IS IT A CRIME TO LET YOUR LAW PROFESSOR FUCK YOU ON YOUR COUCH?
SYPNOSIS. after that heated encounter in his office, you've been dodging his lectures and ignoring every reminder of what happened that night. higuruma hiromi is more frustrated than ever—until he finally stops waiting and takes what you've both been circling for weeks.
PART ONE
PAIRING. law prof! higuruma hiromi x law student! reader
A/N. art by hunnismoker on x. first post after getting flagged !!!
you’ve been ghosting his class for almost two weeks.
not on purpose…at least, that’s what you tell yourself. it started innocently enough when midterms starts, three back-to-back exams in four days was hell. then the cold came, a scratchy throat turning into fever. you told yourself you’d catch up once the fog cleared but even after the fever broke, you didn’t go back.
a stupid group project drama piled on next. one groupmate ghosted entirely, another argued over every citation, and the third kept rewriting your sections without asking. you spent nights in the library staring at shared google docs, highlighter bleeding through pages you weren’t reading, mind drifting somewhere else entirely.
and underneath all of it was the real reason.
the humiliating, pulsing truth you couldn’t admit out loud even to yourself.
every time you pictured walking into that lecture hall, sliding into your usual seat, you felt his eyes on you again. the one he gave you that monday evening in his office when the door was locked and your knees were on carpet and his hand was fisted in your hair.
the memory played on cruel repeat, you could still taste him—still feel the stretch of your throat when he fucked it.
you tried to study criminal intent the way you always had: highlighters, flashcards, color-coded notes. but every time the mens rea slides appeared in your mind, you saw him at the podium instead. black marker in hand, diagramming voluntary manslaughter like it was nothing, his voice never failing to sound low and tired.
you imagined him turning to the board and writing your name in the margin next to “reckless disregard.” imagined him underlining “guilty mind” twice, then looking back at you over his shoulder with that unreadable stare.
your stomach would knot. your thighs would press together under whatever table you were hiding at. heat would crawl up your neck and settle low in your belly until you had to excuse yourself to the bathroom just to breathe.
so you skipped.
there’s no way you could focus anyway.
one lecture became two. two became four. by the sixth absence you were submitting everything online. you polished every pdfs attached to curt emails with subject lines like “week 7 reading response” and “torts ii problem set.” you were still doing the work. still getting As on the assignments he graded without comment. no one could say you weren’t keeping up.
but he noticed.
higuruma hiromi doesn’t chase students. he doesn’t send gentle “concerned professor” emails with smiley faces or pull anyone aside after class with a hand on the shoulder and a murmured “is everything alright?” he isn’t built that way. he marks absences in neat red ink on the roster.
so you knew he’d seen it. knew because the last assignment you submitted came back with feedback that was longer than usual.
“strong analysis of actus reus, but your discussion of mens rea lacks depth. consider the subjective vs objective standard more carefully. office hours are still available if clarification is needed.”
was that an invitation? you don’t know.
you deleted the email without replying. closed your laptop. buried your face in your pillow and tried not to think about how badly you wanted to walk into his office again.
instead you stayed away.
it’s a thursday evening and the sky is already dark by 5:30, rain hammering the campus like it’s trying to wash the whole place clean. you’re huddled under the inadequate bus shelter outside the law building. you opened your phone for the third time to check the ETA, the next bus kept getting pushed back.
your fingers are numb on the screen. the cold seeps through your hoodie, makes your teeth chatter in small, embarrassing bursts.
you keep thinking about how stupid this is—standing here freezing when you could have easily just stayed in your apartment with the heater on and another excuse not to face him.
you only came here cause you needed air.
you needed it because every time you close your eyes all you see is him.
the tired lines around his eyes that made him look older and sharper. the way his jaw tightened right before he told you to open your mouth. the low rasp in his voice when he said “that’s it” while he pushed deeper, like he was grading your ability to take him.
it's making you insane.
it makes your chest ache now. it’s not just want, you actually need him. shame mixed with this stupid, gnawing need to know if he thinks about it too. if he replays the way you looked up at him with tears in your eyes, or the sound you made when he finally let you breathe. you hate how much space he takes up in your head.
headlights cut through the downpour suddenly. a black sedan slows, pulls right up to the curb in front of the shelter. the passenger window slides down with a quiet hum.
“get in.”
his voice slices through the rain noise.
you stare for a second. higuruma is behind the wheel, his face is half-shadowed, but you can see the faint crease between his brows.
you hesitate.
“i’m not waiting,” he says. “the bus is delayed. you’ll be here another half hour at least.”
you feel your pulse jump in your throat. it’s really him, sitting there in the driver’s seat with the same rolled sleeves and the same tired expression you’ve been replaying for weeks. part of you wants to stay right where you are under the shelter and keep pretending none of this exists, because getting in the car means facing whatever this is head-on. but the cold is biting through your hoodie, your jeans are soaked at the bottom, and the thought of waiting out here alone while he drives away makes your chest tighten. you already know you’re going to regret it either way, but standing here freezing feels worse than whatever happens next.
your feet move before you decide. you duck out from under the shelter, yank the door open, slide inside. the door thuds shut and suddenly the world is muffled…everything else gone quiet except your own heartbeat thumping loud in your ears.
higuruma doesn’t look at you right away. just checks the mirrors, pulls away from the curb smooth and controlled.
silence stretches awkwardly for a few minutes.
“address,” he says finally.
you rattle off your off-campus place a few miles away. he nods while he inputs it into the gps without comment. the screen glows blue on the dash … then more silence. the wipers sweep steady as you steal glances at him, his hands on the wheel look steady, veins standing out against his skin.
“six absences,” he says out of nowhere. “consistent, aren’t you?”
“i submitted everything on time.”
“i know.” he flicks the turn signal, merges left. “your work is fine. better than fine but you’re not in the room. that’s still a problem.”
you swallow, “i’ve been busy. you know midterms…group stuff, also got sick for a bit.”
“convenient timing.” he chuckles as heat floods your face.
“it’s not like that.”
“isn’t it?” he glances over. “you avoid the lecture hall, avoid my eyes. but you still send polished assignments like nothing happened.”
“i didn’t know what else to do.”
“you could have come to office hours.” his tone is even, you almost hear boredom in it. “asked for clarification on mens rea like i suggested in the feedback. like a normal student.”
but that’s the thing, there’s nothing normal about this.
“i didn’t think you meant it,” you mumble.
“i don’t say things i don’t mean.”
the car fills with quiet again.
“where do you live?” you ask suddenly, desperate to change the subject, to make this feel normal.
he raises an eyebrow. “why?”
“just curious. i mean you know where i live now.”
“apartment near the courthouse district. walking distance, it’s convenient.”
“do you… drive students home often?”
“no.”
another turn, the surroundings are familiar now. your complex is coming up soon.
“you’ve been thinking about it,” he says.
“about what?” you play dumb.
“monday.” he doesn’t elaborate, he doesn’t need to.
you press your thighs together, try to ignore the pulse between them. “yeah.”
“and?”
“and it’s hard to sit in class pretending it didn’t happen.”
he pulls into the loading zone in front of your building. you hear the engine idles, rain drums on the roof. he finally turns to look at you—like really look. eyes dark and unreadable, but you want to believe that there’s something under the tiredness. hunger, maybe. or just patience wearing thin.
“then stop pretending,” he says quietly.
you stare at him.
“come inside,” you whisper. “just… to get out of the rain.”
he studies you for a long second. then reaches for the keys, kills the engine.
the sudden quiet is deafening.
he gets out first, circles around, opens your door like it’s nothing. you step out into the downpour again, colder now after the heater. he doesn’t offer an umbrella…he probably doesn’t have one. just waits while you fumble for your keys, both of you getting soaked in the short walk to the entrance.
inside the stairwell it’s warmer, but your clothes are heavy with rain and dripping onto the concrete steps. you lead the way up, feeling him right behind you—close enough that you can hear the soft squeak of his shoes on each stair, feel the faint heat coming off him even through the damp air.
your hands shake a little when you unlock the door. it swings open into the small entryway, string lights from the living room spilling faint yellow across the floor.
you step inside first, kick off your soaked sneakers by the mat. he follows closing the door, he doesn’t take off his shoes right away, he stands there observing your place. he takes a mental note of it, looking at the stack of textbooks on the coffee table, the open laptop with his class portal still pulled up, the half-empty mug of tea.
you turn the lamp on higher, then head to the kitchenette to grab towels. anything to keep moving. “i’ll get something to dry off with,” you mutter, mostly to fill the quiet.
when you come back with two towels, he’s already peeled off his wet jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. his shirt is clinging in places—white fabric turned semi-transparent over his chest and shoulders, sleeves still rolled up, forearms flexing when he takes the towel from you.
he dries his hair roughly, then his face, eyes never leaving yours.
you try to focus on drying your own arms, but your gaze keeps dropping to the way the wet shirt outlines the lines of his body—the faint definition of muscle under the fabric, the dark trail of hair visible through the damp material where it sticks to his stomach. your mouth goes dry. you remember exactly how that skin felt under your palms last time, how his abs tensed when you swallowed around him.
he notices it.
“you’re still shivering,” he says, voice low. he steps closer, takes the towel from your hands, and starts drying your hair himself. fingers brushing your scalp through the fabric. it’s so gentle that you froze.
“take the hoodie off,” he says after a moment.
your fingers fumble with the hem. the wet fabric peels away from your skin with a cold suck, leaving you in just your thin t-shirt and bra underneath. the shirt is clinging too, nipples hard from the chill and from him watching. you cross your arms instinctively.
he drops the towel on the floor. reaches out, hooks two fingers under the hem of your t-shirt, and tugs it up slowly. you lift your arms without thinking. the shirt comes off, lands somewhere behind you. his eyes drop to your chest, then back to your face.
“still cold?” he asks.
you shake your head. you’re burning now.
he steps in until your back hits the wall by the entryway. one hand plants beside your head, the other slides down your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through the bra making you inhale sharply.
“tell me to stop,” he says quietly.
you don’t.
you don’t want him to stop.
his mouth finds yours—harder than the first time he kissed you in your memory. there’s no buildup, just pure hunger. his tongue pushes in immediately and you moan into it, hands scrambling up his wet shirt, fingers digging into the fabric over his chest. he groans low against your lips, presses his hips forward so you feel how hard he already is through his slacks.
your fingers curl into the wet cotton of his shirt, pulling him closer even though there’s already no space left between you.
he breaks the kiss first, just enough to speak against your lips. “kitchen counter now.”
you nod, legs shaky as you lead him the few steps into the narrow kitchenette. he doesn’t give you time to think. his hands find your waist, lift you onto the counter in one smooth motion like you weigh nothing. the cold granite bites into the backs of your thighs through your damp jeans. you gasp at the temperature difference.
“these need to come off,” he mutters, fingers already working the button of your jeans. you lift your hips when he tugs, helping him peel the soaked denim down your legs along with your underwear.
you’re bare from the waist down now, legs dangling off the edge, thighs trembling slightly from the chill and anticipation. his eyes tracing the curve of your hips, the soft skin of your inner thighs, the way you’re already glistening for him.
“spread wider,” he says.
his palms slide up the insides of your thighs, thumbs brushing close but not quite touching where you want him most. you desperately shift forward, chasing his hands; he presses one palm flat to your lower stomach, holding you still.
“patience,” he murmurs. “you’ve been avoiding me for two weeks. you can wait a little longer.”
“hey i told you i wasn’t–”
“ah yes, right… you were busy, right pretty?”
his thumb finally grazes your clit and your hips jerk. he does it again, slower, watching your face the whole time. your breath comes in short pants. he circles then collects wetness on his fingers before bringing them back up to rub slowly.
“you’re soaked,” he continues, “been like this the whole ride?”
“since you pulled up,” you admit, which makes him hum in approval. two fingers slide inside you without warning, stretching you open. you moan, head tipping back against the cabinets.
“look at me,” he says.
you force your eyes open. his expression is focused, almost clinical, but his pupils are blown wide and there’s a flush high on his cheekbones.
he’s affected too.
he adds a third finger, stretching you further. the slight burn only makes it better.
“good,” he mutters. “just like that.”
his free hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you into another kiss. his tongue fucking into your mouth in time with his fingers. you’re rocking against his hand now, chasing the pressure, little whimpers escaping between kisses.
“mhm…so good.”
he pulls his fingers out right when you’re teetering on the edge which you whine in protest.
“not yet,” he says against your mouth. “want you to come on my tongue first.”
he drops to his knees between your spread legs. the sight of him there, kneeling on your kitchen floor, hair damp and messy from the rain—it does so much things to you. he hooks your legs over his shoulders, hands gripping your thighs to hold you open.
he doesn’t tease this time. just leans in and licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. you cry out, hands flying to his hair. you feel him groan against you. his tongue is relentless, pointed flicks over your clit, then sucking it between his lips. he alternates, never letting you settle into one sensation long enough to predict it.
“hiromi—” his name comes out broken.
he pulls back just enough to speak. “you can go louder, right? wanna to hear it.”
“hiromi,” you moan again, louder this time. he rewards you by sucking hard on your clit while two fingers slide back inside, curling ruthlessly against that spot.
you’re dangerously close. your thighs start to shake around his head. he doesn’t let up, he keeps the same steady rhythm, tongue and fingers working in perfect tandem.
“come,” he orders, voice muffled against you. “now.”
your whole body tensing as you come apart on his tongue. you cry out his name, fingers tightening in his hair, hips grinding against his face. he doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering from overstimulation.
he finally pulls back, his lips and chin all shiny. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, stands slowly. his erection is straining against his slacks now.
it’s obvious and thick.
you reach for his belt with shaky hands. he lets you undo it, lets you push his slacks and boxers down just enough to free him. he’s heavy in your hand, hot and hard, precum beading at the tip. you start to stroke him making him hiss through his teeth.
“enough,” he says, catching your wrist. “want inside you.”
he lifts you off the counter, hands under your thighs again. he turns, carries you a few steps into the living room, and drops down onto the couch with you straddling his lap. the cushions sink under your combined weight.
his cock is still hard, pressed up against your stomach now. he lifts you just enough to line himself up. you feel the blunt head nudge at your entrance…thick and insistent.
“relax,” he says, “breathe, won’t you? let me in.”
you try. you really do. but the stretch is already intense just from the tip pressing in, and your body tenses instinctively. you bite your lip, hands braced on his shoulders.
“i’m trying…” you mutter, half-laugh, half-whine. “...you’re big.”
he huffs a quiet laugh against your collarbone, the sound rough and amused. “i know but you took it fine with your mouth before, this should be easier. just relax those hips for me.”
his thumbs rub slow circles over your hipbones, coaxing. you exhale shakily, try to loosen up, but when he starts pushing in harder.
your breath hitches and your nails dig into his shoulders.
“easy,” he murmurs. “why’re you fighting me?”
“hey i-im trying,” you repeat pouting. “but y-you’re stretching me so much.”
he pauses halfway in, lets you adjust. his hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, then back down to your ass. he squeezes gently, spreads you a little more.
“there you go,” he says. “good girl. feel that? you’re opening up for me already.”
you can feel every inch of him...too thick and hot, it burns in the best way, that full, almost-too-much pressure that makes your thighs shake. inside, he feels heavy like he’s pressing right up against every sensitive spot at once.
“fuck,” he mutters, forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second. “you feel—shit…so tight. like you’re trying to keep me out and pull me in at the same time.”
you both groan at the same time when he pushes all the way inside.
“you okay?” he asks, one hand to come up to brush damp hair off your forehead.
“yeah,” you whisper. “just really full. you feel huge like this.”
“good,” he says. “you want me to move?”
you nod fast, breath coming in short bursts. “yes please.”
“then tell me properly. use your words. what do you want, hm?”
you swallow feeling slightly embarrassed. he’s looking right at you, eyes half-lidded but sharp, waiting.
“i want you to fuck me,” you mumble.
he tilts his head, one eyebrow lifting. “that’s cute but i said properly baby.”
your thighs twitch around his hips. he’s still buried all the way inside, the fullness is driving you insane. you can feel every vein, every slight shift when he breathes.
“hiromi…” you whine, rocking your hips a little.
he tightens his grip, holding you still. “nuh-uh. no cheating. say it like you mean it. you’ve been hiding from me for two weeks—least you can do is ask nicely.”
you bite your lip, embarrassment and need twisting together until it hurts. “i want you to fuck me hard,” you say, louder this time, “pleasee…i-i need it.”
he smirks again, feeling satisfied. the corner of his mouth tilting up just enough to show he likes hearing you beg.
“there we go,” he says quietly, “that wasn’t hard, was it?” his hands slide to your ass, fingers digging in as he lifts you a couple inches, then drops you back down hard onto his cock. the sudden thrust makes you yelp.
“o-oh hiromi-"
he doesn’t let you catch your breath. starts fucking up into you. each thrust is deep enough to make your whole body jolt while the couch groans under you both, springs protesting every time he bottoms out.
“does this turn you on?” he asks, “fucking your professor on your shitty little couch? hm?”
you moan louder than you mean to, head tipping back,
“thought so.” he thrusts harder, one hand sliding up to grip the back of your neck, keeping your face close to his. “been skipping my class, sending me perfect little assignments like nothing’s wrong, but every time you typed my name you were probably dripping thinking about this. about me splitting you open just like this.”
you can only moan in return too gone to comprehend what he’s saying. he curses under his breath when he feels you clench, pace turning rougher. the wet slap of skin on skin is loud in the quiet apartment, mixing with your gasps and his heavy breathing.
“look at you,” he mutters, eyes locked on where you’re taking him. “taking it so well. my good little student, finally getting what she’s been aching for.”
he shifts his angle slightly, tilting his hips so every thrust drags right against that spot inside you. your eyes flutter shut, mouth falling open on a broken moan.
his face is flushed, hair falling into his eyes, jaw tight with restraint. but he’s watching you like he’s memorizing every twitch. like this won’t happen again.
“tell me,” he says, voice dropping lower. “tell me whose cock is making you feel this good right now.”
“yours,” you gasp. “ah hiromi’s! only yours—”
he rewards you with a particularly deep grind, rolling his hips so the base presses hard against your clit. “that’s right,” he murmurs. “and you’re gonna come on it again. gonna soak my lap like the needy little slut you are for me.”
his hand slips between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, firm circles that match the brutal rhythm of his hips. your stomach tightens, thighs trembling uncontrollably.
“puh...please i’m close.”
“i know,” he says, voice strained now. “can feel you fluttering around me. go on come. make a mess…it’s yours anyway.”
it hits fast and hard. your whole body locks up, back arching, cry ripping out of your throat as you come apart.
“fuck—good girl—fuck—”
he keeps fucking you through it, drawing it out until you’re shaking, until his thrusts turn sloppy.
“where do you want it?”
“inside,” you gasp immediately. “please inside.”
that’s all it takes. he grinds deep as he comes, filling you up. he groans long and low against your neck, arms wrapping tight around your waist, holding you down on him while he rides it out.
for a long minute neither of you moves. all heavy breathing, sticky skin, the faint patter of rain still outside. you can feel him softening slowly.
he kisses your shoulder, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth.
“you good?” he asks quietly.
you nod against his chest, still catching your breath. “yeah. really good.”
he huffs a small laugh, hand stroking slow down your back. “what do you wanna do?”
you’re still straddling him. the living room smells like rain and sex. your forehead is pressed to his shoulder.
“stay,” you mumble into his neck. “stay like this a little longer.”
his fingers keep tracing lazy lines up and down your spine, from the nape of your neck all the way to the small of your back, then back up again. it’s soothing in a way that makes your eyelids heavy.
his gaze drifts past your shoulder, landing on the open laptop still glowing faintly on the coffee table. the screen’s dimmed but not off since his class portal is still pulled up from earlier.
