips.
“Except for disrupting my training,” you went on, eyebrows raised.
“Guilty.” He shot you a charming smile. “I came over to ask you something.”
“Sorry, I don’t know where they keep your balls, Kyle. Haven’t seen ‘em,” you said and extended your arms again, ready to get back into a handstand.
“You’re so funny,” he replied and nudged you in the side playfully—breaking your concentration. “That’s one of the things I like about you.”
“Oh god,” you breathed, watching him. Kyle was an attractive guy, dark hair, angular face, tall and broad shouldered like all agents. Eyecandy, if you will.
“So, uh, I was wondering if you ever wanted to grab dinner? With me?”
“Why do you want to get dinner with me all of a sudden?” you replied. “We don’t speak outside of meetings.”
“Well, I want to change that,” he shot back immediately. “Let me take you out.”
You opened your mouth to ask him what the hell had gotten into him all of a sudden, but you didn’t get a chance to.
“What she meant was ‘no’.” Leon stepped up behind you, you didn’t even need to look to know exactly where he was. It was like your body had an invisible antenna. Wherever your goose bumps pointed at, that’s where he was.
Kyle inhaled to say something, then looked between you and Leon and abandoned the thought.
“Your form’s actually great, there’s nothing for me to correct,” he said and walked off.
You turned around to Leon. “I didn’t say no.”
“He calls you agent TG,” Leon said, face stern. “The ‘T’ is for throat. You don’t want to get dinner with him.” So Kyle knew too, for some reason. As did the agents in the elevator. A shudder racked through you, then anger.
“What’s the ‘G’?” you asked and Leon crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“Goat.”
You sighed. “Why are they even concerned with contamination control? The only thing that spreads like wildfire around here is gossip.” You furrowed your brows. “And it’s not your decision to make who I have dinner with.”
“You made the decision. I translated it for him,” Leon said.
You held up a hand. “This is seriously overreaching. Just because you came in my mouth doesn’t mean you get to be jealous.”
Leon scoffed, but avoided your gaze. “I’m not jealous.”
“Good. Because you have no reason to.”
He shrugged. “Well, I’m not.”
You stared at each other, none of you moving an inch. Leon should be getting back to his training but he didn’t. A drop of sweat slid over Adam's apple and disappeared into the collar of his shirt.
“If you wanted to take me out to dinner all you had to do was ask,” you hissed. “Not come over and be all territorial.”
“I don’t have time to take you out to dinner,” he said without missing a beat like he had already considered that option. “I eat at my desk, I’m married to my job.” He tilted his head. “At least until we find out where they exported those plants to.”
“And I’m not going to bring you lunch, so there was no need to clarify,” you hissed, not entirely unfazed by him rejecting the implied date.
Leon cleared his throat. “Good.”
You nodded. “Fantastic. You’re like a hundred years older than me anyway.” You wiped your hands on your pants and got back into a handstand.
“Twenty-one,” he murmured absentmindedly, eyes trailing over your body, his jaw tight. “I’m twenty-one years older than you. And seven months.”
Your breath hitched. “You know when my birthday is?”
Leon pointed at your left flank. “You’re favouring one side when you do core exercises. You’ll always fall over like that.”
Your arms gave out and you crashed down. Cursing, you sat against the wall and massaged your wrist.
Leon had already walked back over to his side of the gym.
A week went by. A week full of awkward debriefs of what happened between you and Leon in that shipping container and a week full of pretending the other one didn’t exist. So, business as usual. Except this time, it was also a week of you making yourself cum multiple times a night to the thought of you repeating what had happened in that shipping container. And expanding on it, which only made you avoid him more.
But working together also meant that you sat in a meeting room with him for the nth time this week. They had located another warehouse full of plants and the sooner you destroyed the specimens, the better. So they called in your unit to assign roles for the upcoming field mission.
You sat in the chair, avoiding looking at one particular agent and waited for your assigned task with Leon.
K was the eleventh letter of the alphabet. And you had just gotten done with number 10. You sat up a little straighter in your chair, ready for your name to be called out next to Leon’s.
“Kennedy, you’re with Agent Williams on this.”
Kyle nodded. “Yes, sir.”
You nearly jolted out of your chair. “What?”
“Is there a problem?” one of the senior agents asked. Your stomach sank.
“What about me? Who’s my mission partner?” you asked, sounding a little more pathetic than you intended. In the shipping container, Leon had told you under—well, duress—that he made sure to be teamed up with you every single time. Because he wanted to protect you. Because he didn’t trust anyone else with keeping you safe during a mission.
“You’re actually our back-up for this one,” your supervisor said and continued on with the briefing.
“Back-up?” you mouthed, eyebrows shooting up. Your head whipped around to who you thought was responsible for this.
But Leon’s face was unreadable, stoic, if it weren’t for the muscle in his jaw twitching as he looked at the slides with the mission information.
After the meeting, you were absolutely fuming as you walked up the hallway. Your kitten heels clanked over the tiles and you felt utterly ridiculous in your business casual attire, pencil skirt and everything, when what you actually wanted to do was break into a full sprint and barge through Leon’s door.
Now you had to open it slowly like a civilian.
“You’re here,” he said, looking up from his reports.
“Why did you put me in the agent graveyard?”
He slid a pair of glasses off his nose and tossed them onto the desk, rubbing his eyes. “That’s not what’s happening.”
You stepped a little closer. “How is that not what’s happening? I’m being quiet fired.”
“I don’t think we should work together again,” Leon murmured and closed the files on his desk. “So I requested a new partner. I didn’t know they were going to put you in the agent graveyard.” He winced at his own last words.
You ignored the jolt of pain in your chest. “So, I am in the agent graveyard.”
“Temporarily, I’ll get you back out of it, I promise.” Leon said and looked at you.
“But you’ll never work with me again, because I sucked you off?”
“You know how I feel about you. I told you in the shipping container. And I know how you feel about me,” Leon whispered. “I don’t think either of those feelings are appropriate for the workplace. Or a life or death situation.”
Your cheeks became hot. Because of how angry you were or because of him admitting his feelings for you without being under the influence of anything, you weren’t sure.
“It was actually very appropriate for the life or death situation you were in, Kennedy.”
He gnawed on his lower lip. “Thank you for saving my life. And I’m sorry you had to do that.”
You shrugged. “I enjoyed it.”
Leon swallowed, hard. “I enjoyed it too. Which is why it’s so inappropriate. Me being infected made you do it.”
“I offered,” you said.
He huffed. “Because you didn’t want to let me die. Not because you wanted to give me a blowjob so badly.”
“No, I would have let you die,” you said. “I wanted to give you the blowjob.”
Leon’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re very blunt.”
“And you’re conflicted.”
Leon watched your every movement as you rounded the corner and leaned your ass against his desk right in front of him. Can you blame me? It’s a good ass.
“Because you’re twenty years older than me.”
Leon sighed. “Twenty-one, yeah.”
You ran a finger over the smooth mahogany of his desk. Your favourite fantasy out of all of them. Being bent over and fucked senseless, right here. It made you cum on your fingers in no time. “And you have no time to take me to dinner because you’re married to your job.”
Leon nodded, still watching you.
You pushed yourself up onto the desk, kicking off your heels until they clanked on the hardwood floor. Leon leaned forward in his chair ever so slightly.
“You’re always eating at your desk.”
You didn’t break eye contact with him as you reached under the hem of your skirt, pulling your lace thong down, until it hit the floor too.
Leon’s lips parted, pupils blown wide, as his gaze fell between your legs.
“What are you doing?”
You spread your legs wide enough for him to see you, glistening and swollen, inviting him in.
“Bringing you lunch to your desk.”
Leon’s eyes glazed over. “You said you wouldn’t do that.”
“Guess we were both lying then,” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribcage. If he rejected you this time, you could never show your face around here again. But you were already a back-up agent, so what did it matter?
Leon’s breathing became flat. “Are you sure?” His eyebrows were knitted together in pure agony.
You pushed your skirt up a little more and spread your legs wider. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Leon dropped to his knees and gripped your thighs. You bit back a gasp of relief.
“Agent Leon Kennedy, folding under no press—”
Leon yanked you closer to the edge, throwing your legs over his shoulders in one smooth motion. You yelped in surprise and propped yourself up on your elbows, watching his face disappear between your thighs.
“And you’re very bratty for someone who’s about to beg me for more, junior.”
You scoffed. “People who are this cocky, usually aren’t good in bed. Oh fuck.” Leon didn’t give you any time. He latched on to your clit with uncanny precision, making you whimper right out of the gate.
Leon chuckled and you felt like maybe you had bitten off more than you could chew. You hadn’t considered the twenty-one years of sexual experience he had on you. This was not a level playing field.
Leon let go of your clit and pressed an open mouthed kiss to your labia, licking up and spreading them with his fingers. He eagerly lapped at your centre, hooking his arms under your thighs and pulling you even closer to him.
A lewd moan fell from your lips and your fingers threaded through Leon’s silky hair. None of your fantasies even came close to the feeling of him pushing into you, curling his tongue, as you felt him exhale in a breathy groan.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he whispered and went back to sucking on your clit, flicking his tongue against it.
Your head fell back and you rolled your hips against his face, silently asking for more. Leon didn’t need to be asked twice. A finger pushed into you, sliding in effortlessly, your silky wetness covering him to the knuckle.
How did he know this was exactly what you wanted? He had no business reading your body like that the first time he ever touched you.
You mewled, your nails biting into his scalp, as you desperately tried to hold on to something. Biting back a helpless whimper, you clamped your thighs around your lover’s head, but he pushed your thigh back, opening you up wider to him.
“Oh fuck, Leon,” you sobbed, breathlessly, desire coiling tighter and tighter in your abdomen with every stroke of his tongue and fingers working in unison.
Leon shushed you, reaching one of his hands up, sliding under your shirt and pulling the lacy cup of your bra down, exposing your hard nipple to him.
Your eyes fluttered shut, as you continued to moan like a whore, squirming under his touch, panting, calling out his name so he wouldn’t stop. Never stop. You wanted to experience this until the world ended.
Your back arched off the desk and Leon didn’t stop you from clenching your thighs around his head this time, answering your moan.
“That’s it baby, oh fuck, come all over my face.”
A high pitched moan racked through you and your hips bucked, you were moments away from shattering. “Oh god, Leon.” Another moan, louder than the last one.
Leon leaned back, the lower half of his face glistening with your juices. He was panting, struggling to regain composure.
“You’ll have to be quieter, people are already talking.”
Your head shot up as your orgasm ebbed off and you shimmied closer to him, looking for the tiniest bit of friction to keep you edging closer to pure ecstasy.
“Why do you give a fuck about other people?” You panted, eyes rolling back in the back of your head, as you tried to catch your breath. “Keep going.”
Leon chuckled, ran his tongue over his lower lip and dipped his head back between your thighs again, continuing right where he had left off. You softly squeezed his tongue with your inner walls, inching closer and closer.
“I can’t wait to feel you do that around my cock.” Leon moaned shamelessly, making you clench down on his fingers this time at the finality of that statement.
“I’ve been thinking about nothing else,” you panted. “You fucking me, it’s all I can think about.”
Leon groaned, pressing his forehead against your vulva, as if he needed a moment to recalibrate, continuing to work you with his fingers.
You whimpered, your lower abdomen becoming tight. “Oh god, Leon.”
“Oh fuck yes,” he breathed, licking up your folds and eating you like he was starving for it. The sounds of pleasure filling the office were beyond obscene. You didn’t care who heard.
Until Leon paused his movements.
“No,” you whimpered, once again left right at the edge of sanity. “What are you doing? No, don’t stop.”
Leon bit back a laugh and your brows knitted together in fear as you realised he did this on purpose. He was toying with you.
“I thought you should know what that feels like.”
You whined, tugging at his hair, but he leaned back, looking at you with a smug grin. “If I were you, I would make you beg. But I’m a lot nicer than that.”
You helplessly kicked your feet, desperately trying to make him come back to you, getting the job done. “Fuck you, Kennedy.”
He clicked his tongue, scoldingly. “I think you can do better.”
“Don’t do this to me.”
He raised an eyebrow at you, rolling his thumb over your clit agonisingly slowly, watching you suffer. “I’m being very nice to you right now.”
“Fuck, Leon, please,” you whimpered, “Please don’t stop, I’m sorry, please, I need you.”
“Yeah, that’s more like it,” he murmured, biting his lip, taking his sweet time observing your wet flesh as he dragged his thumb over it again, rubbing your clit in tight circles.
Somewhere between Leon being the nicest person and him being the meanest person alive, you had sunken down to lay flat on the desk, squirming, thrashing under his touch, at the overstimulation without release.
His mouth found your centre again, fully making out with your pussy and a shiver racked through you, the tiny hairs on your skin standing to attention. You were so close.
Leon moved away from your clit and you sobbed.
“If you stop again, I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” you whined, stretching out your hand, white knuckling the other end of the desk, your breath coming ragged, a single drop of sweat trailing down your knitted forehead.
But Leon didn’t stop. He knew exactly what he was doing as he pushed two fingers deep into you, caressing your clit with his thumb. He hoisted your hips up higher, his mouth moving lower, tracing over your taut skin and you nearly blacked out.
A gasp turned into a high-pitched moan as he teased your rim with the tip of his tongue.
“Oh god, Leon, I–” You started pulsing around his fingers, gripping the edge of the desk tighter, chest heaving. “Oh my god,” you choked out as he licked you in broad strokes.
With the next skilled stroke of his tongue, you were gone.
Crying out his name, you clamped your thighs around his head, your heels digging into his back. Leon moaned against your hot flesh, continuing to eat your ass you through every wave of electricity coursing through you, rubbing yout clit, making you last longer, intensifying every sensation.
“Oh holy fuck, oh my god.” A string of curses fell from your lips, as you came harder than you had ever before, panting, barely able to process the multitude of stimulation.
You pressed your head against your arm, squeezing your eyes shut, mouth agape, probably letting the entire DSO know what Leon was doing to you, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was Leon making you see God.
Leon pulled you back up into a seated position and pulled you to lean against him. Weakly locking your arms around his shoulders, you sank against his chest, your entire body shaking.
You were still trying to catch your breath as Leon rubbed gentle circles over the small of your back.
“We still haven’t kissed,” you whispered breathlessly.
“First kisses are for first dates,” Leon panted. “What are you doing Saturday?”
“Going on a date with you?” you breathed, burying your forehead in the crook of his neck.
Summary: An attack during an attack leaves Leon injured and increasingly delirious. After extraction, he’s whisked away, and nobody’s fucking telling you what’s going on.
Finally, you get a phone call.
It changes everything.
WC: ~5k
CW: NSFW, like REALLY NSFW, you and Leon are partnered DSO agents, Leon is injured, fuck or die, sex pollen, sex venom, shaky safety practices, no use of y/n, no mention of ages, first time (together), friends to lovers, technically coworkers to lovers, handjob, unprotected p in v, creampies, multiple orgasms (Leon), he's a hopeless romantic at heart, happy ending
Notes: MINORS DNI
“You say you saw the suits.”
“Yeah, in passing.”
“You didn’t think they were important?”
“It’s a fucking lab. Labs are rife with hazmat suits. We’ve never had to equip them before.”
“There were warnings posted all over the exit.”
“There were zombies all up on our ass.”
The splattering offspray from Leon’s last-minute shot paints your back like a gory Jackson Pollock. The infected hits the floor, tripping two more.
It would be more helpful if there weren’t about a thousand of them closing in.
You’re running side by side with Leon, shoes eating up the sterile white floors, trying to divine an exit through the branching arteries of the lab. He has to veto a turn into a side hall when more shambling figures lunge forward; he grabs your arm to tug you away with him, but it’s an unnecessary precaution. You’ve already matched his footwork.
He glances behind as you run.
“Where the fuck are they coming from?”
You’d like to fucking know.
“And why are they all runners?”
You’ve dealt with your fair share of speed-boosted infected; limbs windmilling, clawing and careening, all bursting energy and no finesse.
These aren’t blisterheads. They have stamina. They’re keeping up.
You twist and shoot one whose fingers are uncomfortably close to swiping the back of Leon’s shirt. The nearby white paneled wall goes bright, splotchy red.
“Intel’s getting a new one ripped if we make it out of this,” you pant, breath dry and ragged in your throat. Your lungs are burning.
“We’re making it out,” Leon tells you. Conclusive, no room for argument. He dodges left, hand once again grazing your arm to pull you with, but you’re already there, a perfect shadow.
This hall is wider, brightly lit with glass cases set in between the wall panels.
You’ve only got eyes on one thing as you run.
EXIT
It’s a final sprint.
You grit your teeth, breath loud in your ears, arms and legs pumping hard, trying to build a gap that allows for a sudden smack into the double doors, a loss of momentum and reversal of motion to slam the barrier closed.
‘Slam’ turns out to be optimistic. It’s a hydraulic close. Glacially fucking slow.
“Fuck! Force it!”
You almost bash heads with Leon, throwing your combined weight against the doors as the calamitous wall of infected catch up, arms reaching through the diminishing gap, scratching and clawing at you.
With a roar of effort, the doors finally give way under pressure and close with a crunch. An arm, hand, and various fingers fall onto the concrete.
“Bar it! Bar it!” Leon’s braced against both doors, his body a wedge, jarred by the furious thumping from the other side.
There are massive pneumatic rod locks on either side of the door. The control panel is dark.
“There’s no power!”
“You’re armed!”
Oh, right.
BANG T-SHUNK
Smoke curls from the barrel of your gun. The blasted hole in the control panel sparks weakly, fizzes, then goes dark.
Leon pushes away from the secured doors, rubbing at his ear. Your head’s ringing like a struck bell and you’d been back at arm’s length, not parallel with the barrel.
“Say something?”
“Something.”
“Yeah, can’t hear shit.”
"You only look like it.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
He’s flipping you off.
You grab it like a pinky promise, linking middle fingers, and he rolls his eyes.
“Alright. Let’s bounce,” you say.
He pulls you back. Urgent, abrupt. It bumps you against him.
“Wait.”
You’re in a greenhouse.
Rows and rows of lush, overgrown plants stretch unfamiliar leaves towards a glass-paneled sky. The walkways between rows are made of industrial metal grating, a stale funk rising from the darkness underneath.
No breeze is stirring the air. The back of your neck starts prickling; your animal brain tugging on your metaphorical hem and pointing.
The plants are rustling lightly.
Leon half-turns his head towards you, keeping his eyes on the jungle ahead.
“What’s the sitrep on the door?”
It’s still thumping against the locks, battered by the relentless undead. You glance at the panel you’d shot, burst and gutted, the wall above it blackened.
“Fucked.”
“Other doors?”
It’s just wall. Wall, and wall, and wall, smooth and inhospitable.
“Negative.”
“How long can you hold your breath?”
“I don’t think that’s the concern.”
You’re playing back the last hallway. White walls broken by glass panels, streaking by as you run. Behind every glass panel, a bright orange suit, thick like leather.
Bite-proof.
“Fuck.”
“So you tried to bypass it underground.”
“So we tried to bypass it underground,” you confirm. You watch the man nod, taking notes. He’s a leftie.
“Good thinking.”
“Yeah, well. Apparently not.”
The metal grating isn’t light. Thankfully, you and Leon aren’t weak.
The daylight sits like oil on top of water, only greasing weakly off of the reflective metal of more walkways below; descending levels disappearing into the dark.
“Oh, good. Can’t see the bottom.”
“Endless possibilities,” Leon says. “Cover me.”
The first level is an eight foot drop. Leon swings his legs into the gap, scoots forward, and eases himself down slowly, like he’s waiting for something to file a violent complaint. When nothing does, he drops onto the walkway, the metal clanging despite his rubber soles.
He shines his flashlight forward.
“Ugh.”
“What?”
“Love what they’ve done with the space.” He pockets the flashlight, reaching up to you. “It’s a charm you have to see in person.”
His hands are firm on your sides, your shirt riding up a little as he supports you down onto the platform with him. He absently fixes your rucked hem as you shine your flashlight into the gloom.
“Ugh,” you agree.
Roots.
Long, white, spidery roots hang from the ceiling in lengthy clumps and bundles, like massive, cobwebby chandeliers.
Leon’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing.
“Hey. Look.”
He steps forward, reaching into the nearest nest of gauzy filaments. He pulls his hand out, fingers curled around a narrow, dark plastic tube.
You come closer with the flashlight.
The dark color is red.
“It’s warm,” Leon adds, horribly.
The tube snakes off into the darkness below. You point your flashlight down and catch a glint off of something flat, circular, and shiny.
Leon’s separating more tubes from the leggy mass of roots. Only the one is red, but the others don’t look any less… organic.
“God. Which way do you think they run?”
He glances at you. “Three guesses.”
“Plants don’t bleed red.”
“Not typically.”
You share a resigned look, then he brushes past you, face set.
You turn to find him making quick work of the stairs down to the lower levels, hand on his gun.
You check your pistol's chamber and follow.
“A line of tanks.”
“Life support tanks, yes. Dozens.”
“Which way were the tubes running?”
“Both ways.”
“So…”
“The tanks were feeding the plants, and the plants were feeding the tanks.”
“Life support, you said. So there were … humans? Inside the tanks?”
“Yeah,” you say, looking away. “Used to be.”
There’s a thick film of slime on the tank, like growing snot. Your flashlight can’t make out anything coherent inside.
Leon shines his flashlight down the row; cylinder after cylinder, standing like a row of human-sized batteries, all mucky with slime and tickled by the trailing ends of roots from the massive bundles overhead.
Somewhere ahead, a steady dripping, echoing. You don’t appreciate the cliche.
“When was the initial outbreak?” Now that you’re on solid ground, your voice seems to suck right into the floor.
“All the lab logs and entries stop around six months ago.”
“So no one’s been down here for half a year.”
“Yeah.”
Leon shares a long look with you, mouth tight. Then, hesitant, he wipes a window through the muck on the nearest tank.
The beam of his flashlight illuminates the chamber. You can see a vague shadow suspended inside, like a bug in rough, raw amber.
He steps back, jaw tight.
“Dare I even ask?”
He shakes his head. “It’ll put you off soup.”
You shine your flashlight upwards; the root balls catch it and glow, high overhead.
“What was so wrong with good ol’ hydroponics?”
“Let’s just get out of here,” Leon says, heading off down the line of tanks.
“Twist my arm.”
“You didn't see it?”
“It was behind one of the tanks. In the dark.”
“You didn't hear it?”
“It was a little noisy at the time,” you say, annoyed.
Third tank from the last, everything goes spectacularly tits up.
Glass shatters outward, slimy and wet as it ricochets off your defensively raised arms. The body in the tank falls forward and swipes for Leon’s legs.
It’s not like the infected you’re used to, desiccated and dry as jerky.
This one is wet. This one is dissolving, skin sloughing from muscle sloughing from bone. Entrails spill from its body cavity, slippery, spreading across the hoary concrete as the disgusting thing writhes for a claim on your partner’s ankle.
Leon stumbles out of reach, gun aiming at the mucky skull. It explodes like a sixpack in a hot car and you’re shouting, ducking behind your arm again—
That’s when the other thing strikes.
Leon shouts in pain and tries to tear free. The pale, rubbery thing keeps hold of his shoulder like an overexcited dog with a rope toy.
“Leon!”
It’s too close to his head and he’s thrashing, you don’t have a clear shot. Something glints in the shadows behind his hip.
The hatchet. He’s already grabbed it.
A roar, a swing, the song of a sharp blade slicing clean through something organic.
The pale thing hits the ground with a sound like a rotting squash, the vine swinging empty into the darkness behind the tanks.
Leon falls to one knee with a grunt, the hatchet clattering onto the concrete.
“Leon! Leon,” you’re touching his back, crouching down with him. He’s breathing hard through his nose, clutching his shoulder. The fabric is darkening under his hand.
“Let me see. Leon.”
You shove his hand clear, unzipping his collar and yanking it aside.
His skin is patterned with circular rows of bleeding dashes. Lots of them.
“What the fuck.”
The pale, rubbery thing lies flaccid on the floor behind Leon. At first glance, it looks like a starfish collapsed on itself.
At second glance, you start to see the teeth, fine and triangular, in diminishing rows like a shark.
Pink with blood.
“Shit. Hey.”
Leon’s still on one knee, head down. You push his hair back, leaving a bloody streak on his skin, and tip his face up. There’s sweat on his forehead.
It takes him a moment to focus on you.
“Tell me what you’re feeling.”
He grunts. His pupils are a little too big, even for the dim lighting, and they’re not reacting right when you pass your flashlight closer.
You’re trying not to panic.
“Can you get up? Can you walk?”
He lets you haul him to his feet but shoves you off when you go to duck under his arm. You don’t take offense; it’s a good sign. He’s steady enough on his own.
“Grab that,” he tells you, voice rough. He’s holding his shoulder again, pointing down at the beheaded plant. You pick it up by the little stem of vine, grab his hatchet, and follow him close, ascending fast while he calls for extraction.
You don’t wait for your debrief to finish writing.
“What did the labs say?”
“They’re still running tests.”
“What did Medical say?”
“They’re still running tests.”
“What, with a potato? Where's the sense of urgency, here?”
“At last report, Mr. Kennedy was stable,” he says, capping his pen.
“He was half delirious coming off that chopper!”
“They’ve determined he’s in no immediate danger.”
“How can they know if they’re still running fucking tests?”
You get your name in an admonishing tone. You stand up, your chair screeching against the floor.
“I wanna see him.”
“He’s in precautionary isolation.”
“I was exposed to the same bullshit he was. I wanna see him.”
“You weren't bitten.”
“What, you think he’s gonna bite me?”
Your debrief just looks back at you, calm and level, his hands folded prim over the closed folder containing your account of the whole goddamn shit-spackled mission.
“He’s in precautionary isolation,” he repeats.
Your teeth grind, a muscle in your jaw jumping.
“Are we done here?”
“Yes. You are free to go.”
Medical stops you at the door. They aren’t fooled by your purposeful stride, your bored but intent expression. They hook your arm and yank you away like it’s goddamn Looney Tunes.
“We were told you might try that.”
Fucking debrief.
So now you’re sitting at home, dialing the Medical desk every fifteen minutes, certain from the complete non-activity of the past four hours that they’ve filtered your number as spam.
Assholes.
You should go to bed. Medical’s kept you both alive thus far, through hell and high water. Leon’s in good hands. Stable. No immediate danger, they said.
You rotate your phone in your hand, over and over. Upside-down, rightside-up. Staring at nothing.
You call the labs.
Some poor idiot actually picks up.
“I-I-I can’t give you that information,” he stammers, when you demand an update on Leon. On the biting plant. On fucking anything.
“I’m his partner! I was ground zero when it happened!”
“I-I can’t verify that over the phone.”
“Then I’m coming in,” you say, prim. You hang up on more panicked stammering, tossing your phone aside on the couch.
You’ve barely made it to your feet when your phone starts ringing.
Incoming Call
Leonnedy
You stub your toe on the couch in your scramble to pick up.
“Leon! Are you okay?”
Immediately you can tell he’s not.
“I need help,” he says. Croaks.
Cold sweat breaks on your skin.
“Where are you? What’s wrong?”
“I’m… I can’t…” He gasps.
You’re a whirl of activity. You’re grabbing your wallet, your keys, pulling a jacket on over your pajamas. There’s no fucking time to change.
“Leon, where are you.”
“Home.”
“What?” You stop cold in your mad dashing, gripping the phone too hard. “They sent you home like this?”
“They said I could take care of it.”
“Take care of what? They won’t tell me fucking anything, Leon–“
He groans through clenched teeth and oh boy, Medical’s gonna find out just how creative you can be when it comes to revenge. You shove your feet ungracefully into some shoes and grab for the door handle.
“The venom,” Leon’s panting in your ear, and then he gets to the zinger. “It’s an aphrodisiac.”
You feel it like lightning, a surge throughout your entire body. Your visual of his situation, based on the noises he’s making, takes a dramatic turn.
“Leon.”
“It’s been six goddamn hours,” he grits out.
“Jesus christ, can’t you just–”
“I’ve tried,” he says. “I’m just goddamn edging myself.”
“Did you call Medical? There’s gotta be something they can–”
“Fucking useless,” Leon says, confirming your hypothesis. “They told me to hire an escort.”
“What?”
“I’m not— fuck— fucking doing that.”
You thump your forehead against your front door, your grip on the doorknob tight enough to crush.
“Leon, if you… there’s no shame. They’re professio–”
“No,” he cuts in. “I don’t…” He breaks off, breath hissing through his teeth, and then fails to elaborate.
That’s alright; you’ve got a pressing question.
“Why’d you call me?”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. You just have to listen to him breathe like this.
Your vivid imagination is a fucking curse.
"I trust you,” he finally tells you. “I know how this… I don’t have… I trust you.”
You’re partners.
No, you’re coworkers. What he’s asking is… can he ask this? What happens to your partnership in the aftermath? Can you go back to–
“Please,” he breathes in your ear, and tops it with your name.
You wrench the door open.
Before you hang up, he gives you the code for the garage door, and fair warning.
You’re still not prepared.
As partners, you’ve seen each other in various states of undress. Usually partial. Usually because you’re bleeding somehow. Always clinical.
This doesn’t feel like the far end of the same spectrum. This feels like a g-force journey into a different dimension.
Leon’s on his couch, head back, knees wide. Taut like a bowstring.
Completely, stark, buck-ass naked.
His shoulder looks like a bisected watermelon, his skin dewy and pink, dotted with the dark little toothmarks from the venomous plant.
His chest is heaving, his hips restless.
His cock is flushed dark, painfully engorged, thick and pulsing against his stomach. There’s a wet smear on his skin; when his cock lifts, straining, it trails a sticky little string of precum.
“Christ,” you rasp, tossing your jacket aside.
He lifts his head and his eyes can barely focus on you. He looks on the verge of passing out, but he reaches out, reaches for you. You shove a bottle of lube out of the way on the couch cushions and take his outstretched hand.
“I’m here. What do you–“
“Touch,” he pants, barely coherent. “Touch me.”
And here you are in the deep end, no time to brace, no time to breathe. You’re touching him, chamois soft skin, hot and unyielding. His hips jerk on a gasp, a groan dragging from somewhere deep within as he lets his head fall back on the couch.
