.ᐟ.ᐟ ATTENTION re9!leon, fem!reader, p in v, mirror sex, quickie, age gap marriage, edging, breeding, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (reader), squirting
older husband LEON knew you both were going to miss your reservation if you asked him to take on the task of dressing you for the night. he always knows that once he gets your bra on, that’d be the only thing you’d be wearing.
and he’s always correct.
he swears he feels bad, having you bent over the dresser, mop of brown and gray covering the oceanic blue peering over your shoulder. he dresses your neck in warm kisses, feeling the scruff of his beard on your soft flesh. a heavy hand glues you to his chest by the jaw, his other hand steers his finger tips over your sensitive bud. his body feels like it’s buzzing as you tighten around his aching cock. in his defense, at least he got you around him at the best moment of the night; right before he slipped your panties on.
you two were supposed to grab dinner. it is date night after all. you’ve been cooped up in your bedroom, doing your make up for the past hour before you had the genius idea of having him dress you for the evening. you thought it would have been intimate and thoughtful, but you realized you’re just not the woman to garner an innocent response from him.
no. shamelessly, you’re the young, hot toddy that caught his eye with your quick wit and bratty attitude. even with two alarms already ringing, he disregards them, letting his phone go silent on its own.
your hands are hanging on to the meaty arm that holds your face hostage for dear life, breaks in your whines from the hit of his hips pounding into yours. “fuck–! we’re gon–na be la–te. le–on...” you can feel him push into your tummy, body trying to stay standing. punctuality be damned when you’re mrs. kennedy. he knew if he had one glance of you undressed, he would have to fight himself to get out of the door. but he can’t say he always hates losing to himself.
your dress lays flat on the bed, heels waiting for you at the closet. such a pretty outfit to try to slip into now that you’re already so messy. you even convinced him to match tonight. you almost did! that counts for something… right? he’s never felt you leak past his zipper, and with the work he’s putting in right now, he can feel you drip past his upper thigh. it intoxicates him; there’s no way he’s leaving the house tonight.
he feels restricted in his attire, but pushes through. his pants are tight on his thighs and he wants to rip every button on his shirt. he’s watching you in the mirror, noticing how low your head hangs and how you try not to ruin your makeup by biting the inside of your cheek rather than your bottom lip. there’s a chuckle that escapes him, tilting your head to kiss him. as his kiss envelopes your lips, his hips slow to a halt. his body immediately misses the friction, shaft twitching inside of you causing him to grunt into your lips. his plan was to tease you, make you miss him kissing your cervix. however, your pitiful, weak kiss made his armor fall, hips bucking from the fragileness in your lips.
"what the fuck are you doin' to me, girl?" he asks along your cheek, age weaved in his question.
he tries to keep his composure, but you let him sit in his lust, backing your hips against him in your own little rhythm that makes him pull his lips from yours. it’s hard for him to focus as you pull groans from him, quivering inside of you as you cast a spell on him with your stare. his jaw hangs open ever so slightly, feeling your lips beg for him. he wants to function like a normal man and kiss you back, but you ride him so well, he swears he’s malfunctioning. he does lap your lips into a sloppy kiss eventually, breaking it before he even seals it.
“you keep moving on me like that we’re not leaving,” leon warns. his chest rises and falls against your back, meshing with each effortless roll of his body that sends him deeper into you.
there’s something you say that sends electricity down leon's spine. smirking, your hips slow down, squeezing around him. “old man can’t handle quickies anymore, huh?” you whisper against his lips. “too old to fuck me?”
he swears you light him up right there, feeling the flames engulf him. the grip of his arm around your neck tightens from the tease. leon disapproves, shaking his head. leaning in and placing a gentle kiss to your now messy lips, he quickly snaps his hips into yours once again. “being between me and the dresser is not the best time to be a smartass, sugar.” he relishes in your whine, though it’s replaced by amusement once you speak again.
“if you didn’t want a smartass, you wouldn't have married someone twenty years younger than you, isn't that right?”
leon couldn't deny that, but it still could’ve been something you said after you were dressed. instead, the consequence has you doubling over as his fingers work into your clit faster, fluttering around his weeping shaft. he hears your cries, slow thrusts quickening. he leaves your body to fall limp over the dresser, toes curling as his arms leave your neck to slip his hand on his back for support. “i hear you joking, but i don't hear you laughing.”
he stares at you through the mirror, hair messy, makeup ruined and he swears he can feel the urge to fill you up growing. you wriggle so much against him as you fight an incoming orgasm, trying to keep it in so you can cum with your husband. you try with everything in you; breathing, digging your nails in the palms of your hands, but if anything, those techniques pushed you closer to the edge.
“oh fuck— i’m gonna cum,” you start, hand hovering over leon’s that works in between your though before he stops.
the growl that leaves you sends leon into a frenzy. he can’t let you have your cake and eat it too, especially after that little quip you made. “what do you think?” he grumbles, leaning in to take in the scent of your hair. “should this old man make you cum?”
you nod your head quickly, your free hand reaching behind you and cupping the back of his neck. “y-es. yes please,” you caress his nape, fingernails digging into his flesh. he sits with the option in his hand, circling his fingers back on your clit, pushing your hips deeper into the dresser. there’s a hum of gratification from your whimper, feeling the tip of his tongue drag down your neck, soon taking a gentle bite at your skin.
feeling you lose balance in his hold, the older man helps keep you up, picking up on your eyes rolling through the mirror. “you cum, we stay home. got it?”
“g–ot it,” you slur, head resting on his chest, fingers curling over his working hand.
“hands off,” he demands, ripping his hand away from you again. your gasp doesn’t move him, the tip of his nose running up your cheek prior to biting your ear lobe. “my pussy, ya hear me?” he growls. “you don’t get to tell me how to touch you right now." as he bullies you into obedience, he can feel his body cracking under pressure. a familiar buzz runs over his body, tingling in his fingertips, wrecking his pattern. he almost forgets to continue his movement with his fingers, but he follows through.
he underestimates how close you actually are, whines being pulled from you like he can’t survive without them. with each stroke he spreads you open, you feel the buildup in your stomach, body twitching under his intensity. your cunt kisses around him the more you hear his breath shake, grumbling swears under his breath like he can’t take it. and maybe he can’t.
how could he when he feels you attempt to empty him clean? tight around him, begging for him with those cute little moans. the helpless one is him. your moans erupt for him, feeling your climax wave over you, grabbing onto any part of him that you can. leon of course lets you. but not because he wants to, but because he can’t tease you anymore now that he’s spilling into you, mentally begging for mercy. he doesn't mean to fill you up so much, but he can feel the pushback around him that he almost slips out. his head falls back, fingers attacking your swollen little clit. on the rare chance you two come at the same time, you both treat it like it’s the olympics. but sometimes, leon likes to go for gold. with his head coming back up, he sees you writhe under his hold, whining without properly begging for him to stop.
so he doesn’t. in fact, he keeps on working your body. “leon– fuck– leon please.” his hips have slowed down by now but the second he actually pulls out of you, his ring and middle finger take you over. it’s all about you now. you try to speak by saying something, anything. you can't even look your husband’s way without having to spill all over his hands. leon lives for it. he pops a tired smile on his lips as he watches you shudder under his fingers, attacking that spongy part inside of you, curling his fingers. he stays firm while you fight against him, placing his arm back over your neck so you can hold onto him.
you look at your husband through the mirror, watching his muscles flex, quiver in his lip and the way his lips are parted feels like he’s mocking you. his fingers push everything he released back into you, leaning in and kissing your temple. “what do you think? i still got it?” his digits fight with your slick walls contracting around him, but he doesn't let up.
before you can answer, you don’t fight the wave that leaves you, spilling down your legs. you don’t whine or swear, but release broken sobs, too stimulated to function. your body vibrates in his arms, losing balance feeling him keep you up against his chest.
your husband is hasty with slipping his fingers out of you, spinning your dizzy body around to see your fucked out expression. he wants to check in, but the low eyed glare you're giving him tells him all he needs to know. he smiles, “hey, you alright?” he asks, chuckling while you nod.
“yes–” you whisper, not worrying if the man hears you or not.
“i’m sorry,” leon starts, cupping your cheek and pressing a soft kiss on your puffy, smudged lips. “i’m sorry we missed dinner.”
you don’t want to hear it. the man is amused as a finger lifts up to his lips, watching you shake your head. “reschedule it,” falling into his arms, you’re satisfied with the quick nod he gives you.