“this where you took one of the photos?” he asks casually.
your stomach drops and flips at the same time. heat rushes back to your face so fast it makes you dizzy.
“what?” you whisper, even though you know exactly what he means.
he nods toward the couch. “right here on this cushion. ass up, looking back over your shoulder. the third one you sent. background looked familiar, same string lights in the corner, same throw blanket bunched up like that.” his hand pats the cushion beside you. “thought it might’ve been the bedroom at first but no kitchen light’s wrong for that angle. had to be here.”
you bury your face deeper into his neck, mortified. “hiromi…”
“what?” he sounds genuinely amused now, the low rumble vibrating through his chest. “you’re the one who attached it to an entrapment analysis. i had to look closely.”
you groan, half-laugh half-embarrassed whimper. “i didn’t mean for you to—i mean, i didn’t plan—”
“sure,” he cuts in gently, fingers sliding into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp. “but you didn’t delete it either.”
you lift your head just enough to peek at him.
“you kept them?” you ask quietly.
he doesn’t hesitate. “yeah, all three. printed them out, remember? filed them under ‘supplemental materials.’” he pauses, thumb brushing your cheek. “don't get me wrong, it's not for grading, it's more for...reference...?"
“reference for what?”
“for nights when i’m grading papers at 2 a.m. and wondering why a certain student keeps disappearing from my lecture hall.” he continues, “or for when i need to remember exactly how you looked when you were trying to tempt me into breaking every rule in the faculty handbook.”
“and… did it work?”
he looks at you for a long second, then leans in and kisses you, a simple one. when he pulls back his forehead rests against yours.
“obviously,” he mutters. “look where we are.”
“shower soon,” he says again. “then bed. and tomorrow—”
“i’ll be in class,” you finish for him.
“get a better seat,” he adds. “where i can see you properly.”
love your work, esp the fic with leon and reader as friends to lovers !!! ive been thinking abt this for a hot minute but,,, hmo. agent!reader coming home after being at a bar with their friends and leon was really worried, so when they come back he’s all over them and wondering where they were and it eventually leads to really nasty smut,, like reader riding leon type smut. i totally see re4 or vendetta leon doing this , they have a place in my heart
a/n; mmmh riding vendetta leon...CRRRAAAAZY style....🤤 GOD THIS IS DELICIOUS. Thank you for the opportunity to write vendetta leon again cuz I rarely write for the movie eras nowadays. Also idk if this was meant to have any specific relationship for this fic, but there's only vague implications to an existing relationship between the two.
sum; after coming home absolutely shit-faced and needy, Leon's concern grows, much like the embarrassing tent in his sweats.
content; alcohol consumption, reader is HAMMERED, sort of subby!leon, riding, messy sex
wc; 2.2k
Leon had his fair share of disappearing at night sometimes. He had his history of drinking and leaving for the night—sometimes nights—but it was worrying when you'd disappear on a night out. Earlier in the day, you told leon you'd be going out with friends around 7 p.m., getting dinner and then going bar hopping, and you'd make sure you were home by 11 p.m.
Leon's brows furrowed as the clock neared midnight. You were usually so punctual with your timing, and you rarely ever got drunk. Of course you'd drink when you went out with friends, but never enough to make it a problem or you'd make sure you leveled it out and timed it right so you were at least coherent while being driven home. He tried calling you, but your phone just went to voice-mail. Maybe the battery died. He sighed heavily, deciding not to worry and just waiting in the bedroom for you.
It's pushing 1 a.m. when leon finally hears the door open, followed by heavy, uncoordinated footsteps and the lazy sounds of you trying to lock the door. Leon shuffled out of bed, brows furrowed faintly as he found you leaning into the door, almost unable to keep yourself upright as you fiddled with the locks on the door. Leon sighed, coming up behind you to offer support with an arm around your waist, his other hand coming to lock the two locks on the door of the apartment.
"It's one in the morning. You said you'd be home by eleven." Leon scolded quietly, helping you get rid of your jacket. You leaned into him, whining.
"I had ssss—sooo much fun." You argued.
"Yeah, smells like it." He huffed. "Is this how you feel when I come home all shit faced and smelling like alcohol?" He joked, helping you kick your shoes off before you stumbled toward the bedroom.
"Mmh, shhh, you'll wake the neighbors." You slurred, shuffling to find the wall for support as you turned back to Leon.
"Hey—hang on! Where on earth were you? You were out until one a.m., and you're not going to tell me where you were?"
"I was out! Bars. Probably a food truck or two. I dunno." You groaned at his persistent pushing to find out why you were out so late.
"You didn't answer your phone once. Not even texts before you were gone for the first hour." He frowned, meeting you where you stood against the wall, your movement antsy and whiney as you tried not to run off and avoid his scolding. You'd both realize later how hypocritical this was of him, but you only had one thought now.
"Can I show you how sss—" You interrupted yourself with a small hiccup, swallowing thickly before you continued, "s-sorry I am?" You fell forward into him, and he tensed as he caught you, letting your face bury into his neck.
He hesitated, unsure of what your apology entailed, but he helped you upright with a firm grasp around your waist. "You're drunk." He said firmly.
"Lee," you whined, hands splaying over his chest and clutching at his shirt.
"I know you needed a night out. You've been absolutely fucking swamped at work, and the missions, and the lack of alone time—"
"I don't wanna talk about work." You grumbled. "Why can't I just apologize how I want to?" You huffed.
"You're stressed. You needed a night off. You don't need to apologize."
"But you're upset."
"I'm upset because you didn't answer your phone, you got home at one in the morning, you're absolutely shit faced, and now—"
You grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him downward and making both of you stumble backward to where your back pressed to the wall with your lips crashing messily against his. Leon grunted, left hand holding your waist while his right hand smacked against the wall so he didn't fall against you.
"Shut up." You scolded, panting lightly against his lips. You deepened the sloppy kiss, lips notching together perfectly with his focus on your lower lip. After a moment, he eased into your advances, letting out a low, smooth purr of arousal.
"You—" He exhaled, trying to pull back to speak. You kept him close with a hand gripping his hair. "You are drunk." He sputtered against the kiss, only for you to pull away and huff, brows furrowing.
"I'm drunk, apologetic, and unbelievably horny. You're just lucky I made it home before I pulled over and dealt with myself." You stared up at him.
"You drove home?" He pulled back further.
"Ugh, no, I had Maddy drive me home." You groaned.
"Then how would you—"
"Empty threats, Leon! Can't you avoid questioning me for five minutes?" You leaned back, slouching against the wall with an exhausted whine.
"Maybe you should try weed instead of alcohol." He muttered.
"Weed isn't much different. Are you done lecturing me, or can I continue?" You looked up at him, eyes droopy and half-lidded. You exhaled slightly, only for the breath to be interrupted with a small hiccup and a groan. When Leon didn't answer, you moved forward and yanked him by the shirt to make him follow you to the bedroom down the hall. Before he could object—which he wasn't planning on doing—you had him pushed onto the bed and you were already ridding yourself of your clothes. You had to fiddle with the zipper of your skirt, but once that was done, you crawled onto the bed with him and straddled him.
Now, clad in only a lace set matching with a pretty midnight blue color, Leon could hardly sputter out a poor excuse for some kind of response. He swallowed harshly, looking up at you.
"Are you going to stay dressed and deal with the mess of laundry or are you—"
"Undressing." He said quickly, reaching to take off his shirt and move to undo the drawstring of his sweats. With the sweats easily loosened, you lifted your hips and let him shimmy the pants down a little to where he could easily kick them off.
"That's better." You muttered, settling in his lap and earning a faint squeak of a response thanks to the pressure of your core pressing against the base of his cock through the thin layer of his boxers and your panties. "Sensitive." You giggled, biting at your lip as you gave an experimental drag of your hips, only for his legs to jerk and his hips to hump against you.
"This is supposed to be an apology." He huffed.
"Eh, changed my mind. Just really wanted to get my hands on you." You grinned, dragging your hips back and forth with a torturous pressure. You moaned softly as you angled your hips to let his tip catch against your clit. He let his head fall back.
Usually, foreplay would last at least another ten minutes with you. You needed a little more attention than Leon, so when he felt you already pushing his boxers down and pulling your panties aside, he was momentarily stunted and completely caught off guard. He blinked, lips parted.
"Aren't you gonna.. tease a little more?" He asked quietly, huffing faintly as he looked down where your body hovered above his.
"I don't need to." You gestured down at his already aching boner, and it became clear that you were excited enough when you propped his cock upright and let the fat tip press against your entrance. He choked on air, lips falling open as he clutched at the bedsheets to contain himself and avoid bucking his hips.
You eased down onto his length, your walls thoroughly soaking his length and dripping down his cock as you began to rise and fall on his length. Leon wasn't used to the pace of things—you were going too fast for him to process half of it, too fast for him to savor the feeling of you wrapped snug around him, and too fast for him to focus on not cumming within an embarrassing time.
"Oh—oh, fuck," he exhaled heavily, head fallen back as his brows furrowed, his thighs tense and shaky. "Slow down," he huffed, hands coming to hold your hips in a poor attempt to slow you down.
"Mm—mm." You shook your head, biting your lower lip as you pushed more upright in his lap, hips rising and falling so fast that your thighs began to burn within the first minute or two.
The mattress and bed frame creaked under the weight and motion, the sounds of metal and wood stressing mingled nicely with the moans and whines of Leon and the moans and gasps from you. Leon took in the sight finally—starting at your lower half. Your thighs tense, the fat of your thighs, ass, and hips jiggling with every bounce. Your pussy stretched impossibly tight around his girth, and your tits bouncing with each movement from you. Leon's hands, shaky and weak, came to grope and palm at your tits. You'd think your drunken state would render you sloppy, unstable, weak, or even drowsy!
No, no, you didn't seem to take alcohol the way Leon did. Leon definitely took alcohol and was knocked out by the time he'd make it home. If he managed to, that is. You? Oh, you took it and ran with it like it was holding you hostage and you needed to make up for drinking so much. Leon was the one rendered weak and shaky and sloppy—although for once, he was the sober one!
"Fuck, please," he choked out, eyes rolling back. "You gotta.. gotta slow down." He whined, hips subconsciously bucking and chasing a deeper, insistent need.
"Uh-uh." You huffed. "Not... not happenin'." You slurred slightly, leaning back and planting your palms firmly on his thighs, which were tense in an effort to hold himself back. The different angle made the head of his cock push harder against your g-spot with every downward slam of your hips. Your moans grew louder, heavy breathing mingling with the sounds within the bedroom.
"Oh, shit, please!" He practically cried, brows knitting tighter as his body locked up sporadically. You shook your head, a small giggle leaving your lips at his desperate clutching at your hips and the blankets, his back arching. He looked absolutely pathetic—you hoped you'd remember the look on his face. Nose scrunched, brows knitted, soft blue eyes brimming with fat tears, lips quivering and almost spilling over with drool.
"Y're s-so fuckin' pathetic." You purred with a slight stammer in your words, looking down at him with a slightly crooked grin, all too happy with the state of Leon in the moment.
Leon could hardly muster up a poor excuse for arguing your claim, his mind preoccupied by the fact that he was going insane with your tight cunt around his cock, and the sight of you riding him like there really was no tomorrow. His hands grasped desperately at your thighs, his short and blunt nails digging into your skin as he fucked upward to meet your hips. He whimpered, legs kicking with every sharp shock of pleasure that would run through him. He could feel his end coming. He knew this was going to be so embarrassing—usually he at least had the decency to tell you, but the way you'd turned his brain to mush made it hard.
You could feel it, too. Leon's signs of orgasm were never subtle. Twitchy cock, legs jolting or shaking harder, his chest jittering with shaky, uneven breaths, and the most subtle but still noticeable in certain angles, was how his cock would throb and his balls would draw up tight. Without a warning, Leon's fingers clawed down your thighs, his cock pulsing and spilling his cum into you in thick, heavy spurts that made your body shiver. You rode him through the orgasm until his cum began to leak and spill out of your pussy. You took one hand and brought it to draw tight, messy circles against your clit with your middle and ring finger.
With his cock softening, sensitivity reaching a high, Leon practically cried. "Fuck—hoo—oh, god, y're gonna fuckin' break me, baby," he panted, barely coherent and audible as he watched you chase your own pleasure with no regard for his need for a break. Luckily, you weren't far behind, but it still took enough time for Leon's tears to finally spill over and decorate his cheeks with faint streaks.
You mewled at your pleasure peaking, thighs tensing and knees locking as you ground against him. It wasn't as good as it could've been, but it was enough for Leon's torture to be over. Your walls pulsed around him, and he shivered and squirmed and whined, shoulders tense as he turned his head to hide it in the pillows. You huffed, leaning over him as you lifted your hips and let the last bits of your shared mess spill onto his cock. His length twitched in response, but gave no other indication of round two.
You settled to lay on his chest, nuzzling up close to him as you kissed at his collarbone. "Mmh," you purred quietly, eyes closing. "Y're warm."
"Uh-huh.." Leon huffed quietly, eyes falling shut as his trembly hands came to rest over your back, keeping you close. "I'll join you for drinks from now on." He muttered. You were too tired to argue, and his words fell deaf upon your ears as you were already slipping into sweet, sweet unconsciousness.
OlderSubby!Leon Kennedy x Reader (somewhere around RE9)
Leon can always tell you're up to no good when you get that mischievous glint in your eyes, and usually, he's down to satisfy your ever request. This one might take a little convincing, however.
based on this request
“I know that look,” Leon starts, peering over the top of his phone, across the breakfast table. He’s got his readers on, the frames dipping down the straight of his nose, settling near the button at the bottom of the slope. “You’ve got something on your mind.”
“It’s nothing,” you quickly dismiss, reverting back to the book in your hand, not wanting to taint the sacred hour of reading-and-coffee before the day begins with your debased fantasies. They always invade during the early morning hours, squirming into your ears to gnaw at your brain like maggots. And the worst part? You can never repress them. But today you’ll try, because this one thought in particular is especially depraved–too perverted to speak aloud before seven a.m. “Nevermind.”
For a split second, Leon reverts to the crossword on his phone, but the rows and columns are blurry and the tiny print doesn’t quite compute. He adjusts his hips in the seat, which now feels like it’s made of thorns, and he straightens his spine against the hard back of the chair.
Something’s nagging at him too.
“Spill.”
His interjection prompts you to look up from the pages you’re not reading,
“Really, it’s nothing.”
“Put that book down and tell me what you just read.”
That’s the beautiful thing about being married to a super secret agent-spy-man. Nothing falls under his radar, and he knows exactly how to make you open up…in more ways than one.
“Fine, you got me,” you relent finally, setting the book down, too wanton to care about marking the page you turned to without even reading the one before it. “I can’t focus because I’m too distracted thinking about how you’d look tied to that chair.” The words pour out in a frantic spill, like oil in the ocean, before you can keep them at bay. Too destructive, too sticky. Too much of a mess to bother cleaning.
Shit.
Leon’s eyes grow wide, wider than you’ve ever seen them before, and you’ve watched all three Insidious movies with him. They can get real big.
And then he chuckles.
“You beast,” you choke, throwing your book at him with as much might as you can muster. It barely makes a dent in the barrel of his chest, the one that’s heaving up and down as another rumble of laughter rolls through him. “Don’t laugh.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he amends, conjuring up enough strength to fix his face back to its usual serious mug. Sucking in a deep breath, he pinches his brows, leaning forward. “You want to tie me up?”
“Yes,” you mumble, too bashful to meet his gaze.
“And do what?” A smirk returns to his face, reigniting your zeal.
“I don’t know. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
He huffs an amused puff of air through his nostrils, and leans back, crossing his arms. There’s still a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. You want to kiss it off, or slap it off, or both. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, I’m down.”
I’m down. Famous last words.
He revisits them in his head, on his tongue, as he sits in one of the breakfast table chairs, with his hands cuffed behind the rigid wooden spindles flush to his back.
When he came home from work this evening, he thought you would have forgotten. Hell, he almost did after the day he had. Stacks and stacks of intel to review, of reports to write. His hand ached from taking notes, the grip of his pen still indented into the skin of his fingers.
But you hadn’t forgotten.
In fact, you had gone out and bought the damned things, and they aren’t flimsy.
He squirms against the icy metal cuffs clamped down onto his wrists, his shoulders rolled against the ledge of his chair, his arms awkwardly pulled back. You’ve been teasing him for what feels like an hour, and his limbs have long gone numb. His dick started screaming for release five minutes into your little tirade, and hasn’t stopped since.
“Just put me out of my misery,” he groans, tilting his head back.
You’re dressed in a black silk slip, little triangles of lace webbed between the slits cut on either side of your thighs. It’s simple enough to titillate, but doesn’t eclipse your beauty, the one enhanced, not hidden by the way you’re wearing your hair, and the makeup glittering your face. What a sight to see, he thinks. If only you were the one standing above him every time he found himself in this position out in the field. At least you brush your teeth. And you’re pretty.
“So pretty.”
“What was that?” You ask innocently as you open your legs to straddle his lap. His hips buck beneath you, grinding his erection against your bare pussy, chasing that relief like it’s a kite swept up by the sky, its tail dangling just beyond his reach. He can feel your arousal soaking the crotch of his cargo pants, dampening the fabric right above the length of him. The cool sensation against his skin elicits a gasping moan from his throat.
“You’re so pretty,” he coos under his breath, looking up at your face above him. Flushed cheeks and plump lips. He’d like to kiss those. But you have other plans.
You trace the width of his mouth with the pointed tip of your tongue, sliding your pink muscle back and forth across his lips. “Is that your way of buttering me up? Think I’m gonna stop just because you gave me a compliment?”
He shakes his head adamantly, the heads of his brows knitting together as he closes his eyes. “Would never.” The words come out weak and lifeless.
“Good boy. Didn’t think so.”
You stand up, removing yourself from his lap and his eyes shoot open. “Wait, no,” he whimpers, straining against the cuffs behind him as he attempts to reach up and catch you with his lips. “Come back. Need more.”
“Oh, I bet you do.”
His head hangs in defeat.
“Please, baby,” he begs. “Enough of this.”
An hour. You’ve been torturing him for an hour. The on-and-off touches, this never-ending cycle of you riding him, licking him, pumping him in your hand, luring him to the cusp of his climax, then retreating altogether and zipping his pants back up so all he can do is grow against the rigid fabric.
You giggle, the twinkling sound enough to remind him what he’s working toward here. The sound of your breathy gasps in his ear as he pleasures you over and over. It’s normal and sweet. Nothing like this grotesque display of cruelty. Maybe he’s being dramatic. And maybe he likes it. He sure as hell isn’t gonna tell you if he does, lest you get the idea in your head to do this again.
His poor heart can’t take it.
“Not yet,” you say, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. “I’m having too much fun.”
“Well I’m in pain,” he spits out in a deep roar, bringing his face back up so your eyes can meet his. They’re tucked in a nest of fine lines and purple half-moons, whites mottled with thin, red veins. The poor man looks so tired, the sight tugging at your heart strings. Oh how you’d love to heal him with your body like you always do, bring some life back into those beautiful eyes of his. “You’re hurtin’ your old man.”
He’s surprised he can still get it up after an eternity of this tug-of-war. But alas, he’s hard once more. You salivate at the sight of his cock as you unzip his pants again, and free it from his briefs, soaked with your juices and the anticipation that has been leaking from his head. He nearly whines at the feeling of the cool air conditioning on his hot skin.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he moans as you straddle him once more, grinding yourself down onto his lap. You don’t let him see or hear the way you hiss at the sensation of his throbbing cock gliding against your wet cunt, hiding yourself in the crook of his neck, planting a few kisses on the pebbled skin there.