The hot, swooping sensation in your stomach physically bends you, punches your breath out.
You’ve never handled a dick this hard in your entire life.
You’ve maybe never handled a dick this big in your entire life. He’s long and thick, the head flared, cerise and glistening. You pass your thumb over his slit, smearing through the precum, and his stomach tautens as he pushes up into your hand, his breath rushing out hot, hissing back in. He’s desperate.
He breathes your name. His ass keeps flexing with the helpless motion of his hips and his eyes are closed, forehead knotted.
It’s intense concentration. His world narrowed down, only as wide as the circle of your fist.
Six goddamn hours.
You tighten your grip, trail your other hand up the lightly furred inside of his thigh, teasing his balls before stacking your fists and starting to pump him in a steady rhythm that answers the flex of his body.
His hand lands on your thigh, searing, his fingertips firm on your flesh and pulling. Your knee presses tighter against his leg.
He’s just grappling for a hold on something, for an anchor. His other hand is doing the same thing to the arm of the couch. You just hope he doesn’t move his hand any further to the left on you or he’s gonna find you a little too slippery to hold onto.
Fuck, you’re only goddamn human.
You jerk him faster, his hips starting to meet you in earnest, his body rolling as he chases his disobliging release.
And why couldn’t he get there himself?
What if… what if you can’t get him there, either? You don’t know anything about the venom, they’re still running tests. Maybe this is the result. Maybe he’s just… stuck like this, heightening, exacerbating, until he, what, pops?
What a fucking epitaph that would be.
No, you’re not scripting headstones. That’s not happening.
You start to twist on the upstroke, a flick of the wrist, and Leon moans loud.
“That’s it. Come on, Leon.”
His balls are tightening, drawing up, his forehead beaded with sweat, his mouth open. He’s right on the edge.
“Look at me.”
He opens his eyes, glassy as they are. You make sure he can see you, and then you bend low.
His skin is velvety soft around the firm rounds of his balls. You fit your lips to one of the shapes, touch your tongue to it, tasting the salt of him.
He cries out, thick ropes of cum hitting his chest, his stomach, spurting and spilling down his shaft, smeared by your hand as you milk him through it, relieved.
You can’t stop your breathy laugh, almost lost under his aereous groans. He just keeps going.
“A little pent up?”
He doesn’t quip back. The situation is dire.
His dick gives one last pulse, the final beads of his release dribbling down the head of his cock. You rub it away with your thumb.
There’s a very noticeable issue.
He’s still incredibly hard.
When you meet his eyes, they’re a little clearer. He’s still sunset pink and breathing hard – messy, now, too – but he can track your face better.
“Do you feel any different?”
“Fuck. Barely.”
"What if you're stuck like this?"
“Don't say that," he says. You’re still stroking him, slow, like an afterthought. He drags his hands through his damp hair, hissing when it stretches the scabs on his chewed shoulder.
"It was venom, do you need some sort of antivenom?"
He doesn’t appear to be listening. His hands grip the back of the couch, his hips rolling, cock pushing through your sticky fist.
You grab his hips and force them down.
“Leon.”
He bucks hard against you, bratty.
"You think I know?”
“Don’t give me an attitude.”
“Don’t fuckin tease me,” he snaps, unwisely.
You move fast.
A whump, a gasp, the silence of breath caught in the shadow of a predator.
His breath fans out over your face; slow, tremulous.
“I’m doing you a favor,” you remind him, low, your face inches from his. “I could just leave.”
He’s not moving, trapped under you.
You’re straddling him, your fist tight at the base of his cock.
“What do you say?”
“Fuck.”
“Leon.”
“I love you.”
It rattles you like a gunshot, strikes you and spreads.
It takes your advantage, crumples it up, and throws it in a trash compactor. And then it lights that trash compactor on fire.
“That’s not fair,” you breathe.
“Sorry,” he whispers, and kisses you.
He’s upgraded your permissions. You kiss him back, heated, and let go of your leash.
He breaks from your mouth to gasp when you sit on his hips, his hands catching your waist and gripping.
“Shit.”
“So we’ve learned that I’m not a monk,” you say, a verbal roll of the eyes.
It’s not just a few tepid inches of water in your basement. At this point, your flood’s halfway up the damn walls.
He rocks his hips, rubbing himself against the soaked fabric of your pajama shorts. You keen and pick up the motion on your own.
God, you’re aching.
“You should have said something,” he says, breathless.
“That wasn’t on the invitation.”
“Aren’t you a saint.”
“Yeah. Because when you said ‘I trust you’, I heard ‘take advantage of my compromising situation’.”
“Fair,” he says, then pulls you down to speak in your ear, his scruff a ticklish rasp against your skin. “Fuck me.”
Well don’t you make the perfect pair. He’s hard as granite and you’re wet enough to sink a dinghy.
Taking off your clothes is too much fucking bother. You just shove the wet fabric to the side.
He doesn't watch where you’re taking his cock into your body, the hot, hard length of him sliding in tight past your pussy lips.
He’s watching your face. You don’t know it until you’ve got him in to the hilt, your mouth falling open on a sigh, your forehead smoothing out as you gyrate your hips, a delicious little circle, fully seated on his lap.
"Oh my god, Leon."
He comes.
Your name is somewhere in the long groan sieved through his clenched teeth before his mouth drops open, diced breaths tumbling free as he pulses inside of you, so deep, so hot and thick.
He’s still looking directly at you.
You watch his eyes clear just a little more; sharpening, focusing. Smoke becoming a mist.
“Can I tease you about premature ejaculation.”
“No.” He starts unbuttoning your pajama top. The fabric is wrinkled at your sides where he’d been gripping, almost hard enough to bruise.
“Why, because you’re still hard?” He is, but it’s different. You couldn’t bend steel around him anymore.
“Yeah,” he says simply, and grips your open collar, pulling you down into a kiss.
You arch your back, easing him to just the tip, bottoming him out again, cycling his affected breath through your own lungs. He runs his hands down your chest, grazing your nipples, his tongue reaching into your mouth to taste your sigh.
His hips press up into you, lifting you, a gentle swell. You ride it; start to rock your hips.
The fabric of your shirt whispers down your arms, chased by the skim of Leon’s palms. Goosebumps raise on your skin.
You brace your arms on the back of the couch, riding him faster. He trails his lips down the column of your neck, his scruff a pleasant scratch, his humid breaths printing your skin.
He runs the fan of his fingers over your nipples.
“Leon.”
“Lean back,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “Let me see you.”
You sit back on his hips, brushing your hands over the caps of his knees. He scratches lightly down the flex of your thighs as you start slapping down on him harder, dropping your head back, gasping.
“Fuck, gorgeous, just like that.”
“God, Leon.”
Your thighs are burning. He starts meeting you, hips snapping, and you look down.
It almost does you in.
Those broad shoulders, that flushed chest. Muscles rolling and bunching under his glistening skin. Hair sticking to his forehead, wet pink lips, blown eyes hooded, watching you, too.
His hands fall to your hips and he growls, fingers bunching in your pajama shorts. Feral. Like he’s going to tear them.
He hooks his arm around your back and surges up, laying you out on the sofa. You whine when he slips out of you, but he’s lifting your hips to yank your shorts and panties down, surprisingly coordinated for the way he’s wound up.
A small part of you expects them to hit the floor with a wet slap. The rest of you is reaching for Leon, impatient, empty.
He brings your knee up, hooks your leg around his hip and pushes back in, one long thrust, his breath a humid narration. You keen, head falling back against the cushions, feeling his lips at your jaw.
He digs his arms under your shoulders, his body rocking you, fluid motions pushing and pulling as he fucks you slow, deep. You grip his back, obsessed with the animal flex of his body.
You can feel every inch of him, stroking your walls. In, out, a steady tide. You arch your back, your stomach pressing to the rippling heat of his abs.
He’s still sticky. You don’t fucking care.
“Score’s two to zero,” he tells you, breath hot against your cheek. “You gonna catch up?”
“I’m not the medical concern.”
He brings your other leg up onto his hip, adjusting. Seeking.
He finds it. You groan loud, raw, and feel him smile against your neck.
“There you are.”
Your jaw hinges open, your vision glazing over as he rubs the head of his cock against the bundle of nerves inside you. He snaps his hips, jolting a gasp out of you, then goes right back to massaging your g-spot.
“You’re not real,” you pant. He nips your skin, sharp.
“River in Egypt, sweetheart.”
You dig your heels into his glutes, pressing in like spurs, urging him faster.
“Come on, cowboy– ah!”
He pushes up onto his hands, skin slapping loud as he starts pounding into you hard and fast. You were already tightening, coil building, and he’s hit your fucking warp drive.
“Fuck, fuck, like that, Leon!”
“Shit, you better hurry,” he says through gritted teeth. His hips are stuttering, rhythm starting to fall apart.
“I told you–“
His thumb circles your clit, just one rotation, and that’s it. The bastard’s got you. Screaming, even.
You come apart beneath him, your foundation shaking, walls clenching around him, wracked by seismic waves. He gasps your name, watching you climax on his dick, then slams in deep and comes with a long, stuttering groan.
The third time, it seems, is the charm.
When his phone starts ringing, you don’t hear it at first. His head is blocking your nearest ear.
“Leon.”
“Mm.”
“Your phone.”
“Mmph.”
You shift like you’re going to try to reach for it yourself, but he’s beautifully heavy on top of you, so you don’t try very hard.
You nuzzle your face into his hair and bring your arms around him instead, closing your eyes. He hums, content.
The ringtone stops, bending to your private moment.
Five seconds later, it starts up again.
“Fuck.”
You grouse when Leon shifts up, but his reach is longer than yours and he doesn’t go far.
“Huh. Medical,” he says.
“Oh,” you say, with mock optimism.
He hits answer, settling back on top of you. You run your hand up and down his back, petting him.
“Kennedy.”
He doesn’t have his volume turned up very high. You get vague shapes of words, spoken quickly, and then Leon’s short responses, felt as much as heard, his voice thrumming through you.
“Yeah. … No. … Don’t need it. … I know. … I know. … No, I’m fine. … Sure. Bye.”
“Fucking useless,” he mutters, his phone clattering onto the coffee table. “Antivenom’s ready.”
You start giggling.
“They want me in for reassessment in the morning.”
It turns into laughter, smothered into his shoulder, and he rolls into the couch crease so he can look at you.
“What?”
“All their overtime hours,” you say. “No match for your partner’s Magical Healing Vagina.”
He laughs, a real one, his hand pulling at your hip to twist you towards him, pressing you against his body. You’re both a fucking mess, and the couch might be a write-off.
It was an emergency.
“Should get you certified,” he says. You make a skeptical noise.
“There’d be a demand.”
His arm tightens around you, minuscule. Almost imperceptible. Might’ve been completely imperceptible, if his arms weren’t so big.
“Mm. We’re sticking to best-kept-secret.”
“How selfish.”
He nuzzles your mouth with his, sharing breath.
“Yeah.”
“Hey,” you mention, to his invading tongue. He retreats and lets you speak. "Did you mean what you said, or was it just self-defense?"
"What I said?"
"Don't be obtuse.”
He brushes his lips against yours, just a snag of soft, moist skin.
"I've never lied to you," he says.
"There's a first time for everything," you say. "You're skirting the question."
He brushes your hair back, studying your face. Content to take forever, it seems.
"If it helps," you say, "I can put you back under duress."
You slide your hand to the front of his hip, laughing when he flinches away.
"Ass," he says, and rolls you onto your back again, dipping to kiss you.
"Yeah. I love you," he says, and maybe it's a little gruff. "And isn't that just a shitload of complications."
"A metric fuckton," you agree, stroking his cheek. His stubble rasps against your fingertips.
His eyes are completely clear, gaze steady looking back at you.
“But maybe it helps that I love you, too,” you murmur.
It's not a kiss this gets you. He's been dishing out all manner of kisses tonight, their significance has shifted. No.
Instead, he nuzzles his face against your neck, wraps his arms around you, and holds you. Holds you like he intends to for a very long time, like you're the only thing that matters, like your beating hearts need to carry out a close and personal conversation.
Good. They can work out the details. You're just gonna lay here and pet the hair of the man you trust most – the man you can finally admit that you love – glowingly content in his arms.
On AO3
Y'all mind if I just give our man a bad good time real quick
Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist when I post these fics 🩷
Could I request a fic about making those “special videos” with Leon….?
hehehe yes, yes you definitely can <3 18+ sorry its a little all over the place I’m sick lol x
There isn’t much Leon wouldn’t do for you, so when you confess to him just how much you’ve been missing him whilst he’s away at work and how porn just doesn’t do it for you anymore… well, it’s him that suggests making a little home video together, and you’re more than willing.
He starts off slowly, kissing your neck as he crowds you back against the pillows, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt, caressing over your ribs and up to your breasts until you’re arching up into him.
“You sure you’re up for it, yeah?”
you nod almost instantly with a breathy, “uh-huh,” your lips parting as his tongue slowly licks into your mouth, the kiss tapering off into wet pecks along your jaw before he pulls back to grab your phone with a glint in his blue eyes.
Before you know it, he’s got you stripped and all spread open on your shared bed with your phone balanced against the pillows catching the way he plays with your slick pussy— his thick fingers spreading your plump folds open for the camera, running over your sticky labia.
“Aww, look at you, baby,” he coos roughly, teasing your achy clit in slow little circles, “such a messy pussy, dribbling everywhere, soaking the sheets already, and I haven’t even made you cum yet.”
You whimper pathetically, hips bucking up into his hand, and he tuts in disapproval, pressing you back down with his free hand to keep your ass flat against the mattress.
“please Leon-” your words come out all choked, hands curling into the bedsheets tightly as his fingers tease your fluttering entrance.
“I know. I’ve got you, baby.” He drawls out, rubbing your clit a little firmer, faster, just to hear you whimper his name out breathlessly. Then, finally, he pushes two thick fingers into your tight hole— letting the camera capture the way your pussy swallows his digits up with a fifthly squelch right down to his knuckles.
Leon is also a big fan of making you face the camera when he’s fucking you into the mattress; he wants you to remember the ache of him filling you up when you’re alone in bed watching these little videos with your hand between your thighs, missing him.
“Look at the camera, look at how good I’m fucking my girl.” His fingers curl around your jaw, coaxing your head to the side so you can look at yourself in the reflection of your phone's camera, completely ruined, as his fat cock stretches you out so deliciously— his tip nudging that gummy spot deep inside you that makes you dizzy.
Your breath catches, a whiny moan falls from your kiss-bitten lips. He takes the opportunity to press his ring and middle fingers into your mouth as his other hand pushes one knee up towards your chest, his thrusts deepening, the wet slap of skin against skin picked up by the crappy phone mic along with the way you gurgle obscenely around his fingers as you gush around his length whilst he cums inside you in thick, hot spurts.
And obviously he’s gotta show the camera the prefect mess you’ve made together, because god forbid you forget whilst he’s away! He kneels between your legs, phone tilted down to capture the way he runs the fat head of his cock through your sticky folds, collecting his cum on his leaky tip and pushing it back inside your pussy with a rough chuckle when your thighs get all twitchy, and you whine about it being too much.
“Fuck— think you got enough material, baby?” He asks all breathlessly, dropping the phone onto the bed before collapsing beside you on the bed with a grin, looking far too proud of himself.
જ⁀➴ Resident Evil Masterlist જ⁀➴ General Masterlist
Synopsis: Another bad night for your man, but you know how to comfort him!
Tags: RE6!Leon x F!Reader, established relationship, smut, unprotected sex (don't do this, take care 🙏🏻), creampie, riding, pathetic men, whiny and crybaby Leon, mentions of dependence and post-traumatic stress, some angst, comfort and more!
Note: Hi!! I finally had time to finish this request from a while ago. It just wouldn't leave my head 😩 we don't talk about RE6!Leon enough, and I really need it. Pleasee ignore any mistakes and enjoy!💕💕
When you met Leon, years ago, you knew you were dealing with someone complex. You could see it in his eyes, which always concealed the seemingly endless pain in his life. When things escalated and the relationship became official, you came to know his wounds more deeply. The nightmares in the middle of the night, the cold sweat that trickled down his forehead when he remembered too much, or how there were times when all he wanted was to be with you.
You were the only thing that kept him sane. The only thing that kept him grounded. He felt guilty for wanting to merge his body with yours, for clinging to you until his last days. Could you blame him? He loved you like he'd never loved anyone or anything. The way you always took care of him when he was too depressed to get out of bed, how you washed his hair so gently, and above all, how you let him sink into you until he couldn't think of anything bad.
Tonight was one of those nights where dark thoughts clouded his judgment, and he couldn't stop the tears fall down for his face. His arms were tightly around you, his face buried between your tits as if letting go would mean the end of his life. Small, husky moans danced against your skin, muffling the occasional sob from Leon.
"You okay, baby?" you asked, trying to keep your tone sweet despite his length being buried deep inside you. You could practically feel his cock brushing against that delicious spot inside you with every movement you made on top of him.
All you got was a small nod, or maybe he was just rubbing his face against your chest like a big, old dog looking for love. He was a mess of tears and saliva, letting out long sighs of pleasure as he felt you ride him up and down, soaking him from base to tip. You went all the way down, until his swollen balls bumped against your entrance, then back up again, leaving only the dripping tip of his cock inside.
Your fingers brushed against his sweat-damp hair, pulling him close to your chest as you rode him slowly. His trembling hands roamed your back adoringly, drawing you closer with the need for there to be not an inch of distance between you. Your lips sought his, pouring all your feelings onto his trembling lips. He looked so fragile, panting into your mouth, his brows furrowed with pleasure and the need to silence the voices in his head.
"I love you, don't leave me..." He whispered, breathless. "Please, I love you so much, baby." Repeating his words with painful sincerity, he held you tighter, letting you bounce faster on him. His brain was completely melting, and long-forgotten tears slid down his rosy cheeks. He knew it was pathetic, but he couldn't help begging for more, pleading for you shamelessly.
His moans grew louder, more shaky, as his cock trembled inside your wet walls, making a loud, obscene squelching sound that echoed throughout the room. You were no better, the friction of your throbbing clit against his pelvis, lightly covered by pubic hair that created a path to his member, was driving you absolutely wild. That, and his wet, desperate kisses on your neck, were bringing you closer and closer to the edge.
"Look at me, please..." he begged, pulling you out of your trance. He knew you were close by the way your hot walls gripped him and the way your breathing became more frantic. "I want to see you—" he murmured, his voice hoarse with adrenaline. You opened your eyes, finding yourself confronted by a sight: his wet eyelashes fluttered quickly, his unfocused eyes showing only pure longing, and his jaw slack with pleasure. He was close too, just wanting to feel you come around his eager cock.
His hands released your hips to cup your hot face, his sweaty forehead pressed against yours to maintain eye contact. He was too busy admiring your beauty and how you crumbled around him.
Your body couldn't take it anymore, coming around his cock completely, soaking you both. Your eyes rolled back for a few seconds, feeling your walls tighten around him with spasms of pleasure. The thrusts were now slightly more frantic, wetter, helping you ride the waves of orgasm.
Leon's hips trembled helplessly beneath you, pulling your face closer to try and kiss you one last time before he came. But all he could do was groan against your mouth, breathing heavily as thick strands of hot, thick semen exploded inside you, making him forget even his own name for a second.
You moaned shakily as you felt him tremble inside you, emptying himself completely into your rubbery, sensitive walls. Your hips rubbed lazily against his, both of you panting into each other's mouths, still dazed from having come so hard. His semen, mixed with your release, began to seep from your pussy, dripping down base until it dripped onto his balls.
You leaned against his chest, and he hugged you, burying his nose in your tangled hair. His heart still pounded, trying to gather his thoughts.
"Thanks for...all." he murmured, his voice filled with the relief of being here with you. In your arms, he wasn't a tool, not an agent, he was just a man determined to love.
You were the cause of his happiness, his little paradise on earth, and he had no problem admitting it.
omg, i loove pathetic men, yummy 😋 and im so sorry I haven't been able to update often, im in the final stretch of my finals!! So i hope everyone is doing well and taking care ❤️🩹
a collection of fics i’ve read and thoroughly enjoyed all in one spot! read each warning before diving in and please give writers some appreciation for all their hard work by reblogging and/or commenting! ꨄ
A: angst F: fluff S: smut C: comfort H/C: comfort
wedding ring I @topsytervy I F I your husband can't find his gloves for the latest mission he's been sent on and he refuses to leave without them
clingy I @/topsytervy I F I your boyfriend doesn't know the definition of personal space after missions, not that you mind.
bring him back I @/topsytervy I A I things aren't looking to good for your boyfriend on his mission so he decides to call you.
drabble I @simple-dorito I A
just can’t get enough pt2 I @tulipsbymybed I A + F + S I Leon's fresh out of the academy and into the Raccoon City police department-and he's still a virgin. Not only that, but he has almost no idea what what sex even is. Then he meets you, and his body starts wanting things. Or, the first 3 stages of Leon Kennedy learning about his body.
a moment of hesitation I @froggibus I H/C I leon has always kept you at arms length in order to protect you, but after leading the two of you into a trap, the cracks start to show and feelings come to light
in with the snowfall I @/froggibus I A + C I Leon's out of town and you can't sleep. You call him seeking comfort, but you're only met with dismissal. What now?
stay I @/froggibus I S I Leon shows you that his commitment issues don’t apply to you
the second choice I @/froggibus I A I after losing Ada, Leon can’t get her off of his mind—and can’t stop comparing you to her
when the dust settles I @/froggibus I C I after a gruelling mission, Leon takes care of you
the three times you share a bed I @/froggibus I C + F I two times you sleep in leon's bed, and the one time he sleeps in yours
drabble I @xoxomaeby I F
afterlife I @m6cabre I A + C
late nights I @/m6cabre I F
alone again I @flimsily-flimsy I A I You knew this would be the last mission for you both with the virus and no clear cure. What you didn’t expect was for yours to advance so fast, leaving Leon with a heartbreaking dilemma.
relax babe, i got you I @screaming-potato I A + F I Tracking your husband down was no simple task but reuniting with him and joining him on his mission made it all the better. They just didn’t expect you to be like him…just with enhanced abilities.
i keep crawling back home I @old6urgundy I A
better than ever I @f41ryb0nes I S I Leon comes home from Raccoon City feeling better than he has in ages, and he knows just how to show you.
pervert!leon I @/f41ryb0nes I ~S
wake up call I @ariiadnes I F
older boyfriend!leon pt2 I @dollyivy I F + S
biohazard I @dollyzdaydreamz I F I a video game company reaches out to the dso, asking to use agents mr. and mrs. kennedy as face models for their upcoming action horror game called biohazard. while your husband is reluctant, you, being a lover of video games, are more than ecstatic to accept the offer.
nudelates I @/dollyzdaydreamz I F I you and your friend are goofing around when you two decide to test out a tik tok trend: call your husband and tell him you accidentally signed up for nude pilates…with a male instructor who won’t give you a refund.
the work dilf I @/dollyzdaydreamz I F I after a long day of work at the dso, you were streaming when a subscriber admits they embarrassed themselves in front of a crush. to make them feel better, you tell them about the time you embarrassed yourself in front of an older agent, who you just so happened to have a fat crush on.
bringing home hope I @millimeraki I H/C + S I You’re waiting for the call that will make you a widow. And then the front door opens.
drabble I @saintlea I S I Leon, who immediately after being cured of the T-Virus, showed up to his ex-wife’s house.
frosted brushes I @plutotheplum I S I an ill-timed snowstorm leaves you snowed in with a less than enthusiastic federal agent.
blurred lines pt2 I @/plutotheplum I S I you’ve decided to get intimate for the first time with your boyfriend, and who better to ask for advice than his best friend?
socks and kisses I @/plutotheplum I S I a spontaneous shopping trip has leon re-evaluating his friendship with you.
take all my love I @/plutotheplum I S I to your chagrin, you get partnered with an irritating DSO agent who happens to take an interest in the case you're working on.
rookie!reader pt2 pt3 I @aliidarling I A + F I leon never treated a rookie differently than he would treat an equal. that is.. until you come along.
i still dream of violence I @escapic-mezzanine I A + C + ~S I When a young married couple disappears, who could be better at investigating the case than a pair of special agents used to working together and known for their high efficiency? Well, probably nobody, but someone clearly ignored the fact that one of them should retire a long time ago, and they are both too good at their job to rot in rural America. Not to forget the questionable nature of their professional relationship and mutual tension.
a little confused I @cosmicasteroid I F
radio silence I @alloftheimagines I A I leon needs to hear your voice one last time.
comfort I @jelly--doughnut I C
leon’s crybaby rookie pt2 pt3 I @leonarchive I F I there’s not a single day that goes by without leon questioning how.. exactly you got this job, but he has a sneaking suspicion that your looks certainly helped your application. respectfully, of course. he was assigned to be your mentor, was he happy about it? not really. did it help you were easy on the eyes? yes!
the kennedy dilemma I @/leonarchive I S I leon hasn’t been able to feel one of life’s greater pleasures in years; cumming balls deep into a cunt he’s hammering into..
every girl has her turn I @/leonarchive I A I there’s no fight, no betrayal, no screaming match. just the gutting realization that leon’s attention has already started drifting somewhere else.
get it while it’s hot I @/leonarchive I S
lavender and cinnamon I @cui-nisi I S I You work at a high-end spa called Exotic Luxuries where you’re assigned to take care of the alluring and mysterious Leon S. Kennedy. But late-night sessions can lead to more than just a regular massage…
shut up mom prank I @uramakimochi I F I in which yours and Leon's teenage kids decide to pull a prank from TikTok on him.
leon vs. superglued jar challenge I @breathings-of-the-heart I F
quarter-zip I @girlwithadragonheart I F + ~S
zombieboy pt2 I @the-archxr I S I As Leon starts to feel the initial effects of las plagas, Luis fills you in on a little secret about the disease that could potentially help out your partner.
(we’re) on fire I @/the-archxr I F + S I There’s a bad desire aching deep in your bones. And in light of your recent divorce, you’ve come to realize that there’s only ever been one person who can cool it—the man you call home.
candy hearts I @ovaryacted I F I It was Valentine's Day at the precinct and everyone was giving out candy grams for their secret admirers. Who knew that one piece of candy would have so much of an impact?
lovers rock I @h4neypot I F I 4 times the team notices something's up with leon and the 1 time they figure it out (spoiler: he's married)
drabble I @saetiate I F
hate that i love you I @praisethegabs I A + F I Leon can't stand seeing you around him. You know how much he hates you and you like having fun with it. Things get worse when the two of you get lost during one mission, with no comms to call for help. Leon blames you for everything, until he revels something he shouldn't.
call and return I @mirrormauve I H/C I Leon has strict orders from you not to call when he's out in the field, even if it's safe to. But something feels different this time.
drabble I @lil-yearnings I F + S
forever night stand I @midnightsummerrain I S I You move to a new city, preparing to start your new job at the DSO. On one evening, you decide to go out for a drink to ease your mind. You end up hooking up with a handsome stranger, thinking it’s just a one-time thing. However, on your first day at work, you discover that the handsome stranger is actually your new superior
blurb I @luveline I C
blurb I @/luveline I F
AO3
nice to date you I @/fippsey I S I You need a cover—fast. Your manipulative ex boyfriend is 60 seconds from walking into the bar you just ran into and you need help. Lucky for you, your eyes land on a head of fine hair and set of broad shoulders alone at the other side of the bar.
5 + 1 sharing a bed I @/dimerization I F + S I You're a DSO agent and have been Leon Kennedy's partner for over a year now. Hunnigan's never messed up a hotel room booking for the two of you before. Normally, sharing a bed with a coworker would just be annoying, but there's a bit of a hitch this time - the thing is, you sort of have a crush on Leon. It'll be fine, you tell yourself; you're a secret agent - you deal with more stressful situations than this on a daily basis. It's not like it's a problem that he's tall and handsome and brilliant and a crack shot and has beautiful eyes and... ugh. Surely fighting bioterrorists and BOWs is more difficult than sharing a bed with Leon for one lousy night. Right? Right?
what’s in a name I @/fairybones I H/C + S I It wasn’t that Leon hated his name, not at all. He just hated hearing it. It was always followed up by someone asking him for something. So you tried your best to extend your kindness to him, and to only use his name in positive ways. But maybe you ended up being too kind, and creating too much space in your life for him.
for once in my life (let me get what i want) I @/harunovella I A + F + S I leon knew this story all too well, the frantic screams of horror, the hoards of bodies terrorizing the environment surrounding him. he had survived this, time and time again... except this time around, he had you. an innocent bystander caught in the midst of chaos. he just never expected saving your life would lead him to fall so deeply in love with you.
SUMMARY: no summary. just the tip gf x balls deep bf trope.
TAGS: implied marathon sex, dumbification, overstimulation, unprotected sex, this is all consensual, but just in case, i will tag this as dubious consent.
THIS IS MEANT FOR FANTASY ONLY.
PAIRINGS: LEON KENNEDY/you, LUIS SERRA/you, ALBERT WESKER/you, JACK KRAUSER/you, CARLOS OLIVEIRA/you, CHRIS REDFIELD/you.
A/N: consider this as an apology for being away, and will probably continue to be away after a while. T_T but i hope everyone has been doing well.
NSFW UNDER THE CUT!
LEON S. KENNEDY. ♡
you don't know how long you both have been indulging in each other—all you know is that your cunt's jus' so sensitive. but you want more. you need more. thinkin' about being empty and not being stretched full by your boyfriend's makin' your waterline glimmer with tears.
"leoooon, please—,"
leon stared at you, in awe that you were still conscious. aware. clearly, he's not fucking you properly. "please what, angel?" "fuck me—fuck me, please. need your cock. just put it in," his fingertips tease your clit, and you whine, shaking your head. "nooo—nooooo . . need your cock. please, leon,"
today, leon finds out his ovulating girlfriend can turn into a literal succubus.
"but you said your cunt's all sore, sweet girl. you were crawling away," open-mouthed kisses are bestowed on your cheek. "just the tip. just put the tip in," leon could feel his cock stir, quickly growing erect with your neediness.