“yes ma’am,” he grins, picking up his favorite lady to set you on the bed.
summary: You’ve been pining over the man next door for months. On a humid summer afternoon, the devil angel on your shoulder finally wins the argument. Between a batch of cookies and a blue sundress, you’re hoping for more than just a polite "thank you" at his front door.
warnings: age gap (reader mid-20s, leon 50), re9!leon, female reader, smut (vaginal sex, fingering, cowgirl, missionary), praise kink, mild dirty talk
pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader
word count: 7k
A/N: English isn’t my first language, so any constructive criticism is welcome!😭 Likes and reblogs are appreciated
This is stupid. But watching Leon pull his bike into the driveway next door, shoulders heavy with a kind of exhaustion that looked bone-deep, was the final push. He’s back from whatever "work" keeps him gone for months, and opportunities to see him when he isn't guarded or half-dead on his feet don’t come often. After months of pining over the older, quiet man, you finally have the nerve to act.
You stand in your neglected kitchen, squinting at a blog post on your phone. “Set the oven to…” you murmur, fumbling with the dial until it clicks. Flour coats your knuckles as you measure sugar and butter. The ceramic bowl skids across the counter, but you catch it just before it hits the floor. By the time you shaped the first cookies onto the tray, your hands were dusted in white, and the smell of dough filled the air. You slide the tray into the oven, heart racing at the thought of giving these to him.
The whole house smells like a warm bakery by the time you reach the wardrobe.
There it is—the blue sundress, still hanging exactly where you left it in the back. You reach for it before you can talk yourself out of it.
The silk slides easily over your hips, the fabric soft and light against your skin. Your reflection makes you pause. Yeah…he’s definitely going to notice this.
You settle for a lighter makeup look, adding more emphasis to your eyes. An approving hum slips from you as you study your reflection.
You gather your hair, letting it fall loosely before smoothing it down, just enough to make it sit the way you want. A few strands frame your face as you give yourself one last look.
The air in the kitchen is warm. You tuck the last of your things into your purse before stepping toward the oven. When you open it, the smell of fresh cookies rises up –sweet and inviting—and something in your chest loosens.
You take them out carefully, wrapping them into a container, your movements slower now, steadier.
With the cookies secured, you move back to your purse. You unzip it, glancing inside—phone, keys, everything still in place—then close it and sling the strap over your shoulder.
Outside, your skin tingles under the heat of the sun. The neighborhood’s quietness amplifies the sound of your steps, the fabric of the dress swishing against your legs. Your grip on the container tightens, palms slick as you near Leon's house. A stupid idea, you thought, scoffing.
Before you can hesitate further, you’re already on Leon’s front porch. With a deep inhale, your hold on the container loosens. Relax Y/N. Don’t overthink this. Wiping your free hand down your dress, you ring the doorbell and quickly retract it to your side.
Insecurity washes over you as the moment stretches on, and for a second you wonder if you should’ve just stayed home. Just as you start to wallow—
“Hey there.”
You look up—and there he is. Leon. Obnoxiously attractive as ever.
He’s clad in a long-sleeved compression shirt, completely unfitting for the summer heat. It clings to him, outlining his physique a little too well. Is that even his size?
And he smells—god, he smells incredible. Clean and warm, something woodsy underneath, like fresh soap and fabric that’s been sitting in the sun too long.
Your breath hitches as you catch yourself gawking like a creep. Your posture straightens unconsciously. Not trusting your voice yet, you lift a hand in an awkward wave, nearly dropping the plastic container in the process.
The container is pressed closer to your chest now. “Hi…Mr. Kennedy," your voice comes out breathless–way too breathless. God, you felt like a highschooler with a barely masked crush.
“How’s it going Y/n,” Leon’s voice draws you out of your thoughts and you try not to linger on the quiet warmth in it.
You cough. “Um, fine—really fine. How about you?” That last part comes out a little rushed.
“Not too bad,” Leon answers, a warm smile on his face.
Without overthinking, you hold out the cookies to him. “So uh..I think I underestimated the portion and made too much of these,” the deliberate lie slips out from you. “...And I thought, maybe you’d like some?”
Hmm, that was much less frightening than you thought it would be. Surprise flickers across Leon’s face, but he quickly masks it with a faint smile. He certainly hadn’t expected his next-door neighbor to show up at his door, somehow even prettier than he remembered. For a moment, he just takes in the sight of you before speaking.
“I really appreciate it, Y/n.”
A quiet hum leaves his lips as he takes the cookies from you, his expression softening. “These look really good,” he says, glancing back at you, “Thanks, again.”
Nodding, you reply, “It’s nothing.” Now that your hands have lost their anchor, you smooth them down your dress, hoping to hide just how nervous you feel.
Leon scratches the back of his neck, looking toward his apartment. He hesitates, then asks, “Do you… maybe want to come in? If it’s okay.”
You press your lips together, stifling the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Not wanting to make your excitement too obvious, you reply, “I don’t want to be a bother.” You’re secretly hoping he sees right through the bluff and insists on letting you in anyway.
He tilts his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “A bother? Not at all… I wouldn’t mind some company.”
“Okay—of course… I mean, yeah.” You groan internally at the sound of your voice, please stay home next time. Leon, however, doesn’t react to your flustered state, simply stepping aside to let you in.
The first thing you notice is how clean and quiet his place is. Light streams through the tall windows, hitting the pale floors and making the space feel bigger than it is. There’s barely any furniture, but it all feels effortless, like someone who uses what they need and nothing more.
Leon walks over to the kitchen, placing the cookies on the sleek marble countertops. His kitchen is immaculate, almost too neat. He gestures his hands towards the living room, “Please y/n, make yourself at home.”
You shift slightly, then reply, “Thanks,” moving to sit on the couch. You tuck your hands into your lap, hoping you don’t look as out of place as you feel. A half read book lies upside down on the coffee table, its pages slightly bent, like it had been abandoned mid-thought. You linger on it for a moment—then your gaze shifts, catching on the wilting flowers in the vase. The faint scent of their petals drifts to you, and after a pause, you clear your throat and glance at him.
“Mr. Kennedy,” you say, your words a little halting, “what do you usually get up to this time of year?”
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Leon’s fine,” he says with a small smile. “And…well,” he hums for a moment, “not anything interesting if I'm being honest. Just, maybe picking up some old hobbies.”
You hum. “Makes sense… I should probably be more like you, Mr Kenne—uh, Leon.”
He raises an eyebrow, a small grin forming, “What, you mean boring and bad at cooking?”
You shake your head, a small laugh escaping. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just… I want to have more time for myself. My friends always drag me to every new event.”
Though you liked keeping busy, sometimes you just wanted a little space to do your own thing, and honestly, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be a little “boring” for once.
“Well… it’s good to have a balance of both,” Leon says, walking over to where you’re seated, “just don’t compare yourself to me—or to anyone else.”
You chuckle, looking up at him, “Thanks for the wisdom.”
He huffs out a laugh, “Don’t mention it,” a hint of amusement in his tone.
Leon’s eyes stay on you, calm and steady, and for a moment you can’t look away. Growing shy under his gaze, you look to the side, pretending the abstract painting on his wall is suddenly fascinating. Your stomach twists, a faint warmth creeping up your neck. Woman up Y/n — you didn’t come here to melt under his stare.
The quiet stretches, just enough for you to notice the soft ticking of the clock.
“…You look different today,” he says, breaking the silence.
“Different how?” you ask, looking back at him, trying to sound normal and failing miserably.
He shrugs slightly, but doesn’t look away, “Dressed up,” he says. “For cookies?”
Oh God. Abort mission. “I always dress like this,” you lie.
He steps a little closer, not enough to be obvious, but enough that you notice.
“Right,” he says, uncertainty laced in his tone.
“You don’t look convinced.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Maybe I’m not,” he says.
You let out a small, breathy laugh. “God, you’re making this really embarrassing for me.”
His expression shifts, softer now. “Wasn’t my intention,” he says quietly.
You take a deep breath in. “I just…” you start, then stop. God, say it.
You let out a small, nervous laugh, shaking your head. “Wow, this sounded a lot better in my head.”
Leon doesn’t interrupt this time, he just watches you, patiently, and that almost makes it worse.
“I didn’t come here just to give you cookies,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “I mean—I did, but not just for that.”
Your fingers twist together in your lap.
“I wanted an excuse to see you.”