He curses as you tip-toe your fingers down his chest, the line of his abdomen, to grab him in your fist and slide the tip of his cock past your entrance. His girth stretches your hole to its limits, the gush of arousal dripping from you doing nothing to sate the burn.
You pull back just enough to give him a long, languorous kiss on the lips, luring his tongue into a waltz. The two of you continue to kiss as you sit down on his full length, and he moans into your mouth, the vibration tickling your lips.
“You gonna let me finish this time?” He asks, pulling back to look up at you. There’s nothing but pure, unadulterated need contorting the features of his face. Such a big, commanding man as he is and yet he’s nothing but putty melting in your hand. So pathetic.
Leon is never rough with you. In fact, he refuses any sort of violence in the bedroom. He lets his walls down one night, but not in the way you expected...
tw: choking, slapping, subby Leon
taglist: @cakeofhorrors @rainyxie@venus-in-roses (sorry for the recent spam. if you ever want off the taglist lmk)
You've begged Leon, sometimes on hands and knees, other times with as dramatic of a pout as your lips could stand, to be rough with you. To wrap his slender, lithe fingers around your neck and press until you squeal in pleasure. To slap you across the cheek when you talk back to him, being a brat for the sole purpose of goading him on until he bares his teeth. To tie you up or shove you down onto the mattress with all the brawn and strength you know he hides under those hoodies he sulks around wearing.
"It's not like you'd actually be hurting me," you say, unable to wrap your head around his resistance. "You don't even have to press very hard. I just want to see how strong you are, how you can throw me around and dominate me. It'd be hot."
Still, he refuses.
He just won't.
And it's not as though you're blind to what he does for a living, and you're not so obtuse as to not know why he refuses to rough house with you. Still, you thought he'd make an exception for the sake of your sex life.
"Please?"
"No, I'm sorry. I'm not comfortable with it."
And you let it go, willing yourself to be content with 'making love', the Leon way.
Needless to say, you're surprised when, one night, as the two of you are tangled in the sheets, glued together by sweet sweat and saliva, Leon asks you to choke him.
"What?" You beg for confirmation, sure you must have misheard him--certain that his words were insincere, just something shouted out among the throws of ecstasy, not to be heeded.
"Choke me," he commands, gasping for air as pleasure rolls through his body like thunder. When you hesitate, your hips stalling on top of him, he grabs your wrist, manually placing your hand around his neck, pressing your thumb and pointer fingers into his throat until the skin around it turns white. “Keep riding me.”
“Uh, okay,” you mumble, hips resuming. It doesn’t take you long to catch up to the rising heat of your interrupted pleasure, and once you find it, your hand almost instinctively tightens around Leon’s neck. Your fingers dig into the sinew beneath his skin as you grind against him, your clit catching on his pelvis.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he says in a strangled breath. “Tighter.”
“Tighter?” You ask meekly, the question punctuated by an uncertain gasp.
“Tighter,” he groans, and you obey, hardening your grip. His eyes screw shut and his hips jolt beneath you, thigh shaking. The tendons in his neck tense beneath your fingers. “Hit me.”
You don’t dare ask him to repeat himself, and it’s not like you have a chance to before your arm raises and your palm comes down across his face. Once the red mark on his cheek starts to wane, he glances up at you from beneath cinched brows, his eyes wide. You can’t quite decipher the expression on his face, whether he’s wounded by the fact you actually hit him, or desperation for you to do it again.
“Keep choking me. I’m–fuck–I’m so close.”
Typically, Leon waits for you to finish before he finally lets himself chase his own release.
Not tonight though. Not when your hand is around his throat, applying an amount of pressure of which you never imagined yourself to be capable. Not when the sharp sting across his cheek bleeds into sweet pleasure.
Later, you’ll ask why he wants you to hurt him. Now, you'll let him enjoy it.
post elpis older boyfriend .ᐟ leon kennedy is a different man. he might as well be a sex robot now— his sex is one of a rabid animal’s in heat and he fucks a lot. insanely so. something changed in his libido; it went out straight up the roof. he can’t get enough of you and at times, he gets a pulsing hard boner that lasts him enough for a couple of hours. he makes you come sweet on his tongue fresh in the morning, hiding under the blanket. during your breakfast, he can barely contain himself. he spreads your legs wide open on the kitchen table and fucks your cunt with no wrapper or birth control. he might as well put a few babies in you if he’s so healthy all of a sudden.
it’s always been an insecurity of his that a guy your age could keep it up for longer and take care of your needs. not anymore.
and that’s not even the best part. leon makes your thighs tremble shut with his cock inside you, spilling ropes of salty, warm cum inside your swollen pussy. it then, he leaves you dizzy and breathless on the bed to grab you a towel. when he returns, his initial plans of cleaning your thighs and running you a warm bath are completely replaced. he traps you under his rough, strong body, sweaty muscles and burning red cheeks from doing all the work. “one more round, doll?” and you won’t even stop there. god knows if you’ll ever stop.
you even told leon he can use your pussy freely while you’re asleep if he needs it so badly— so, he grabs the sole bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer and mixed with spit, he stretches your cunt with two of his fingers, right before opening your tight pussy up with the tip of his cock. every night you fuck like dirty rabbits because he can’t stop thinking about how sexy you’d look bent over the balcony, fucking yourself messy into his thick cock.
MDNI / 18 + ; contains: AFAB reader, sexual themes, p in v sex(unprotected), creampie, squirting
“oh f-ffuck – !”
it wasn’t like you meant to find yourself in this predicament – shoved and crammed into a brick wall in an alleyway, cornered by a much taller man in a red coat. his hips didn’t stutter in your quaking state, and he could only acknowledge you with a groan.
it all managed to happen so fast, when you stumbled out of a club, giggling whilst drawing away from your friends for the night. the sidewalks were familiar, or maybe your instincts kicked in to carry you down the pavement in a way that you could only deem as a miracle the next, headache-filled morning. then, as suddenly as you had stepped from the bass-boosted stoop, you found yourself cornered in an alleyway that was occupied by what you could only identify as creatures.
you didn’t even have any time to scream or react as they lunged at you, halted by a sword almost as tall as you, and a body facing yours with a grin. he’s tall – practically a whole head taller than you, with snow-white hair and big arms. he made quick work of the things, their blood and gore splattering at your feet. something within you … liked it, quite a bit in fact; you couldn’t be sure if it was your fuzzy - brained state or your adrenaline running high – but you wanted to give your rescuer something of a proper thank you.
which landed you here, in the man’s big arms, one leg bent at an angle you didn’t even know you were flexible enough for, practically pleading for more, your form supported by his hands on your ass. the plush of your thighs and arms squeezed him in a way that had his fair features flushed, an image you wanted seared in your mind forever.
he’s able to maneuver you up and down his length, groaning at the way your pussy grips his entirety. through another groan, he rasps, “jeez, this is quite the thank you – what’s your name?”
you mumble it outward for him, although it’s more of an utterance through jagged, fucked out huffs – it’s as though you can feel him all the way into your lungs. through the haze and warmth you can’t find it within yourself to satiate your curiosity for his name, but it's like he can sense it.
“names dante, feel free to scream it, babe,” he’s grinning, you can hear it, and it delights you how much his humor seems turns you on.
a notably hard thrust of his hips has you choking on air and whining, bucking into his hips wantonly accompanying a particular gush around him – undoubtedly painting the front of his pants. “oh – dante!”
“oh fuck,” he almost hisses, head tilting backward with a stutter of his hips. “where d’you want me to cum?”
“a - anywhere,” you say it without thought, though you can’t help the feeling that ignites in you with the thought of him finishing in you – like gasoline on top of a fire. “you – you can finish in me, too, if you want –”
his hips cease within you, a final throb sending another wave squirting from you with a whine. he’s got you pressed against the brick, hands shifted to your knees to fold you as far outward as you can stretch. for a moment, the two of you huff in the afterglow of the moment, dante staying within you and twitching.
“man – didn’t think your thank you would be that … wet,” he huffs with a satisfied chuckle. “think you can stand on your own?”
absently, you nod your head, two shaky legs set down on the ground, arm still snaked around his neck for support. with gleaming, starry eyes, you look back up to him. “wanna walk me home?”
summary: You decided to face your fears once and for all and finally get a tattoo. Shouldn't be too hard, right? Well, when your tattoo artist is the insanely handsome Leon Kennedy, that tends to complicate things a bit. And when it turns out he was just as drawn to you as you were to him? Yeah, forget it.
pairing: Leon Kennedy x fem!reader
word count: 10.8k
content warnings: explicit sexual content, raw sex, oral (f receiving), backshots, hair pulling, mentions of choking, hickeys
NO AI was used in the writing of this fic
a/n: yay another one!! two fics out by march is what i like to see. here is the much anticipated tattoo artist leon kennedy fic!! this was thought up by vampyrbambi on tiktok! i got permission to write this as i just saw so much potential in it and i couldn't pass it up. ik in their og tiktok they were like 'leon is as freaky as u can imagine' and yes,.. this is a bit tame buuutt we can save the freak for next time lol. anyways i really hope you enjoy, and if you did, stick around as i plan to keep writing a lot more this year!!! thanks yall <3
(leon photo @/angeisrequiem on twt)
Thanks to many long conversations with friends and too many sleepless nights contemplating it, you finally made the decision to do it. Were you going to regret it? No, absolutely not. In fact, you’ve been wanting to do this, everyone has been trying to convince you, and you kept daydreaming about what it would look like if you did. This was not the year for what-if’s. This was the year of do’s.
You finally made an appointment to get a tattoo.
It was certainly not worth all this hype and only probably a fraction of the struggle, but there was always an apprehension when doing something new, especially something like this, that was putting you in a totally different environment than what you were used to. Along with their pushing you to finally book something, your friends were as helpful as they could be:
“I swear it only hurts while you’re sitting there. It’s also not even that bad! It’s like a long scratch.”
“It only seems scary because it's sterile there. It’s clean for a reason! They are there to tattoo you, don’t be afraid of them.”
“Just ignore all the noises, you can ask them to put your headphones in, they won’t care. Whatever you are comfortable with.”
And sure, it helped, but as you sat in front of the tattoo shop, windows blacked out with a one-way privacy screen, American Traditional art peppering the windows and shop sign, you couldn’t fight that tiny pit of worry that was starting to knot tighter and tighter.
The shop was nearby and was recommended by a friend who was among the many trying to get you to bite the bullet. They had been there many times and had nothing but great things to say about those running it and the artists they employed. And you had seen the work on their body, too; you knew they weren’t lying about quality. They had to practically force you to DM the Instagram account to book by opening it themselves on your phone and hitting the ‘message’ button. Sometimes, handholding is the only way to do nerve wracking things.
The artist whose DM’s you now reviewed in the car before you finally worked up the courage to go inside was named Leon. They were one of the many accounts affiliated with the shop and the one you had been directed to the most, and, again, quality doesn’t lie. Leon’s art was incredible, his range of styles was mindblowing, you wondered why they even had any other artists working there at all.
When you had (overly politely) inquired about booking with Leon, his answers were curt but not unkind. He asked what you wanted (you had scrolled through endless files of his flash sheets and available art he could do), he asked you where you wanted it (you had been convinced the thigh wouldn’t hurt as bad as some of the other spots you had considered), and told you a time and a date. It only happened to be three weeks out, which was shocking to even you, for someone as talented and probably booked as Leon was. Nonetheless, you snagged it, and now here you were, those last three weeks having flown by as if it had only been one night away.
Taking that final leap and swallowing all the nerves simmering just under the surface, you pushed your car door open and walked up to the shop.
Pulling the door open, you were affronted by two things immediately: one, the sterility was no joke. You could smell the saline and cleaning products in the air, and though the walls were dotted with the work of the artists and a glowing neon sign of the shop’s name, the decor was very minimal, and it almost felt like a hospital waiting room. Two, looking at the people that were scattered about either tattooing or receiving the tattoo, you stood out.
You knew it wasn’t odd for someone like you to be in a tattoo shop, but it obviously turned heads nonetheless. The small area of waiting chairs and the reception booth to check in created a divide in the room, but past that, there were a smattering of artists stations in a big open room, some closed with folding dividers, some open and empty.
At a station closest to the door, there was a man lying on his stomach getting a back tattoo observing you, arms already littered with dark ink. The artist looked the same, both sleeves and a pant leg of tattoos on him, bald head with tribal swirls etched into the skin. At a station in the middle of the room, another man was getting something done on his bicep, silver hoops in his ears glittering under the LEDs and jingling when he turned his head to the artist. A soft soundtrack of metal played over the speakers, mixing with the buzz of the tattoo machines going back and forth over their canvas.
You looked down and fidgeted with your hands in your lap, trying to keep your wandering eyes away, overly self-conscious that it was going to make you look inexperienced (which, you were, of course, but they didn’t need to know).
“Hey, I’ll be with you in a couple minutes.”
You looked up toward the voice coming from behind the reception desk. A man stood there looking down at the computer, but no doubt talking to you, the only patron waiting.
Your mouth spoke before your brain could catch up, making you stumble over the simplest of responses. “Uh, okay.”
You hoped to every higher power in existence that this man was not Leon.
He stood somewhere around six feet; broad, muscular shoulders pulling taught the cotton long sleeve he had on, rolled up to the elbows, forearms surprisingly bare, yet veins ran down long lengths of muscle. His hair was parted to the side, wisps falling into his face, a dusty brown interwoven with occasional grays. His stubble matched the same color scheme. Though he was not looking at you, you could just barely make out the sharp, unmuddled bone structure, a man touched by the gods in his design, surely.
This could not be your artist, it couldn’t be. How were you supposed to keep your calm when that man would have his hands on you? Your adrenaline was already peaking, the last thing you needed was a handsome artist to take care of you and have your mind wandering while in his chair.
You sighed and looked down again, wondering why you needed that tattoo just so damn bad.
You heard your name ring out, loud and firm. You looked up at the man who was now looking back at you.
Keep it fucking together.
“Oh, yes, that’s me.” You shifted sideways, unsure if you should stand or not.
“Cool. I’m Leon.” Fuck. “I’m just printing a couple sizes of the design you had liked, so, just hang out another minute and then I’ll have you come back with me.”
You nodded, unable to stop your fists clenching out of nervousness, now for more than one reason.
You wished your friend could have warned you about how handsome Leon was. There were no photos of him to be seen on his Instagram page, only his art being showcased. You supposed it didn’t really matter much to those being tattooed as they weren’t there to be wooed by him, but rather… to be tattooed.
And, in any other normal circumstance, you probably would not have been weak in the knees so easily by him, but the combination of doing something so intimate with the particular dry streak you were running with… well, it didn’t exactly make for the most ideal of situations.
You snuck a sly glance over at Leon as you heard the printer at the front spit out multiple pieces of paper and watched as he walked over and gathered them, leaning over to the computer once more, then leaving the desk entirely, standing between you and the large room with the taunting tattoo equipment.
“Alright, come on back with me and we can get you started.”
You stood up on unstable legs and crossed the threshold, following Leon to a station all the way to the back.
It was quite simple compared to the others in here; the chair sat in front of a set of plain black cabinets, no art or stickers on any of the doors, the counter was clean, the rolling tray was neat with new plastic wrap secured tight on its surface. Leon sat down in a small rolling chair and gestured for you to sit behind him. You hopped up onto it, watching his back as he cut out the designs.
“I’ve got three different sizes here, but if any of them still aren’t good I can either tweak the design manually or I can go and print another one, but we’ll see what works first.” He turned back towards you holding them out in his hands. “Looks like a small difference, but you’ll be able to tell when it's on you.” He stood again now, towering over you in your sitting position. He placed the designs on the chair next to you before circling your seat, pulling closed the slatted dividers for privacy.
“And with a lack of decorum I promise I usually do have, go ahead and take your pants off and we can get started.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at this, and despite how often he probably used that line with the smooth delivery, you couldn’t help the twist that formed in your gut at hearing it. When a handsome man tells you to take your pants off, your body works quickly to obey.
Bringing himself back onto the swivel stool in front of you, you remained standing and he diverted his attention to holding the stencils up on the blank canvas of your skin. Despite seeing it coming, you couldn't help but slightly jump at the contact of his gloved hand and your skin. You hoped he didn’t notice, but you doubted it with how intently he was studying his designs against your thigh.
Throughout the few minutes of figuring out which stencil fit best, he had you face the mirror and held up different ones so you were able to decide which one suited you. To be honest, you thought they all looked the same, but you went with the biggest one, liking the way it filled up your blank skin, hoping it would give you the courage needed in the future to continue returning for more ink.
The buildup was finally coming to a close and the purple outline was delicately marking your prepped skin, you were scared to even move in fear of smudging it. Per Leon’s instruction, you sat back onto the chair and reclined so he had full access to where he would be working.
Panic was creeping back in a bit now; it had subsided temporarily with having to deal with your unfairly gorgeous tattoo artist, but now that he was about to begin his craft, you could feel your muscles start to lock in anticipation.
Leon’s hand made it back over to your thigh, one resting right atop, the other fumbling around doing god knows what on the tray he had rolled closer to work off of. A quick glance over earlier informed you of a cap full of ink, the machine wrapped with grip tape, and a popsicle stick of what looked like a petroleum jelly of sorts, but it did nothing to quell the fear. In fact, knowing probably made it worse.
“Nervous?”
Leon’s deep voice scared you out of your reverie for a quick moment, and you lolled your head over to the side to look over at him. Big mistake–he was peeking over at you from under his fringe, sporting a small smirk, undoubtedly due to your innocence in this situation.
“Uh… a bit.”
“I can tell.” He squeezed your thigh with his hand, and you were all too aware of the size and heat radiating even through the glove. This was going to be a long session. “Try your best to loosen up your muscles. I promise it doesn’t hurt as bad as you are expecting.”
You took a deep breath in, trying as hard as you could to do as Leon said and to ignore the way the buzzing was louder than ever in your ear as he fired it up. His other hand stayed firmly on your leg, and you were almost glad he did that, with his touch aiding as a distraction to avert focus from your main stressor.
“Just breathe.”
You closed your eyes and waited for the impact, expecting some mind-blowing levels of pain that you had never experienced before. At least, that’s all you had to go on with the way your family spoke about tattoos growing up at their best attempt to ever dissuade you from getting one by instilling a deep fear of pain. You swore you heart was about to jump out of your chest, you felt movement from Leon as he leaned closer, resting his arm against the edge of the chair, brought the tattoo machine closer and closer—
Oh. That’s it.
You exhaled all you were holding when the sensation you began to feel was nothing more than thousands of miniscule pricks along your skin. The buzzing was basically the worst part of it, it was masking out any other sounds happening around you, but paired with the dull pokes you were receiving, it was oddly… relaxing.
“Not that bad, right?” Leon looked over at you for a second as he turned back to the tray to refill for another pass.
You shook your head, steadying yourself once more with a deep breath. “No, I was expecting a lot worse. I mean… I’ve heard it was way worse but my friends were telling me otherwise. I guess I should listen to people who have actually been tattooed before…”
Leon was silent but not in a rude way as he listened and went back to tattooing. You knew you shouldn’t distract him, but your brain was wandering now with the rhythm of the needles punching your skin and the buzz from the machine being almost meditative. You couldn’t see too much of anything; Leon’s plain booth was in front of you, so there was no art for you to explore while you laid there. The dividers he had set for privacy blocked your view of the rest of the shop, unable to see what other artists there had to offer. Leon had his head down, hair blocking his side profile as he was deep in work, giving all his attention to putting the best art possible on your body. You zoned out for a while, deciding to let your body rest rather than engage in more screen time.
