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LOVE IS A DISEASE - CHAPTER 1 ✶ FT. BAKUGOU KATSUKI
꒰ synopsis ꒱ ✶ between managing dynamight’s image and cleaning up his pr messes, you think you’re decent at keeping things under control. unless it comes to your feelings—you definitely can’t keep those under control
or: you are bakugou katsuki’s perpetually nagging publicist, and he’s your most troublesome client. for some odd reason, that’s exactly why you both work
꒰ chapter word count ꒱ ✶ 16.6k words
꒰ before you read ꒱ ✶ female + publicist + quirkless reader ; pro hero bakugou ; bakugou and kirishima run an agency together ; workplace romance ; building tension ; references to social media and pop culture ; alcohol + drinking ; drunk sex ; hook ups ; bakugou carries reader ; dry humping ; p in v ; creampie
꒰ commentary ꒱ ✶ chapter one is here early!! please give it a chance, and if u read and happen to enjoy, please consider leaving comments/tags of your thoughts!
[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] NEXT PART
The video starts as follows: Get outta my face, you damn idiot! I’m not here for your entertainment—get lost.
You stare at Bakugou with an unimpressed expression as his voice booms from your phone. The video you play of his most recent hero stunt has been surfacing everywhere—literally everywhere. He only glares at you in return, stubborn as ever with arms crossed tight over his chest. When the voice of the reporter behind the camera stammers out an apology, he scoffs and looks away as if this whole ordeal is beneath him.
“Do you mind explaining why you’re calling reporters idiots?” you ask, leveling him with a pointed look. “Right into their cameras, no less?”
“Because they’re fucking idiots, why else?” He snaps, like that should be the end of the discussion. You think for him, it would be, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re just as stubborn as he is.
“Oh, my god. This could have been a perfect opport—” you cut yourself off mid-sentence, pinching the bridge of your nose as a groan slips out in frustration. “See? This is exactly what I mean when I say you need to be more media-smart! This was the perfect opportunity to say, ‘Sir, please step away from the fire for your own safety—it’s dangerous. I’ll handle this. Everyone is safe now that I’m here.’And then you’d be praised for your save instead of scrutinized.”
“Why the fuck would I have to tell a grown-ass man to get away from a fire?” Bakugou shoots back immediately. “He’s grown as fuck. That idiot was in my way—and if he got himself hurt, then I’d have to waste my damn time saving his ass instead of focusing on the actual people in trouble.”
It’s exactly what you expected—for him to argue. Honestly, at this point, it would be more surprising if he didn’t argue. You’ve worked with him long enough to know that much.
With an exasperated groan, you hiss, “Bakugou, do you even bother checking what people say about you? Look at this,” you turn your phone to him, reading the top comment on the video. “‘Why is he always so aggressive?’” You quote flatly. “Next—‘I know he chooses to save people, but why does he act like he hates being there? Oh, this one’s popular too—‘He’s scary as hell, I’d be more afraid of him than the fire.’”
His jaw ticks. You keep going anyway, uninterested in his clearly worsening mood.
“‘We should start calling him the symbol of anger issues,’” you read, then snort. “That comment’s got, like, eighty thousand hearts, by the way.”
“The fuck do they know?” he mutters, irritation bleeding into his voice as he practically sulks. “They weren’t even there.”
“Exactly,” you shoot back, “they weren’t there. This—” you wave your phone for emphasis, “—is what they see. This is all they have to go off of.”
He only huffs, glaring at your phone’s screen like it’s the culprit behind his mess, not his own self or his god-awful attitude.
“Oh, and wait, my personal favorites aren’t even the comments,” you say dryly. “It’s the headlines.” You tap open another tab and clear your throat theatrically. “‘Dynamight’s Explosive Temper: Hero or Liability?’” You read, glancing up at him.
His eye twitches, but you don’t stop.
“‘Rising Hero Dynamight Under Fire for Hostile Behavior.’”
“That’s—” he starts, visibly bristling. But you cut him off with another headline.
“And this one—oh, this one’s great,” you continue, voice theatrically sarcastic. “‘Is Strength Enough? Concerns Grow Over Dynamight’s Public Conduct.’”
“Alright, I get it,” he snaps, irritation flaring as he runs a hand through his hair. “A bunch of idiots with too much time on their hands are writing bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit if it’s shaping how people see you,” you counter immediately. “This is your reputation, for crying out loud! This is what brands see, what reporters see, what civilians see when they think about who they trust to save them.”
“I did save them,” he shoots back, glaring. “No one fuckin’ died—no one even got hurt. That’s what matters.”
“It matters, yes,” you agree, tiredly rubbing your temple. “But it’s not the only thing that matters.”
He clicks his tongue, looking away again, shoulders tense. “I was fuckin’ nice to the fire victims,” he grumbles out, “S’not enough for these people?”
“No. It’s not. And being stubborn is only making it harder for yourself,” you say, quieter now but no less firm. “You know it’s not enough. Reporters are annoying and get in the way a lot, I know—but they also get your name out there. You should be using that to your advantage.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just stands there, scowling, jaw tight—like he’s chewing on your words even if he hates the taste of them. Like they’re acrid and bitter on his tongue. But, even if they are, he should take your words more seriously, you think. You’re hired to give him advice that does him favors, after all.
You never saw yourself getting this far into your career in your mid-twenties.
Here you are, sitting comfortably in your lush, meticulously kept office at Riot Grenade Agency (your own office!) You have your own printer, your own coffee machine, and a window that spans nearly the entire wall, offering a view of the city that still feels a little unreal if you stare at it for too long. The floors are tiled in something undoubtedly expensive, cleaned professionally every week, and you still catch yourself hesitating at the threshold some mornings, like you might track something in and dull the shine. The pay is as good as you’d imagined it would be for an agency that has the names Bakugou Katsuki and Kirishima Eijirou plastered on it, and the paid time off and vacation hours are even more generous than most companies.
Life is good.
Or, at least, it would be—if one half of your clients weren’t so complicated to work with.
You’re not really sure how you managed to land the role of publicist for two of Japan’s most impressively rising heroes—or, perhaps, that’s not entirely true.
Eraserhead—Bakugou’s former teacher and, apparently, a long-suffering advocate for his public image—had all but forced the development, insisting that Bakugou needed a publicist, and fast. The result was a job opening at Riot Grenade Agency that almost seemed too good to be true. No crazy levels of experience required, no thorough list of qualifications to meet. You see the job listing and apply on a whim. You figure you won’t even hear back, if anything.
But, evidently, working under the PR team of someone as synonymous with flawless press as Uwabami has earned you a shiny badge of showing promise, and you get a call back for an interview almost instantly. Sharing an alma mater with the very heroes you’re applying to work for certainly doesn’t hurt your chances, either. UA, outside of its hero course, has the best business track in the country, too.
Still, if you’re being honest, you think the real deciding factor comes down to something far less merit-based and far more circumstantial. You never expect your first senior-level role to be at an agency this large or this visible (one of the heroes running it is number four on the charts, for crying out loud). You always assume you’ll have to climb a little longer up the ladder, prove yourself a little more, before landing something like this.
But, luckily for you, most people don’t make it very far in the interview process once they meet one of your two bosses—specifically, Bakugou. In fact, most drop out of the process altogether and start looking elsewhere, even if putting Riot Grenade Agency on their résumé would be a shining addition. You’re one of the very few who actually stay long enough to receive an offer at all. At least, that’s what Kirishima tells you.
We’re honestly so lucky someone so capable accepted our job offer, he’d said while touring you around the agency, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Most people kinda ghost us once they meet Bakugou—or they ask for a salary that’s way out of our budget to make up for his…behavior. B-but he’s not so bad once you get to know him! Honest! He’s been my best friend for a long time, so please trust me when I say I know what I’m talking about.
As sweet and likable as Kirishima is, you almost wish you could tell him he’s a liar.
Because Bakugou is definitely just as bad a client to work with once you get to know him. A client that is not going to deter you, of course—but a bad client all the same. It’s month five of working here, and you don’t need to know him any better than you do right now to know that your job will never get any easier than it is. And that’s to say that it is seldom easy.
But, if there is one thing you’ve learned while working here, it’s that pushing back and fighting Bakugou only makes him take you more seriously. It’s…an odd dynamic, you think—bickering and arguing with your boss of all people all the time. He always pushes your buttons just right—but you push them right back. It’s the only way you find you can get him to cooperate. And you will get him to cooperate—you are most qualified to do your job well.
“Alright,” he groans, still pissy and irritated (like always) as he looks at you with a resigned look, “what, you want me to apologize on Twitter or some shit?”
“Nope,” you shake your head, “we’re doing something else.”
He eyes you warily, like he already knows he’s not going to like it. “The hell do you mean we?”
“Well, you,” you correct, not missing a beat. “Actually, you and Kirishima. You’re going to do an Instagram live for your fans.”
He blinks. Once. Twice. A third time. Then, “…What.”
“Instagram live,” you repeat, like you’re explaining something painfully obvious to a young child. “At the gym, today. You’ll work out, talk a little to the camera—just keep it casual. I think we need to let people see you as a regular person outside of this disaster that Dynamight—” you lift your phone slightly and gesture at the paused video “—has caused. And if all else fails, your fangirls will see your muscles and at least thirst over you, so either way, we win.”
“Fuck no,” he says immediately. “I don’t want to be thirsted over.”
You don’t even blink. “Well, that’s too bad. It’s already scheduled.”
His eyes narrow into dangerous slits. “Like hell it is.”
“It is,” you retort calmly. “Kirishima’s already on board. He cleared his schedule for this, so you won’t be backing out.”
“Of course he did,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuckin’ Shitty-Hair would agree to anything.”
“Yes,” you nod in relief at the simple thought of Kirishima, “and thank god for that, because you are blessed to have him as your business partner. He’s going to do absolute wonders for your PR if you stop fighting me for five minutes and let me do my job.”
“I’m not doing some stupid shit on live so a bunch of extras can spam comments,” he snaps.
“You are,” you counter, just as agitated. He pauses at your own attitude. (Only Bakugou Katsuki would be a boss that you could speak to this way and get away with it—he needs it, if anything. It’s the only way things get through that thick skull of his.) “Because right now, those ‘extras’ are the ones deciding whether you’re a likable person or not. And at the moment…” You glance down at the paused screen of his angry face, “...It’s not looking great for you.”
He clicks his tongue, jaw tightening. “I don’t give a shit what they think.”
“You might not,” you say. “But your sponsors for your agency do. Your ranking does. And since it’s, like, quite literally my job to make sure you don’t tank all three of those things because you can’t stop calling people idiots on camera, you’re going live. And you’re going to give people a reason to find something likable in you on live. Unless you have a better idea, which then, I’d love to hear it—and no, a half-assed Twitter apology won’t cut it. An apology from you is hardly an apology at all, anyway.”
He glares at you as he opens his mouth to argue, but…for once, he can’t seem to come up with anything. You give him a semi-smug look for just a brief second.
“Just thirty minutes,” you reassure. “You don’t even have to be nice. Just…don’t be actively hostile, okay? Kirishima will handle the rest.”
“Fuck…fine,” he groans, then cuts himself off with a frustrated exhale. “This is so stupid.”
“Well,” you shrug. “You did this to yourself.”
He supplies you with a hard scowl, shoulders tense. “If this turns into some cringey shit, I’m gonna end it,” he rubs a hand over his face.
“No, you won’t,” you say firmly.
His head snaps back toward you as his hand drops. “Like hell I won’t—”
“You won’t,” you repeat, already turning back to your desk like the conversation is over, resuming reading through emails, “because I’ll be watching, and if you so much as hover your finger over the end button before the thirty minutes are up, I will personally make sure your next few brand deals and interviews are a living nightmare.”
“You’re the most annoying woman I’ve ever met,” he mutters. “A fuckin’ hellcat.”
“I know I am. And you’re going on live in two hours,” you respond instantly, not even looking at him as you start typing on your keyboard.
—
@ Dynamight is live.
When you get the notification that Bakugou is live, two hours later—exactly on time, to your surprise—you’re watching it from your office. Your phone is propped up against your computer in front of you, the live pulled up on your screen while you try to watch and do some work at the same time. The comments flood in fast enough that they blur if you look too long.
You’d expected to be greeted by a grumpy, agitated Bakugou on the screen, causing more chaos. Instead, the screen opens on Kirishima’s face, too close to the camera, with a bright, charming grin as his sharp canines flash you.
“Okay, okay, it’s on!” he beams, pushing the phone back so it stays in place steadily. The gym comes into view behind him, the weights, mats, all of their equipment—and then the phone falls forward with a thud, and the screen goes black. “Oops,” comes Kirishima’s soft mumble.
You giggle. If only Bakugou were naturally this easy to be fond of, it would make your life so much easier.
LMAOOOOO
omfg his little oops??? so adorable
HE IS SOOOO CUTIE
Oh my god I love him
MY MANNNNNN CANNOT BE THIS ADORABLE
You read the comments as fast as you can while Kirishima adjusts the phone back in place again. As soon as he’s back in frame, you look off to the side—and there is Bakugou. Arms crossed in a black tank top, shaking his head at Kirishima. He looks like he’d rather die than participate in this voluntarily, but you don’t care as long as he dies after he does it.
Your eyes flick to the viewer count. Climbing fast. Good, you think, fantastic.
“What’s up, guys!” Kirishima waves at the camera like it’s a FaceTime call with friends. “I know we’ve never done something like this before, but I think this could be a fun new thing to do from time to time. Katsuki and I are just training today—nothing crazy. Thought we’d hop on for a bit.”
The comments immediately explode.
IS THIS REAL?? THEY’RE REALLY LIVE???
did he just call him katsuki? that is SO cute
KIRISHIMA HIIIIIII I WANNA BE UR GF
WHY IS DYNAMIGHT JUST STANDING THERE LIKE THAT
IS THIS GONNA BE A REGULAR THING???? PLEASE LORD SAY YES
You snort as you read the comments and lean back slightly, watching carefully as Kirishima turns the phone a little toward Bakugou. “Say hi, man!”
Bakugou just huffs. “They can fucking see me, can’t they?”
You close your eyes for a second. Here we go, you think tiredly. Bakugou is going to ruin this before it even begins. You’re going to have to think of a plan B. You’re running out of plans. But Kirishima just laughs, like it’s the easiest thing in the world when faced with Bakugou’s temperament. “That’s his way of saying hi.”
You open your eyes, relieved as you read the incoming comments.
LMAO NOT HIM TRANSLATING FOR DYNAMIGHT
red riot is so done with him i bet lollll
Dear god someone get me in that room with them now
I can take both of them. And not in a fight
“Alright,” Kirishima says, clapping his hands once. “Let’s work out! You always start a workout with warm-ups! Nothing intense, just get your body ready.” He sets the phone down at an angle that catches both of them. “Start simple,” he continues, doing a few forward lunges, “like this. It’s just waking your joints up.”
Bakugou clicks his tongue immediately, rolling his eyes as he brings his knees to his chest while he does his own stretches. “You’re making it sound like a damn kindergarten class. Gonna talk them through nap time too?”
OHHHH HE CAN TALK ME THROUGH IT ALRIGHT
by the time we’re done, a nap is what we’re gonna need >:)
OH MY GOD THOSE CALVES
Kirishima laughs good-naturedly. “Well, some people skip this step and then complain they’re sore. So just in case.”
“Tch.” But Bakugou steps forward anyway, to your surprise, before he says, “You idiots skipping warm-ups are just asking for injuries.”
Kirishima smiles at the camera with a wink. “That’s his version of asking you not to get injured over a simple mistake. He’s worried about you all.”
Bakugou glares at him. “Am not! And don’t narrate me.”
“How else will they understand you?” Kirishima snorts.
they’re actually so funny together
HE’S WORRIED ABOUT ME GETTING INJURED <3
Yoooo why isn’t he yelling?? i was expecting yelling
Kirishima shifts them into something simple. “Okay, next—some push-ups. C’mon, show them how to do some push-ups, man.”
Bakugou stares at him for a short moment, sighing like he’s annoyed at the concept of doing push-ups—an exercise he does every single day, no less, you think with a scoff—before dropping down next to Kirishima to join him.
AHHH WE GET TO WATCH THEM DO PUSH UPSSSS
Those BICEPS
i bet those arms would look good holding our baby. let’s have a baby <3
“Don’t flare your elbows like an idiot,” Bakugou says flatly. “Keep them tight or your shoulders are gonna hate you later.”
Kirishima laughs mid-rep. “See? He cares.”
“I don’t care,” Bakugou snaps immediately.
“Aw, but you just gave them advice! So sweet!”
“I gave instructions, you moron.”
“Because you care!”
“Tch—would you shut up, you shitty-haired idiot?”
“C’mon, man, my hair is cool! Right, guys?”
It’s cute, you think—the bickering. You yourself don’t see this side of Bakugou, let alone his fans (that you’re still shocked even exist). In fact, you don’t see any side of him other than that grouchy one that hates to see you coming into his office with more news on what brand deals and photoshoots and interviews he needs to do for the week. The least irritated you’ve ever seen him is when he’s serious about something at the agency, and even then, he’s exactly that—serious and all business.
You’ve…never actually seen Bakugou be casual, never seen him do something simple like work out in a tank top as he bickers with his best friend. Nor have you seen him crack a small smile as he snorts at something stupid Kirishima says. Nor have you seen him grunt as he switches from doing push-ups to hip thrusts in a gym while he sweats a little—
Stop, you hiss to yourself in your mind. This is your boss. You’re no better than those shameless fangirls. But—you will admit, you’re more than a little thrilled as he decides to do them for the sake of PR. The comments are, as you expected, just as ecstatic to watch him.
CRUSH ME WITH THOSE THIGHS BABEEEE
oh my god look at the veins on his arms
FUCKKKKK SOMEONE TELL ME HOW MUCH WEIGHT HE’S DOING I NEED TO KNOW IF THAT’S HEAVIER THAN ME
Those weights should be ME bro
Before you know it, the thirty minutes are up, and Bakugou is grabbing the phone as his sweaty face comes into frame up close. You pretend not to notice the way his hair clings to his flushed face or the way he’s breathing a little labored as he says gruffly, “Kay. That’s it for now—we gotta finish up and get to patrol so—hey! Why the fuck are you weirdos talking about my veins?” he snaps.
From the side, Kirishima calls, “Girls like that, bro!”
“I don’t give a—” he luckily catches himself mid-sentence, cuts himself off, and sighs, giving the screen a tired look. “You people need to stop being weird. Goodbye.”
Live Video Ended.
Bakugou is no longer on the screen, but you still stare at it for a second longer, sitting there as you remember the way his arms flexed and his hips moved while he thrusted those barbells. The image is still fresh in your mind. Then, as if waking up from a trance, you blink and shake your head, inhaling sharply.
“Okay,” you murmur to yourself. “This was good. That went well—better than expected.”
Suddenly, your phone lights up with a message.
TODAY 5:34 PM
Bakugou: did you watch the whole thing
You: Sure did. Had to make sure you didn’t slack off
You: You did good though! I think you deserve to enjoy your weekend for this great work
Bakugou: wtv. i just did what u said
Bakugou: i’m not doing that again btw. they keep saying weird shit in the comments
You: Well…
You: They loved it so you’re gonna be doing more of this for your image I fear
You: I’m sure you’ll get used to it :)
Bakugou: u really are so annoying holy fuck
Bakugou: hellcat
You’re smiling at your phone.
It takes you a second to realize it, but when you do, you notice in mortification that you’re fucking smiling at your phone like an idiot. Your boss is a few floors down, working out in the fancy little gym he’s made for himself in his fancy little building that he’s built off of his fancy little paychecks, and you’re smiling as you text him as if…as if what?
As if nothing, you tell yourself. You can smile at your phone when your boss is being pleasant. Pleasant people smile at each other when they talk—although you doubt Bakugou ever does any smiling ever when he texts you, but that’s more of a Bakugou-specific thing. He never smiles.
This is nothing. It will always be nothing. Bakugou is rough and harsh and uninterested in everyone around him, and he’s leagues beyond you in a world you could never hope to be a part of. You’re quirkless, for crying out loud. He’d never take you seriously past the media advice you give him for the sake of a paycheck and the sake of his public image, and that’s about it. A few hip thrusts and one nice, pleasant thirty minutes of watching him be himself outside of the hero world is not going to change the fact that he is your hellish client who signs your checks.
And then you pause—why are you thinking so heavily on this? Why are you even thinking about him like that? It’s not like one thirty-minute session of watching him be a little more carefree and a little less cranky could make you suddenly see him as anything other than that crabby blonde who can make things explode for a living—right?
Right, you decide. You are immune to petty crushes because of shallow things like thighs and muscles, and you are especially immune to crushes on your boss. Especially when your boss is fucking Bakugou Katsuki, who yells at things whether they breathe or they don’t.
You are immune, you tell yourself. Very, very immune.
────────────────────────
Despite your…conflicting feelings (that you’ve definitely shoved aside) about the workout live, it turns out to be one of your finer ideas.
Bakugou continues to show up trending in the media quite often after that—and, to your prideful pleasure, it’s instead for positive things. Well…if you consider thirsty edits of him on the internet a positive thing, that is. Which, when compared to the other option of him chewing a reporter out, you do. In fact, you like to think that you are, in your humble opinion, maybe even deserving of a hefty raise and perhaps, if you’re lucky, a thank you.
But you’re realistic. You take the positive attention he’s getting as a win, and don’t concern yourself with hoping for the thank you that you know is not coming. He’s definitely aware that your idea was fabulous, though, and that satisfaction is enough to keep you at peace (and rather smug, too).
You spend the better half of your weekend surfing the web after typing his name into the search bar of Twitter and TikTok, and then another portion of it going down an unexpected rabbit hole of Bakugou x Reader fanfiction that his stans on Reddit swear left and right are the AO3 must-reads. (You’re not entirely sure how you stumbled across this rabbit hole, but you are not above admitting you’ve discovered that some people evidently produce the most gut-wrenching and life-altering literature for free, and it almost feels unfair to read it without compensating them. Never mind that it’s literature about your boss and his cock and how he uses it—that’s unimportant.)
By Monday morning, he’s in your office bright and early, begrudgingly starting his day by going over the events you have planned for the week so he can work his schedule around them—or rather, his assistant can. If there’s one person who must have a harder job than you in this agency, it must be his personal assistant.
“Your following went up a great amount after that live, by the way,” you tell him once you’re done going over everything.
“Like I care,” he grunts, “just means more spam in my comments.”
“You know, I have to say. It’s a miracle your fangirls like you so much,” you respond with a snort. “You’d think that with your attitude, people would find you unfuckable. But there’s actually a very impressive selection of x-reader fanfics for you.”
“Hah?” He looks at you, bewildered as he pauses from walking out of your door. “What the fuck is that?”
“Fan-written fiction?” You explain to him with a straight face, lifting a brow. “But the kind where it’s immersive for the reader, you know? So all the women—and men, too, honestly—who want to fuck you can read creative literature that vividly sets the scene for them.”
He looks horrified—scratch that, he looks absolutely disgusted. Your composure cracks at his face, your lips wobbling as they strain not to tug into a smile, and Bakugou…well, Bakugou is not flattered that people like to fantasize about his stroke game. Not even a little.
“The fuck sort of…you call that shit literature? Huh? Who the fuck is spending their free time writing that sort of bullshit? And it’s about me?”
“Yup,” you nod. Then, like the headache that you strive to be, you pull out your phone and scroll a bit. “Here—this one in particular is very popular. I was skimming through it.”
He does a double-take. “Wait—you read that…that fuckery?”
“I skimmed it—pay attention, I just went over that. And, it’s because I got curious when I came across a Reddit thread after I searched your name. Searching your name online is part of my job,” you snicker. “They were recommending which ones were worth reading in there. This was my personal favorite scene.”
“I don’t need to hear your fuckass favorite—”
You interrupt him as you give him a sickeningly smug look before clearing your throat and starting to read aloud: “Bakugou was generously endowed, and you could feel it. Pressed against your thigh, you could feel the sheer size of him. ‘Oh, Katsuki,’ you gasped, ‘you’re so big, baby.’ He responded with a low chuckle as he said, ‘Yeah, you feel that, princess? Feel how hard my—’”
“Will you shut the fuck up?” he hisses, stomping over and snatching your wrist as he tugs it away so you can no longer read from your phone. His ears are crimson, his face painted with a shade of pure shame you didn’t think was possible on Bakugou Katsuki of all people. But it’s there, and you take great pleasure in it—especially when his voice comes out strained as he says, “Is this even legal? Writing fuckin’—fuck, I don’t know—erotic-ass shit like that about a real person?”
“I assure you, it is,” you nod. “We didn’t even get to the really juicy part. There’s a scene where you and y/n—”
“Who is y/n?” he squints, pure confusion written all over his face.
“It’s like the placeholder name,” you say, waving your hand with a shrug as if that should explain everything. “It stands for ’your name.’ So whoever’s reading can just mentally insert themselves. It’s supposed to make it more immersive.”
Bakugou stares at you like you’ve just personally offended him—maybe even his entire lineage, if anything, with the way he seems so beyond appalled.
“…That makes zero sense,” he scoffs. “They can’t just put in their fucking names? They type out dumb ass placeholders?”
“No, you’re missing the point,” you snort, not bothering to hide how much you’re enjoying yourself at his expense. “They’re writing it for others, not just themselves. You’re like…the fantasy. And everyone who reads it is the main character in their minds.”
“I’m not anybody’s fuckin’ fantasy,” he snaps immediately.
“Oh, you absolutely are,” you grin. “There are thousands of people online who would disagree with you. Passionately.”
“Yeah? Well, they’re all fuckin’ weird,” he mutters, crossing his arms. Then, after a beat, he straightens up as he narrows two accusatory eyes at you. “And you. Why the hell were you reading that in the first place?”
“I told you, I was curious,” you shrug innocently. “I couldn’t really envision anybody wanting to romance you—Kiri, I understand. But you…made no sense, so I wanted to see what people were writing. Or rather, I wanted to see the appeal, if you will.”
You say that simply to be annoying—and it clearly works more than you’d bargained for, because he absolutely bristles at your words, glaring at you like you’re two seconds away from being fired where you sit. You like your job, you do—but this…well, this would almost be worth losing said job. This momentary rush of pure euphoria as you watch his jaw clench and his eyes blaze with thinly veiled agitation, is all you care about right now.
“That’s not romance, you dumbass,” he shoots back. “That’s—” he gestures vaguely, clearly at a loss for words, “—that’s some purely deranged shit.”
You hum, pretending to consider that. “I don’t know…some of it was pretty well-written. The plotlines can get pretty complex and—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
“I’m just saying,” you continue anyway, your grin turning devious, “my only critique would be that your characterization is a bit off in a lot of them. They make you way more of a smooth talker than you actually are.”
His eye actually twitches. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” you shoot him a cheeky, antagonizing look as you shrug innocently, “You would not be this much of a charmer in reality. I don’t even think you could say ’princess’ without sounding like you’re constipated.”
There’s a split second where he just stares at you, and you can see his thoughts written clearly on his face—first processing, then shocked, then offended, and then something else you can’t quite pin down. But you can’t take the time to dwell on it because it’s gone as fast as it came, and he’s giving you a challenging look that screams, you’re on.
“Keep talkin’ like that, Hellcat,” he mutters, grabbing your wrist and tugging you forward as he bends closer and looks you right in the eye, “and I’ll show you exactly how ’out of character’ I can be.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—he is so…attractive when he grins like that. You are going to die on the spot, you think.
To your absolute credit, you manage to blink up at him, your grin unfaltering. “Oh? Like a reenactment?”
He levels you with a small, determined smirk as he says, “If that’s what you wanna call it, princess.”
And oh, does he say that word so smoothly—like a low, sing-song purr that gut punches you for a fleeting moment. But you gather yourself impressively fast, just before he can really be sure his words had any effect on you as you hum, “Well, you’d better get to reading so you know the script.”
With that, he pulls away and strides out of your office, leaving you standing there as still as a statue while you will your heart rate to come down to a humanly normal speed. You try to ignore that weird, tingling feeling at your wrist where his fingertips dug in just a few moments ago, and that absolutely baffling lump in your throat as you swallow thickly.
You’re immune to him, you tell yourself—you are.