There. It’s not everything, but it’s something? The silence that follows isn’t awkward, just, heavy.
Leon’s expression has changed again. Not teasing this time. Something more focused, like he’s actually seeing you now.
“…An excuse?” he repeats.
You nod quickly, heat rushing to your face. “Yeah. Because if I didn’t have one, I probably wouldn’t have come over at all.”
“Why not?”
You let out a breath, almost a huff. “Because you make me nervous.”
That earns you a quiet reaction, a small exhale, almost like a surprised laugh under his breath. “Do I?”
“Yes,” you say immediately, then wince at how fast that came out. “I mean—obviously. Look at you.”
The words slip out before you can stop them, and you pause, already regretting it. For a second, nothing happens. Then Leon lets out a quiet laugh, an actual one, not just the polite kind he usually gives.
“‘Look at me,’ huh?” he echoes.
You groan, covering your face for a second. “Can we pretend I didn’t say that?”
“No,” he says easily.
You peek at him through your fingers. He’s smiling, but there’s something else under it now. Something warmer and more interested. “…I’m glad you did,” he adds.
That makes your stomach flip, and you slowly lower your hands. The air between you feels different now, heavier and charged. Leon leans back a little, crossing his arms, but his gaze doesn’t leave you.
“So,” he says, tilting his head just a bit, “you baked too many cookies, dressed up, and came over… just for an excuse to see me.”
Your throat goes dry. “…Yeah.”
Silence settled between you again as Leon studies you for a moment.
He tilts his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Well,” he murmurs, voice cutting through the quiet, “I guess I better make it worth your trouble.”
No fucking way.
You huff out a laugh, trying to hide the deep flush on your cheeks. “How do you plan on doing that?”
His eyes darken slightly, amused, and he steps closer. One hand comes up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, then lingering on your cheek. You turn your face away, cheeks burning.
“Hey,” he says softly, his voice low but teasing, “don’t look away from me now.”
“I’m not… I’m just…” You search the living room for a distraction. “Taking in the… architecture. It’s nice.”
Leon lets out a genuine laugh, the sound short and breathy. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”
You manage a small, awkward grin, shaking your head, “Hey… give me some credit, okay? It’s not easy coming up with a lie on the spot.”
Seeing the way your cheeks flush, Leon leans back slightly, just enough to tilt your face up with two fingers beneath your chin. “If it would make you more comfortable, then I’m as nervous as you are,” he murmurs softly.
You feel your eyes soften themselves, something Leon doesn’t miss. You reach out hesitantly, fingers gently wrapping around his hand.
“Is it because…,” you let the sentence trail off, not wanting to make false assumptions.
“I think you know why,” he says, voice quieter than you expected.
You bite your lip, fighting the urge to close the distance between you. His gaze drops to your lips—so quickly you almost miss it. A beat passes. Maybe two. You don’t realize how much closer you’ve gotten until the tip of your nose lightly brushes against his.
Before you can close the gap, Leon pulls back—just slightly. He exhales, unsteady, eyes closing as if he’s trying to think. He shakes his head once. Then he straightens.
“Fuck, I… I’m sorry Y/n, that was really out of line,” he says, a slight crack in his tone, lungs still breathless.
Your face scrunches up in confusion, did you do something wrong?
Leon pinches the bridge of his nose, voice tight and jittery. “You’re… you’re young, and I… I shouldn’t be doing this.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “God, I wasn’t thinking.”
You stay seated a heartbeat longer, cheeks warm, fingers twisting in your lap. Slowly, you push off the couch, letting the cushions sigh behind you. You rise carefully, testing yourself as much as him.
Leon glances up, startled. His eyes flick between your face and your hands, catching the way your fingers brush the edge of your dress. His shoulders tighten, a quiet tension coursing through him.
You take a tiny step closer, almost instinctively letting your fingertips brush against the edge of his arm. “I… um,” you murmur, voice a little shaky. “I’m not a kid. I… I wanted this.”
Your lips twitch into a nervous, fleeting smile. “The cookies, the dress,” you let out a shaky exhale before proceeding, “I thought… maybe you’d like them.” The words are quiet, almost hesitant.
Leon swallows hard, caught in between surprise and disbelief. He’s trying to process you, trying to understand.
Seeing the confused look on his face, you let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I think you know why a girl would go out of her way…to do all this,” you say, glancing up at him.
Feeling entirely too bold for your own good, you take his hand, placing it on your waist. “I know what I want Leon," you say, voice coming out lower than you intended. “But…if I misread this and you want nothing to do with me—then,” a shaky exhale falls from you. “Then I’ll leave.”
You couldn’t believe you just did that, not as someone who was never this direct. Either way, you weren’t going to waste any more of your time on someone who had no interest in you.
Leon blinks rapidly, his mouth falling open for a second before he snaps it shut. “I…” He trails off. “No—I… I do,” he admits, voice unsteady, though there’s a quiet certainty beneath it. He huffs out a breath of laughter, turning his head to the side. “God, I do want you. I want you so bad.”
Your breath hitches, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice.
“How could I not?” Leon’s voice is a low, tired rasp, and the grip on your waist finally firms up, pulling you flush against him. He huffs a short, dry laugh, his gaze dropping to your lips. “I’ve been trying not to want you, Y/N. Believe me. “But you’re… you’re genuine. Ambitious, kind, smart. You’ve got this energy I can’t even describe, and I’ve spent far too much time away thinking about it.” He shakes his head, his thumb grazing the skin just above your hip.
A small, almost shy smile tugs at your lips, and your heart skips a beat. You can feel the warmth of him pressed against you. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the quiet between you heavy but charged. You glance up, catching his gaze, and it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you.
Your fingers inch along his arm, tentative, lingering. He leans closer, his forehead almost brushing yours. You can feel your heartbeat in the quiet, each thump louder than the last.
Finally, you murmur, voice barely above a whisper:
“Kiss me.”
Leon’s breath catches. His lips hover near yours for a heartbeat, then slowly, deliberately, he closes the gap. The first brush of his lips against yours was soft, uncertain, almost like neither of you could comprehend that this was actually happening.
His lips are soft, so much softer than you thought they would be. The roughness of his stubble grazes your cheek, sending chills straight down your spine. Leon takes your hands, brushing over them softly before guiding them to rest at his nape.
Your lips curve into a smile against his, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. Leon coaxes your mouth open slowly with his tongue, a low groan slipping from him as he deepens the kiss. You sigh breathlessly, the taste of him intensifying and going straight to your head.
You slowly pull apart from the kiss, both a little breathless. Leon’s face is flushed, pupils blown so wide the blues of his irises are almost black.
“I’m tired of standing,” you murmur, your bottom lip softening into a pout.
“Yeah,” he rasps, voice unsteady, hands tightening as he walks you back toward the couch.
As Leon takes a seat, you decide to be bolder, climbing into his lap. A rush of adrenaline tingles through your body. His eyes widen a fraction, surprised by your sudden boldness—like the kiss has knocked something loose in you.
You shift in his lap, tentative at first, until you find a position that feels right. His hands slide to your waist, warm and certain, and the small reassurance of it steadies your nerves. Your breath catches as your eyes drop to his lips again. This time, you don’t hesitate — you lean in, closing the space between you.
Leon’s grip on your waist is still there, and you feel it begin to grow tighter as the kiss deepens. You adjust your weight in his lap, and the small movement pulls a sharp hiss from him. You quickly bite back the soft moan that nearly escapes you.
His tongue teasingly traces your bottom lip, the action making your grip on his shirt tighten. Of their own accord, your thighs begin to move against Leon’s lap, slow and unsteady. A low groan escapes him as his tongue nudges yours, parting your lips. Every brush of his tongue sends a jolt through you, heat pooling between your legs.
A soft moan slips from you as your heat presses perfectly against his growing bulge. You grind against his thigh, the friction impossibly right. Leon gasps—really gasps—before his hands drift downward to your ass, gripping firmly and urging you on.
Without warning, Leon pulls back from your lips, his face flushed, lips tinged red. He holds your gaze, voice low and rough. “You sure you want to go further?”
“Mhmm,” you murmur, cheeks warming, fingers twisting together. Your voice is quiet, a little shaky—but there’s a teasing edge. “I… I could do all the work… if you think you can keep up at your age.”
Your stomach tightens at your own boldness. You weren’t sure what you were getting yourself into. Leon looked… strong, capable, and completely unflinching, and just imagining what might come next makes your cheeks heat. Could you really keep up with him?