Eventually, Leon spoke up again, actually startling you while you became zen.
“Try and shift your leg to the left a bit here…” He gently guided you in the direction he needed you to face. You followed suit, and tapped you once to signal you were in position. “I’m going to be doing this part of the design that goes a bit closer to your inner thigh here, so it might hurt just a bit more than the top.”
You nodded, anticipation returning as you braced yourself. He didn’t lie–it was a bit more painful than the top of your thigh, but you could handle it now that you had sat through at least an hour of the feeling. It pinched slightly harder at the tender skin on the inside, making you wince, but steady breathing and listening to the repeated motion of the machine brought you back down.
By the time the session was over, you had lost track of time and were surprised to see the sun had set already, making you wonder if you had actually fallen asleep in the chair and Leon was too kind to wake you up.
He finished you off by gently rubbing a paper towel dampened with solution along the design, wiping off any leftover ink that hadn’t been embedded in your skin and applying a saniderm on top of it. Thorough care instructions were both spoken and written down on a sheet he handed to you on the way out.
Stapling a care sheet together with a business card on top, he handed it to you over the counter. “Care is super easy, but if you forget what I told you, just refer to what's in here.” You took it from him, leafing through it. “But, if you have any issues, reach out. Don’t be afraid to. You can get to me through where we set the appointment up.” You nodded, ready to thank him and leave, but he kept going. “Seriously, I stress that part because if there’s something that pops up like blowout or an infection, I’d like to know as soon as possible. If I do the work I’ll do my best to remedy the situation.”
You nodded and smiled at him again. “I really appreciate that. I can’t imagine any artist not wanting to take that approach.”
He quirked another smile, leaning forward on the counter, bulging muscles in his biceps on display. You couldn’t help but dash a quick look, and you felt the heat rising to your face when you knew for sure Leon had seen you look. “You’d be surprised.”
You stood silent for another second, brain lagging behind your normal thought process speed. God, this reaction was so pathetic, had the dry streak really been that long that the mere sight of Leon’s huge arms threw you off balance?
Your cheeks were burning and you could sense now you were about to start stumbling on your words, and the last thing you needed after sitting through a three hour long tattoo session with an insanely hot artist was to embarrass yourself any more in front of him.
“Well, I–um, I’m glad you are prepared enough to handle that if it happens. Which I hope it won’t. But, happy that you would help.” Leave already. “Well, thank you again, I love it so much. I’ll probably put it on my Instagram or something if you need more art to showcase, I’m always down to model it.” What?! “Thanks again!”
You backed out of the shop door, the mental image of Leon’s grin just widening the more you rambled on, face flaming hot and lungs deprived of fresh air. You heard him shout ‘have a good night’ as you walked as fast as possible without breaking into a sprint to your car, and you had a feeling he was watching you the whole time.
All you could do was sit slumped over onto the steering wheel, contemplating the last 30 seconds and wishing to anyone listening to rewind and do it one more time.
It was one thing to get a tattoo, which you did. It was another thing to have it done by a very attractive, older tattoo artist who had so much muscle on him you weren’t entirely unconvinced he couldn’t choke someone out using only his thumb and forefinger alone. It was a complete other third thing to then go on and make a fool of yourself because you got too flustered by his appearance after sitting there, pants down in front of him, doing the closest thing to sex in terms of intimacy, and leaving a bumbling mess.
Yeah, he surely wouldn’t forget you now.
Luck happened to be in your favor for the next few days of the healing journey as no signs of blowout appeared nor did anything feel off in the process. It was tender, of course, and the skin was red for the first day afterwards, but when you peeled off the second skin on the third day and watched the ink mixed with plasma flow down the drain, you couldn’t stop staring at your new body modification that you knew you needed more of.
Unable to keep the excitement at bay and needing others to know you had finally braved the needle, you had posted a picture of it on your social media, captioned with your enthusiasm about it, and graciously tagging Leon’s account, hoping to give him more traffic via your friends.
The usual influx of your friends flooded into your DMs complimenting the art, complimenting you for finally doing it, and even those you hadn’t spoken to in forever chiming in, boosting your ego existentially.
One message, however, caught your eye when the notification flashed on screen.
leonsk.ink: Healing wonderfully. I was worried when I hadn’t heard from you, but I suppose that’s a good sign.
Just when you managed to shuck the feeling that Leon had left you with in his presence, the mere notification that he had responded to your tag had your stomach in knots again as if you were going to unclothe yourself for him once more.
You stared at the notification, scared to even open it, knowing you would feel the pressure of crafting the perfect response once he could see that you have viewed it. Your blood started racing through your veins at the mere thought of him going out of his way to add to the pool of compliments you were receiving, and it was on his own art, no less.
He could possibly just be following up, maybe he does this to everyone. Maybe it is just his common courtesy to make sure that his clients are as satisfied as possible. It could be nothing more than that. But yet…
The way he worded it. I was worried when I hadn’t heard from you. So, he had been looking forward to a message from you? Even if it was about something going wrong in the healing process? The thought made you both amused and thrilled that, in one way or another, he had been wanting to speak with you again.
You opened the message, and replied.
You: All due to you, of course! Although, I can’t help but assume that sounds like you wanted something to go wrong just so I’d message you?!
You wondered what he could be doing right now. It was almost 3PM on a Tuesday and you had just finished up your own remote work assignments, but Leon probably didn’t have a client if he was able to be on his phone and message you, or in between two. The thought that Leon was booked and busy was no surprise to you. With art that phenomenal, he had to be.
leonsk.ink: Well, when you put it like that it sounds bad. But, here you are anyways, so something went right I guess.
You bit your lip, unable to fight the smile making its way onto your face. It was much easier to talk to Leon without being in front of him, so you decided to get bold.
You: Something did go right. Now that I have proof of your mastery, I’m waiting for some more from you!
You felt like a high schooler again, flirting with your crush over the phone, knowing inevitably you would clam up and not make a move in real life. The screen gave you a sense of confidence in the craft, letting you say what you couldn’t even get out without stumbling over every word in front of him.
leonsk.ink: I’m waiting for more as well. I’d love to see where else you can offer up for me to draw on.
Was he saying what you thought he was saying? This was obviously blatant flirting, yes, and you had to be thankful he was doing it now and not while he was tattooing you, giving him a distraction. Plus, if he did try to flirt in person, you knew it would be a repeat of what happened on your way out of the shop, unable to form a coherent sentence because his massive biceps had hit the hard reset button in your brain.
You wanted to respond with just as much banter as he was throwing at you, but on the chance he was actually trying to see you again… it would be much harder to live up to your words.
You: Lucky for you I’ve got plenty more. I’ll let you decide what’s the perfect spot.
Leon went quiet for a few minutes this time, not reading the message either. Completely reasonable from a working adult, but it did not help the rapid pace of your heartbeat and the anticipation of seeing a message from him pop up again.
The longest hour (20 minutes) of your life later, another message, but this one was a bit more direct than the last few.
leonsk.ink: Why don’t you come by this weekend and I’d love to let you know where I want to put one.
Fuck a somersault, your stomach did an entire gymnastics routine reading that. So he really did mean what he said, and he’s now inviting you over to his house. You weren’t an idiot, obviously you knew what he was insinuating by his words, and no part of you wanted to run away from this, but you couldn't help those nerves that crept up again, just like you were about to get another tattoo.
Perhaps it wasn’t even the tattoo in the first place. Maybe it was just Leon, and you had some third eye that knew what the interaction at the shop would bring.
You were going to agree, of course, in what world wouldn’t you? You could not pass up the opportunity to fuck your incredibly hot, older tattoo artist if he was showing just as much interest in you as you were in him. Sure, maybe your interest was much more shameful than you’d like to admit, but thank god Leon was able to pick through the mess you left with and see right through your poor disguise of normalcy. You almost couldn’t even believe he was interested in you to begin with… Out of all the clients he probably sees, he picked the first timer who couldn’t spit out one sentence?!
You: I think I can make that work.
Now you had the whole rest of the week to sit through knowing there was the promise of seeing Leon again at the end. Maybe it was in your best interest to be waiting that long, you’d have enough time to get yourself together to avoid another one-sided incident.
Leon sent back an address and the simple instruction to just park next to him in the driveway. You weren’t normal about this (naturally), so putting the address into Google Earth gave you the image of a small, one-story house on a quiet road, barely littered with other houses and what looked to be dense acreage behind it. Despite the fact this house probably didn’t offer much more than two bedrooms and maybe two bathrooms at most, you assumed it had to have cost him a pretty penny. There’s no way only tattooing provided that for him, even if he had been doing it for a long time. There had to have been something else, and that only intrigued you further.
There was nothing else to do besides wait for the time to come. Literally and metaphorically.
Once it did roll around, however, you were standing in front of your mirror obsessively checking your appearance. You kept having to remind yourself that if Leon was still flirting with you and making advances towards you after the state he saw you in, then he probably wouldn’t care, especially not if you put in more effort than just comfortable clothes to get tattooed in.
It really was the tattoo nerves all over again, but there was no mystery of pain on the other side, quite frankly, it was the complete opposite, and yet you were overcome by the adrenaline of it. Putting Leon aside for a second, this made sense, considering you hadn’t prioritized trying to get laid in recent times, but who were you to deny the chance now that it was here?
There was no denial here, and certainly less of a chance now that you were pulling up to the driveway you had studied on Google Earth. It looked exactly the same as it did on your screen–the house was a deep blue, crisp white frame and fence to match, neatly manicured lawn and garden; you smiled at the thought that Leon took such care to make sure the presentation of his home was neat and tidy.
You pulled in next to a black SUV parked closest to the walkway, a Porsche Cayenne, sparkling under the streetlight (yes, singular, it was rather difficult keeping track of the road with just your headlights), clean as if it hadn’t been driven since it rolled off the lot. A GT Turbo, too, upon closer inspection. This raised more eyebrows to your more-money-than-just-tattoo-artist theory.
The street was so quiet when you stepped out of the car. You had expected as much given the nearest neighbor that you passed on the way in wasn’t even visible from where you were standing. It was oddly peaceful. It helped to alleviate the stress of the current situation.
The cool night air settled around you as you stood atop the porch, knocking twice, stepping back, and waiting. You heard noise from behind the door, using these last seconds to stabilize. It swung open, and you nearly forgot how to breathe.
“Glad you could make it. I thought for a second you’d go off and find another artist.” You giggled at his remark, and stepped in when he gestured for you to enter. He kept talking while you looked around and followed him into the kitchen. “I know my invitation was kind of sudden but… you were a fun subject. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t interested. I don’t think it was too one sided by the impression you left with.” You didn’t need to turn around to hear the smile in his voice. You shook your head and laughed along with him.
“Oh, god… don’t even bring it up.” You turned finally, having sat down at the chair he offered you at the island counter. “I couldn’t help it. I was already nervous about getting my first tattoo, which did turn out fine, but on top of it I had…” You let the sentence taper off, gesturing in front of you at Leon, the unspoken words very understandable.
Leon leaned forward toward you across the counter. “Sorry to be so distracting. I hope it at least relieved the pain.” His smirk was killer. You couldn’t take your eyes off of his face, especially in this low lighting, every shadow and highlight contrasting perfectly to paint a picture of this unreal man standing before you.
You put your chin on a hand, propping your elbow on top of the counter’s surface. “It definitely helped, but then I just had to worry about making a mess of myself in front of you, which I did anyway. But we aren’t talking about that.” Leon quirked an eyebrow, signaling he did in fact think it was very funny. At least your embarrassment amused him. “You know… thinking about it, when I was recommended to book with you, my friend had said you fill up pretty fast, but you got me in in less than a month.”
Leon lifted himself off of his elbows and rested on the heels of his palms now, flexing every muscle in his arm. You tried not to stare, but considering the environment and the reason you had been brought here… you stared.
“Originally, when I saw someone was trying to get in with me–you, obviously–I didn’t have an opening until about 5 months from now. There was a lull in booking when you messaged me, and there just coincidentally happened to be a cancellation on the time and date that you came in. If it weren’t for that… you’d still be waiting.”
This wasn’t surprising to hear, knowing how good Leon was and how strongly recommended he was from your friends, you had expected even longer. You were glad that person had to cancel. Imagine if you were still waiting for only a tattoo right now? Instead you were in Leon’s house because he invited you. All because of that appointment.
“Sounds about right. So many people want you. You have people there all day every day and you are still booking out months in advance.” You looked up at him and made eye contact, finally drawing your gaze away from his arms. He stared down at you, half-lidded eyes crested in the shadow of his brow bone. Your breath stuttered.
“Well, not exactly. I only tattoo two days a week.”
“Oh?” You straightened at this. “What else do you do?” Finally you will get your answer. “That’s a real nice car outside.” No point in being subtle now.
His grin held steady. “Government stuff.”
You hummed at this. “Interesting. Like?”
“Like government stuff.” His voice was so low and raspy it was almost a growl. You said nothing to this, simply captivated by his aura. “They can reach me whenever they want, as long as it's not the two days I’m busy at the shop.” He tilted his head, taking you in from another angle. You took a second to just stare at him, now that you finally had the chance. You still couldn’t believe you were even here right now.
“For a side hustle you do an awfully good job at it. How come you don’t expand? Or have you thought about it?” You kept your eyes locked onto his, already feeling yourself going weak, anticipating the moment he finally got his hands on you.
“You said it yourself,” He broke eye contact for just a second to gesture his gaze upwards towards the front door. “That’s a real nice car outside.”
You smiled at this, having your suspicions about another job confirmed, even if he was being picky about the details. You supposed you had to respect this, there was probably only so much he could say if it was a government job. You couldn’t deny that you were kind of into that, though. There was something about the secret that made it more enticing.
Leon spoke again before you could conjure anything else, too enveloped in the promise of the physical touch to come.
“And anyway, how is your’s doing? It looked like it was healing well.”
Your hand instinctively went to your thigh under the counter's surface, fingers teasing with the hem of the skirt you had on.
Why waste time with pants?
“I think it’s doing pretty well, it feels and looks fine, but, I don’t know, you’re the professional. You should probably see for yourself.”
You watched as a devilish smile slowly bloomed on his face. He lifted himself off the counter and circled around to you, standing right in front of where you sat, looking down.
“Good call.” Leon moved quickly–he gathered both of your wrists together in one hand and put them around his neck, and in the same motion, he dropped his hands once yours were steady and planted them under your thighs. He lifted you off of the counter stool, and you couldn’t help the excited squeak that came out of you when you were suddenly detached from the seat.
Your arms tightened around his neck, your thighs squeezing his ridiculously toned torso. You were caught in the flurry of the sudden movement that you didn’t even catch any scenery of the home flying by, you could only anticipate where Leon was taking you and when you would get there.
After he turned a corner, you watched his foot kick a door shut, and a second later you were being lowered onto a soft surface. It didn’t take you long to figure out this was his bedroom.
You laid back after Leon let you go, propping yourself up on your elbows, head tilted sideways, simply just watching him. He looked even bigger when he stood before you like this; every muscle bulging, chest rising and falling.
“Let’s see it.”
You almost forgot the whole talking point that brought you here, hesitating a second before your hand drifted down to the hem of your skirt once again. You slid it up your thigh, purposefully letting the fabric pull itself taut along your other leg, revealing more underneath than intended. But you were prepared for that. You knew what you were about to get into.
Leon’s head fell to the side slowly as he let his eyes roam over his work, but you saw them drift. They spent more time examining the color of underwear you picked out for the night rather than actually inspecting the art.
(Not like you could blame him. You knew he wasn’t interested in double checking what he knew he was already good at.)
“You took good care of it. Now I know you’re ready for more.”
You dropped your hand from holding your skirt up, letting it stay hitched. You held eye contact, surprised at your ability despite feeling like you could fumble this at any second.
You took a deep breath in, forcing your nerves down. “Where would you recommend?”
Leon looked away from you and down at your legs again. One hand was braced on the same knee of the leg you were showcasing his art on, while the other hovered over the opposite thigh.
“Well, legs are always a great place to start…” His voice lowered even more if it were possible. His hand finally made contact, skirting along over the skin of the inner thigh, tracing lines with his fingertip, sending a chill up your body. He palmed your hip as he moved upwards, letting his thumb whisper over the thin material of the panty, making you want to buck up into his touch.
His fingers pushed the hem of your shirt up to your ribcage, gliding his thumb across the smooth expanse of skin on your stomach. Your eyes followed the path it made. “Anywhere on the torso is good for once you’ve done multiple and want to step it up. If you can handle the pain.”
Leon barely lifted his hand anymore as he moved higher again, letting any and all contact happen with your breast over your shirt. You took another deep breath in, feeling how unstable it was.
When his fingers reached your neck, he pushed your chin upward using his thumb, forcing you to look up at him again. There was no mistaking the lustful look in his eye, like he was ready to devour you. His hand left your neck and snaked its way through your hair, balling together at the scalp, and you softly hissed at the tension as he pulled your head back even further.
“And maybe even that pretty neck of yours could make any tattoo look appealing.”
You fought your best against the whimper that was threatening to release itself, but you ultimately lost. Just Leon’s touch alone had your body weak for him, no longer having the rhythmic sting of the tattoo machine there to distract you. He brought himself down to your face, nowhere else to look except for into his eyes.
“Basically… whatever parts of yourself you’re willing to put on display.”
You could barely even form words, your attention being caught between the lethal stare from Leon and the numbing pull of his fist in your hair. He stood with your legs in between his, and you couldn’t ignore his stiff dick pressing into your leg. You needed this badly. You needed him.
You swallowed, thick and heavy, mouth salivating with arousal. You looked into his eyes, pupils blown, feeling any last sense of courage drain from your limbs.
You could only manage a whisper, your body already too overstimulated, senses being pulled in every direction. “What do you want to do with me?”
Leon hummed in return, something closer to a growl.
“I’d rather just show you.”
You gasped as the force pulling your head back by the hair suddenly vanished, leaving you reeling in the spot. Leon backed up from you with speed, ordering, “Take your clothes off,” while his eyes never left your body.
Despite yourself, and the overflow of emotion you were feeling during this, you couldn’t help but breath out a laugh at his words.
“Is this the decorum you promised me before the tattoo?”
You watched his face as you slowly shed your shirt and bra, his eyes not meeting yours, simply glued to your body.
“I didn't bring you in here immediately. That was the decorum.”
You bit your tongue to keep in any more nervous laughter and continued to undress under his scrutinizing gaze. When you pulled the skirt down to show off the less-than-discreet thong you chose to adorn, he took a step towards you and ordered you to stop your movement and get back onto the bed.
Spreading your legs using a hand on your knee and his own body, he wedged himself between you, his hard dick tenting in his pants, begging to break free. You could practically feel how wet you were, the cool air on your exposed body parts making the wetness evident, no confirmation needed.
Leon didn’t move for a full second. All he did was stare down at you, making you writhe under his gaze, your nipples tightening, needing friction on them, on everywhere. He seemed to take joy in just watching you squirm while he did nothing except look at you, wanting to see how long you could wait before pleading with him to touch you. You weren’t above begging in this situation if he wanted it, clearly he did, and the wave of lust crashing over you rewired any normal function you could have otherwise offered him.
You choked out, “Leon… please.”
His eyes snapped up to yours and you saw his true mood reflected in them; he was completely overtaken by pure passion. His hands were attached to your thighs a second later, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed, closer to him. He had you spread open, standing in between your legs, your own core flush to his straining waistband.