—
Twitter: Katsuki Bakugou just made a post
Katsuki Bakugou @ DynamightOfficial · 20m
who the hell is y/n and why are people writing weird ass stories about me. stop that shit immediately
🗨2.5K comments ⇄40K retweets ♡174K likes
top replies:
kacchan addict @ bakugouswife4ever · 10m
HELP??? WHO SNITCHED FESS UP 😭😭😭
🗨128 comments ⇄540 retweets ♡8.2K likes
Katsuki’s Lover @ explosionkink · 8m
“who the hell is y/n” IM CRYINGGGGGGG
🗨64 comments ⇄1.2K retweets ♡15.6K likes
Dynamight Daily @ greatexplosionmudergodupdates · 7m
Waiting for the day he learns about the yaoi too 💀
🗨32 comments ⇄890 retweets ♡12.1K likes
WRITING COMMS OPEN @ katsukisbabie · 6m
not you discovering x reader fanfiction im so frieddddd
🗨12 comments ⇄210 retweets ♡6.7K likes
STEPONMEDEKU @ izookoo · 5m
WAIT CAN SOMEONE SHOW HIM AO3 LMAOOOO
🗨9 comments ⇄480 retweets ♡9.8K likes
ANGRY BLONDE LUVR @ angryblondeconnoisseur · 4m
nah cuz he really said “stop that shit” like we were gonna listen to him 😭
🗨14 comments ⇄650 retweets ♡11.2K likes
Katsuki’s little lamb @ explosiondaddymight · 4m
katsuki can i be your irl y/n please daddy 😍😍😍
🗨6 comments ⇄390 retweets ♡7.5K likes
–
Messages: 1 new unread message
TODAY 7:52 PM
Bakugou: wtf is a yaoi
You: Google is free you know
Bakugou: ya as if i trust this shit to be in my search history
You: Ever heard of incognito mode ??
You: Also don’t forget you and Kiri have a photoshoot tomorrow morning
You: Please don’t be late. I’m serious
Bakugou: 👍
────────────────────────
Today is not the day for Bakugou’s nonsense, especially not so early into the day—so as soon as you find him, you’ll kill him.
Today is your birthday—which, Kirishima so kindly remembered, greeting you with a cup of your go-to coffee order and a bouquet of flowers as soon as he sees you. He’s so sweet, you almost cry on the spot—you’ve never had such a thoughtful boss before. It lifts your spirits about working on your birthday as soon as you walk into the building, where he and Bakugou will be modeling for their ad. Some expensive athletic wear brand you don’t really care for, but a good opportunity to get their names out there more, all the same. An angel like Kirishima, giving you a tight hug and an affectionate head pat as he wishes you happy birthday, is almost enough to keep you in a good mood that distracts you from the fact that Bakugou is apparently still not out and ready for his photos. Almost.
Unfortunately for you, you’re going to have to spend your birthday pissed and exhausted over Bakugou Katsuki. Which is like most other days, of course, but you wanted a break today of all days.
He’s been changing for twenty minutes now—and you think that’s just absurd because he has to take off more clothes than he actually has to put on. The photo shoot scheduled for today is of athletic wear, and he’ll be shirtless for these basketball shorts he’s doing his ad for. It’s pretty fucking simple to put on. But no—he’s taking forever and a year, and the cameraman is getting antsy, and he has his afternoon patrol right after this, and you have a list of emails to answer that’s longer than Bakugou’s history of internet scandals.
They task you to grab him. Kirishima gets too busy with his own shoot to go check, and Bakugou’s assistant stayed back to handle other matters in the office, so it’s just you. Fucking hell.
To fucking hell with this shoot and to fucking hell with your job and above all, to fucking hell with Bakugou. You’ll quit after this stupid photo session. You’ll stay just long enough for your next paycheck, and then you’ll dip—you’ll get a nice, cushy remote job as a social media manager or something and tweet promotional content for a living from your bedroom. Sure, the pay might be cut a bit, but you’re content with being just comfortable; it’s not as though you’re dead set on living like a wealthy, privileged person. Just enough to have a decent apartment on the safe side of town is good enough. Just that much is fine.
That’s right. This is all fine—you’ll make it through this shoot as soon as you find Bakugou (because where the fuck is he?) and then you’ll get yourself an easier job and life will be good.
As soon as you find Bakugou.
“Bakugou—” you go to jiggle the doorknob of his changing room—not with the intention to open it, but just to give it a quick shake and get his attention so he knows you’re on the other side. That’s all it was meant to be. Just a small twist, enough for the handle to rattle against the lock and announce your presence without you actually going in.
How were you supposed to know the door was unlocked? (Because, really, who the fuck goes to change and leaves the door unlocked?)
As soon as you twist the doorknob, expecting it to catch and stop after that tiny movement, it gives way completely instead—and the force of your unsuspecting twist sends it all the way down, the latch slipping free. The door swings open before you can stop it, and your own momentum propels you forward.
You stumble into the room where Bakugou is…half fucking naked.
Any part of him that’s…particularly explicit is covered, thank god—but he’s in nothing but skin-tight, black boxers. He’s shirtless, sockless, fucking everything-less apart from those boxers, bent forward as he’s pulling the basketball shorts he’s modeling over his ankles. He pauses, just as shocked as you, as you burst in.
He looks at you. You look at him. And then you’re looking at each other—and admittedly, your eyes are not really doing you any favors as they scan over his figure. Your eyes are working completely against you. Your eyes are autonomously going against your wishes and throwing you under the bus, and there’s nothing you can do to stop them.
At least, that’s what it feels like, because no amount of self-control seems to be enough to stop fucking staring at his abs.
“O-oh my…” You trail off before turning your head forcefully to the side and looking away as you stutter, “I-I’m sorry I didn’t…you were…I was…a-and…who on Earth doesn’t lock the door when they’re changing?”
“Who the fuck just barges into someone’s changing room is the better question,” he counters gruffly, pulling the shorts easily over his hips as he straightens up. You still refuse to look at him even as you know he’s decent—well, as decent as he can get. His bare chest alone practically feels like you’re seeing him nude, if you’re being honest.
And that should be enough—more than enough—to stop your spiraling mind. It should be.
Because this is your boss, and you should absolutely not have the hots for your boss simply because he’s semi-exposed. Your insufferable, foul-mouthed, temperamental boss who yells at reporters and snaps at fans and makes children cry and argues with you like it’s his full-time job to do all that instead of being a hero. This is not a situation where your brain should be short-circuiting over the fact that he looks—
Oh god. You feel nauseous as you realize he looks good.
You swallow hard, still staring resolutely at the wall like it’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. It’s not even like you haven’t thought he was an attractive man before. You have. Obviously. You’re a functioning adult with eyes, and you can understand when someone is objectively good-looking. And because the universe is fond of jokes, they made Bakugou unfairly attractive—objectively so—while coupling him with that shoddy attitude of his. You’ve certainly acknowledged in your head that he’s rather easy on the eyes; it’s not like this is the first time.
But this is…very different. Because now that you’ve seen him so…exposed, your brain refuses to unsee it. The broad cut of his shoulders. The way his muscles flexed when he straightened, shifting under his skin so tightly. The sharp lines of his torso, all lean strength and definition, like he was carved to be God’s favorite. Even just the brief glimpse of him bent forward, and the way everything moved…
You squeeze your eyes shut for half a second, as if that’ll help keep your mind from getting creative. (It doesn’t.) Now your imagination is filling in the gaps you didn’t let yourself look at. And that’s worse.
You clear your throat, trying to forcibly drag your thoughts back into something normal, something professional, something that doesn’t involve you mentally cataloguing the exact shape of your boss’s abs like you’re committing it to memory for later.
This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.
He’s just…he’s just a guy. A rather annoying, loud, obnoxious, and infuriating guy who, unfortunately, happens to look—
You bite the inside of your cheek.
Don’t finish that thought.
Good—he looks very good.
No! Stop thinking! Think about other things! Other things! Anything!
He looks so fucking hot.
Quit it!
Damn, does he even have to work out? His abs must be genetic.
Your mind is battling back and forth with itself, and distantly, you realize if you don’t say anything soon, you’ll only make things worse for yourself, so you force yourself to turn to him and talk.
“That was an accident,” you say genuinely, “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah?” He gives you a crooked grin, almost like he’s smug about the fact that you’re in this predicament. “You accidentally check people out often, Hellcat?”
Bakugou is not a dense person—that is the most irritating thing about him. You can’t fool him with anything, so you know that he’s caught on to the fact that you’ve stared at his body, and you know that he’s fully aware it’s had at least a small amount of influence on your current state of mind.
Still, you’re stubborn. And you don’t like the idea of him hearing firsthand from you that yes, you took a moment to eye him, and yes, it was quite a satisfying eyeful, so you scoff and give him your best glare. It’s far more weak that you’d prefer.
“I was n-not checking you out,” comes your rather clumsy retort, “I was literally just…shocked and unprepared, and I froze while I was processing what…I was looking at…and…”
“Processing my physique after barging into my changing room,” he snorts. “Surprised we’d see someone without clothes in a changin’ room? You’re even more of an idiot than I thought.”
“I wasn’t trying to barge in,” you snap, and you know you sound too flustered to be taken too seriously. But what can you do? “They sent me to get you. Which, by the way, what’s taking you so fucking long?”
That seems to break him from his momentary fit of amusement as he realizes you’re here to collect him, practically against his will, to do the very thing he has adamantly been against doing since you brought it up. You don’t understand why Bakugou has to insist on making every little thing a difficult matter—standing in front of a camera is the easiest way for him to be likable. He doesn’t even have to talk. And yet, there is always some sort of pushback, no matter what you suggest.
“I have real shit that requires my attention,” he grumbles, “you know—a real fuckin’ job? A job that I don’t know…demands I be a hero instead of standing under hot lights to pose like a half-baked idiot.”
You shoot him a withering glare at his sarcasm. “So you just, what? Sat here for twenty minutes keeping everyone waiting? Wasting their time so you could stand around and think about your real job?”
“No, you damn moron,” he snaps, “I had a phone call! It was fucking important.”
“Oh,” you blink, pausing. “About hero stuff?”
He doesn’t really give you anything apart from an incoherent grunt, but you’ve learned to read him well enough that you understand this is him confirming your hunch. And avoiding it, too. Which only makes you press.
“What happened?” you tilt your head.
Bakugou supplies you with an irritated scowl as he huffs, “As if it’s any of your business.”
“Well, it’s not like I don’t know almost everything about your hero stuff,” you argue, “I’m quite literally your publicist, so I have to make sure I know things so they get out there in a good light and—”
“This isn’t to do with my hero shit,” he groans. “Just keep your nose out of—”
“Did something happen to another hero?” you ask in concern. “Are they asking you for advice or something—oh my god, no. They, like…cannot go to you for advice,” you shake your head. “Is it a friend? What happened, a scandal? I’ll literally help them for free, just please don’t offer them a solution on what to do—you’re the last person anyone should ask for advice on—”
“Would you shut up?” he cuts you off, rubbing his forehead as though you give him a headache. (You think you probably do. And you’re fine with that.) He gives you a mildly betrayed look as he huffs, “And just because I have an attitude here and there doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. I know how to clean up messes—I just hate it when it’s me doing the cleaning shit.”
“Here and there? That’s quite an understatement,” you scoff. “So someone is in a mess? I’m serious, I’ll offer them a free solution this once. They must be in a real pickle if they’re coming to you, of all people.”
“No!” he groans, pinching his nose in agitation, “holy fuck, you are so persistent—no one is in a mess! Okay? I’m getting fucking Deku a fucking support suit with his old quirk so he can be a hero and shit. And people are pitching in to pay for it, so I have to keep track of who’s giving what, and it’s a whole fuckin’ thing.”
You pause.
You remember Deku—or rather, Midoriya is how you remember him. How could you not? It’s hard to think sometimes that Bakugou and his old classmates were in your year—that you roamed the same hallways at the same time as these war veterans before any of you could even so much as legally drink. It’s hard to think that a boy, so young and so promising, would so easily give up his powers for the sake of saving others. But then again, is it really? Is it really that hard to believe something like that? It’s not, is it?
These people—Bakugou, Midoriya, and their peers. They gave up their youth and their innocence so readily, didn’t they? It could have even been their lives and dreams, potentially. They went into it all knowing it was all on the line willingly, of course. You’re not sure why you still ponder on it, why you’re still shocked sometimes. It’s just who they are—why they are so good at their jobs and why things have changed to be the way they are now.
“That’s…” you trail off, voice soft as you look at him carefully, “that’s actually so sweet.”
He gives you a sharp, yet uncomfortable glare. “Why are you acting all shocked like I can’t do nice shit—and don’t look at me like that. I’m just trying to beat that damn nerd so we can settle once and for all that I’m a better hero than him—losing his damn stupid power isn’t stopping me from winning.”
You smile a little at his outburst, shaking your head. Deep down, Bakugou is thoughtful—of course, he is. He’s got to be a pretty fucking thoughtful guy to go rushing into burning buildings and collapsing rubble to save people, that’s a given—but he can be thoughtful in other ways, too. Ways like this that speak so loudly that he cares. That people matter, and they matter to him.
You wonder what it must be like to matter to him. And then you stop. No—you absolutely cannot think about things like that. They’re not for you to wonder.
“Yeah, yeah,” you wave, shoving that weird feeling in your chest down again, “why don’t you prove you’re not a loser some other time? A time where you’re preferably not on the clock and keeping people waiting, maybe?”
He sighs, rolling his eyes before walking past you and leaving his changing room. You follow behind him because you have no other option but to lead him to his awaiting photoshoot. Then, just before he reaches where the photography team is exasperatedly relieved to see him, he turns over his shoulder and says gruffly, “You can take the rest of the day off—you’ll still be paid and stuff. S’just a buncha pictures. Ei and I will be fine. And, uh…happy birthday.”
He walks off, and you stand there in shock at his words…and is that your heart…that’s beating like that?
No, you think resolutely, it’s not. Because you’re immune to him—you’re sure of it.
—
The photoshoot does well. Bakugou and Kirishima are on the cover of a rather popular sports magazine that makes fans go crazy on the internet. There are endless posts on Twitter and Instagram of the same screenshot over and over again, everyone lusting over pro heroes Dynamight and Red Riot.
Kirishima is as charming as ever, flustered in that cute, humble way that would of course be second nature to him as he says, “Wow, Uwabami was right! You really do know how to network your way into some crazy good opportunities! I’ve never had people go so crazy over any brand deal I’ve done! Or been on the cover of something that’s a big deal, either.”
It’s hard to imagine that, even despite having such big names for themselves so early before their careers even launched, Kirishima and Bakugou are still new enough that they are novices in the pro world. Still climbing their way to the same level as others, and still working through things like having big enough names of large-scale companies to advertise them.
“Don’t be fooled. She’s just tryna make us appealing to crazy fangirls who write weird shit about us erotically,” Bakugou snaps, glaring at his screen as he looks at himself.
Kirishima looks at you, rightfully confused. You give him a tired, exasperated look that begs him to just drop it, so he graciously does.
“Well, Bakugou,” you roll your eyes, “your social media engagement has gone up drastically, and you’ve gained a very good number of followers,” you finish, tapping your screen as you scroll through the analytics. “Engagement and brand inquiries are up—this is what I call a success.”
“Hah?” Bakugou scoffs, “A success ’cause a bunch of idiots won’t stop staring?”
“Yes,” you say flatly. “The staring they do is bringing your agency a nice hefty check.”
“That’s stupid.”
“It’s profitable,” you correct. “Most of Kirishima’s fan base are males who find appeal in the fact that his brand is manliness, so I figured we could use that brand to our advantage to appeal to more women, too—everyone loves a good, chivalrous, and handsome guy who will save them. And as for you…well, I guess if nothing else, a good body makes up for the lack of a stellar personality.”
Bakugou absolutely simmers in rage as you say that, about to open his mouth when his agency partner cuts in. Kirishima laughs, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances between the two of you. “I mean…look at the positives, man. People are talking about us everywhere.”
“They’re not talking about anything important like our fucking work,” Bakugou grumbles. “It’s all ‘oh my god look at his abs’—”
“—Which, for the record, are doing wonders for your brand,” you cut in smoothly.
He shoots you a look. “Don’t talk about my abs like they’re a damn marketing strategy.”
“They are a marketing strategy,” you deadpan. “A very effective one, apparently.”
“Oi!” comes his sharp reply, “You—”
“C’mon, Katsuki,” Kirishima grins, “the more good press we have, the more people might want to apply to be your sidekicks! You could really use a few, man. If you’re not going to stop yelling and scaring them off in the interviews, then this might be the only way.”
“I don’t think he understands the concept of good press being a benefit,” you cut in, “maybe we can draw him a diagram to explain it.”
Kirishima stifles a chuckle as Bakugou sends you a warning glare.
“I’m not stupid,” the blonde snaps.
“That’s debatable,” you mutter under your breath.
“Hah? I fuckin’ heard that.”
“Good.”
Kirishima lets out a laugh, stepping in before it escalates further. “Okay, okay—look at this way, we’re not losing anything, so we’re winning, right? That’s what matters. At this rate, we might jump a few places on the hero charts by the time second-semester rankings are out. As long as we stay in the lead ranks for a good while after our debuts and don’t fall too much, we can establish our agency better and get called for serious cases more often. That’s the end goal.” He turns and flashes you an easy grin before adding, “Which, if we reached it, would be thanks to you—you did great with this. You’re the best publicist we’ve ever had!”
“Hellcat is the only publicist we’ve ever had, hair-for-brains,” Bakugou grunts bluntly.
Kirishima asks dumbly, “Hellcat?”
You ignore Bakugou and wave Kirishima off lightly, though there’s a small flicker of satisfaction you don’t quite hide. “Just doing my job.”
“Yeah, but still,” Kirishima insists. “You made things improve for him.” He jerks a thumb toward Bakugou. “That’s not easy.”
Bakugou scowls. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”
Kirishima snorts, giving Bakugou a look. “You know what it means.”
“Tch,” is all the angrier half of the two says.
You shake your head, glancing back down at your phone as more notifications roll in. “Well, regardless, we’re in a decent place right now with Bakugou’s image. I’ve already got a few follow-up ideas lined up—nothing that requires too much effort from you, don’t worry,” you add quickly, glancing at Bakugou before he can protest. With a little luck on your side (and his cooperation, maybe), you think he can stay in the top twenty for the hero chart’s second-semester rankings.
“So I’ll be doing more annoying shit,” he mutters.
“Yes. For job security,” you correct.
“Job security for you, maybe. I don’t need this shit to be good at my job and keep it.”
“Actually, it is for you,” you shoot back, “considering my job only becomes more necessary the more people collectively decide you’re unbearable.”
He scoffs. “I don’t care what they decide. As long as I always win and come out on top, I’m doing my job and savin’ everyone—that’s what they should fuckin’ focus on.”
“Whatever.” You only sigh, giving up on reasoning with someone like Bakugou. As long as he does what you tell him to in the public eye, you can handle his private meltdowns. It’s bearable enough so long as your damage control actually works. Before you can walk off to your office, Kirishima suddenly straightens, like he’s just remembered something.
“Oh—hey,” he says, looking at you. “We’re grabbing drinks tonight with some of our old classmates! You should come along.”
You blink, caught a little off guard. “Oh, um…me?”
“Yeah,” he nods, so easy and warm and charming. You sometimes wonder how it is you haven’t fallen for someone like Kirishima yet. “It’s nothing big, just some of us hanging out to take a breather. You’ve been working with us nonstop—you deserve a break too, y’know? Drinks are on us! Plus, I think Mina really wants to meet you—I tell her about you a lot!”
You hesitate, glancing instinctively toward Bakugou like you might need his permission. You don’t know why. For some reason, it feels like it’s only not intruding if he doesn’t seem to think so. He’s already looking at you as soon as your eyes wander over to him.
“Don’t look at me,” he mutters immediately. “Do whatever the hell you want.”
Kirishima laughs. “Don’t worry about him! Katsuki doesn’t mind. You should come,” he insists with a grin. “It’ll be fun.”
You huff a quiet breath, shaking your head just slightly—but there’s a small, reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “…Okay,” you nod. “But if this turns into me managing your behavior off the clock—”
“It won’t!” Kirishima promises quickly.
Bakugou snorts. “No promises, Hellcat,” he says, almost like a challenge. And for the first time today, he looks just the slightest bit enthused, as if making your life hard is the one thing he has to look forward to.
You sigh. “Fantastic.”
And yet, despite it all, you’re already a little excited. But not because of him, or because you’ll get to see him off the clock. You’re immune to being excited about silly things like that. Very much so.
────────────────────────
Drinks with Bakugou and Kirishima and some of Class A from the Hero Course is…well, it’s something.
These people were in your year. They attended the same school as you and roamed the same halls that you did. You’ve seen them in passing between classes, or during lunch, or at school events. Yet somehow, it still doesn’t feel quite right sitting at a table with them. You’re sitting with Hero Course alumni, after all—and not just any Hero Course alumni, either. Alumni who fought in a war and survived it. And you, despite attending the same institution, despite being the same age, are merely a quirkless woman who graduated from Class I of the Department of Management.
A simple business student who twiddled her thumbs while these people trained to become the next generation of heroes.
It’s pathetic, in a way—they laugh and exchange absurd, outlandish stories about their jobs and the rescues they carry out, brushing them off with so much ease, it makes your head spin. And you listen, swallowing down your shock behind sips of alcohol and trying to hide your awe.
It’s normal to them, you tell yourself. It’s normal in the world they live in, one entirely different from yours.
Even being a publicist for heroes and witnessing aspects of what they deal with firsthand is not enough to prepare you for the sheer casualness with which they discuss their experiences. You listen as they reduce things that sound life-altering to you into mere small talk.
To you, the things you hear from Bakugou and Kirishima are extraordinary—they are unique aspects of your job that feel surreal no matter how many times you hear them. To them, it’s just simply their everyday reality. Another day. Another incident. Another thing to move on from once it’s over. They don’t sit and dwell on the magnitude of these events the way that you do. They don’t linger on the weight of them. They simply live through it all and continue forward as though it is the most natural thing in the world.
And here you are, sitting across from these people, sharing a drink as though you have a place among them at this table.
“Oh my god, by the way,” Pinky—or rather, Mina, as she’s reminded you many times to call her instead—turns to you as she exclaims, “I totally saw that magazine ad you had the boys do. You’re, like, a total networking babe, aren’t you? Ugh, it’s seriously so hard getting big brands to do deals with newer heroes like us. Even if we debut high, we’re just not popular enough yet to pull the numbers and sales they want.”
“Oh, well,” you smile bashfully, “it’s not really much credit I can take, honestly. I worked with Uwabami, and she’s really big in the media sphere, so…I just had a few contacts willing to work with me again because they knew me through her. B-but I really didn’t do much. I think they mostly did it to stay in her good graces more than anything else—”
“Oh, hush,” Mina waves her hand dismissively. “That’s exactly what I mean—you’ve got all the good connections. You should come work for me instead of those two lame little no-goods.”
“Hah?” Bakugou glares. “No-goods? Shut your trap, Raccoon-Eyes, ’cause the only no-good little—”
“C’mon now,” Kirishima laughs, placing a hand on the blonde’s stiff shoulder. “Mina can’t afford our darling publicist anyway. Miss Number Thirty surely can’t match the pay grade of Number Four and Number Sixteen,” he says with a charming sort of smugness. You wonder how he does it—how he manages to sound so proud while still being such a good sport about it. There’s no real bite behind the taunt, and Mina clearly takes it for exactly what it is: friendly banter.
She only giggles, looking just as smug as she counters, “Well, let’s see how high those rankings stay with Blasty over here being a huge grump everywhere he goes. He’s gonna explode his career before he explodes any more villains.”
“I’ll kill you, you pink-faced freak,” Bakugou snaps.
“Well, anyway,” she turns to you earnestly, “if you ever expand into managing multiple clients, you should totally take me in. I might not pay exactly the same as these two losers, but I’m way less damage control and a way better time. Give it some thought, m’kay?”
“Sure,” you nod shyly. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“You can’t have Hellcat,” Bakugou hisses. “You think I’m gonna let you get your slimy fingers on my agency’s employees? I’m not losin’ to you, Pink-Face.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Mina huffs dramatically, looking at you with playful concern. “He must already work you right to the bone, but he calls you insults, too? A sweet little babe like you deserves way better than our angry little Blasty-Boy calling you a hellcat,” she sings with a grin thrown in Bakugou’s direction.
Bakugou practically simmers with irritation—and for the first time that night, you let out a genuinely carefree laugh.
“Well,” you chuckle, “he definitely doesn’t give me any free hours of downtime at the office, that’s for sure.”
He flashes you a bright, toothy grin. Kirishima is so charming. You can’t help but think the same thing over and over and over every time you talk to him. And you talk to him a lot. Every day, for that matter. Sometimes, you wonder if you try to convince yourself that he’s perfect and sweet and exactly the sort of man you should want so that…
…Your eyes drift naturally toward Bakugou.
They always seem to do that. Whenever you think about Kirishima, your mind somehow circles right back to Bakugou instead. You can’t pinpoint why. Why it almost feels subconscious, instinctive—as though thinking about Kirishima is some traitorous act that must immediately be corrected by redirecting your attention back to Bakugou.
And he’s already looking at you. Almost as if he’d been waiting for you to turn toward him. Almost as if he’d been staring the entire time and never looked anywhere else. His dark red eyes narrow slightly, expectant as he waits for your answer to Kirishima’s question.
“Yes,” you breathe, looking directly at Bakugou. Look away, your mind screams. Your body remains perfectly still as you murmur, “I love the agency. It’s not always easy, but…it’s worth the effort.”
Bakugou downs the rest of his drink in one smooth motion, the second the words leave your mouth. And by the time you finally manage to tear your gaze away from him, forcing yourself to focus on anything—anyone—else, you’re met with an even more dangerous look.
Mina is staring at you with something predatory. Devious. Almost too knowing, as if she knows something not even you do.
“Fine, fine,” she exhales theatrically, throwing her hands up. “Have it your way. Your little…partnership is safe from me—but only for now.” Her grin sharpens as she points between Kirishima and Bakugou. “But make sure you treat her right…or you never know. Someone else might come along and show her a good time.”
—
By the time drinks are over, most of the Class A heroes you spent the night with are at least somewhat tipsy.
Kirishima, ever the good-natured guy, is still sober enough to herd Mina and Kaminari into the back of the Uber he called, taking on the (quite difficult-looking, if you’re honest) task of escorting them both home. Sero is particularly wasted, but his assistant is already waiting outside in a car to pick him up.
Which leaves only you and Bakugou.
It’s awkward standing there alone with one of the two men you work under, the cool night’s breeze brushing against your face as you fumble through your purse for your phone. And then—
“Oi,” he huffs, the slightest slur clinging to his words. “You gettin’ an Uber?”
“Y-yeah,” you mumble, looking up at him in mild surprise the moment he speaks.
“We can share one,” he grunts, already pulling his phone out and typing something into it.
“B-but—”
“Jus’ be fuckin’ quiet,” he mutters.
Bakugou’s apartment building isn’t far from yours. You only know that because, in the past, you’ve had to have original copies of contracts mailed directly to his address over weekends so he could physically sign them and send them to sponsors. And admittedly…you’re nosy. You searched up the building afterward out of curiosity. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of place a hero who debuted at number four almost immediately, and became successful enough to open his own agency with his best friend so early into his career, even lives in.
If that makes you a creep, then so be it.
Your curiosity had won out, and well…you come to find that he lives in a very nice building. Exactly the sort of building you’d expect someone like him to live in. It’s on the way to yours, too. And although your own apartment building is far from unimpressive, it certainly doesn’t compare to his, so somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re quietly grateful that his stop will come first.
The Uber arrives shortly, and despite Bakugou always being a seemingly violent and abrasive man, he is, as you have always undeniably known, a good person. His parents have instilled in him the ethics of chivalry because he holds the door open for you, and helps you in with surprisingly gentle hands on your wrist and the small of your back as you struggle to climb into the back of the car. He is still himself, of course, so he doesn’t do it without scoffing a little at your drunken hobbling about, but it hardly holds any real bite.
The car ride is painfully quiet at first.
Not peaceful—never peaceful because the universe would never grant you peace when you are with Bakugou, so the entirety of the beginning of the car ride is charged. Charged with some weird, invisible force that never existed before, but it’s undeniably there. It makes the air feel suffocating for you, almost like you’ll choke on the tension. You try to distract yourself with the city lights that smear across the windows in long streaks of gold and white, but Bakugou sits beside you in the back of this cramped, ridiculously tiny two-back-seater car, and he almost takes up more space than he physically should.
Even slouched slightly back, even half-drunk, he is a presence that is impossible to ignore.
You keep your hands folded in your lap. He keeps one elbow resting near the window, phone in his other hand, as his screen dimly lights his face while he scrolls. The driver hums softly to the radio up in the front. Neither of you says anything, and the car ride is painfully, agonizingly silent.
It could be normal. It could feel like just a regular ride home after a long night out with a coworker. These things happen—these things are normal, everyday occurrences for people. You shouldn’t be an exception.
But you are.
It feels not even the slightest bit normal every time the car takes a turn, and your shoulder brushes his. It feels not even the slightest bit normal when he shifts around and tries to get comfortable with his long legs in the cramped back seat, and his knee grazes yours. It feels not even the slightest bit normal when heat is radiating off of him, and you can smell the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with a distinctly sweet smell that’s uniquely his.
You dare to sneak a glance at him eventually—and he’s already looking at you. Your eyes widen in shock when you see him, equal parts because he’s undoubtedly caught you sneaking a look over at him, and equal parts because he’s not even trying to hide the fact that he’s looking at you.