“Riiight,” he smirks, his gaze sharp. “Guess I’ll leave it to you then… ma’am.”
Your chest tightens. No, no! He was actually letting you take the lead? Oh… you were absolutely doomed.
A nervous cough escapes you, trying—and failing—to hide the quiver in your voice. “R-right then… buckle up, Leon” His terrible jokes were already rubbing off on you. Of course, Leon laughs, really laughs, and for a moment, his eyes crinkle at the corners, making him look younger, almost mischievous.
Leon rubs his hands against your upper thighs, eyes lidded. “If it’s fine with you… maybe we could go to my room?”
You bite your lip, heart skipping, and nod. “Yeah… let’s.”
He lifts you with ease, your thighs wrapping around his waist as your arms settle around his shoulders. Without breaking the moment, he turns and starts up the stairs, each step measured as he carries you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
With his foot, he nudges the bedroom door open and carries you inside. Your heart races, excitement bubbling through you. You hadn’t expected things to go this far, even though you’d worn the black lacy set in preparation–but now that they have, you’re not complaining.
Leon places you gently on the bed and takes a step back. His voice lowers, tinged with concern. “Last chance to back out… are you really su—”
Your cheeks heat, heart hammering. You bite your lip, words catching in your throat… then the need bursts out before you can stop it. “Leon… if you don’t—fuck me—right now… I swear I’ll die from frustration,” you whisper, voice trembling, almost pleading.
Leon huffs out a laugh at your boldness, the side of his mouth curving up into a slight smirk, “Demanding, are we?”
Growing increasingly impatient, you toy with the neckline of your dress, just enough to hint at the curve of your chest. Leon gulps, his eyes dropping to the flash of black lace peeking out from beneath the fabric. He steps closer, large hands settling on your waist, his thumb tracing slow, absent circles against your skin.
“Can I?” he murmurs.
You felt your face getting hot as you nodded and whispered back, “Yeah.”
His thumb drifts to the slit of your dress, tracing the smooth skin of your upper thigh. You bite back a soft mewl as his fingers gather the fabric, inching it slowly higher. Your breath catches as the material slides up, revealing more than it did before.
Finally tugging the dress over your head, his eyes rake over you, blue melting into molten as they take in the lacy black set you chose to wear. He leans in, curling a finger under your chin to tilt your face up. “You really had this planned out, huh?” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
Your cheeks heat, and you press your hands to your face. “Stop…”
Leon reaches for your hands, lowering them gently. “Hey, hey… none of that,” he says softly, fingers brushing over yours. “There’s nothing to be shy about. I… really appreciate the effort.”
Something in your chest eases, a warmth spreading through you as your nerves settle slightly. Leon steps back, gaze steady on you as he pulls the navy shirt over his head.
Your eyes widen as you catch sight of him shirtless. You’d known he was big—his skin-tight shirts had done nothing to hide it—but seeing him like this… your gaze lingers on the solid expanse of his chest, shoulders, and arms, every inch impossibly thick and muscular.
Leon’s voice cuts through your ogling, “Why don’t you take a picture?”
The corny joke pulled out a breathy laugh from you, “You can’t be real,” you murmur, shaking your head.
The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s pleased with himself. He leans in slowly this time, giving you a second to react, to pull away. You don’t.
His hands find your thighs, warm and steady, and when he kisses you again, it’s firmer—less teasing, more intent. The kiss deepens quickly, his tongue tracing your bottom lip. You part your lips without resistance, letting him in, a soft sound slipping from the back of your throat.
His thumbs press lightly against your abdomen, tracing a slow path upward toward your sternum. A soft, involuntary moan slips from your mouth, and his fingers linger there for a heartbeat, as if memorizing the curve of your body—before they begin to drift downward again, gliding over the gentle slope of your waist. They move lower, thighs clenching when his fingers brush against the delicate lace of your underwear.
Leon breaks away from the kiss, eyes filled with concern, “You ok?”
You catch your breath as he pulls back, heart racing. “Yeah… yeah, I just… haven’t done this in a while, and… I guess I’m just… more sensitive,” you breathe out, words trembling slightly.
He lets out a short laugh, eyes softening, “Yeah… uh, same here.”
You slowly release the tension in your thighs, letting your legs fall into a more open, relaxed position. Leon’s gaze drifts lower, catching on to the wet patch on your panties. He groans–quiet but hoarse, “Fuck you’re soaking.”
Then, his hand slides into your underwear, fingers feathering across your mound. A broken whimper falls from your lips, pussy clenching around nothing at all. Leon’s fingers move to your slit, slowly circling your entrance. The delicate trace has you shifting restlessly beneath him, desperate for more.
And then, after what feels like forever, he drags a single finger between your folds. It's just one finger, but it feels more than it should, your jaw unlocking and falling wide open.
You arch helplessly into his hand, chasing more. A sharp gasp escapes you as he adds a second finger, the stretch making your thighs quiver uncontrollably.
He settles into a deliberate rhythm, his thumb circling your clit with slow, measured circles.
“Oh fuck… Leon.”A low moan breaks from you, your toes curling against the sheets.
You shove your face into the sheets, hips jerking forward as he curls his fingers through your fluttering walls. Leon watches your face closely, noting every subtle reaction.
“That’s the spot?” He whispers, voice strained.
You nod against the sheets, feeling your vision going hazy at the edges. A loud, frantic moan slips past your teeth as his thumb speeds over your clit, the pressure just right. Immediately, your hand covers your mouth, attempting to bury any more moans that threaten to spill out.
“I want to hear you,” he says, his voice low and rough, “Let me hear you.”
Slowly, you lower your hand, resting it against your upper chest. His fingers plunge in and out of you, the pace quickening as he leans in. “Yeah… that’s a good girl,” he coos.
You clench hard around his fingers at the praise, a sharp gasp escaping. “Oh god, Leon—”
Leon’s eyebrows arch, his head tilting with a smirk. “You like that, huh?”
Your breath hitches, a sharp, ragged sound catching in your throat as the friction becomes too much.
“Leon... I’m—I’m close,” you say hoarsely, legs shaking uncontrollably as you near your edge.
Leon looks down at you, his gaze dark and feral. “Yeah?” he goads, his pace turning ruthless, “Then don’t you dare hold back for me.”
All you can do is nod, eyes glittered with tears that threaten to spill over your lashes.
“Fuck! ‘Im gonna cum,” you whine pathetically, hardly breathing at this point. “Leon–oh god, m’ gonna–” you cry out, every thought burned away by the raw friction of his fingers.
“I know, I know,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m right here. Do it for me, sweetheart.” He maintains a punishingly perfect pace that leaves no room for air.
Without warning, the sensation tips over the edge. Your breath dies in your throat as your cunt seizes around his hand. Everything goes white, your eyes stinging and wet.
Your back finally rests against the bed, chest heaving in a ragged rhythm. Leon tracks your shallow breaths, his gaze softening at your exhaustion. With agonizing slowness, he uncurls his nimble fingers and slides them from your slick, aching heat. A tiny, broken gasp leaves your lips as he retreats.
He leans over you, his thumb brushing away the stray strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead. “Good job,” he whispers, his voice a low, grounding rumble.
Usually, you’d flush and hide, but the intensity has left you with a daring, heavy-lidded buzz. Instead of shrinking away, you shift, propping yourself up on your elbows. The movement is slow, intentional, and entirely uncharacteristic of your usual shyness.
“Said I was gonna do all the work, right?” you whisper, your voice dropping into a sultry, confident edge as you look him dead in the eye. You offer him a playful, challenging smirk. “So lay back down, old man.”
Leon huffs out a laugh, shaking his head in amusement. “Alright, ma’am,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave as he plays along.
He settles back against the mattress, lacing his fingers behind his head to give you the floor. He looks entirely too comfortable, his gaze fixed on you with a heavy, hooded sort of expectation—like he’s just waiting to see if you can actually back up the talk.
Smug bastard.
“Ready when you are,” he groans, the corner of his lip twitching up into a lazy, lopsided smirk.
Oh, you are definitely going to wipe that look off his face.
Slowly, you push off your elbows, your weight shifting as you crawl over him until you're straddling his abdomen. You settle there, staying just high enough to keep him waiting.
Leon’s eyes go dark, his breath hitching as you press down against the hard ridges of his abs. You reach back, the muscles of your arms tensing as you fumble with the clasp of your bra.