"okay, baby. whatever you say," he kisses your teary eyes before hovering over you and grabbing ahold of your legs. just the tip. just the tip. just the tip. leon has to repeat to himself, lathering the leaking crown with his creampie mixed with your slick.
just the tip. just . . the tip.
your creampied pussy makes a lewd squelch as leon slowly pushes the head in. but you're both in cloud nine, eyes rolling like it's the first time you've fucked each other. "y, yes, like that!" you whimper, reaching over to your hypersensitive clit and making aimless circles.
leon begins to move, only giving your cunt shallow, slow thrusts. "fuck, angel—," he lets his head fall back, pleasure enveloping his tip. your cunt's so fucking wet and warm. your fingers pick up their pace, cunt throbbing with intense pleasure. who knew you could jus' get off from just the tip?
"faster,"
faster?
how can leon do that without shoving himself balls deep into you? "faster—pleaseplease, leon," you sobbed. "y/n—i," he bucked his hips, trying to go faster without splittin' you open with his cock. whimpers are spilling from leon's mouth, growing needier by the second, his vision continuing to blur as he eased just the tip in, as per your request.
the way you were clenching around him, creaming around his cock—it drove him crazy. how could he not fuck you? leon has to reminded himself that you want just the tip. but he's relying solely on instinct. and before he could even realize it, he's plunged himself deep by accident, and you're wide-eyed, an unanticipated orgasm taking you both by surprise.
"leon—♡!"
"y/n—i'm sorry, sorry—,"
he can't stop. he won't stop, pounding you into the mattress and making sure you feel every length of him with every ferocious thrust. he's drooling, watching you squirm. something about seeing your pussy spurt out clear fluid with every push in makes him feral, potentially unlocked a new turn on and fantasy to jerk off to.
"t, told you just the tip," you whimper, sniffling, and leon cradles your head, essentially smushing your face into his chest. "sorry. 'm sorry, sorry—i l, love your cunt." leon sobbed, his hips doing all the work for him, pummeling into you without mercy.
spit's shining on leon's built chest as you automatically kiss and lick at the area. marks in the shape of your canines are left, and leon hisses when you bite him again.
"gonna cum, y, y/n—gonna cum—cumming. 'm cumming, oh god,"
he vigorously rams his cock in your leaking pussy, hard yet hurried; it's sloppy, and leon's just desperate to fill you again. your moans are muffled by his flesh, and leon has yet to notice that he's crushing you with his chest. not that you minded, either.
with a few more unrhythmic slams of his hips, he's spilling himself in you, all of his cum just overspilling as he kept rutting into you. "hah— h, haah . . so good—so good," he babbles, spit dripping on his chin as his eyes rolled back. "leooohn—," you grunt from beneath your boyfriend.
it's only when his orgasm finally comes down that he stops moving, clarity slowly seeping into his fucked out mind. he retires from you almost immediately, now-concerned eyes soaking in the sight of you. did you pass out? "y/n," a hand caresses your rosy cheek.
"y/n, please come back to me,"
"mhh . . "
oh thank god. he knows you're just fine, but he was still worried. "are you okay?" he whispers, brushing away the stray strings of your hair. "i'm sorry, i was . . too into it," you chuckle when you feel him pepper your face with kisses.
"i'm fine. still in one piece, baby."
you both groan when he slowly pulls out, the rest of his creampies spilling out of your gaping cunt. "i love you, leon." you mutter, weakly wrapping your arms around him. "i love you too, angel."
LUIS SERRA. ♡
"luis . . just the tip,"
you both really shouldn't have fooled around with these aphrodisiacs. it's been hours and his cock's yet to come down. luis isn't even sure if he can cum anym—
wait. did he hear that right?
"what'd you say, mami?"
it's harder to hear you when you're bent over, and especially when you're mumbling and barely coherent. "the tip—jus' the tip," you whine. "is my bebé sensitive?" he drags a finger over your slit, and you squeak, body jerking in response. your knees almost gave out. "luiiis . . jus' the tip, p, por favor . . "
you poor thing. he affectionately runs a hand over your spine, down to your ass where he kneads your curvaceous flesh. "por supuesto, amor. we can go slow. and . . just the tip," [ of course, love. ] he thought he could do it. luis can control himself, can go slow if requested—usually—but the drug that ran through his veins made that fucking impossible. swallowing a nervous lump, he prods the tip against your slit. fuck, you're so fucking wet. this wasn't fair.
with a slow push of his hips, your warmth embraces his sensitive cocktip. "oh, fuck. oh my fucking god. dios mio," luis's grip on your ass tightens, his own way of restricting himself. "sólo quiero follarte," [ i just wanna fuck you, ] he confesses, but only thrusts the tip in and nothing else.
"me estás matando aquí, bebé," [ you're killin' me here, baby. ] luis babbled on, a shiver running down spine. "are you sure you're sensitive? y, you've been—you've been always able to take it," turns out, he didn't have it in him to fulfill your request. luis could hear the obscene squelches your creamy pussy made, and his brows narrowed as he winced, almost as if he was pained from your instruction. yet, his restrained thrusts—it was more like gentle rocking, to be honest—continued, the tip pulling out with an obscene pop with every withdrawal of his hips.
he enjoyed it, of course. more than anything. but luis was a greedy, hungry man. yearning more. needing more. your pussy was just so fucking inviting, creaming all over for him with just the tip—fuck, you can't ask this from him.
"bebé—y/n, i can't—can't take it anymore. i have to. t, tengo que follarte," [ i have to fuck you. ] your eyes widened when luis slowly slides in an experimental inch. you squeal, reaching behind you with one arm, but luis just pins it on your back.
the moment he's stuffing himself completely fucking full into you, you're just sobbing, legs shaking from the mind-numbing pleasure. luis was, too, not even realizing he had just cum in you. his hips moved like clockwork, "luis! luiissss—fuck!" was all you could cry out. you squirmed, writhed, tried to crawl away from the addicting pain of pleasure, but he's tugging you right back and slamming himself into you to the hilt.
all that cum pouring out of you made it much, much easier to pound that cunt. "h, haaah—fuck! luiiss—," you sobbed, unable to stop your legs from giving out. his chest rests warmly on your back, and you feel a loving kiss pressed on your temple.
"te amo, te amo . . . " he murmured as he pummeled that pussy, making sure that the tip thwacked against your perky cervix and hitting all the right spots. your head rests nicely on the pillow, and you're so fucked out, you think you're about to pass out from all the pleasure.
the bed creaks as luis kept ramming his cock deep into you, and you squeal as another orgasm washes over your body. the nth orgasm made your eyes cross, made you see fucking stars as your legs quivered and you clutched the sheets helplessly. luis didn't see it, but he sure as hell fucking felt it as you squirt all over him and his legs. "dios—dios mio, you're making a fu, fucking mess,"
his thrusts begin to slow down, hard-on still intact, but the aphrodisiac wasn’t as strong as it was from the beginning. blinking, luis realizes he was crushing you by resting his whole weight on you. "shit, shit—y/n, i'm sorry," he shuddered when he slips out of your creampied pussy. "mierda, hace frío," [ shit, it's cold. ] is whispered to himself whilst he gently lays you on your back.
"luiiis . . " you huffed. "that's not the tip," "i know, i know. i'm sorry. but, in my defense, eso es imposible," [ that's impossible to do. ] an affectionate hand caressed your hair. "still sensitive, prinsesa?" you groggily nuzzle your face in his arms.
you only hummed. the next minute is spent in silence, as luis kept you warm and held you firmly. "next time, no more aphrodisiacs," you stir as he spoke, letting out a scoff. "what? booooo."
"wha—excuse you, señorita, why are you booing me?"
"oh, c'mon. don't lie. that was fun,"
"jesus, you are such a freak. me asustas. you need to read the bible or something,"
"wow. like it wasn't you who bought those pills!"
"oh. ehehe. right."
ALBERT WESKER. ♡
bro this gif im going to start s/creaming
you're already fucked out. already trembling from the orgasms wesker's given you, and it's all thanks to the new toys he had bought from his trip. a clit sucker and a vibrating, ridged, girthy dildo. you sobbed as wesker kept thrusting the toy in and out of you, making sure you take all of its length.
"f, fuck—! s, sir, cumming—, 'm cumming,"
there wasn't much you could do, not when a silk ribbon tied your wrists and ankles to the headboard. ( he bought those, too, by the way. ) "again? look at the mess you just made." you look over at the silicone, the base was coated in your creaminess—and it was already smearing to his already-soaked fingertips.
it was so easy for him to break you, and he hasn't even undressed himself yet.
your hips buck against the air, and the unintentional reflex just makes you grind your clit against the toy that lavished its attention on you. "fuuck—! fuckfuckfuck—, a, albert—!" you clutched onto the ribbons, eyes rolling as you felt your cunt throb with need. you were close, you could feel it in the pits of your stomach. "what was that?"
wesker clicked his tongue, clearly displeased. "you call me sir, brat. or are these toys getting into that head of yours?" you hear a few clicks, and your eyes widened when you realized that the clit sucker's set to its highest setting. "s, sir—i'm sorry! i'm sorry!"
the dildo could never compare to your sir's cock—never—but the extra sensations of the pulsations and the ridges quickly sent you to the edge, never missing where you were most sensitive, always grazing that spongy nub that made your mouth fall agape. "don't w, wanna cum anymore—too much," you whimpered.
"aw," he cooed, a small smile appearing on his lips; barely noticeable. "that's really too bad, pup." he taunts, giving you a slow, but hard thrust. you squealed, clutching on to your ribbons.
"you're not in charge here,"
your cries are music to his ears, and his eyes gaze over to your squirting cunt in amusement. even though you're trembling and drooling, he's yet to withdraw the toys from you.
"are you?" "n, no, sir!" he's tight-lipped and has yet to move an inch. "n, no, sir! i'm n, not in chaaaarge—y, you are!" "hm," good enough. much to your relief, both are turned off, and you're granted a few seconds of relief.
your body relaxes on the soft bed, chest rising as you pant. “colour?” wesker asks, a rough palm caressing your shaking thighs. “g, green,” you mutter. “good. ‘m not done yet,”
wesker retires from the bed, taking his sweet time in undressing himself. it was quite the sight, though; seeing him undo his tie, unbuckle his pants. his boxers had a wet spot from his leaking tip. “you’ve been a good pup, darling.”
the bed sinks with his added weight, and you watch him leave kisses on your inner thighs, stroking his cock with a spare hand as he lathered his pre all over his monstrous girth. fuck . . could you take that? you don’t think y’have it in you. but you didn’t want to stop. y’wanted him . .
“s, sir,”
you call, and wesker’s eyes tilt up. now that he was much closer, y’could see how blown out his pupils were. “yes, my love?” he asked as he positions himself, grabbing ahold of your thighs as he slaps his fat cock atop your mons.
“c, can you put just the tip i, in—?”
wesker acts as if he didn’t hear a word you just said, rubbing his length all over your slit—continuing to lubricate his shaft with your juices. you gasped when the tip slowly sinks in, and you finally get your answer when he slammed the rest of his girth into you. you screamed, back arching as your eyes crossed.
“why should i?”
he begins to rut into you, pummeling your sensitive cunt with mean thrusts. “tell me, pet. why should i?” you couldn’t utter out a proper response, not when your brain was turning to fucking mush as he pounded you. “speak up, slut.” the added nickname’s making you clench around him, and wesker only scoffed at your lack of coherence.
“gone stupid? from me just putting—hnngg—it in?”
with the position he had you in, it was impossible for the tip to not kiss your cervix, impossible for you to not scream for him as he mercilessly plowed that cunt. "s, sir—h, haaah . . ! fuck—!" your overstimulated pussy's fucking throbbing. a squeal's torn from you as his palm collides with your puffy clit with a smack! the sting's makin' your eyes fucking water, and you could feel your legs tremble again.
"will you tell me what to do again, pet?"
"n, no, sir!"
wesker grinned, rewarding your sore clit with a kind caress of his thumb. "good pet. that's—," he groaned. fuuuck, wesker shudders at the feeling of your cunt spasming around his girth. "—more like it. gonna—gonna fuck you how i want to," his words are emphasized with harsh thrusts, to drill that idea in your pretty fucking head.
"where i want to,"
"u, uh-huh!"
"when i want to,"
"u-uhnnn—y, yes s, siiiir . . ♡ !"
seeing how disheveled and how much of a drooling mess you were, were you even remembering what he was saying? probably not. but don't worry, he's more than willing to remind you where you belonged. he could no longer hold back his noises, but he wasn't even interested in trying, anyway.
the way he sounded—feral, almost beast-like, even—you'd be lying if you said it didn't incite more arousal from you. wesker ensured you felt all of him, hips moving without thought as he mercilessly slammed into that tight fit. unfortunately for you, he was more monster than he was human.
you were fucking tightening up around him—still adjusting from the sudden switch from silicone to flesh—and how could wesker ever resist ramming and bullying that pussy with his fat cock? the way he could see how he split you open, shuddering when his tip's right against your cervix—oh, you were such a sweet, sweet pet.
his cock throbbed with the ache of a release. you made it difficult for him to control himself. "fuck—'m gonna fill you up," he hissed. "think y'deserve a creampie from me, sweet girl?" smack! the collision of his palm on your cunt brings you back to reality for a brief moment. "i'm—i'm talking to you," he snarled, an you nod mindlessly. "s, sorrryyyy . . . y, yes sir! yesyesyesyes—please!"
you continue to beg him, plead for his cum whilst he busied himself with rearranging your fucking insides. it's all you could do amidst your fucked out state. don't you worry. wesker was more than satisfied with your expressions.
burying himself to the hilt, you let out a scream as an orgasm is forced from you again, fingertips affectionately rubbing on your clit. wesker can't decide where to look—if he should watch that pussy quiver as you squirted or your face that's contorting as your irises disappear behind your lids.
"yeaaaaah, just like that. look at you—fuck, you're such a slut,"
his hips stutter as spurts of thick, warm semen floods your womb and walls. wesker groaned, shivers pricking his skin. your cunt milked him so good; and not like he'll tell you, but he's fucking obsessed. obsessed with how you're so obedient fo him, how your cunt clenched around him as you quivered from overstimulation.
"tsk, you're leaking. tighten up, slut. don't spill any more," you only oblige him—it's all you could do in your fucked-out state. a groan echoes in the room as he slowly slips out from you. from where wesker knelt, he had the perfect fucking view of your gaping cunt, trying her absolute best to keep it all in as he asked. you squeaked when he caresses your puffy clit affectionately. "shh, shh . . i know," he cooed, the other hand undoing your restraints. you didn't have the strength to keep your eyes open.
the tension slowly rolls off your muscles as he sets your legs down slowly. "you did well, my love," you could feel him bestow kisses on your face. eyes, nose, lips—they were all showered in loving kisses. your wrists are set free as he undid the ribbons on your sore wrists, his lips ghosting over the red marks over your skin, too. "missed you, albert," you mumbled, eyes slowly opening. "i missed you too, my love," there's a faint smile on his face—meant to be witnessed by you only.
"you know we're not yet done, right?"
JACK KRAUSER. ♡
krauser really has lots of pent-up frustration and sexual frustration. blessed with inhumane stamina, it's really no surprise that he can last multiple rounds. 'specially when all of it just piles up on him, mmmm—god, he loves nothing more than taking it out on you and using you for fucking hours.
but krauser is mean. cruel. you want just the tip? that's really—
"too fucking bad, baby,"
that request is fucking impossible, because he's got you folded and locked in a full nelson hold. did you expect that he'd just not bury himself deep in your pretty cunt? your eyes widened as you watched his cock slowly stretched you out again. your cunt was too sensitive.
his balls only throbbed, eyes rolling as your pleas fall to deafened ears. your groans echo in the room as he pushes another inch or two into you. fuck, you need to breathe—
krauser laughed breathily in your ear. "what was that?" you couldn't muster a single word—it was all just pathetic squeaks. "just the tip, you say?" he'd purr, pushing in as slow as he can so your pulsating walls can feel every single inch stretching you. ruining you.
"c, can't—,"
"can't what? can't speak?"
he completely slams into you with a loud plap! you're speechless and fucking stupefied—but, frankly, what else is there to say? "urgg—feel that?" this fucking asshole just had to start gyrating his hips. you could feel the tip poke 'nd prod against that cervix, and fuck, you're trembling.
"c'moooon, sweets. y'better be awake,"
sticky drool's drippin' from those pretty lips as he began to pound you like he hated you. him doing all the work was not a problem, not at all. krauser could easily manhandle you, and he made sure that you knew. he was bouncing you on his cock like you weighed nothing and fuck—you couldn't even think of anything to say aside from his name and ah's! and oh's!
it didn't help his cock was a mix of both veiny and fucking gargantuan—you're convinced your cervix's all bruised because his tip kept hitting 'nd hitting all of your spots. "love your cunt—fuck, you like this? huh? bet you do. look at your cunt's reflection. messy fucking slut," he groaned, ramming into you vigorously. it's like he hasn't even broken a sweat.
"k, krauseeeer—," you sobbed, absolutely broken and cockdrunk. "yeah? 'm here," he pants, eyes threatening to roll back. but he had to watch you in the mirror, had to watch you crumble and go fucking stupid just from his cock. "what does my baby want, h, huh? want me to go faster?" before you had the chance to respond, he's fucking pummeling into you faster than you could even blink; you're fucking dizzy and barely lucid, but that's okay. no need to think, krauser's got you. ♡
"'m c, cummingggggg—cumming. j, jaaaaack—♡!"
"my fucking goooood—fuuuuuuck . . look at this squirting cunt,"
clear liquid's spurtin' out of that stretched pussy, coating him and yourself as he forces an orgasm outta you. you're so fucking hot, fuck. krauser's never ever ever letting you go. "you love my cock, babe?" if it wasn't for how both his large hands held your head, you would have nodded. "u, uh-huh! love—l, love your cock—♡!" "attaaa girl. i love your cunt so, so fucking much—♡,"
krauser doesn't even realize he's drooling himself—completely immersed in the pleasure. he could stay buried in you for fucking eternity. "fuck—wanna breed you. lemme breed—lemme breed you. need to knock you up," he babbled on, focused on jus' chasing his release. and with the pace of how he fucked you—it wouldn't take long.
and you?
you're fucking spritzing all over him everytime his tip grazes against that spongy nub in your dripping pussy. why'd you even ask him to not put it all in? clearly, you loved this. but don't worry. for once, he'll humour you. "y'wanted just the tip, right?" "h, hnnngg—♡," good enough of an answer for him. you're brought back to reality briefly when his movements halt. confused, you only watched your obscene reflections whilst he shifted his hips. "j, jack, what're you—?!" your eyes widened when you feel his tip slowly bury into the tight barrier of flesh in your cervix.
krauser whimpered. fuuuuuuck, you were sucking him in so good. he can't even pull out. "baby—baby, oh god. fuck, fuck. i'm fucking—cumming. 'm cumming—oh my gooooood," it didn't take any more thrusts for him to start filling your womb up with fertile, sticky cum.
you whined as your cunt's flooded with his seed, and you couldn't do anythin' except for clawing on his built forearms as he held you in place. "urgg—yeah . . . just like that . . fuuuck, i love your pussy baby," you couldn't utter a word. you felt so fucking full. krauser finally releases your head, but still held your body close as he settles on the edge of the bed. you practically collapse on his muscular frame when he finally sits, and that's okay. ♡ krauser made sure he held you tight, wrapping large arms around your body and leaning into you so he could kiss your face.
"tongue out, babe. lemme . . "
you oblige mindlessly, sticking your pretty tongue out for him. krauser's scarred lips wrap around your wet muscle, groaning as he sucked on it. didn't take long 'til he was devouring your spit-stained mouth as you cockwarmed him.
"mmmm. ♡."
CHRIS REDFIELD. ♡
this gif is so? um.
chris usually loves to prep you. loves to spend his time devouring your pussy and having his lips wrapped around that sensitive clit.
but you've got work in an hour, and time isn't a luxury you both have. "chris, j, just the tip, okay?" you say, raisin' your hips as you bent over the dining table; weight propped up on your soft palms. of course you can't say no to him, especially when the outline of his erected cock on his grey boxers is all you've been seeing this morning. but you're just a girl. you have needs and wants.
"just the tip?"
chris asks, pressing his clothed chest against your back. you feel his stubble against your cheek as he pressed open-mouthed kisses on your skin. "i don't . . i don't think i can do it, princess," he whined as his hips push forward. you couldn't utter another word as the leaking head stretches your cunt out.
you shuddered, lips quivering as you clutched on to whatever surface you were bent over on. "y, you caaaan—a, aaah, fuck—you have to . . ” you whined. but chris was greedy. hungry.
he’s not sure where he gets the courage to pull out, but he does. the tip slides out from you with a lewd, almost muted, pop! and you’re both unsatisfied, left yearning with feeling the other completely; but it makes do. it has to. tonight, he can have you for as long as he wanted.
“y/n, p, please—,” he pleads, still fuckin’ you with just the tip. chris can feel just how wet you are, hear how that cunt squelched as bucked his hips. “n, nooo—chris, i’ll—i’ll be late,” “don’t go,” his canines graze your skin, and you squealed when he pushes an inch in. your cunt’s pulsating—trying to accommodate his fat cock without prep. “don’t go—y’don’t h, have to go. please stay,” “ch, chris, i—hnnn!” the rest is completely slammed into you, and your eyes cross. chris takes advantage of your agape mouth, kissing you and letting his tongue glissade over yours.
chris starts to pound that cunt, and muffled cries were swallowed by his lips. you can’t really lie, this felt waaaay better than just the tip. the way the tip bulges out from your lower tummy, the way the pink crown keeps kissing that sensitive cervix, it can’t compare. ever.
“mhhhf,” you groan against his lips, and chris playfully bites down on your lower brim. it was hard to take in air when every thrust into you knocked the air outta your lungs. chris parts from you as he held your hips with those big hands of his.
his pace quickens, ramming into you mercilessly. you're both whimpering, voices blending together in melodious sin; whatever thoughts you had before—gone. not when chris had the skill to turn your brain to mush. "goddd—fuck, y/n. y, y'feel so goooood . . " chris sobbed. if only you could see his face. brows scrunched as he struggled to keep his eyes open; only you could bring these facial expressions to this big, beefy man's face.
you squealed when a hand snakes under your skirt, fingertips rubbing against your neglected clit. "oh fuck!" you mewled, unable to keep your cries to a low. "feel good, princess?" chris purred whilst fucking you into oblivion. "u, uh-huh—♡!" fuuuuck, his balls are fucking throbbing.
"d, don't go . . jus' stay. be my pretty little wife. i can t, take care of you,"
he babbled on, rutting into you, stuffing you full with that veiny cock. chris wants nothing more than to fucking breed you, fill your womb with his cum. "'m g, gonna fucking cum," he pants, chest heaving. but he doesn't stop pummeling that cunt—goes faster, actually. chasing his release and eager to give you yours. the table's creaking, and everything on it shook with every thrust. upstairs neighbour behaviour.
you screamed when he lightly pinches that sensitive bud, and you're seeing stars; mouth agape and back completely arched as he coaxes an orgasm from you. your legs trembled, and chris bit on his lip. "fuuuuck, baby. you're so hot—love you, i love you," "chriiiis, fuckfuckfuckfuuuuck. love youuuuuu . . ♡,"
your lips crash together again, sloppily kissing each other as chris fucks you through your high. he grunts, wrapping his lips 'round your tongue, tasting you. with another slam of his hips, you moan against his mouth when he's completely buried deep in you; thick ropes of cum flooding your creamy, spasming cunt. he can't move any more, can't think anymore. he pulls away from you, because he's sure he'll forget how to breathe.
"oooooh, fuuuck—♡,"
spit's trickling down his stubbled chin, and chris is quiet for a moment; sent to cloud nine and completely fucked out. it takes a minute or two for him to recover, and he tilts your head to the side so he could briefly kiss you while he slid out of your cunt. you both groan, and chris kneads your ass, watching his cum slowly leak from your gaping pussy.
"heheh . . gonna call in sick?"
well, you couldn't feel your legs, so. yes.
CARLOS OLIVEIRA. ♡
carlos watched you writhe whilst you came undone from his tongue. your fingers were tugging on his already disheveled, raven tresses. it's your fifth orgasm—he thinks, if he's counting right; and he'd gladly give you more. his wet kisses trail up your tummy, chest, lips, and you liked how your taste lingered on his tongue.
"carlooos,"
"yes, meu bebê?"
carlos gets a realization tonight.
"want more. 'jus wanna feel you,"
he spoils you a little too much.
your cunt was still twitching with need. you'd do anything to satiate your hunger, anything to relieve that arousal pooling in your tummy. even though he's spent the last few minutes coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you.
but he loved seeing you like this. desperate. needy. like he was the only person you needed. you knew just how to get his gears going without trying. "hmm? but you just came, meu bebê. my beard's still wet," he teased, lips latching on your neck and tracing your skin with sharp canines. you held on to his built biceps, and carlos brings your knuckles to his lips. "j, jus' the tip. please. i want more," "i know, i know, bebê. shh . . "
he can never resist you. especially when you were begging him so prettily. didn't take long for him to prod his tip against your needy hole. you both gasp when the tip slowly sinks in, slowly stretches that wet pussy apart. your nails dig into his skin, and carlos bit his lip. "fuuuck, y/n. your pussy—," fucking warm 'nd tight. clenching on him like you needed him.
carlos didn't mind being bossed around by you, especially by you. he'd do anything you'd ask before you could even blink, but he just has to remind you who's in charge.
you gasped when he slowly sheathes an inch or two into your tight cunt. "carlos, w, what're you—?!" he makes sure to slide in nice and slow, so you'll feel every inch of him splitting him open. and also so he can savour that surprised look in your face.
especially when he harshly shoves the rest of his cock in your leaking pussy, god. you'll kill him. "y, you're so unfair, princesa. so cruel t'me," he cooed, not even giving you the time to process a thought as he began to pound you with ungodly stamina.
"you think i don't have needs too? think i don't need to fuck this cunt and to fuck you 'til you're cockdrunk and overstimulated?" nasty mouth, nastier thrusts. your eyes crossed, body jouncing with every slam forward of his hips.
"c, carlos—h,hnnngg!"
he grins. "yeaaaah, that's right, baby. scream my name." you were so sensitive already, flesh walls spasming around his veiny girth, but fuck, you were oozing so much milky essence, it smeared all over his balls. he leans in so your lips could crash together, and carlos grunts against your mouth as you instinctively wrap you legs around him. of course he had to pick up his pace. why wouldn't he? he was such a good boyfriend to you, paying attention to all your needs.
you whine when he parts from you, but he has to, or else he'd lose his balance. he needed to focus on fucking you, tire his pretty bebê out. he bites his lip when you run your palms all over his built chest and abdomen.
"fuckfuckfuck—carlos—♡!"
a hand wraps around your breast, kneading your tits and running his fingers over your erect nipple. whatever thought you had, he quickly fucked it out from that pretty mind of yours. whatever. not like you needed to think when he could do that for you. well, try.
"y/n—♡ godddd, minha linda garota," [ my pretty girl, ] he babbles on, absolutely hypnotized. god, what were you doing to him? carlos kept pummeling that cunt, bed creaking obnoxiously in the process but it seemed that neither of you cared.
more marks littered his skin, ranging from bites to scratches, and they were definitely going to be sore later, but that's okay, a little pain didn't hurt no one. spit trickles down on carlos's stubbled chin, and you lift yourself up a little jus' so you could lick it up.
"y/n—♡! f, fuck! você é tão porra de suja, m, merda!" [ you're so fucking filthy, shit! ] hooking his arms around your thighs and lifting it up to his shoulders, you squealed when he begins to fuck you faster. harder. sounds of skin slapping growing louder as he rammed you without mercy.
a spare thumb began to trace aimless circles on your clit, and you screamed as an orgasm was ripped from your poor oversensitive cunt. "c, carlos—♡! oh fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuuuuck!" you clutched onto the pillows, sheets, fucking anything. you sobbed, and carlos gently flicks his middle finger against that puffy clit—you squealed as you squirt in small fountains.
"you're sensitive, aren't you, bebê? eu te quebrei, princesa?" [ did i break you, princess? ]
and oh, the way you only responded in fucked out mewls, how fucking precious. now that you've coated his girth in your squirt, it was much easier for him to move in 'n out. you could hear jus' how wet he made you, how that soaking cunt squelched with every thrust. you were such a slut for your boyfriend, and rightfully so.
he stops being cocky when his orgasm nears, grunts turning into high-pitched whimpers as he fucked you into the mattress. carlos tried to keep his monstrous, merciless pace, but fuck, he was so close. the closer he was to filling your cunt up and flooding your walls, the sloppier his hips got, probably from fatigue.
but you were such an angel, his god-sent angel, movin' your hips as you tried to meet his thrusts halfway. carlos could cum at the fucking sight of you trying to fuck yourself against him.
"oh god—♡! oh god, fuck, fuuuuck. vou gozar. vou te engravidar. ai meu deus." [ gonna cum. 'm gonna get you pregnant, oh my god. ] carlos sobbed, and after a few more push of his hips, he's crying out as ribbons of thick cum filled that cunt.
he rides his high out with a few more mindless thrusts, combing a spare hand through his hair. he's in fucking heaven, jesus christ. it's you that brings him back to reality, rubbing his forearm and eventually interlacing your fingers with his.
"oh my god, baby. are you okay?" he caressed your face, and you tiredly smile at him. "never better," you kissed his palm, and carlos tucks away the stray hairs on your face. "you sure? you okay? does anything hurt?" "no, i'm fine. well, a little sore and sensitive, but it's okay. i like it," a grin tugged on his lips, and he shook his head. "you're such a freak, baby. it's okay, i love you," a kiss is pressed on your forehead, nose, and then lips.
you shuddered when he pulls out, and his cum slowly leaks from your used, gaping hole. "i love you . . " you mutter, scooting over to the side so carlos can have the space beside you. he sighs in relief when he finally lays down, absolutely spent. "c'mere," carlos sleepily grunts, pulling you to his arms. you took it upon yourself to cover both your bare, sweaty bodies with the blanket.
