# ⋆ Shit… S’good… Can’t—Can’t Stop—Fuck!
synopsis ★ he's not saying he’s p𖹭ssy drunk. but baby, it’s written all over his face.
ও featuring : 𝕷.𝕾.kennedy ⋆ 𝕮.redfield
ও content : nsfw—mdni ⋆ fem!reader. ⋆ pussy drunk men. ⋆ clingy!leon. ⋆ whimpering!chris. ⋆ overstimulation. ⋆ body worship. ⋆ creampie(s). ⋆ eye contact. ⋆ dumbification. ⋆ cockwarming. ⋆ scratching. ⋆ excessive cum. ⋆ grinding. ⋆ drool. ⋆ tears. ⋆ broken speech. ⋆ brain-melting.
ও a.n : hope y'all enjoy^^
LEON S. KENNEDY ༄.°
He finished inside you ten minutes ago.
You’re breathless, sweaty, wrecked.
But Leon?
He’s still on top of you.
Still inside. Still moving. Barely.
Just these tiny, slow, helpless little thrusts.
His arms are shaking.
Chest rising too fast.
Forehead pressed to your shoulder like he’s ashamed but also can’t fucking stop.
“L-Leon,” you whisper, gently. “You… you already came, baby.”
His fingers dig into your thighs.
You hear him breathe in through his nose like he’s trying to calm down. He’s not calm.
“I—I know. I know, I just…”
He cuts off. Shivers.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing.
All he knows is you’re warm, wet, wrapped around him, and he can’t think.
“Just a little longer,” he mumbles.
“Don’t wanna pull out yet.”
He’s not even looking at you.
He’s staring down at where his cock is still buried in you, lips parted, eyes glassy like he’s stoned on you.
Not even blinking.
“Fuck…”
“You’re still so warm…”
“Still squeezing me…”
He moans. Soft. Desperate.
And he grinds in deeper.
His rhythm is off.
He keeps twitching inside you.
Like his body’s fighting itself — overstimulated but desperate to stay connected.
His hips do this slow roll, and you whimper. Your cunt flutters.
That’s it. That’s what breaks him.
He whines — fucking whines — and sinks all the way in, body collapsing.
“Oh f-fuck—d-don’t do that—can’t—can’t take it—”
You reach up and stroke his hair.
He’s soaked. Shaking. Breathing hard.
“Leon. Look at me.”
He does.
Eyes wet. Lips trembling. Completely gone.
“You’re so good,” he says, voice wrecked.
“So good. Can’t stop thinking about how you feel.”
“Woke up hard, went to sleep hard, couldn’t even breathe today without remembering this—you—”
“I feel fucking high.”
He kisses you.
Messy. Sloppy. Tongue too desperate.
His body is still moving. Still chasing another orgasm he doesn’t even have the stamina for.
“I-I think I came too fast,” he whispers into your mouth.
“Didn’t get to memorize it. The way you—shit—fuck—I need it again—just once—just…”
And then he cums again.
Just from your walls fluttering around him.
Barely even thrusting.
He groans against your mouth and spills into you again with a pathetic little gasp.
“Shitshitshit—’m sorry—can’t help it—y-you’re too good, you’re too—”
After that, he goes limp.
But doesn’t pull out.
Just lays on top of you. Face pressed between your tits. Arms wrapped around your waist like a child.
He’s silent for a long time.
Still inside. Still twitching.
Still catching his breath.
Then:
“If you leave me… I’m gonna die.”
You laugh.
“Jesus, Leon.”
“I’m serious. Don’t even joke about getting up.”
CHRIS REDFIELD ༄.°
You're not sure which round this is.
Your brain won’t do numbers anymore.
Your legs have stopped working.
Your skin feels raw. Oversensitive. Like you’ve been stripped to the nerve.
And Chris is still fucking you.
Not with thrusts.
Not with rhythm.
Just this slow, desperate, mindless grind.
Slippery. Sticky. Filthy.
The weight of his body pressing yours down, sweat dripping off his jaw onto your collarbone, the stretch of him never-ending.
He came inside you—
Once.
Twice.
Maybe three times?
You don’t know.
You can still feel it leaking out.
You can feel his cock still thick, still twitching, still rubbing into that same bruised, swollen spot with every drag of his hips.
He won’t speak.
Not properly.
Just:
“Ngh… fuck—mmf—just… warm—warm, you’re s’fucking warm—don’t—don’t stop—don’t push me out—”
His voice sounds wrecked.
Like he’s been crying or screaming for hours.
He might have.
You might have.
Neither of you knows anymore.
You try to say his name, but it comes out as a wet gasp. Your mouth won’t close. You feel his hand slide under your neck, just holding, and his other hand grabs at your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
“You’re still there…” he slurs into your shoulder. “Still tight—still inside—still mine—mine mine mine—”
You think you blacked out for a second.
When you come back to, your thighs are shaking and his hips are still moving.
Not even thrusting — just rubbing, mindlessly rutting, cock pushing slow and messy into overstimulated, slick-soaked heat.
You hear a wet sound and realize it’s him. Crying.
Just a little.
Breathing all fucked up. Drool on your chest. Words choked and broken and ruined.
“F-Feels so—can’t stop—don’t wanna stop—can’t feel anything but you—nothin’ else matters—fuckfuckfuck—”
He’s humping into your body like you’re a hole in the world that he can’t escape.
“Feels like I’m dying,” he sobs. “Dyin’ in it. D-dyin’ and it’s—good—so good—don’t take it away—don’t take—”
Your fingers find his back.
Scratch him open. You’re not gentle. You’re not anything anymore.
He gasps. Moans. Twitches.
And cums again.
No warning. Just this sudden, pathetic stutter of his hips, a broken sound in his throat, and then hot, thick, flooding.
You feel it pulse inside you. Spill out around him.
You don’t react. You can’t.
There’s too much.
Too much cum, too much sweat, too much of him—
Too much.
He doesn’t pull out.
He just collapses.
Full weight. Still inside. Still twitching. Still grinding.
“...don’t… don’t move…”
“Don’t go yet… don’t… j-just lemme stay…”
You don’t answer.
You couldn’t if you tried.
Your mouth is open. Your eyes are barely open.
You’re drooling too. And you don’t care.
Chris is kissing your throat. Licking salt from your skin. His hips jerk every few seconds.
“Still there…” he mumbles. “Still tight… can feel it… can still feel—”
You're not even fucking anymore.
You’re just locked together. Fused by heat and mess and exhaustion.
And the worst part?
He’s getting hard again.
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