The moment the metal clicks, the air leaves Leon’s lungs in a low, shaky exhale. The smugness finally fractures, his jaw tightening as he stares up at you, his composure stripped away as your bra falls from your chest.
His gaze drops from your face, tracking the movement with a heavy, unblinking focus, his mouth hanging open slightly as any witty retorts are seemingly scorched from his mind. “Fuck... you’re so beautiful, you know that?” he whispers, his voice strained and barely audible in the quiet of the room.
Your neck flushes at the compliment—as if he’s one to talk. Leon’s hands slide down your sides to find your waist, his grip firm as his fingers drift lower, grazing the edge of your lace.
You slightly lift your hips up, fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear. With a slow, deliberate motion, you slide them down your legs, leaving a faint, shimmering trail of wetness clinging to the soft fabric.
You’re fully naked above him, skin gleaming in the dim light. Leon doesn’t know where to fix his gaze—your face, the curve of your chest, or the heat where your mound presses against his abs. He looks utterly entranced, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. Your fingers drift down to toy with the waistband of his jeans, a silent question in your touch.
"Can I?" you whisper.
He nods, his breath hitching in anticipation.
You make quick work of the zipper on his jeans. You’re impatient as you unbutton them and shove the denim down, leaving him in nothing but boxers. You swallow hard; you’d felt how big he was, but seeing the heavy bulge up close like this sends a fresh spike of heat through you.
You hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and peel them away, dragging them down his legs with excruciating slowness. You toss them aside, and your gaze remains fixed, eyes immediately locked on his cock. The air between you goes heavy as you take him in, every inch of him finally exposed.
You swallow, blinking dazedly as you take in the length and thickness. It’s huge. The tip is flushed dark, already leaking slightly. It’s rock solid, twitching with every breath he takes. You don’t think your hand could even close all the way around it.
You cough, a desperate attempt to swallow your obvious fluster. “Wow, can still get it up, old man?” you say, feigning confidence—yet your voice lacks any real stability.
Leon chuckles, low and dark, “You’re bluffing.”
You roll your eyes playfully, thighs squeezing firmly around his hips to regain control. “Whatever, just—put it in,” you scoffed, trying to hide the fact that your heart was racing.
“Change of plans? I thought you were gonna handle this part yourself,” he drawls, mocking you with that lazy, arrogant smirk.
Your eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine then,” you challenge.
You reach down to circle the base of his length; the sudden contact makes him twitch, reacting instinctively to your grip. Slowly, your hand slides along his shaft, grip tightening slightly. Leon’s hips jerk up into your palm, a low groan escaping him at the weight of your touch.
Suddenly, you bite your lip, the heat in the room momentarily chilled by a realization. "Leon, wait," you whisper, your movements faltering. "I just realized… do you have protection?
Leon doesn't even blink. He just reaches out, his large hand covering yours for a brief second before gesturing blindly toward the mahogany nightstand. "Top drawer," he rasps, his voice a low, rough command. "Back corner."
You pause, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you reach over and slide the heavy drawer open. You have to push aside a fountain pen and a stack of printed documents just to find the small, foil square.
The wrapper glints under the dim light as you catch the edge between your teeth; with a sharp tug, you tear it open and spit the scrap of foil aside, your eyes locked onto his the entire time.
You place the condom against the head of his cock, still flushed and leaking. With careful movements, you slowly roll it down the length of him. Your fingers faintly brush against the soft skin on the base of his cock, and leon hisses through his teeth, his grip on your waist tightening.
You rise up on your knees, reaching between you to grab his cock. Carefully, you guide him to your entrance, thighs spread wider in hopes that you can accommodate his size. The leaking head of his cock meets your soaked slit, and it’s electric.
Finally, you start descending on him. The head of his cock pushes past your entrance, and the second it slips past your folds, you let out a muffled gasp. There’s no way he was going to fit.
“Leon,” you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as you lower yourself further.
Leon’s warm hands rub against the soft skin of your waist. “Easy, baby... take your time,” Leon says, his voice thick and strained.
You bite at your lip, thighs quivering as you lower inch after inch, your wetness making it easier to adjust to his length. You let out a ragged gasp as you finally take all of him, walls fluttering uncontrollably around his cock.
“F-fuck... don’t do that if you want me to last,” he says, his voice strained and desperate as he grips your hips.
You stay still for a few seconds, breath catching as you look down at where you’re connected. The sight is visceral, almost sinful.
Leon’s hands are steady on your waist, but his knuckles are white. He’s watching you with a heavy, hooded gaze. "There you go," he rasps, his voice strained as he tries to keep his own breathing under control. "Just breathe, baby. I've got you."
Slowly, you sink back up, the friction a slow burn that makes your head spin, before you slide all the way down again. The moan you let out is raw, and it hits Leon like a physical blow. His eyes snap shut and his head thumps back against the pillow, a wrecked "Fuck..." escaping his lips.
“You’re so warm,” he groans, his fingers digging slightly into your hips to keep himself from bucking up. “Keep that pace... just like that.”
You start to grind against him, a slow, heavy rotation. Your breasts move with the rhythm, and Leon opens his eyes, looking completely hypnotized. His hands leave your waist to grope them, his palms heavy and hot as he squeezes, his thumbs catching your nipples with every downward move.
"Look at you," he rasps, his composure starting to fray as he watches you work. "You're perfect."
Your head tilts back, your throat exposed as the pleasure starts to override his instructions. Your pace increases instinctively, the slow grind turning into a frantic, driving heat. Leon doesn't stop you anymore; he just grips your chest tighter, his breath coming in ragged, desperate hitches as he watches you take control.
Then, your legs give out. The muscles in your thighs begin to shake violently, and your movements turn sloppy. The burn becomes too much to handle, forcing you to a shaky, frustrated stop. You slump against him, your legs still twitching from the effort.
"Leon," you pant, "I—I can’t. My legs..."
Leon tries to smirk, but it’s more of a strained pull of his lips, his face flushed and damp with sweat. “Thought... thought you said you were going to do... all the work, baby,” he teases, the words coming out in short, breathless hitches.
You pout at him, your own exhaustion making your eyes watery, and Leon saves you the embarrassment of trying to continue. He lets out a low, shaky exhale, his grip on your hips tightening as he takes over. He begins moving you again, his movements heavy and uncoordinated but determined.
Suddenly, he grunts, using the last of his strength to hook an arm around your waist. He flips y’all on the bed, the world blurring until your body is splayed out beneath him. He collapses into the space between your thighs, his arms shaking as he props himself up. His eyes are dark, completely blown out as he looks down at you, and he begins to move inside you with a desperate, driving force that tells you he’s just as close to the edge as you are.
The new position made you feel him even deeper inside you. Your pussy pulsed around him while he drove his hips forward in a faster, more urgent rhythm.
“Leon–Leon, Leon, Leon!” your voice is gone, barely recognisable as yours.
“Jesus, sweetheart—” he groans, his head dropping to the crook of your neck, his voice sounding absolutely wrecked. “You’re tight as fuck. God.”
The walls of your pussy clamp down, forcing a loud, guttural groan from him.
Leon lets out a breathless, wrecked laugh against the sensitive skin of your neck. “Fuck, you really don’t want me to last, do you? You’re trying to ruin me.”
He lets out a sinful, low-bellied groan when you shift just right, the vibration of it making your pussy clench hard in response. You don't let up—you do it again, clamping down on his cock with everything you’ve got, forcing a raw, unfiltered moan out of him that echoes in your ear.
“You’re evil,” he chuckles breathlessly, his teeth grazing your shoulder before he sucks a bruise into your skin. “Taking every fucking inch of me and still asking for more.”
His hips drive upward in a faster, more desperate rhythm, chasing the friction that’s coiling tighter and tighter in your gut. “Leon, m’ gonna—m’ gonna cum, I’m—"
“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers, his voice strained and thick with his own need as he catches your frantic rhythm. “Just like that. Take it all. Come for me.”
A few more heavy, wet strokes and you finally come undone, your walls spasming around him in a breathless, shaking mess. Leon follows only seconds later, a low growl ripping from his throat as he thrusts deep one last time, his body locking up as he spends himself, buried as far as he can go.
He stays buried inside you for a long moment, his forehead resting against your shoulder as his breathing comes in heavy, ragged hitches. The room is silent except for the sound of both of you trying to catch your breath.
Eventually, the stillness breaks as he shifts his weight, easing up on his elbows just enough to look at you.