"did i tire you out yet?" "hmm . . no, not really," you jeered, and carlos chuckled. "well, i certainly tired myself out," you both laugh, and it didn't take long 'til you both dozed off.
end.
A/N: thank you so much for reading! more to cum. ;)
also, regarding carlos's fics, i will repair them soon and change his bilingual dialogue from spanish to portuguese. i'd like to apologize for mistaking him as hispanic!
summary : using leon's thigh to get off as soon as he came home from work.
tags : thigh riding, praising, slight boob play, fluff in the end
notes : mkay but imagine rutting on the rough surface of his jeans though?? that must feel so good :(((
credits to the owner of the divider!
"thats it, thats a good girl". leon said as he gripped your moving hips tight.
you moaned in delight as a response, his praise vibrating all over your body causing you to grind your panty clad pussy more against his thigh.
he actually just came home from work, just a few minutes ago. you greeted him warmly by the door while he smiled at you, hands wandering down your body and resting it just above your ass. he also took notice of the way your eyes are glazed over and keep wandering over his lips, so he lent down to give you a kiss.
he then gave your ass a squeeze when he heard you moaning against his lips. your lips are quite desperate against his, moving messily and frantic as you push your body more to him. youve been feeling needy and horny for him ever since he took off from work earlier.
you wanted him earlier in the morning but he couldnt indulge as he was needed in the DSO so he had to get there much more earlier than his usual time.
you begged for him to be late, you put on your best puppy eyes and pouty lips but the only thing that he did was kiss your forehead and brush your hair away.
he wanted to stay and your puppy eyes was killing him and leon is known to always not say no to you. he just cant bring himself to say no to you but what happened earlier just cant be put off easily.
so reluctantly, he promised you to go home early and kiss you goodbye.
"missed me so much, huh?". leon smiled when he pulled away from you, hands kneading your ass.
you whined as you move your head closer to him again cause you want him, youve been craving him the whole day. rubbing one out in the shower wasnt enough, you need to feel him.
"easy, baby. lets get to the couch". the older man cant help but chuckle before his hands moved under you to carry you on the couch with your legs wrapping around his waist immediately.
"missed you". you said as you nipped his ear gently and rubbed your face against his stubble.
he hummed with a soft smile on his lips and instead of putting you down on the couch, he sat himself first and moved you to straddle one of his thighs. you gasped when you felt him flex it as soon as you sat down on it.
"good?". leon asked as he rubbed his hands on the sides of your legs, its so smooth against his rough hands.
you nodded wordlessly before moving your hips, back and forth as your hands came up on his shoulders. he flexed it again causing it to bump on your clit and you exhaled to try to move it against you again while leon just looks at you in interest and a bleeding lust in his eyes.
its not the first time that you rode his thigh, in fact its very frequent that you do it. its just so large and better than a pillow. you always like it when it bumps against your clit and the friction that it gives you, its like a shoot up on your body that it makes you clench always and be giddy.
"my baby's been feeling needy the whole day, isnt she?". leon hummed as you rode his thigh, legs clenching and hands holding tightly against his shoulder. "thats alright, you can use me. soak my jeans, baby its okay".
you mewled pathetically, upon hearing his words and your hips started to move faster cause you need the friction, you need to chase it and you need to let it all out. you closed your eyes when you felt your panties dampening and you gasped when leon suddenly bounced his thigh.
"m—more please". you begged as you squeezed your eyes tight as you chase his movements.
leon licked his lips as you threw your head back and started to bounce on his thigh. you look delectable on him, your pink lips are open as you breathe heavily, he can feel your body shaking and he can feel your wet panties.
he wants to throw you down on the couch and just rip your panties before plowing inside you, to feel you grip him and to mold you on his cock.
but no, he needs to be patient first. you needed this, he really felt sorry for leaving you needy earlier.
"go on, baby. bounce those hips and you'll get to cum". he urged as he squeezed your hips. your breasts are moving at the constraints of your-his shirt that youre wearing and he cant help but pull one hand away from your hips to grab the shirt and moved it upwards.
"there's my girls". leon said with a soft smirk as he finally saw those tits that he loves so much.
he glanced at your face and you look so lost on his thigh that you didnt notice his movement. he grabbed a boob causing you to groan and one of your hands came up to cover his immediately.
a sudden warmth came rushing down on leon's pants when he saw the size differences of your hands against your boob. your hands arent that small but compared to his, he cant help but groan and squeeze your tit.
he felt you rotate your hips causing him to bounce his thigh again as the tent on his pants is starting to grow more. he cursed under his breath when he glanced down and saw a wet patch on his jeans.
"come on baby, cum on me". leon squeezed your boob again before pinching a nipple causing you to scream as the pain caught you off guard. "you like that, hm? wetting your panties just by riding my thigh. are you getting close?".
he flexed his thigh as you nodded and sweat beads against your forehead. your hand then gripped his wrist while he pulls your nipple then massaging it again.
"im gonna cum... hhnnhhg l—leon please". your brows are scrunched up as you begged and rode his thigh.
there might be a thin cloth between your wet pussy and his thigh, but you could feel the roughness of it. your clit is throbbing and you just want to rub it but instead you move your hips more frantically, trying to chase and rub it.
"cum for me, cum for me baby. let it go". leon suppressed a groan as he left your boob alone and grip your hips again then helping you move on his thigh.
you look obscene on top of his thigh, your shirt is hanging and bunched up from your boob that he was playing with earlier while the other is covered halfway and its bouncing harshly as you move. your hands are now back on his shoulders as you bunched up his shirt, your slick mouth hanging wide open while moans came out of it.
you look beautiful, a beautiful mess just for leon's eyes.
"c—cumming". you groaned out loud as your cum seeped out on your panties and leon involuntarily flexed his thigh when he saw how wet it is.
"fuck, thats my good girl". leon grunted when his cock gave a twitch inside his pants. he saw you shuddering while your hips are still moving slowly as if to get your orgasm out before your hands splayed down on his chest and moving it up.
you try catch your breath as he moves his hands to take off your shirt and threw it on the side. he cant help but admire your naked, heaving body. your skin is glistening because of sweat and your boobs are moving with your breathing.
"so beautiful, baby". he breathed out when your hair fell down on your shoulders and it almost covered your breasts.
you blushed and he felt how you clenched and pulsed against his thigh. he smiled at you then moved forward to pull you closer to him while you wrap your arms loosely around him.
"welcome home, leon". you inhaled and said softly as you thread a hand against his locks.
"im home, baby". he smiled before dropping a kiss on your collarbone then standing up again, with you still in his arms.
you hugged him close to you with a hum, your bare torso pressed against his covered ones and you felt him poking against your wet panties as he moves you towards your bedroom.
"hope youre ready for more cause we aint done yet, baby".
⤷ 𝓼𝓯𝔀. leon is a stray dog of a man. first kisses. 𝟸.𝟿𝓀
leon is overly tired and very grumpy. it’s no surprise really when he rolled home in the early hours of the morning, bruised and so battered from his recent assignment—spain, if you remember it correctly—but since then, he clearly hasn’t slept and his mood is suffering for it. so, you take it upon yourself to fix it for him
“hey, leon?” you call out softly from your spot on the couch and then wince when you hear a cupboard door slamming shut in the kitchen. he’s been banging around in there for a while and truthfully, you have no idea what he’s trying to accomplish and you find it best not to ask, “c’mere for a second, please,”
it takes a moment but eventually, he leans around the kitchen doorframe with a frown pulling at his brows. he looks exhausted, his eyes are sunken in and the dark circles that are discoloring the tops of his cheeks can’t even hide behind the blonde hairs that hang in front of his face, “what’s up?” he asks, grumbling
his voice is rough, scratchy and faintly worn out, causing it to sound far deeper than it usually does. butterflies swarm low in your stomach over it—like they always do—but you try to ignore it this time whilst you smile and stretch your arms out towards him, “come and lay with me for a while, please,” you plead
the frown that’s painted across leon’s face deepens, his eyes get distant on the surface but you can see behind it—you can see right through him. something soft and melting hides behind the ice of his eyes, something that he doesn’t allow himself to feel often, much less indulge in it when you’re offering, “why?”
answering that with honesty is complicated. telling leon that you’re trying to lure him in, make him relax, force him to be pliant so that he can be tempted with sleep won’t ever work, you learnt that early on and because of it, you’ve had to get creative with telling little white lies that’ll benefit him in the long run
“because, i want you to,” you answer simply, keeping your tone light and airy, treating him as if he’s a shelter animal that’s at risk of backing into the corner, that’s furthest away from wherever you are, with his teeth bared. it’s not really a lie either, you would like him to lay with you but your motives behind it don’t need to be discussed
“but, why?” he asks again, this time sounding desperate and slightly pathetic. he knows that you’re lying in one way or another and he’s letting you. he’d never admit it but you’re the only person that can get away with it. if it were anyone else, he would’ve turned tail and left without even entertaining it
your head tips to the side, eyes raking over his face—the scars, the bruises, the cuts—whilst you make the decision to be somewhat candid with him, if only for his sake, “i just don’t like it when you shut yourself in your room after an assignment, that’s all,” you explain, carefully, still watching him
leon nods, his tongue darting between his lips, “do roommates lay together often?” he snarks, though there’s not a whole lot of heat behind it. he’s trying to deflect your offer, make himself out to be someone that you wouldn’t want near you at all but much to his dismay, it won’t work. it never does and it never will
“i don’t think roommates is the right word anymore, leon,” you point out with a knowing look—one that reminds him of the times you’ve patched him up, scrubbed dried blood from his body and washed gunpowder and god only knows what else from his hair, all without a complaint. “stop being difficult and come over here,”
the change in his eyes is the first thing that you notice, the first sign of submission. the distant look gets overpowered by the softness in an instant when he realises that he’s too exhausted to argue and what good would it do, he’ll only give into you in the end anyway, “yeah—yeah, okay,” he murmurs
finally, he steps out from where he was hiding against the kitchen doorframe. whatever he was doing—or rather, trying to do—in there seemingly becomes irrelevant as he shuffles towards you slowly with the telltale evidence of an ache that spreads throughout every single one of his limbs without his say so
still though, your eyes wander selfishly. his t-shirt is a size too small and clings to his biceps in all of the right places, his grey sweatpants hang low on his hips and one of the legs is caught up around his shin, exposing a ring of tanned skin between his clothing and his socks. he looks comfortable, for once
when he gets close enough, his teeth graze over his bottom lip and his gaze flickers between you and the couch and then over to the television that has been muted ever since you spotted him slinking out of his bedroom. he’s stalling but it only takes a soft flutter of your lashes to get him to cave and fall into you
it’s rather unceremonious and kind of clumsy. his limbs knock against your own and the couch creaks rudely with his added weight but eventually, he just gives up and sort of flops down on top of you, leaving his cheek smushing into your stomach and your legs spreading to accommodate his body
leon sighs. it rattles out of him while his arms snake around your waist, holding you pretty close for a guy who made out like he didn’t want this. it makes you smile, not that he can see it and for the first time ever, you hope that he can’t detect that butterflies that are still whirlwind-ing in your stomach, right under his head
instinctively, your fingers start to card through his hair. it feels like silk against your skin and it’s hard for you to imagine that not all that long ago it was thick with dirt and someone else’s blood—you try not to think about it as leon gives a small grunt of contentment, barely there and muffled but, it’s something
minutes pass by languidly, like time doesn’t really exist when leon is cosplaying as the most handsome weighted blanket. he stays quiet, enjoying the drag of your nails against his scalp and slowly, his breathing starts to even out as sleep starts to entice him but then he goes all at once and he jerks—hard
muscles pull taut all over his body while he goes from being on the edge of slumber to almost wide awake in the blink of an eye, “shouldn’t be—be doing this, i have work to do, reports and stuff” he rambles under his breath, trying to push himself up and away from you and this time you sigh deeply
guilt holds him in its grasp. survivors guilt—maybe. the constant feeling that he’s not allowed to relax, he’s not allowed to indulge in the simplest of things. the feeling that he has to keep going, an act of penance that’ll never be satisfied, no matter the amount of people saved or the heavy toll that it’s taking on his body
“leon—no, lay down,” you urge, though you sound more sympathetic than you’d like to. leon doesn’t like sympathy, he doesn’t like pity either but as your fingers slide underneath the neckline of his shirt and splay across tense muscles, he pauses, forces out a shuddered breath and then reluctantly relaxes again
“why do you even care about this?”
you flinch when leon can’t even ask why you care about him. he swaps the word with ease, leaves it unsaid but implied—even if he doesn’t mean to, “because i just do and if i didn’t, then who would?” you ask. it’s rhetorical, open ended if he wants to respond but there’s no pressure for him to try
strong arms loop around your waist again and large hands flatten against your spine, touching and committing the most ordinary parts of your body to memory, like it was made just for him, “you shouldn’t,” he whispers and the worst part is, he truly means it. he really doesn’t believe that anyone would care about him
“mhmm—sounded like a rough one this time so i’m trying to extra care of…this,” you breathe, repeating the same phrase that he used whilst shifting the subject ever so slightly. leon grunts in agreement—it was a rough job—and it gives you the chance to ask your favorite question, “do you want to talk about it?”
“no,”
just as you expected, the normal response. you have to ask him though and you won’t press the issue further, you won’t try to force him to open up about what he went through. instead, you leave it be and let an easy silence fill the space between you and him. you’re there if he changes his mind and that’s enough
in the meantime though, you drift your fingertips up and down the back of leon’s neck, tickling and just barely scratching your nails up through his hair and right back down to the top of his spine whilst leon seems to lose himself in a deep thought, one that allows you to see the proverbial cogs turning in his mind
a moment later, something shifts. you can’t pinpoint it and it’s odd because you feel it before anything really happens, almost like something prepares you for the shaky lungful of air that leon sucks into his body but then it leaves you high and dry, caught wholly off guard, for the gentle press of lips against your hipbone
it’s not a kiss—it can’t be. leon must’ve done it accidentally. too engrossed in his thoughts to realise that he did it but it felt like a kiss. fizzling beneath your skin, blossoming throughout your veins, a thing that you’ve wanted for too long. fleeting and sweet, causing you to overthink it, spoiling yourself with it. and then,
“i nearly died this time,”
your heart sinks. swooping low, stealing the air from your lungs. it hurts to hear, especially from a guy who has the most awful habit of consistently downplaying every single thing that happens to him, “w-what—oh my god—wait, come up here, please,” you gasp, screwing your hands into his shirt to haul him upwards
leon moves promptly, clambering and collapsing into the sliver of space between your body and the back of the couch. he slots in with ease and rolls you to face him, pressing his broad chest into yours as he settles his head against the armrest. he’s so close, more so than he’s ever been before but it's not enough
before you can think better of it, you’re draping your thigh up and over leon’s hip and tentatively resting your hand on his ribs but it doesn’t quite have the desired effect when leon flinches. a bruise from his assignment makes his body jerk and immediately, you feel awful and try to snatch your hand back
“no—don’t,” leon mumbles, vulnerable and out of his depth, while he catches your wrist and pulls your hand back to put it in it’s place. his own hand hovers over yours, displaying a size difference that makes you feel a little bit dizzy before his hand flits to your thigh and smooths tenderly up the outside of your leg
seconds bleed into minutes as you take the time to just exist with leon being so close. his breath fans over your cheek with every exhale and his hand squeezes lightly at your thigh but ultimately, you build up the courage to ask, “how did you—how did you almost…” you trail off, unable to say the words out loud
“that part doesn’t—it doesn’t matter,” leon answers you, too fast and frowning. his walls go back up—albeit, they’re only half the size that they normally are and ready to crumble at moments notice—while he attempts to draw your attention away from his confession. though, all it does is leave you feeling confused
an incredulous laugh bubbles in your throat, “leon—that’s insane, it does matter—you matter,” you rant frantically, hung up on the fact that you really almost lost him this time. sure—it’s a constant risk with his job but hearing him admit it makes it all too much for you to handle, “i mean—how can you even say that it—”
“i thought about you,”
oh. your previously sunken heart swells when leon cuts you off. your eyes widen as your breath hitches in your throat but your mind muddles with every single plausible implication of his words. maybe it’s wishful thinking on your part but it all leads back to one singular thing. still though, you blurt, “why?”
“i don’t know—i just—” leon stops himself and then presses his lips into a thin line. his eyes harden, only slightly, and his walls build themselves up to their full height. he’s struggling and you don’t blame him but you need to know and your fingers screwing into his shirt urges him on, “all i could think about was you and—”
you can’t take it anymore. you crowd into the small amount of personal space that he has left and press your lips into his and his walls collapse. he doesn’t hesitate, he doesn’t waste another second before he’s kissing you back. soft, slow, sweet, all of the things that you weren’t entirely sure that he was capable of
his hand finds your waist, squeezing and tugging you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. your hand slides over his jaw and he doesn’t wince when you brush against the bruise that’s blooming underneath your palm. if it hurts him, he doesn’t show it because he’s too busy. he’s right where he wants to be
it’s all consuming, swallowing both of you whole where you lay on the couch until the air in your lungs begins to thin, causing you and leon to part your lips in an effort to breathe. he’s smiling though, you can feel it against your mouth whilst your chest rises and falls with every gasping breath
“shit—if i’d known—would’a told you ages ago,” leon mumbles in between kisses that have turned needy. it’s like he’s been teased with the taste of you and he’s worried that if he pulls away now, he’ll never get it again. somehow, the thought of that is far more harrowing than anything he’s ever encountered on a job
“what do you mean—ages ago?” you whisper, also refusing to interrupt the lazy flow of kisses that are being shared between you and him, as your fingers ghost up his jaw and into his hair once more. not pulling or tugging, just playing deftly in a way that makes him grunt low in his chest and grip your waist harder
he hesitates now. stuck somewhere between wanting to wear his heart on his sleeve and wanting to keep all of his secrets under lock and key. there’s a lull in his kisses, a moment where he’s too stuck to remember that he’s supposed to be kissing you back but when you threaten to pull away, he makes his decision quickly
“i think about you every time—all the time,” leon concedes with his bloodshot eyes wildly searching yours. he sounds sure of himself, no mumbling or muttering under his breath, he’s admitting it and you can practically see the weight of it lifting off of his shoulders, “it’s always just—you,” he breathes
inside of your chest, your heart is preparing to burst. it aches with happiness and an overwhelming sense of fulfilment and you can’t stop yourself from surging forwards to kiss him again. leon gasps as his bottom lip slots between yours—a sound that you haven’t ever heard from him—and then when you pull back, he grunts
“think about you too,” you giggle, sharing his sentiment, before you wriggle in close and tuck yourself against leon’s body. you fit together like puzzle pieces, your head slotting under his chin while his muscular arms wrap you up. you’ve found your place and you never plan on leaving, “miss you when you’re gone,”
“yeah?” leon chuckles, deep and throaty, muffled by his lips pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head as you yawn and nod in response, “thought you were trying to trick me into sleeping,” he teases, revealing that he knew what you were trying to do this entire time—you’re not mad about it though
still though, you playfully huff, “yeah—well—i am,” you mumble and press your ear against his chest to listen to the thrum of his heart beating. it’s an even thump, not panicked or rushed, just satisfied, “you’re gonna nap with me,” you garble around another yawn as leon’s exhaustion becomes infectious
“am i?” leon asks, though he’s already rearranging himself to get comfortable and tightening his arms around you, holding you close and trapping you against him. you nod again, not giving him a choice, but he doesn’t seem to care when he’s kissing your temple and whispering a peaceful, “yeah—i am,”
thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah ily! send prompts to my ask box!
Author's Note: fuck my stupid fucking chungus life, these blonde men can't keep getting away with this
Summary: You meet Leon Kennedy at work, the absolute last place you should be looking to date anyone. Too bad you're a sucker for blue eyes and vaguely pathetic-looking men.
Word Count: 15.1k
Content: 18+, smut, vendetta era!leon, pining, leon is shyyy, reader knows what she wants (hint: it's leon), leon is dealing with trauma, reader heals him with her pussy, leon whimpers bc of course he does, fingering, oral f!receiving, oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v sex, lowkey breeding kink as per usual, no use of y/n
To Read on AO3
Masterlist
You meet Leon Kennedy at work.
That fact alone should be enough to prevent you from entertaining any romantic notions that pop into your head when your eyes meet his baby blues during your introduction. You're a fresh transfer from the West Coast office, and your job doesn’t really leave room for much socializing—your abysmal dating history shows that. So, maybe you're just a glutton for punishment because you bat your eyelashes a little more than necessary as a coy smile appears at the corners of your lips.
He offers his hand for you to shake, his skin warm against yours—it's brief as your supervisor quickly whisks you away to meet the next person, and you can't help but call out innocently to him, "I look forward to working with you."
You chance a glance over your shoulder, noticing Leon's eyes lingering on you. When he realizes you've caught him staring, a red flush spreads up his neck, and he swiftly turns away. You struggle to hold back a grin as you follow your superior, nodding along to what he's saying as if you've been paying attention the whole time.
You see him again the next week during a mission briefing as you lean back in your seat, notebook balanced on your crossed legs while you chew the end of a pen. When your eyes cursorily shift to him, his gaze, which you know has been steadily on you the entire meeting, flicks pointedly down and away, and he raises his hand to scratch the back of his head as his cheeks turn pink. Once everyone is dismissed and you're gathering your things, he quietly whispers a 'good luck' as he brushes past, his hand grazing your lower back. You respond with a wink and a 'you too'.
Three weeks later, you're sitting at your computer, a strain in your eyes as you stare at the screen, mindlessly typing your report for the mission—the bruises on your face are starting to yellow at the edges, blending with the deep purple into a sickly, painful color. The rest of your body isn't faring much better after falling nearly twenty feet through a skylight during a chase through an old Umbrella facility. Honestly, it's a miracle you didn't break a limb or two—or your neck.
"What happened to you?" The voice prompts you to crane your head toward the source, causing a wince as you see Leon standing next to your desk with a worried frown. You take a moment to observe him, noticing a few scrapes on his cheeks that weren't there the last time you'd seen him. He and his partner had been on cleanup duty for the mission—not that you'd left them much to clean up; there's a reason the DSO hired you, and it wasn't because of sloppiness.
"Fell through a skylight," you answer blankly. When his eyes widen, you let out a huff of laughter that only causes your ribs to ache. "Could've been a lot worse, trust me."
"Looks like it," he says. "Maybe avoid high places next time."
The tone in his voice sounds like it's a reprimand—a warning for something most people would see as a rookie mistake—you're not a rookie—but you notice the smirk that flickers at the edges of his mouth. "I'll make sure to put the request in," you joke as you take a sip of your coffee that has, admittedly, been sitting on your desk for way too long, grimacing when the bitter liquid hits your tongue. "God, that tastes like sludge."
"Someone should've warned you about the break room coffee," he jokes. "I'm pretty sure it could be considered a biohazard."
You purse your lips, willing the taste from your tongue, knowing it's going to linger in the back of your throat all day as you nod in agreement. "I'll file a complaint with OSHA."
The small smile that creeps onto his face at your joke makes the butterflies in your stomach go wild. He shifts slightly on his feet, looking as though he wants to say more, or maybe he's just reluctant to end the conversation. Regardless, he taps lightly on the top of your cubicle wall with his palm, signaling he's going to take his leave. "Well, I'll let you get back to your reports," he says, about to walk away before pausing, hovering for a moment before adding, "I'm glad you're alright."
The sincerity in his voice makes you soften, your shoulders dropping as you stare at him with gratitude. "Thank you, Agent Kennedy," you say, turning back to your computer, though you watch him leave from the corner of your eye until he's gone from your sight.
Later that night, you're joylessly chewing on a bland granola bar while walking back to your desk after a much-needed break among a sea of cubicles that have long since cleared out for the day. You come to a stop just a few feet from your destination when you notice a paper coffee cup deliberately placed in front of your keyboard. The logo of the fancy coffee shop down the road stares back at you—the one you always tell yourself you're going to stop in on the way to work but never wake up early enough to do so.
Your head swivels from side to side, glancing around the office to make sure you didn't just miss some other poor soul lingering after hours under the threat of looming deadlines, but the rest of the office remains resolutely dark except for the glow of your own computer and its blinding blue light—probably why you've had an impending migraine for most of the night.
Stepping closer, you see a bright pink Post-it note tucked underneath, one taken from your own stack that sits right under your monitor. You toss the half-eaten granola bar into the trash beside your desk before picking up the coffee cup and then the note, gazing down at it curiously.
'Hope this is better than the breakroom sludge.
P.S. Don't stay too late.'
There's no name or even initials signed at the bottom, but you still know who it's from. You huff through your nose as if trying to dispel the ridiculous amount of giddiness that swells in your belly at the kind gesture. You were only gone from your desk for thirty minutes, so you're surprised you didn't even see him skulking about like some wayward food delivery driver.
The coffee is still pleasantly hot when you take a sip; it's a medium-roast, smooth, and a bit sweet. You savor the taste, warming your palms against the cup. As you take a seat, you tuck the note into your top desk drawer with a fond smile.
Despite his words, you stay later than you intend to, but he doesn't need to know that.
Thus begins a little song and dance between you and Leon.
You leave a cup of coffee for him on his desk the next morning—just a black coffee with no extras, but you set a small bag filled with creamers and a variety of sugar packets you pilfered from the coffee shop next to it, along with a note that says:
'Didn't know how you like it.'
You drop it off quickly before you can talk yourself out of it, telling yourself you're just returning the favor from last night, and ignoring the fact that you specifically woke up thirty minutes early to ensure you had enough time to stop at the coffee shop this morning before work.
If you're a bit more aware of who comes in and out of the office, peeking over your cubicle wall for a familiar mop of dirty blonde hair, that's your own business… at least until your neighbor gives you an inquisitive look and asks if you're waiting for someone. You blanch, shake your head, and sink a little deeper into your seat, then redirect your gaze to your computer. The blush of being caught spreads to your cheeks as you idly pretend to check your emails.
When you finally see him, it's in passing in the hall, but he's holding a familiar cup and sends you a shy smile, mouthing 'thank you' before ducking into a conference room. It's a high you ride through the rest of the day, even if you're mildly embarrassed by how the man and his pretty blue eyes have invaded your frontal lobe.
You feel like a teenager pining after a crush.
Between him being sent out on assignment and you being medically cleared for field work again after your fall, you don't see each other for a few weeks. Luckily, when you return from this mission, you're mostly unscathed, though the same can't be said for Leon. Scrapes that are just beginning to scab over mark his face, and one arm is cradled in a sling. Overall, he looks rather pathetic—you hate how much it's working for you.
Leaning over his cubicle wall, you place a coffee cup down in front of him before giving him a sympathetic glance. "Skylight get you too?" you ask, straight-faced.
He lets out a hoarse, wheezing chuckle, wincing and putting a hand over his ribs. "Don't make me laugh," he says as he grabs the coffee. "Try an elevator shaft."
Grimacing, you take a sip of your own drink before muttering, "Bummer."
"At least I get some good coffee as a reward," he offers optimistically with a playful smile on his lips as he reclines more comfortably in his chair.
"I fear your standards may be too low, Agent Kennedy," you tell him.
"Leon," he quickly interjects.
Quirking a brow, you let out a curious hum, not understanding what he means.
"Leon," he repeats. "You can call me Leon."
A moment of silence passes between you two before the corners of your lips curl up, and you lean closer to him over the half-wall of his cubicle. "Okay, Leon," you agree, your tongue curling around his name experimentally, low and intimate in a way that's completely inappropriate for the workplace.
You notice the subtle change in his expression—how his pupils dilate, and his mouth hangs open slightly. Someone in the office coughs somewhere, and he snaps back to himself, his one good hand gripping the armrest of his chair as he looks away from you, shifting in his seat. You smirk, eyes glinting with amusement; you hadn't expected the man to be so shy.
As much as you'd like to stay and prod him a bit more, you decide to take pity on the poor man instead. "I'm glad you're alright," you say, echoing his sentiments from a few weeks ago as you turn to head back to your own desk.
He calls your name before you can get more than a foot away, and you stop, glancing over your shoulder with raised eyebrows. "Would you—" He closes his mouth, swallowing thickly as if his throat suddenly has gone dry. "—Would you like to get dinner sometime?"
Several heads peek over their cubicles, curious coworkers probably eager to hear this juicy bit of office gossip—Infamously aloof Agent Leon S. Kennedy asking out the pretty transfer from the West Coast? Yeah, that's going to make its rounds.
Leon is so absorbed in you that he doesn't even notice the nosy onlookers. There's nervous tension around him; you can see his jaw muscle twitch as he clenches his teeth, anticipating your reply—maybe even thinking you'll say no, as if you haven't been flirting with him since day one.
You step back toward him, holding a hand out expectantly, and when he gives you a confused stare, you clarify, "Your phone."
He scrambles to grab his phone from his pocket, and it's surprising how endearing it is to watch a man in his thirties eagerly offer it to you. When you swipe up on his phone and see he doesn't have a passcode, you give him an incredulous look but say nothing before typing in your information. You even send yourself a message, ensuring you have his number, knowing the chance of him chickening out isn't exactly zero percent. You feel your phone vibrate in your jacket.
In a swift motion, you lock his phone and toss it back to him, which he catches with ease, calling out, "Text me," as you walk away.
It takes him three days to text you.
Even as you continue to see each other in the office, leaving coffees on each other's desks and chatting in the break room, the only text in your message thread with Leon is the little coffee emoji you'd sent from his phone. It's Wednesday, and for the first time in weeks, you've managed to leave work at a decent time, and to celebrate, you're plopped on your couch, folding laundry and enjoying a glass of cheap wine while watching your favorite shitty reality TV show.
The muffled pings of your phone—three times in rapid succession—catch your attention, making you pause and toss the towel you'd been folding aside. When you search around for it, you realize you must've accidentally buried it under piles of clean clothes. "Fuck," you mutter as you carefully begin to peek under each stack until you find it in between pairs of underwear.
You're only mildly surprised to see three texts from Leon—or rather, 'Large Coffee, Light & Sweet,' as you've named him in your phone after learning his preferred way to take his coffee. A little surprising because you definitely pegged him for a plain black coffee kind of guy.
Hey.
It's Leon.
…Which you know already because you have my number.