“You’re breathin’ too loud,” he mutters finally. A rather weak excuse.
“I am not breathing loud,” you whisper back automatically, giving him a small glare.
He’s quiet for a moment—something he never is when you’re bickering with him. Then, almost softly, almost fondly, “Yeah, you are.”
Your breath catches a little at that. You’ve never heard his voice like that and…fuck. It’s doing something odd and beyond your control in your head. The chemistry of your brain feels like it’s being altered, and suddenly all you can think about is him, him, him. His voice. His arm brushing yours. His knee bumping into you. His smell. His warmth radiating off his body.
Him, him, him—Bakugou, Bakugou, Bakugou.
The car hits a red light abruptly—one that the driver seems to be wholly unprepared for, and stops at rather sharply as he hits his brakes a little too late. Your face moves to smash into the seat in front of you, and your reflexes are too dulled by the lingering buzz of alcohol in your system to keep yourself from rushing forward. Bakugou exhales sharply through his nose, and his hands are already reaching forward to you so he can gently cradle your face and keep it from slamming forward. Even drunk, his reflexes seem as sharp as ever, and your brain chemistry seems to alter more.
Him, him, him—Bakugou, Bakugou, Bakugou.
“Oi,” he slurs, “watch it. You’ll break y’re nose, Hellcat.”
Your face turns to look at him, still in his hold. You see him. Him and his dark, hazy eyes. Him and his pink, flushed cheeks. Him and his slightly damp, sweaty hair. And your brain chemistry is altering as you take in the sight of him. All this time, he’s been haunting you with that brash, hardness that is somehow, to you, more charming than the sweet, caring gentleness of someone like Kirishima. All this time, when you see him be this way and that, you’ve shoved down that festering sense of attraction because you were immune.
But your brain has rewired, and your body is no longer the same. You’re not immune anymore. You’re fully out of your mind and body, yet fully in control when you lean forward—and he willingly meets you halfway as soon as he realizes your movement, his senses as lightning fast as ever.
Your lips touch his, and then he kisses you. He’s kissing you, and you’re kissing him back. For a second, you don’t even move—then your hand is on his shirt, fisting the fabric and pulling it toward you with a force that isn’t familiar to your body. You never exert this sort of force for anything, but he somehow rewires your body.
The city outside keeps moving as if nothing has changed at all, but your body has been altered by the very fabric of its being, only registering one thing—him, him, him. Bakugou, Bakugou, Bakugou.
When you finally break apart, it’s only barely, and only because the car has slowed slightly, turning and shifting routes. Your eyes dart to the rear view mirror for a millisecond, meeting the gaze of the driver who is staring at you as you kiss the man beside you, and you fluster as soon as you do, moving to inch apart from Bakugou. But he growls quietly under his breath, hand moving to cup the back of your head and pull you back in, and your senses return to that weird, unfamiliar state that only registers him.
He kisses you, and you kiss him back. And it’s just him, him, him.
You only part a second time because you need to for air. He clicks his tongue, but he complies, watching you as you catch your breath. “Fuck,” he mutters.
Your heart drops for a moment as you wonder if he regrets it—but it doesn’t sound like regret, and you relax just as quickly. As soon as you do, the car slows again. You realize all too fast that this is his stop.
And just like that, it’s over. Him and his lips and his hands and his body against yours. It’s over as Bakugou opens his door before you can even properly process it, getting out of the car to leave and go home and leave you…and then he turns. To you. Looks back at you as he stares expectantly.
There’s a beat where everything stills. The driver doesn’t move, not saying anything. Bakugou doesn’t move, not leaving. The car doesn’t move, not creating distance between you and this man. And then—
“You comin’ or what?” he asks, impatient.
And your answer—lightning fast in a way you never knew was possible for your reflexes, especially so in this hazed form—never fully makes it into the form words. Instead, you’re easily stepping out of the car after him, like it’s that simple. He shuts the car door, barely glances back at the Uber as the car pulls away, and then starts walking without checking if you follow.
And you follow him, of course, you do. You follow him into his fancy building and into the fancy elevator, and the elevator doors barely even have time to close before it starts again almost immediately. Bakugou’s hand is on you first, roughly pulling you in like he hated that there was never any distance in the first place.
You go back to kissing him just as fast as he returns to kissing you.
Your back hits the elevator wall with a soft thud, and you barely register the cool presence of it through your shirt, or the way his warm mouth doesn’t leave yours. It’s messy. Kissing him is messy in a way that makes your head spin—breathless, slightly impatient, all hot breath and the occasional clack of teeth on teeth as you kiss each other with clumsy, drunken fervor. It’s as if neither of you can quite slow down enough to care about anything else, not when your minds are influenced by nothing but alcohol and want.
The elevator moves. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you think that you should stop.
You don’t, though. You don’t want to, not even a little.
When the elevator slows, he doesn’t pull away. When the doors open, neither do you. You should separate, but you don’t. Not fast enough, anyway, because the doors are shutting and Bakugou is cursing under his breath as his hand fumbles quickly and just barely manages to hit the button to open them again. He looks exasperated as he hastily walks towards his floor, grabbing your wrist and tugging you along. As soon as you step onto the floor, he has you pressed against the wall—you have just the quickest second to see that his door is the only door on this level.
Go figure, you think. (What are the chances, you have to wonder, that you would be about to drunkenly fuck your boss in his literal penthouse? You might just consider buying yourself lottery tickets after tonight’s odd stroke of luck.)
But it’s a good thing, in any case—if anyone were to see you like this, there would be no pretending this wasn’t a shameful sight to be caught in. You’re kissing him roughly like you’re two desperate teenagers and not grown adults as you inch toward his door, still stumbling as every few steps turn into another collision, another continuation of stealing breath and swallowing spit and breaking whatever sense of professionalism used to exist between you.
Bakugou doesn’t let go of you once. His hands are roaming over your hips and your waist and gliding up your spine before settling for cupping your face, pressing you into the door at his entrance. You’re laughing against his mouth at one point after you bump into the doorknob and it digs into your back, earning an amused hum from him when you hiss in pain and smack his chest.
Finally, he fishes his pockets for his keys and opens the door with clumsy, impatient movements. He gets the door unlocked without fully parting from your mouth, and even when it opens, neither of you properly stops. You stumble inside together, the door clicking shut behind you, and you are still kissing him when your back meets the wall of his apartment.
You’re finally able to find your voice when his lips pull away from yours to attach to your neck as you whisper, “B-bakugou—”
“Tch,” he scoffs as soon as you say his surname. “Jus’ fuckin’ say Katsuki. S’weird when you use my last name.”
“But—”
“Do it,” he huffs.
Then his mouth is latching to your neck, sucking against a particularly sensitive spot that, of course, he finds easily, and you have no choice but to whimper, “Katsuki,” as your legs wobble.
He likes the sound of that. You can tell as soon as he stills at the sound of his given name on your tongue that it drives him insane, and when he bites down on your neck a little harder in response to it, you think you’ll use his liking to your advantage.
Kissing people and hooking up on occasion aren’t new experiences for you. What is a new experience for you, however, is doing them with your boss, who also happens to be a well-known public figure—an important, well-known public figure, in fact. Part of your mind is chanting over and over that this is not a good idea. That smart, wise people who value their self-preservation and their livelihood don’t do things like this. That if you had an ounce of sanity, you would realize that you’re setting your future, your stability, and possibly your heart, all up for failure.
But the alcohol in your bloodstream is not listening to your brain. It’s picking and choosing the things it wants to listen to—it hears the racing thoughts of, he’s attractive, and chooses to focus on that, rather than the more reasonable thoughts of, he’s also your employer.
When Bakugou moves his lips to slot against yours again, and his hands creep down to your ass to pull you closer, your mind doesn’t think to put a stop to this before it’s too late. Instead, it thinks to send signals to every muscle in your body so that you jump and hook your legs around his waist.
He catches your weight easily. You’d expect nothing less from Japan’s current number four hero. When he quickly strides over to his bedroom, tossing you onto his bed, all you can think about for a moment is the way people would kill to be where you are right now. That the people leaving those thirsty, desperate comments under his posts that you manage would do anything to swap places with you, but they can’t. They can’t because you are here, in his arms, under his body, and lying on his bed.
Sober you would be crippled by the anxiety of trying to decipher whether or not you deserve to be where you are instead of someone else. Drunk you is deeply thrilled to be here, so your hands trail over to his hair, and in a fit of bravery, they tug on his messy, blonde strands. They are softer than they look—you’ve always wondered how they felt. You’re happy to satiate your curiosity. The feeling of you pulling at his hair earns a low, satisfied groan from him as soon as you do.
“Fuck, do that again, Hellcat,” he mutters against your lips, words still a little slurred.
You mumble back, “M’starting to think you’re a masochist. S’this why you always make problems for yourself in public?”
“Maybe I jus’ like makin’ problems for you,” he grins.
And then you tug at his hair again, and his eyes flutter shut as he lets out a quiet grunt, burying his head in the crook of your neck. His lips continue pressing small kisses to your skin—anywhere they can find purchase along your neck and the juncture where it meets your shoulder. You can feel the outline of his cock through his pants—hard, and heavy, and hot. Even through the fabric, you can feel the heat of him as he presses against your core.
Your mind is still a blurry haze, so you don’t know who starts moving first. Somewhere between your wandering fingers in his hair and the slow trail of his lips across your skin, your clothed cunt grinds against the erection in his pants, and suddenly you’re both moving in tandem against each other. The outline of his length drags against your clit, and the friction of him gliding that heat along your core over and over and over again makes your thoughts even less coherent.
All you can think is good, good, good—he feels so fucking good against you, rubbing his cock against you even while you’re both fully clothed.
“Fuck, that’s nice,” he breathes, the words broken apart by labored pants as he rolls his hips against you.
You whine. “M-more, Katsuki,” as you buck your own hips upward, trying to match his pace and feel him against you harder.
It’s a sloppy, desperate mess—him grinding against you while you do your best to move with him, chasing better friction, more pressure, more of everything. He’s big—you can tell even without seeing him. Just from the drag of his cock alone, you can tell the bulge in his pants is impressive. Just like everything else about him. Of course, you think. Of course, everything about him, right down to what’s in his pants, is impressive. You wonder if there’s anything about him that isn’t. But you can’t bring yourself to be too annoyed by it—not when your clit aches for him to press harder against you, to slide faster along your pussy as it drenches your panties and, likely, your dress pants along with them.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet,” he chuckles. “Can tell without even takin’ anything off. Want me that bad?”
“And you’re so fucking hard,” you shoot back, trying to fight the heat rising in your face as you huff, “I can feel that, too. You’re the one who wants me.”
“Yeah,” he hums, leaning in to press hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. He doesn’t even try to deny it, just says, “I do.” Then, his lips brush your skin once more. “Feel that?” He rolls his hips harder against you as he says it, and the heavy, thick heat of him presses into you. You clench around nothing, aching for something to fill the emptiness inside you. “Feel what you do to me?”
“Katsuki, please,” you breathe, panting as your bodies move with increasing desperation, both of you chasing the building pressure between your legs and the tightening coil in your stomachs. “N-need you. Please.”
“Damn it,” he hisses, closing his eyes at the sheer desperation in your voice.
And it’s because you’re so desperate that you fall apart before he does. The pleasure has been building and building and building, and all it takes is one final roll of his hips—one last drag of his cock over your clit—to send you over the edge.
No—to send you plummeting.
Your walls spasm around nothing, fluttering uselessly with nothing to clench around, no matter how badly they need it. The pressure snaps, and pleasure floods through every nerve in your body. You go still beneath it, overcome by the force of it as a broken whine of his name falls from your lips, entirely incoherent.
“That’s it,” he breathes shakily, slowing the rock of his hips so that it still works you through your pleasure, but slows down the orgasm that is creeping up on him, too. “That’s it—you’re so fuckin’ pretty when you cum. Say my name like that again, Hellcat.”
You breathe his name just like that. Katsuki, Katsuki—fuck, Katsuki.
Every ragged cry of it makes his pupils dilate, his gaze fixed on you with pure hunger as he drinks in the sight of your parted lips and glassy eyes while you come undone because of him. When you finally come down from your high, he stills his hips, breathing hard through a clenched jaw as he fights the urge to keep moving. His cock twitches in his pants, and you know—you can tell he was close.
“Why didn’t you—”
“I need to be in you. To fuck you,” he cuts you off, one hand hooking into the waistband of your pants as he looks at you almost pleadingly.
His eyes are wide—a darker shade of crimson than you’ve ever seen them, and yet, somehow filled with awe all at once. As though the sight of your blissed-out face has turned his world upside down in the span of a few fleeting moments.
You nod immediately, whispering, “Yes—please, fuck me.”
That’s all he needs to hear.
He’s stripping you bare before you can think twice—your pants and underwear first, then your shirt tugged over your arms. When only your bra remains, his hands shake ever so slightly as he cups your breasts through the fabric.
“So perfect,” he breathes.
Are you? Is that a line he says easily when he’s bedding someone? Something that slips off his tongue without a second thought? You might have dwelled on it longer if you were sober, but your mind is hopelessly scattered. Instead, it fixates on the fact that Bakugou has just called your tits perfect, and now he’s unclasping your bra to free them.
The second your breasts spill free, your bra is tossed somewhere onto the floor, forgotten.
One breast is instantly in his mouth. His lips latch onto it greedily, tongue circling your pebbled nipple while his teeth graze it just enough to make something tighten low in your stomach. His other hand—large and warm and rough, yet impossibly gentle all the same—cups your other breast, his thumb and forefinger rolling your nipple between them until a whimper slips from your throat.
“Oh,” you breathe, a sharp moan spilling from your lips.
He hums in satisfaction at the sound.
“That...do that again,” you plead.
A low chuckle rumbles out of him as he switches sides, leaving nothing neglected. From where he’s buried against your chest, he watches you with hungry, satisfied eyes, drinking in every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face.
“So fuckin’ pretty,” he grunts as he finally pulls away—but not before pressing a lingering kiss between your breasts. “You’re beautiful, y’know that?”
“And you’re still wearing too many clothes,” you deflect, cheeks burning as you reach for the hem of his shirt and tug.
His grin turns instantly smug. “Yeah? Then do somethin’ about it. Aren’t you always bossin’ me around anyway?” He raises a brow. “What? Too shy now?”
You shoot him the kind of glare you keep reserved exclusively for him before yanking the shirt over his head.
Despite running a large agency that only seems to grow in reputation and prestige with every passing month, Bakugou often shows up to the office in nothing more than a t-shirt and black pants if he’s not wearing his usual hero suit. In his casual attire, if his face weren’t instantly recognizable, you’re fairly certain most people wouldn’t even realize he’s one of the owners on any given day.
He lets you peel the shirt away, revealing the broad expanse of his torso. And those abs.
The sight drags you right back to that day of the magazine shoot—to the embarrassment and thrill that had twisted together in your chest when you’d first seen him so bare. Miles and miles of skin stretched taut over thick, sculpted muscle. That’s what he is: smooth, pale skin wrapped tightly around hard-earned muscle.
Only this time, you can touch him, and you wonder if this is the universe’s belated birthday present to you. As though being denied the chance to touch him on your birthday is somehow being made up for now.
You decide to savor it.
Even through your haze, your fingertips trail slowly and deliberately over his abdomen, watching the muscles flex beneath your touch as his breath catches. A shiver runs through him. For a moment, those dark, lust-heavy eyes follow the path of your fingers across his skin.
Then he decides he wants more than this. More than your hands. More than a few fleeting touches. He wants all of you, and when his tip lines up with your entrance, you know he intends to take it.
Your eyes flutter shut as he slowly inches past your folds, the blunt head of his cock stretching your soaking entrance open to accommodate the sheer girth of him. It’s a tight fit—you feel the faint burn of him splitting you open, but you take him easily enough, your walls slick and welcoming around him. He’s gracious enough to give you a moment to breathe once he’s fully bottomed out, panting above you with his jaw clenched tight as he waits for some sign that you’re ready.
“S’fuckin’ tight,” he rasps. “S’like this pussy was made just for me—fit right in, huh?” You flutter around him at the words, and he lets out a low, gravelly chuckle.
“Stop,” you protest weakly.
He grins, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead as he murmurs in a husky voice, “Guess you’re not all that great at bossin’ me around, huh? Where’d all that feistiness go, huh, Hellcat?”
“Just move already, Baku—”
“Katsuki,” he corrects immediately.
You grab his cheeks and pull him into a long, messy kiss. He returns it instantly, melting into your mouth with a groan that vibrates against your lips. When you finally pull away, he huffs his displeasure, but you cut him off before he can complain.
“Katsuki,” you murmur, breathless. “Please move. I want you to fuck me already.”
And he’s gone.
The second the words leave your mouth, he’s cursing under his breath and grabbing your hands, pinning them above your head as he laces his fingers through yours. His hips draw back from where your bodies meet, his cock nearly pulling free of your heat before he snaps forward again, slamming his hips down and sinking deep into your walls.
The tip presses against a spot inside you that makes your vision go white. A sharp gasp tears from your throat, your back arching beneath him as pleasure crackles through your body. Above you, Katsuki groans—a rough, broken sound—and you can tell the sensation affects him just as much as it does you.
He sets a good pace, roughly rolling his hips and thrusting into you with precision—you’re painfully reminded how athletic he is just by watching the twitch and flex of his muscles as he exerts himself to bully his hard, aching length into your cunt without so much as stuttering his tempo. And you’re so full—so filled to the brim with him and his thick cock and the way the heat of him drags along every inch of your folds. He carves into you, molding your pussy into the shape of him, and you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to make anyone else fit like this.
(You realize that the thought of anyone else in his position now makes you sour—a scary realization, too, so you shove the thought out of your head entirely.)
“God, you take me so well, Hellcat,” he groans, “m’gonna make this pretty cunt cum for me all over again—you can do that, right?”
“Yes,” you slur, “yes, fuck—wanna do it again.”
“That’s a good girl,” he hums, kissing your jaw. “See? You can be so sweet when you’re not tellin’ me what to do. Want you like this all the time.”
“You get off on being yelled at,” you say in between whines as the head of his cock brushes against your sensitive spot over and over, drilling into you and fitting right into the spot you need him to fit. “You like it when I tell you what to do, liar.”
He grins—lets out a dazed, amused little smirk that looks better than any smile you’ve ever seen from him. Something about the flush on his cheeks and the sweat clinging to his forehead when he’s sunken into your cunt makes him all the more ethereal to look at.
“Maybe I do,” he mumbles, “s’not like you’re ever gonna stop bein’ the fucking hellcat that you are. Might as well get used to your shit.”
Like this, when he is fucking into you, desperately chasing the friction of your tight walls clamping around him, you feel like it is possible to belong where he is. Like this, when he kisses you hard and presses his tongue against yours, you feel like it is possible to give him what he deserves, even despite your shortcomings. Like this, when you are under him, and he is looking at you like you are unearthly beautiful, you dare to let yourself believe that you, in this body, as you are, is enough.
You are enough despite the blood in your veins and the codes in your DNA telling you that you have nothing to bring to the table. No flashy quirk, and no useful power that will make you an equal. You are enough just by the eyes that meet his and make the tips of his ears hot, and you are enough just by the fingers that glide along his back and bring goosebumps to his skin. You are enough because you are what he wants, and he does not weigh your worth by the power that does not exist in your bones.
“Shit,” he curses, moaning low and breathy, pulling you out of your scattered thoughts, “shit, m’so fuckin’ close.”
“Me too—m’gonna cum. Cum with me, Katsuki, please.”
One thrust, then two, and then his thumb moves to roll over your clit in harsh circles, and you’re falling apart again. Your first orgasm, you toppled over the edge, falling and falling in a slow descent until you hit the ground. This one, you are crushed by the weight of force instead, feeling your body sink heavily into the mattress as your bones turn to lead. The feeling of euphoria fills every vein and makes your body still, unable to move as you do nothing but lie there and take it.
And when you feel him twitch in your cunt as it flutters around him, you whisper, “N-no, inside—please, inside,” as you feel him about to pull out and leave you empty.
“You sure?” he croaks. “Safe?”
“Yes,” you nod, barely able to move your head. It’s still heavy and incoherent. “Yes, yes—please.”
One more thrust—a sloppy and unrhythmic thrust, at that—and Bakugou is spilling into you. His seed is thick and hot and fills you up in short ropes that paint you white as he twitches inside of you.
He breathes out your name. Not Hellcat. Not some insult he doesn’t mean when he’s annoyed like idiot, or moron. No, he sighs out your name as his body is lost to pleasure, and fuck—it is the most delicate you’ve ever heard your own name sound. He says it like it is a fragile, precious word, saying it like he ought to worship it.
When he comes down from the height of his pleasure, he slumps over your body, sweaty and heavy and yet, so comforting. Skin meets skin, and your heartbeat is pounding in rhythm to his own erratically pumping heart.
“Fuck,” he whispers, kissing your collarbone, “you…you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me dead.”
“I think it’s the other way around,” you wrinkle your nose. “You’re heavy. M’gonna get crushed to death.”
“Shut up,” he snorts.
He rolls off of you, though, and your mind can focus on little else besides the fact that he is warm. So, so warm, and he smells so, so sweet when sweat clings to his skin. You can’t help but drift closer to him the second he settles onto the empty side of the bed, curling against his chest and chasing that familiar warmth, that faint scent of burnt sugar, as you bury your face against his skin.
An arm wraps around you immediately, caging you in the heat that radiates off him. Somewhere between slow, heavy blinks and the fleeting moments before sleep finally claims you, you register sheets being pulled up around you. Soft lips press against your forehead.
“Don’ hog the blanket,” you mumble tiredly.
“Go the fuck to sleep,” he yawns.
You think you roll your eyes. You’re not entirely sure. The only thing you know is that you are sinking into sleep and into him, and you could not claw your way out even if you wanted to.
Chapter 2 will be uploaded on Friday next week!! If you’d like me to tag you please comment and let me know!! Just make sure you indicate you are over 18 somewhere on your account though
Summary: 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
Warnings: Age Gap (Reader in her thirties, Leon around 50) SMUT, MDNI, unprotected sex, P in V, Leon talking you through it, Leon is being a praise king here, mentions of being a good girl ;), oral (female receiving)
A/N: Hello my sweethearts. A moot of mine requested this personally and told me they would love a spicy story with Leon being the readers boss/superior, and tbh this is what came to my mind. It took me a while to complete this, but it already has a special place in my heart. I kinda think Leon is a soft dom here, while still being a gentleman. What do you think? I let you decide! Now, this story is yours and I hope you will enjoy it as much as I do. Much Love, Shell xo
PS: Well, can anyone guess the inspiration behind the fic title again? Hehe it should come as no surprise, lol
Starting a new job in a new city also meant starting with no friends, no family or anything that would remotely give you some sort of safety.
Still, you were more than excited for your new job. You had been offered a position as a junior agent at the DSO through a contact by one of your former colleagues. A friend of a friend of a friend, basically. It seemed that your job as an agent had caused quite a stir after your latest mission, but in a positive way. At least that was what your colleague had told you.
After unpacking the last moving box, you decided you needed to take your mind off of things for a while. Watching TV, reading a book, listening to music- all of that didn’t seem to work. Your thoughts kept drifting to the next work week and your new workplace, the new tasks, and upcoming missions.
You were particularly excited about your new colleagues, especially the new partner you would be assigned to. So far, all you knew was that it would be a senior agent who you would report to.
In the end, you decided to go for a late-night drink and snack at a local bar you had spotted on your way home. It was within walking distance of your small apartment and it seemed nice enough to spend one or two hours there. You didn’t particularly enjoy going out for food and drinks alone, however, you were used to it as an agent. Countless of missions in foreign cities and lonely nights in empty hotel beds had taught you that spending time alone wasn’t even that bad.
When you arrived, it was already packed, which was to be expected on a saturday night. Luckily, you found a spot in the back corner, which seemed fairly quiet. At least quieter than the rest of the bar.
After you had ordered, you began to observe the people in the bar. A habit you’d never been able to completely shake. For the most part, the bar was filled with groups of friends or couples laughing and drinking heartily.
Until your eyes fell on a man playing darts alone. He seemed to be a few years older than you, his dark blonde hair was streaked with a few gray strands, he was well-built, muscular, and on top of that well-dressed. Not in the sense of a business man, more like someone who just knew what suited him. He was extremely good-looking, that much was clear.
You caught yourself glancing over at him every now and then. He seemed so absorbed and focused that he probably wouldn't even notice how often you were staring at him. Well, at least that's what you hoped.
You went back to your food for a few minutes, enjoying the taste of the burger and fries. For bar food, this was better than what you’d expected.
When you looked back at the dartboard, you realized that the handsome stranger was gone. A little disappointed, you scanned the rest of the bar, but he didn't seem to be there anymore.
“Are you looking for someone?” A deep voice behind you startled you. You felt like a schoolchild caught cheating.
Nevertheless, you tried to remain calm and watched as the man circled your table until he stood in front of you. Up close, he looked even better with his grey gruff and his bright eyes.
“No, not really,” you said, playing it cool, a faint grin playing on your lips.
He huffed slightly and glanced at the dartboard and then back at you.
“Oh, really? Because it looked like you were quite.....interested,” he said with a charming smile on his lips. You were sure this man knew how good-looking he was.
"Hmm. I was just thinking of a few tips I could give you. Your last throw looked a little weak," you teased. But that wasn't even true. From where you were sitting, you hadn't really seen how well he had thrown. You just didn't want to let him know that you’d been busy admiring his handsome face and his toned form. You didn't want to give him that satisfaction just yet.
He raised his eyebrow in surprise and laughed briefly.
“Weak? And you think you can do better?” he asked, eyeing you intently while his eyes wandered across your face.
“I think so, yes,” you said confidently, whereupon he just shook his head and grinned.
“Well, then prove it,” he said, pointing to the dartboard. “If you're going to talk big,” he added, winking at you once. You felt a warm flutter in your stomach, a feeling you hadn't felt for quite a while.
You shrugged and finally followed him toward the dartboard. You weren't too bad at it and had played a few times before. Besides, you liked how people often underestimated you, only for them to discover that you knew what you were doing.
“I'm Leon, by the way,” he said on the way over to the dartboard. You introduced yourself to him as well and watched as he handed you the three darts.
“Casual game or do you want to make a bet?” he asked with a mischievous grin. “Only if you aren’t too scared,” he added.
“Oh please,” you said, taking the three darts as you positioned yourself in front of the board.
“Great. Okay…how about that. One round with throwing three darts each. The one with the highest score wins,” he explained, as he toyed with one of the darts in his hand. You weren’t sure why this man was making you nervous while doing the most mundane things.
“Sounds good to me,” you nodded. “And what does the winner get?”
Leon smiled. “You get to choose”
“Hm. How about the winner gets a free drink from the other?” You asked. That seemed to be the most harmless option, plus you would get to spend a little more time with him, which you definitely wouldn’t mind.
“Deal. Ladies first,” he said with a small smile, gesturing toward the board and leaning himself against the wall, watching you.
The first throw you did was a bullseye, a decent throw. Leon nodded approvingly, his arms were crossed in front of his chest now.
Now why exactly were you nervous, trying to impress a complete stranger?
Your next throw was a triple twenty. The highest scoring segment on the board. You smiled as you aimed for the last throw, landing a twenty.
“Not bad at all. 130 points,” Leon remarked as he walked over to you. “I’m glad. I was afraid you were all talk,” he added with a wink, his hand brushing yours when reaching for his set of darts.
“Well, what can I say. I’ve got a few surprises up my sleeve,” you teased and sat yourself down on the bar stool that was standing behind you. From there you had a perfect view. And you weren’t thinking about the dartboard.
In reality you were ogling at him and using the chance to admire his features from a much closer distance.
“Oh I’m sure of that,” he smiled. He got into position and aimed for his first throw. If you were completely honest, you weren’t even concentrating on the throw itself. The way his shirt clung to his biceps, growing even tighter, depending on how he was holding the dart, was enough to make your mouth water.
After completing his set – with an eighteen, triple eighteen and triple twenty – he smiled somewhat triumphantly, but in the most charming way.
“132 points. You won,” you nodded, accepting your defeat with a smile.
“Seems like this time, my last throw wasn’t so weak,” he winked, quoting your words from earlier.
“Yeah, my tips seemed to work,” you shot back, grinning at him. “So? What’s your drink of choice?”
He laughed at your teasing remark, watching you as you hopped off the bar stool.
“A good old Whiskey,” he stated, following you back to the small booths with the tables. His hand ghosted over the small of your back. Not touching you directly, of course, more like an innocent gesture to guide you back to the quiet corner. You knew this was probably not considered flirting, but somehow you kind of hoped this was more than just a friendly game between strangers.
“So….,” he began after you both got comfortable and ordered your drinks. “I’ve never seen you here before”
His body was facing towards you, one arm lazily resting on the armrest. Whenever one of you moved, your knees would faintly brush against the other, sending electricity through your whole body.