Your stare was attached to his movements as he let his eyes roam even more over your bare body, his hands sliding upwards along your thighs and fingers hooking underneath the thin straps of the thong.
He was taking painfully long to pull them down. You needed his contact desperately, you could feel the throbbing of your heat as you were aching for him to touch you, be inside you. You wished he would just move quicker and rip the underwear off of you, not only wanting to be free in front of him but needing the uncomfortable choice of lingerie to be laying on the floor already.
You couldn’t help but continue to squirm, gently lifting your hips off of the bed trying to signal to him you wanted him to move. It took far too long for your liking but he finally dragged the small piece of fabric down your legs and dropped it on the floor beside him.
Your breath hitched when Leon bent down, leveling himself with your dripping cunt and you wanted nothing more than for his mouth to press itself against you. Your head fell back, already anticipating the sensation, but you only gasped when what you actually felt was unexpected.
His mouth was on you, that was for sure, but he planted his lips along the soft, tender skin of your inner thigh, leaving you untouched where you needed it most.
Your hand found his wrist that still had a hold of your legs and you squeezed it, looking for leverage as you felt his teeth nipping at your flesh, sensations jumping between soft bites and warm, wet licks of his tongue as he marked your skin.
When he was done with the first one, he moved down, even closer now, but continued in his mission to pepper you with bruises from his mouth. It was only causing the strain in your core to tighten, every touch of his lips and swipe of his tongue had you dying for more, needing him like air.
With the third one, he was so terribly close to your center, and his bites were getting erratic and harder, your gasps sharpening, his hands clenching more bruises into your thighs, you were sure he was also desperate for contact on his dick and yet he continued to tend to you, marking you up. Marking you as his.
When he let go, you exhaled shakily, waiting for the beginning of the fourth hickey, but instead you jumped in surprise when he delivered a stiff slap to the side of your ass, and instantly, his mouth was on you, warm and wet, tongue gliding smoothly from entrance to clit.
You choked on a gasp at the sudden contact, mouth open but no sound heard. With one hand still stationed on his wrist, the other threaded through his long hair, keeping stability as he worked you open.
His tongue lapped at your clit, breaking up the softness with the occasional sting of a bite, making your nerves spike, but increasing your arousal. He held your thighs open as you twitched in response to his pleasure, keeping you peeled so he was unobstructed.
Your inhales and moans mixed with the slick suckling and occasional spanks from Leon, head thrown back on the soft comforter as he brought you closer to the edge, the heat building not only within you, but also on the surface, his mouth becoming a furnace attached to your cunt. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling nothing but pleasure as he continued his attack on your clit, nearly going lightheaded.
He moved downward, finally giving the sensitive bud a rest and prodding his tongue at your entrance, giving you just a fraction of relief, but it was nowhere near enough. You knew that he knew this too, as he did this, deliberately teasing you by poking inward, and retracting his tongue before you could make your best attempt at grinding yourself onto his face.
Without warning, he pulled away, and the ice cold air that filled in the space where his mouth was made you shiver. He pulled your thigh open again, examining his work (of his mouth, not his ink), and grunting in satisfaction before he leaned over you, looking into your lidded eyes, clouded over and hazy.
He held his hand out for you, and with your own shaky hand, you took it, and he gently lifted you into a sitting position, cold air making your skin break out in goosebumps.
“Turn around.”
You did as you were told and positioned yourself to face the bed, back towards him. He guided you to where he wanted you with hands on your hips, pulling you closer, planting one on the center of your shoulder blades and pushing you downward, ass in the air for him.
One of his hands remained palming a cheek and you reveled in the warmth it brought you as you waited for him to make another move. You could only hope he wasn't going to keep you like this as long as he had before.
The unmistakable sound of a zipper was heard from behind you, followed by the rustle of clothing. You couldn’t wait, yet you wanted a vantage point to be able to still watch Leon at the same time.
His hands grabbed both sides of your hips once more and lifted you into the air, shoving a pillow you weren’t sure when he grabbed underneath your pelvis, giving him more leverage for his angle. Your legs were basically off the bed, but the height of the mattress and the pillow proved to be the ideal height for this purpose.
With one hand still firmly gripping your cheek, he used a finger from the other to drag a long, slow stripe up your cunt, from clit to entrance, making you whine in need. He wouldn’t go further, he simply kept you on the edge until he decided it was enough.
You felt a hand snake through your hair once again, and when he tugged you backwards, his mouth was next to your ear. You arched into his touch, pushing your ass into his crotch.
“You can tell me when it’s too much,” You only whimpered in response, not having enough brain power to conjure words, but taking in what he was saying. “I just know you’ll be addictive.”
Breathing was the only answer he got, besides a pathetic nod of your head while he had you captive in his grip. Using said grip, he tilted your head sideways, baring your neck out, to which he planted a mix of small kisses and bites along the length. You balled your hands into fists, taking the comforter with you, the tickle of his mouth and the chill of the air and the weight of his cock that came to lay directly between your ass cheeks as he hovered over you proving to be nearly the point of overstimulation.
Leon let you go, lowering your head before releasing your hair. The hand that was on your cheek remained firm, spreading you open as you felt the kiss of the head of his dick pressing into your entrance. You dropped your head forward onto the sheets, giving up on making any attempt to look over your shoulder at him. Your mouth hung open in silent screams as he made his way further in, pushing in a little more then pulling out, coating himself in your slick so you could take him deeper. He must have squirted a small amount of lube along his length as you could feel the frictionless glide of something much smoother (and colder) than skin alone. How he worked quick enough to get that done was beyond you, but it could have been multiple minutes that you were laying there, a dizzy mess. Not that it mattered, whatever made the process quicker.
You felt the delicious, burning stretch kick in as he kept going, the pressure of his pelvis and balls pushing into the delicate skin around your heat. Once he bottomed out, he groaned from behind you, making you melt even further, heightening the arousal and dampening any lingering pain from the stretch. One of his hands returned to your back, forcing you down into the bed. His other hand lifted off of your ass only to come back down rapidly, the slap ringing out, followed quickly by a broken moan from you.
Leon dragged himself out of you, taking his time, reveling in the way you sucked him in. You reached a hand down to grip his arm, needing something studier than the fabric of the sheets to secure yourself too while he pulled nearly all the way out, and took his sweet time pushing right back in.
Leon groaned again once he was all the way in, breathing heavily through his nose as he tightened his grip on you.
“Fuck,” He rasped, and the next in and out movement was not as slow as you were loathe to imagine he would be pacing himself the whole time. He jerked his hips outward only halfway and pushed himself in, the clap of skin pairing well with the fullness you were experiencing. With every one of these movements, your body was ricocheted forward, your nipples creating friction from the bedsheets, somehow feeling Leon go deeper with every thrust.
The hand on your back moved up to the nape of your neck, thumb and fingers squeezing just enough to apply a choking-like pressure. He continued at his pace, providing quick snaps of the hips and a cacophony of sounds happening in the room.
This continued for another undefined amount of time–Leon holding you steady by the hip and pistoning into you, your moans and whimpers mixing with the slaps of skin from both his hands and his thrusts. You buried your face into the comforter as if it could go any deeper, but it served to dampen the moans that had enough velocity to come out nearly as screams.
Leon felt excruciatingly good, the rapid fire of his dick bringing relief to your core like you were desperate for the minute you stepped into his house, into his bedroom, the minute you undressed for him. The way he handled you had you like putty, your arms like jelly, using any left strength you had left to keep the arch for him, and to keep the angle at its prime spot.
Leon was heavenly to listen to; hearing this grown man do nothing but grunt and pant at the feeling you were leaving him with did more to stimulate you than you would have thought. It was a sound you were drinking up. You knew you would need more as soon as they ended.
Suddenly, you could feel Leon pressing deeper into you than he was before, making you choke out a whine at the burn. He was leaning himself over you, chest flush with your back, hand removed from your neck to support him next to your head. His forehead dropped down and crashed into your hair, mouth next to your ear.
You heard nothing but his deep breaths for a second, but then he spoke. “Can you take it?”
His voice was so low, you swore you felt the vibrations in your guts. Turning your head to the side, you caught his eye. You were sure you looked a mess, hair everywhere and makeup probably smeared across your eyes. Nonetheless, you still saw him quirk a smile, satisfied at the way he had you undone.
You opened your mouth to reply, knowing the sound coming out would be nothing over a whisper.
“I can take it…”
He hummed at your response, smiling wider, wickeder.
“Good girl.”
He lifted himself from you, but the depth of his dick didn’t relent. The hand that was beside your head lifted from the bed and was now back for the third time at the base of your scalp, hoisting you upwards, intensifying the angle of your arch.
Holding you steady by both the hip and the head, he drew himself out of your wetness and plummeted back in, harder and heavier than he had been doing before. It elicited wanton moans from you, most of them turning to voiceless whimpers as the force of your head being held back cut off most sound from escaping.
If your eyes weren’t squeezed shut, they were wandering aimlessly, not being able to focus on anything except the sweet sting of every slap of his balls to your dripping cunt. His breathing picked up, as did his groans, it was music to your ears.
“Fuck,” Leon cursed again, hips stuttering their pace. “This pussy is taking me so well,” You wanted so badly to go limp in his arms and just let him have his way with you, but the burn of your hair being pulled kept you upright. “I knew you’d be a problem for me.”
As much as you wanted to process what he was saying, you were too enraptured with the way he was thrusting into you, every muscle in your body burning and tightening with the imminent release that was coming.
Instead, you said nothing, breathing unsteadily and feeling every hit of the head of his dick in you, everything pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
The hand that had remained on your hip this whole time finally moved positions, slithering up your back, feeling every flex and ripple of your skin. He trailed it over your ribcage and around the front, grasping a tit in his hand, softly squeezing and pinching the nipple.
You were approaching the peak, you could feel it. Between taking him to the brim and the caressing of your chest and the sound of his pleasure mixing with your own, it was all too much to handle.
If Leon was also getting closer to his limit, you were barely able to tell. His hips lost rhythm here and there, but the pace was quickly regained, and his stamina was everlasting. If he kept going, it would be far past the point of pleasure for you, but you had to reach that first. It was so, so close.
Putting in all the effort you could to make sound, you hoped he would be able to hear it over his own sounds.
“Leon…”
He didn’t need any clarification to know that you were warning him. He slowed down his pace only for a second to reposition your hips, bringing your ass higher in the air for him. The hand not in your hair was by your side now, holding himself up above you. He continued, but not before responding to your plea. “Come for me, baby.”
This angle provided only more stimulation than not. It was somehow even deeper than before, and Leon had an endless reserve of energy to borrow from as his speed never slowed down, not even if his own orgasm was right on the brink along with yours.
You were whining to the point of crying now, the sensation bringing a tear to your eye as you heightened all too fast, overstimulation quickly taking its place, but hanging on to chase the sweet relief just out of sight.
“Oh, god… Leon!”
Your hand flew out to stabilize yourself on his wrist as flashes of white shone underneath your scrunched eyelids. Your body shuddered, still taking him as he fucked you through your orgasm. You felt the amount of slickness between you two increase. Leon gently lowered your head to the bed, finally slowing down his pace as he watched the wave of pleasure come and go from your body.
He pulled out of you, the emptiness making you wince, making you miss the fullness, yet knowing it would only end in disaster if you kept going.
Between heavy breaths, Leon spoke from behind you, “Turn over.”
With weak arms and assistance from Leon, he helped to roll you over onto your back, legs hoisted up onto his thighs as he kneeled on the mattress in front of you.
He had no shirt on. Again, you weren’t sure when this happened, but anything could have been happening behind you while your eyes were shut and you were facing away. His chest glistened with sweat. His torso was littered with patches of hair, only contouring all of his muscles further. Sweat glued strands of hair onto his forehead as well, painting a picture of a blissed-out man.
He held his wet cock in his hand, stroking himself the last of the way to his own climax. He used the other arm to prop himself up once more, bringing his forehead to rest on yours as you watched him bring himself to orgasm.
There was little friction to slow him down from all the fluids mixing between the both of you, and his grunts sped up as he stroked himself faster and he got closer and closer.
With a hitch of his breath and a twitch of his abdomen, he was shooting his ropes all over your stomach and chest, the warm, white liquid coating your glistening skin, dripping down the curves of your tits and down the side of your body, into the sheets that absorbed every other liquid from this exchange.
You felt his body convulse slightly with every spurt, and with his cum now emptied out of him, breathing heavy, he dropped his head into the crook of your neck while he came down.
With a pained groan, he pushed himself upwards after a minute.
“Let’s get this cleaned up,” Once you had been wiped down with nothing left to drip anywhere else, Leon gently lifted you upwards to a standing position, letting you use him as leverage on your shaky feet. If it weren’t for him, you’re sure you would be in a heap on the floor by now.
If you had organically run into someone like Leon, the stereotypes about someone like him would be drastically different from the man he turned out to be. Someone as tall, broad, and handsome had to have been at least a little stuck up somewhere in his life, but Leon showed you none of that.
He cared for you afterwards, cleaned you and let you stay the night considering he only had the free time to have you over when it was already bordering the time most of the world was falling asleep. Even though he was the one who said it first, you couldn’t help but to agree.
You knew he’d be a problem for you.
The sun crept in without urgency, and your eyes were heavy as they fought against whatever light did make its way into the room. You sighed, reveling in the comfort, knowing it had to end at some point.
Leon had stayed glued to you all night, another unexpected trait from him. Despite the fact that he had only tattooed you once and had barely any small talk before blowing your back out, he was tender in the moments when he needed to be. You two ended up staying awake much later than anticipated, finally doing all that talking that didn’t happen hours ago.
You were already getting used to his company. You knew you would want to see him again, but if it was for another tattoo or to be under him again, that was really up in the air.
You weren’t sure what Leon’s schedule this morning was like. He hadn’t said he was working, and it wasn’t one of the days he said he was only at the tattoo parlor. Despite this, you were still confused when you finally stretched your body out in bed and he wasn’t next to you.
It looked as if he had left hours ago, but you had no recollection of being woken up at any time that he left. The sheets and pillow were both already chilled, his side being tucked up neatly, only yours being mussed, only yours looking actually slept in.
You sat up further, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and finally catching sight of something on the pillow.
You pulled the note off the fabric, reading the delicate handwriting.
I wouldn’t have left if I could have helped it. That other fancy government job called, and I’ve always got to answer. Sorry to leave you. I’ll be in touch with you again soon.
You lowered the note and stared out the window. The sky was bright, and the sunshine helped lift your mood even the slightest, feeling thrown off balance now from the sudden absence of your bedside partner. You laid back down, resolving to get up in another five minutes, because even after all this, Leon’s bed was the best thing you had ever felt.
(And no, it wasn’t only because you had been manhandled the night before and were now very sore.)
Movement at the end of the bed made you sit upright suddenly, having been startled from the silent moment you were enjoying. A medium sized, fluffy, black cat had hopped up and was now walking towards you.
“Oh… hi.”
You stared at it, not remembering Leon saying anything about a cat. Regardless, it was a pleasant surprise, and even more so now discovering it was friendly, rubbing its head on your outstretched hand for it.
“I didn’t know Leon had a roommate.”
How a cat this sociable had managed to stay hidden all night was a mystery, but now that it had crawled out of the woodwork and was making quick work of befriending you, you couldn’t complain.
Once you were on the way out, you pat the friendly creature on top of the head and made your exit. Even though he said he would be in touch, it wouldn’t hurt to beat him to it, right?
You opened your DMs.
You: Thanks for everything. It was unforgettable.
You attached a picture of the cat standing on top of you in the bed that you had quickly snapped.
You: Also, I’m taking this little guy home.
By the time you pulled back up to your house, mentally prepared to start another mundane week, Leon had replied.
leonsk.ink: He’s always been good at picking out the right people. Guess I’ll need to have you back over sooner than I thought.
Yeah, he’s definitely going to be a problem for you.
Content: smut, p in v, fingering, squirting, alcohol consumption, hookup culture lol
Masterlist❤︎
-
There is nothing better than being fucked completely senseless.
Arguably the best remedy for a chronically overactive mind.
After five straight days of managing passive-aggressive emails and smiling through situations that tested the absolute limits of human sanity, you decided the only cure for this impending mental breakdown was a stiff drink and zero inhibitions on this lovely weekend.
Two shots of whatever was closest, and the company of a man who looked just as desperately in need of a distraction as you, if not more so.
Beautiful was what you initially pegged him as, eyes sweeping along the striking lines of an exhausted face and the stubborn swoop of hair spilling carelessly over his brow. Then you decided he was just prematurely aged. The silver threads catching at his temples and the aggressive shadow of a stubble made him look worn down by a decade of exceptionally bad sleep and even worse stress.
He looked like a man who could fuck good. Looked like he approached sex the exact same way he approached the rest of his miserable life, with unrelenting stamina and a terrifyingly methodical focus designed to dismantle whatever stood before him.
He also looked like an easy target, staring into the amber depths of his glass with a level of sad depression that practically radiated off his shoulders. All it took was you stepping directly into his line of sight, ordering another shot with a dramatic sigh, and offering him a painfully cynical comment about the state of the world (while deliberately showing off your cleavage).
The guarded set of his jaw twitched into the faintest ghost of a smirk.
You offered your name, he offered his (Leon—was it short for Leonard? Leonel?), and he leaned in when you laughed at his terrible attempt at a joke. A genuine chortled laugh because you hadn't expected a dad joke from a man who looked as brooding as he did.
You licked your lips, he followed your tongue.
Hook, line, sinker.
Which explains how you now find yourself trapped in a mating press on a mattress that probably costs more per night than your rent. A dingy, cheap motel would have been your practical choice, but you had noted the expensive gleam of the watch on his wrist within five minutes of sitting next to him. Freaking Hamilton that looked distinctly like a limited edition, judging by the brushed steel and intricate dial.
Frankly, you shouldn't be surprised he carried that much net worth. He’s handsome, weathered beautifully into his age (Late forties? Early fifties?), and clearly paid an exorbitant amount of money to survive whatever horrors are actively ruining his mental health.
What does surprise you is how you’ve underestimated the scope of his physical abilities.
Over the past blurry hour, this complete stranger has effortlessly folded you into positions that defy your understanding of your own flexibility. Knees pressed so securely beside your own ears you start to believe the fee you pay for your weekly reformer pilates class might be a scam.
Apparently what you needed to achieve this level of advanced mobility was the unrelenting dead weight of a very, very capable man. So fucking capable that you’ve genuinely lost count of how many times he’s wrung you out on these expensive sheets.
Four orgasms? Maybe five? Whatever the number is, another one is dangerously crawling up the base of your spine.
Your sanity might be beyond saving at this point. You’re sweating profusely, and the backs of your thighs are screaming in dull protest from being pinned back for god knows how long. Leon pulls out and snaps his hips again with a jarring impact that seems to grow more ruthlessly aggressive with every single grind.
He does it again and again and again until you’re basically screaming from the unavoidable crash of yet another orgasm, toes curling frantically in the suspended air while your nails bite into the heavy muscle of his arms.
This man is something else, obviously nothing akin to the standard parade of disappointing men who talked big but possessed absolutely zero game. They were a flimsy attempt to scratch the very surface of your boredom. Leon, by comparison, is clawing straight down to the bone.
There’s a slowness in his thrusts now, and you blink to find an actual smile breaking through the sweat and exhaustion on his face. The warm puff of a chuckle against your cheek tells you he isn't simply amused. He’s actually entertained.
You huff, making a valiant but entirely useless attempt to mock him, "Stop laughing."
The sweat beading along his heavy brow does absolutely nothing to detract from how devastatingly smug he looks right now. “You’re shaking so much. It’s cute.”