You snort as you read the texts, hesitating to tap out a reply, thinking you might make him suffer for making you wait so long, but unfortunately for you—or fortunately for him—you lack that kind of impulse control.
Still, you can't help but make him sweat a bit, and only reply with a simple:
hi
The response is almost instant and makes you immediately regret the slight pettiness:
How was your day?
The question makes you want to do unspeakable things to him, you think sourly as your eyes narrow at the message on your phone. Every lackluster interaction you've had with a man in the last decade flashes before your eyes when you realize not one has ever asked you something as simple as how your day was.
Probably a talking point to bring up to your therapist.
finally got to leave the office on time :)
You send a picture of your hand holding your half-empty wine glass, backlit by your TV, being careful not to include any piles of laundry in the background—you don't want to scare him away with pictures of your delicates after he finally worked up the courage to text you.
You wait a few moments, biting the inside of your cheek as you watch your phone expectantly. When you finally set it down on your coffee table to resume folding laundry, it pings again. The speed with which you pick it up would be embarrassing if anyone else were around to witness it, but in the safety and solitude of your apartment, you permit yourself this humiliating instance of desperation.
He sends a picture back, with the top half of his face at the bottom, as the rest of the image shows the empty, dark office behind him. Unashamed, you click on the picture and zoom in to get a better look at him—his sandy hair, which usually falls into his eyes, is pushed back slightly, offering you a clearer view. The back of your neck warms as your gaze meets the still image of his that stares back at you, and you quickly click away to read the message.
Wish I was as lucky.
And just as you're about to type a reply, another message comes through.
What are you watching?
crappy reality tv
You type back.
gonna be a late night??
Resolutely, you put your phone back down, watching intently as the little dots pop up signaling that he's typing as you absentmindedly fold the rest of your laundry, knowing if you stopped now, you'd never get it all done tonight. It stops and starts several times before you finally get another message.
I hope not, all I have is the breakroom sludge to keep me awake.
Smiling, you speed through the rest of your laundry before replying:
maybe you should spend a little less time texting women then?
Woman.
You frown, brows furrowing.
what?
I'm only talking to one woman.
An unnamed feeling swells comfortably in your chest, as if it belongs there. You stand, hooking your laundry basket onto your hip with one hand while staring down at your phone in the other. You walk the entire way to your room with your eyes fixed on your screen, setting the basket on your bed before gnawing your bottom lip raw as you type and erase a response.
After several attempts, you hit send before you can rethink it anymore.
is she cute?
He doesn't make you wait long for an answer; clearly, he doesn't intend to get his reports done tonight.
I think beautiful would be a better word.
You toss the phone away from you as if it burned you, hands on your hips as you sway your weight from one leg to the other—nervous energy flooding through you. Maybe you expected him to deflect or be coy about it; you definitely didn't expect such a sincere response.
Another message pops up in the chat.
I'm also hoping she'll agree to go to dinner with me on Friday even though I was a coward who took three days to text her.
A grin works its way onto your face as you grab your phone.
i suppose it depends on where you plan on taking her. it'll have to be somewhere prettyyyy nice if you made her wait three days for a text
He sends a link to a restaurant—it's an Italian place, and a quick glance at the menu shows it has no prices listed—pretty nice, indeed.
Is this nice enough?
If he were any other man, you might think he's being facetious, but in the few months you've known him, you've exchanged numerous sarcastic remarks with each other, never with any malice.
Another text pops up, as if he's getting nervous by your lack of reply.
I can find a different place if you don't like that one.
You smile to yourself, tapping out a response.
no that's perfect
I'll pick you up at 7
sounds good, i'm gonna head to bed, don't stay too late
I won't, I promise.
When you see Leon the next morning, he's already at his desk like he never left last night, and there are bags under his eyes. The sling he'd been wearing all week is notably missing; likely, he'd finally been cleared to stop wearing it. As you hand him his drink, you tease, "Hey, look at you, two working arms again."
"As good as new," he replies, accepting it tiredly.
"I take it you ended up staying late," you say.
He takes a gulp of it like it's the elixir of life, sighing contentedly into the cup. "Yeah, and I still didn't get the report done—might be easier now that I have two hands." His eyes finally scan over your figure, brows pinching together like he's taking notice of something. "You look nice."
The urge to poke at him a little wins out before you can even think better of it. "Do I not look nice normally?" you ask, no trace of humor on your expression.
His eyes widen, and you can see the way panic tenses through his entire body. "No," he says quickly. "That's not what I meant. You always look nice. I've just never—" His gaze flicks down to the pencil skirt you're wearing, different from the normal pantsuits you wear in the office, even more so from the tactical gear he's seen you in heading out on missions.
You come round the side of his desk, sitting against the edge of it as you lean over, voice low so none of the office busybodies hear, "Does the skirt do something for you, Agent Kennedy?" you question.
It's like he doesn't know what to do with his hands, gripping the faux leather of the armrests on his chair before lowering them to rub his sweaty palms flat against the tops of his knees. "Yes," he admits shyly at first, but he sees the teasing glint in your eye and grows bolder. "Would like to know the occasion so I might see you in it again."
You chuckle at his words, take a sip of your drink, and say, "I've got a deposition this afternoon on the Hill." You're not thrilled about it, and it's clearly written on your face. "Those idiots in Congress already like to rip into me for some shit that happened in West Africa a few years ago, like that wasn't BSAA's screw-up. I try not to give them much ammunition to use against me, which means dressing to old white conservative men's standards."
Leon seems to take affront to this answer, brows furrowing as a sneer makes its way onto his lips. "They make a habit of commenting on your clothes?" he asks.
Laughing a bit louder, you cross your arms before staring at him and realizing he's serious. "Leon, I'm a woman, of course, they comment on my clothes." That answer does nothing to diminish the perturbed expression. You soften your stance a bit, reaching out to comfortingly pat his shoulder. "Trust me, it's nothing I can't handle."
Before you can pull your hand away, he grabs it. You remember his skin being rough and callous from when you shook hands on your first day. It should be off-putting, but the way his thumb carefully caresses the top of your hand is anything but. "I know you're capable of handling a bunch of asshole politicians," he says softly. "I've seen you in action, I've read the reports—I know you're a great agent, and I wish you didn't have to bend to the whims of those people."
You fall silent for a moment, warmth spreading through your body originating from where your hands are joined. Admittedly, it's nice to hear someone acknowledge your hard work—you've spent so much of your career fighting and clawing to get to where you are. It hasn’t been easy; the constant dismissal you've faced because you’re a woman in this field—you just want to be taken seriously.
"I appreciate you saying that," you say. You squeeze his hand before reluctantly drawing away. "I gotta go meet my lawyer before we head down, but I'll see you later?" You don't mean for it to come out like a question, but there's a twinge of hope in your voice.
"Yeah, you'll have to let me know how it goes," he says with a smile.
"Bye, Leon," you breathe out as you leave.
Leon's eyes stay glued to you until you disappear into the elevator.
Several excruciating hours later, you're finally stepping out of your deposition, your ass numb from the god-awful chairs they force you to sit in, and you squint as if you've never seen sunlight before when you walk out of the building.
Pulling your phone from your purse, you see you have a text from Leon from only a few minutes ago.
Thought I might try this place.
It's accompanied by a picture of a coffee shop's storefront, different from your usual one. Cute is the first word that comes to mind as you stare at the photo—the building is bright pink with neon signs and flowers in the window.
feeling adventurous today agent kennedy?
The heels you're wearing are digging into the backs of your ankles and pinching your toes in all the wrong ways. You can't wait to shuck them off in favor of the more sensible shoes you have back at the office that you regrettably forgot to take with you to change into. Your phone pings again.
Are you finished with your deposition?
While you're walking, you snap a quick selfie—not caring that your hair is windswept or that it's probably from a bad angle. You just flash a thumbs up to the camera before sending it.
all done! mostly painless though congressman fowler is going to get my size 8 shoved up his ass if he makes another comment about how i conduct myself before the "esteemed members of congress" gagggg
As you make it to your car, your feet feeling like you're stepping on shards of glass with each step, you burst out laughing at Leon's next message.
I can call in a bomb threat to his office if you want.
is there actually going to be a bomb?
You reply as you slide into the driver's seat before typing out a second message.
actually don't tell me, i need to have plausible deniability
If I go down I'm taking you with me.
and just when i was beginning to think we were friends </3
You receive another picture: a cup holder safely placed in his passenger seat with two drinks in it.
I guess I just got these two drinks for myself then since we're not friends.
They must be from the new place he'd found, and for some reason, it amuses you to think of Leon Kennedy, dressed in all black with his furrowed brow, in a cute coffee shop ordering you coffee.
nvm all is forgiven <3 what did you get me?
Oh, how quick your tune changes when coffee is at stake.
You wonder if he's smiling like you are you type out your response.
i am a simple woman please don't take my coffee from me i had to deal with politicians today :(
I'll see you back at the office.
what does that mean leon
There's no answer.
leon what does that meaaaaaaan
When no reply comes, you figure he must be driving, so you start your car and head back to the office. As you pull into the parking garage, you spot a familiar figure leaning against a sleek black car. You pull into a nearby parking spot, not caring that your feet are aching as you saunter up to him, watching him as he watches you. "So, what did you get me?" you ask as you reiterate your previous query, reaching out toward the cup in his hand that he isn't drinking from, but he holds it up just out of your reach at the last second.
"Who says this is for you?" he questions with a smirk.
Your mouth drops open as if scandalized, as you recoil back dramatically with a hand poised at your chest. "I didn't know you could be so hurtful, Agent Kennedy."
In the privacy of the underground garage, Leon bends down closer to you, tilting his head as his gaze meets yours, eyes flicking briefly toward your lips before quickly looking back up. You feel your cheeks flush, nervousness flooding your insides from the intensity of his stare. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you glance down at the small space between you.
A fond smile forms on his face—maybe with a satisfaction at being the one to fluster you for once. "I'm just kidding," he assures softly as he gives you the coffee cup. With his now free hand, he plays with a lock of your hair that falls over your shoulder. "I'm excited for tomorrow."
You study his features, the sharp cut of his cheekbones contrasting with the gentle pout of his lips. There's an earnestness in his eyes—they burn cold, sharp like the ice that cracks beneath your feet on a frozen lake.
It is a plunge you think you'd gladly take.
A smile spreads across your lips as you take a sip of your drink, eyebrows rising at the new flavor. It's flowery—not as sweet as one might expect, but not bitter either. This is part of the little game you and Leon have been unintentionally playing over the past few weeks. While you've been able to pin down his favorite drink, he hasn't managed to find yours, so each time he gets you a coffee, it's a different one.
You've begun texting him a star rating for each one, though a 5-star rating remains elusive.
"Getting braver with your choices," you comment slyly.
He raises his eyebrows. "Do you like it?" he asks, and you see the flash of worry in his eyes. "I can go back an—"
Pressing a hand to his chest, you stop him mid-sentence, feeling how he leans into your touch. "Leon, I like it," you assure. "A solid... 3-stars." He frowns at the rating but seems at least pleased that you don't completely hate the drink he got you. "As much as I'd love to sit here and chat all day, these shoes are killing me, and I left my comfy pair at my desk."
"I can carry you," he offers quickly.
You glance up at him incredulously. "Yes, because that wouldn't make people talk, seeing you carry me into the office because of my poor choice of footwear." Your eyes quickly shift to the faint outline of his biceps through his suit jacket before a mischievous smile spreads across your face. "Besides, I don't think you'd be able to carry me that far." With that, you turn on your heel and begin walking toward the elevator.
"What is that supposed to mean?" he questions, clearly offended by your little quip.
"Nothing," you call out in a singsong voice, hearing his footsteps scramble to catch up with you.
You think he starts to say something about how much he can bench before deciding how self-absorbed that sounds, and instead he settles on a muttered, almost pouting, "I could carry you no problem."
"Mhm," you hum as you push the button to call the elevator and take a sip of your drink; for some reason, it tastes even sweeter with the simmering agent beside you.
You step in as the doors open, and he's close behind; you can feel the warmth of his body at your back. "Now who's being hurtful?" he whispers into your ear as he leans into you. The tickle of his breath against you sends a tingle all the way down to your practically numb toes.
When the doors close, you spin around and lay your hand against his chest. He seems surprised, but he doesn't resist as you push him back until he feels the cold metal of the elevator wall through his suit. "I'm just kidding, Leon," you murmur as you close the gap between you. His free hand moves to your hip, thumb tracing circles into the fabric of your skirt—resisting the temptation to dig his fingertips into your waist, to become more intimate with the curve of your body. "I know you could carry me."
"I could," he confirms quietly. His lips are so close to yours that you can almost taste the coffee on his tongue. There's something ravenous building in you, and you see it reflected in Leon—can see how he's about to surrender to the hunger as his eyes flutter shut and he slants his head to the side.
You're a hair's breadth from the edge when the elevator dings, signaling you've arrived at your floor. "I know," you whisper, then step away as the doors open. "Thanks for the coffee, Leon."
He's leaning against the elevator wall, left staring at you as you walk away, his gaze dropping to the gentle sway of your hips in the pencil skirt, committing it to memory.
That night, you're tearing through your closet, the panic of your date finally setting in. It's been far too long since you've gone on a first date—the nature of your job didn't leave much time for a social life, and even less time for relationships. Most people you've been with have been less than understanding of the weeks, sometimes months, you spend away on missions—if you even get to that point to begin with.
The perpetuity of an endless cycle of talking stages is soul-crushing.
You had almost given up on anything that wasn't a quick, one-time hookup.
As such, most of your wardrobe is dedicated to business wear for the few stretches of time when you're home long enough to be in the office, and more sensible, tactical clothing you wear when you're in the field. With the entirety of your closet now spread across your bed in various piles labeled 'no' and 'absolutely not', you're left staring at the final piece of clothing in your wardrobe.
It's a slinky black dress you bought on a whim a few years ago, probably a size too small now, if you could manage to squeeze into it, and made of a sleek silk. It's simple—maybe too simple for a first date, but your only other option is to find something tomorrow... if you even have time before the actual date.
You groan, grabbing the dress from the hanger, cursing Leon for scheduling a date so soon, and yourself for agreeing to it so easily. You hold your breath as you pull it on, and only after ensuring it actually zips do you release it, relief washing over you. Standing in front of your long mirror, you twist every way, smoothing your hands over the fabric.
You look… nice.
Really nice.
At least, you think you do.
You will yourself not to focus on where the dress hugs a little too tightly, knowing you'll only hyperfixate on things that you have no control over. Instead, you nod to yourself, muttering a soft and accepting, "Okay."
Excitement wells up in you as you take the dress off, carefully hanging it up on the back of your bedroom door. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you snap a picture of it, sending it to Leon with the message:
a little preview for tomorrow night :)
Setting your phone face down on your nightstand, you start putting everything back in your closet, trying not to give in to the impulse to just sit there staring at your phone until he responds. Even when you hear it vibrate, you resist the urge, only looking at it after you've put everything away nearly thirty minutes later.
Are you trying to kill me?
You grin.
no if i was trying to kill you, i'd show you what i was going to wear underneath
You quickly send a second message before putting down your phone.
goodnight!
You hear your phone go off once, then twice, and then a third time as you settle into bed. You take a peek at the notifications while promising yourself you won't respond.
Wait what are you wearing underneath?
Hellooo?
Sweet dreams.
Walking into the office the next day, you're smiling when you spot Leon hovering around your desk. It quickly drops from your lips when you finally see the grim expression he's wearing. As you set your stuff down in the chair, you ask, "What's wrong?" There's already anxiety tightening your chest.
"I'm being sent out on a mission," he says, a frown on his face.
You try to keep a neutral countenance as you accept the coffee cup he holds out, cradling it in your hands, appreciating the warmth it provides when the rest of your body suddenly feels cold. "When do you leave?"
Glancing down at his watch, he can hardly look you in the eye as he says, "Three hours."
"Oh," you murmur, trying not to let your disappointment show but ultimately failing. It's not like you didn't know this was a possibility—maybe you just naively thought you'd at least get through the first date without your jobs getting in the way.
Reaching out, he grabs your hand. "Can we reschedule?" he asks.
You nod, forcing a smile—this isn't Leon's fault, and you don't want him to feel worse than he already no doubt feels. "Yeah, of course."
"I'll text you, okay?" he offers—it's an olive branch, one you're glad to take.
"Okay," you say. "Make sure to check in when you can—" You freeze and grimace, realizing you might be overstepping some boundaries. You're not his girlfriend, you have no right to request him to keep in contact while he's away. "—If you're able to, or want to—"
"I will." He cuts you off before you can dig yourself deeper into a hole, a tender smile on his face as he holds your hand in his. "I'm really sorry," he murmurs.
"It's okay," you assure him, because it really is. "I get it, trust me, I get it." Your fingers play with his, thumb mapping the callouses built up along his hand from shooting—there's one right on the pad of his index finger that you find yourself delicately brushing against. "Just means I get to order the most expensive dessert on the menu when we go."
"Gonna make my wallet hurt, huh?" he teases.
You wink. "Think of it as a rescheduling fee."
He carefully extracts his hand from yours, as it pains him to do so, and checks his watch. "I have to go to the briefing, but I'll see you when I get back," he says as he pulls away, but he stops short just a foot or so away from you as if he's remembered something."You didn't answer me last night."
"Hm?" You pretend not to have a clue what he's talking about, sipping at your drink—it's a caramel macchiato, you realize.
He lowers his voice to make sure no one else can overhear. "About what's underneath."
Your eyes are wide with faux innocence. "Nothing," you answer.
His brows furrow. "What?"
"Nothing is underneath."
Understanding dawns on his face gradually, and you can see the flush that spreads up his neck to his cheeks, tinging the tips of his ears. You hide the shit-eating grin behind another sip of your coffee. "Right," he chokes out, as he forces himself to walk away before any of the follow-up questions escape his mouth.
You watch him go, eyes tracing the broad planes of his back, the tension clear in his shoulders, and you giggle to yourself.
You're not given much time to dwell on Leon's absence, as two days after, you're sent to Alaska—of all places—to follow up on a lead about a suspected BOW facility. It's cold, but a change in scenery is always welcome—especially when it helps distract you from the blue-eyed, brooding agent who's been plaguing your thoughts lately.
Speaking of—
You snap a picture of the snowy landscape—the sun has begun to set behind the snowcapped mountains. The clouds rolling across the sky are bathed in the purple of twilight, casting a soft pink glow against the white-coated crags. It's beautiful in a way that makes you feel insignificant.
You send it to Leon, not expecting an answer as you haven't heard anything from him since he left.
hope you're some place warmer than me right now
You get an answer four days later, and smile at the simple picture of a nondescript forest and the message that reads:
Why don't we ever get sent somewhere nice like Hawaii?
The lead ended up being a bust; you'd spent the better part of your time here trekking through the Alaskan wilderness with your team, though it wasn't as bad as you'd thought it'd be, even when you were trudging through snow waist-deep that left your entire body frozen to the bone. You send a selfie back, cheeks flushed red from the cold and face surrounded by the insulating fur of your heavy jacket.
idk the tundra has kind of grown on me
It's late in the day when you touchdown back in D.C., you snap a picture on the tarmac of the sun setting, sending it to Leon.
home
It's nearly 2 AM when you receive a similar message from him, though the sky is dark and the moon faintly hangs behind a cloud bank.
Home.
Even being woken up out of a dead sleep by your phone going off, you grin like an idiot against your pillow, barely able to type out a 'yay' in response through your bleary-eyed vision before you promptly pass out again, knowing the jetlag is going to be killer in the morning.
Predictably, you're dead on your feet as you walk into the office, two cups of coffee securely in your hands as you shuffle instinctively toward Leon's desk. You spot him hunched over his desk, seeming just as tired and miserable, though he lights up when he sees you coming his way. He's on his feet, meeting you halfway and guiding you toward the empty breakroom with his hands on your shoulders, where no prying eyes can watch your reunion, though you notice a few curious eyes following you both.
You let out a laugh as you hold out his coffee to him. "Good morning." He takes it before gently pulling you close. The tenderness he shows makes your heart swell. You reach up to wrap your arms around his waist, being careful not to spill your drink, inhaling his scent of smoke and gunpowder, muttering into the shoulder of his jacket. "Did you miss me or something?"
"Shut up," he murmurs into your hair, inhaling deeply. "Did you know there's no cell service in rural Poland?" He withdraws slightly to catch your eye, his hand reaching up to trace the line of your jaw with something like reverence. You take a moment to survey him, searching for any injuries—you notice some bruising around his eye, a scab just above his lip, but apart from that, he looks unscathed.
"Probably about as much service as Alaska," you answer. "Deluca almost got mauled by a bear."
Leon's brows raise high on his forehead, eyes wide at the sudden shift in conversation, though he can tell by the giddiness in your voice that you've been waiting to tell him this little bit of information. "What?" he asks.
You're already laughing as you take your phone out of your pocket. "Yeah, I got it on video. The idiot thought he was a bear whisperer," you say as you hold your phone up for him to watch.
His gaze keeps darting between you and the screen, too distracted by your own reaction as you giggle behind your hand, watching Agent Deluca run for his life from a large grizzly bear he tried to approach like a scared dog in the streets. He's so captivated by the sparkle in your eye and how a dimple forms in your left cheek from smiling so hard.
"I was thinking, maybe this Saturday we could try for our date again," he says abruptly, cutting over the faint screams of Deluca in the background of your video.
You pause the video, tucking your phone back into your pocket as your face softens and you nod. "Yeah, I'd like that."
"I have a mission in Bethesda on Thursday, but it should be a quick turnover," he assures.
"From your mouth to God's ears, Leon Kennedy," you joke as he draws you back into a hug, and you feel his lips press to the top of your head. "Don't jinx yourself."
He jinxed himself. It's the only thing that comes to mind when you hear the news that his team, along with their target, Senator Eyre, were killed by explosives rigged to their vehicles. Remarkably, Leon managed to walk away relatively uninjured, or at least, that's what the report states.
He hasn't answered any of your texts or calls.
You try not to take it personally. You understand how this career can be—it's isolating, and most days, it's tough enough just to get out of bed. When something like this happens, though, it's devastating even for the most seasoned agents.
So you keep texting—sharing little updates, sending pictures of the sunset, your morning coffee, a bird hopping around on the sidewalk, just because it reminds you of him. You figure he hasn't told you to fuck off yet or blocked you, so maybe he's seeing them, or maybe he's not.
But you still want him to know you're thinking of him.
"Hi," a voice hesitantly calls out.
It jolts you, so focused on the screen in front of you that you didn't hear anyone sidle up next to your desk—and admittedly, you're running on barely any sleep after returning from a week-long mission in Vietnam.
You glance over at the blonde woman standing at your desk—she's young, and wearing a smile. Your gaze flicks down to her name badge—Sherry Birkin. "Hi," you greet back a bit awkwardly. You know the name—you're aware of her association with Leon, although it's only from official reports.
"I'm sorry, I know we haven't met before," she says as she extends her hand. "Sherry Birkin." The warmth in her demeanor makes it easy to respond kindly, so you take her hand to shake and offer your name, although you suspect she's already aware of who you are. "We share a common acquaintance—" She pauses. "Leon Kennedy."
Coldness washes over you as your stomach fills with dread. You turn in your chair to face her, giving the woman your full attention. "Is he okay?" you ask, voice shaking slightly as if you're anticipating the worst.
"I… think so," she says, uncertain. "He hasn't spoken to me—"
"—Hasn't spoken to me either," you interject, your expression mirroring her own dejection, though you suppose there's some solace in the fact he's not just ignoring you.
She frowns. "That's what I was afraid of," she murmurs to herself. "I may have… looked into it."
You quirk a brow. "Oh?"
She nods, leaning closer and talking in a hushed voice. "After he didn't answer my calls," she explains. "I… politely inquired with HR about his whereabouts—" You give her an amused look that signifies you definitely don't believe her. "—He's in Colorado, apparently he put in for an… extended vacation."
You're not sure what it is that swirls in your stomach—disappointment or maybe hurt, but your face falls. "Ah," you breathe out.
It's easy for Sherry to pick up on the sudden shift. "I just wanted to let you know," she says. "He… talked about you—a lot."
This information surprises you. "He did?" Your voice raises a pitch.
"He was really looking forward to your date… wouldn't shut up about it. I just—" She glances down, contemplating her next words. "—I want to ask you not to give up on him."
You're quiet for a moment as you observe her, seeing the way concern pools in her eyes. You don't know their relationship, but it's clear they're close, and she cares a great deal about him—you expect the opposite to be true as well. "I don't plan on it," you assure her.
A soft smile tugs at her lips. "Thank you," she says. "He's… he's gone through a lot, and I just worry."
"I get it," you tell her. "This job—this life… it takes a lot out of you."
You've faced more than your fair share of horrors and lost plenty of people along the way—you've fought your own demons and had to scrape and claw your way out of despair. Some days, it still feels like you're drowning in it—those are the days when you think it might be easier to just give in to the feeling.
Even before you befriended Leon, you knew who he was—of course, you did. One of the survivors of Raccoon City, the USSTRATCOM Agent who saved the President's daughter from the Los Iluminados nearly a decade ago. You can only imagine what he's seen—what he's had to do.
"Yeah," she agrees softly. "It does."
"I appreciate you letting me know," you say. "If—If you hear from him, could you let me know? Just so I know he's okay?"
"Of course." There's something so sincere about Sherry Birkin, you note. "It was nice to finally meet you—we should… get drinks or something sometime."
You smile. "Yeah, that'd be nice."
An incoming call from Leon lights up on your screen a week later. You're out on assignment—stateside, luckily, or rather unluckily, given the recent events that transpired. You answer the call immediately. "Hey," you greet casually, as if you're not perched atop a building, peering through the scope of your sniper rifle, phone cradled between your ear and shoulder.
"Hey," you hear him reply. He sounds tired, and there's a tug on your heartstrings.
"How was New York?" you question, eyes scanning through the scope as you track your target through the streets below—too many people around, you realize.
The question is enough to break the tension, and he gives a huff of laughter, though he sounds no less exhausted. "Not all it's cracked up to be," he answers. "Chris Redfield says 'hi', by the way."
You let out a disgusted noise at the mention of him. "I can't stand that man," you say bitterly.
The BSAA operator has been a thorn in your side for years, even before you started working for the DSO. His impulsive and stubborn disposition was the cause of most of your headaches when you first joined the FBI after leaving the army, thinking you'd left the world of military jugheads behind you—oh, how young and naive you were.
"He only had nice things to say about you," Leon muses, and you can tell from his tone that’s most definitely not true.
"Oh, I'm sure," you snort as you adjust your grip, keenly watching as your mark breaks from the crowded streets toward a more secluded area. "How did I even come up in conversation anyway?"
You hear him cough as if he had breathed in awkwardly. "I was… telling him about you."
"Oh?" you hum. "And just what were you telling him, Agent Kennedy?"
"Told him I had a date planned before everything went to shit… that I probably fucked it all up—"
You take the shot, and the man goes down like a sack of potatoes. "Target down," you say into your comms before giving the coordinates.
"—Are you on a mission right now?"
You begin to disassemble your rifle, quick and precise, as the clean-up crew no doubt makes their way onto the scene to take care of the body. "I was," you say. "It just ended." You press the clips on your gun case back into place with a firm click. "You didn't fuck anything up, by the way."
There's silence on the other end—you almost think you lost service as you enter the stairwell of the building through the roof access door you'd kept propped open until, "You free tomorrow?" he asks.
You smile, moving swiftly down the steps. "I'm sure I could pencil you in," you reply.
"I'll pick you up at 7," he says. "Get home safe, okay?"
When you reach the fire exit door at the bottom, you push through and find yourself in a side alley. "Good night, Leon," you say before hanging up, pulling your hood up as the police sirens start flooding the streets, and then you're gone, blending into the crowds.
He's at your door at 6:59 PM, and you're busy fastening an earring when you open it. The air leaves his lungs as he takes you in—seeing you in your black silk dress, hair done up, and a bit more makeup than you normally wear to the office.
You're busy giving him a once-over, you don't see the subtle shift in his expression, the way he closes himself off. "You clean up nice," you compliment as you finally get your earring in, fluffing your hair a bit more as you look in the mirror by your entrance.
"Thanks." He's quiet. "So do you."
"You ready to go?" you ask as you grab your purse.
"Yeah," he nods, and you lock your door behind you, offering him a smile that he doesn't return.
A frown forms as he begins to walk away—part of you expecting he would have offered his arm or hand. You try to shake off the uneasy feeling settling in your stomach, thinking maybe he's just nervous—you definitely are.
It only gets worse as the night progresses.
The car ride is mostly silent except for the low rumble of the local rock radio station — you try to ask a few questions, but are met with one-word, noncommittal answers that leave you feeling defeated before you even reach the restaurant. Every time you glance over at him, his eyes stay fixed on the road ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turn white.
When you arrive at the restaurant, he maintains a respectful distance from you as you walk in, only doing the small courtesy of holding the door open for you. After you're finally seated at a small table, a candle burning low between you, hope flickers that now, face to face, he'll be more willing to talk as you both thank the hostess. "Any idea what you're going to get?" you ask.
"No," he answers, gaze focused solely on the menu in his hands.
"I was thinking—"
"Good evening," the waiter greets as he sidles up to your table, pouring water from a pitcher into the empty glasses in front of you. "Any drinks to start?"
"Just a glass of your Cabernet Sauvignon, please," you reply, and the waiter smiles at you before turning to Leon.
"Just the water is fine," he says, not even looking up at the man.
You see the waiter's brow twinge just slightly, and you give him an apologetic smile. "Thank you," you say weakly.
He inclines his head to you. "I'll be back with your wine," he assures.
Silence settles over the table. Surrounding you are other people—couples—talking and laughing together over their meals, and your heart tightens as you watch Leon from behind your menu. He hasn't even looked up at you once since you've sat down—probably has read the menu seven times by now.
"Do you know what you want?" Your voice is small—unsure and so unlike you that you can hardly believe it's your voice coming out of you, but now you're feeling like this whole situation has been a huge mistake that you've somehow pushed him into. There's a chasm forming in your chest, filling with dread.
"Yeah," he murmurs, though he doesn't set the menu down.