“I moved here recently,” you answered. “I was thinking I could check out some local spots. The bar seemed nice enough”
He nodded, eyeing you intently as if he could see right through you. And maybe he did.
“What about you? Are you a regular here?” you asked.
“From time to time. I just had a week off. Guess I wanted to enjoy one last relaxing evening before I get back to work tomorrow,” he explained, a faint smile playing on the corner of his lips.
“Mhm, makes sense. What do you do for work?” you asked interested, reaching for your drink to take another sip.
“Ah, you know. Just saving the world and stuff,” he quipped.
You rolled your eyes half-jokingly at his mysterious words. He was probably just another officer worker playing cool, at least that’s what you thought.
“What about you?” he asked.
“I work….with people” you retorted in the same mysterious way. “I start my new job here soon”
You obviously couldn’t just outright tell him: Well, I’m gonna start working as a junior agent at the DSO.
He nodded, eyeing you intensely and smiling at your remarks.
“Then I hope you will like your new job. Maybe I’ll see you here from time to time,” he remarked, holding the drink in his hand.
You could feel your heartbeat rise just a little. You didn’t really know him, of course, but he was charming and yes maybe you would actually like to get to know him better.
“Yes. We could play a few more rounds,” you smiled.
“Maybe I’ll even let you win,” Leon grinned.
“Oh? Just like I did to you today?” You shot back, causing you both to laugh.
It felt almost natural. Not forced, not awkward. Just a small, charming, exciting kind of flirt.
„So,“ Leon began as he handed you the second drink. „Tell me, did you move here by yourself?“ He asked. It was a normal question and yet it ignited something in you. Something between nervousness and anticipation. It could have been an attempt to do small talk but Leon didn’t strike you as someone who does a lot of small talk. He actually wanted to know if you were single or taken.
You looked down at your drink. „Yeah. Just me. My ex broke up with me before I moved here, to be honest,” you admitted, laughing dryly. You weren’t really sad about it, the relationship was bound to end.
“Hm, sounds familiar,” Leon mumbled, his lips slightly curved.
You looked up again.
“This happened a long time ago but before I started my first job, I moved cities and my girlfriend broke up with me as well,” he explained upon seeing your surprised face.
“I see,” you nodded, unsure of what else to say.
“Well…. to us. And to leaving the past behind,” you smiled, rising your glass a little.
“Cheers,” he grinned, clinking your glasses together.
And that’s how the rest of the evening went on. You continued talking about harmless things like hobbies, interests and random things like favorite food. In between, you kept teasing each other every now and then.
He insisted that the burger you got was the worst item on the menu you could have ordered.
“This bar is great with drinks but I wouldn’t come here for the food,” he said, his gaze fixed on you with a hint of mischief playing in it.
“I thought the burger was good,” you said, shrugging your shoulders.
“Then you clearly need to upgrade your taste buds,” he grinned.
“What are you? A food critic?” You huffed at his smug expression.
“Yeah, you could call it that”
“You know what I think?” you said somewhat provokingly, leaning yourself just a tiny little bit closer to him.
He raised his eyebrows, his lips slightly curved as he watched the change in your demeanor.
“Now you got me curious”
“I think you’re someone who brags about his exquisite taste in food, literature and music, while he secretely enjoys listen to mediocre rock music with cheesy lyrics and going to the cheapest fast-food spots on his way home,” you smiled.
He took another sip of his whiskey, letting your words linger in the air, the smug expression never leaving his face. You weren’t sure if he was actually that confident, or if it was just an act he was doing to pull you off.
“First of all, I only listen to the classics. Can’t go wrong with some Nirvana or Pearl Jam,” he said, setting down his glass. “Secondly, any fast-food burger I had was probably better than this one here,” he continued with a smirk.
You rolled your eyes playfully. “I-“ you started but he didn’t let you finish.
“Now it’s my turn with the assumptions,” he announced, inching a little closer to you. Your knees were now pressed against each other, the faint smell of his cologne filling your nose and clouding your mind.
His eyes dropped to your lips for a split second before they returned to your eyes again.
“I think you’re someone who likes to play unfazed, when in reality you couldn’t take your eyes off of me,” he said, his voice dropping lower with each word.
Your mouth went completely dry, your eyes dropping down to the drink in your hand.
“Yeah you wish,” you mumbled. “I was just focused on the game”
“Liar,” he laughed, finishing his drink. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he winked.
When it finally came time to pay you pulled out your wallet, since you still owed him. However, he simply waved a hand, silently telling you to put it away.
A little confused, you watched as he took care of the bill. The whole thing. Even the food you had ordered earlier.
After the waiter left, thanking him once more for the generous tip, you looked at Leon questioningly.
“But… the bet,” you started awkwardly, a little overwhelmed by the situation since you honestly hadn’t expected that.
He smiled and nodded toward the dartboard you had been standing in front of, just a few minutes ago.
“It’s all good. I’m just glad I had nice company tonight,” he said with a wink. “Besides, it’s your first night here and you had to put up with me. That’s the least I can do,” he added jokingly. This man really seemed to have a weakness for bad jokes.
You smiled. “Thanks, Leon. That wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate it,” you said honestly, which he answered with a small nod.
He helped you into your cardigan, and then the two of you stepped outside together, the cool air greeting you and sending a shiver down your spine.
You couldn’t tell if it was really just from the cool temperatures or the man standing next to you, eyeing you as if he could hear the thoughts that were currently running through your mind.
“Where did you park?” he asked, looking at you.
“I live a few streets from here. I can walk, don’t worry,” you reassured him, pulling your cardigan a littler tighter around you.
“It’s in the middle of the night and you’re shivering. I can see that from a mile away. I won’t let you walk home alone. Let me at least drive you home,” he offered.
When he noticed your hesitation, the smile from his lips faltered and was replaced by something different, something softer.
“If you don’t want to drive with me, I can also just walk you back and give you my jacket,” he continued.
“No, it’s not that I don’t trust you. I….really liked your company too,” you admitted, a shy smile forming on your lips. Your sassy demeanor from earlier was slowly but surely subsiding, the more time you spent with him.
He studied your face, his hand reaching out to gently brush over your clothed arm.
“I let you decide,” he said.
You looked up at him, your heart was racing so fast, you were afraid he might hear it. Damn, why were you even so nervous? You were a perfectly trained agent. A pretty stranger shouldn’t affect you that much.
And yet, something felt different. It was exciting, new and somehow unfamiliar. You had a self-imposed rule: no kissing before the third date. And now you were here, about to kiss a guy you’d met just a few hours ago.
Before you could get further entangled in your worries, you snapped back to the here and now. Your faces were drawn close to each other, so close, that his hot breath brushed against your cheek.
You nodded, barely noticeably but enough for him to see. His hand, which had been on your arm just a moment ago, had now moved up to your cheek. Before either of you could voice any concerns, it already happened.
He kissed you, tenderly at first. Your lips moved against each other as if they had done so a thousand times before. The sounds of the city and the traffic seemed to fade away until there was nothing but the two of you.
Your trembling hands clawed at his dark shirt, while his other hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you tightly.
You kissed him back eagerly; the pressure of his lips against yours sent a new wave of electricity through your body. He tasted like a mixture of whiskey and something warm that you couldn’t quite name.
He pulled back just slightly, looking into your eyes again.
“Should I ask you the cliché question and pretend to invite you over for a coffee at my place, or should we skip that part?” He smirked, his voice low but with a subtle tenderness in his tone.
“I think we can skip that part,” you admitted, a nervous chuckle escaping your lips. You had never done something like this before. A one-night stand. What were the rules? Were there any rules? What were you supposed to do? Have sex with him, wake up the next morning and you two would have breakfast together?
No, that would be too intimate.
Maybe he would throw you out. Maybe that was his thing, casually hooking up with women he met at bars.
Those were all perfectly valid reasons to say no but truth was, you wanted him. You wanted him badly.
He smiled as he carefully put his jacket around your shivering shoulders and led you to his car a few feet down the street. You swallowed when you saw what kind of car he drove. It looked expensive and it probably was.
He must have a really well-paying job, you thought to yourself.
As he drove off, you found yourself fidgeting in your seat. Suddenly your clothes seemed to casual, too out of place. You almost laughed at yourself. Were you really worrying about a dress code for a hook-up?
Leon noticed you shuffling around in your seat.
“If you feel uncomfortable, I can just drive you home,” he said gently, glancing at you.
“No, it’s okay. Really,” you nodded, a thankful smile on your lips.
He smiled back before he returned his gaze to the road. The rest of the drive was uneventful. After a few minutes you arrived at an apartment complex. Of course, he lived in a penthouse. After seeing his porsche that really didn’t surprise you anymore.
Nervously, you followed him past the fancy lobby and security, into the elevator that took you up to his penthouse.
Just like his car, it looked impressive. Not flashy, nothing that screamed “I’m rich and I need to show it off” more like “I’m doing good and I’m gonna buy whatever I want”
The furnishing was dark and elegant, while still being cozy. In the living room was a large shelf with various books, next to the couch stood a small vintage bar cart with two bottles of whiskey resting on top.
You didn’t know him that well yet, though his apartment seemed to match him and his personality perfectly. It even smelled like him. Warm and inviting.
You took a few steps forward, looking around and taking in all the surroundings. The room was flooded by the moonlight, making it look more surreal, yet inviting and calming. Everything was bathed in a dark blue hue, while outside the lights from the other skyscrapers were being reflected.
Cautiously Leon approached you, watching you for a moment before helping you out of the jackets.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
You turned around to face him again.
“Yes. It’s….beautiful,” you commented, your voice calmer than before. “The view is impressive,” you continued, glancing back toward the large windows.
“Hm. It really is,” he agrees, his voice dropping lower as his hand found the way to the small of your back. When you looked back at him, you noticed he wasn’t even looking at the windows, he was staring down at you. A small smirk tugged at the corner his lips.
Your cheeks flushed a little. You wanted to retort something bold, saying how cheesy that was, but the words got stuck in your throat.
Without another word, you found your way back to each other. His arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you against the kitchen counter. You gasped as you felt him lift you up on the counter and began kissing your neck. Immediately, you felt the heat return between your legs—that same desire you’d felt earlier.
“Leon,” you gasped, closing your eyes as his hands roamed over your body.
“I like how you say my name,” he grinned, his breath hot against your skin. In an instant his lips were on yours again.
The kisses grew more intense and desperate, less innocent than before. He pushed himself between your already open legs without breaking the kiss, while his grip on your hips tightened.
His strong hands slid under your shirt, feeling your soft skin and brushing against the curve of your breasts. A soft sigh escaped you as he toyed with one of your hardening nipples.
You weren’t sure if it was some kind of premonition or if you simply hadn’t found anything better, but you were grateful to be wearing your sheer bra. That way, you could feel his touch even better.
His eyes roamed over your barely covered breasts as he began groping them and giving each of them attention.
“Let me see ‘em,” he groaned, pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra, letting both fall to the floor. His eyes darkened upon seeing your exposed tits, only being lit by the faint lights shining through his windows.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” he said in an appreciating tone, ready to suck on them, but your hands on his chest stopped him.
“What-“ he asked, looking down at your hands resting on his chest.
“Want to see you too first,” you smiled cheekily, playing with the hem of his tight-fitting shirt.
“So eager to see what you’ve been drooling over all night, hm sweetheart?” he teased, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it next to him.
He looked just like you predicted. Muscular and toned and beefy in all the right places, especially his arms. His abs tensed with every ragged breath. You bit your lip unconciously as your gaze dropped to his hard member straining against his pants. It looked almost painful. You couldn’t help but daydream about how good he would feel inside your mouth or your already throbbing cunt.
A silent satisfaction came over you, reassuring you that he was just as turned on as you were.
As if he was reading your mind, he started opening his belt, never taking his eyes off you.
You were still sitting there, half exposed, legs open, waiting for him.
As soon as he got rid of his pants, he got back between your legs and guided one of your hands toward his still clothed cock.
Immediately you began palming him through his boxers, admiring his impressive size.
“See what you’re doing to me?” he hissed as your hand slipped under his boxers. You began stroking him slowly at first, teasing a little and feeling him twitch with every stroke.
“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “Just like that. J-just like that,” he repeated in a strained voice. Your hands felt heavenly around his cock. The perfect amount of pressure mixed with the warmth of your hands. As you continued stroking him, you made sure to look up at him, giving him an innocent look.
“Mhm. Looking so good with my cock in your hand,” he breathed, his free hand coming to rest on your cheek, caressing your soft skin. “What magical hands you have”
The praises sent another wave of heat and wetness to your core. He might had just unlocked a new kink of yours.
You wanted to feel more of him, free him completely from the rest of his clothes, but instead, he pushed you back gently. You whined as your back hit the cold surface of the kitchen counter behind you.
“I wanna taste you first. Will you let me do this, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down your spine.
“Yes please,” you mumbled, your voice trembling.
Gently he started caressing your breasts, alternating between sucking and kissing them.
“Oh,” you moaned, feeling his tongue playing with your nipples before releasing them with a slight pop.
His lips began wandering lower, kissing his way down your stomach.
Quickly, he helped you out of the rest of your clothes, hooking his fingers through the waistband of your soaked panties and pulling them down with ease.
He licked his lips once he saw your glistening folds.
“So wet for me, already? Just from a few words from me?”
His words only made your clit throb more. This definitely felt more than just casual sex, considering the way he was taking care of you and preparing you.
He teasingly stroked over your folds, spreading your arousal all over your cunt.
“What a good girl you are,” he hummed, his index finger stopping at your clit to play with it, massaging it gently. You groaned, bucking your hips into his hand, desperately trying to feel more of him.
He grinned a little. “Oh? You like being called a good girl?”
Oh yes, yes, yes.
“Stop being such a tease,” you pleaded, hating how needy you sounded.
“Patience,” he mumbled as he withdrew his finger. You whined at the loss of the contact but he was already spreading your legs, bending down to replace his finger with his tongue.
He started by licking a long stripe over your slit, causing a broken moan to escape your lips.
“You taste just as sweet as you sound,” he whispered, continuing to lick and devour you like a man starved. He alternated between kitten licks to your clit and long, intense licks between your folds, causing your legs to shake whenever he increased the pressure.
“Leon-“ You couldn’t think straight, you couldn’t even form coherent words, let alone sentences, anymore.
He groaned, holding your legs open and adjusting his pace whenever he felt you trembling under his touch.
After a few more moments he started pushing two fingers inside you. You were sure you were about to see stars. His fingers felt so good and filling, it was just what you needed.
“So tight, god damn,” you heard him muttering as he kept thrusting his fingers into you, while simulataneously licking and sucking on your clit. Your pleasure was building rapidly, the knot you felt in your lower stomach was already tightening.
“How long has it been?” he whispered against you, pumping his fingers in and out while angling them to meet your sweet spot over and over again.
Your face was contorted in pleasure, your hands holding his head, gripping his hair. “Months…ago,” you admitted, feeling your orgasm approach.
“Mhm. I will make you feel so good. I will take care of you, baby” he hummed between licks, still devouring your pussy like he couldn’t get enough of your taste.
Your back arched off the counter, his words only increasing the pressure you felt between your legs.
“Leon I’m-“ you moaned, chasing your sweet high.
“You’re doing so good for me. Cum on my tongue,” he urged gently, increasing the pace as he felt you clenching around his fingers. After a few more thrusts you couldn’t hold it back anymore and came. It felt like a wave crashing over you, your walls pulsating and throbbing around him.
“That’s it” He praised you a few more times while helping you ride out your orgasm with his fingers. With a smile, he kissed his way back towards your face, gently connecting your lips again.
You eagerly kissed him back as you sat up a little, holding onto his arms for support.
“Please…” you mumbled between kisses.
“Please what?” Leon whispered against your lips, even though he was fully aware what you wanted. “Use your words, hm?”
“Please fuck me Leon,” you begged, sounding way too pathetic.
He chuckled. “What a filthy mouth. I like that,” he mumbled as he gave you another kiss.
You watched as he freed himself from his boxers, revealing his fully erect cock to you. He stroked himself a few times, admiring your bare form in front of him. You could see the first drops of precum glistening at the tip.
“I can’t wait….fuck….to bury myself inside you,” he hissed, giving himself another deep stroke, before he positioned himself between your legs. You wanted him so badly, it was almost unbearable.
You were about to lay back again, hold onto the edges of the counter but he stopped you.
“No, hold onto me while I fuck you,” he insisted with a growl in his voice. That alone could have made you cum again right then and there. God, this man.
You listened and put your arms around his neck, now feeling his hot and clammy skin against yours.
“Good girl,” he praised you again, positioning himself at your entrance and pushing his thick member inside you.
“Fuck-,” he groaned as he buried himself to the hilt. “You feel like heaven, baby. So tight”
Your grip on his biceps tightened. So much, that you were sure it would leave bruises the next day.
He started with a few slow thrusts, stretching you a little and giving you time to adjust to his size.
“Oh god yes….please don’t stop,” you moaned, meething his thrusts and enjoying the feeling of him filling you out completely. The stretch he was giving you was unbelievable.
“I won’t stop,” he groaned, picking up the pace slightly and thrusting into you again and again. You thought him eating you out was the highlight of your evening but no, him inside you was better than anything you could have imagined.
“Did you think I didn’t see you? Watching me? The eyes you were giving me?” he said through gritted teeth as he fucking you against the counter. Harder and deeper.
“God that turned me on. You-“ Another thrust.
“And your eyes. Your innocent smile. Your remarks,” he continued, his fingers wandering between your bodies to toy with your clit again.
You gasped as you heard his words, combined with the sensation of his fingers and his cock pushing into you. It was almost too much. Almost.
“Leon,” you sighed, followed by a broken moan escaping your lips.
“Say it again. Say my name again,” he whispered in your ear as his thrusts grew harder, more intense.
You repeated his name, letting your head fall back. The dark room was filled with the sounds of your skin clapping together, combined with your heavy breathing and moans.
His fingers rubbed tight circles on your clit and you felt yourself clenching around him again. It wouldn’t take long for your second orgasm to wash over you, you were sure of that.
“You’re getting so tight around me…..shit. You’re feeling so good. Come on my cock, sweetheart” he urged, picking up the pace once more.
After a few more thrusts you felt yourself coming again. You cried out, riding the waves of your orgasm out. You felt your walls fluttering around him, clenching tightly, as if you didn’t want to let him go ever again. “Yes….yes….yes Leon,” you sobbed, letting yourself get carried away with the pleasurable wave.
Leon cursed a few times under his breath, his hands behind your back held you in place and gave you support as he kept moving. His thrusts grew erratic. The constractions of your walls sent him over the edge completely. He couldn’t hold back any longer.
He buried his face into your neck as you felt him twitch inside you.
“Fuck yes” A guttural groan escaped his lips as he spilled everything inside you. He fucked you through it, enjoying the fluttering of your walls that only further increased the intensity of his own orgasm. His fingers dug into your flesh, holding you against him as a few lazy thrusts followed.
For a moment there was complete silence. He stayed in you for a while, letting you both catch your breath and come back to your senses again. Your thoughts were still all over the place.You were sure you were completely drunk. Not from the alcohol, but from his cock.
“Everything okay?” he whispered, pulling back a little to study your face.
You nodded, blissed out, trapped in the sweet feeling of the afterglow.
“Let me get you. You did so well,” he whispered, kissing your temple before picking you up from the kitchen counter. You instantly wrapped your arms and legs around him, your arousal probably making a mess on him.
He gently carried you to his bedroom and placed you on his large bed. Still shaky and slightly overwhelmed, you held onto him.
You were unsure of what to do now. This was not regular sex. Not a relationship. So, would he expect you to clean yourself up, get dressed and just go?
He watched you as your eyes wandered around the room, visibly overwhelmed with the situation.
“Hey, look at me,” he said softly and reached for your chin, making you look at him. “You can stay the night. I won’t throw you out,” he chuckled.
“You can also use the shower and I will get you a water. Or whatever you need,” he said.
“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking down as a slight blush crept onto your cheeks.
“I just….you know. Never done something like this before. This one-time thing…” you tried to explain awkwardly.
“Yeah. It’s not something I normally do either,” he winked, stroking your cheek gently. “But I guess I couldn’t resist you,” he continued in a hushed voice, his eyes fixated on your flushed face.
You looked at him again. His eyes looked softer, brighter and somehow so gentle, that it sent bu-
You stopped your thoughts before they could drift into a territory you wouldn’t want them to wander yet. You just met. This was just a hookup, right?
After taking your shower, you tip-toed back into the bedroom. Leon had wordlessly handed you some of his clothes for you to sleep in, before you both got into bed. It still felt weird, but not uncomfortable.
“Thank you,” you said with a smile, your eyes growing heavy from exhausting. The last thing you remembered was him putting the covers over you and kissing your cheek.
The next day you were woken up by the sound of your alarm. You blinked a few times, groggily and half-asleep looking for your phone. You extended your hand, trying to reach your nightstand, when you were met with two arms trying to stop you from further moving.
“Are you trying to attack me?” A low voice chuckled. You gasped, opening your eyes fully and seeing Leon lying next to you, completely unfazed. The memories from last night came flooding back. You weren’t in your bed, this was not your alarm and this was definitely not your apartment. Fuck.
“Oh shit” you cursed, sitting up straight and frantically looking around the room to find your clothes.
“Well good morning to you too,” Leon said sarcastically, watching you, as you stumbled out of the bed like a maniac.
“I’m sorry…shit….I mean. Today is my first day at work! I can’t be late and I definitely can’t go there looking like that,” you said hurriedly, pointing at your messy self.
Leons gaze softened, as he carefully got up and approached you.
“Alright, alright. Take a deep breath. I can drive you home, you get yourself ready and if it’s easier for you, I can just drop you off on my way to my work. I’m sure it’s not far-,” he explained calmly but you didn’t let him finish.
“No!” you said way too loud, way too nervous. “I mean…no thank you,” you repeated.
He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Okay. Seems to be a pretty mysterious job you got yourself there,” he chuckled. If only he knew.
“Let’s just say it’s….classified,” you mumbled, walking over to the living room, where all your clothes were laying scattered around.
“Interesting,” Leon answered as he watched you gathering all your clothes. “Let’s just take a shower, I hop in my clothes and I’ll drop you off at your apartment,” he offered and this time you nodded.
“Thank you, Leon,” you said, a little softer this time.
The drive to your apartment was quiet. No one dared to say anything about last night. It wasn’t awkward. It just seemed like there was nothing left to say, at least for now.
“Alright,” Leon sighed as he stopped in front of your apartment. “There we are. I hope you make it on time and you have a great first day,” he said, looking at you with a warm smile on his lips. You couldn’t deny that you felt something inside. Something warm and fluttering. You didn’t dare to name it, but you were sure the last time you feeling like this, was way back in highschool.
“Thank you. I hope you make it on time too,” you answered thankfully.
“Ah, don’t worry,” he chuckled. “Oh, and let me give you my number. Maybe we can….catch up again? At the bar or at my place?” he offered. Secretely, you hoped he meant more than just sex. Even though the sex had been great.
“I’d like that,” you smiled, giving him a slight peck on the cheek before rushing out to your apartment. You waved at him one last time, before he drove off again.
After making yourself ready and putting on something appropriate that didn’t scream walk of shame, you quickly drove off to the DSO building. The parking lot was already packed. You weren’t really late, but later than you originally had planned.
After passing a few cars, you noticed a polished black Porsche in one of the parking lots. You didn’t have time to further stare at it, but it looked exactly like Leons car.
Must have been some form of frequency illusion, where you suddenly started encountering the same things everywhere. At least that’s what you told yourself.
The nice lady at the reception brought you to a secluded meeting room, where you met your supervisor. He was an older man, a little gruff maybe, but very professional.
He started with the formalities, explaining to you how the first few weeks would go, what would be expected of you, and that you would soon be sent on your first mission. With your new partner.
“Speaking of your new partner, he should be here in any minute,” your supervisor said and as if on cue the door opened. You looked to the door, blinking a few times as if you were transported into some kind of alternative reality. The man walking through the door was no other than Leon. Your hookup from last night.
Your mouth went dry, for a moment it felt like your heart stopped beating. No, no, no. This couldn’t be. No. This was just a joke, right? Or better: a nightmare.
Leon stopped for a moment, just looking at you. It looked like he was trying to connect the dots just like you were trying to do. He stepped in, walking over to you with an unreadable expression. He was better at hiding the shock than you were, that’s for sure.
“May I introduce you to your new partner? Senior Agent Leon S. Kennedy,” your supervisor said, gesturing to the man with the piercing blue eyes in front of you.
The same blue eyes you stared into the previous night.
For a few moments there was complete silence. Leon was the first to move by extending his hand to you, followed by a curt nod.
“Leon,” he said in a professional voice.
As if in a trance you returned the handshake, muttering your name while doing so.
Your supervisor looked back and forth between you and Leon, sensing the weird atmosphere you were creating.
“Alright… I leave you guys to get to know each other,” he said, nodding at each of you, before leaving the conference room. Poor man was completely unaware of the fact that you had been fucked against the kitchen counter by your new partner last night. No, worse:your superior. Your senior agent. Heat flooded your cheeks as you replayed the memories in your head.
You couldn’t bring yourself to see him in the eyes right away. Instead, you averted your gaze and looked down.
“Well….” Leon began hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck. “That explains a few things,” he said with dry humour in his voice.
You looked back at him.
“That’s what you meant with saving the world and stuff,” you stated.
“And that’s why you didn’t want me to drop you off at work,” he continued, a faint smile playing on the corner of his lips.
“And that’s your Porsche outside in the parking lot”
You didn’t even know why you were bothering with stating the obvious. Maybe because you still hoped that this was all just a bad joke.
“Correct,” he nodded.
“Oh my god,” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands and putting your elbows on the table in front of you.
“Yeah….that’s exactly what you called me yesterday,” he grinned.
“Leon! Do you think that’s funny?” You asked, looking back up from your hands.
“Guess that’s my way to deal with situations like that,” he laughed dryly, sitting himself beside you. The smile from his lips softened.
“Okay…look. Yesterday we technically weren’t partners. I wasn’t your superior. That means nothing wrong happened,” he explained, trying to stay rational. “But now….it looks a little different,” he continued.
You looked back at him, waiting for his next words.
“From now on, this can’t happen again. The rules are very clear and strict and if we both want to keep our jobs….our relationship needs to stay professional,” he explained. It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.
You nodded. You knew it was the right decision. The logical one. Still, you felt a sting in your heart.
“Yes. Of course. You are right,” you said calmly, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice.
He took a deep breath, trying to rationalize his thoughts, before returning his attention to you.
“On the brighter side: we kind of already know that we’re really good at…teamwork,” he grinned.
You rolled your eyes. “Leon you can’t be serious!”
How was he still pulling out these one-liners?
“Better get used to it, partner,” he winked, standing up and gesturing toward the door. “Now…let me give you a tour”
You took a deep breath. This was going to be one hell of an onboarding process, you thought to yourself, following him out of the room.
Final Note: I hope you enjoyed it! As always, feedback is very much appreciated and means the world to me! No matter if its comments, likes, reblogs. I appreciate the support so much. 💗
My Leon Kennedy masterlist can be found: here
If you want to be tagged in future stories, feel free to reach out to me here or in the comments
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But the steady, three-bang knock on your door had you rising from your spot on the couch, opposite from where he used to sit a year ago while he worked.
He didn’t say anything when you opened the door. He didn’t need to. It was written on his face—the devastation mixed with relief, laced with shock, as if he didn’t expect you to answer. The tension in his jaw melted, rolling down to his shoulders and his hands, his fists relaxing.
The silver band you gave him three years ago sat upon his finger like a beacon, glinting in the porch light you left on every night “just in case…” matching the one hanging from a silver chain around your neck.
His scent fluttered on the breeze toward you, stronger than the one on the blanket you refused to wash because it still smelled of amber and oak, mixed with an undertone of leather.
You took a step back, giving him enough room to slip by and kick his boots off in the foyer. The soft click of the lock sliding home was the only sound that filled the room besides the low murmur of the TV in the adjacent room.
His fingers laced with yours when you held out your hand. Warm and calloused—more so than you remembered—as you walked to your bedroom.
Leon settled on you, his cheek pressed to your chest, fingers drumming lightly on your side in time with your steady heartbeat. He stayed there, taking the comfort he needed.
And you let him.
You knew why he came to you. Why he came back to you.
You are his reason. His person. His will to make it another day.
Your touch is the balm to his chipped soul. Your scent is the one he yearns to breathe in every moment of every day. The gentle lilt of your voice soothes every crack in his carefully crafted armor.
Leon falls asleep as your fingers dance along his scalp, threading through the salt-and-pepper locks, and you stay awake—worried that if your eyes drift shut, it will be the last time you see him.
something about waking up next to leon ‘cause he’s moaning softly in his sleep, dragging you from your restless slumber. his hips are twitching like he’s dreaming about fuckin into you.
so you do the only thing that makes sense. his grunts fill your ears as you lap your tongue over the head of his cock. he wakes with a start when you bottom out, taking him all the way to the back of your throat.
his hands are instantly on you. a hand tangled in your hair while the other cradles your cheek. his already deep voice is an octave deeper as he grunts out a “good- fuuck. good morning, sweetheart.”