So much for playing the femme fatale act at the bar. He swipes a thumb across your blotchy cheek, courtesy of his rough afternoon shadow.
“You okay?”
You sigh out a harsh breath, blowing a damp strand of hair out of your eyes. “Have you," you manage to wheeze, "even cum yet?”
He shakes his head, blue eyes glinting with unapologetic amusement.
"Are you ever going to?"
His low laughter rumbles warmly in your ears. “Why, you want me to stop already?" he presses a kiss against your jaw. "Thought you were having a good time."
“I’m having a great time.”
“Then what’s with the rush?”
“Maybe we should take a break,” you whine, gasping sharply when the weight of his pelvis rocks aggressively against your lower belly. “I-I need to pee.”
He seems unfazed. Moves like you didn't utter a word to begin with. Instead, what he does is press you even further into the mattress. “Is that right?”
“Fuck—Leon—” You arch your back as he maliciously tilts his hips. “You’re not helping.”
“I actually am,” he argues.
“What—”
“Let's test a theory," he drawls, hot breath ghosting over your pulse. "Do you really think you just need to pee, or are you about to squirt?”
You go completely still for a moment. Considering your track record of thoroughly uninspired hookups and non-lasting relationships, there is absolutely no palpable evidence to suggest you are capable of doing what he’s asking.
“I’m pretty sure I need to pee,” you reason quietly. “I’m not a squirter.”
He pulls back enough to meet your eyes. “You’re telling me you’ve never done that before?”
“I have no prior experience to suggest it's even an option.”
He looks genuinely offended by your answer. “Do you want to try?”
Your head falls back to fully take him in. He really is pretty. Never mind the faint, tired wrinkles bracketing his pale blue eyes, or the harsh features of a man who has clearly seen too much and slept too little. He’s simply too devastatingly gorgeous for his own good.
Even with the fragments of scars you’ve spent the last hour subconsciously counting on his neck, his shoulder, his chest. Scars that make you wonder what kind of terrifying life he leads when he isn't in a hotel room with a stranger, fucking their brains out.
And you’re very much aware you’re one of the few he’s taken to bed.
But is he always this attentive? This generous?
Does he fuck everyone else this hard yet still find the gentle grace to cradle their face and brush the hair out of their eyes?
You instantly hate how territorial you sound. It's wildly hypocritical for someone who values the cheap thrill of a purely physical transaction just as much as he clearly does. He’s just a good lover, you decide. And if tonight is the only night you get to have this man all to yourself, then so be it.
If he thinks he can make you squirt, then who are you to deny?
“You really think I’m about to squirt?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
You frown. “What if it’s just pee?”
He kisses the wrinkled line between your brows. “Make a mess then, I don’t mind.”
Yeah, you’re going to let him absolutely ruin you tonight.
“Then make me squirt, Leon.”
He dips his head, breathing the hot air of his lungs directly into your open mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”
Your pussy tightens reflexively at that, which he obviously catches. He catches on to every desperate tell your body gives him, actually. Probably the sole reason why you've already come an embarrassing number of times.
Not enough, apparently, because he’s already moving his hips in rapid rhythms—not too fast or too slow, but enough to have your eyes sliding shut, focusing on the stretch of his cock driving deep in and out of your cunt.
“Fucking beautiful,” he hums, binding your wrists together above your head. “Just lying there looking all pretty."
“H-harder,” you whine, weakly pushing your hips up to meet him.
“Yeah?” He squeezes your wrists together, leaning even more of his massive frame over you. “You like it when I go hard on you?”
Like it? You thrive on it, nodding frantically as your trembling thighs try to lock around his waist. Try is definitely the word when he’s practically flattened you beneath his crushing weight, effortlessly trapping your body. You can feel your limbs turn gooey and powerless, your stomach contrastingly hard.
“I know, baby, I know,” he rasps, ramming his hips harshly against yours. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Ngh—h—”
“That’s it, give it to me. Make a mess on me.”
The panic hits you first, quickly swallowed by an absolute wave of pure heat. Starts as a buzzing ache in your core before violently spiking into an unbearable sensation. Your belly burns, coils, rattles—and you blink your eyes open, brimming with tears. “Leon—”
He instantly reads the panicked clench of your muscles.
“Don't fight it.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
Your groan is feral. “I can’t—”
“Come on, baby, you’ve got to trust me,” he croons softly. “Do you trust me?”
Surprisingly, you do, even if your only judgment on this man comes from the three hours that have passed since you sat down next to him at the bar. “Yes.”
“Good. Then let it happen.”
Your breath stutters. Your body jerks.
“Breathe through your nose.”
He plunges in with a particularly harsh thrust and you gasp. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Oh, fuck—”
“That’s it.” He closes the last inch of space between you. Foreheads touching. “Let it go.”
You try to follow his words and suck in a sharp breath. Lungs expanding, ribs flaring, and the rush of oxygen pouring into your blood sharpens every sensation to something blinding.
It’s like a switch. One moment your muscles are tensed, then a passage of whines pitches upward as your orgasm barrels through you without warning. Strong and gut-wrenching. Body hot in bliss and shame—only for two seconds. Quick as it hits, he abruptly pulls out, instantly replacing his cock with two calloused fingers.
Your mouth gapes in a silent scream. Even more so when his offhand curls around your neck. Fingers pressing against the sides of your throat, palm flat against your windpipe, but exercising barely any pressure all the while his fingers fucks your swollen, dripping cunt.
You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself getting drenched, but you’ve never experienced anything as wild as this.
Speckles of liquid spatter across the sheets the more he drags his hand in an up-and-down motion, its squelching sound rising above the fight of your labored breathing.
He pushes his palm against your clit.
“Oh fuck! fuckfuckfuck—”
A sudden rush spills over him. Soaks the sheets beneath you in dark patches and streams down the inside of his wrist, seeping hot onto his thighs. He continues to pump his fingers while you lie there—crying openly, violently shuddering. It goes on for what feels like forever until he smoothes out his pressure around your throat, kissing the drool glistening on your lips with a disbelief chuckle.
“Should’ve met you sooner,” he laughs into your mouth, easily slipping his cock back in.
Maybe it’s the bliss completely corrupting your nervous system, or perhaps it’s the overwhelming stretch of his thick cock driving back into your overstimulated cunt. Whatever it is, you completely lose your grip on the casual nature of a one night stand, eager words spilling past your wet lips before you can even screen them.
“Can we meet again?” You pant. “Like—after tonight?”
You’re somewhere right on the edge of a pathetic whimper and a helpless laugh, entirely too pleasured to think straight, dangerously too giddy at the possibility of actually getting to know him. To uncover those scars in daylight, to figure out what kind of hell he had to survive to inherit those devastatingly sad yet kind eyes.
To learn his last name. To unearth his middle.
You gasp when he effortlessly flips you over, twisting his fingers in your hair and pulling it back.
Yeah, you’re going to let him absolutely ruin you tonight—and all the days that follow.
Your husband was always looking at his wedding ring.
You had noticed the habit months ago, not even a year after your wedding. Leon had spent nearly half of his life watching the people and things he cared about slip through his fingers. Raccoon City, Luis, the ghosts that came by and vanished—his world had always been ragged. He described it once to you that it felt like a black hole, just waiting to swallow him whole.
Until he met you. Suddenly, he had a home that smelled of clean laundry, shoes in the doorway, a quiet life, and a very loving you who loved him with no conditions.
And that’s the thing, he couldn’t stop looking at the proof of it.
You and he worked in the same place. At the headquarters, the dynamic between you and Leon was a bit of an amusement for the rest of your colleagues. You’re more of a communications specialist, stationed in the grind of the main office and hefty paperwork, while your husband was the legendary field agent with a private office and a resume that can rival the president at this point.
Whenever you and he cross paths, you would have to hide a smile behind your manila folders while he fully, softly, and with all the love he could show, smiles at you–undeterred by his adoration for his spouse. It’s usually accompanied by his eyes suggesting something else, dropping to your mouth and making you shiver even with the distance between you two, but you brush it off, often warning him just before going to the office.
“It's work hours, Leon. Focus.”
He’d lean in close enough so you were able to hear his deep murmur, “Not with those lips, sweet. It’s very tempting.”
While he was playful in the hallways and corridors, the true visibility of his habits showed when you weren't around. During meetings, he would just take his eyes from the projector screen and look down at his ring. You’re never really in his meetings–no. It’s almost always classified and confidential, even from DSO employees, due to his high clearance, held behind biometric-locked doors.
You heard it from Sherry one time. The agency was big, and gossip travelled in its own way. She had come by to stop at your desk one afternoon, a wry smile inching on her face as she took a sip from her coffee.
You heard someone utter your name, “You seriously need to have a talk with your husband.”
Sherry!
“We were in the middle of a high-risk briefing just a while ago. Camera and satellite feeds, international tracking, the whole shennanigan. Hunningan had to call his name five times since the meeting head gave up at that point, getting his attention. Leon was completely in a different world.”
“Leon?” You turned towards her. Surprised, you add, “He’s usually focused.”
She laughs, making you confused. “He was staring down at his lap!” Sherry’s expression then softens, “Well, not his lap–his hand. I saw that he was looking at his wedding ring, tracing it with his hand. He looked like he was a million miles away in space.”
You brushed it off with a chuckle, promising Sherry that you would give him a warning at home, but a warm feeling bloomed in your chest not long after that.
At home, the warmth never disappeared. Rather, it only deepened when you saw it firsthand. A few nights later, your kitchen was filled with the rich and savory aroma of your cooking. You were standing at the stove, stirring a simmering sauce—your husband’s favorite- when you asked him to chop a few cloves of garlic for you.
It was peaceful, a domestic scene of two people who very much love each other. When you turned around, you just saw him standing perfectly still by the board. The knife was raised a few inches above the board, seemingly forgotten, while his gaze was locked into his left hand, most especially the silver band, watching the warm kitchen light.
“Leon, honey. Put the knife down, you might hurt yourself,” You say while you turn back at the stove, stirring softly. As if he could—he’s probably the last person you should warn when handling knives.
He blinks as a response, a deep chuckle coming out of him, and then continues his chore. He doesn’t have to explain himself.
However, there was a time when, in the middle of lovemaking, breathless yet full of pleasure, he decided to fully show his love once again.
The room was cool, your thighs were open, separated by his strong thighs, flushed and slicked with sweat. Your pants and his groans filled your bedroom. Your heart was hammering against your ribs as the pleasure kept on. Hot breaths puffed against your face as Leon was above you, forehead resting against yours. Slowly, he slid his hand down to find yours, calloused palms intertwining with your soft ones. He lifts your joined hands and rests them on the pillow beside your head, pinning you gently, once again, to the mattress.
“L-Leon–”
“Hush.” He utters your name very softly, it was a breath away from a prayer, and presses a soft kiss to your intertwined hands. He kissed your knuckles first, moved his lips to each of your nails, the back of your hand, and finally, he the physical proof of your loving promise to him–your wedding ring.
He let his lips stay there for a while, a long and deep tender kiss against the band. When he finally pulled away, he shifted upward, now pressing a soft and lingering kiss to your sweaty forehead.
“I got you.” He lovingly whispered against your skin.
And presses another tender kiss.
i just want him to hold me and (marry). please don't feed to ai.
After another argument with your shitty boyfriend, you turn to Eren for a much needed pick-me-up.
⟡ content: eren jaeger x female reader, modern au, you cheat on your loser boyfriend, dirty talk, praise, mutual masturbation, pussy job, explicit language, explicit sexual content, reader discretion advised. 18+
⟡ word count: ~4k
⟡ rewritten and reposted for my new blog | read on ao3
Your boyfriend sucks. That isn’t an opinion, either. It’s a fact.
The sky is blue. What goes up must always come back down. Your boyfriend is, and will forever be, a huge jackass.
At least, according to your friends. All of them, but Eren was the most vocal about it in particular. Even according to you, sometimes. Let’s not forget that part; it’s important.
Countless times, your boyfriend had driven you to your wit’s end and back because, yes, you always took him back. Face it: you aren’t the type to leave a kicked puppy out in the rain or a groveling man lying on your doorstep. He’d come crawling back, looking all lovesick and apologetic, and you’re ashamed to admit it hasn’t failed him yet.
Listen, Eren is just a friend. He doesn’t know the ins and outs of your relationship anymore than the next guy. What he knows for certain, however, is that your boyfriend generally sucks as a human being—and he’s pretty sure you know it, too.
And it’s about time he did something about it.
Tonight’s as good a night as ever, Eren thinks. His roommate, Armin, insists on hosting a game night every other week-ish to ‘get the gang together.’ But game nights are hard. No one can listen long enough to learn the rules. So game nights soon devolved into movie nights, which turned into drinking nights after no one could ever agree on a movie.
That’s the plan for the evening: to have a couple of beers or seltzers or whatever his friends planned on bringing, and to spend some time with you. Alone.
You walked into the apartment huffing and puffing, unsurprisingly pissed about whatever your boyfriend did or didn’t do this time. You’ve spent most of the night wallowing in your displeasure, trying to hide it but failing miserably. Eren can tell you’re furiously texting Sasha every little detail despite sitting across from one another.
If you were to ask any of your friends, they’d probably say they used to think you and Eren would date. You had that energy about you. Still do. But then you met your boyfriend, things progressed, and you’ve been seeing each other ever since. On and off, of course.
Eren dated other people, too. And sure, he liked them, but that’s as far as it would get. Finding happiness is difficult when he constantly sees the greener grass on the other side.
He thought it might be a timing thing, the reason the two of you never hooked up. It made sense back then. But now, Eren knows it’s not a timing thing because he’s single, and you can dump your boyfriend any time you want—if that’s what you want.
Eren could pry. He could be forthright and ask what you’re texting Sasha about. But that would get him nowhere, with a coordinated response of ‘girl stuff,’ and the subject would inevitably die there.
You never talk about your boyfriend problems when Eren is around. Not that he expected you to; he would have written it off a long time ago if he hadn’t overheard you confiding in Armin. Jean, too. Anyone who would listen, it sure seemed like, besides Eren. You know, the one person who really, really wanted to know. After all, he’s certain he could show you how much better things could be, with him.
So he’ll do just that. He catches you at the right moment, once the two of you are alone—sort of. Armin had gone to bed. Sasha had left and taken Jean and Connie with her. The only guests remaining are you and Mikasa—and she’s been sitting heavy-eyed on the couch for the last twenty minutes.
Then there’s you, all squirmy beside him.
“Are you cold?” Eren asks. He knows that’s not the reason, and he also knows you’d never ask the more direct question, ‘Are you all right?’
“I’m fine,” you whisper, cautious of disturbing Mikasa as she drifts off. “I’m just—”
“Having a long night?” Eren guesses.
You sigh, and it’s weighty enough to sound like you’ve held it in for a while.
“That’s one way of putting it.”
It’s vague, yet you still feel you said too much.
Hands in your lap, you mess with your fingers. You focus on that rather than try to look Eren in the eye. You can’t bring yourself to do that right now; it makes your insides burn uncomfortably hot.
There’s no denying how Eren makes you feel. Hell, there’s no denying you came over here tonight with him on your mind. After what transpired with your boyfriend (or was it your ex-boyfriend now? You left unsure of where you stood), how could you not?
“Is there anything I can do,” Eren slides closer to you on the couch, “to make your night better?”
Yes, you think. Yes, yes, yes.
You shake your head, gaze low, fixed on his leg pressing against yours.
“It’s not your problem to fix,” you assure, but it lacks any sureness and almost sounds like a dare.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t try,” Eren says, always up for a challenge, especially if you’re the prize at the end.
You are better than this, you tell yourself. You are above this.
Still, you can’t help but think: what would your boyfriend do if the roles were reversed? You argued about his fidelity before—you even argued about it a few hours ago—and you have no more clarity than you did at the start.
Maybe you haven’t been perfect, either. Maybe there were times you should’ve told Eren to cut the flirting, and even times you shouldn’t have reciprocated. You thought it was harmless, that you’d never end up exactly where you are now.
You also never imagined how invigorating, how right, it would feel.
Eren places a hand on your thigh, tentatively at first, light despite the guilt weighing down on you. When you don’t stop him, he grows confident; his hand slides higher and squeezes gently. It’s chaste, something that could still pass as friendly if not for how it made you feel.
I am absolutely not above this.
That’s how you wound up in his bedroom. Eren whispered for Mikasa, and when she didn’t respond, he took it as the go-ahead to lead you somewhere more private. Down the hall, with the door shut and locked behind you, Eren had you to himself for the first time.
Your heart thrums in your ears. It’s adrenaline, anticipation, a rush you never want to end. You hardly hear him when he asks, “How can I make your night better?” He nears you in a single step. “What would you like me to do?”
“I think you know the answer to that,” you murmur, too shy to say what he wants to hear: that you want him. You want his mouth on yours, maybe on your neck, too. His hands on your chest, smoothing down your hips and between your legs.
Instead of saying it, you lean into Eren wordlessly. You tilt your chin high to meet him, and he catches it between his fingers. He guides you to him gently. Your noses brush, your lips don’t. It’s close. So close. Enough for your lashes to flutter softly against his cheek, for you to feel every one of his warm breaths as they break over your lips. It’s intoxicating; it’s not enough. But you can’t bring yourself to seal that fateful gap between you.
“I can’t,” you stammer. Shamefully, you found it hurt to say the words.
Eren is silent as he pulls away from you. Before he’s too far, you snatched his wrist in your hand. You don’t know why or what you’re thinking besides that you want to keep him there. He remains frozen except for the flicker of his eyes from your hand to your face. He lets you decide where this would or wouldn’t go.
“I don’t—fuck, I don’t know what to do,” you complain. Your head is a spinny, screwed-up disaster. Full of forbidden fantasies and raging hormones and pools of warmth spreading from your stomach to your fingertips—all because of him.
“What do you want to do?” Eren asks in a low voice. It’s coaxing, cloying, but needful at the same time. You’ve never heard him like this before, yet he sounds familiar. Reminiscent of the same need burning inside you, so hot you think it might burn a hole through you, one only he can fill.
You lick your bottom lip only to find your mouth has gone dry.
Eren closes in on you. His presence looming, nose nudging the side of your face as he whispers in your ear, “I can tell you what I want to do, if that would help.”
He nuzzles lower, beneath your jawline. He doesn’t kiss you there—no, he would never do that. What he does is worse, somehow. It’s teasing. His breath fans over your ear and sends shockwaves down your spine. He needs you to not only hear but to feel every word, every dirty thing he’s imagined doing with you.
“I want you to touch yourself for me,” he breathes against the side of your face, warming you from the inside out. His hand clasps over yours and guides it to your belly, then lower. “And I want to watch.”
You could feel the heat of your cunt through your clothes, like there was a fire lit within you.
“Can you do that for me?” he asks, smooth and soothing. “I’ll only look. I won’t touch, I promise.”
It’s a lousy excuse for a loophole. Actually, it doesn’t even qualify as a loophole. But the thought had you beyond dizzy. Absolutely head-to-toe flustered.
Eren leans back, holding you by the shoulders. He looks you in the eyes and again insists, “No touching.”
Loophole or not, you can’t find it within you to care. You trust him, you think. Either that, or your brain had short-circuited because you can only repeat back, “No touching,” as you bob your pretty little head.
Eren smiles down at you, running his knuckles down the side of your face. It’s gentle, it’s praising, and it brings—no, it yanks you back to him.
“Lie on the bed,” he says.
You do as told, resting back on your forearms. He tugs your bottoms off with ease and reveals a pair of pale blue panties. An unforgiving color. When you spread your legs for him, he can see how you soaked through them after some innocent teasing.