You gnaw at the inside of your cheek until you taste blood, mind desperately trying to find something—anything—to talk to him about that he hasn't already shut down in the car with his lackluster answers. "I met Sherry the other week," you decide on.
For the first time, his eyes briefly flick up to you. "She told me," he says.
"She's really sweet," you continue. "She… she seems really fond of you."
"I've known her since she was a kid," he answers in a way that doesn't invite any further comment.
You try to smile—try to come up with something else to say, but you're left floundering until the waiter returns with your glass of wine and takes your order. He must see the disappointment on your face because he offers you a sympathetic look as you tell him your order, while handing the menu back to him, and Leon does the same.
Without anything to focus on, he fidgets with the cloth napkin in front of him, expression impassive except for the clench in his jaw, as if he's grinding his teeth. You feel a familiar sting in your sinuses as you idly sip your wine, which is practically tasteless in your mouth, trying to stave off the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.
With every second that passes, your heart pounds against your ears so loudly it feels like the world around you is muffled, though you're keenly aware of your own breathing. A thin sheen of sweat forms on your skin even though you feel completely freezing. The dress you were so excited to wear now feels suffocating, as you've become hyperaware of all the parts of your body that it fits too tightly on.
Abruptly, you set your glass down and say, "Excuse me, I'm going to go to the bathroom."
You don't give him a chance to say anything with how quickly you get up, though you doubt he would have anyway. Once inside the safety of the bathroom, you find yourself staring at your reflection in the mirror, taking a inhaling deeply to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. Your chest feels like it's caving in, and you're now sure that you've somehow misunderstood the situation between you and Leon.
It's making you feel crazy.
You exhale shakily, grabbing your phone to scroll through your message thread with him, searching for any sign that he wasn't as interested as you initially thought. It only makes his current behavior even more confusing. You try to recall every single interaction you've had, where he was the one to reach out to you, and you can't understand this sudden coldness.
There's a second when you consider calling Sherry to see if she might have any insight into why he's acting this way, but it feels wrong to involve her in whatever is going on, especially since she was the one who told you how excited he had been about the date. Instead, you tuck your phone back into your purse and try to breathe steadily as you turn the faucet on.
As you pump some of the fancy-smelling soap into your hands, you start to scrub your skin, your mind spinning in circles. Maybe while he was away, he realized he didn't like you as much as he thought, and this dinner was meant to let you down easy. Or maybe he met someone else and doesn't know how to tell you.
Every single reason that comes to mind only causes anger to grow inside you because there's no excuse for him to treat you so coldly. You at least believed you were good enough friends for him to be honest with you.
When you think you've rubbed your skin raw, you shut off the water and violently grab the paper towels to dry your hands. Your walk back to the table is more dignified, the tears gone from your eyes, replaced by a quiet fury.
You see that your food was brought out while you were gone, and Leon is slowly picking at his plate. As you sit down, you grab your wine glass, knowing you might need the extra bit of courage for whatever is to come, and down the rest of it in one gulp. "Food good?" you ask as you wipe at the corners of your lips.
He gives an indecisive shrug, and that's your breaking point.
"What is going on?" you question, low, but firm.
He must hear the anger in your voice because he actually looks up at you, expression feigning confusion as if he doesn't know where your unexpected question is coming from. "We're… having dinner?" he offers.
"You've barely spoken to me all night," you say, voice rising slightly as you swallow the lump in your throat, feeling the hot sting of scorned fury prickling under your skin.
"We've… talked," he tries to assert, though you can tell even he doesn't believe his own words.
You cock your head, staring at him like he's the stupid one. "Are you serious?" You twist the napkin in your lap so hard you think you might tear through the fabric. "Do you even like me, Leon?"
He seems taken aback, recoiling away from you as if you struck him, and his eyes drop to the table between you, but he stays silent, which is more than enough of an answer for you. Swiftly, you push your chair back, toss your napkin onto your untouched food, and grab your purse.
"Wait, where are you going?" he calls out, but for the first time tonight, you're the one ignoring him as you march out of the restaurant, unconcerned with the curious stares that follow you, intending to walk down the street before you realize he'd driven you here.
You huff in frustration, pulling out your phone to find a number for a taxi service, but your anger has shifted to sadness, and tears cloud your view, making it impossible to read the screen. You hear him call out your name, and you let out an exasperated noise as you begin to walk further down the street away from him.
Hurried footsteps approach you, and you feel hands gripping your shoulders, stopping you in your tracks. You finally realize how cold the night air is when you feel the warmth of his body behind you. "What are you doing?" he asks, confused.
"Calling a cab," you manage to say, though your throat constricts as you try to pull away from him to no avail. Embarrassment wraps around you as your voice breaks, despising how pathetic you sound.
"Hey," he murmurs tenderly, with more care than he's shown you all night, as he circles around to face you, hands gripping the exposed skin of your upper arms. "No, if you—if you want to go home, let me drive you."
"Why?" you spit out. "So you can ignore me some more?" It should feel childish to say that, and maybe tomorrow you'll think differently, but right now your feelings are hurt, and you just want to go home.
He shakes his head. "No, c'mon," he urges, trying to get you to look at him, but you're stubbornly refusing, settling to stare at the repeating pattern on his tie—you'd thought it was cute that he'd worn a tie on your date. "I'm sorry, okay?"
"If you didn't like me, you could have just said so from the start instead of pretend—"
"I do like you," he interrupts like he's desperate to get you to understand.
Sharply, your eyes snap up to him, and his face falls when he sees the tears that are beginning to streak down your cheeks. "You're sure not acting like it tonight," you argue. "I thought I was going crazy—that I… that I just missed some sign that you didn't feel the same about me."
"You didn't miss anything," he says. "I'm just… I'm an idiot who is terrible at this."
You give him a look of disbelief, nostrils flaring. "At what? Conversation? Yeah, I'd say so after tonight's performance."
He winces even though he knows he deserves that scathing remark. "No—I mean, well, yes, apparently. It's just… being vulnerable, and… letting myself look forward to something," he explains. "Everything just kept going wrong, and you're just… so understanding even after I fell off the face of the earth for weeks."
"You went through something traumatic, Leon," you murmur, arms crossing and gaze settling on the lampost just over his shoulder.
"See?'' he says, gesturing toward you. ''You're… you're so put together, and I'm a mess.'' Your eyes jerk back up to him, and you see the defeat in his eyes, like he thinks he doesn't deserve the kindness you've shown him. It makes the tightness in your face soften, hands falling to your sides, abandoning your defensive posturing. ''You opened the door tonight, and I realized you're something I don't ever want to ruin, and I'm so afraid I'm going to do that.''
"Do you think I'm not a mess, Leon?" you question with a humorless chuckle. "You don't get into this business without having more than a few skeletons in your closet. Some people are just better at hiding theirs than others."
His brows come together. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like you don't understand what I'm going through."
"I was worried for you," you admit, reaching out and tugging him closer by his tie to bridge the gap between you. "You can't just… disappear to Colorado to get shitfaced. It's not healthy—and I…" You pause. "I felt sad for you, but you can't just keep it bottled up. You need to talk to someone—me, Sherry, or hell, even Chris fucking Redfield."
He lets out a laugh. "Yeah," he nods, staring down at you fondly. "You're right."
"I know I'm right," you say sharper than you mean to, but you take a deep breath to calm yourself. "I'm not asking you to be perfect. I just… I really like you, Leon, and you hurt my feelings tonight."
"I know," he exhales as he reaches up to cup your jaw. "I'm sorry, I'm such an idiot."
"And you're not going to ruin me," you say. "I'm built pretty sturdy. I just need you to be willing to communicate with me."
A small smile forms on his face. "Okay," he agrees softly.
You feel lighter, most of the anger and sadness of the night washing away. "Okay," you repeat back, tender and pliant as your thumb rubs at the fabric of his tie.
"I really like you, too," he says. "Probably more than is appropriate."
At the confession, you simper, head tilting into his touch as you gaze up at him from beneath your lashes. "Is that so?" you ask.
"Mhm," he confirms, thumb brushing up against your cheek. "And now I keep thinking about what you told me about the dress."
Confusion tints your expression. "What about the dress?"
"About what's underneath." You can see his pupils blown wide as his hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer to him.
"Would you like to find out?" His fingertips dig into your hip at the question, breath hitching in his throat. "I could think of a few things that would turn this night around."
He's leaning closer, like he's caught in your orbit. "What would that be?"
You think it must be the glass of wine finally kicking in as you say, "I might be inclined to forgive you depending on how many times you can make me cum."
The muscle in his jaw flexes as he clenches his teeth. You can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly. "How many times for me to repent?" he asks.
You pretend to think, gaze flicking up to the dark sky above as you hum. "Maybe I'll consider it after two."
He exhales a shuddering sigh. "C'mon," he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he leads you toward where he parked his car. A perfect gentleman now, he opens the door for you, ensuring you're settled into the passenger seat before closing it and rounding to the driver's side.
His hand stays on your thigh throughout the drive—firm and steady. The closer he gets to your apartment, the tighter his grip on your thigh becomes—anticipation coiling inside of him. You're no better, the heat of desire scorching through your veins, though a small part of you wants to make him suffer just a little, so you diligently keep your hands to yourself.
If he pulls into the parking spot a little crooked, you don't comment on it as he cuts the engine before sending you a warning look when you go to open the door. With more patience than you probably should have at this point, you wait for him to open the door for you, grabbing his outstretched hand and letting him haul you out of the car.
He holds you to his side as you walk into your apartment building, and once you're inside the elevator, he's behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he kisses into your neck, leaving you a giggling mess.
"This is the slowest elevator ever," he complains gruffly into the bare skin of your shoulder just as it dings, signaling your arrival on your floor.
You already have your keys in your hand, knowing that if you take too long to open your door, he might just break it down. He's quick to usher you into the apartment once you've gotten the door open, closing it behind him.
In one swift motion, your back is pressed to the door, and before he closes the distance between the two of you, he questions, "This is okay, right?"
You nod hastily, breathing out a soft 'yeah', and then there's just the warmth of his lips against yours. Your heart feels like it's about to burst out of your ribcage as he deepens the kiss, a noise of contentment resonating from his throat as he runs his hands up your sides. Your own trail up his chest coming to rest at the base of his skull, curling your fingers through his hair to draw him even closer.
His mouth is hot against yours, growing braver with each passing second as his tongue licks against your bottom lip before he nips it gently, drawing a gasp from you. He's grinning as he pulls back to look at your flushed cheeks, adoration heavy in his gaze. "Leon," you pant out, eyes half-lidded and want swelling in you.
"Turn around." He doesn't give you the chance to, as he manhandles you into position, the coolness of your door against your cheek as you brace yourself with the palms of your hands. As he rucks up your dress, you hear the sharp inhale as he pulls it over your ass. "Fuck," he practically groans, hands kneading the globes of your ass, spreading them just enough to see the glistening slick of your bare pussy from behind. "You weren't lying."
"Did you think I was?" you ask, breathless from the way the cool air hits your hot core.
"Didn't want to get my hopes up," he admits as he kicks a leg in between yours, forcing your legs apart before sliding a hand down to rub at your cunt. Moaning, you arch your back against his touch, a shiver running through you as he brushes against your clit. "God, you're so wet."
You close your eyes, focusing on the slide of his fingers against you, coating his fingers in your juices. His nose jams into the crook of your neck as he plunges a singular finger into you, lips pressing against the quickening pulse in your neck.
"All this for me?" he murmurs, as his other hand slips one of your dress straps off your shoulder, palming one of your breasts with a satisfied noise, before adding a second finger just as he tweaks your nipple, relishing in the way you gasp, arching back into him.
You're nodding your head to his answer, gasping out a 'yes' as you turn to lay your forehead against your door to cool off the fevered temperature of your skin, though it does nothing for the rest of your body, which feels like it's on fire.
"Can't wait to taste you," he murmurs lowly into your ear, sending goosebumps trailing up your spine. "Need you to cum on my fingers first though." The hand on your breast trails down your front, the pads of his fingers catching onto your clit and circling it in slow, purposeful patterns. "Can you do that for me, sweetheart?"
"Yeah," you moan, fingernails scraping against the wood, trying to find purchase on anything as the coil in your stomach tightens with every precise swipe of his fingers. You feel it in your toes, head dizzy as he whispers words of encouragement into your ear, pressing soft kisses into your jawline so sweetly like he's not knuckle deep in your pussy with your slick dripping down his wrist. "Leon, oh—"
He can feel the way you clench around his fingers as you teeter over the edge, gasping out his name in a way that makes him strain painfully against his pants. "That's it," he says, talking you through it. "Sound so pretty when you cum, know that?"
Your moans pitch higher as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, ensuring you're thoroughly worked through your orgasm before finally withdrawing them. The steady presence of his body behind yours is the only thing keeping you upright as your legs feel like they might give out beneath you at any moment. His hands grip your waist as his lips press to your temple.
"Where's your bedroom?" he asks quietly.
You vaguely gesture over your shoulder toward the hall. "First door on the left," you manage to say as you think you're finally regaining feeling in your lower limbs, and then you're being hauled up with a surprised squeak, your hands coming up to grab Leon around his neck as if he would drop you.
"Told you I could carry you," he grins as he heads toward your bedroom.
"Mm, yes," you murmur, a renewed desire pooling in your cunt at the display—not that you would ever admit that to him aloud. "Glad those muscles aren't just for aesthetics."
He laughs as he carefully navigates through the doorway of your bedroom, then haphazardly throws you onto the bed while tugging at his tie, loosening it just enough to undo the top two buttons on his shirt before grabbing your ankles and dragging you until your backside hits the edge of the bed.
"Leon—"
"Told you I wanted to taste you," he interrupts as he kneels in front of you like you're a sacrament he's about to receive. His fingers bore into the plush flesh of your thighs as he spreads you open for him, your dress gathering up at your hips, leaving you bare before him. "Fuck, you're so pretty." His voice is practically a whimper as he fights the temptation to palm himself through his slacks, mouth watering at the way your cunt glistens in the dim light of the moon that filters through the sheer curtains on your window.
He leans down, gently kissing your inner thigh before nipping at the tender skin, taking pleasure in the sharp gasp that escapes above him. Trailing his lips up until his breath fans against your pussy, and your chest blooms with suspense, the anticipation of his hot mouth against you consumes your thoughts. His eyes flick up to meet yours as you're propped up on your elbows, staring down at him through half-lidded eyes. Your breasts spill out of your dress, heaving. "You waiting for an invitation or—"
His tongue licks a wide stripe up your center, your words getting caught in your throat as you moan. He doesn't tease; instead, he dives in as if he intends to devour you, eyes staying focused upward, watching as your head tilts back. One hand grasps desperately at the comforter beneath you, while the other instinctively finds purchase at the back of his head, fingers weaving through his hair in an unrelenting grip that sends a wave of searing thrill straight to his cock.
The noises are obscene as he eats you out, his own spit mixing with your slick, dripping down his chin. The sting of you tugging at his hair only drives him, paired with your hitched moans, and the way you gasp out 'fuck, Leon' when he sucks at your clit just right. He's savoring the taste of you, swallowing you down with every flat press of his tongue against you, moaning into your pussy as your scent envelopes him.
While one hand stays firmly on your thigh, feeling the way your muscles tense with every swipe of his tongue, he uses the other to thrust two fingers into you in a way that makes your eyes roll back in your head, your head lolling. No longer able to hold yourself up, you collapse onto your bed. He doubles his efforts, crooking his fingers to make your toes curl as your orgasm rapidly approaches.
He's steady in his administration, keenly listening to every one of your reactions to every flick of his tongue, and thrust of his hand, deciphering precisely what you like in record time.
"Leon, I'm—"
That's all the warning he gets as your thighs clench around his head, fingernails biting into his scalp as you thrust your hips up against his face, and he only groans, not caring when he finds he can't breathe, and his eyesight gets spotty, all noise muffling around him in favor of the sweet pressure of your thighs crushing him.
As the final waves of your second orgasm crash over you, your legs fall open as you pant heavily, the world sounding like you're swimming in a fishbowl, a thin layer of sweat covering your skin. Leon is no better, cheek resting against your inner thigh as he catches his breath, pressing one last kiss to your cunt before crawling up to you and gently laying a kiss on your lips. You return it with much more enthusiasm, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and mashing your mouths together, not caring that his is covered in the taste of you.
He licks into your open mouth, before pulling back just slightly, leaving a trail of spit between you. "That was two," he murmurs against your mouth. "How am I doing?"
"Exceptional," you sigh out. "I'm almost inclined to say all is forgiven."
He grins; it's far too endearing when he has your slick glossing his chin. "What else does a guy gotta do to earn your forgiveness?"
You press a hand to his chest, and he moves away willingly until he's sitting at the edge of the bed, watching with curious eyes as you stand before kneeling between his legs, which spread to accommodate you.
His breath stutters as he exhales your name. "What're you doing?"
"Sucking your cock," you say as you begin to undo his belt.
"Oh," he says rather lamely. "This is supposed to be about you—"
"Well, I want to suck your cock," you reaffirm, gazing up at him. "You gonna stop me?"
"God, no," he says as his hands scramble to join yours, undoing his pants and adjusting so he can pull them down. You're met with the pretty sight of his cock bobbing in front of your face, and you wrap your hand around him. He's painfully hard, tip reddened and leaking with precum—the weight of him in your palm makes your pussy clench around nothing, and as you give him an experimental stroke, he gasps.
You bite your lip to hold back a smile, slowly moving your hand up and down, spreading the precum along the shaft, appreciating how you can see the muscles in his lower abdomen tighten as he pulls up his shirt out of your way.
Tentatively, you lean down, licking the fat tip of his cock, and he whines out a 'fuck' as he gathers your hair up into his fist, keeping it out of your way as you open your mouth to take more of him in. Carefully, you bob your head up and down, taking more and more of him into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat. Letting your jaw hang open, you will yourself to relax while he tries to restrain the way he wants to cant his hips up to gag you on his cock.
"You're so good," he groans. "Fuck, you're so good for me."
You can feel the way you're dripping down your thighs at his words as you hollow your cheeks and suck in a way that makes his vision go white while your one hand works the rest of his shaft that you can't fit into your mouth. Drool pools out of the corners of your lips, and you moan around his cock as you shove your other hand in between your own thighs, plunging your fingers into your cunt, though after being stuffed full of Leon's, it hardly compares, and you're only left aching.
The sight of you in between his legs, fingering yourself while you're sucking his cock makes his control falter. His fingers curl around the back of your head, forcing you further down onto his cock in a way that makes you gag, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, but it doesn't deter either of you as you try to swallow around his cock, the sensation causing his breath to catch in his throat. "Fuck, fuck," he whines, and he can feel his balls tightening, his own orgasm quickly about to settle over him.
Hastily, he yanks you off him, panting heavily as he tries to rein himself in. You wipe the corners of your mouth, blinking back the tears that had gathered from how deep in your throat he'd been. "You okay?" you ask.
"Almost came," he admits.
You give a huff of hoarse laughter. "Yeah, that's the point, Leon."
He shakes his head, grabs you, guiding you back on your feet, so you're standing between his legs. He gathers your dress, pulling it up and over your head, leaving you standing naked in front of him. "I'll cum down your throat another time," he says as he allows you to completely undo his tie, tossing it somewhere in your room before you start to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way. His fingers wander up your bare skin, indenting into the plushness of your curves. "Wanna cum in you first."
You grin as he palms your breasts, something like satisfaction in his expression at the weight of them in his hands, while you settle yourself into his lap, his cock pressed between the two of you as you bend down to kiss him. "Awfully bold of you," you murmur.
His hands reach down, grabbing the globes of your ass and pulling you further against him, grinding the shaft of his cock against your pussy. "Name your price, sweetheart," he whispers. "I'll do whatever you want, just wanna be dripping out of you by the end of it."
"How about—" You lift up, grabbing his cock with one hand as you usher him toward your entrance. "—You be a good boy and let me ride you, and once I cum again, I'll let you cum inside, okay?"
He's nodding eagerly, the words 'good boy' coming from your mouth instantly making him compliant. His eyes roll to the back of his head as his tip slips into you; the wet, tight heat of your cunt would probably make him agree to anything you request at this point. "Whatever you want," he repeats in a desperate whimper, fingertips digging into your waist—it would no doubt leave bruises in the morning—as you slide down his cock in one fluid motion that knocks the wind out of both of you.
"Leon," you moan, and his head drops forward, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as you start to rock your hips back and forth in a delicious cadence.
"God, you're so tight," he grits out, mouth biting at the delicate skin at the crook of your neck, intending to leave his mark on you. "Been thinking about this for so long."
"Yeah?" you murmur. "Spend a lot of time thinking about me bouncing up and down on your cock, Agent Kennedy?"
He groans. "You're the reason half of my reports are late."
Your hand rises, lightly pressing against the base of his throat, and when you hear his sharp inhale, you increase the pressure slightly. "Poor Agent Kennedy," you lament sarcastically. "How will you ever cope?"
He lets out a shuddered sigh as the rhythm you've set begins to build him back to the precipice. Lips press to your shoulder before his teeth dig in; his bruising grip is constant, but not unpleasant—the painful sting is just enough to make your cunt flutter around him.
Closing his eyes, he tries to stave off his release; the need to please you is far greater than his need to cum. "Hopefully buried deep in this pussy," he answers before opening them to look at you once more.
You grin, it's devastating and vicious, hips canting faster as the muscles in your thighs burn, but it only adds to the pleasure pooling in your core. You grab one of his hands that has a death grip on your hip, wrenching it from you to bring it up to your mouth, tongue flicking out against his thumb before your lips wrap around it, and he is enraptured by the sight, cock twitching inside of you as his gaze grows hazy.
"Fuck," he whines, watching you coat his thumb with your spit.
"Make me cum," you order as you guide his hand down to your pussy, and he follows your lead, thumb finding your swollen clit to begin tracing slow circles against it. He sees the way your eyes briefly close at the sensation, your hips stuttering just a bit before you continue to ride him in earnest, every sweet drag of his cock in your pussy driving you closer and closer to the end.
"C'mon," he nearly begs, trying to compel you toward completion, not knowing how much longer he himself can hold out. "Cum for me, sweetheart, c'mon," he says.
With one last swipe against your clit, you feel yourself fall over the edge as you grind down on him. "Shit, shit, shit," you moan as your thighs shake, movement coming to a shuddering halt as pins and needles start to prick all throughout your body. Leon feels the gush of your liquid release around his cock, and that's all it takes for him to have you on your back in the next instant.
He's pounding into you now with reckless abandon, the slap of your skin against his paired with the sound of his cock bullying into your sopping wet pussy is intoxicating. He gives you no time to recover from your orgasm, enjoying the way the overstimulated tears streak down your flushed face before his eyes focus on the way your breasts bounce up and down with each hard thrust.
"Gonna let me cum in you now?" he asks breathlessly as he cages you between his arms, muscles tense from the strain.
You're holding onto his shoulders, gasping with each hard thrust into you, still bleary-eyed from your last orgasm, nails biting into his skin, digging crescent divots into him, but nodding desperately. "Want your cum," you keen. "Please, Leon."
"Fuck." His hips snap into yours as he sinks his head into the crook of your neck, moaning out your name as he cums, burying his seed deep inside of you. You can feel the warmth of it, the twitching of his cock as he empties into you, and you clench around him, listening to him whimper into your ear. He continues thrusting until he's sure he's filled you.
You're both gasping for air as the aftershocks of your orgasms subside, and Leon pulls away just slightly to press a kiss to your lips, tenderly cupping your jaw.
"Was that okay?" he questions, panting heavily.
You laugh, and it makes him smile. "Five stars," you say, giving a weak thumbs up, your entire body shaking.
He chuckles against your cheek, kissing up the side of your face to your temple. "Where's your bathroom?" he asks.
"Across the hall," you answer.
He's careful as he pulls out of you, gently massaging your hips when you wince. "You okay?"
"We're going to be putting your ability to carry me to the test tomorrow," you say. "I don't think I'm going to be able to walk."
He rolls his eyes, but there's a fond grin on his face as he makes his way to the bathroom. He comes back a few minutes later with a warm, wet washcloth, and the care he takes in cleaning you up almost brings you to tears. You mutter a soft 'thank you' as he tucks you both into bed, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you into him.
The lull of sleep settles over you rather quickly, and you're barely awake, listening to the steadiness of Leon's breathing behind you as his thumb traces circles onto your hip. "You're forgiven," you murmur into your pillow, unsure if he's still awake or not.
He holds you tighter in response.
The next morning, you're both cuddled up on your couch, watching reruns of your crappy reality TV show, sharing a plate of slightly burnt pancakes, and enjoying your morning coffee… or well, tea for you.
"Why didn't you tell me you preferred tea?" Leon asked as he watched you prepare your beverage.
You only grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "I don't mind coffee, plus… I enjoyed seeing what you thought I might like."
"So, why is she mad at Gino?" he questions as he tries to follow along with the drama.
As you're busy explaining the intricate dynamic of the couple on the screen between bites of breakfast, his phone pings, and you both instinctively look down at it. That's when you notice the lockscreen—it's a picture you'd sent him a few weeks ago of a cute sidewalk mural you found, with the shadow of your figure cast over the ground, holding up a peace sign.
"Is that my photo?" you question, already knowing the answer.
"Uh," he stutters, embarrassed. "Yeah."
You blink, processing the information. "I wasn't sure you were looking at those," you admit.
"I was," he says before opening the gallery on his phone. "I saved them all."
You're unsure why tears form in your eyes upon seeing a folder in his phone; no actual name, just a small coffee cup emoji as the label, and when he opens it, you notice every single picture you've sent him safely stored inside.
When he hears you sniffle, he stares at you, startled. "Wait, why are you crying?"
"That's just so nice!" you blubber, nearly sending the plate of pancakes flying as you quickly reach up to brush away the tears.
Laughing softly, he carefully takes the plate away from you and sets it aside, wrapping you in his arms and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
Pairing: RE4Leon Kennedy x Nun!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Summary: A mysterious American soldier finds you in a chapel, praying. Your village has been overrun, and this is your only sanctuary left--a little slice of heaven on earth. That is, until said soldier shows you what heaven truly feels like.
Tags: religious imagery, improper use of catholicism (???), Spanish reader
Word Count: 2.7k
A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for months. I finally got around to finishing it.
The dark shadows of flickering candles dance across the pale concrete apses of the chapel. It looks almost like the wobbly reflection of waves on cavern walls, filling the sanctuary in a wash of serenity. You approach the chancel, lighting a few more of the stubby candles nestled in glass votives on the marble altar, now draped in a lacey, white cloth.
Your sacred place of midnight worship smells of antique wood and incense, wet rain and burnt wicks. You inhale a deep breath, sucking in the sticky, stale air as you retreat to the first pew behind you. The raw oak creaks beneath your weight as you lower yourself to the seat, lifting the length of your skirts from your ankles, sliding down even further to the upholstered cushion of the kneeler at your feet.
Fingering the knotty beads of the rosary in your hands, your lips part and close, part and close, part and close, as you whisper prayers out loud in adoring repetition. For a moment, the world stills and it is just you and God in this place.
You pray for the village. The sickness that has overtaken it, whatever it may be.
“Our Father, who art in heaven–”
You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear the heavy wood doors at the back of the chapel screech open, letting in sounds of heavy rain, whistling winds, and the pained groans of a man.
Jolting to your feet, you spin around on the heel of your slipper. A man crosses the threshold, closing the solid doors behind him in one impressive sweep. He looks up at you as you stand in front of the altar, and he waves, still panting and huffing as he bows at the hips to catch his breath. One hand to his chest, the other holding the weight of his upper body on his knee, he breathes in and out, filling the organ of the chapel with the echoes of his sighs.
Once he has caught his breath, he lifts his back until his spine is flush with the door, and stands erect. You walk toward him, your passion for and duty to serve overriding any fear you have been harboring in your being.
“Hola,” he starts in what you can already tell would be very broken Spanish if he continued. “Soy policìa y–”
“I speak English,” you cut him off before he has to waste any more energy speaking in a language not native to him, approaching with arms extending in offering. “Are you hurt?”
As you step closer, you are able to make out the details of his face, the strong line of his jaw meeting in a regal chin, dimpled as though God pressed a thumb to it as He lifted the man’s head to glance upon his face. And his eyes–a striking blue. Like a clear summer sky over the grassy hills. Or rain falling on the lake, breaking its stagnant surface like a knife to a glass mirror.
Dios Mio.
He’s hauntingly beautiful, his body perfectly sculpted like a saint perpetually captured in stone to live for eternity in the corner of a cathedral. Or a fallen angel in veined marble keeping watch over a graveyard.
You clutch your chest, feeling the accelerated beat of your heart beneath your clasped fist.
He shakes his head in response to your question–your inquiry almost forgotten, the thought of tending to any unseen wounds completely eclipsed by his sheer pulchritude. Baby blonde strands are glued to his temples by molten rain and a sheen of sweet sweat. He’s dressed like some type of soldier, the gun gave that away, you think, but also not like any kind of soldier you’ve seen before. And he must be freezing without a jacket, fitted only in a black, skin-tight shirt and pants, tucked into heavy, mud-caked boots.
“No, I’m not hurt,” he verbalizes, dismissing your advances to check him for injuries. “Are you?”
You giggle, half-amused, half-defeated. This is one of the few sanctuaries left in this place, you imagine, though you have not ventured far from the chapel or the convent behind it in some time now, only taking the passageways hidden beneath the marble floor, and the open breezeway connecting the two, though the latter is much more of a risk.
And you’re not sure how much longer it will hold. Those things–the wolf-like creatures in the sky, the gargling, rotten dead–could overtake the chapel at any moment.
They come around, mostly at night, and bang on the doors, scratch at the walls, screeching against the color-stained panes. You can hear their groans through the window above your bed, the only sound that can drown them out being that of the slurring prayers you hiss through chattering teeth.
“Why are you here?” He begs again, pulling out a–a gun–from the holster on his hip. He fiddles with it, something clicks, and he moves to hold it steady in large hands that stretch out from strong arms. The natural man in you can’t help but linger on those arms, so svelte and lithe, bulging muscles glimmering beneath the dim flutter of the candlelit altar.