I told myself I wasn't going to invest in another multi-chapter fic... but here we are. like, reblog, all the things <3 -midnight
Ch. 1: The Night It Ended 8.7k
they weren’t supposed to survive raccoon city.
but they did.
and now they have to live with it
together.
September 29th, 1998, 1:45 AM.
Raccoon City was a mess.
You weren’t sure how you had managed to survive the hordes of undead that seemed never-ending. Your service armor and pistol, which the RPD had provided you a week before, had become as familiar as an old friend in the last few days.
A breath. You needed to catch your breath.
The captain's office was quiet, except for the occasional groan of a zombie from outside the door, and you were thankful for that. You’d been holed up here for the last twelve hours, having finally made it back to the RDP from your still box-filled apartment.
You never got the chance to unpack before the world went to hell.
The faint pop of a pistol in the hallway made your head snap up.
“Shit,” a low male voice grunted. The door shook as whoever it was tried to open it.
You scrambled to your feet, drawing your pistol from its holster at your side as you sidled up to the door, pressing your shoulder against the wall to the left as your training taught you.
Avoid standing in front of a door, fresh blood. You never know who is on the other side, ready to blow your head off. Your instructor's voice rang through your mind. Hopefully, he wasn’t among the dead.
The door rattled again.
“Who’s there?” You called.
“Hello?” The voice responded. “Is someone in there?”
“ID yourself.”
“Leon. Leon Kennedy.” Another bullet fired down the hallway. “I’m with the RPD!”
Your eyes widened.
You’d known there was supposed to be another rookie starting, but he never showed up for his first day. Shortly after the initial outbreak, you’d been thankful he hadn’t been here. Doomed like everyone else.
Holstering your pistol, you quickly unlocked the door, opening it just enough to grab Leon by the bicep and pull him through, peeking down the hallway.
“How many were behind you?” Your voice was a whisper. Useless since Leon had discharged his weapon moments earlier.
It was Leon’s turn to pull you back. Shutting the door quickly and securing the lock.
“Just the one,” he sighed heavily as he leaned against the door.
Your eyes raked over him. He was tall, muscular, but still lean. The body of a man barely into his twenties, like he was still figuring out how to exist in the world.
Dirty blonde hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat… and something darker you didn’t let yourself name. There was a softness to his features, something untouched. Unmarred by the situation he found himself in.
But it didn’t reach his eyes.
Determination sat there instead, heavy and unyielding, like it had been forced into place too quickly. Like it didn’t quite belong yet.
He assessed you as you did him.
He took a tentative step forward, clearing his throat as he reached out a hand. “Kennedy,” he spoke softly, as if worried you would spook.
“You said that already,” you replied, but took his hand anyway. “Torin.”
His grip was firm, but reassuring. The first human contact you’d had in days.
“You’re the other rookie,” you stated. Leon nodded. “When did you show up?”
Leon flinched, almost imperceptibly. “Late last night. I got a call…” he paused, rubbing the back of his neck, shaking off the sweat that was there. “Told me to stay away. Figured I’d come anyway.”
You shook your head. Spoken like a true rookie cop. You knew that feeling all too well. Knew you would have done the exact same thing if you hadn’t shown up a week early for your report date.
“What the hell happened?” Leon sounded exhausted.
You wished you had a better answer than I don’t know. But the truth was, you didn’t.
One minute, the town had been normal. People heading home from late nights out. Corner stores flipping closed signs over. Sirens fading as the city settled.
Then screaming.
Gunshots in the street.
Disoriented, you’d jolted away. You had grabbed your service gear, throwing it on as quickly as you could, and rushed outside. Determined to get to the scene even though you weren’t on shift that night.
It was your duty to respond to people in danger.
Outside had been chaos. People running through the streets. Screaming.
Cars burned where they’d been abandoned from stray bullets, others from failed attempts to contain whatever this was supposed to be.
You’d grabbed a cop by the arm, demanding to know what you could do.
He told you to run. To save yourself. Said they couldn’t control the riot no matter what they did.
Riot.
You almost scoffed at it now. How naive you’d all been.
The undead had moved fast. By the time orders finally came down from command, it was already too late.
There wasn’t a city left to save.
You’d been told to fall back to the RPD. Wait for extraction. From whom, no one knew. Communications were dead. No way to reach out. No way to beg for help.
Not that it would’ve mattered.
At this point, you weren’t convinced anyone was coming. No… No one was coming to save Raccoon City. All that was left was to fight… or put a gun in your mouth and end it yourself.
The outcome felt the same either way.
You shook your head, pushing the thoughts back down. There was no way to explain any of that. Not now. Not ever.
“We gotta get out of here,” you said.
Leon’s eyebrows pulled together at your refusal to answer, but he didn’t push.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a small leather-bound notebook, flipping a few pages in before handing it to you.
“Got this from a cop down in the security office.” He pointed to a few symbols. Medallions, you realized. “LT said this might be a way out. Under the city into the sewers.”
You paused at the mention of Lieutenant Branagh. You hadn’t been able to make your way back to him since you’d made it to the chief's office. With minimal bullets, you’d been scavenging for resources, coming up empty time and time again.
“Is Branagh…” you broke off.
Leon paused. “He’s not in a good way. But if we can get out, we should be able to get him to the hospital.”
You sucked in a breath and nodded. “Let’s get the hell out of here then.”
Leon reached into his belt and handed you an extra magazine. Ejecting the one in your weapon, you reload it with the new one, racking the slide back to ensure a bullet is in the chamber. He nodded.
“Ready for hell?” He asked with a forced smirk.
You can’t help but smile back. “Let’s do it, rookie.”
The hallway was eerily quiet as you exited, a palm on Leon’s back as you advanced.
“We need to head to the library,” Leon whispered as you approached the end of the hallway. He peeked around the corner. “Clear.”
“It’s locked,” you respond. You’d tried to get into it from the lobby yesterday. The chief's office sounded like a logical place for the key to be, which is how you wound up there.
“Back pocket.”
You crooked an eyebrow. “What?”
“I found the key in the boiler room,” he stated simply. As if anyone would think to look there.
The door to the east wing was halfway down the hallway. You couldn’t see any zombies around Leon’s shoulder.
Patting him softly, he advanced, moving efficiently, hugging the left wall as you went. Basic training kicked in as the distance to safety was closed.
It was quiet as you made your way into the lobby and across the foyer. Eyes scanning every outcropping. Each door.
Branagh was asleep on a sofa, looking worse for wear. You had to get him to a hospital soon, if he had any chance of surviving.
The library lock clicked softly as it disengaged. Four zombies were instantly visible. One currently knelt over a body, feasting on its innards.
“We have to move fast,” Leon said, looking over his shoulder. “I think one of the statues is in that room to the right.”
“We break for it. You get that medallion. I’ll watch our backs.” Orders tumbled out of your mouth. Natural. Flowing. As if you’d done this a thousand times before.
Leon grabbed your hand, making a break for a door to the right that would lead to a small room that connected back to the offices on the west wing of the RPD.
A zombie stirred at the noise, whipping its head towards the sound. Its jaw hung precariously from its skull, drooping and covered in blood.
The door slammed behind you.
Leon moved immediately, rushing to the statue and flipping open the leather-bound book.
“Hold them off!” he called, already turning the dials. Each one clicked into place—too loud in the confined space.
The library doors rattled.
Once.
Again.
Then they burst open.
Two zombies forced their way through, tripping over each other in their rush to reach you.
Breathe in. Aim. Squeeze.
The first shot cracked through the room. The zombie jerked, staggered. You fired again. And again.
It hit the floor with a wet, heavy slap.
The second one came faster. Too fast.
It slammed into you before you could reset your stance, hands clawing at your shoulders, its breath rancid as it lunged for your throat.
A knife was driven into its neck.
The force wrenched it back, a guttural sound tearing from its chest as it stumbled away from you.
You didn’t hesitate.
You raised your gun and fired. Once, twice, three times… until it dropped, twitching, then stilled.
Silence crashed in just as hard as the noise had.
Your breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, your pulse still sprinting as you tried to drag yourself back under control. That had been close. Too close.
Leon was beside you now, chest rising and falling just as hard. His grip tightened slightly on the knife still in his hand as he stared down at the body.
“Thanks,” you rasped.
He nodded; eyes still fixed on the corpse. “Don’t mention it.”
A beat.
“Try not to die on me, okay?”
“I’ll try to pencil that in my calendar,” you said back, your pulse finally settling
For a second, neither of you moved. Then he looked at you.
Truly looked this time. Not the passing glance of one cop to another. Not a look to make sure you were unharmed. This was something steadier. Deeper.
You held his gaze without meaning to. There was no question there. No hesitation. Just a quiet understanding settling between you two.
You were all that either of you had right now. The only other person who would try as hard to get out.
Leon gave you a small nod before breaking the tense moment and glancing back toward the library door.
“Come on,” he said. “We’re getting out of this hellhole.”
What seemed like hours passed before you and Leon stood before the statue in the lobby, all three medallions in hand. Every step getting here had been a carefully executed strategy. Watching each other’s backs, moving in sync without needing to communicate.
When one slipped, the other was there. No pausing. No waiting to see what happened.
Just minutes ago, when Leon had been pinned under one of those things… A mutated corpse that crawled on all fours. Its barbed tongue snapping and wiggling, wanting to feast on anything it could find.
You’d moved without thinking, shoving a flashbang straight into its mouth, covering your eyes as it went off.
The blast had bought Leon just enough time to free himself from under the monster and grab the third medallion from the statue behind a wall you’d blown open with C4.
“Remind me to never get on your bad side.” Leon had joked.
Branagh’s body lay behind you. Cold and limp. A bullet hole through his skull.
The medallions settled into the statue of Lady Justice, each one triggering a heavy shift as the passage to the sewers beneath the RPD opened.
You moved forward, ready to get the hell out of here. Leon caught your arm, pulling you back just enough to step in front of you.
“Let me…” He cut himself off, glancing at you like he knew exactly how this looked. His grip on your arm loosened slightly. “Please,” he said, quieter. “I know you can handle yourself. I just need to make sure.” He inclined his head toward the darkness below.
You studied him for a moment. Then another. A few days ago, you would have argued. Would have pushed past him to prove a point. But there was nothing to prove here.
You didn’t have the fight in you. Couldn’t muster up the energy beyond what you were using to survive.
And if you were being honest with yourself, you’d liked not doing this alone anymore. Leon was a good partner.
Your arm slipped from his grasp. Not pulling away from him, just giving him a silent agreement that he could do this for you.
“Fine,” you said, voice quieter than you meant it to be. Not a single bite hiding behind the word. “Just don’t slow us down.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” he whispered. You fought the blush that tried to tint your cheeks.
The sound of your footsteps echoed off the walls as you descended. You had to shield your eyes from the light that Leon flicked on in an abandoned office.
“What the hell?” The office was plush. A handsome desk sat in the middle with papers strewn across it.
Leon rifled through them. Clearly, finding nothing of use.
“Maybe it isn’t always locked,” he stated simply before turning to the staircase on the right of the room. “Looks like someone has meetings down here. Do the sewers connect something to the RPD?”
You shook your head. “I don’t think so. I know the prison is under us, but usually you have to use the stairs that are blocked off by the chief’s office to get there.”
Leon grunted in response.
“Let’s get moving,” he said, waiting until you placed your hand on his back to move forward. “There’s no telling what we’ll run into down there.”
The stairs turned to metal as you descended. Groaning softly with each step. The temperature plummeted the further you went. The crisp autumn air seeping into the walls.
The sound came first. A low, wet cracking banging against the wall as your feet met a walkway. Leon stilled in front of you, coming up short.
“Do you hear—” The wall exploded. Concrete and metal ripped apart as a massive thing barreled its way through, sending debris in every direction.
“Move!” Leon’s voice was swallowed up by a roar from the creature.
Leon grabbed you, shoving you back just as it lunged for you. You stumbled, catching yourself on the railing as the walkway groaned under the weight.
Whatever this was. It wasn’t human. Not anymore.
“Leon!”
“I’ve got it!” It was a lie. You knew it was. So did he.
You lunged for him, eyes connecting across the devastation.
“No! Stay back!” The walkway gave out. The section beneath Leon’s feet collapsed, dropping him in the darkness below.
“Leon!” You screamed again, your voice pitching. You rushed forward, skidding to the edge, hands catching at the last second on the railing as you looked down. Searching for any sign of him.
He hit the ground hard, rolling, already scrambling to his feet as the monster dropped after him, the ground shaking from the impact.
“Go!” he shouted up at you. “Get out of here!”
“Not happening!”
You were moving. Scanning. Searching. Looking for anything that would help. Ammo. An angle. A shot that would help.
The creature lunged again. Leon fired before dropping behind cover, narrowly missing a swiping limb. The sound echoed through the chamber.
You repositioned to a knee at the edge of the broken walkway, lining up a shot, waiting for an opening…
“Leon, move!”
He ducked just as you fired. The bullet hit, staggering the creature.
“Keep its attention!” you called. “I can hit it from here!”
“I am!”
The creature moved again. Faster and faster. Eating up any valuable space Leon had. Your grip tightened on your weapon. It was too much. Too many angles. Every shot risked hitting Leon.
“Come on… come on!”
Leon didn’t hesitate. He moved as if he’d done this before. A dance of death. He dodged, fired, and closed the distance any chance he could to lodge a knife into the beast. Every move became sharper. Quicker. Doing everything he could to survive.
Your chest tightened. This was the first time you weren’t at his side. The first time you couldn’t cover his blind spot.
“Fuck!” Leon’s yell cut through the noise. The creature roared again and stumbled. Leon didn’t waste the chance. One shot…
The thing collapsed, its massive body flipping over a railing and falling into the darkness. The roar of pain grew farther as it went.
You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. You counted each second.
“Leon?”
No sign of him. No movement.
“Leon!” You tried again.
“I’m good!”
Your eyes snapped to him as he rounded a corner, hand pushed to his side. His breathing deep and ragged.
Relief hit harder than you expected. You let out a sharp breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your grip on the weapon loosening.
“Don’t do that again,” you called down, voice tight.
Leon glanced up at you, that stupid smirk gracing his lips.
“I was gonna say the same to you.”
You looked for a way to get him up. A ladder with yellow paint covering it was pulled up. You kicked it and fell to a knee, watching as he limped toward it.
“Come on. It should hold.”
Leon climbed without argument, climbing steadily despite the obvious exhaustion. You stayed crouched at the top, one hand braced on the railing, the other extended until he reached you.
The second he stepped up, you caught him by the arm. Steadying him more than he needed. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t say anything. And for a moment, neither did you.
Your eyes moved over him quickly. Shoulder. Side. Hands. Checking. Making sure everything was where it should be. He hissed in a sharp breath when you pressed a hand to his tender ribs.
“Turn,” you muttered.
He blinked. “What?”
“Just… do it.”
A brief moment passed, then he turned, letting you check him over without comment. You stepped back once you were satisfied that he was uninjured.
“You’re good,” you said.
“Told you I was,” he said, a little breathless.
It was only then that it hit you. Just how close you’d come to losing your partner. You exhaled sharply, shaking it off before that feeling settled too deeply into your bones.
“Don’t do that again,” you said again, almost inaudible.
Leon exhaled, glancing away for a second before looking back at you. “Yeah… Guess we both have to work on that, don’t we?”
He shifted like he was going to step back… put distance between you. But he stopped. Something in him hesitant to break the spell. Like leaving that space between you felt wrong.
Leon cleared his throat, dragging a hand through his hair, bicep flexing.
“We should keep moving. We gotta figure out what’s going on and how to stop it,” he said.
You nodded. “The fact that we didn’t find anything in the RPD is insane. They should have known something.”
“Maybe we’ll find something down in the garage that can point us in the right direction.”
The climb from the underground passage into the prison was quick, leading to the garage. You rushed to the panel next to the exit and smacked your palm against it.
“You didn’t happen to get a fancy keycard to get out of here on your first day, did you?” Leon asked as he walked up behind you.
You shook your head. Groaning. This was the easiest way out of the RPD without running into the swarm of zombies surrounding the front entrance.
The sounds of heels on concrete ripped your attention from salvation. The clicks of them cut through the distant hum of generators keeping the power on and the drips of water from above.
You and Leon instantly raised your guns and aimed them at the newcomer.
“Don’t move,” you said.
She stepped into view anyway. A brown trench coat was pulled tightly around her, and dark sunglasses settled over her eyes. Not a single hair was out of place as she approached. Like she wasn’t in the middle of a nightmare, presumably fighting for her life as you were.
Your grip tightened around your gun.
“Easy,” she said smoothly, her voice a sultry tune. With one hand up, she reached the other into her coat and flipped open a badge. “Federal agent.”
Leon paused. You didn’t. Your eyes flicked to the badge, then back to her.
“FBI?” Leon asked.
“Ada Wong.” She flipped the badge closed, putting it away. Your gaze stayed locked on her.
“Funny,” you said flatly. “You don’t look like you’ve been fighting for your life.”
Something passed over her face as she glanced toward you and then back to Leon, settling on him. Picking him out as the one who would listen.
“I manage just fine,” she responded with a casual shrug.
Leon lowered his gun slightly. “If you’re FBI, then you know what the hell is going on here.”
Ada removed her sunglasses, holding them gingerly between two fingers. “I might.”
It wasn’t an answer. Not a true one at least. You knew she was hiding something. You stepped a little closer, just enough to stand beside Leon instead of behind him.
“Spill,” you snapped.
Her eyes moved to you once more. Measuring you as if you were something she would squash under her heel.
“You’re looking in the wrong place,” she said simply. “Whatever answers you think you’re going to get about what’s going on, you won’t find down here. Nor will you find a way out without me.”
Leon frowned, lowering his gun completely.
“Do you know where?”
“William Birkin.”
The name didn’t ring a bell.
“Umbrella researcher,” she continued. “He developed the G-Virus and set it loose in Raccoon City.”
“Umbrella is a pharmaceutical facility,” you said.
“And in their free time, they develop bioweapons.”
Silence stretched between the three of you.
Leon’s jaw tightened. “And you’re just here… what… looking for him?”
Ada held his gaze. “Yes.”
You didn’t buy it. Not completely. How was she the only FBI agent around? Why wasn’t there a whole squad of them coming to help the city?
You didn’t voice your suspicions. Not yet. You shifted your stance, angling more toward Leon.
“I guess you’re going to tell us how to find him?”
Ada’s lips curved. “Maybe.” She walked toward you, pulling a lanyard from around her neck with a keycard in it. The panel beeped as she placed it against the reader. The gate began to slowly rise.
You looked at Leon, searching for any hint of distrust in his eyes. He was staring at Ada’s back; his eyes crinkled at the edges.
As if he felt your eyes on him, he looked at you. Resignation flashed behind those pale blue eyes, almost grey from the dim garage lights.
“She’s our only lead right now, Torin,” he said quietly.
“I don’t trust her,” you murmured back.
Leon reached out, gently grabbing your shoulder. The warmth of his hand bled into your too-cold skin, his grip tightening once. Steady. Reassuring.
“I’ve got your back,” he said. “Every step of the way.”
You knew that.
Somewhere settling deeper than logic, you knew that.
It was the promise in the way he looked at you. He didn’t need to say it out loud. You just knew.
Your fingers twitched, the urge to reach for him sudden and sharp. To take some of that calm steadiness into yourself. You didn’t stop yourself.
Your hand lifted, settling over his where it rested on your shoulder. You squeezed once, firm, before stepping out from under his touch. You inhaled deeply and turned toward the ramp leading back into the city.
“Ready?” You asked, stealing one last glance at Leon.
He hadn’t torn his eyes from you yet.
“After you,” he said. “I’ll try to keep up.”
You rolled your eyes before smirking. “Stay confident, rookie. We just might make it out of here alive.”
Leon bumped into you gently as you followed Ada. “You realize you’re also a rookie, right?”
You smirked at him, the first real smile you felt like giving in a long time. “Yeah, but you’re a rookie rookie. I’ve got time on you.”
“Let’s go, you two!” Ada called. “I don’t have time to wait.”
The city was quiet as you emerged to the surface.
It settled like an uneasy fog over you. As if the noise of all the death had become background noise to your life.
The calm of this moment was unfamiliar. No longer what you felt when you thought of Raccoon City and the new beginning it was supposed to offer you. Now it was the place where your faith in humanity had died.
Ada stopped at the edge of a cavern in the ground. Pulled away by the construction happening on this side of Raccoon City.
“We cross there,” she said, pointing to a scaffold to your left. “Service entrance leads to an elevator straight into Umbrella’s facility.”
She was already moving again before either of you could question how she knew that. Leon’s hand brushed the small of your back, guiding you forward as you ascended the ramp, putting you between him and the city behind you.
Like he could shield you from the carnage left behind. Like he’d take the first hit from any threat.
“When we get into NEST,” Ada continued, “you’ll retrieve a sample of the G-Virus.”
She reached into her pocket, pulling out a small device that hummed softly. “We can use it to develop a cure,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “Keep this from spreading any further.”
The warning bells in your head rang louder. “And where exactly will you be?”
“I need to find Birkin and his wife,” She responded simply.
Leon let out a quiet scoff. “Over finding a fix for this mess?”
“Finding Birkin is the fix,” Ada snapped back.
There was nothing left to say. Ada wasn’t going to give up the full story. But she’d given you enough.
Find the sample.
Make the cure.
Try to save what was left of Raccoon City.
-----
NEST wasn’t what you expected.
What should have been an evil laboratory, like something you’d seen in a horror movie, was a too-white, too-sterile-smelling facility.
The bright overhead lights blinded you.
People should be filling these corridors. Employees and scientists rushing around trying to fix the mess happening in the city above. Instead, there was nothing. No noise to even suggest that something so very wrong happened here.
As you and Leon exited the service elevator, you noticed Ada staying back.
“You coming, Ms. FBI?”
She smirked and shook her head. “Unfortunately for you, this isn’t my stop.” She punched the button that would lead her back to the surface. “I’ll find you when I’ve done my part.”
The doors slid shut with a clang.
“Guess we’re the cavalry now,” Leon quipped as he unholstered his gun. He ejected the magazine, checking how many bullets he had before sliding it home. “Ready?”
You nodded. Ada had given Leon an ID wristband on the way down, explaining how it was only level 1 and to get to the lab, you’d have to upgrade it to level 3. When you’d asked how to accomplish that, she told you to “figure it out.”
It was then that Ada sealed her fate in your eyes.
You and Leon moved slowly, scanning the empty lobby. If this facility had an outbreak, whoever was left did a damn good job at cleaning up. There should be blood everywhere. Zombies. Monsters.
It was as if it remained untouched.
“This feels wrong, Leon,” you said carefully. “It’s too…”
“Put together,” Leon finished for you. “I was thinking the exact same thing.”
Nothing about this made sense. A pressurized door slid open in front of you, leading down a corridor that cut off to the left at the end.
The lights were cut off in this part of the facility. Leon pulled out a flashlight, shining it down the hallway. You stumbled a step, and Leon steadied you.
“What?” Leon asked, looking around. You pointed at the ceiling, his eyes followed.
Plants grew from holes in the ceiling. Winding their way down the walls and onto the floor. The strong scent of musk and wet filled the air, overpowering your nose. They were moving. Undulating in a way that plants shouldn’t be able to.
“Keep going,” Leon whispered.
Pushing forward, another set of doors hissed as they opened into a larger room. Wall-to-wall glass panels covered the front of the room. You approached slowly. A body in a hazmat suit was smashed against the window, held there by plants wrapped around every limb.
Blood leaked from the person's eyes and mouth. Their facial features were so disfigured that it was impossible to determine if they were male or female.
The plants encompassed the entire greenhouse beyond the glass window. Overgrown didn’t begin to cover it. Thick vines crawled over every surface, twisting through the railings on moss-covered walkways.
“Jesus...” Leon muttered under his breath.
“Did the G-Virus do all of this?” You had a bad feeling about what it could do if this level of infection spread to the rest of the city.
You noticed it then... the faint pulsing glow just below the body. A level 2 ID band.
“Look,” you told Leon, pointing at the band. Pushing closer to the glass, you looked for a way to retrieve it. Shaking your head, you sighed heavily. “It’s too overgrown. We can’t get to it without breaking through those branches.”
Leon stood next to you, shoulder brushing against yours as he looked for another way around.
“Didn’t have landscaping on my plans for the day,” he joked.
“If we can find a way...” Your words trailed off as you looked around the room, eye landing on a console. “
Leon got there first, his fingers brushing over the interface, silently reading the words embossed on the surface. “Looks like some kind of distribution system.”
You reached for the lever beside Leon’s hand before you could second-guess.
“Torin,” Leon started, but it was too late. The handle slammed down with a heavy clunk.
A calm, computerized voice rang out through the room as an alarm beeped inside the greenhouse. “Dispersal sequence initiated. Please stand clear.”
You stilled, eyes snapping back to the glowing lights on the console. “Okay... so we triggered something.”
“Dispersal sequence failed. Please insert solution.” The voice said.
Leon let loose a breath. “Yeah. Let’s hope it’s the right kind of something.”
The greenhouse door clicked as the sequence finished, sliding open with a soft hiss. Just beyond the threshold lay a body, half-buried in vines, as if they had been running to this room before being dragged back mid-escape.
Hazmat suit.
Another Umbrella employee.
You moved quickly toward the body, crouching beside it and brushing the vines back that clung stubbornly to the limp limbs.
A faint glint of silver caught your eye. A canister barely bigger than a test tube filled with a pale pink liquid was clenched tightly in their fist.
Bingo.
Your eyes traced over the body again. A second vial was shoved into the pocket, barely visible beneath the vines. This one was clear. Viscous.
You grabbed it, too.
“Two for one special,” you muttered, holding them both up as you glanced back at Leon.
Leon was already moving toward you. Each movement was controlled. Measured.
He reached out for the pink liquid canister and brushed your fingers as you passed it over. A feather-light touch, lasting less than a second, that made your heart pound harder for a single beat.
“This one’s the antigen.” He turned the canister over in his hand, examining it. His gaze shifted to the other in your hand. You flipped it over.
“Then this…” You read the side. “G-Virus.” You handed it to him, and Leon shoved it into a pocket.
You sucked in a deep breath. “Hopefully the antigen works.”
“I’ll do the honors then.” Leon held out his free hand, pulling you to your feet. He didn’t let go until you were back at the dispersion console. The canister slid home with a soft click. Leon grabbed the handle and pulled it down without hesitation.
The computerized voice cut through the speakers. “Dispersal sequence initiated. Please stand clear.”
The vial began to drain, pale pink liquid slowly dispersing into the greenhouse air. The plants slowly began to wither. Vines and branches peeled back from the railing and walls, shrinking into nothing as the virus was destroyed.
The body against the glass clattered to the floor with a thud.
The wristband followed, skidding across the metal floor.
You stepped through the door as it slid open. The faint scent of a sterile atmosphere now filled the room, replacing the damp, earthy rot of the greenhouse.
A box on the wall to the right caught your attention: a little image of a fire, painted in stark white, just above the glass window. Emergency containment measure.
“Guess they didn’t think to use it,” Leon chided.
A grotesque humanoid figure lay sprawled on the floor. You prodded it with a boot, turning it enough to see its face. A head. A torso. Arms and legs that looked more like tree trunks than anything human.
“Was this… human?” You whispered, unable to keep the fear from your voice.
“Maybe,” Leon said. “At some point. Let’s get that wristband and get out of here before it decides to get up.”
Leon moved first, cutting left toward the glass wall. You followed behind, eyes tracking every inch of the room. He scooped up the wristband, tossing it in the air before catching it.
“Looks like we’re good to—”
An alarm blared through the confined space. “Warning. Unauthorized personnel detected in the containment zone.”
“Shit. Leon, let’s go!”
The glass wall in front of Leon exploded. Something massive crashed through it, landing hard on the metal walkway. It stood slowly, rising to its full height. Steel shutters slammed down over the broken glass, sealing the way back to the room.
It towered over Leon. Pale, expressionless face. A black trench coat and fists that looked as if they could crush bone without effort.
Your stomach bottomed out.
“Leon, run!” You yelled as you drew your weapon and fired.
Every shot landed. Not a single shot seemed to matter.
Leon moved fast, closing the distance between you just as the creature stepped forward. Its arm pulled back, aiming straight for Leon. You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed Leon by the front of his vest and yanked hard. The punch ripped through the air where he’d been standing a split second before.
You pushed Leon in front of you as the creature regained its footing and stomped forward. It turned, focused on you. You stumbled back a step as it advanced.
Leon cursed as the creature crowded your space.
Run.
You had to run. There was no beating this thing.