You swallow, then murmur, “T-that was…” your voice still a little airy.
“I know,” he murmurs, a faint huff of breath following the words.
Leon pushes himself up from your body, his movements slow and deliberate. “Need to clean you up,” he says, though his eyes haven't quite lost their heat.
As he stands, the sudden chill makes you bold, and you can’t resist teasing him one more time. “I was hoping for round two,” you say, letting your gaze linger, “but then I remembered you’re…”
The insinuation hangs in the air, obvious and biting. The dark look Leon gives you makes your thighs clench together. A slow, dangerous smirk tugs at his lips, and you realize you’ve just handed him the perfect excuse to prove you wrong.
his grunts against your ear made you shiver as he continued thrusting in and out of your wet pussy. he has one hand against the plush of your waist and the other is loosely holding your hair while you arched your back deliciously and your mouth opening to let out your moans.
you scrunch up the thin cover of your mattress under you as you feel him stretching you out and your pussy trying to accommodate his size. his thrusts vibrate inside you as it feels like he's trying to punch a space inside of you, a warm space where he can just slip in whenever he wants.
no matter how many times he fucked you, youre still so good and tight for him. its like you were made perfectly for him.
your walls and insides are coating his cock with warmth and slick that leon cant help but push his hips deeper inside of you. you cried out at the sudden change of pace, short but deep thrusts. the back of your thighs are hitting his skin and the sounds filled the room dirtily.
"harder, baby? you want more, huh? f-fuck, taking me so well". leon gripped your waist tighter as he tries to shove his cock more and it hits a resistance by the entrance of your cervix.
the older man cursed out loud before bringing all of his weight on you and you felt tears running down your face as he kept hitting that one spot where he loves to bury his cum in.
"l-l-leon, oh god". you quivered under him as his thrusts felt like he was trying to chase something inside.
as you felt yourself getting lost with the weight of his cock inside you, at how it throbs and moves deep, you didnt notice that leon sneaked his arm around your neck. completely headlocking you between his elbow and bicep.
"d—daddy". you cried out at the sudden constriction on your neck and you tried to claw at it, spit and tears mixing on your face.
the size difference between your hand and his bicep is comical.
leon swore something animalistic snapped inside him upon hearing what you said. he groaned and breathed heavily, tightened his arm around you and he moved your legs wider with his before shoving you more on the mattress.
"doing so good for me, baby. being daddy's good girl". you sobbed as your hips wiggled out but leon has you pressed tight and unmoving.
he's determined to keep you still before cumming inside of you.
"s'right, youre daddy's good girl". leon buried his head face on your hair, the strawberry scent of it making his cock throb inside and you clenched on him. "want you to cum, hm? cum for me sweet girl".
you whimpered when he suddenly bit the side of your neck, his hips not stopping before he shoved it deeper inside with a powerful thrust, his tip touching your cervix as you clench hard and he spurted his cum.
"daddy". you moaned pathetically when he slowly rolled his hips as you finally came, both of your cum mixing inside of you.
leon then pressed soft kisses on your bare shoulders as the hand near your face caressed your cheeks. he felt you twitching under him when your head fell against his bicep causing him to smile against your hair.
"did so good for me. lets run you a bath, yeah?". he hummed against the softness of your hair and flexed his arm around your neck to see if there's any reaction.
and there is, he felt your pussy throb again causing him to nudge your inside with his cock.
maybe he's into this daddy kink as much as you do, albeit it was the first time that you called him that earlier.
note : saw a di!leon pic in my cam roll and i said, fuck it lemme write a small drabble about daddy death island leon lol. dw i'll try to write this more and better soon if im not busy anymore, this was just a sudden write so feel free to judge ig😭
Leon kennedy, who gets off to the idea of being your husband.
Cw: smut mdni, fem reader, cowgirl, Leon has a praise kink and a husband (?) kink if that's a thing, also a breeding kink, whipped Leon, unprotected sex, creampie, Leon is a tit man, can be any version of him, but I imagined vendetta Leon when writing
He isn't sure why it gets him so worked up, nothing in your relationship had changed, the only difference is you were now husband and wife instead of boyfriend and girlfriend.
It could be a day after your wedding or 50 years, but if you look at him, call him your husband, his shoulders relax, and his eyes soften as he mumbles out a "yeah?"
But the place it really gets him is the bedroom.
-
The sound of skin on skin and your moans fill the room as you ride Leon.
Leon's slumped against the headboard, his hands on your hips helping guide you, as he sucks and bites your at your tits.
"Fuck, Leon," you whine, your pace not stopping, "it's too much."
"Yeah?" Leon grunts, "your pretty little cunt tells me otherwise, nice and tight for your husband."
You let out a gasp as you feel Leon's hand smack your ass, "My beautiful wife." He groans, his mouth going back to your tits.
"God I'm going to cum," you groan, head dropping to his shoulder.
"Are you?" Leon says, his hand going down to your clit, his lips moving from your tits to your lips as he slowly begins to kiss you.
"Mhm," you moan against his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kiss him.
"Want me to come inside?"
"Yes, please fill me up!" Your back arching, as your climax approaches.
"You want your husband to fill you up? Breed this pretty little pussy?" Leon grunts, his own climax approaching as he rubs you clit faster
"Yes! Please, leon!" You whine, your hips moving faster as you chase your climax.
"Fuck." Leon groans as he feels you cum, your walls fluttering around him, his own climax following, spilling into you.
"Gorgeous," Leon mumbles, pulling out and helping you lay down on the bed. Leon looks down at your pussy his cum seeping out of you.
He slowly pushes it back into your seeping hole, "gotta keep it in, hun."
"Think you got another round in you?" Leon looks back to you his pupils dilated and cock already starting to harden, "Need to make sure it takes."
-
I was going to go through a few different positions where he continued to call himself your husband during sex but this is all I could manage for now 😭 This is my second written smut so sorry if it's not good
This is based on one of my headcannons from this post
summary: to your chagrin, you get partnered with an irritating DSO agent who happens to take an interest in the case you're working on.
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, re9!leon, fbi!reader, age gap, kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex, blow job, p in v, spanking, choking, finger sucking, brat taming, praise kink
wc: 10k
a/n: obsession's gotten so bad i started having dreams about him <3
also on ao3!
There’s a man sitting at your desk.
You’d arrived at work a little before 9, steaming cup of coffee in hand and a stack of case files tucked under your arm haphazardly. It was only until you’d heard the curious, hushed whispers that you’d realized your desk was currently taken, occupied by an unfamiliar man clad in a leather jacket.
Were you being relocated? Promoted? Demoted?
A barrage of thoughts flits through your mind as you approach your desk slowly, mentally preparing yourself to give the man a piece of your mind. The man doesn’t even flinch when the case files drop onto your desk loudly, your coffee cup following soon after as you set it down roughly before crossing your arms over your chest.
“Can I help you?”
His head tilts towards you, shaggy hair shifting as his gaze travels over you with interest. You stare back at him blankly, brows furrowing when you take in the scruffy stubble covering his jaw and the weathered look to his skin. He had to be at least twice your age, but even you could admit the man was stupidly handsome. You’re only left with more questions than you started with as you continue to stare at him, feeling bewildered. The flex of his gloved fingers catch in your periphery, distracting you as you glance down to find him piecing together a disassembled gun with practiced ease, the parts set out neatly on your desk.
His voice is gruff when he speaks. “You’re younger than I expected.”
“You… were expecting me?” you ask, irritation seeping into your voice, patience growing thin. “Who the fuck are you?”
The man’s brows raise at your blunt question, fingers still moving deftly, his eyes flickering with mirth.
“You know, the FBI promised me a warm welcome,” he says, the chair swiveling as he turns to face you fully. “Can’t exactly say you’re delivering on that promise.”
“Yeah well, I didn’t make any promises,” you retort, giving him a tight smile, watching as he leans forward, sliding his newly assembled gun back into its holster. “Besides, you still haven’t answered my question.”
He sighs, leaning forward, his arm outstretched as he offers you his hand. “Leon–”
He’s interrupted by the Unit Chief calling out your name. Your eyes narrow when you see the case file in his hands, glancing back at Leon before you leave him, stepping inside the Unit Chief’s office, the door clicking shut behind you.
“We’ve got two new bodies,” he says, handing you the case file. “Unsub’s been crossing jurisdictions and the local police department is… well, concerned to say the least. Think you can handle it?”