You gesture to the rosary still intertwined in your fingers. “Praying.” His blonde brows furrow as he glances up and down your form. You immediately feel immodest in your clothing, your chilled skin prickling beneath the linen. “I’m a nun.”
“You don’t look like any nun I’ve ever seen,” he admits with a bemused chuckle, the corner of his mouth turning upward, creating a crescent from his lips.
“Well I am one.” You immediately feel guilty for lying, and you bow your head, weaving a quick prayer in your heart, begging for forgiveness. “I haven’t taken my vows just yet, but for all intents and purposes, I’m a nun.”
There have been a few…interruptions that have taken place in the past few months prohibiting you from going through with the ceremony, but you are no less committed to becoming the bride of Christ. You fiddle with the band on your left ring finger, the one your father gave to you when you told your family you would be traveling up the mountain to the church there to take your vows and to spread the word of God to the pagans of the village. It’s been a year since you have seen any of them, and it hurts your soul to ponder too long on what has come of them.
“What’s your name?” He asks, inhaling with a slight hiss between his teeth.
You give him the name you will take, after your most beloved patron saint, and he smiles wide, with teeth. Something reminiscent of recognition ripples through his eyes.
“Well, Sister, nice to meet you. I’m Leon–” He yelps, knees buckling, sending him to the floor. His breathing is hitched, marred with torment as his palms kiss the marble tiles.
“You are hurt,” you accuse, validating your previous suspicions. “Let me help you.” Out of purely charitable instinct, you weave your arms beneath his shoulders, grabbing around his torso to help lift him off the ground. The bodily contact sends a sinful shiver down your spine and down your–
Hail Mary, full of grace…
“There’s a hospital just down the hill, by the lake. I’ll take you,” you promise, snapping yourself out of your daydream. He groans into your neck as you battle with his body weight, his breath hot and humid on your exposed skin.
“I’m fine,” he promises, mustering enough strength to push himself off the concrete floor, back to his feet. He staggers a little, falling back against the door, before pressing a palm to his side and taking in a calming breath. You watch as he recouperates in real time.
“Can’t anyway,” he says, matter-of-fact. “The town’s overrun.”
“I know.”
He looks up at you from beneath thick, dark brows. His eyes are glossy with morbid curiosity, perhaps concern. “You’ve been down there?”
“Yes,” you say, lowering your eyes to his body, squinting to inspect what you see to be unbroken fabric, unwounded skin. You wonder what demon he is fighting beneath it. Maybe a bruise. Or a broken bone. “Only once. I haven’t been back since, but I know.”
Leon nods, placing a hand over your own. You freeze under the touch, trying to bite back the flush that persists at your cheeks.
“Have you seen a girl down there? Looks like this.” He takes a photo from one of the zipped pockets down his pant leg, handing it to you to inspect.
It captures the image of a young, blonde female with cropped hair. She’s wearing a grin in the photo, her eyes bright and clear.
You shake your head, sad to disappoint. “No, I haven’t. You’re looking for her?”
He nods again, sliding the glossy photo back into his pocket, securing it with a tug and a pat. “I’ve been sent to find her. No luck.” He laughs–a breathy, self-depricating sound, not committed to humor.
“You came here…to look for this girl?”
“I came here to hide.”
His words are punctuated by a loud bellow on the other side of the door. Both heavy planks strain against the lock. Something on the other side is trying to barge in, banging with determined limbs.
Leon glances at you, and without second thought, he grabs your wrist, pulling you behind him as he searches for a place to hide. He leads you to one of the confessional booths that line either side of the chapel. Made from dark, engraved wood, they offer darkness and solitude to the sinner as a priest hears their confession.
Tonight, this one will hear your terror in the form of strangled breaths and quivering lips, bit to keep the sobs at bay.
Leon steps inside, tugging you along with him. He then reaches between you, shutting the door, locking it into place. There is a screen, one that provides a clear picture of the chapel on the other side of the door, but keeps anyone from peering inside at the confessor.
“Shh,” he coos, looking through the screen at the double doors, still battered by whatever creature is outside, trying to gain entry through violent means. “They’ll leave soon.” It’s a promise neither of you are sure he can fulfill, but the soothing words wash over you like a balm anyway.
The soft orange light from the heart of the chapel filters through the cracks in the booth, bathing Leon in an angelic glow. Your bodies are pressed up against one another, chests meeting in a marriage of flesh and cloth. Glancing up at him, you take in the beauty of his face, every line and curve, as he, in turn, looks down at you. He’s so close you can feel his breath tickling the bow of your lip.
Leon stiffens against your form, and he immediately cuts his eyes to the side, unable to meet your gaze, blushing from humiliation.
You gulp down any words you could use in an attempt to sate his embarrassment, and by some demonic possession, you step forward to rub against it. He whimpers, the faint sound like a hymn to your ear.
“Señor,” you sing. “Are you alright?”
He nods, vocalizing an unconvincing positive. You continue to stare up at him, eyes wide, lips curling with a greed previously foreign.
It is not the carnal man before you who leans into your mouth, but you–the woman who had supposedly given her heart to God.
His lips taste like ripe fruit straight from soil, and as he moans into the touch, the sound reverberates against your skin, sending a devilish chill down your spine.
Your death is guaranteed, perhaps nigh depending on whether the doors keep, and you decide to devote your last hour to sin.
Who is here to take your confession? To hear you repent?
It is just you and this man left on earth, for as far as you know, and now that you have sunk your teeth into flesh so sweet, only the hands of God, himself, could pull you away.
“Sister,” he gasps lowly, pulling away an inch to cup your face in his hands. You stare up at him expectantly, waiting for him to try and change your mind, to taunt you with your own piety. Perhaps for a moment, he thinks about it–about refusing you, for the sake of your own virtue. But he does neither. Instead, he dips his chin to whisper at your face. “You’re an angel.”
A fallen one, you think. But now is not the time for self-flaggelation. It’s time to explore the desires you have long repressed, shoved deep down into the shrouded corners of your mind, never to let them free.
You press you back against the cool wood, looking up at Leon through your lashes, begging him to approach. And he does, one languorous step after the other. His eyelids are heavy, his pale cheeks flushed, the apple in his throat bobbing after every swallow.
“Beautiful,” he purrs, stealing the words straight from your own mouth, and he didn’t even have to kiss you to do so. His hands frame either side of your waist, bringing your body flush to his as he locks your lips in another union. This one is tainted with hellfire, all flames and boiling stones. It enraptures you completely, flooding your body with molten heat.
Then, your back is against the wood once more and his hands are grappling with your skirts. You’re not completely sure what he’s doing, for you know very little of these things, but you rely on the vivid memory from your youth where you witnessed one of the sisters of the church held in passion by Father Juan. They swallowed each other’s moans, their hands entangled, the fabric of her skirts gathered around her waist, his pants shoved down his thighs. The picture became clearer the older you grew and your mind, aged by nature and your own biology, filled in the gaps.
Still, you do not expect his fingers to glide through your folds, taking with them the slick of your sin. The muscles of his arm flex–an unholy sight–as he works between your legs, thick digits finally pressing past your entrance.
You yelp into the crook of his neck, and he pulls away to cup a palm over your mouth, keeping the sounds of your pleasure from escaping and drawing unwanted attention. It brings a smirk to his face the way your knees turn to jelly, practically buckling beneath you.
“Has anyone ever touched you like this before?” He asks. The words are wicked, yet they fill you with a warmth you’ve never experienced.
“No, never.”
He smiles against your mouth as he takes your lips into his for another kiss, wet tongue and hungry teeth.
“Does it feel good?”
Good could not even begin to describe the pleasure coursing through your veins. There’s a tight coil in your stomach, the muscles surrounding it tense and release, and you all but breathe through the contractions, choking on the stale air inside the booth.
Leon reminds you to breathe, satisfied with your gasps as an answer to his inquiry.
“You feel that?”
You can’t ignore it–the pulsing sensation in your core, the way your falls clench around his plunging fingers as they leave you and enter you over and over again.
“Y-Yes, señor.”
“Don’t chase it,” he advises against your cheek. “Just let it happen. Let go. I’ve got you.”
His other hand steadies you, holding your body close to his so that your heartbeats thump against the other’s chest, your lips meeting in sweet communion once more.
It’s sinfully decadent–the wave that crashes over you–and unlike any heaven you’ve read about on the sacred pages of scripture.
No, this euphoria cannot be found there. It’s something infernal, saved only for the most debauched, debased creatures that roam the earth. However, when you look into his eyes and see nothing but kindness and pure adoration, you can’t help but feel that whatever took place between you was scrawled into the heavens, something pure and lovely and good.
“An angel,” he repeats with a smile, removing his hands from between your legs, letting your skirts fall back to your ankles before bringing his fingers to his tongue to taste. “A shame it took me getting chased by a bunch of the undead to meet you.”
based on this request--to my requester, I hope I was able to breathe life into your fantasy, thank you so much for stopping by :)
a/n: I'm finally getting back into the groove of writing. tried to keep this short and sweet, I know my drabbles have been anything but recently. anyway...please enjoy and know that my inbox is always open if you have a wicked idea you'd like me to explore
It wasn’t long into your relationship with Leon that things started to get physical. One look at the man with the dress shirt he begrudgingly wore to work with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, or those suit pants that contoured his form a little too perfectly, and you were ready to pounce like a tiger on its prey. All it took was one movie night at your apartment where the two of you were snuggled up like bugs in a rug on the sofa, sharing the warmth of one blanket to keep the winter chill seeping through the windows at bay.
A round of sharing each other’s saliva, hands roaming past the point of no return, and a clumsy trek into the bedroom on shaky legs. Things were bound to proceed as hot and heavy as they began.
After stripping you down to your underwear, Leon gently nudged you onto the bed, and your lips immediately missed the warmth and softness of his own as he stood above you just to sink down onto his knees a moment later to pull down your panties. With his hands on either of your thighs, he drove them apart, and then he took a second to manually adjust your hips on the edge of the mattress, setting you into place for him to begin his ministrations.
He started with a long lick from the bottom of your entrance all the way up to your clit, the bud pulsing in anticipation. His tongue laid flat against it as he continued to lap like a kitten at a bowl of milk, small, gentle strokes to warm you up.
Then, when he was satisfied with how wet you had gotten beneath him, how your hips were jolting, your body writhing like a live wire, he began to eat.
You had never experienced a man who lived up to the name of the act, devouring your pussy like it was his last meal on earth and he had to make every drop count. He did it with such a ferocious hunger, you were certain it was more for his pleasure than your own.
He started by sliding his down your folds, licking the nerves on either side of your clit in between hungry licks at your seam. It made your body jerk, and your abdomen tense. Groaning against your pussy, he stuck the tip of the muscle past your entrance, tonguing your insides as if testing to see how far he could go. The sensation was euphoric, and your climax was nigh and fast-approaching.
Early into your relationship, you were worried how this would go. With every man before Leon, it would take hours for you to finish, if you did at all. Even by yourself, with your own fingers, or the help of a battery-powered friend, your orgasm was as elusive as a butterfly, always out of arm’s reach.
Whether Leon was experienced or whether it was written into his biology to know exactly which buttons to press, which spot to lick, you didn’t care. Just as long as he didn’t stop.
And he didn’t.
He continued to consume you after your first, second, and third climax, his tongue far from worn, his mouth far from tired.
“Leon,” you whined, clawing at the sinew of his shoulderblades through the fabric of his t-shirt. Your fingers dug into his skin, pulled at his hair; you pleaded for some reprieve, though he didn’t overlook the lack of surety in your voice, and continued to work. The moans that escaped your throat were like the sound of a flare gun at the starting line of a race.
In turn, the sounds he made against your pussy pushed you over the edge…yet again, until you were screaming out his name, and you felt as though you could either fall through the layers of cotton and fluff in the mattress, or ascend to the heavens to live among the stars behind your eyes.
After the waterworks of your last orgasm, you were probably drowning the man, though you’re certain, by the way he’s been dining on you for the last hour, he wouldn’t mind dying a hero’s between your legs.
He retreated, an obscene sheen of sweat and arousal painted across his chin and mouth. His chest heaved with each labored breath he sucked in, his shoulders consequently rising and falling. Strands of dark blonde hair were sticking up in all directions, a tousled mess at your own hands. Surely he was done, you thought. That is, until he wiped away the moisture on his face with his forearm and lunged past you onto the mattress, his head propped up by a pillow, hands expectantly grasped on his abdomen.
“Sit on my face,” he said, with a smile as big as the moon.
synopsis; the day of your wedding to the crown prince had finally come. and while your betrothed had done his best to assure you of his affections for you, these doubts linger in your mind even as you walk down the aisle to be wed to him. his only goal is to show you is love for you
content warnings; harsh language ; fantasy violence ; heavy misogyny ; smut ; unprotected piv ; grinding ; fingering ; oral (f!rec) ; missionary ; sprinkle of cowgirl ; creampie ; worship ; body worship ; praise ; leon once again drops 'i love you' in missionary like a loser (he may or may not cry too)
story notes; as usual, dancing with our hands tied takes place in a fantasy medieval & renaissance time period. there are themes such as fantasy and war violence, sexuality, sexual violence, and misogyny in the chapters. please read with caution if any of these topics are triggering to you
author's notes; its finally out. dwoht has been my labor of love. and it took me a while to finish, but here we are. again, thank you so much to everyone who has interacted, supported, or even just read this series. i had some pretty insane life interruptions, but i am proud to say i finished this. as i have previously said, if anyone is interested in keeping the universe alive, please comment and send in any ideas to my inbox. thank you all and please enjoy. all my love <3
word count; 10.51K (yikes)
now playing; never let me go ; florence + the machine
series masterlist | previous part
Thunder crackled in the sky, rain pouring down, and lightning flashing through the windows. Just as it had been for the past few days. There were just a handful of hours remaining before you would be wed. The days had crawled by since your last encounter with your betrothed. That gloomy evening in the gardens where you had laid your soul bare. Where you had been told you were loved. Where Leon had kissed you. The dizziness that filled your head from his kiss had lasted all day, leeching into the night where you dreamed of his kissing you again. Now, you were lying in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the lacy gauze of the canopy above your bed, unable to sleep.
Your wedding to Leon was rapidly approaching – less than twelve hours now before you would pledge your fealty and loyalty to one another before the kingdom. And that knowledge made you restless. It had been hours of tossing and turning in bed. Endless remedies to bring sleep – several cups of tea drank in the parlor with your ladies, a warm bath, oils at your temples, reading, counting sheep behind your eyelids. Each attempt failed. You were too excited.
Of course, the past few days had been slightly easier since Leon’s reassurance of his feelings for you. But there were still worries that weighed on your heart. Worries that he may change his mind, that you would not make a good wife, that you would somehow in some area of his life leave him wanting. This was perhaps your worst fear. The one that plagued your days and haunted your nights.
No amount of comfort and reassurance from your ladies could quell your worries. Bless them, they tried. Really, they did. But you were worried beyond the point of comfort. You were beyond being calmed by the reassurances of your confidants, their kind words and gentle reassurances falling on deaf ears. You were inconsolable.
A ragged sigh fell from your lips as you tossed in bed, lying on your side, cheek pressed into the pillow. You were exhausted, frustrated. Beyond irritated that your mind and body denied you sleep. The irritation won over as you sat up, running your hands over your face. There were a few quiet moments of contemplation – things you could do to wear yourself out. Of course, a few ideas popped into your mind but tonight was not the night for such things. A strike of thunder and flash of lightning drew your eyes to the window in your room.
You threw the covers off your body with a decision in mind, standing and snatching the furlined robe hanging by your bed. After tugging it on and wrapping it around your body, you padded to the french doors that led to the stone balcony in your chambers. The sound and smell of rain had always been soothing to you. Ever since your childhood. There was a ledge over the balcony, just enough cover so you could step out onto the stone without getting wet.
A calmness washed over your body as you stepped out, the smell of the rain filling your senses, the cool wind thrashing the long train of your robe, the flashes of light and crackles of thunder. It all made you pause, it seemed to stop the worries that plagued you in their tracks. Seeing the mountains in the distance and hearing the roars of thunder reminded you of how small you really were in this life. That the world was wide and you were only one person.
Yes, you were to be married to the Crown Prince. Expected to bear his heirs and stand by his side. You had big and daunting responsibilities. But what were these responsibilities in comparison to the whole world? Hardly anything. And for some reason, standing in the rain with the wind blowing and the night encapsulating you, it made you feel just a little more at peace.
The curtains to your room were ripped open in the early hours of the morning. The sun had just begun to crest over the mountains in the distance, the hazy morning light filtering into your chambers. The air was still thick and heavy with fog, and the promise of rain in the later hours of the day. You groaned and buried yourself deeper into the covers and pillows of your bed. It had been mere hours since you had managed to lull yourself asleep – you had left the french doors open, the sound of the rain your lullaby and only aid in drifting into a deep sleep.
You did not tell your ladies what you had dreamt when they surrounded you and asked how you slept. You lied, promising you slept well once your head hit the pillow. That there had been no disturbances or bad dreams. You felt slightly bad for lying, but this was not the time to delve into your fears. There was much to be done.
The wedding ceremony was to be held in the afternoon, just before dusk. The celebration would directly follow, expected to last late into the night. Even after you and Leon would retire to bed. Which was a thought you shook from your mind. There was to be a feast, hours of dancing, gifts bestowed to the both of you and the kingdom itself. Socialization with the other nobles and distant members of both your families. Leon’s relatives were travelling a great distance to attend, and your family would be returning solely for the night, only to depart the next morning.
Claire, Ashley, and Rebecca pulled you out of bed and ushered you into the parlor. There was already a spread of breakfast awaiting you – pastries, breads, different mediums of eggs, fruits, and cured meats, along with teas and coffees. The three ladies sat you down, encouraging you to eat, swearing it would calm your nerves. Which you weren’t sure you quite believed, but you humored them anyway.
Typically, you were readied and joined Leon for breakfast in the dining hall. Claire, however, informed you that it would be improper for Leon to see you at any point in the day before the ceremony. An old wives tale of misfortune and infidelity linked to such a meeting. So, you would not be seeing your betrothed until you met him at the end of the aisle.
You nodded along as if you agreed. But some larger part of you yearned to see Leon. To be comforted and reassured by him. To hear his promise of affection again. Just one last time before it all became real and official and no longer yours. But this was not an option.
“You do not need to worry, you know.” Claire’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts.
“Yes, I know.” You nodded, looking at her. She had a set on her face. It was almost unreadable, like you could not really tell what she was thinking.
“It is a silly custom. But not one you need to worry over.” Claire said rather matter-of-factly over her cup of coffee.
Rebecca nodded along as if she agreed as she spread a glob of jam over her bread. There was a glint in Ashley’s eyes that told she most certainly did not agree, but she did not voice this opinion. These three ladies were a solace to you at this time. Your guiding light, the calm in your storm. The perfect distraction.
“How are things with Lady Valentine?” You asked, picking at a pastry on your china plate, desperate for any form of distraction. Any way out of the attention that was locked on you at the moment.
Claire lit up like a candle. There was nothing as distracting and disarming as hearing Claire's escapades with her knight. Once she began to talk, it was difficult to make her stop. She went on and on about the night before, how Jill was an expert with her hands and mouth. How Claire loved to please the knight as well. How their love and pleasure for each other was entirely and solely mutual. Her words made you pause, your eyes locking on her.
“Claire?” The lady looked at you, stopping instantly. “Could I ask you something?”
“Of course, princess.” She nodded, setting her cup down and turning more to face you.
“I am aware you are more versed in how to pleasure a woman, but” you hesitated. This was completely inappropriate. But, in twelve hours or less, you would be expected to consummate your marriage to Leon. “I do not know how to please Leon.”
All three of your ladies froze. The shock of your statement evident on their faces. Ashley choked on her tea, Rebecca blinked blankly, the scone she was eating slipping from her fingers and landing on her skirts. Claire let out a sigh, eyes flicking to the other ladies. She cleared her throat before nodding to them.
“Why don’t you check on the princess’s dress?” She suggested – although you could tell by the tone of her voice that this was not a suggestion. Ashley and Rebecca knew it as well.
They both stood, bowing to you and walked swiftly out of the parlor. “You too. The princess and I need time alone.” Claire announced to the guards. Rufus’s eyes caught yours, and with a nod of his head, he and the other stationed guards exited, closing the door behind them.
Now that you and Claire were alone, she let out a deep sigh. She shook her head, taking your hands in hers. Her eyes met yours, a long moment of silence stretched on, as if she were thinking of what to say and how exactly to say it. Then, after a long time, she spoke.
“Princess, you are right. I do not know how to please a man. But, I do not believe you need to worry about that.”
You shook your head. “But I do, Claire. What if I am not enough to satisfy him?”
Your name fell from her lips. Rarely did anyone other than Rufus or Leon use your first name. Your given name. Claire had only used it once before. This was how you knew this was a serious conversation.
“Trust me, you do not need to worry.” She shook her head. “I have known Leon my whole life. He is a good man. He cares not for that sort of satisfaction.”
“But it is my duty,” you said softly, eyes downcast, staring at her hands holding yours. Such a comforting action, it made you feel safe and secure, even in the whirlwind of your current situation.
“Yes, I suppose it is. But it is also your duty to make him happy.” Claire said, head ducking to meet your gaze. Her eyes were full of nothing but security and reassurance. “And that is a duty you already excel at, princess.”
Hearing her say that made your breath hitch. She sounded so sure, so confident that you had already succeeded in making Leon happy. Which was a fact you had a hard time believing. You had hardly spent any time with him alone, how could you make him happy? He hardly knew you.
“Trust me, Leon is happy. You satisfy him with your presence alone. You do not need to do anything other than exist to make him happy.”
Day morphed into early evening, dark clouds had once again rolled in over the mountains, promising a downpour late into the night. Thunder roiled outside the palace walls, matching the thundering of your heartbeat in your chest. Which had been racing for near hours by now.
You were in your wedding dress – swathed in white laces, silks, and satins. Gauzy ivory cascaded down your frame, the veil attached to your head trailing down to drag behind you on the floor. Gloves adorned your hands, jewelry laid against your skin. Diamonds and pearls and the ruby dragon scale. The seamstress had tried to convince you not to wear it. She claimed it did not match the dress or the event. But this dragon scale had been Leon’s first personal gift to you. You would not part with it.
It had been dipped in gold around the edges. That very evening he gave it to you, you had sought out the palace jeweler, requesting it be made into a wearable piece. Two days later, he had brought it to you – the edges and back of the scale encased in gold, the front surface polished and shiny. It was attached to a thin, delicate chain. And since you had put it on, you had not taken it off. And you would not part with it, even today.
Your ladies had interceded, telling the seamstress of its importance and that as it was your request, you should not be told to take it off. With a heavy sigh, the seamstress had conceded. You had even heard her grumble under her breath that it was beautiful, even if it did not match the occasion. That admission made you smile.
That smile faded swiftly though, as you stood behind the large wooden double doors of the palace chapel. Your heart raced, your palms sweating. This was it. Your final moments before being tied to a title, a kingdom, a duty. None of which you had chosen. Even if you had come to favor – perhaps even love – Leon, this was still forced upon you. Not your choice.
Beside you, Rufus seemed to be able to hear your thoughts. He was the one who knew your every worry surrounding this arrangement. He heard your every qualm, every anxiety, every wish to go home. He stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back. Even Rufus was clothed in the finest of fabrics. Ceremonial robes draped from his shoulders, a gold hilted sword at his hip. He was here to protect you, yes, but also to be your support.
“You look lovely, princess.” He whispered, head tilted downward. This conversation was just for you.
“Thank you, Rufus.”
“It will be over soon, I promise.” He added, his gruff voice as comforting as possible.
“No,” you breathed, “it will not. This is only the beginning.”
You heard Rufus let out a sigh, the sound of his boots soft as he stepped back. He knew you were right. This was only the beginning. The start of your new life. The future Queen Consort of a kingdom you were not native to. Married to a perfect stranger. A palace you were not still fully familiar with your new home. All unfamiliar territory. A future you never asked for. A future you never agreed to.
Though you supposed to outside eyes it was not the worst arrangement – marrying the Crown Prince. One who was handsome and kind and steady. To be the future Queen Consort to a rich and vibrant kingdom who valued its citizens and had a just ruler. There were dragons, as well. There were many upsides to this arrangement, you knew that. But the price? Your freedom.
Music seeped through the doors, snapping you from your haze. The guards stationed at the doors stepped forward, grasping the handles and hauling them open. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you faced the congregation in the chapel. All eyes turned to you, music continued in a slow lilt as Rufus stepped closer to you.
Just as you stepped forward, crossing the threshold of the chapel, your eyes met Leon’s from the other side of the aisle. The room went silent, the music faded, everything muffled, as if you were dunked underwater. You blinked, soaking him in. His strong stature, his soft eyes. This was the prize. No other person, no other duty mattered. These people – noble vultures watching with hungry eyes, the counselors with cruel intentions, your ladies with graceful smiles – none of them mattered. Only Leon.
He was a vision. His tall, broad frame draped in royal robes. Rich hues of deep reds and golds. Velvet fabric cascaded down his shoulders, that ceremonial sword at his side. His crown of gold encircled his brow, the Kennedy crest above his heart, that gold dipped ruby earring hanging from his ear. His hands were gloveless though, and as you slowly walked toward him, you wished your own hands were bare to feel his warmth.
Your eyes stayed locked on his as you paused at the foot of the altar, dipping into a bow, head ducked in reverence to the divine. Upon rising, you saw Leon’s eyes had dipped down from your face – locked on the scale that rested below your collarbones. Blue eyes snapped back up to meet yours, hand reaching out to assist you in stepping up the stone steps to stand before him.
This was the prize. Leon was all that mattered. You were his happiness, and he would be yours. And really, this prospect did not sound so bad.
Just as expected, rain pelted down as evening dissolved into night. Rufus had been right – the wedding ceremony itself had not lasted long. Vows were exchanged, rings were donned, and claps and cheers filled the cathedral as you walked out. You and Leon had been immediately ushered to the grand hall for the following celebration. There was a feast prepared, the cake you’d chosen together standing tall in four tiers, flowers and gauzy fabric hung from the ceilings. Truly, no expense had been spared.
Now, you and Leon sat side by side at the head table at the front of the room. A long line of nobles and representatives at the steps. This had been going on for well over an hour – each noble professing their congratulations and loyalty to the future King and Queen Consort of the kingdom. And of course, gifts. Gold and gems and the finest clothes and jewelry. None of which you needed but accepted anyway because to do otherwise would be an insult.
You wanted to be far from here. Somewhere quiet and calm. Somewhere you could be alone with Leon. Your lord husband. There was somewhere deep inside you that craved moments alone with him, now that you were wed. There had been no time for you to process, to be alone in each other’s presence. Not after the ceremony. But you supposed there would be ample time for that later in the night. Which made you nauseous at the thought.
Perhaps you should be grateful. The celebration was a distraction – music and food and people. The volume kept your thoughts at bay. The constant conversation kept your worries buried deep. Yes, Leon’s presence at your side was dizzying, but there was so much else going on you had no time to focus on it. Which was truly a blessing in disguise, you supposed. Not to be wholly consumed with the fact of his closeness. How his warmth was mere inches away. How his eyes periodically found that dragonscale necklace at your chest.
His attention to the jewelry made you somewhat self-conscious. Should you not have had it made? Should you have not worn it today? Did it mean more to you than it did him? A million assumptions swirled in your head as you sat there, the music droning in the background, a pleasant smile plastered on your face in passing. These overwhelming thoughts were interrupted though as Leon’s voice cut through the noise.
“Would you care to dance, princess?” He asked, your eyes snapping to him.
Leon leaned towards you, his face close to your own. He smelled good – like leather and something sharp, perhaps citrus. You blinked, nodding slightly. He stood, hand outstretched. Your hand found his, your gloves long since discarded so now you could feel the warmth of his skin against your own. It was comforting and all-consuming as you stood, walking with him down the steps to the middle of the room.
It was customary for the wedded couple to share a dance before retiring to their chambers for the night. To consummate their marriage. That reminder sent a spike through your heart, but Leon’s soft touch at your waist calmed any qualm in your mind. He began to gently guide you with the slow music, stepping in time with you.
“You look beautiful.” He said softly. “I have not had the chance to tell you.”
Your heart clenched at his words. Leon had called you beautiful before, but this time felt different. Perhaps it was because he was your husband now. Either way, it made your heart flutter.
“Thank you,” you whispered, continuing to sway with him, keeping in time with the soft instrumental music.
Your eyes danced around the room, the discomfort and awkwardness of the situation causing you not to meet Leon’s eyes. There was a heavy presence in your chest, one you couldn’t seem to will away, no matter how hard you tried. There was no reason to worry - you knew this. It was Leon. Kind and steady and strong. Leon, who was now your husband. Worry had no place in your chest. But stayed there anyway.
“Are you alright, princess?” He questioned, his voice low and soft. This moment was between the two of you. For no one else to be part of.
You looked at him, eyes meeting his now. Again, you caught the tail end of a glance of his eyes toward the dragon scale necklace resting against your collarbones. There was something about the necklace that had him in some sort of trance. That stab of insecurity, the one that bloomed from his constant periodic glances at the pendant, flooded your chest again. Really, did it mean more to you than it did him? Well, of course it did. But was he upset that you’d gone and made something out of what was supposed to be nothing? Heat crawled up your neck, blooming onto your face.
“Yes, I’m fine.” You nodded with a mumble. “This is all just a little overwhelming.”
Leon hummed under his breath, seeming to understand your statement. Maybe even agree with it. “Yes, it is. There are far too many people.”
A smile stretched across your lips at his admission of the crowd of people. He was right - there were too many people. The buzz of loud voices, the music, the cheers and shouts of celebration. It was overwhelming. Leon smiled in turn, his eyes a little lighter. He seemed pleased at the prospect that he could make you smile. You liked that he could make you smile. It was a trait about him you loved.
The music stretched on as you swayed with Leon, his touch gentle and his gaze soft. The crawling feeling of discomfort grew in your stomach as he intermittently glanced down at the pendant against your chest. It made you dizzy – why did he care? Why was he so enamored with the jewelry? Of course, you cherished the scale enough to make it into something to keep. Something to have with you always. When you caught him looking for the dozenth time, you opened your mouth to speak. Then the music immediately stopped.