“Torin, move!” A burst of white-hot flames roared to life, engulfing the creature. Fire framed it in an ominous glow, wreathing its entire body. It didn’t so much as scream or flinch. But it did pause.
And that was enough.
You turned and ran. Boots pounding against metal, you took the first left hard, grabbing onto the railing to sling yourself around the corner. The walkway stretched again, seeming to never end.
Behind you, heavy footsteps thundered closer. You pushed harder.
Your boot slipped on the shriveled remains of a vine. You went down, slamming into the railing that stopped you from falling into the dark expanse of the floor beyond. A sharp pain exploded through your ribs, ripping the breath from your lungs. “Fuck!”
You forced your head up, glancing at Leon. He was already moving toward you.
“Don’t even think about it!” You snapped, pushing yourself up, one arm wrapped around your side.
He didn’t stop. You stumbled forward, regaining your footing just enough to break into a sprint.
“Go!” you shouted, pointing toward the door. “Go, go, go!”
Leon hesitated a second more, bouncing on the balls of his feet before turning and running. He reached the door and stopped, hand outstretched.
As you once had for him.
Desperation burned in his eyes as you ran toward him, pushing your body harder than it had to give. Your hand slammed into his, and he pulled you through. You crashed through the doorway, hitting the floor hard as momentum carried you forward just as Leon slammed his hand against a red button, sealing the room. And the creature inside.
A fist slammed against the door.
Again.
Again.
The metal buckled with each hit as the creature tried to break through.
Leon hooked an arm under yours, pulling you to your feet. You hissed as your ribs protested.
“I know,” he panted. “But we gotta go.”
“The sample,” you managed.
“I got it.” He shifted, pulling you closer, one arm secure around your waist, walking you forward as your arm draped over his shoulders.
“Guess we can call it even,” he continued.
A small laugh escaped you. Surprising. Given the situation.
Leon leaned you against the reception counter in the main lobby as he studied a map on the wall, his finger tracing a route toward the center of the facility.
“Looks like we have to go through there.” He pointed to a door on the right. “Ada said to meet her at the elevator that will take us to the sublevel once we have what we need.”
You groaned, pushing yourself upright. Leon was already there, arm sliding securely around your waist again.
“That’s going to slow us down, Leon.”
You felt him shrug. “Not leaving you behind.”
He guided you through the door, and the space opened up. Wide and industrial. A central platform sat suspended in the middle of the room, with three steel, narrow walkways branching out from it.
One led back the way you came.
The other two disappeared behind secure doors, each marked with an access level. The elevator was blocked by level 4.
Leon held up the wristband. Level 4.
“Guess we’re going straight through,” you mumbled.
You leaned slightly over the railing as Leon shifted your weight, adjusting his hold on you. Darkness swallowed the drop below. No bottom in sight.
Your stomach turned, and you pulled back quickly. “Don’t look down.”
Leon huffed a quiet laugh. “Scared of heights, Torin?”
“Only the ones that end in a splat.”
“Good to know,” he said, pulling you a little closer. “I’ll keep you away from edges.”
The door to the level 3 access area hissed open. A woman in a red dress stepped through at a jog, looking over her shoulder before her gaze snapped forward.
“Cutting it a little close,” Ada called.
You and Leon reached the elevator just as Ada made it halfway across the mezzanine.
He eased you back against the cold metal of the elevator. Leon’s eye met yours, searching.
You gave a small nod. I’m fine. Then you tilted your head toward Ada.
“Be careful, Leon,” you whispered, lower enough for only him to hear. “You can’t trust her.”
Leon’s jaw tightened, and he nodded. He stepped forward, shielding you from Ada’s view. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the G-virus sample and holding it out in front of him.
“You got it,” Ada said, her voice colder.
“What are you going to do with it?” Leon asked. His posture rigid.
Ada took another step forward, heels clicking against metal. Each echo of the sound sharp as it carried through the open space before fading into nothing.
“Hand it over,” she said. “Then I’ll tell you.”
Ada’s hand moved slowly… Too slowly.
Down toward her thigh.
Toward the holster hidden beneath the fabric of her dress.
“Gun!” You yelled.
A shot cracked through the air. Leon didn’t move.
Ada’s grunt of pain met your ears a moment later as she doubled over. Pressing a hand to her shoulder.
Leon's gun snapped up, pointing past Ada at a woman covered in blood, leaning against the wall at the end of the walkway.
“Who are you?” Leon demanded.
“Annette—” she coughed, a wet, broken sound. “Annette Birkin.” She wiped the blood from her mouth, her arm falling to her side. The gun slipped from her grasp, clattering on the floor.
“Birkin,” you said, eyes narrowing. “As in William Birkin?”
“My husband,” she responded simply. “He’s dead. Turned himself into... one of those things.”
Ada straightened, blood trickling between her fingers. “Give me the sample, Leon.”
Leon’s hand tightened around the vial.
“Don’t!” Annette rasped, her body sagging closer to the floor. “She’s not a fed. She’s going to auction it off to the highest bidder!”
Alarms began blaring, bathing the room in a red light. Different than the one before.
“Self-destruction sequence initiated.” The same computerized voice. “T-minus ten minutes. Proceed to the nearest emergency exit.”
The building shook as the first round of bombs detonated. The metal walkway beneath Leon and Ada groaned, swaying violently. Leon slammed into the railing, the G-virus sample slipping in his grasp.
“Throw it, Leon!” You yelled, lurching forward as the building shook again.
Ada lunged for Leon, fingers barely grasping the vial. Another explosion ripped through the facility.
“Drop it and get out of here!” Annette shouted as she slipped onto the ground, acceptance of her simmering in her eyes.
Leon paused. You knew what he was thinking. The vial in his hand was the cure. He thought of the city. Of your home. Everything it could fix…
Another violent tremor tore through the facility. Leon pulled his arm back and hurled the sample into the abyss below. He dove for you just as the walkway under his feet broke and gave way, sending Ada to the depths with her prize.
You scrambled to the edge, grabbing Leon under the shoulders, pulling with everything you had left. He kicked one leg up, hauling himself over the edge before immediately grabbing you tight around the waist and pulling you toward the elevator.
The alarms seemed to scream in your ears. The sharp, piercing sound was a symphony of your inevitable destruction. Leon slammed the wristband against the panel. The doors slid open, and he shoved you in, close behind.
You punched the sublevel button, and the doors slammed shut just as the walkway gave out completely. The elevator swayed as the metal disconnected from the central platform. The descent was fast.
Your eyes locked with Leon across the small space. Neither of you spoke.
There was nothing to say.
Another explosion rocked the shaft, and the descent felt faster. Uncontrolled.
The brakes caught as a train platform came into view on the sublevel, and the elevator lurched to a stop, causing you both to stumble. The train was already moving. Slowly pulling away.
“Shit!” Leon grabbed your hand as the doors began to open, pushing you out first, narrowly squeezing out behind you. “I know it hurts, but we have to run.”
You nodded and ran. Ran faster than you thought possible as explosion after explosion thundered above you.
NEST was collapsing.
Leon reached the train first, grabbing onto the sidecar railing before practically throwing you onto the platform. His foot slipped on the sleek metal. You grabbed his belt, a sharp cry ripping from your throat as you hauled him up.
He collapsed beside you. Both of you gasping for air.
Alive.
You were both alive.
“You—” you dragged in a breath. “You owe me two.”
Leon chucked beside you. “Let’s get inside.”
You pushed yourself to your feet as Leon guided you into the train car. Footsteps echoed down the metal tube. Leon’s head snapped up. You reached for your weapon as a small girl came into view with a woman in a red leather jacket at her side.
“Leon?”
Leon’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Claire?”
Claire lowered her revolver with a heavy exhale. “You made it.”
“So did you.” Leon glanced back at you. “I ran into Claire outside the city. She was looking for her brother. We got separated at the RPD.”
You reached out a hand for Claire to shake. “Torin,” you offered. “I’m glad you made it out.”
Clair took it, her grip firm despite the events.
The small girl next to Claire trembled, wide-eyed as she looked at you and Leon.
You felt your posture soften as you slowly lowered to one knee. “It’s okay,” you said gently. “We’re getting out of here.”
Claire’s hand settled on the girl’s shoulder. “This is Sherry.”
Leon gave the girl a small, reassuring smile. “Hey, Sherry.”
Blinding morning light poured through the train windows. You winced, lifting a hand to shield your eyes as you moved toward the back of the car. Raccoon City stretched out behind you.
There was nothing in the city skyline to suggest that something horrible had happened. No smoke rose from the ashes. No screams of terror and fear reached your ears.
Your gaze caught on movement in the sky. A helicopter circling the city. Then something else. Something too fast to be another aircraft. Your stomach dropped. “Oh, fuck.”
“Get down!” You lunged forward, throwing yourself over Sherry as the train jolted. The explosion hit a heartbeat later. A deafening boom tore through the air, the shockwave rattling the train as the world behind you exploded in flame.
October 2nd, 1998 12:36 PM
A faint buzzing brought you back to consciousness. You didn’t remember what happened after the train. Only the fire and the way the world had exploded around you. The buzzing was from the fluorescent light overhead. Too bright against your adjusting eyes. You blinked, trying to force away the throbbing in your head as awareness crept back in.
Metal table. Metal chair. White walls. Two-way mirror.
A sharp breath caught in your chest as you tried to sit up, and pain flared through your ribs. Right. Broken.
“Easy,” A familiar voice said.
You turned your head toward it. Leon sat a few feet away in a metal chair, elbows braced on his knees, watching you.
Relief bloomed in your chest. He was here. He was alive. Confusion followed a moment later.
“Where…” Your voice was rough, and you cleared your throat. “Where are we?”
Leon shook his head. “Still trying to figure that out.” He ran a hand through his dirty hair. “They picked us up outside the city. You’ve been in and out since.”
The door to the room opened, and neither of you looked away from each other. At least, not until you heard footsteps. Two men in suits entered, guns on their hips.
“You’re awake,” the taller of the two men said.
Leon straightened slightly. “Who are you?”
The man didn’t bother to answer right away, eyes bouncing from you to Leon. He set a file down on the table between you. Your name was printed in bold letters on the front. So was Leon’s.
“We’re the people who saved you from Raccoon City,” the second man said finally. “And the ones who decide what happens next.”
Silence sat heavy in the air. You felt Leon shift next to you, angling himself to be closer to you.
“What is this?” You asked.
“Containment,” the first man replied. “You were exposed to a biohazard event.”
The second man pulled one of the chairs from the table and sat down. “You’ve seen things you weren’t supposed to. Things people don’t get to walk away from.”
Leon’s jaw clenched. “It doesn’t work that way.”
The first man settled his glare on Leon. “It does now,” he growled. “You’ve got two options.”
He flipped the file open. Your RPD applications stared back at you.
“You disappear, or you work for us.”
You didn’t need to ask what kind of work. After everything you’d seen, this only ended one way. You exhaled slowly. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” the man began, “you get to make sure what happened in Raccoon City never happens anywhere else.”
Your eyes flicked to Leon. Understanding as you’d never experienced was there as he looked at you. He knew too. Knew that the only answer was to accept and move forward. To protect and serve and make sure this never happened again.
There was no going back.
You looked back at the men in the suits and nodded.
The room was quiet again as the door clicked shut behind them. The silence that fell felt heavier than anything the men had said. For a moment, neither of you moved. You let out a slow breath, your shoulders dropping as all the tension finally flowed out.
“Guess that’s it,” you mumbled. “We’re government property now.”
Leon huffed a quiet laugh. Not out of amusement, but pure exhaustion. “Sounds about right.”
You shifted your weight, winching slightly as your ribs protested. Leon noticed.
“Hey…” he knelt before you, his hand hovering before settling it lightly on your side. “You okay?”
“Been better,” you gritted out. “But been worse.”
His lips twitched at that, suppressing a smile. “Yeah,” he said quietly.
You leaned back against the wall, letting your head rest as your eyes slid shut. You couldn’t decide if the worst of it was over. You had no idea what to expect next. Everything you thought you knew about your life was gone. Ripped from your hands by monsters and villains.
All you knew was that Leon was beside you. You’d already faced hell together once.
You opened your eyes to find Leon still watching you. As if he was counting every rise and fall of your chest. Watching. Making sure you were alive. That this was real.
“You ever think,” you started, your voice quiet, “That we weren’t supposed to make it out?”
Leon chewed on his bottom lip as the words hung in the air. “We did,” he said simply. “And I’m not going to question that.”
The knot in your chest shifted, loosening slightly at his words. You nodded once, rising from the chair. Fate decided. You made it two steps toward the door before you doubled over in pain, all the spent adrenaline giving way to agonizing pain.
Leon was there before you could blink, hand on your waist. “Easy, Torin.” His voice was soft and smooth, skittering over every nerve ending like flowing water.
You glanced up at him. Close. He was so close. Neither of you moved. You didn’t need to. Didn’t want to. Your hand lifted, resting lightly against his arm. He grounded you in the moment. Pulling you away from an edge that threatened to swallow you whole.
For a moment, there was no Raccoon City. No gunfire. No monsters. No threats.
Only him. Only you.
Leon exhaled softly. “We’re gonna be okay.”
You had no idea if that was true. Had no idea if you would ever be okay, but you chose to believe him anyway. You hummed an agreement before slowly pulling your hand back. Not because you wanted to, but because you had to.
“We need to figure out what they want from us,” you said, taking a small step away. Leon nodded but didn’t move. His eyes stayed on you a second longer than they should have.
The door opened again, and Leon stepped back, putting just enough space between you.
“Torin. Kennedy,” another man in a suit said as he leaned against the frame of the door. “Let’s go.”
summary: to your chagrin, you get partnered with an irritating DSO agent who happens to take an interest in the case you're working on.
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, re9!leon, fbi!reader, age gap, kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex, blow job, p in v, spanking, choking, finger sucking, brat taming, praise kink
wc: 10k
a/n: obsession's gotten so bad i started having dreams about him <3
also on ao3!
There’s a man sitting at your desk.
You’d arrived at work a little before 9, steaming cup of coffee in hand and a stack of case files tucked under your arm haphazardly. It was only until you’d heard the curious, hushed whispers that you’d realized your desk was currently taken, occupied by an unfamiliar man clad in a leather jacket.
Were you being relocated? Promoted? Demoted?
A barrage of thoughts flits through your mind as you approach your desk slowly, mentally preparing yourself to give the man a piece of your mind. The man doesn’t even flinch when the case files drop onto your desk loudly, your coffee cup following soon after as you set it down roughly before crossing your arms over your chest.
“Can I help you?”
His head tilts towards you, shaggy hair shifting as his gaze travels over you with interest. You stare back at him blankly, brows furrowing when you take in the scruffy stubble covering his jaw and the weathered look to his skin. He had to be at least twice your age, but even you could admit the man was stupidly handsome. You’re only left with more questions than you started with as you continue to stare at him, feeling bewildered. The flex of his gloved fingers catch in your periphery, distracting you as you glance down to find him piecing together a disassembled gun with practiced ease, the parts set out neatly on your desk.
His voice is gruff when he speaks. “You’re younger than I expected.”
“You… were expecting me?” you ask, irritation seeping into your voice, patience growing thin. “Who the fuck are you?”
The man’s brows raise at your blunt question, fingers still moving deftly, his eyes flickering with mirth.
“You know, the FBI promised me a warm welcome,” he says, the chair swiveling as he turns to face you fully. “Can’t exactly say you’re delivering on that promise.”
“Yeah well, I didn’t make any promises,” you retort, giving him a tight smile, watching as he leans forward, sliding his newly assembled gun back into its holster. “Besides, you still haven’t answered my question.”
He sighs, leaning forward, his arm outstretched as he offers you his hand. “Leon–”
He’s interrupted by the Unit Chief calling out your name. Your eyes narrow when you see the case file in his hands, glancing back at Leon before you leave him, stepping inside the Unit Chief’s office, the door clicking shut behind you.
“We’ve got two new bodies,” he says, handing you the case file. “Unsub’s been crossing jurisdictions and the local police department is… well, concerned to say the least. Think you can handle it?”
You nod, flicking through the pages, nose scrunching when you see the images of the crime scene – each more grisly than the last. Mutilated bodies, blood smeared across the walls, messily carved symbols etched into the wooden door of the victims’ home.
“Seems ritualistic,” you murmur, reading through the reports. You glance up at him, clutching the case file to your chest protectively. “You’re letting me take this alone? I’m flattered.”
“Ah,” the Unit Chief shakes his head, nodding towards Leon. “Not exactly.”
“What?” you scoff, looking at Leon who gives you a smile and waves through the glass. You glare at him, yanking the blinds shut. “The old man?” you hiss, “he’ll only slow me down.”
The Unit Chief sighs, taking a seat in his chair. “That man is Leon Kennedy. DSO. It’s only a precaution. He’s more experienced than any team we could put together and after what happened with Agent Ashcroft, the FBI is trying to be more… mindful.”
“Ashcroft?” you echo, remembering the Rhodes Hill incident. “That’s– that’s because they sent an analyst into the field of all things. She must’ve been terrified. I’m a field agent, I can handle myself.”
“Agent Kennedy took an interest in the case,” he replies, hands clasping together. “If there’s bioterrorism involved, he’ll be useful. If there isn’t, use him as an idea board. The Unit Chief peers up at you, his expression stern. “My decision is final.”
Your jaw works irritatedly before you huff out a heavy breath, nodding reluctantly. “Yes, sir.”
Despite your sour mood and the urge to slam the door shut, you carefully close it, making your way back to Leon. You drag a spare chair towards your desk, sinking down onto it. Leon shakes his head when you offer him the case file.
“I’ve already read it.”
“Huh,” you stare at him, lips pursing while your eyes squint in recognition. “Leon Scott Kennedy,” you drawl, jabbing your finger at him, “you’re the Raccoon City cop. I’ve heard stories about you. Shouldn’t you be…” you gesture to him pointedly, “retired?”
“Ouch,” Leon says, his hand moving to press against his chest as he feigns being hurt. “You really don’t want me here, do you?”
“All I know is that you’re some big-shot DSO agent that I don’t need on my case, Leon,” you shoot back, flipping open the file to read the autopsy reports more thoroughly.
“The first case you’ve ever been in charge of,” Leon muses, his leather gloves creaking softly as he picks up a stray pen, putting it back into its place. “I’m impressed. Not everyone gets to be a lead on a case like this. Then again, you’re pretty good at this kinda thing.”
Was he buttering you up? He had to be. You don’t bother looking up as you mark a few things of interest off on the report.
“Thank you,” you murmur, scrawling a few notes down on a notepad before you pause, head turning to find him watching you carefully. “How did you know that?” you ask, a hint of suspicion in your voice, “we’ve never met before.”
Leon shifts, grunting softly as he tries to get more comfortable in your chair. “I took the liberty of reading your file,” he replies flippantly, his expression darkening as he tries to work the chair’s jammed lever. “Fuckin’ chair… how do you sit in this all day?”
“I don’t sit all day!” you snap, “and you read my file? I don’t care if you have the fucking clearance, you can’t just–”
You’re interrupted by a loud snap, teeth gritting together when you realize he’s pushed the lever too hard – or perhaps, underestimated his own strength – the lever cleanly detached and now clutched in Leon’s gloved hand.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmurs, setting the lever down on your desk, patting it awkwardly. “I’ll buy you a new chair.”
You have half a mind to reach over and strangle him. You even consider doing it, until he grumbles under his breath and shrugs off that jacket of his, your murderous intent forgotten as soon as you catch sight of his thick biceps. With those things, Leon could probably strangle you and have no problem doing it.
The sheer size of him renders you incapable of tearing your gaze away, your stare settled firmly on his shoulders, arms and chest – every part of him unfairly thick and muscular – his skin-tight shirt leaving you barely conscious of the way your throat was beginning to dry up.
Your newly broken chair creaks once more under Leon’s weight, the sound piercing through the haze of your shameless staring. You blink uncertainly, taking another lingering peek at his biceps while he’s too busy trying to get comfortable.
“We’d better get going,” you announce, grabbing the file before standing up abruptly. “The local PD is probably waiting for us.”
“We can take my car,” Leon says as he follows you into the elevator.
“I’m not in the habit of getting into cars with strange men,” you say testily, pressing a button before turning to face him.
“And I’m not in the habit of babysitting FBI agents,” Leon drawls, leaning against the wall of the elevator, his arms crossing over his chest.
The movement makes his shirt stretch tighter if anything, the fabric clinging to his broad forearms stubbornly, his watch glinting softly in the lighting. Your head tilts, eyes narrowing with irritation when you register his insult.
“No one asked you to babysit,” you say, shaking your head. “I have a gun,” you take it out of the holster attached to your hip, pointing it at him, “and I’m smart. I’ll have this case wrapped up in a day or two, so stay the fuck outta my way.”
A smile pulls at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he lifts his hands in mock-surrender. The amusement in his eyes makes him look a little younger, your heart fluttering with delight for a moment before you tamp it down violently.
When the elevator comes to a stop, Leon takes your bag before you can protest, his gloved fingers brushing yours briefly. You step after him, brows raising with begrudging respect when you see his car. Big-shot DSO agent, your mind supplies as he puts your bag into the backseat, gesturing for you to get in. You sigh heavily, opening your mouth to argue but Leon’s already disappeared inside his car, the engine rumbling to life. Muttering a curse under your breath, you get in his car, pulling the door shut firmly.
–
“What do you mean there’s only one room available?”
“What’s there to understand?” Leon asks, dangling the singular key in front of your face. “Rooms are all booked out. They’re celebrating some special harvest festival according to the receptionist.”
“Harvest festival?” you echo, peering up at him. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. That’s like the perfect cover for our unsub.”
“I would help,” he murmurs, nudging your shoulder gently to get you to step aside, “but you wanted me to, what was it?” you roll your eyes when he snaps his fingers, pretending to think. “Ah yes, stay the fuck outta your way.”
You snatch the key hanging from Leon’s finger, ignoring his aggrieved sigh as you push past him and stomp back down the stairs to the reception, ready to demand another room. All the receptionist does is give you an apologetic smile and offer you a discount. You swallow your pride as you trudge back up the stairs, doing your best to avoid Leon’s eyes when you find him leaning beside the room’s door, his brows raising amusedly.
“I don’t want to hear it,” you mutter, slotting the key into the lock.
Leon shrugs non-committally. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
The door is heavy as you push it open, Leon’s hand moving to keep it open for you as you step inside. You fumble in the darkness for the light switch at the same time Leon does, his strong, calloused fingers brushing over yours. It’s enough to have an unwanted shiver running down your spine, warmth blooming in your chest and a flush settling high on your cheeks despite your stubborn annoyance with him.
“Fuck me.”
You follow his gaze when he swears, taking in the lit room. There’s a shitty couch in one corner, a tiny area with a coffee machine and table, and… a bed.
“Okay,” you say slowly, staring at the one, pitiful bed you had been afforded. “Great! So I think you should go and chew out the receptionist.”
“I’m not doing that,” Leon scoffs, bending down to take off his boots, his gun clattering against the table as he sets it down. “I can take the couch.”
You look back at the couch, brows furrowing. “That’s really nice of you and all, Leon,” you begin, stepping further inside the small room, “but I don’t think you’re exactly going to fit.”
“You care about me or something?” he drawls, looking over at you with a smile as he opens his duffle bag to pull out a towel and a set of clothes.
“Get over yourself. I’m just worried about your…” you gesture towards him vaguely, “potentially geriatric bones.”
Leon chokes on a laugh, his brows shooting up. “Geriatric? I’m 49. My bones are in perfect working order.”
“Right, nevermind. You did break my chair.”
“I did you a favor,” he retorts, slinging the towel around the back of his neck. “It was a hunk of junk.”
“It was in perfect working condition!” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Do you always defend inanimate objects with such passion?” Leon muses, stepping closer until he’s only a few inches away, head cocking to the side.
“When they’re close to my heart, yes.”
“A chair is close to your heart?”
You decide to double down. “Yes, Leon.”
“Huh,” he nods slowly, clicking his tongue. “You got attachment issues?”
“Did my file not tell you that?” you smile up at him snarkily.
Leon grins, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I skipped over your psych eval.”
He turns, disappearing into the bathroom. You glare at the door and huff out a sigh, removing your shoes before grabbing the case file and flopping down on the bed tiredly. You flick through the pages absentmindedly, settling on the symbols carved onto the door. You hadn’t seen anything remotely like it before and the database search you’d done earlier in the car had come up empty.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, glancing towards the bathroom.
You’d exhausted all your options save for one. A reluctant groan leaves you as you stand, approaching the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe.
“Hey, Leon?” you call out when you hear the spray of water come to a stop. “I… might have been a little difficult earlier,” your voice sounds strained, “but if you could maybe take another look at the file, then I would… you know, probably appreciate it or whatever.” You swallow, face twisting with discomfort. “Please?”
Leon laughs, the rich, deep sound seeping through the crevices. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he says, sounding entirely too entertained by your attempt to ask him for help. “I’ll take a look for you.”
You frown at the door, jolting when it swings open suddenly. A few wisps of steam escape, and you blink owlishly, finding yourself face-to-face with his bare chest. It’s hard to keep your gaze from wandering over his exposed skin, a light dusting of hair covering his chest coupled with a few scars. A strange, gurgling noise escapes you when he shifts back to grab his towel, his broad, muscled back now visible to you. You sway, moving to grip the doorframe, knees feeling weak.
“You okay?” Leon murmurs, glancing over at you as he ruffles his damp hair, brows furrowing.
“Yes!”
Your voice is shrill, pitching up awkwardly until you clear your throat and give him an equally awkward smile.
“Perfectly fine,” you clarify, this time sounding breathless as you try and fail to not look down, inhaling sharply when you see his defined abdomen and the dark, coarse hair below his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.
“It’s just that you look…” you trail off, fingers itching to reach out and squeeze and touch. Hot. Attractive. Fuckable. Really fucking fuckable for a 49-year-old man. “Like shit,” you settle on, the words tumbling out of you in a strained manner as you force yourself to meet his eyes. “You– you look like shit, Leon.” You pat his shoulder jerkily. “Unfortunately.”
“Right, sure,” he says, his head tilting as he stares down at you, unconvinced. “You really know how to flatter a man.”
“I’m charming like that,” you say, hands clasping behind your back.
Leon hums, and you stare back up at him, gaze flitting away for one moment to get a glimpse of his left hand. No ring. Perfect. You pinch yourself as soon as the thought comes.
“You gonna let me out?”
“What?”
When Leon gestures towards you, you realize you’re still standing in front of him, blocking the way out. You move to the side sheepishly, pushing the case file into his chest quickly before locking yourself in the bathroom.
You let out an embarrassed groan once you’re in the shower, burying your face into your hands. What the fuck was wrong with you? There was no way that all it took was some dorky, attractive, older man to have you feeling out of sorts. A dull ache flares between your thighs at the thought of Leon, fingers sneaking past your folds to rub at your traitorously swollen clit. It doesn’t take much, just the image of his body pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around you, mouth pressed against your ear while he grunts–
You cum with a muffled whine. Scrubbing the rest of your mortification off of your skin with soap, you dry off, slipping into a pair of sleep shorts and a hoodie. You pad out of the bathroom to find Leon sitting at the table – thankfully with a shirt on – a few containers of food littered across its surface while he’s hunched over his laptop.
“Hey,” he greets when he sees you, gaze travelling over you briefly before turning his laptop towards you. “I had a look. Your guy might be part of a cult,” Leon brings up another image, showing it to you, “they’re not the exact same, but similar enough. Might be worth looking into.”
“Cult? That’s fun,” you murmur, dropping into the chair beside him, watching as he runs his hair through his hair. “Thank you for taking a look, and the food.”
His brows raise. “Those might be the most sincere words to come out of you today.”
“Shut up,” you say, although a small smile pulls at your lips.
Dinner is quick as you both make a plan for tomorrow – visit the local PD, check out the crime scene and investigate a few related areas of interest. Leon settles down on the couch soon after, adjusting his pillow a few times before grunting as he tries to get comfortable. You were right, he doesn’t fit. He looks so awfully crammed, knees bent and back hunched at an awkward angle that even you feel bad about it.
“Leon,” you say exasperatedly, “we can both fit on the bed. That can’t be good for your back.”
“This is fine,” he replies stubbornly, shifting onto his back uncomfortably, arm hanging off the edge. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
“I can’t deal with you complaining about your back tomorrow,” you say, gesturing towards the bed. You lay down, squirming to the side to make space. “See? You can have the other side.”
“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind?”
“What?” you ask confusedly, sitting up on your elbows. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Leon grunts as he gets to his feet, dropping down onto the bed without further protests. It’s a tight fit, but you both manage, a sliver of space left between your bodies. You stare up at the ceiling, lips pursing, feeling antsy.
“Did you…” you glance over at him, feeling entirely too bold for your own good, “did you ask because you were interested?”
He stares back, brows raising. “Interested in what?”
“In what?” you repeat irritably, “are you seriously playing dumb?”