You touch yourself without him having to ask again. You trace over the damp patch and play with your clit through the fabric. Eren sees how easily your panties slip between you, how wet you already are, and he has to stifle a curse.
Eren drops to his knees, nestling between your legs at the foot of the bed. He has a hand on either side of you. Not touching, of course.
“Look at that.” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or your pussy. “You like it when I talk to you, huh? When I tell you what to do?”
You whine at his words, rub faster. You want to come.
“So needy. What’s the rush?” Eren tuts. He climbs onto the bed, propping his back against the headboard. “Make yourself comfortable.”
As he says it, his hand travels lower. Dangerously low. He palms over his crotch and draws your attention to how hard he is. His insistent cock tents his sweatpants, and he grips himself through the fabric.
You stare with too much interest. The corner of Eren’s lip curls into a smirk when you have to close your hungry mouth. He’s just as greedy, though, just as riled up as you. Even the touch of his own hand has his muscles tightening and twitching.
You crawl over to his side and try to relax into the pillows as best you can. Your shoulders droop, your knees fall to either side, but there’s a tremble to your hand as it returns between your legs. Your touch remains feather-light as you dance your fingers along the hem of your underwear. You watch unabashedly, with your head lolled to one side as Eren mirrors you. His thumb dips below his waistband.
This still counts as ‘no touching,’ right?
Eren shoves his hands down his sweatpants. You don’t see it when he takes his cock into his hand, but the outline of him working over his length beneath the fabric was as plain as day.
Your eyes ask the question your lips wouldn’t dare to ask. Eren responds, “You first,” as he looks down at your underwear.
Your fingers stutter and pause. You’ve already dipped your toes into the corrupted waters, so you might as well take the full plunge.
You tuck your underwear to the side, pinching them between the crease of your thigh. Your fingers feel almost cold against your feverish skin, and you shiver in response, letting the feeling wreck though every nerve. You clench around nothing.
“Fuck,” Eren breathes, an incidental hiss.
He pushes his sweatpants and boxers down in one go, and his cock slaps his front. He aches for anything more than his own hand, but it’s all he has right now. It’s agonizing to have what he needs so damn close, yet just out of reach.
He pumps himself faster, tightening his grip around his tip to mimic your cunt.
He can only catch glimpses; your panties keep getting in his way, and you have to keep adjusting them. Eren goes to take them off but stops himself short.
“Take them off,” he tells you, somewhere between a request and a demand. If this was his one chance to be with you, to see you, then he’s going to see all of you.
You listen. A sticky string connecting your fingers to your cunt snaps, and you can only hope Eren didn’t see it. You’re sure he did, based on the impatient sound that comes from the back of his throat.
You lift your hips off the bed and shimmy your underwear down your legs before kicking them to the floor.
You don’t settle back into the bed before Eren says, “I want to see more of you,” because this still isn’t enough. “C’mere.”
He adjusts you to his liking until you’re in front of him. You’re lying back on your elbows, spread, with your feet caging his hips. It’s a vulnerable position, you admit. One where you’re completely bare and on display with no shying away. You might have even found it embarrassing, if not for how turned on you are. The urge to come is nagging, simmering for so long that you feel you may boil over and do something you’ll regret.
“Shit.” Eren’s in awe of the sight before him: your glistening cunt, swollen and practically begging to come, paired with the dreamy expression on your face. It’s the sexiest you’ve ever looked, and he’s not even sure it’s intentional. Your eyes are as alert as they are moony, as confident as they are flustered; a doe locked in his headlights, willing to eat out of his palm despite her better judgment.
“Spread yourself for me,” he murmurs. You do so with two fingers. “God, look at you.”
So pretty. What a shame that such a pretty pussy would go unfucked tonight.
Eren leans back again, this time with a complacent hand tucked behind his head. He spits into his other and slathers it over his cock, unblushing at how your eyes follow every fluid movement.
“Go ahead,” he says, still calmly fisting his cock. “For real this time. Make yourself come for me.”
The encouragement travels straight to your core. You sink your middle finger in first, then add another. You curve them, drag them in and out, until you find a pace that has your thighs threatening to snap shut. You pull out of yourself one last time and, with wetted fingers, you return to your neglected clit. It only takes a few slick circles before your breath quickens.
“Yeah, just like that—fuck.” Eren feels his cock throb against his palm. He slows, pulling and tightening his grip, still pretending his hand is anywhere near as soft as your pussy. “You’ve listened so well. You deserve to come, don’t you think?”
You moan something incoherent.
“Tell me,” Eren says, smug and urgent, somehow at once. “Tell me what a good girl you’ve been. That you deserve to come.”
Slippery, unforgiving sounds fill the room from both of you, but you’ve already shed and shred of decency you had left. You dipped your toes in first, and then you took a fateful dive. But now you’ve found the current has stripped away any semblance of control you had—or thought you had.
You’ve become a passenger inside your own body. Every motion feels wild and unpredictable, yet intimately inevitable. It’s strange and exhilarating, this raw, primal surrender to what’s physical and nothing more.
Flowery language aside, you know one thing for sure: as much as you enjoy hearing him talk filth to you, he enjoys hearing you just as much, if not more.
“I’m a—ah, I’m your good girl,” you moaned. Your fingers struggle to keep up with your own neediness. “I deserve to come.”
His good girl.
Eren’s stomach lurches, abdominals tightening. He nearly comes.
What a fucking gift you are. How lucky Eren feels to witness how you get yourself off when no one’s around.
You bring a hand to your chest, caressing along your nipple gently poking through your shirt.
“Can I see your tits?” Eren blurts, unable to help himself.
“You first.” You giggle a little, then restate, “Take off your shirt.”
Eren grins before stripping, revealing a cute flush creeping up his chest. You stick to the deal and peel your shirt over your head. You skipped putting on a bra this evening because it was supposed to be a quiet night-in with friends, but it works for this scenario, too.
You graze your fingers over the peaks of your breasts, bouncing just so with every rub, rub, rub of your hand. You bite back a harsh gasp, but little hums escape past your teeth anyway.
Eren’s thighs twitch. He fights back the instinct to buck his hips and fuck up into nothing. His pants turn strained and exasperated. He thinks he might be numb to his hand at this point. He could use his spit again, but why should he have to when you’re right there, as desperate as he is?
Your name is a raspy plea on his tongue. His hand smooths up your leg as he coos, “I need to feel you, baby.” His thumb strokes your inner thigh, growing extremely close to the apex between them. “Need you to help me come. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”
Eren’s hands wrap around your ankles, tearing a yelp from you as he drags you toward him.
“I won’t put it in,” he promises. You’re so close he can feel the heat of your cunt against the underside of his cock. His hand somehow looks small in comparison as he holds himself at his base. He angles his cock until it’s about as close as it can be without touching you. “Please.”
Your heart pounds against your ribcage, but even more frantically, it pulses between your legs. Loud and demanding, it’s as impossible to ignore as the man in front of you. Hot and horny, with messy hair and pretty pink cheeks and an even prettier cock leaking at the mere thought of touching you, staring at you like he wishes to devour you whole.
You nod, and Eren doesn’t hesitate to push his cock between your folds. You watch as he does it, perched higher on your elbows. Even with the faintest amount of pressure, your jaw slackens.
He rocks his hips, gliding his cock through you, up and down, with the ridge of his head nudging your clit. Your skin prickles despite the thin layer of sweat you’ve accumulated.
You raise your lower half, dragging your pussy over him, then bring yourself back down to the bed. His cock jolts; you feel it. You repeat the undulating motion again and again, effortlessly, because you can’t recall a time you’ve ever been wetter. So wet that he slips out a time or two and uses the breaks to tap the tip of his cock to your clit.
Eren gives a low chuckle when your head falls back between your shoulder blades. “What a pretty little mess you are.”
You angle your hips so he’s in the right spot, hitting your clit deliciously. It doesn’t take long for your legs to quiver, swaying as if they might give out. Eren steadies you with a hand resting on the divot of your hip.
“Oh, God, Eren.” Your voice pitches on a broken moan. “I think I’m gonna come.”
His large hand curves around your side, his fingers digging into the fat of your ass. He keeps you moving with his grip, guiding you through it even as your legs begin to falter. Barreling down the hill toward your release, you can’t stifle a single cry as they spill from you.
“Yeah, that’s it. Let it all out, baby,” Eren encourages, saccharine as always but airless. Though his own release is imminent, he refuses to let go until you’ve had yours.
He flattens his fingers against his cock, pressing deeper, adding more pressure. He proves how heavy and hard he is for you—how much better he’d feel inside you. The mere thought makes you groan. You push back against him instinctively, arching your back as you teeter on the edge of your undoing.
“So fucking hot,” Eren groans, thrusting as if he were truly fucking you. He meets you each time you bear down on him, his pelvis slapping against you as his hips rise from the bed. “So fucking hot.”
That familiar feeling fizzes in your stomach, swarming and radiating through you. It sparks in the tips of your fingers, even in your toes, before your orgasm consumes you entirely. Your entire being tenses, fists knotting themselves in the sheet and eyes screwing shut. The pleasure is white hot and leaves you with stars behind your eyelids.
“Keep ‘em on me while you come,” Eren urges.
You try to open your eyes as tears well in the corners. The sight before him is pornographic. You looked ruined. Eyebrows pinched and pulled together, mouth open as if you wanted to scream out your orgasm. Your soaked thighs, his thighs you soaked—and not to mention the mess you’ve surely made on the bed. As you curse and cry his name, Eren can’t help but imagine how wrecked you’d look, how much better you’d feel, if you were coming with him inside of you.
Your knees snap together, thighs sealing shut around his cock. He continues to fuck between them, against your pulsing, oversensitive pussy. Your body is spent and shaking, and he’s right there with you. The sinewy muscles of his chest flex as he builds toward his climax.
“God, fuck,” Eren pants. “I’m gonna come, baby. Gonna come all over this pussy.”
When he does, it’s with his head thrown back and a beautiful groan. His cock spills across your belly, dribbling down the creases of your thighs and smearing with the last few thrusts as he draws out every drop. He can’t believe he could feel so good from something as pathetic as grinding.
Your body lies limp, sprawling across the bed with your legs still draped over him. You wait for some post-horny clarity to smack you across the face, but the only slap you feel is the truth: you deserve better. You aren’t going back.
You stay there, waiting for the rise and fall of your chest to settle. One moment you’re staring at the ceiling, then blink, Eren is above you, taking your cheek in his hand. His fingers curl around the side of your face before he places his mouth on yours. He’s soft, both in how he feels and how he kisses you, with lips slotted perfectly against yours, coaxing them open with his tongue.
You finally let him touch you this way; you kiss him back. You wrap your arms around his neck, and you wish for the moment to stay, just for a little longer.
“leonnn, I c-can’t-,”you sobbed, tears streaking your face.
your head rolled back into the pillows as leon thrusted deeper. he had you on your back, his arms holding your legs apart. his cock was buried to the hilt inside your puffy pussy.
he hasn’t stopped thrusting. not after your pussy clenched around him like a vice the first, or third time. not after your nails clawed into his back, guaranteed to leave marks. not even after you started crying.
“no no no no, baby, please,” he whimpered, burying his face in your neck. “I wanna cum- baby, please, I’m so so so close!”
poor thing. your pussy was spasming violently around him, desperate to milk his cock. it wasn’t until a gush of squirt splattered against his lower abdomen that he slowed down.
leon whined, high and needy, watching as you made a mess on his cock. he leaned up, his eyes hooded as he looked down to where your pussy was stretched around his cock. your clit was twitching. “you made a mess,” his voice cracked.
as if his cock wasn’t enough, his thumb reached down to rub your clit. small circles pressed against the swollen pearl. “messy girl…” he murmured. “I’m doing good, huh?”
his hips moved slower, but god, he was going deeper. his cheeks were flushed a soft pink as he fucked into you. “you like it, baby? you gonna cum again?” he moaned.
“nghh…! yes, I like it!” you cried out. his large hand rested against your lower stomach, right over the bulge of his cock.
“fuck, you can see it right here,” he said, his thumb tracing the imprint of his cock in your womb. “look, baby, you can see me inside you.”
your cunt betrayed you, clenching and gushing all over again. a creamy ring of cum formed at the base of his cock. leon winced, your pussy feeling tighter this time. he bit his lip, his thrusts faltering.
“f-fuck…!” he whined. one final thrust before he held you against him. hot, white ropes of cum filled you up. heavy breathing filled your ear.
leon pulled away, pulling his cock out to watch his cum drip out of you. you whimpered, feeling it glide down your inner thighs.
summary: dante is touch-starved, and he thinks the only way for him to feel something is to get punched by you
pairing: dante x afab!reader | based on the netflix version but definitely canon divergent
warnings: dry humping, unprotected p in v, creampie, degradation kink, very light choking, lots of swearing, kind of soft dom dante and light pain kink if you squint, idiots in love, friends to lovers, bit of praise, fem bodied reader
w/c: ~3.2k
a/n: this is definitely not my best work but it's a warm up ig. lol anyway i absolutely loved the dmc netflix version, and i'm considering getting the games
"Punch me."
Not a question, but an indisputable demand coming from the demon hunter, which made you do a double take, place the barrel of your M4 carbine on the table, and flat-out refuse.
"No."
He snarled, yes, snarled at you, slamming his pistol against the table with a loud bang. You looked up from your own weapon, taken aback by Dante's reaction, concern written all over your face. Was he high??
"Come on, Y/N, just do it. Just one punch, one tiny little punch. I know you want to." His cocky grin did numbers on your nerves, but you still refrained from giving him the satisfaction of hitting him. It’s been years since you met Dante, by this point you were used to his shenanigans.
"Why, though?" You decided to focus on cleaning your weapon, the sharp smell of isopropyl alcohol filling the room.
"Because," Dante groaned, snatching the bottle of liquid from you, causing you to glare daggers at him, "I'm touch starved."
You blinked once, twice, trying your hardest to process both his honesty, and the logistics of his request.
"Why not ask for a hug, then? Or, I don't know, go to therapy?"
"Hah! I'm sure my therapist is gonna have a field day with me! So, my dad, a demon, disappeared without a trace, then my mother and twin brother died, but actually my brother is alive somewhere. My therapist is gonna need a therapist."
"Okay, okay, you made your point. Still, you could just rephrase it. Maybe leave out the demon bit." You wiped the barrel clean before setting it aside.
"I'd rather get punched. Now, please."
"Dante, a punch isn’t gonna solve it. Are you sure you don’t want a hug? I could cook you something. Or we could grab a few beers and watch a movie, or talk about your feelings." You shrugged.
Both of you had done this before — went out for drinks, danced, cooked together, fell asleep together — it was so intimate, almost like you were a couple. But the reality was that you weren’t. Not by a long shot. Unfortunately for you, Dante was protective of you in the way an older brother was. You thought that, perhaps, he missed Vergil so much that you were the closest thing he had to a sibling in years.
"A punch would be less time consuming. Cooome on, babe, just hit me!"
You hated when he called you babe. He called other girls babe, girls that were hot, pretty, girls that were his type, and it was the nickname that made you clench your jaw and purse your lips.
"Ugh, fine!" You sat up, rotated your wrist and flexed your fingers. "Are you sure this is going to help in any way?"
"Positive. Right here." Dante pointed at his cheek.
"What, in your face?"
"You're stalling."
Without a single ounce of hesitation you swung your arm, hitting the demon hunter square in his face, but it caused you more pain than it did him, and you stumbled back, holding your fist in your other hand.
"Son of a fucking bitch!" You cried out in pain, knowing damn well that would happen. Still, you couldn't say no to him. Ever.
"Are you okay?" Dante was visibly concerned — a rare sight since he was always cool and edgy, even when his own life was in danger.
"Fuck no! Feels like I punched a brick wall!" You practically growled at him, gaze quickly softening when you saw the pure look of terror in his eyes. "But hey, nothing a little ice can't fix, right?"
"Right." He nodded and got up, making a beeline for the freezer.
There was no ice in it, but there was a pack of frozen peas somewhere at the bottom of a drawer, which Dante picked up and brought to you. When you reached for it, he, instead, took your sore hand in his, gently pressing the cold legumes onto your knuckles. You winced, instinctively trying to retract your hand, but he held it in place, his fingers wrapped around your wrist to stop you from backing away.
The pain wasn't gone, but it was becoming bearable, and a relieved murmur escaped past your lips, one that sounded closer to a moan than a sigh. Dante's cheeks burned, tinted red with embarrassment and arousal because you were yet another girl in his life who just didn't want to be involved romantically with him. Not that he tried anything with you, because he always thought you deserved better. Sure, he was cocky and flirtatious, but he wasn't a dick. If no one reciprocated the flirting, he didn't push his luck. It was simple. And he wasn’t the type who did one-night stands, despite the rumours. Dante enjoyed having a connection to the people he took to bed, he became sexually attracted to those he knew on a deeper emotional level. But sometimes, when he was really, truly desperate, he would download Tinder and hook up with random girls.
And he reeked of desperation.
"Dante, you can let go of my hand now." You told him, part of you hoping he wouldn't.
Who could blame you? He was an objectively attractive man, with a charming smile and a body sculpted by the gods themselves. Why would he ever want to get involved with you? Dante was your opposite — he talked, he sang, he danced, he was obnoxious. You were quiet, most of the time, and shy. In fact, when he first met you, he thought you had some form of speech impediment, with your nose in Boccaccio’s The Decameron, a book you stole from the public library because you were much too young to read. That’s when knew you were trouble, just like him.
"Yeah, of course." Dante stepped back. "How's your hand?"
"Better. How are you feeling?"
"Me? Why are you asking?"
"Hello?" You scrunched your nose and frowned. "You wanted me to punch you because you were touch-starved. Did it help?"
"I'll be honest, it felt more like a tickle than anything." He shrugged. "Are you sure you didn't pull your punch?"
There it was, the one thing that turned you from an introvert to a bat-shit crazy bitch — his stupid little mouth that he opened without ever thinking.
"Are you fucking kidding me? You're telling me I risked breaking my bones so you could feel better, only for you to not feel anything? I swear to fucking God, Dante, this is the last time I'm doing anything nice for you."
"Nice? You punched me!" He threw his hands up in exasperation, while your blood boiled inside of you, sending you into a blind rage.
"You asked me to punch you, you maniac! You should've fucked me instead!"
Your eyes widened at the sentence that came out of your mouth without a single thought, mortified at your own stupidity.
"Hugged. I meant hugged. Shit."
"No, no, hold up, you didn't say hugged." Dante tilted his head, one hand rubbing his chin. "Isn't that called a Freudian slip?"
"I- well- how the fuck do you even know what a Freudian slip is?" You tried changing the subject but he didn't bite.
"Google." He closed the gap between the two of you, and for the first time you felt intimidated by him. "Do you want me to fuck you?"
The bluntness of his question, coupled with the sudden change in the pitch of his voice made you feel like a cornered prey. There was no possible way he was serious. But he wasn't wrong — the nature of your jobs made it impossible for either of you to have partners, and besides, you've known each other for years. It was only natural that some form of physical attraction would have developed between you two, right? But why you? Why now? And the worst of all your questions, why not?
You didn’t want to think about how this would ruin almost a decade of friendship. All you could think about was the look of pure lust in his eyes as he held your gaze, and how months upon months of sexual frustrations accumulated inside of you, bubbling and boiling and exploding when you dropped the pack of peas on the floor.
"Yes. I want you to fuck me."
Without a sliver of hesitation, you felt him pick you up with ease, hands roaming up and down his back as he slammed you down onto the table, desperately pushing away all the guns and knives. How thoughtful of him. Your hands slithered under his blood red coat while he tugged at your t-shirt, pulling it over your head to expose your bare breasts to him.