You and Leon paused, the sound of the King’s hands clapping together to catch the attention of the room. His eyes – kind and soft, and Leon must have inherited them – found the two of you. His mouth stretched into a wide smile as he began to speak, voice booming across the banquet hall. Leon shifted on his feet, his arm securely wrapped around your middle, keeping you close to his side. And in that embrace, you felt safe.
The King began what could only be called a speech. He praised his son, the union between you that was presented to him by your own family. And then he praised you – his voice and his eyes warmed as he looked at you. He called you kind, graceful, a welcome addition to the palace and the Kennedy name. He said they were blessed by the gods for your presence. That you would make the best of wives for his son.
Heat crawled up your neck, your ears burned. You bashfully ducked your head, a small and embarrassed smile stretching across your face. Never had you received such praise. Leon’s grasp on our side tightened, a small squeeze of reassurance. Of agreement. Your eyes cut to him, only to find he was looking at you. His lips were curled in that soft smile he reserved only for you. You blinked rapidly and looked back up at the King. He was smiling down fondly at the two of you, his hands coming together in a cheerful applause that the entire room followed in suit. This was your send off.
That realization sunk into your chest, panic settling into your bloodstream. Leon took a step back, his hand gentle at the small of your back. He dipped his head a sort of bow, and you followed, returning the gesture of respect. He held out a hand, waiting for you to take it. You slipped your hand into his, his palm warm against your own skin. He turned you around, almost like he was showing you off to the room. And you supposed he was, slowly spinning you around, his eyes on you fondly. He then began to step forward, walking through the hall toward the large double doors.
You could hear the blood rushing in your ears, your heart pounding in your throat. Warmth spread over your skin. This was it. The night you had spent the last weeks dreading.
Leon’s chambers were sprawling. You had thought yours were huge. Leon’s were bigger. You could fit your own rooms inside his with over half the space left over. You weren’t sure why someone would need so much space. But he was the Crown Prince. You supposed space was his right.
The room was warm and dimly lit, a fire crackling in the large stone fireplace. Just like the night before, lightning crackled across the sky, thunder rumbling over the mountains. You stood awkwardly by the fireplace, fingers twisting the rich silk robe tied at your waist. After you had initially arrived at his chambers, your ladies had been waiting. They had ushered you into the connected parlor. That lacy set of negligée the seamstress presented to you that morning waited. Claire, Rebecca, and Ashley helped you out of your wedding gown, carefully tucking it into a velvet lined box. They assisted you in donning the lace, tying bows and securing threads. They topped it all with a white silk robe tied at your waist.
When they left, it was just you and Leon. It was eerily quiet, and you felt vastly uncomfortable. Leon stood at an end table by the fireplace, his royal robes discarded. He handled a glass decanter of honey wine, pouring the shimmering amber liquid into two small crystal glasses. Your hands twiddled at your front, nerves settling deep into your stomach. It was so quiet, so still in these sprawling chambers that you had no idea what to do with yourself. Except to stand silently and watch your husband’s every movement.
Your husband. After a few moments, Leon turned to you, crystal glasses in hand and stepped toward you. His eyes were soft still, his steps almost careful, like he was afraid one wrong move would send you bolting from the room. Which you supposed was true. You were tense, almost scared. This was the moment you had spent weeks worrying over. Losing sleep. And he was acting as if it were any other night.
“Relax, princess.” Leon said lowly, his voice soft and reassuring. He held out one of the glasses for you to take. “Sit, you’ve had a long day.”
You followed him as he led you to a cushioned sofa by the fireplace, his hand gentle at the small of your back. The thick rug was soft against your bare feet, the air in the room heavy with a spark of hesitation. From the both of you. You sat down on the sofa, your posture was stiff, muscles laced with discomfort. Leon noticed as he settled down beside you, eyes locked on you with a curious mixture of concern and humor. He looked at you, observing your stiff frame as you sat perched on the edge of the sofa.
Then he let out a laugh. Deep and warm – the kind of comfort that melted your bones. Your eyes snapped over to him as he laughed, your favorite sound in the world. “You look like a stone carving. Please, relax, my love.”
My love. Two simple words. One plain phrase. It sent your heart racing. You stared at him as if he’d suddenly grown two heads, your eyes blinking as your face grew increasingly hot. My love. It was not anything unheard of, a man referring to his wife in such an affectionate manner. You had grown up with your own father calling your mother ‘my dear’. And in the few weeks you had been in the Palais du Levallon, you had heard the King refer to the Queen as many things, such as ‘darling’ or ‘amore’ – which you’d come to know was a term in one of the prominent languages in the region, meaning ‘love’.
So no, it was not strange for a man to use terms of endearments on his wife. But it did feel strange to be on the receiving end of this affection. Let alone from Leon. Your eyes fell from his face to stare down at the honey wine in the glass cupped between your hands. A sudden crash of thunder made you flinch, taking you by surprise. There was now a heavy silence between you and your now husband. One that settled in as his laughter faded. Stopping completely when he noticed how rigid his comment had made the set of your shoulders.
“Should I not refer to you that way?” He asked softly, drawing your attention back to him.
Your eyes went wide as you stared at him, shock and embarrassment swirled in your belly. “No, no… it isn’t that.”
“Would you prefer something different?” Leon’s voice was still soft and sweet, careful as he questioned. “Darling? Or something simple? Or should I only call you by your given name?”
Still, you stared at him. And it was in this moment as he floundered on what to call you now that you were married, that you realized he was as worried as you were. As scared and anxious about this whole arrangement. It had never once occurred to you that Leon would be troubled by this arrangement or any interaction between the two of you. But as he spoke now, you realized that he must be. Especially if he was now focusing on something as trivial as a pet name.
“Princess –”
“No,” you shook your head, very suddenly finding your voice. You met his gaze, seeing the abrupt shock – or maybe fear – in his eyes. “Anything but that. Anything. That feels too… formal.”
Ever since you met Leon the night you arrived all those weeks ago, he had called you princess. It was your title. Your given duty upon your birth. If he were going to spend the rest of your life calling you anything, you did not want it to be that. It was your one request. It felt too much like a responsibility. Like a requirement for his calling you that.
“I only meant with respect.” He said softly, once more taking you by surprise. Leon was always full of surprises. “I do not see it as just a title. I mean it with all the love and affection I have for you, tesoro.”
Love and affection. That somehow made you dizzier. You blinked rapidly, trying to shake the whirlwind of thoughts from your head. Trying to focus on him in front of you. The word that slipped from his lips had been almost hesitant. Like he was testing it out. You did not know what it meant, you had never heard it before. It was certainly not a word in your native language. As you replayed the word over and over in your mind, you looked up at him, brow tight with confusion.
“What does that mean?” You asked gingerly, your voice timid. “That word? What is it?”
Leon blinked, looking at you, almost as if he hadn’t realized what he said. It seemed it had just slipped out. “Tesoro.” He said softly. “It is a term of endearment, from the native language locally. It means treasure.”
He was soft as he explained, his voice gentle. He did not speak to you as if you were simple. He explained plainly, with facts. You sat there, sitting in the meaning of the word. It meant treasure. You could think of the word from your own region with the same meaning. The same intent behind the word. You reached to set the crystal glass in your hands aside on the low wooden table in front of the sofa. Then, you sat deeper in the upholstered velvet sofa, facing him now.
“Trésor,” you whispered softly. “That is the word for treasure in my region.”
It was small, but it was a connection. A small word, said differently between two people from two different kingdoms. It seemed to join you. You longed to reach for him, to have his hand wrapped around your own. A yearning deep in your chest to feel the warmth of his skin against the palm of your hand. But, you did not yet dare to cross such a boundary. But it seemed you did not need to as Leon crossed it for you. His touch was soft and so full of gentleness it made your head spin as he reached out, hand closing around yours. His hands were so much larger than your own, the skin of his palms rough with years of battle training and riding dragon back. But his touch was so gentle.
Your heart all but lurched as he held your hand, his opposite one coming to rest atop yours, wrapping it in his warmth. The heat radiated off his skin, seeping into your own, warming you from the inside out. Lightning flashed again, but this time you did not flinch. You felt so safe with Leon, even just sitting next to him, with your hand cradled in his. Security wrapped around you like a shawl, a blanket of warmth and contentment. One you never wanted to leave.
His eyes flicked between your own, a moment of heavy silence tinged with sparks and tension that you could never escape. There was a flicker in his eyes – that beautiful baby blue that you could only dream of drowning in. It looked almost like hesitation. Like he was afraid to make any movement lest he scared you off. But you yearned for him to kiss you again. Just once more. As he had in the gardens days ago. The gentle touch of his palm to your cheek, his soft breaths, the warm press of his lips to yours. You had dreamt of that moment ever since. In your sleep and your waking hours. You longed to feel his lips again.
And while Leon seemed to know this – or at least assume this – he made no real move to kiss you again. You wished he would. So, in a moment of blind confidence that you were sure you would never feel again, you inched closer on the sofa. Now, your knees brushed his, your noses inches away. You could feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your mouth. Baby blue eyes flickered over your face. Going between your eyes and your lips in a triangle over and over again. He wanted to kiss you too, it seemed. Or at least, that is what you allowed yourself to believe.
“Tesoro,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the air between you. His eyes were flitting between yours once more, his body seeming to move on its own as he leaned toward you. “May I kiss you?”
Leon’s question shocked you. He did not need to ask. He had no reason to ask to kiss you – he was your husband. But he did. And you realized it was because he respected you. He loved you, he had told you this before. But now you knew he respected you. He would not do something you would not want. He would not touch you or claim you as his if he were not sure you wanted to be. He needed the assurance and confirmation that you did. This made you only fall deeper into love with him than you already were.
With a nod and a nearly inaudible whisper of “yes” falling from your lips, he let out a shuddered breath. As if not knowing if he could advance had pained him.
Leon lifted a hand, his palm gingerly coming up to cup your cheek. The calloused pad of his thumb ran over your cheekbone in soft, soothing motions. He inhaled deeply, his eyes now locked on your lips as he inched closer and closer until his lips met yours.
It felt like it had been an eternity since you last felt this feeling. His lips meeting yours, slotting between your own, his warmth filling your senses. This time though, you were prepared. You leaned back into it, head tilting to the side as he kissed you, allowing your lips to match like perfect pieces of a puzzle. His hand ran down your face, caressing your neck and coasting down to rest at your back. With a small tug, he urged you forward, your knees now slotted between his open thighs. You wished to be closer, impossibly closer. To absorb his warmth, to bathe in his smell, to be his wholly and fully.
You felt bold, that impossible surge of confidence burning in your chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck. That felt natural enough, like the right move to make. Leon seemed pleased with this. His breath hitched and his other hand came to rest at the base of your spine. His fingers dug into your skin through the silky fabric of your robe, the heat of his skin seeping into your own. You allowed him to lead, all for the fact that you had no clue what you were doing. You had no prior experience, no inclination of how to proceed. So, you let him lead you.
And lead you he did. His large hands wrapped around your body, pulling you in closer to him, his warmth melding with your own. It made you feverish, hot and impossibly impatient, the way he pulled you into him, causing you to shift on the sofa. His hands ran up and down your sides, settling on the dip below your hips, fingers digging into the plush flesh there. Never had you been touched there. With anyone else, it would have been improper. But with Leon, it felt right, welcomed, even. He tugged at you, bringing you closer, one hand dragging down to grip the fat of your thigh, pulling you to settle onto his lap.
Heat pulsed at your cheeks, your heart picking up faster as you straddled his thighs, your own caging his hips. This felt wildly inappropriate, as if you were not supposed to be in this position, but Leon? He loved it. You could tell as his breath hitched once the weight of you settled on him. He pulled back, only a mere few inches, his nose bumping yours.
“Are you comfortable with this, miele?” Leon asked, voice a rough whisper. He sounded completely out of breath. His thumbs traced gentle patterns over the fat of your thighs as his hands settled there.
It shocked you that he seemed to genuinely care about your comfort and what you wanted. Well, it was Leon, of course he cared. But, you had heard the stories of how many husbands treated their wives your whole life. That they did not care for their wives’ comfort or pleasure in bed. So that is why his concern was a shock to you.
“Yes,” you nodded, voice just as quiet and hesitant. And you really were comfortable, you wanted this. There was something deep inside you that yearned for Leon in this way. To be as physically close with him as humanly possible.
Leon’s eyes darted between yours for a moment longer, as if he were gauging whether or not you were telling the truth. Once he seemed satisfied, he kissed you again. Warm and sweet, but deeper this time. His lips slotted between yours, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips. Like he wanted to go further, but wanted to be careful with you. You parted your lips for him, allowing his tongue to explore the soft inside of your mouth. It wasn’t wet or vulgar like you thought french kissing would be – Claire had once described what it was to you, and you had physically cringed, thinking you would never enjoy or want to experience it yourself. It was pleasant, at least with Leon.
His teeth gingerly bit down on the plush of your bottom lip as he pulled back, tugging it with him before he let go, his face now buried in the crook of your neck. His nose traced along your skin, breathing you in as he left open mouthed kisses along the expanse of your neck and shoulder. One hand came up to pull the silk robe off your shoulder, pressing kisses to the warm, exposed skin. He was worshipping you. His hands running along your body, his mouth kissing your skin. His hand planted on your hip urged you to move, pressing you down on his lap. A gasp fell from your lips as you felt the hard outline of him through his slacks. Your hands gripped his shoulders, the fabric of his blouse fisted in your hands.
The friction of his hardness between your legs made your head spin, your heart raced faster in your chest, the pulsing you felt in your core deepening. His hands pressed you down again, causing a whine to rip from your throat. You’d never imagined this, that something as simple and soft as kissing him would lead to you no more than humping him. But you did not want to stop, you couldn’t bring yourself to. And Leon encouraged you, keeping his hands firm on your hips as he kissed over every square inch of exposed skin he could find, leaving soft and open mouthed kisses there.
“Leon,” his name came from your lips in a gasp, your brows pulled taut as you ground down on his lap.
“Feeling good?” He murmured; his lips still attached to the skin at the cap of your shoulder. He seemed pleased that you were enjoying yourself, using him to feel good.
“Yes…yes,” you gasped, grinding down harder and faster on his lap. The friction of him was unreal, unlike anything you’d ever felt.
But, in an instant, that friction was gone. A whine drug from your lips as Leon grasped your body, hauling you up as he stood. His mouth returned to yours, effectively muffling any sounds of protest that sounded from you. He carried you across his chambers, stopping at the edge of the sprawling bed. He was careful and gentle as he set you down, bending at the waist so he would not separate from you.
After a moment of lingering kisses, he leaned back, a smirk curling at the corner of his kiss bitten lips at how you chased him. “May I touch you?” He asked softly, his eyes searching yours.
“Yes,” you nodded, once again shocked at how he asked you for permission.
He smiled, pressing a soft peck to your nose before he guided you to lie back on the bed. The plush mattress dipped as you laid back, the untouched velvet bedspread soft and cool against your heated skin. His hands ran up your hips and down your thighs, gingerly parting them enough for him to stand between your legs. His calloused fingers coasted over your plush thighs, stopping at the edge of your underwear. His eyes finally dipped down away from your own as he felt the lacy fabric against his fingertips.
You watched as his brow furrowed slightly, then his hands moved to untie and part the silken robe that adorned your body. A sudden urge to shrink away from him overwhelmed you. Never had a man seen you in such a state of undress. However, this was your husband. He was allowed to see this. And by the look in his eyes, he wanted to see this. Leon let out an exhale, soft and almost disbelieving.
“So beautiful, miele.” He whispered against your skin as he began to press kisses against your collarbones. His soft lips trailed down your chest and stomach, stopping at your hip with a lingering kiss before he pulled back mere inches. His finger dipped into the waistband of the lacy underwear, and he slowly pulled them down. Softly and gently, he pulled them off your legs, his hands running up your thighs now that you were bare. “Fuck, so beautiful.”
Your face and neck flushed hot, the suddenness and rawness of his confession made you want to shrink into the mattress. His hands gripped your hips, plush skin soft against the calloused pads of his fingertips. Leon’s lips pressed to your hipbone, eyes fluttering closed as he kissed you there again, then to the junction of your hip, and down your inner thigh. It felt improper for him to have his head ducked between your thighs. For his hands to be grasping you this way, his lips trailing over your thighs.
“You smell so sweet,” he murmured against your skin, nose nudging the fatty junction of your hip before pressing yet another kiss there. He met your gaze through his eyelashes, pupils blown out and face flushed, his brows pulled together as his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.
Leon’s dominant hand ran down your thigh, coming to cup your heat between your legs. Despite there being little to no real friction with the movement, it still made you gasp. His fingers were slow and gentle as he touched, his middle finger now coming into contact with your cunt. Hot and wet and pulsing. He groaned softly, eyes snapping down to look as he gathered your wetness and spread it around. He studied you for a moment – or really, he studied your pussy. It was so fucking pretty. Wet and ready for him. After what felt like forever if his just rubbing your slick around you, he looked back up at you. Baby blue eyes met yours as he lifted his hand and placed his ring and middle finger in his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed as he sucked your slick from his fingers, groaning as he tasted you.
“You taste sweet too.” He mumbled, opening his eyes to meet your gaze again. “I suppose it makes sense.”
Leon seemed pleased with his own comment, hand falling back to your thigh as he ducked his head back down between your legs. Your face was hot, heart racing as you processed the obscenity of what he’d just done. He had tasted you. And proclaimed you to be sweet. You felt dizzy, head spinning as you watched and felt him press a kiss to your mound. Then, his thumbs parted your lips and he kissed you again. But this time it felt different. The feeling made you mewl, your head falling back onto the mattress. His lips closed around your clit, sucking before he let go with a pop of his lips and began to lap at it with his tongue. The feeling of his tongue on you had you gasping, chest heaving as he relentlessly attacked your clit. His dominant hand trailed down to your opening once more, fingers gathering and spreading your wetness before he pushed a single digit into you. He began to shallowly fuck his finger in and out of you, curling upwards as he thrusted it.
“Does that feel good?” He murmured against your clit, the vibration of his words making your body jerk. You couldn’t seem to give a verbal answer, only managing a nod against the mattress. “Words, tesoro.”
“Yes!” You gasped out at his encouragement, chest heaving. His relentless pace had your thighs shaking, threatening to close around his head.
Leon kept this pace, continuing to lap and flick his tongue against your clit, adding another finger to fuck in and our of your cunt. You whined, hands fisting the bedspread as you felt a tight coil deep in your belly. He noticed, all because your breathing picked up, your whines and moans getting louder by the second. In an instant, you felt the tightness snap inside you, hot waves of pleasure racking your entire body, legs shaking and back arching off the bed. You came with Leon’s name on your tongue, his name between broken whimpers and cries of building overstimulation. And Leon drank every drop you had to give. His tongue licked your pussy clean, his fingers retreating from you. And he licked those clean as well.
He sucked your cum off his fingers as he stood from where he knelt before the bed, his own breathing heavy as he placed his warm hands on your sides again. “Are you still with me?”
Your eyes blinked open as you heard Leon’s voice, your mind still hazy and skin still hot as he knelt on the bed over your body. “Yes,” you nodded.
“Good,” he whispered, smiling down at you with a fondness that made your heart ache. He leaned down, kissing you deeply. And as you tasted yourself on his tongue, you realized you were sweet, as he’d proclaimed.
Your hands shook as you reached up to cup his face, fingers trembling as you caressed his cheeks, lips parting as he kissed you deeply. His tongue licked in your mouth, his hands caging your ribs, thumbs pressing into the skin below your breasts. He pressed kisses to the corner of your lips, the tip of your nose, your cheeks, and trailing down your neck again. He paused at your collarbone, head resting against your shoulder, lips brushing the dragonscale pendant between your collarbones. The heat of his breath fanned against your chest, his hands gripping your ribs.
“Can I show how much I care for you?” He whispered against your heated skin. “Would you allow me this?”
You breathed him in – the smell of his skin and the oils he wore. His smell alone made you dizzy. “I would want nothing more.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to his spider silk hair.
Leon exhaled a heavy and shaky breath, the heat of his breath against your skin making you gasp. His hands were soft and full of what could only be reverence as he pushed away the silky robe that hung off your shoulders. Next, he was careful as he unlaced the soft, lacy bralette that adorned your chest, pushing the fabric off your skin. Your nipples hardened and pebbled against the cool air as they were exposed, his hands running up your sides to cup the soft fat of your breasts. He kneaded them, his soft plush against his palms, until his thumb trailed up to brush against the dragonscale pendant at your chest. His mouth found yours again, hot and deep and needy. You were now completely laid bare to him, your thighs parted as he pressed his still clothed hips against yours.
Your own hands wandered down his front, finding the bottom hem of his blouse, pushing the fabric up and off his body. His mouth met yours again as your hands ran over his middle appreciatively, fingers coursing over the dips and planes of his body. He was hard built muscle and callouses, where you were soft skin and warm hands. You had never known a day of work, and he had spent his life training and taming dragons. His hard-earned physique and scars made you appreciate him all the more. Fingers running down his front, you reached the tie at the front of his slacks, slowly beginning to untie them. As you did, Leon leaned back, seeming to be impatient.
Shifting up to lean back on your elbows, you watched as he unlaced his slacks, stepping out of them, and was now completely bare before you. Of course, he was a sight. If he claimed you to be beautiful, then there must not be a word in existence for what he was. His milky skin peppered with dots and moles, his arms were strong and dotted with scars – the most noticeable at his left shoulder, a star-shaped scar that ran straight through, one you wanted to know the story of someday – his thighs were thick and muscular, a scar along the front surface of his left thigh. The sheer size of him had your heart stuttering. Your husband was overall a large man, tall and muscular and broad. But the size of him… perhaps it was because this was the one cock you’d ever really seen. It stood proud, hard and flushed at the tip. Never had you imagined that you would think a cock was pretty, but Leon’s was pretty. Thick and leaking at the tip. Your eyes drug back up to meet his, seeing his flushed face and blown out pupils.
You were left in absolute awe of him. Angelic was the only word you could really think of. Leon’s eyes met yours again as his knee dipped on the mattress between your spread thighs. His hands caged your head, nose bumping against yours as he kissed you. It was deep and sweet. He pumped his cock a few times before dragging the flushed tip through your slick. It bumped against your clit, making you gasp at the sensation. He lined himself up at your entrance, the tip notched at your slit.
“Are you ready?” He asked, lips brushing against yours as he seemed to refuse to part too far from you. You nodded breathlessly, unable to form words over your heart lodged in your throat. “You can still change your mind, amore mio.”
You shook your head again, gasping into his mouth as your hands came up to cup his face again. “No, no, Leon, I want this. I want you.”
Leon’s eyes searched yours again for a second longer before he nodded, nose nudging against yours. “Deep breath,”
You obeyed, and felt the first inch of him push into you. Your mouth fell open, a gasp pulling through your throat as he pushed his way into you, inch by inch. Leon’s head dipped forward until his forehead rested against yours, his hair tickling your face. It felt like an eternity before he was fully sheathed in you, his hips pressed flush to your own. Your chest heaved, your face hot as your chest pressed to his.
“Good, you did good.” Leon whispered, his hand running up your side to cup your cheek, thumb swiping affectionately over your cheekbone. “So good. Tell me if it hurts at all and I will stop.”
You nodded against him, mouth chasing his again as he shallowly began to move. The feeling of him fully seated inside you, and now thrusting in and out made your head spin. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs parting wider for him as he began to slowly and deeply fuck you. Your eyes fell closed as he moved, finding a rhythm that felt good for both him and you. Mouth hanging open, pants fell from your lips, his mouth capturing yours in one of his deep, sweet kisses. It wasn’t long before the initial discomfort of the size of him was replaced by deep pleasure. And he could clearly tell by the way you were squeezing him.
“There we go, beautiful girl.” He whispered against your mouth, his pace unrelenting. “Does that feel good?”
“Yes, Leon, yes,” you gasped between broken whines and moans.
Leon smiled against your lips, kissing you again as he picked up the pace. Your arms were wrapped securely around his neck, fingers threading through the hair at the base of his neck. His hair was just as soft as you had imagined – exactly like the spider silk you loved to compare it to. Your hands gently fisted his hair, and he let out a groan against your mouth. Experimentally, you pulled again. His cock jerked inside of you. Oh, he liked that. You did it again and again, keeping your grip on his hair tight but not so that it would be uncomfortable. His hips snapped against yours as he adjusted the angle of his hips. You weren’t sure why, you were comfortable beneath him. Maybe he was uncomfortable on top of you.
But then you felt it. He hunched over you, one hand coming down to grasp the underside of your thigh and hiked it up around his hip. You gasped, loud and high pitched as the tip of his cock nudged that sensitive spot inside you. He groaned, voice muffled as his lips were locked on yours. “There it is.”
You weren’t sure what he was talking about, but it felt so good it made you dizzy. Your heart pounded in your ears, toes curling, and gasps getting louder as he fucked you. No, as he made love to you. This was a proclamation of his love and his want for you. This was far more than the duty between husband and wife to produce heirs. This was truly for pleasure and love. You could feel it by the way his dick moved in and out of you, hitting that sensitive spot deep inside you over and over again. Your hands ran down his back, nails digging into his shoulder blades as your own hips began to cant up against his.
“Leon,” you whined, head turning to the side before you ducked your face into the crook of his neck.
“I know,” he whispered against your skin, tongue laving at your shoulder as he continued the same pace.
Leon kissed and nipped and sucked at your skin in encouragement, holding your body to his, chest pressed against yours. His hips pistoned into you, your breaths mingling in the small space between your faces. Your noses bumped and nudged together as you tilted your face forward, lips chasing his for the relief of his kiss. He obliged you, lips slotting between yours as you finally came. You gasped into his mouth, nails clawing at his back as you shook and trembled beneath him. Stars danced behind your eyelids, your pulse racing as you whined and mewled, the sounds muffled against his mouth.
Your orgasm lasted for what felt like ages, the feeling of him continuing to move inside you prolonging the waves of indescribable pleasure. Leon’s own movements were jerky, messy and uncoordinated. His hips stuttered against yours, his face ducking to bury in the crook of your neck. As you felt the waves of your pleasure ebb away, you could tell Leon’s own was just starting. He snapped his hips against yours harshly, punctuating each deep thrust with a pant of hot breath against your skin.
“I love you.” He whispered, lips brushing against your neck. “I have since the day–” he cut himself off, a groan falling from his lips. “The day of our portrait. Gods, your smile. I love it. I love you.”
Leon gasped, his body curling into yours as he came, spilling deep inside you. He punctuated his orgasm with a last few deep thrusts before he stilled inside you. Your blood roared in your ears at his confession, mixed with the feeling of his cum spilling inside you. Your hands gently ran up and down his back, soothing him through his own peak of pleasure. It was mindless, your movement of comfort. Because your head was spinning. Leon had loved you almost instantly. He had fallen for you so soon. Much sooner than you had. Of course, since the night you met him you had been enamored with him. However, your love for him came later. You couldn’t even properly place it, when the love for him became real to you. Perhaps the night of your betrothal ball. Or when he kissed you in the gardens. Though, really, you thought it must have been when he gifted you one of Shirsos’ scales. That scale dipped in gold around the edges that now rested between your breasts.
“I love you too.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to his hair, hands still soothing his back.
You swore you felt him flinch, or heard a gasp. His arms snaked around your middle as he laid his weight atop you, his cock softening inside you. Leon held you close to him, his face still buried in your neck. As if he could not bear to meet your gaze. However, you wished to see his eyes. Those gorgeous cerulean eyes you loved so much. Your dominant hand trailed up his back and shoulder until you cupped his cheek, urging him to lift his head. At the sight you saw, your heart almost damn near stopped.
Leon’s eyes were watery and red rimmed. His face was covered in that deep beautiful flush, his brows curved up, lips downturned as his eyes swam with unshed tears. Your chest clenched at the sight, at the knowledge that he was crying. Your thumb smoothed over his cheekbone, catching a stray tear that finally fell. Eyes searched each other as you thought of what on earth to say to him. How to offer him any semblance of comfort.
“Leon, I love you too.” You whispered, your own voice hoarse and rough.
This second and affirming admission was what really broke him. His eyes squeezed shut, his face nuzzling into your palm. Despite the silent tears that coursed down his cheeks, he had a smile on his lips. Soft and what could only be described as content. Happy, fulfilled.
Life as the Crown Prince’s wife had proven quite enjoyable. Your days were filled with good company and undying love. From your new family, your ladies, your future subjects, and most importantly, your husband. Your husband.
Leon was your greatest blessing. The night of your wedding had been spent in a tangle of limbs, trading kisses and admissions of love. Leon told you he first knew he loved you the day of your portrait. Or really, when he had taken you to the stables to meet Shirsos. He confessed he had never previously believed in any legend of dragons seeing into the soul of a person. But his view on that changed when Shirsos met you. The dragon loved you, almost more than she loved Leon.
You had told him your love began when he gifted you Shirsos’ scale. That scale – it had nearly killed him. That night, after you had come down from your highs with him still nestled deep inside you, he told you what that scale around your neck did to him. To Leon, it may as well have been a proclamation of your belonging to him. Conscious or not. He loved seeing it around your neck, nestled comfortably between your collarbones, which was one of his own favorite places to be.
Leon never pushed duty on you. Never rushed you to bear his children. In fact, he declared to you he wanted you all to himself for a while before you even began the discussion of children. That alone made you happy. He did not hold you to any expectation other than being you. And you were happy to be his wife, but he also saw you as more than just his wife. You were his everything. And in turn, he was yours.
Tales and stories of your love circled the globe. How despite being sold off to each other, you found love and home in each other. A comfort to many a royal or noble across lands. Citizens of your own continent and many others swore Leon would rule with grace and a level head, and you at his side cemented these theories. He was firm in war council until you walked in. He was regal at the head of banquets until he took his seat next to you. He was viewed as cold and unloving and incapable of feelings until he married you. The world knew Leon of House Kennedy was soft for his wife, and he would have it no other way.
Leon was your greatest blessing from the divine. And all it took was a simple political negotiation, and a single bloodred dragonscale dipped in gold around the edges.