Leon smiles back at you, shrugging lazily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Maybe if you clarified what it was you wanted from me–”
“I don’t want anything from you!” you sputter, flushing hot. The bed creaks as you flop onto your side, facing away from him. “You’re old and weird and infuriating and–”
“I feel like you’re avoiding my better qualities.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, I know you want to, baby.”
It’s a miracle your neck doesn’t snap with how fast you turn to look at him.
“May I remind you that this,” you gesture between your bodies wildly, “is a professional relationship?”
“Yeah?” Leon murmurs, raising his brows, “is that why you got off in the shower? Rubbed one out to make yourself feel better ‘bout liking me?” He looks unfazed when your jaw slackens, tapping the wall behind his head. “Thin walls.”
“That is none of your business.” You lean closer, eyes narrowing in an attempt to hide your growing embarrassment. “HR is going to have a fucking field day with you.”
You flop back onto your side, trying to put some distance between you, but there’s such a little space on the bed that you end up half-dangling over the edge. Leon doesn’t say anything, the silence between you thick and stretching on uncomfortably until you sit up, turning to face him.
He stares back at you, the bed creaking softly as he shifts, folding an arm under his head. His shirt stretches tight, thick bicep flexed and the sight is enough to make you lose your last nerve.
Your hand cups his jaw, head dipping to press a kiss to his lips. It’s meant to be quick, fleeting, to get whatever the fuck you have bottled up inside of you. Leon doesn’t seem to agree as he returns your kiss roughly, stubble scratching against your skin, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, blocking your escape.
“Where’re you going?” he murmurs, lips brushing over yours.
“This–” you whine softly when he kisses the underside of your jaw, fingers tightening into his shirt. “This is a bad idea.”
“I happen to be full of those.”
“You’re so fucking corny,” you groan, mouth dropping open as he trails kisses along your jaw lazily.
His lips are soft, calloused fingers massaging your scalp whilst an arm slides around your waist to pull you into his side. Another whine escapes you, head tipping towards him as his hand wanders under the hem of your hoodie, hot skin drifting over your waist and higher, his thumb grazing the curve of your breast.
“And you’re a fucking brat,” Leon says, watching your expressions closely as you whine and pant, pulling him towards you for another kiss, arms wrapping around his neck tightly.
He groans into your mouth, lips slotting over yours feverishly, his hand squeezing at the back of your neck. You squirm, throwing your leg over his hip, mewling when he licks into your mouth. Leon’s a good kisser, you think dazedly as his tongue strokes against yours in a filthy motion that has heat blistering in your stomach. His hand moves, circling around the front of your throat, squeezing gently.
You blink up at him hazily when he pulls away, lips slick with spit and pupils blown out. A smile spreads across your lips as you arch into him, hands sliding up over his strong forearm, fingers wrapping around his wrist.
“You can squeeze harder,” you whisper, pressing his fingers into your skin harder, gasping when he grants your request, eyes rolling back as the pressure around your throat constricts.
“That’s a little fucked up, baby,” Leon breathes out, watching as you writhe and suck in a ragged breath, his brows furrowing.
His brows raise when you glare at him, leaning over you to let his nose nudge against yours, kissing you gently before he tightens his grip a little more, drawing out a choked noise from you. There’s a heady fog settling over your mind the more he keeps you from barely breathing, something slow and syrupy creeping into the crevices of your brain as he presses a kiss to your cheek. He’s letting go before long though, brushing the pad of his thumb over your lips roughly.
“I can handle it,” you mumble hoarsely, head tipping as he massages your throat, huffing out a breath when he laughs against your cheek.
“Yeah?” Leon rasps, his gaze darkening when you suck his thumb into your mouth, tongue swirling around the digit needily, head lifting as you feign bobbing your head. “What, you want me to put you in your place or something? Is that what you need?”
The idea is appealing. You’ve been strung tight for months, between work and the never-ending cases that were stacking up on your desk, you hadn’t exactly gotten much time to yourself, to wind-down from the constant wear and tear brought about by the commitments demanded from you by the FBI.
“Maybe,” you say slowly, looking away. “I don’t know. I guess I just want some… attention or whatever.”
“From me?” Leon says, his fingers sliding over your jaw to guide your gaze back to him. “Your way of asking for attention is acting bratty?”
“I don’t know!” you sputter, pushing at his chest, feeling shy.
“Oh, that’s cute,” he coos, smiling down at you. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll give you all the attention you fuckin’ need.”
You squeak when he moves suddenly, sitting up before he’s dragging you towards him, maneuvering you until you're bent over his lap. A whimper is punched out of you when he squeezes the fat of your ass through your shorts, lashes fluttering when each consecutive grope grows rougher until it stings lightly.
“Guess if you’re into choking, you should be into something like this,” Leon murmurs thoughtfully, squeezing your ass greedily. “‘s been a while since I’ve done this with someone.”
“Since you’ve– ah– groped someone?” you ask, hips wiggling when his touches disappear, ass lifting involuntarily to chase after his touch.
“Kissed, touched,” he sucks in a sharp breath, “groped… fucked.”
You glance at him over your shoulder, brows raising curiously. “Can you still get it up?”
A sharp yelp escapes you when his hand comes down on your ass, hard and punishing. It stings, the pain spreading out over your ass unforgivingly. You try and glare at him but his hand is coming down again, landing another heavy spank to your other ass cheek.
“It was just a question!” you protest, squeaking when he spanks you again and again, eyes squeezing shut as the red-hot pain spreads over your ass, the ache in your pussy beginning to burrow deeper.
“I know,” Leon murmurs, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “Do you want me to stop?”
You pout into the sheets, voice quiet. “No.”
He huffs out a soft laugh, tapping your hip. You lift them, letting him tug your shorts down, mewling softly when he squeezes your ass, his fingers dipping past your panties, stretching them before letting them snap back against your skin.
“Cute panties,” he says, his hand rubbing over your stinging ass, fingers sneaking between your thighs, brushing over the drenched, ruined fabric. “Too bad you’ve made them all messy, baby. So fucking wet for me. You like my hand on your ass?”
“Yes,” you grumble, glaring at the wall. “Stop asking stupid questions, you jerk.”
You jolt when he spanks you, letting out an agitated breath when his hand palms over ass before coming down again in several repeated motions. A whimper escapes you when pleasure bleeds through your body, teeth sinking into your lower lip when the pace of Leon’s slaps quicken. It hurts but feels so good all the same, your thighs trying to squeeze together with how uncomfortably wet your pussy is becoming.
“Don’t– fuck! Don’t stop,” you mewl, arching your back, tears prickling at your eyes. “Leon– please ah–”
“Please?” Leon echoes, “look at that, you’re back to being polite. Good fuckin’ girl.”
You whine in agreement, nodding dazedly as you look back at him, unfocused eyes finding his lopsided smile, heart fluttering in your chest. You reach back for him, hand fighting his shirt, lips parting, eyes slipping shut when he leans towards you, head dropping to kiss you deeply, his fingers squeezing at your ass gently.
“You gonna stop being a brat? Hm? You wanna be my good girl, baby?” Leon rasps against your lips, stealing another soft kiss, his hands still palming at the blistering flesh of your ass, squeezing every now and again to force a pitiful whine out of you. He clicks his tongue when you slur, nose nudging against yours gently. “I asked you a question, sweetheart. Use your words for me.”
“Yes,” you manage out, pushing your ass back into his greedy, awaiting palm, a few stray tears dripping down your cheeks. “‘m gonna be– nghh– ‘m gonna be your good girl, Leon.”
“Yeah?” he breathes out, voice sounding rough as his thumb strokes over your cheek, wiping away the tears. “My sweet, pretty girl.”
“It– it hurts,” you babble, jerking in his lap when he rains an unsuspecting slap down onto your ass, teary eyes rolling back when his fingers slip between your thighs suddenly, rubbing at your swollen, aching clit through the dampened fabric of your panties. “Leon– ah fuck!”
“I know it does,” he soothes, pressing harder against your clit until your legs kick up, “but you asked for this, baby. Remember? You came up to me all pretty and said you wanted attention.”
“Stop being mean,” you hiccup, leaning into his palm when he offers it to you, nuzzling into the warm, rough skin.
“Mean?” Leon whispers, “‘m taking care of you, sweetheart.” He hums as he wipes away the saliva beading at the corner of your mouth, spreading it over your lips before his thumb presses down more firmly, a grunt of satisfaction leaving him when your lips part obediently. “There you go,” he breathes out, “suck on my thumb while I play with this needy, little pussy, baby.”
You whine, fingers clinging to his wrist as you suck lazily, tongue swirling around his thumb. His fingers rub against your wet panties, drawing out a soft mewl from you as he pets your clothed pussy.
“You can take them off,” you mumble around his thumb, biting gently before sucking again, happy to have your mouth occupied. “Want you to touch me.”
“I kinda like ‘em on,” Leon murmurs, his fingers grabbing at your thighs before they move, slipping past the waistband. “Besides, I can touch you like this.”
Your eyes flutter shut when his fingers glide through your sticky, puffy folds, breath hitching while Leon groans when he feels your wet pussy. His fingers are thicker than yours, slipping over the soft skin before the calloused pads find your clit. Your thighs twitch, toes curling when he starts to rub your clit using slow, measured circles.
“Is this how you do it?” he asks, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Did you play with your clit til you came in the shower?”
“Mhm,” you nod, peering up at him, lashes fluttering. You lap at his thumb, tongue flicking against the tip playfully, letting him watch.
“Fuck,” Leon rumbles, his thumb brushing over your bottom teeth before rubbing against your tongue. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart. Look at you.”
You smile, lips wrapping back around his thumb soon after, eyes rolling back when his fingers leave your clit to play with your fluttering hole. A long whine leaves you when he circles your hole teasingly, the tip of a finger pressing in briefly before he draws them back out to rub at your clit.
“Put ‘em in,” you mewl, hips beginning to roll against his hand, one of your hands squirming underneath you to try and move his wrist. “Leon,” you grumble, pulling his thumb out of your mouth when he tries to press against your tongue again. “Put ‘em in.”
“What happened to being polite?” he muses, dipping his finger in again and then pulling it out.
“If you put ‘em in, I’ll be polite,” you reply, blinking up at him sweetly, a smug smile on your face.
Leon laughs, watching as your mouth drops open when he finally inches one finger inside of your clenching pussy, beginning to slowly fuck it in and out of you.
“Go on then,” he coaxes, “beg all pretty for me, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”
“P– nghh– please fuck me with your fingers,” you whimper, fingers moving to rub at your throbbing clit. “Please, Leon? Want– fuck– want another finger.”
He doesn’t make you beg any further, sinking another finger into you. You shove your face into the sheets, hips wiggling back to meet the thrust of his fingers, your fingers quickening their pace against your clit.
“Taking me so good,” Leon murmurs, using his other hand to spread you open. You flush, feeling entirely too exposed as he stares down at your pussy stretching around his fingers. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy just sucking my fingers in.”
Your walls flutter around his fingers at that, hand reaching out for him blindly, fingers managing to curl into his shirt. You yank him down, mumbling something incoherent around his lips before dragging him down further, lips pressing against his. You moan into his mouth when he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you harder, curling them just right.
“Leon,” you pant against his mouth, biting his lower lip before tugging it. Leon groans, his fingers scissoring before you moan again, lapping at his lips. His eyes roll back when your lips find his neck, head tipping to bare more of it to you until you manage to move, crawling up onto his lap, his fingers slipping out of you momentarily.
His back hits the bed when you push at his chest, his fingers finding your pussy again, thumb rubbing at your clit while his fingers sink back inside. You shove your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in with a mewl, pawing at his firm chest as you let your hips drop, fucking yourself on his fingers.
“You gonna do that on my cock?” Leon moans, his fingers tangling in your hair when you kiss his neck feverishly, teeth scraping against his throat, the action enough to draw a hoarse growl from him. “Gonna ride my cock like you’re riding my fingers, gorgeous?”
“Yeah,” you murmur against his neck, latching onto his skin and sucking, all with the intent of leaving a mark of your own, like he had done on your ass. “Wanna– ahhh– wanna ride your cock, Leon.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, an arm clamping around your waist to hold you flush against him, his thumb pressing against your clit harder, the lewd noises of your pussy growing louder with every snap of his wrist. “You’re gonna drive me fucking insane.”
You smile against his throat, kissing the underside of his jaw when his throat bobs uncertainly.
“We haven’t even fucked yet,” you whisper, fingers slipping into his hair, pulling at the strands to make him expose his neck further, drawing out a pretty whine from his lips. “Think you can handle me?”
Your smile fades when his fingers pull out of you suddenly, a sharp yelp leaving you when he grabs your hips and manhandles you onto your stomach, the fabric of your panties tearing loudly as he rips them off of you and pulls your ass into the air.
“Those were comfy!” you protest, glaring at him. “Leon?” you jolt when he slaps your ass hard, pulling your asscheeks apart. “Leon, wait– ah fuck!”
You squeal when he buries his face between your thighs, lurching forward unsteadily on your knees, hands grabbing out for the pillows. He’s ruthless, tongue gliding through your warm folds, drinking down your slick with a rough growl, his hands squeezing at your hips, tugging you back onto his mouth when you try and squirm away. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw isn’t helping, scratching against your skin deliciously as he nips and spits onto your cunt.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he snaps lowly, biting punishingly into your thigh when you try kicking at his chest. “Huh?”
“I didn’t–” your leg jerks when Leon bites the back of your thigh, fingers curling into the pillows tightly when he bites the fat of your ass soon after, tongue laving over the bite.
“You didn’t what?” Leon asks, thumb finding your swollen bud, his tongue drifting over the inner crease of your thigh, barely shy of your aching pussy. “You didn’t mean it, is that it, baby?” he drawls, wet fingers rubbing over your pussy.
“Yes!” you choke out, hand slapping against the pillow when he sucks your clit into his mouth lazily, his nose pressing into your pussy, rough hands massaging your ass. “I– nghhhh– I didn’t mean it, Leon.”
“Oh, I think you did,” he sighs heavily, feigning disappointment. He clicks his tongue condescendingly. “I thought you were being my sweet girl, but turns out you’ve just got one hell of a mean streak. Just can’t help being a bit bratty, can you, pretty baby?”
“I’m not a brat,” you wail, shoving your face into the pillows the same time he presses his face into your pussy.
You don’t think anyone’s touched you like this before, let alone used their mouth like this. Leon’s strong, his hands clamping down onto you to keep you in place as he flicks his tongue over your clit, teeth scraping over the sensitive bud. You drool messily, whimpering and whining as he laps at your cunt, his tongue prodding against your hole.
“Oh fuck,” you whisper, glancing behind you, eyes wide to find Leon looking at you hungrily, his gaze dark and feral. You swallow nervously, thighs twitching when he kisses the curve of your ass. “Leon, Leon– oh fuck!”
A squeal escapes you when he presses his tongue into your clenching cunt, eyes squeezing shut so tightly that you feel dizzy, hips pressing back needily to meet the movements of his tongue. He fucks it into you, head tilting as he holds you against his mouth, a hand moving under your hoodie to stroke over the length of your back.
You arch, mewling, hips swaying dazedly as he caresses your pussy with his tongue. A soft, ragged moan leaves you when his mouth moves, returning to your clit, toes curling when he presses his fingers back into you.
“You sound so pretty falling apart on my tongue,” Leon murmurs, rubbing his tongue over your clit with a groan, his fingers crooking inside of you. “You gonna cum, baby? Pretty pussy’s clenching around my fingers.”
“Nghhh–” you slur into the pillows, trying and failing to keep your eyes open, your lids drooping shut when his fingers press against that spot inside of you, his fingers rubbing over it with just the right amount of pressure.
His stubble brushes against the backs of your thighs, lips soft as he trails hot kisses all over your skin. Your hips jerk when he fucks his fingers into you harder and faster, the pressure in your lower stomach growing greater. When his mouth latches back onto you, you moan loudly, knees beginning to buckle.
“Fuck! ‘m gonna cum– ‘m gonna fucking cum, Leon,” you whine, hugging the pillow to your chest, a sharp breath of air leaving you.
“Cum then, sweetheart,” he whispers, “be a good girl and cum for me.”
You cry out when he sucks harder on your clit, his face pressing harder into you, nose buried into your pussy. Leon groans loudly, the vibration shooting up through you, making your pussy clench around his fingers tightly. Your body trembles, knees giving out finally when his tongue flicks at your clit, another moan tearing its way out of your throat as you cum.
“That’s it,” Leon snarls, managing to hold you up despite your arms feeling rubber. “Cum just like that. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”
You whimper, still twitching as he laps at your cunt gently, tongue sweeping over your folds as he slurps down your slick, his thumb rubbing against your clit to draw out the final waves of your orgasm while his fingers slow their pace inside of you before pulling out completely.
Leon’s body is hot when he hovers above you, his hands brushing away the sweaty hair clinging to your skin, head dipping to press soft kisses to your cheek, his stubble oddly soothing as it rubs along your skin.
“You okay?” he asks softly, hands drifting down over your back, squeezing your waist soothingly, hands petting at your still reddened and slightly bruised ass. “I guess I’ve been a little pent up.”
“A little?” you murmur, fingers sliding into his hair when he kisses your neck. “I think you’re more than a little pent up, Leon.”
He grunts in agreement, dropping another kiss to your neck before laying down on his back, letting out a heavy breath.
“I haven’t exactly had time to relax,” he sighs, “too many fucking responsibilities ever since Raccoon City.”
You hum, sitting up, arms still a little wobbly. Leon watches you, his eyes tracking your every movement. You smile at him, eyes twinkling, fingers hooking into the hem of your hoodie before you pull it up over your head, tossing it to the side. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees your breasts, hand reaching out before he pauses mid-reach. You take his hand, pulling it toward your breast, smile growing wider when he squeezes.
“Are my tits helping you relax?” you ask innocently, hands landing on his chest as you swing a leg over his hip, straddling him.
“Guess so,” Leon says, his other hand joining the fray, squeezing your untouched breast. “Pretty fuckin’ tits, sweetheart.”
Your eyes flutter shut as you let him play with your tits, distracted momentarily by the way his fingers move – pinching and tugging, thumb sweeping over your hardened nipples. It’s when you shift on his lap that you become aware of how hard his cock is, hips rolling against the clothed length.
“To answer your question,” he murmurs, tracing the curve of your breast, gently cupping one in his hand, thumb stroking over the soft flesh. “I can, in fact, still get it up.”
You snort, unable to stop the laugh that bubbles out of you. Leon grins back, his head tilting as he peers up at you, hands sliding down over your sides to grab your waist.
“I didn’t doubt you for a second,” you breathe out, voice laced with amusement, your hands beginning to pull at his shirt. He helps you, lifting his arms so that you’re able to pull it up over his head easily. “You do look pretty good for a 49-year-old.”
You lean forward, kissing him gently before you trail kisses down his neck and over his chest, lips brushing over his thick pecs. Leon sighs, his eyes slipping shut, a hand cupping the back of your head as you continue to lay his skin with kisses. You kiss his scars tentatively, squirming lower to kiss his abdomen, tongue darting out to trace the defined ridges of his abdomen.
“You tryna make me cum?” Leon rasps, half-lidded eyes watching you as you bite at his side playfully.
“That is a priority, yes,” you say, following the trail of coarse hair that lies under his navel and the thick bulge laying further down.
His hands in your hair tighten when you nuzzle into his sweatpants, nose brushing against the fabric. When you breathe in, you can smell him, all heady and musky and arousal is seeping into your bones once more, mouth sucking at his clothed cock.
“As much fuck– I would like that,” he grumbles, hips bucking when you mouth at him again, spit dampening his sweatpants, “I’ll cum if you put your mouth on me, baby.”
“Just one suck,” you mumble stubbornly, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down.
Your eyes widen when his cock bobs heavily, struggling with its own weight. You swallow, blinking dazedly as you take in the length and the thickness and the heavy balls that sit underneath. The tip is flushed angrily, darkened and dripping with globs of pre-cum that don’t seem to stop, his cock twitching when you lean towards it slowly.
“It’s big,” you whisper, glancing up at Leon before your eyes find his cock again, pussy beginning to throb as you imagine the stretch. “Really fucking big. You’re– you’re that hard for me?”
Leon grunts, his hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a quick pump. “Yeah, just for you, sweet girl.” He pumps it again, holding his cock towards you. “You said you wanted a taste, go ‘head, pretty baby.”
You don’t need any further invitation, licking your lips hungrily, tongue lolling out. You drag your tongue along the hot length of his cock, feeling the smooth skin and saltiness of his pre-cum. Leon groans, his hips bucking again, another glob of pre-cum dribbling out. You lean forward just in time, catching it on your tongue before your lips wrap around his thick cock.
“Fuck– fuck, baby,” Leon moans, twitching underneath you as you bob your head, beginning to suck. “Your mouth– hah– fuckkk.”
You peer up at him, eyes glittering as you let your tongue swirl around the head before you pull off, pressing a wet, sticky kiss to the tip of his cock.
“Don’t do that,” he mutters hoarsely, shaking his head, “don’t fucking kiss my cock like you’re fucking in love with it.”
You do it again, brows raising when his cock twitches, looking over to find his hand clenched into the sheets, knuckles nearly white.
“I think you like it,” you tease, moving to wrap your hand around his cock, stroking it slowly. “And… I think your cock likes it too.”
“Fuck me,” he growls, head tipping back when you take his cock back into your mouth, sucking and slurping lewdly. He groans and grunts through it, eyes peeling open to watch you swallow around his cock, your pupils blown wide with lust.
When his head lolls to the side, you take your chance, head dipping before he can stop you to suck one of his balls into your mouth. He tastes so dizzyingly nice, spit beginning to leak from the corners of your mouth. Leon’s cock kicks and you land one last kiss to the tip before he’s pulling you up towards him, muffling your whine with a messy kiss.
“Wanna ride it,” you mumble against his lips, worming closer, breasts squishing up against his firm chest.
Leon doesn’t answer, too busy tipping your head up by your chin to kiss you again, stealing your breath. You paw at his chest, fingers finally latching onto his thick biceps. Squeezing, you moan into his mouth when his tongue strokes against yours, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls back up onto his lap.
Your hips roll, bare pussy gliding along the length of his cock, the tip catching on your newly swollen clit, making you twitch. He refuses to let up with the kisses, groaning into your mouth when you pull at his hair, feverishly swallowing up every little noise that bleeds from your throat.
“Yeah?” he breathes out finally, head tipping back for a moment as he catches his breath, calloused hands squeezing at your hips. “You wanna bounce on it? Hm? This needy pussy of yours need a fat cock to keep it happy, baby?”
“Mhm,” you nod, biting your lip, arousal blistering over your skin, lust beginning to cloud your thoughts once more. You press closer, lips brushing against his ear as though telling him a secret. “It needs your fat cock, Leon.”
“C’mere,” he mutters roughly, moving you up onto your knees, hand grasping the base of his cock to hold it steady for you. “Sink down on it, sweetheart.”
You shift, lowering yourself slowly, letting out a muffled gasp when you start to take his cock, the head of it already beginning to stretch out your pussy as it bullies its way past your entrance.
“‘s just so fucking thick,” you moan softly, peering up at him.
Leon hums, his thumb stroking over your lower lip while his other hand strokes over your hip soothingly.
“You got it, baby,” he smiles, dropping a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You took my fingers and my mouth so fucking good. Only got a few inches left, yeah?”
Your brows furrow as you bite your lip harder, gasping when you finally take all of him, pussy fluttering around his cock wildly in an attempt to adjust to his sheer size. You feel so full, so much so that you think you can feel him in your stomach.
“Good fuckin’ girl,” Leon whispers, his arms wrapping around your waist as he leans against the headboard of the bed. “Take what you need from me, sweetheart. ‘s all yours.”
“Leon,” you mewl, dragging out the syllables of his name, whimpering against his mouth when he kisses your cheek. “I… I can’t,” you say, flushing hot, “it’s too big, I don’t–”
“Good girls don’t give up,” he breathes out, hands moving to squeeze at your waist, “not to mention you were so headstrong earlier. Where’s that attitude now, baby?”
“You fucked it outta me,” you retort poutily, shoving your face into the crook of his neck.
“And to think you said I was old and weird– shit, baby–”
You relish in the loud, guttural groan he lets out when the walls of your pussy squeeze around him. Nuzzling closer, you kiss the spot under his ear before your hips move, rocking and rolling in a lazy rhythm as you get used to his size.
“I’m not giving up,” you murmur, glancing up at him as he watches you, head tipping back when his hand moves up over your breasts, slipping between them to wrap around your throat.
“Atta girl.”
Leon squeezes and you moan, grabbing his wrist as your knees dig into the bedding, hips beginning to rise and fall. He pulls you into a sloppy kiss, growling into your mouth, panting as his tongue slips over yours messily, his thumb prying your mouth open. You pant, tongue lolling out as you ride his cock, the bed creaking from your motions as you fuck yourself on his cock needily.
“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Leon rasps, watching you with dark eyes, his hair messy and hanging over one side of his face. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart.”
You smile at him dopily, breath slowing when his hand tightens, starting to cut off your intake of oxygen. His nose nudges against yours, breath hot as he kisses you, lips working against yours eagerly until his grip loosens, letting you suck in a breath.
“You trust me that much?” Leon asks, smiling back at you with a feral look in his eyes when your hand wraps around his throat. “You think that’s a good idea, sweetheart? You wanna choke me out while you ride my cock?”
“Oh, you can take it,” you whisper, tightening your grip. Your movements don’t slow, thighs smacking against his as you bounce on his lap, your hand landing on his shoulder for leverage as you drop yourself down on his cock harder, setting a firmer rhythm. “Heard you– ahh– kicked ass back at Rhodes Hill.”
He grins, eyes glinting, a ragged noise leaving him when you pant into his mouth, licking at his lips.
“Yeah, I still hah– got it,” Leon muses, hands squeezing at your ass.
Your brows furrow when his grip tightens, a moan punched out of you when he grips your hips starting to lift you, using you as he fucks you on his cock.
“That’s it,” he drawls, controlling the rhythm and you, his forehead pressing against yours as he jerks you up and down his thick, throbbing cock. “Take my fat fuckin’ cock, baby. Cute, little pussy’s just swallowing me up.”
You whimper, hand sliding to cup the nape of his neck, your bodies moving together as his cock carves its way through your pussy, nestling against that spot before it glides out and drives back in. His chest is pressed against yours, firm muscle pressed against your soft breasts, the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing along your clit.
“Harder,” you whisper, eyes finding his, hips starting to sway back to meet his thrusts when he plants his feet into the bed, knees bending as he fucks his cock up into you. “Want it– nghh– harder, Leon.”
“That might strain my joints, baby,” he says softly, smiling up at you when you huff out an annoyed breath. “What? You were concerned about my bones.”
“Fuck your bones,” you groan, pushing at his chest, squirming off of his lap onto your hands and knees, ass swaying up into the air. You look back at him over your shoulder, hand worming between your thighs to spread yourself open for him, wet, dripping pussy all on display for him. “‘m so empty,” you whisper, voice lilting. “Fill me up?” You bat your lashes, “please?”
Leon mutters a low curse, his chest heaving as he rises up onto his knees, using your ankle to pull you toward him, his hand stroking his cock with uneven motions, knuckles tightening when he sees the slick webbing between your puffy folds and clinging to your thighs.
You’re half-expecting some witty remark, but all Leon does is brush a rough kiss to your shoulder, grunting into your ear before he’s notching the head of his cock against your aching pussy and driving his cock into you.
“Too– fuck! Too fast!” you squeal when he starts thrusting hard and fast, the bed beginning to rock with every snap of his hips.
“But you said you were empty,” Leon rumbles into your ear, “‘m just filling up this needy, pretty fucking cunt for you, sweetheart. So stop squirming,” his hand clamps down on your hips, “and fucking take it.”
You wail into the room, thrashing under him when his hips smack into your ass, balls slapping against your throbbing clit, the lewd noises echoing through the small space. He draws moan after moan out of you, his cock pounding into your pussy unforgivingly. You think you can feel it in your throat, his fat cock sliding through your gripping, fluttering walls.
Leon’s body is draping over your back, his mouth settling right next to your ear as he grunts and groans. Your toes curl, back arching when he pushes down on the small of your back, his breathing ragged as he grinds his impossibly thick cock into you.
“Fuck,” you mewl, spying his flexed bicep near your head, drool pooling into your mouth. Your head tilts as the muscle bulges, all inhibitions lost when you follow the line of his arm to stare hazily at his veiny forearm. You lean towards his bicep, teeth sinking into the thick muscle with a moan.
Leon’s breath hitches, his hips stuttering for a moment when he realizes you’ve bit him before his thrusts start up again, his hot, heavy cock pounding back into your needy pussy. You lick his bicep, tongue laving over his warm skin, eyes rolling back when his arm moves, wrapping around your throat, his bicep pressed up against the side of your neck.