You nod, flicking through the pages, nose scrunching when you see the images of the crime scene – each more grisly than the last. Mutilated bodies, blood smeared across the walls, messily carved symbols etched into the wooden door of the victims’ home.
“Seems ritualistic,” you murmur, reading through the reports. You glance up at him, clutching the case file to your chest protectively. “You’re letting me take this alone? I’m flattered.”
“Ah,” the Unit Chief shakes his head, nodding towards Leon. “Not exactly.”
“What?” you scoff, looking at Leon who gives you a smile and waves through the glass. You glare at him, yanking the blinds shut. “The old man?” you hiss, “he’ll only slow me down.”
The Unit Chief sighs, taking a seat in his chair. “That man is Leon Kennedy. DSO. It’s only a precaution. He’s more experienced than any team we could put together and after what happened with Agent Ashcroft, the FBI is trying to be more… mindful.”
“Ashcroft?” you echo, remembering the Rhodes Hill incident. “That’s– that’s because they sent an analyst into the field of all things. She must’ve been terrified. I’m a field agent, I can handle myself.”
“Agent Kennedy took an interest in the case,” he replies, hands clasping together. “If there’s bioterrorism involved, he’ll be useful. If there isn’t, use him as an idea board. The Unit Chief peers up at you, his expression stern. “My decision is final.”
Your jaw works irritatedly before you huff out a heavy breath, nodding reluctantly. “Yes, sir.”
Despite your sour mood and the urge to slam the door shut, you carefully close it, making your way back to Leon. You drag a spare chair towards your desk, sinking down onto it. Leon shakes his head when you offer him the case file.
“I’ve already read it.”
“Huh,” you stare at him, lips pursing while your eyes squint in recognition. “Leon Scott Kennedy,” you drawl, jabbing your finger at him, “you’re the Raccoon City cop. I’ve heard stories about you. Shouldn’t you be…” you gesture to him pointedly, “retired?”
“Ouch,” Leon says, his hand moving to press against his chest as he feigns being hurt. “You really don’t want me here, do you?”
“All I know is that you’re some big-shot DSO agent that I don’t need on my case, Leon,” you shoot back, flipping open the file to read the autopsy reports more thoroughly.
“The first case you’ve ever been in charge of,” Leon muses, his leather gloves creaking softly as he picks up a stray pen, putting it back into its place. “I’m impressed. Not everyone gets to be a lead on a case like this. Then again, you’re pretty good at this kinda thing.”
Was he buttering you up? He had to be. You don’t bother looking up as you mark a few things of interest off on the report.
“Thank you,” you murmur, scrawling a few notes down on a notepad before you pause, head turning to find him watching you carefully. “How did you know that?” you ask, a hint of suspicion in your voice, “we’ve never met before.”
Leon shifts, grunting softly as he tries to get more comfortable in your chair. “I took the liberty of reading your file,” he replies flippantly, his expression darkening as he tries to work the chair’s jammed lever. “Fuckin’ chair… how do you sit in this all day?”
“I don’t sit all day!” you snap, “and you read my file? I don’t care if you have the fucking clearance, you can’t just–”
You’re interrupted by a loud snap, teeth gritting together when you realize he’s pushed the lever too hard – or perhaps, underestimated his own strength – the lever cleanly detached and now clutched in Leon’s gloved hand.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmurs, setting the lever down on your desk, patting it awkwardly. “I’ll buy you a new chair.”
You have half a mind to reach over and strangle him. You even consider doing it, until he grumbles under his breath and shrugs off that jacket of his, your murderous intent forgotten as soon as you catch sight of his thick biceps. With those things, Leon could probably strangle you and have no problem doing it.
The sheer size of him renders you incapable of tearing your gaze away, your stare settled firmly on his shoulders, arms and chest – every part of him unfairly thick and muscular – his skin-tight shirt leaving you barely conscious of the way your throat was beginning to dry up.
Your newly broken chair creaks once more under Leon’s weight, the sound piercing through the haze of your shameless staring. You blink uncertainly, taking another lingering peek at his biceps while he’s too busy trying to get comfortable.
“We’d better get going,” you announce, grabbing the file before standing up abruptly. “The local PD is probably waiting for us.”
“We can take my car,” Leon says as he follows you into the elevator.
“I’m not in the habit of getting into cars with strange men,” you say testily, pressing a button before turning to face him.
“And I’m not in the habit of babysitting FBI agents,” Leon drawls, leaning against the wall of the elevator, his arms crossing over his chest.
The movement makes his shirt stretch tighter if anything, the fabric clinging to his broad forearms stubbornly, his watch glinting softly in the lighting. Your head tilts, eyes narrowing with irritation when you register his insult.
“No one asked you to babysit,” you say, shaking your head. “I have a gun,” you take it out of the holster attached to your hip, pointing it at him, “and I’m smart. I’ll have this case wrapped up in a day or two, so stay the fuck outta my way.”
A smile pulls at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he lifts his hands in mock-surrender. The amusement in his eyes makes him look a little younger, your heart fluttering with delight for a moment before you tamp it down violently.
When the elevator comes to a stop, Leon takes your bag before you can protest, his gloved fingers brushing yours briefly. You step after him, brows raising with begrudging respect when you see his car. Big-shot DSO agent, your mind supplies as he puts your bag into the backseat, gesturing for you to get in. You sigh heavily, opening your mouth to argue but Leon’s already disappeared inside his car, the engine rumbling to life. Muttering a curse under your breath, you get in his car, pulling the door shut firmly.
–
“What do you mean there’s only one room available?”
“What’s there to understand?” Leon asks, dangling the singular key in front of your face. “Rooms are all booked out. They’re celebrating some special harvest festival according to the receptionist.”
“Harvest festival?” you echo, peering up at him. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. That’s like the perfect cover for our unsub.”
“I would help,” he murmurs, nudging your shoulder gently to get you to step aside, “but you wanted me to, what was it?” you roll your eyes when he snaps his fingers, pretending to think. “Ah yes, stay the fuck outta your way.”
You snatch the key hanging from Leon’s finger, ignoring his aggrieved sigh as you push past him and stomp back down the stairs to the reception, ready to demand another room. All the receptionist does is give you an apologetic smile and offer you a discount. You swallow your pride as you trudge back up the stairs, doing your best to avoid Leon’s eyes when you find him leaning beside the room’s door, his brows raising amusedly.
“I don’t want to hear it,” you mutter, slotting the key into the lock.
Leon shrugs non-committally. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
The door is heavy as you push it open, Leon’s hand moving to keep it open for you as you step inside. You fumble in the darkness for the light switch at the same time Leon does, his strong, calloused fingers brushing over yours. It’s enough to have an unwanted shiver running down your spine, warmth blooming in your chest and a flush settling high on your cheeks despite your stubborn annoyance with him.
“Fuck me.”
You follow his gaze when he swears, taking in the lit room. There’s a shitty couch in one corner, a tiny area with a coffee machine and table, and… a bed.
“Okay,” you say slowly, staring at the one, pitiful bed you had been afforded. “Great! So I think you should go and chew out the receptionist.”
“I’m not doing that,” Leon scoffs, bending down to take off his boots, his gun clattering against the table as he sets it down. “I can take the couch.”
You look back at the couch, brows furrowing. “That’s really nice of you and all, Leon,” you begin, stepping further inside the small room, “but I don’t think you’re exactly going to fit.”
“You care about me or something?” he drawls, looking over at you with a smile as he opens his duffle bag to pull out a towel and a set of clothes.
“Get over yourself. I’m just worried about your…” you gesture towards him vaguely, “potentially geriatric bones.”
Leon chokes on a laugh, his brows shooting up. “Geriatric? I’m 49. My bones are in perfect working order.”
“Right, nevermind. You did break my chair.”
“I did you a favor,” he retorts, slinging the towel around the back of his neck. “It was a hunk of junk.”
“It was in perfect working condition!” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Do you always defend inanimate objects with such passion?” Leon muses, stepping closer until he’s only a few inches away, head cocking to the side.
“When they’re close to my heart, yes.”
“A chair is close to your heart?”
You decide to double down. “Yes, Leon.”
“Huh,” he nods slowly, clicking his tongue. “You got attachment issues?”
“Did my file not tell you that?” you smile up at him snarkily.
Leon grins, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I skipped over your psych eval.”