"No bra? Kinky." Dante stopped to take a better look at you.
"Stop talking." You firmly told him, but the chuckle that erupted from your throat betrayed you.
He was the one person you felt most comfortable around, so much so that you didn't feel weirded out by him pressing his lips onto your neck, or his fingertips bruising the plush of your hips, or his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipples. No, it felt natural, too natural, like your skin was made to be touched by him.
With his coat on the floor, you tackled his shirt, effectively tearing it off of him because you were just as desperate as he was, and Dante pulled your body closer to his, your clothed cunt accidentally rubbing against the bulge in his trousers. You were aching from the lack of sex, and you uncontrollably moaned at the tiny bit of friction before mumbling a weak 'sorry.'
"Fuck, don't be. That's actually kind of hot." He shamelessly admitted, and you rose a brow.
"Yeah? Then you wouldn't mind me doing it again?" You chewed on your lower lip, but he could see past the fake innocence when you rolled your hips, frantically and feverishly rubbing your clit through the layers of fabric. "Shit, I could come just from this."
For a split second, Dante wondered if this was all real. What happened to your shyness? How was it possible that his best friend, the quiet, nerdy girl he'd known for such a long time, was worse than any demon he'd ever encountered? Not that he was a saint. Far from it, because when you threw your head back, desperate to climax, his is eyes darkened, black seeping into his sclera. It should've made you afraid, but it had the opposite effect. The thought that he could activate his Devil Trigger and quite literally snap you like a twig turned you on.
"Do it, then." Dante's hand snaked behind the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. "Show me just how needy you are."
Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead as you fucked yourself on the half-demon, fog settling in your brain with each breath, each movement, each beating of your heart. Faster. Harder. Faster. Harder. Faster.
"Oh-" Any sentence you tried to utter stopped in your throat, replaced by a string of whimpers and curses. Whatever you were trying to babble was reduced to incoherent words.
"Well shit, I didn't know you were such a filthy little slut."
"Just- oh- shut up-"
"Hmm, I don't think you really want me to shut up." Dante sneered when you picked up the pace. "I think you like it when I talk like this."
"N-not true!" You yelped as he pinched your nipple, barely doing anything and yet you were a mess already.
"So, you don't want me to call you a fucktoy, then? Bet you're dripping right now. Bet you want me balls deep inside of you."
"Fuck, I'm gonna come!" You proved his point when your entire body quivered under his, mind blank and vision blurry.
"There, there." Dante pressed his lips onto your forehead. "I got you."
The noise of his belt unbuckling made you snap your eyes open, filling you with newfound desire and guilt — poor Dante, his cock was probably aching by now while you had the time of your life. He stepped back, letting his trousers pool at his feet, and you lifted your skirt to peel your panties off. You caught him staring at you, taking the sight in, and what a sight it was — locks of hair fell out of your bun, sticking to your sweaty temples, your legs still shaking from the orgasm, and your cunt dripping wet.
"I'd love to eat you out, babe, but my balls are genuinely gonna explode." He confessed, earning a giggle from you. Even with his eyes pitch black and his Devil Trigger on the verge of activating, Dante was still Dante. And you loved that about him.
"Hurry up and fuck me, then."
"Are you that desperate that you forgot your manners?" He dug his fingertips into the plush of your hips, violently pulling you closer to him.
"Please hurry up and fuck me?" You pouted.
"Good girl, that's better." Dante pushed your leg to the side with his elbow, dragging his cock up and down your slit.
You didn't get the chance to take a look at it, but the tip felt huge, so much so that you gasped, propping yourself on your elbows to see better, and you were not disappointed. In fact, you were concerned. You could not take it.
"Dante, it's not gonna fit."
He shook his head with a half-smile, finding your concern quite cute.
"I'll make it fit."
It was both a promise and a threat, but you trusted him. God, you trusted him with your life. He slowly and gently pushed the tip, your slick more than enough to lubricate his cock, but he stopped every time you looked uncomfortable to make sure you were okay.
"Tell me if it's too much."
"No, you can- it's fine, keep going." You closed your eyes, the discomfort causing you to clench around him instead of relaxing, which made Dande forget how to breathe or think.
But the worst came to a halt when he was fully in, stopping briefly to allow you to accommodate to the size. Your breathing went back to normal soon enough, and the last ounce of pain in your body was swiftly replaced by a surge of electricity when Dante moved, slowly and softly rolling his hips, unable to abstain any longer. And you didn't want him to when his cock filled you up so good, reaching places you didn't even know existed inside of your body. Your fingernails dug into his back, clawing at his skin with desperation and impatience, like you needed more than what he was already giving you.
"See? I told you I’ll make it fit. And you take me so well." Dante said, dragging his mouth over your neck, your scent overloading his senses.
But it just wasn't enough. No matter how painful, you wanted it-
"Harder."
Assertive, demanding, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he pulled back to look at you, as if not believing your request.
"A minute ago, you were wriggling in pain, now you want it harder?"
"Yes." There was no hesitation. "I want it harder, faster, please-"
You were shushed by two digits forcing open your mouth, and you instinctively wrapped your lips around them, sucking obediently.
"You talk too much." He gave you a taste of your own medicine. "Should've known you were just a dumb little cocksleeve."
The degrading words caused you to moan and drool around his fingers, tears welling up in your eyes. Each thrust had you clench tighter, the tip of his ridiculously large cock punishing your cervix. Pain and pleasure bubbled inside of you, sparking through your body as Dante practically ripped his fingers from your mouth, only to wrap them around your throat. He was a hungry man, and you were dinner — arching your back to get closer, deeper, you fucked yourself on his cock with his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, and he revelled in your worship.
"Shit, you like it when it hurts, don't you?" He whispered, squeezing harder while you nodded eagerly. "Of course you do."
Of course you did. How could you not when he fucked you so good that your dignity and modesty were long forgotten? When Dante stripped you of your decency to bring out the worst in you? You felt your second orgasm build up, causing you to twitch under him, eyes rolling back as you slipped your hands under his arms, holding on for dear life.
"Again- gonna come again, Dante! Fuck!"
"Atta girl." He held your quivering body, his own hips stuttering, brutally thrusting into you with raw, animalistic passion.
You came undone on his cock, fingers carding through his hair, pushing away white locks to look at his pretty eyes while his arm slithered under your lower back to both support you and bring you closer to him. Dante was close, his throbbing cock still stretching your sore cunt out. He bucked his hips, splitting you open while you latched your arms around his neck, tits pressed against his chest and your lips ghosting over his earlobe.
"Almost there, babe." Dante promised. "You're doing so well." He pulled back, nearly on edge, but you squeezed your legs tighter around his waist.
"Don't pull out." You demanded, and that was enough to help him reach enlightenment.
He filled you up, and when he did pull out, watching his cum slowly leak out of you, you could've sworn he whispered 'marry me' under his breath. Surely it was just the brain fog, or the post-orgasm high. Your whole body was numb, and you stumbled into Dante's arms when you tried to get down from the table, muscles sore and aching.
"You wanna get pizza?" He nonchalantly asked, as if he didn't just fuck his best friend.
"I- shouldn't we talk about this?" You avoided looking into his eyes, opting to stare at the floor instead.
"About what?"
God, he was either insufferably oblivious or remarkably good at pretending.
"Us." You sighed.
"What's there to talk about?" Dante's fingers found your chin, and he gently lifted it up, forcing you to look at him.
"Don't make this harder for me, please. You know things won’t be the same now. We’re not in a relationship and-"
"I don't follow." Confusion was written all over his face. "Do you not want to be my girlfriend?"
"Girl- I- hold up, what? Do you want me to be your girlfriend?" You tilted your head, baffled by his question, because of course you wanted to. You just never had the guts to admit that you like him. It was even more shocking that he liked you back. Wasn’t this all just a one-time thing?
"I mean, I thought it was pretty obvious when I fucked you. What, you thought I nut and dip? That I shoot a load and go back on the road? That I cum n go?"
"Wow, please never use those euphemisms ever again." You cringed at his words, trying your best to hide the smile that crept on your lips.
"Christ, babe, you know I don't do one-night stands unless I’m really desperate. And here I thought you were my best friend. Guess I was wrong." Dante gasped, dramatically feigning offence by placing a hand on his chest.
"I’m not your best friend anymore." You said, voice serious and cold, and his charade was quickly replaced by actual worry and offence. "I'm your girlfriend now. And your best friend."
"Okay, I was genuinely concerned. Fuck you." He flipped you off and you sneered.
Leon does not deliver grand speeches about love. Instead, he shows it through action.
The Scar Count | @/multific
You like to trace and kiss the scars that mark Leon’s body, wanting to know and love every part of him.
Birthday Boy | @bumblebeesfromvenus
Your need to spoil your boyfriend on his birthday with an elaborate celebration results in a misunderstanding with hurt feelings on both sides. But the pure love the both of you hold for eachother finds a way to mend all tears in the end.
PERSISTENT | @angelicsoka
three times leon has asked you out and the one time you said yes.
HADESTOWN | @/angelicsoka
leon kennedy didn’t believe in love at first sight. he couldn’t, not with his line of work. that is, until he met you. you were everything he was not. you looked for the light in the dark, so innocently positive. you hadn’t seen the horrors he has. maybe that’s why he fell so hard. it was nice coming home to someone who saw past the brooding, moody persona he held. everything about you was perfect and he selfishly wanted you all to himself. he married you quickly, he knew from the moment he met you that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. about a year into your marriage, leon comes home to find you gone and the house trashed, as if you fought like hell. desperate to find you and bring you back to him, leon is more than willing to travel to the ends of the earth to find you. he is willing to risk it all, for you.
Sunshine in the DSO | @deathbyapril
Leon Kennedy, the hard and stern DSO gets a visit from his sunshine and rainbows wife who brings him lunch and many are surprised to see him soften.
Leon Kennedy x wife!reader | @/deathbyapril
You interrupt another woman flirting with your husband Leon Kennedy at a bar.
Hope | @/deathbyapril
Leon Kennedy takes Grace back to his safe house, which just so happens to be where his wife lives.
Undercover Heat | @/deathbyapril
Leon Kennedy and his wife go under cover at a fancy party and she must pretend to flirt with someone else to get information and Leon gets very jealous.
re9! Leon | @cummingprincess
re9 leon as a husband | @lilacgrayskies
making out with rookie!leon | @/lilacgrayskies
once a mom, always a mom | @aurorak28
you became a mother back in 2006, having three attached, clingy, and young children along with a husband that cannot leave you alone— does not give you much space.
THIRTY YEARS LATE | @viktateapot
Thirty years after the fall of Raccoon City, you and Leon return to the ruins of the police station. While searching through the debris of your past, you find something you thought was lost forever—a gift you had prepared for a rookie officer named Leon Kennedy on his first day. A gift he never received. Now, in the place where your nightmare began, you finally get to give it to him. Better late than never.
CERTIFIED GIRL DAD | @rednnedy
Having a daughter who's 4 means being asked questions all the time and all type of them... including when are you going to give her a baby sister
FIRST MORNING HOME | @/rednnedy
You and Leon just had your first baby, and while all you want to do is cuddling with your little girl after a very bad first night at home, you end up finding out she's cuddling with Leon... who says "skin to skin" is very important during the first days of life
THE WEDDING CHRONICLES Series | @/rednnedy
After leaving Raccoon City for a second time and, finally, having some time for himself, Leon has definitely his ideas in order, and one thing he wants to do with you as soon as he can is getting married
Get in line | @frogglezzz
the tutor in dorm 24B | @sweets3rial
you have no choice but to go to your math professor for help in the class. unfortunately, he can't help you. but he knows a certain blonde that can, top of his class, perfect scores on everything, just the tutor for you.
drabble | @xoxomaeby
“happy first day, officer kennedy” | @/xoxomaeby
Talk To Me | @forgetminot
You have been trying your best to avoid Leon; Ignoring his questions and running off into danger. What happens when he confronts you about it and you have nowhere to go?
i keep crawling back home. | @old6urgundy
Leon vs. Superglued jar Challenge | @breathings-of-the-heart
A Place that Stays, part two, part three | @/breathings-of-the-heart
you've recently joined the force as a forensic analyst, with the same bright-eyed enthusiasm that reminds Leon of his own rookey days. Unfortunately, your fast-moving, efficient brain tends to falter when faced with a work crush-- and you're not as invisible to him as you think.
Imagine | @saintlea
Leon, who immediately after being cured of the T-Virus, showed up to his ex-wife’s house.
Voicemails | @messenger-of-babel
When complications arise on his mission, all he has is one phone call back to you.
That fucking quarter-zip shirt | @girlwithadragonheart
Two Ghosts | @tearsof-scarlet
Rural Spain was the last place you expected to see Leon Kennedy. He isn’t the rookie you left in Raccoon City, he’s colder, sharper, and harder to walk away from a second time.
Stay Close, Rookie | @/tearsof-scarlet
You’re the no-nonsense top officer at Raccon Police Department who swore off training rookies, right up until Leon Scott “golden retriever” Kennedy gets assigned to your hip.
Tactical Restraint | @/tearsof-scarlet
After surviving the horrors of Raccoon City, Leon S. Kennedy is recruited by the U.S. government to begin training as a special agent. The program is brutal, relentless, built to break even the toughest. You're one of the elite agents assigned to oversee his development. He reports to you, follows your orders but he can’t seem to stop his interest towards you.
Re9 Leon Kennedy x DSO agent | @leavemealoneplzs
Re9 retired Leon Kennedy | @/leavemealoneplzs
welcome leon | @heartyluv
re2!leon boyfriend hcs | @lac3angel
Masterlist | @leonsleatherjacket
salt & pepper, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 | @/leonsleatherjacket
you had worked in the dso for almost a year now doing logistics and communications. you preferred the quiet and being behind a screen. however, sherry believed that working as an assistant for leon would benefit not only you, but him too. so you were now assigned as leon s. kennedy's assistant. both of you had your own problems, and it was only a matter of time until either one of you was going to crash.
there she is | @/leonsleatherjacket
recently, things have gotten worse and you struggle to leave the bed. your husband, leon s. kennedy, worries about you.
waiting for you | @/leonsleatherjacket
you have been leon's partner for 15 years, and your love for him never grows old. after so many years of breaking down those stubborn walls around him, he still finds it hard to understand that someone wants to take care of him- instead of vice versa.
wife! reader x husband! RE9! Leon | @/leonsleatherjacket
you have been leon's partner for 15 years, and your love for him never grows old. after so many years of breaking down those stubborn walls around him, he still finds it hard to understand that someone wants to take care of him- instead of vice versa.
A Soft Spot for You | @leonw4nter
Leon Kennedy Headcannons, Pt 2 | @cherryredstarz
Sleepy Mornings | @/cherryredstarz
Masterlist | @millimeraki
BRINGING HOME HOPE | @/millimeraki
You’re waiting for the call that will make you a widow. And then the front door opens.
Training Center | @/millimeraki
Within government service, you transfer to the DSO. The training is brutal, but the new job definitely has its advantages.
his eyes all over me | @familyvideostevie
I’m home, baby | @prsleysbabe
Leon comes back home after being away dealing with Victor Gideon and having to revisit his past… Raccoon city. With Leon’s infection, he thought he that was it for him, that he would never see you again. Luckily, Grace found the cure for Leon and now he’s better than ever and all he wants is you.
Take All My Love | @plutotheplum
to your chagrin, you get partnered with an irritating DSO agent who happens to take an interest in the case you’re working on.
You still married me. | @khonsus-heart
Chris’s team found Leon and the missing FBI agent he went looking for, so when you get the call that they’re alright. Nothing's stopping you from seeing for yourself.
You’re stuck with me | @/khonsus-heart
Leon has spent a lifetime saying goodbyes at doorways, in passing, and over distance, always promising he’d come back. But when the life he’s built finally stands on the edge of being taken from him, he’s forced to confront a truth he’s avoided for too long. Some goodbyes don’t wait for you to be ready.
You said you’d fix it. | @/khonsus-heart
When the memory of his former wife comes to haunt him and a long-buried infection resurfaces, Leon is forced to confront the one thing he’s always avoided...his own problems. As his daughter begins to show the same signs that took her mother, Leon races against time to fix what he couldn’t before. Because this time, he’s not just fighting to survive. He’s fighting to come back.
That’s my little missus, she’s my number one | @simping-for-joe
Leon isn’t shocked to see you demanded to see him. The other people around you are shocked to see his sweet soft wife suddenly on a rampage.
slice of life | @myfckintruckwontstart
short windows into your life with leon.
He's Safe | @softkammi
WELCOME HOME, MR. KENNEDY?, Part 2 | @konalis
Leon Kennedy's always survived everything. But being a dad? That's what really scares him. Twelve years of trying, a daughter on the way, and the T-virus threatening to steal the future you spent so long building.
Leon kennedy (re9) x fem!reader | @whohurtyouxoxo
A oneshot where Leon Kennedy (re9) comes home to his darling wife after a long struggling mission, however his wife has struggles of her own …
Day in the Life as Leon’s Wife | @coralreefqueen-ao3
snippets of what it is like to be the wife of the legendary Leon S. Kennedy.
Come back to me | @midnightcrw
Leon calls you before returning to Raccoon City.
Thoughts of You | @glader13
Masterlist | @belovedcloud
One Bed | @/belovedcloud
who knew saving the president's daughter was so tiring? only you and leon knew the treacherous steps towards the hotel room that was supposed to rejuvenate you both. only for him to open the door and to see one bed.
“Re9 Leon Headcanons” | @danytar
PEACE WAS A LIE | @/danytar
Better Than Ever | @f41ryb0nes
comes home feeling better than he has in ages, and he knows just how to show you.
sad beautiful tragic | @totallynotmina
re4r!leon x fem!reader | @your-s-truly
re4r!leon x president’s daughter!reader | @/your-s-truly
YOU'VE DONE ENOUGH | @ceceisdownbad
it's been a long time since you've heard from Leon, all you could do was wait
his first and best | @kyougan
you feel that? | @/kyougan
you’ve earned it | @/kyougan
Just one more minute... | @shycloudkitty
Your husband has to leave for yet another mission but he's not quite ready to let you go yet… So he just savors…each… moment…
leon kennedy… as your husband. | @duckewrites
Eyes on You, Part 2 | @vickyminajj
A skilled intelligence agent is assigned as the partner of Leon S. Kennedy for a series of bioweapons investigations, and their partnership starts off tense as both expect the other to be difficult to work with. After several missions together, their constant banter at the agency slowly shifts into obvious flirting. As Leon begins finding excuses to stop by her desk and spend time with her, the growing tension between them finally leads to him asking her out for dinner, outside of a mission for the first time.
Let Him Go, Give Him Back | @monomyth-scribbles
Leon can tend to his own injuries. Sometimes, he prefers not to. After all, nothing compares to his wife's touch.
husband leon | @harpsinfinity
You really like them a lot, don't you ? | @ninibeingdelulu
You just love your boyfriend’s arms
NOT EVEN THE GODS ABOVE CAN SEPARATE THE TWO OF US | @niki-phoria
leon can't bare the thought of losing you for a second. so what happens when you disappear for four hours in a haunted, monster-filled castle?
MORNING HAZE | @/millimeraki
Watching your husband sleep so peacefully gives you an idea. Just how deeply is he really sleeping?
shy assistant! reader | @/leonsleatherjacket
you had worked in the dso for almost a year now doing logistics and communications. you preferred the quiet and being behind a screen. however, sherry believed that working as an assistant for leon would benefit not only you, but him too.
kyougan @indomitableandroidspirit - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