“You keep– fuck– staring at my arms, sweetheart,” Leon rasps, grinning against your cheek when you let out a choked moan, his breath cut off by a low moan of his own. “Is this what you need? A strong arm wrapped around your throat, fat cock pounding into your needy cunt and sweet, little kisses?” He punctuates his question by kissing your temple.
“I– nghhh– need you,” you whine, feeling dazed as he drops his weight onto you a little more, enough so that you can feel every inch of him against your back.
You can’t really do anything but take it, his skin slapping against yours and breath rough in your ear. When his fingers move, finding your clit to rub the swollen bud, you whimper, clutching the sheets, nails raking against the fabric as the string of pleasure draws tighter.
“‘m gonna cum,” you say hoarsely, cunt clenching around his cock desperately. “Leon– Leon, Leon, Leon!”
“‘m right here, baby,” Leon whispers, kissing your cheek, “taking my cock so well. Doing so– fuck– good for me, yeah? Cum whenever you want, sweet girl, I’ve got you.”
Your body jerks when his fingers rub against your clit faster, a ragged scream erupting from you as you cum violently. Leon swears, his grip on you faltering, the arm on your throat drawing away as you twitch on his cock, grasping at the sheets, at the pillows until Leon offers you his hand.
Your fingers lace together with his and you squeeze tightly, gasping uncontrollably until his mouth finds yours, capturing your lips in a kiss. You whimper into his mouth, knees weak and thighs tired, your death-grip on his hand loosening when he soothes you with soft kisses. Your pussy clenches and Leon groans into your mouth, his hips jerking forward unevenly.
“‘m gonna cum too, pretty baby,” he grunts, fingers pushing at your ass gently, hips beginning to pull away. “Greedy, little pussy’s clenching around me too tight, I can’t–”
“Inside,” you mumble, letting your hips sway back tiredly, trying to swallow down the length of his cock. “Cum inside.”
“That’s– shittt– a bad idea, baby,” Leon groans, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder as his hips rock into you, pace stuttering.
You can feel his cock throb and twitch, a soft mewl escaping you. “You said you were full of bad ideas.”
Leon lets out a startled laugh, his breath coming out in short, choppy bursts. “I did– hahhh– I did say that. Take my cum then, sweetheart, gonna flood this perfect fuckin’ cunt with cum.”
He grips your hips, thrusting forward with a hard drive of his cock. Leon swears under his breath, his hips jerking into your ass as he cums, cock kicking and throbbing as hot, thick cum floods your pussy.
You let out a contented noise when he moans into your ear, low and guttural, the sound making you feel warm. His softening cock slips out after a few moments and Leon pulls himself away from you, the bed protesting under the weight of you both. You curl up into his side, head dropping over his chest, eyes drooping when you feel the steady beat of his heart.
Leon’s hand settles on your head, stroking over your hair lazily as he pants, chest rising and falling.
“Do you feel relaxed?” you murmur, peering up at him with a sleepy smile.
“I feel fucked out,” Leon mutters, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek, rubbing at the spot of drool that had pooled at the corner of your mouth. “You did a number on me, sweetheart.”
“I aim to please.”
He laughs, hauling you closer and you smile, kissing the underside of his jaw. “You went above and beyond, I can tell you that much.”
You snort, arms wrapping around his neck. “Am I gonna get that in writing?”
“I’ll think about it,” Leon murmurs, his fingers slipping under your chin to tip your head, lips pressing against yours. You hum into the kiss, fingers tangling in his soft hair, a quiet noise leaving you as he squeezes your ass.
When Leon pulls away, you chase after his lips, eyes fluttering shut when he returns your kiss just as eagerly, your thigh hooking over his hip, brows furrowing when you feel his cock against your thigh.
You look down, cheeks flushing when you find his spent cock beginning to harden, the fat length bobbing gently as it fills out.
“Already?” you murmur, sighing softly when he leaves stubbly kisses along your jaw.
“What can I say?” Leon whispers, his hips bucking when your hand wraps around his hardening cock. “You uh… bring out the best in me, I guess.”
You raise your brows, unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across your face. “Your best attribute is your cock? That’s a little disappointing.”
He grins, groaning when you kiss his pec.
“You didn’t seem to think it was disappointing when I fucked you with it.”
“It is nice,” you acquiesce, head tipping back as he leans into you, trailing hot kisses down your neck, his hips beginning to rock lazily, meeting the strokes of your hand.
“I do have other nice, non-sexual attributes,” Leon says, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin gently. There’s a light flush settled on his cheeks and he clears his throat, sucking in a soft breath when you squeeze his cock. “Maybe you’d like to find out sometime?”
Your smile softens, affection beginning to creep in through the cracks of your ribs. Leaning forward, you kiss him gently.
I'm baaaaaack. Is it because I've been playing way too much Resident Evil and felt the need to indulge in actually posting the 9000 fanfics burning holes in my hard drive? Maybe.
cw: fem!reader, explicit smut/MDNI, fingering, squirting, Draken calls reader "good girl" and "baby," mentions of aftercare because Draken is a king. not proofread, i got excited. | wc: 715
I’m a firm believer that Draken is proficient at making you squirt. He will have no “I can’t, Ken,” or “I’ve never done that.” Nope. When you meet Draken, he’ll be sure to have your sheets ruined in a matter of seconds.
– – –
“That’s a good girl, c’mon, gimme another.”
He’s got you on your back near the edge of the bed. He instructed you to hold your legs open, but by now your grip was slacking behind your knees after having just made a mess of the duvet underneath you. It was like nothing you had ever felt before.
Draken was still only using his fingers, two plunged inside your cunt and curled upward to press the pads of his fingers to the one spot that was sure to make you cum a little harder than normal. You had half a mind to wonder how he even knew about that spot if it weren’t for the fact that he grew up in a brothel.
Some would call that cheating, but to Draken it only means he gets to open the door to this new wonderful pleasure that he enjoys just as much as you presently do. Your chest heaved, trying to swallow air as fast as you moaned it out. Your thighs started to shake, wet and shiny from your own release, but Draken wanted you drenched, soaked down to the core.
“Keep those legs open f’me, baby,” he cooed, using his free hand to hold you down at your abdomen while his occupied one continued to finger you at a rapid pace. His palm cupped around your pubic bone for leverage to press his fingertips harder into your g-spot, waiting for your walls to contract once again to signal another orgasm.
It was everything to simply keep your hands from slipping, already so fucked out from the intensity you felt in your core. Your eyes started rolling back, moaning so sinfully that it only encouraged him more.
You tried to move your hips, chasing your high almost autonomously because your mind was gone. It’s as if your body was saying again, again. Your abdomen felt tighter, an indescribable sensation creeping its way up your spine and through every single one of your nerves.
“K-Ken… fuck, I’m– I–” You were clenching down on his fingers, voice reaching a higher pitch but your throat closing off because you were overwhelmed by the shocks you were feeling as his fingers literally hooked into you and his palm stimulated your clit.
“Let it go, baby. That’s it, make a mess f’me, pretty girl.”
It felt like a twenty foot wave crashing down to shore, blood roaring in your ears and your vision going hazy as you cried out. Your pussy gushed like a waterfall, trickling down to the bed cover and splashing against your thighs and stomach.
“K-K-Kennnn!” He slipped his fingers out of your cunt to quickly rub his digits over your clit, which turned the knob already at max way over your limit. The muscles in his arm tensing at the effort of his movements. The shrillness of your voice cut through the air, seeing stars at the back of your eyelids.
By now there was a puddle of your own making beneath you. Your pussy clenched around nothing as Draken slowed his motions, settling on a slow languid roll of his fingers around your pretty little nub. He thinks he’s in love with the ‘schlick’ sound of your cunt, admiring your fucked out face and spent body.
“You did so good, baby. I told ya you could do it.” He stretched a smug smile across his features before helping you relax your legs, crawling up the bed to tenderly kiss your forehead and make sure you were still somewhat present. Your eyes fell heavy searching for him, exhausted beyond belief and truly astounded that he was able to make your body do that with such little effort.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” There was never any doubt that Draken would give you the proper aftercare, helping you get your arms around his neck so he could get you in the shower. You already know you’ll be sleeping so well tonight, and looking forward to the next time Draken gets you to ruin the sheets.
mitsuya x f!reader, excessive swearing, casual sexism, starring the toman founders + peh, everyone is alive and well adjusted au, 600ish words
"Oh? What about her on the left? She's so pretty!"
"I can't see any faces from here, but whoever's wearin' the white skirt has nice legs."
"Yo! Check out the girl in the braids! She's got a huge—"
“What are you doing?”
Stacked over one another like a totem pole as they peer around a corner, Kazutora, Pah-chin, and Baji nearly jump out of their skins when they hear your voice behind them. Slowly, they turn around and see you looming with an all-knowing irksome smile.
“These porn addicts are being gross and weird,” Draken answers for them with flat disdain.
“Guys with girlfriends should be addicted to shuttin' the fuck up,” Baji hisses and immediately returns his attention to what’s around the corner of the building, or more like who.
A group of college aged girls are sitting on the sidewalk patio of a cafe, talking and enjoying some afternoon caffeine and pastries between laughs. The atmosphere around them seems to radiate florals and glittering sunshine.
“Aren’t you guys a little too old to be creeping on women like we’re in high school still? You'll end up like Shin acting like that," Mikey says from his position of shamelessly laying on a sidewalk bench.
"And what of it? Shinichiro-kun is cool!" Kazutora retorts, barely looking away from the group of girls.
"And bitchless," the blond mutters and picks his nose.
“Oi! Mikey! I might be stupid but I know you'll never get a girlfriend if ya talk about women like that!” Pah-chin growls over his shoulder.
“Yeah! Pah’s dumber than shit ‘n even he knows better!” Peh-yan says from the sideline with too much gusto.
“Shaddup! I'm dumb as shit, not dumber than shit!"
You laugh at all of the ridiculous banter, always relieved to know that your old friends will never change – even if they are a little loud and embarrassing.
"Sorry about them," Mitsuya says, suddenly appearing by your side with an apologetic smirk and hands stuffed casually into the pockets of his pants. At least one of them can speak with some tact. You smile back at him in greeting, trying not to overthink how his elbow brushed against your arm when he approached from behind.
"You guys shouldn't talk like that with a girl around," he chides the rest of the guys with chilling judgment in his tone that makes all of them look away sheepishly.
"It's fine," you insist with a wave of your hand.
"It actually makes me kind of happy to see that guys still get this excited over girls. Gives me hope that maybe someday, to someone out there, I'll be worth gawking over," you tell him with a grin, hoping that it isn't too cheesy of a thing to say.
Mitsuya just blinks at you with wide eyes and somehow you miss everyone else's ears growing ten times in size.
"Well, I gotta head to the store. I only stopped because I heard passing people talking about some freaks acting suspicious," you say flippantly though your words hit everyone like cinder blocks.
"Mitsuya-kun, tell your sisters I say hi!" You call over your shoulder before waving goodbye and carrying on with your day.
As soon as you turn your back and walk out of sight, Mitsuya covers his eyes with his hand and slowly wipes down his face until he's covering his mouth. He opens his lilac eyes and sees the guys staring at him with wobbling tight-lipped smiles.
He groans.
“She’s so fuckin’ hot. I can’t stand it," he mutters behind his hand that hides his flushed cheeks.
The other guys look at each other, break out into grins and laughter, and immediately start piling on him with way-too-hard playful punches.
I’ve been working on my queer superhero fantasy novel Byoldervine for a few years now, but it’s only been in the last year or so that I’ve really dedicated myself to my writing. Now I’ve gone from a fun few concepts to nearly 50K words and counting. So I figured I’d share my process to get here
1. Figure out your barebones concept
Before you can begin writing, you obviously need to know what you’re writing. At this point in time it can literally just be something like “A group of friends go on a quest through a magical fantasy world and meet loads of mythical creatures along the way”, it doesn’t even necessarily need a plot intact. You can be as vague or as specific as you like here, you just need that general idea
2. Figure out your characters
Your characters are the driving forces behind all internal conflict in your story and give your story heart; if you can pick between expanding your plot and expanding your characters, pick the characters. Start figuring out at very least the need-to-know aspects about your characters, such as their motivations and what’s holding them back from achieving them. We can flesh them out more and more as we go
3. Create the main external conflict
Often this takes the form of the main antagonist, but it can be literally anything from a curse the main character is trying to overcome, a series of misunderstandings, a goal they just don’t have the skills to achieve on their own, etc. What’s the thing that’s causing our main character problems they need to overcome?
4. Work out the beginning and end of your story
Where do you want your story to end? Do you want your characters to be living a life of peace and glory as revered heroes after they defeat the villain? Do you want them to be able to return to the life they once had with new friends and stronger powers than ever before? Do you want them to fail and experience the tragedy of their loss? Well if that’s where you want to end, they can’t have all that at the very start of the story, so that’s something that needs to change during the story. Congratulations, you just created a plot point!
5. Use your plot points to create a general plan
Now that you’ve got some ideas of what you want/need to happen during the story, you can make a timeline of these plot points. Say something like “Inciting incident, MC leaves village” or “MC trapped by BBEG” or “MC gains new weapon” or something like that. At this point things are a bit less vague because now you’re starting to see how the plot can go. Don’t forget to add things that the characters would go for, too, even if it’s not plot-relevant
6. Plotting
You’re ready to start plotting by now. For every chapter, write down a general objective of what needs to be achieved within this chapter. Each of these needs to be followed with bullet points of different, smaller plot points within the chapter to achieve this objective. This part I enjoy doing alongside actually writing so I can update it as I go, I’ll usually plot about five chapters ahead and then get to writing until I’ve used them all up
By this point, you’re ready to write! Best of luck and remember that it’s only a first chapter, all it needs to do is exist!
You don't mean to hold onto the past but, you do. You hold onto him with every piece of you and you're only going to hurt others in the process.
Takashi Mitsuya x Reader
Word Count: 3.7k
Warnings: nsfw, female reader, non-canon events, reader deals with grief, major character death, descriptions of a dead body, mentions of blood, mentions of a panic attack, unprotected sex, hurt & no comfort
Here is my entry for @bioticlaw TUN collab! I don't know why I choose sadness and angst but I hope anyone who reads this enjoys what I wrote! I tried my hardest with this one :')
Grief: (noun) deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone's death.
Grief is the response to loss, particularly to the loss of someone or something that has died. Death is the tragedy in the young, too many opportunities and experiences cut short. There’s a different kind of mourning you feel when someone you love dies young, you’re angry; the unfairness in the world makes you want to scream and cry, all the lost occasions and celebrations you’ll never get with your person. It’s different when they never get to grow old with you, getting to have the same initiations in life that you had to go through; the heartbreaks, the ceremonies, all the celebratory times in one’s life all cut too short by the angel of death himself. Death is a right of passage for the elderly, the old have lived their lives fully, looking back on the memories that they made because they had a full life to live, a life they had lived absolutely.
The death in your life was one no person should have to endure. The loss of your one true love; Ken Ryuguji. The sorrow you feel should be a testament to the love you had, the pain stands as a witness of your bond with him and how it still survives even when time has spent since his passing.
Ken was a true gem, a diamond in the rough of the people in your life. He was a protector by nature when it came to you, always shielding you from danger since you two were young, it continued even after you two grew up from little kids to young adults although by then you were able to defend yourself without needing his presence. It’s a shame you were never able to do the same for him.
The memories of seeing him were ones engraved in your mind, the blood that pooled around his cold, lifeless body still haunts every aspect of your being. Most nights you cry yourself to sleep, the recollections of that unforgettable night being the only thing you’re able to think of when the moon shines brightly through your window, the darkness of the night mirroring just how you felt inside most days. No matter what you do to stop them, the tears continue to flow.
You wish you could think of the happy memories, lord knows there were plenty of them to blur out the bad. Your favorite memories hazily glow in the glum thoughts, the light trying to brighten but eventually being downcast into the murkiness of your heartbreak. You still think back to when you’d be on the back of his bike – your arms wrapped tightly around his waist as the bike was revved up and exceeded speeds that weren’t legal in any way but you didn’t care. You could’ve driven for hours and ended up who knows where and you wouldn’t care. You would’ve been content just being with Ken forever.
But forever doesn’t exist.
The suffering you endure from the memories of that very night – it’s like razor blades filled inside one of the many stuffed animals he had given you throughout the years, the more you clung to them the deeper the cuts go, and no chance in healing as you embed them deeper and deeper.
You gasp aloud, body shooting up in a frenzy as you look around, the heavy comforter that was once draped over you was now kicked down and bunched down at your feet. Your throat constricted against itself as you tried to heave as much air in your lungs as possible. The room was spinning even when the darkness surrounded you with no form of light peeking out anywhere. You squeezed your eyes shut, the tears that had already been welling up fell down your cheeks now. You’re so focused on catching your breath and centering yourself that you don’t hear the calling of your name from beside you, the low buzz in your ears greater than his voice could reach.
You feel a gentle hand on your back, the slow movements of his hand seemingly calming you down in a matter of seconds. “Sorry…” you mutter out, voice hoarse and quiet, you glance over to see your boyfriend, a worried expression etched all over his face.
“No apologies tonight, okay?” Mitsuya says as he sees your broken figure, he pulls you closer to him as he lays you both back into the bed. Your head rests against his shoulder while he continues to rub small circles along your back. A shaky sigh escapes your lips as you melt into him feeling the tingle in your body slowly dissipate while you calm down.
Mitsuya knew what he was getting into when he finally decided to approach you, he had known you since you both were kids; being introduced to each other by Draken himself, he also knew of the relationship that you and Draken had, Mistuya was also the one who realized that you were the unlucky soul who found Draken’s body, but how could you not when you were pinged the location.
It was something out of a movie, a horror movie that no one should have to live through. Mitsuya remembers hearing that you found Draken’s body but when you opened up enough to tell him the events that happened that very night a shiver ran through his spine.
You rushed through the story when trying to talk to him about it, tears pricking your eyes because you were so tired of crying and just wanted to stop. When you finally got to the part that took an eerily chill turn Mitsuya could feel his own throat start to contract, the bile in his throat slowly rising up. You got the location ping from Draken himself, it was a random spot, an area behind a field that was frequently packed during the summer when little league would be in full swing, but you knew it. You went to go meet him, confused as to why he was so M.I.A during the day and why he didn’t tell you about the reason for this random location drop. You finally saw him, lying in a patch of grass staring up at the stars until realizing what you were actually looking at.
Draken was dead.
His face looked peaceful but the torn, dirty clothes he was wearing said differently. The grass was stained red around him and it dragged on as if his body was moved. Days later you found out that he had been dead for hours prior to getting the location ping that was sent to your phone, a silent yet deafening message being sent to you.
Mitsuya listened to everything, seeing how you were when reiterating the story to him, watching how you fidgeted and struggled to finish the story towards the end. You were never the same after that, the lasting effects of witnessing and living through something so traumatizing was something you dealt with on a daily basis. You told him that the first few months you had nightmares every night, some so bad that you forced yourself to stay awake for days on end which only made you incoherent at work. Therapy was something you now go to three times a week, it does help but he sees the anger behind your eyes when you say you shouldn’t need it.
You were closed off when Mitsuya came to you, another result of what you had been through. He remembers vividly of your warnings to him, you were so adamant on telling him that you weren’t the same girl he once knew, you couldn’t be. If you could’ve given him a powerpoint presentation as to why he shouldn’t be with you, you would have if you were given the time. But he didn’t care, he just smiled that same comforting smile he’s always had at you just waiting on you to finish the 15th reason as to why he’d be better off with someone else.
The look on your face when he just waited for you to finish and proceed to ask you out on a date was something he cherished, the little gap your lips made in astonishment and wide eyes was something to snicker at. He was going to be the one to break down this concrete wall you had built up.
Days turned into weeks which turned to months and here you were, almost a year together and if you were being completely honest you were surprised. You didn’t expect a relationship to come from him, but when it did, the guilt that started to eat away at you displayed so vividly that you were so sure that he was going to cut and run at the earliest convenience, but he stayed, he kept his feet planted firmly down and promised to help you, he told you that you weren’t alone in this and for the first time in a long time you didn’t feel alone.
Mitsuya was never a rebound to you, you never wanted him to be just someone to take up the space that Ken once filled up, you don’t think that anyone could truly do that. Being with Mitsuya you learned that it’s okay to keep ahold of those memories you held so close when it came to Ken, that still loving Ken was okay even if you were now with Mitsuya. With the relationship you now had it was easier than you had expected because he had seen all of you, all of your troubles and hardships, and what you needed. There were no points of uncertainty because he was there to help you through it all. If that’s the secret to the strong bond and how it formed so fast for you two you’d be happy to say it aloud and shout it from the rooftops, although you still have your troubles it’s easier to talk to someone who isn’t being paid to listen.
Despite the fact that your relationship with him wasn’t always like this and your feelings for Mitsuya were more of a slow agonizing burn than something that blossomed like a beautiful flower in the springtime. Your feelings crept up slowly, once treating him like a foreign object that was protruding into you deeper and deeper until you felt the ache subside, you caught yourself waiting on his calls, always happening around the same time, and just like clockwork you let it ring three times before answering. You started to miss his absence and sweet words, always knowing what calms you down when you’re more anxious about the world around you. You genuinely liked him, although the thoughts of uncertainty always loomed in the back of your mind. The guilt eats you away in random moments of the day, when you feel content it hits harder than you’d like. Would Ken be upset with you? This was his friend, his close friend to be exact and it felt wrong. Continuing on with life was something you needed to do, you had to keep going on, so why did you still feel this way? Was it too soon to move on? Should you have stayed alone and dealt with this all yourself rather than finding solace in another person? Was it fair for you to find happiness while Ken couldn’t feel anything anymore? He was gone, dead and buried yet here you are alive and tormented by nothing but the thoughts of him and what could’ve been.
“We’ll get through this.” Mitsuya’s voice brings you back to him, his voice was as quiet as a whisper but came through so loud in your head. He always has a way of bringing you back down. Your throat still hurt and you could still feel the drum of your heart pounding against your chest. “We’ll get past this.”
Past this… Past Ken… God, if only he was still here. You wouldn’t be like this, you wouldn’t be in pain and constantly having a battle within yourself, you wouldn’t be–
“I love you.” Mitsuya’s voice cut in.
Suddenly everything stopped; time, sound, your breathing. The words that left his lips danced around in the atmosphere circling around you both. You raise your head and look at him, lavender eyes wide open as he stares right back at you. He’s terrified, the silence in the air making him more nervous than he’d like to be.
It slipped, of course he feels that way but he didn’t want to say it until he was absolutely sure you felt the same. A childlike way of going about things but who could blame him when you looked the way you did right now, you were stunned, you might as well have been hit with a stun gun with the way you seemed to be frozen just from three simple words that carried so much weight to them and worry was now creeping up on him, God knows you’ve tried pushing him away before but now this just might be the final blow to send you running away from him for good.
“Say it again.” You speak up, albeit quietly and unsure of the words that you had just heard but still understood by Mitsuya.
He swallows down the fear that creeps up his throat, the look he gives you is uncommon yet raw, shifting to face you more, his hand grazes up your arm until it rests against your cheek, and his thumb brushes against the soft skin as he takes a deep needed breath. “I love you–”
Mitsuya felt your lips on him before he could finish let alone process what was happening. Your eyes squeezed together tight and hands squeezed around his wrist even tighter. If a single kiss could condense a million thoughts and promises in one, this would be it. He kisses you back, lips forming against yours and bleeding all the passion between the words he said to you behind it. Your lips were warm and soft against his which was a stark contrast to your bodies, his was cold to the touch; chest pricked with goosebumps as your warm hands roamed over him. He snaked an arm around you quickly tugging you closer all while shifting to hover over you. You feel his weight bare more on top of you, one hand holding himself up as his other slides under your shirt just enough to feel your skin against his.
Your skin felt like a million fireworks were being set off on top of it, the way his hand set them off in an instant made you feel so many things: excitement, regret, acceptance, guilt.
The thought of Ken slips into your mind. Of all times to be here, you thought. You were always so shy with him, the memories of your first time flooded in like a dam that had finally burst. His face; rosy cheeks and the beads of sweat that graced his body, he was praising you the entire time, telling you how good you were doing and how beautiful you looked under his body. His hands; how strong they were when you finally switched positions, he so easily lifted you up and brought you back down his cock with such ease. And his mouth; the way he effortlessly spewed such filth on top of the sweet and loving words he’d call you. And his-
You shake those thoughts away, needing wanting to focus on the man in front of you.
Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers grazing the side where his tattoo stays hidden. Strong hands find place at your waist and soon fingers dexterously hook into the waistband of your bottoms and tug them down.
He wishes he could take his time with you, wanting to go as slow as he can to savor this moment, but the way he’s tugging your top off and pulling his sweats down he can’t help it. Your hands move quickly as well, tugging at his boxers with a slight tremor. Nerves running rampant at this very moment, you want this, you need this with him. You want to get this right.
You’re both so sweaty as his cock is thrusted back into you continuously. The oversensitivity for how long you two have been going is catching up to you and tears well up in your eyeline ready to fall. Just a little more and you’ll get there, teetering on the edge of ecstasy and falling back down to losing your high.
Mitsuya’s thrusts weren’t rough but were just enough to pull the small whimpers from you. His hands were on your hips pushing you deeper into the mattress with every thrust that kissed your walls, it was needy, the way your legs hooked behind him pulling him deeper and deeper just chasing that high you couldn’t reach. Your brows furrowed in frustration and he saw that, he saw how you’ve been trying for so long just to finally cum. His thumb pressed into your clit rubbing small, quick circles to help you but that barely did anything.
Your walls fluttered around him for the nth time that night but almost like a mental block you don’t reach your peak, your walls stop gripping around him while a pout forms on your face and a huffed out sigh that was quietly heard. You couldn’t get yourself to finish.
Mitsuya swallows thickly as the words he’s about to say cause a deep churn in his stomach. “If you need to say…” he swallows them down, hips slowing down in the process yet still flush against yours, “his name. If that makes all of this easier for you, then say it.”
You snap your head up to look at him. Disbelief filling your brain from the words he just said. His name. Say Ken’s name…
“Takashi-”
“It’s fine-fuck.” He groans, his hips slowly pulling out until just the tip then slowly thrusts back in, a certain fervor behind it that makes your ears ring. His pace picks up, the shallow sound of his hips meeting yours until another groan leaves him. “You need this.”
He leans down and his lips latch onto the sweet spot to your neck, licking a stripe up until you visibly shiver. Your arms hook under his own, holding him tight against your chest. His own groans of pleasure in your ear spurring you on further.
You squeeze your eyes shut, tears finally falling past your waterline as you allow yourself to think about him, bringing those thoughts you so desperately tried pushing away earlier this night. You think about how Ken would grab you, hold you, kiss you, touch you. Imagining that he was the one to touch you now, cock buried deep within your walls and groaning from how tight you squeeze him. If you thought hard enough Mitsuya’s voice melded into his, the same deep vibrato you loved to hear, especially in the morning. Mitsuya’s cock buried in you soon blended in your thoughts of Ken, finally feeling as if it was Ken who was fucking you.
His name slips out of your lips before you realize what you’re doing, a gasp rips from you as you open your eyes wide. You meet Mitsuya’s pretty purple eyes that are already staring down at you. You couldn’t decipher what it was; he had a different appearance behind his eyes. “Again.” He says before thrusting into you harder, each thrust of his soon becoming rougher than the last and hitting all the sensitive spots inside that make you choke on your own moans.
“Fuck…Ken.” You moan his name, this time a bit louder than the last. You clench down tighter than you have for the night, you were so close, Mitsuya could tell from the glossy look you had.
“Come on baby, cum for me.” His voice was desperate, he needed you to cum, he needed to feel you unravel underneath him even if it wasn’t him who you had on your mind.
He leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, hips slamming in rougher that had you squealing out. His tip hitting deeper the harder he fucks up into you. You look up at him seeing that his eyes never left yours. “I love you.” is all you utter before finally crashing down. Body shaking as you orgasm, Mitsuya’s hips sputter as your own orgasm causes his, a flurry of curse words leaving his lips as he paints your walls with his cum.
It’s silent in the aftermath, just the sounds of heavy breathing from the both of you and the sound of the blankets shuffling as he pulls out, laying beside you.
You both are at a loss for words, how has someone as pure hearted as Mitsuya lasted this long in a world so cold and fucked up? How did he end up with you? Were you also just the last string left he had left of Draken? Had his feelings been blinded by the pain he felt from losing him? How did you end up with someone so kind and understanding? Knowing no one else in this world would have the patience that he has had for you. How did a once calm night turn into tension that couldn’t be cut with the sharpest blade?
You really fucked up this time, you both think to yourselves.
Eventually, Mitsuya turns to flick the bedside lamp off, soon enveloping you in the darkness that you felt was your heart. You felt the blankets now cover you as you were pulled into him, the warmth of his body and his arm holding you tight allowing you to feel relieved in some way, you still felt cold inside, nonetheless. A sigh leaves both of your chests while you close your eyes and let the darkness take over.
The last thought before falling asleep was of Ken.