He turns, disappearing into the bathroom. You glare at the door and huff out a sigh, removing your shoes before grabbing the case file and flopping down on the bed tiredly. You flick through the pages absentmindedly, settling on the symbols carved onto the door. You hadn’t seen anything remotely like it before and the database search you’d done earlier in the car had come up empty.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, glancing towards the bathroom.
You’d exhausted all your options save for one. A reluctant groan leaves you as you stand, approaching the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe.
“Hey, Leon?” you call out when you hear the spray of water come to a stop. “I… might have been a little difficult earlier,” your voice sounds strained, “but if you could maybe take another look at the file, then I would… you know, probably appreciate it or whatever.” You swallow, face twisting with discomfort. “Please?”
Leon laughs, the rich, deep sound seeping through the crevices. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he says, sounding entirely too entertained by your attempt to ask him for help. “I’ll take a look for you.”
You frown at the door, jolting when it swings open suddenly. A few wisps of steam escape, and you blink owlishly, finding yourself face-to-face with his bare chest. It’s hard to keep your gaze from wandering over his exposed skin, a light dusting of hair covering his chest coupled with a few scars. A strange, gurgling noise escapes you when he shifts back to grab his towel, his broad, muscled back now visible to you. You sway, moving to grip the doorframe, knees feeling weak.
“You okay?” Leon murmurs, glancing over at you as he ruffles his damp hair, brows furrowing.
“Yes!”
Your voice is shrill, pitching up awkwardly until you clear your throat and give him an equally awkward smile.
“Perfectly fine,” you clarify, this time sounding breathless as you try and fail to not look down, inhaling sharply when you see his defined abdomen and the dark, coarse hair below his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.
“It’s just that you look…” you trail off, fingers itching to reach out and squeeze and touch. Hot. Attractive. Fuckable. Really fucking fuckable for a 49-year-old man. “Like shit,” you settle on, the words tumbling out of you in a strained manner as you force yourself to meet his eyes. “You– you look like shit, Leon.” You pat his shoulder jerkily. “Unfortunately.”
“Right, sure,” he says, his head tilting as he stares down at you, unconvinced. “You really know how to flatter a man.”
“I’m charming like that,” you say, hands clasping behind your back.
Leon hums, and you stare back up at him, gaze flitting away for one moment to get a glimpse of his left hand. No ring. Perfect. You pinch yourself as soon as the thought comes.
“You gonna let me out?”
“What?”
When Leon gestures towards you, you realize you’re still standing in front of him, blocking the way out. You move to the side sheepishly, pushing the case file into his chest quickly before locking yourself in the bathroom.
You let out an embarrassed groan once you’re in the shower, burying your face into your hands. What the fuck was wrong with you? There was no way that all it took was some dorky, attractive, older man to have you feeling out of sorts. A dull ache flares between your thighs at the thought of Leon, fingers sneaking past your folds to rub at your traitorously swollen clit. It doesn’t take much, just the image of his body pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around you, mouth pressed against your ear while he grunts–
You cum with a muffled whine. Scrubbing the rest of your mortification off of your skin with soap, you dry off, slipping into a pair of sleep shorts and a hoodie. You pad out of the bathroom to find Leon sitting at the table – thankfully with a shirt on – a few containers of food littered across its surface while he’s hunched over his laptop.
“Hey,” he greets when he sees you, gaze travelling over you briefly before turning his laptop towards you. “I had a look. Your guy might be part of a cult,” Leon brings up another image, showing it to you, “they’re not the exact same, but similar enough. Might be worth looking into.”
“Cult? That’s fun,” you murmur, dropping into the chair beside him, watching as he runs his hair through his hair. “Thank you for taking a look, and the food.”
His brows raise. “Those might be the most sincere words to come out of you today.”
“Shut up,” you say, although a small smile pulls at your lips.
Dinner is quick as you both make a plan for tomorrow – visit the local PD, check out the crime scene and investigate a few related areas of interest. Leon settles down on the couch soon after, adjusting his pillow a few times before grunting as he tries to get comfortable. You were right, he doesn’t fit. He looks so awfully crammed, knees bent and back hunched at an awkward angle that even you feel bad about it.
“Leon,” you say exasperatedly, “we can both fit on the bed. That can’t be good for your back.”
“This is fine,” he replies stubbornly, shifting onto his back uncomfortably, arm hanging off the edge. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
“I can’t deal with you complaining about your back tomorrow,” you say, gesturing towards the bed. You lay down, squirming to the side to make space. “See? You can have the other side.”
“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind?”
“What?” you ask confusedly, sitting up on your elbows. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Leon grunts as he gets to his feet, dropping down onto the bed without further protests. It’s a tight fit, but you both manage, a sliver of space left between your bodies. You stare up at the ceiling, lips pursing, feeling antsy.
“Did you…” you glance over at him, feeling entirely too bold for your own good, “did you ask because you were interested?”
He stares back, brows raising. “Interested in what?”
“In what?” you repeat irritably, “are you seriously playing dumb?”
Leon smiles back at you, shrugging lazily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Maybe if you clarified what it was you wanted from me–”
“I don’t want anything from you!” you sputter, flushing hot. The bed creaks as you flop onto your side, facing away from him. “You’re old and weird and infuriating and–”
“I feel like you’re avoiding my better qualities.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, I know you want to, baby.”
It’s a miracle your neck doesn’t snap with how fast you turn to look at him.
“May I remind you that this,” you gesture between your bodies wildly, “is a professional relationship?”
“Yeah?” Leon murmurs, raising his brows, “is that why you got off in the shower? Rubbed one out to make yourself feel better ‘bout liking me?” He looks unfazed when your jaw slackens, tapping the wall behind his head. “Thin walls.”
“That is none of your business.” You lean closer, eyes narrowing in an attempt to hide your growing embarrassment. “HR is going to have a fucking field day with you.”
You flop back onto your side, trying to put some distance between you, but there’s such a little space on the bed that you end up half-dangling over the edge. Leon doesn’t say anything, the silence between you thick and stretching on uncomfortably until you sit up, turning to face him.
He stares back at you, the bed creaking softly as he shifts, folding an arm under his head. His shirt stretches tight, thick bicep flexed and the sight is enough to make you lose your last nerve.
Your hand cups his jaw, head dipping to press a kiss to his lips. It’s meant to be quick, fleeting, to get whatever the fuck you have bottled up inside of you. Leon doesn’t seem to agree as he returns your kiss roughly, stubble scratching against your skin, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, blocking your escape.
“Where’re you going?” he murmurs, lips brushing over yours.
“This–” you whine softly when he kisses the underside of your jaw, fingers tightening into his shirt. “This is a bad idea.”
“I happen to be full of those.”
“You’re so fucking corny,” you groan, mouth dropping open as he trails kisses along your jaw lazily.
His lips are soft, calloused fingers massaging your scalp whilst an arm slides around your waist to pull you into his side. Another whine escapes you, head tipping towards him as his hand wanders under the hem of your hoodie, hot skin drifting over your waist and higher, his thumb grazing the curve of your breast.
“And you’re a fucking brat,” Leon says, watching your expressions closely as you whine and pant, pulling him towards you for another kiss, arms wrapping around his neck tightly.
He groans into your mouth, lips slotting over yours feverishly, his hand squeezing at the back of your neck. You squirm, throwing your leg over his hip, mewling when he licks into your mouth. Leon’s a good kisser, you think dazedly as his tongue strokes against yours in a filthy motion that has heat blistering in your stomach. His hand moves, circling around the front of your throat, squeezing gently.
You blink up at him hazily when he pulls away, lips slick with spit and pupils blown out. A smile spreads across your lips as you arch into him, hands sliding up over his strong forearm, fingers wrapping around his wrist.
“You can squeeze harder,” you whisper, pressing his fingers into your skin harder, gasping when he grants your request, eyes rolling back as the pressure around your throat constricts.
“That’s a little fucked up, baby,” Leon breathes out, watching as you writhe and suck in a ragged breath, his brows furrowing.
His brows raise when you glare at him, leaning over you to let his nose nudge against yours, kissing you gently before he tightens his grip a little more, drawing out a choked noise from you. There’s a heady fog settling over your mind the more he keeps you from barely breathing, something slow and syrupy creeping into the crevices of your brain as he presses a kiss to your cheek. He’s letting go before long though, brushing the pad of his thumb over your lips roughly.
“I can handle it,” you mumble hoarsely, head tipping as he massages your throat, huffing out a breath when he laughs against your cheek.
“Yeah?” Leon rasps, his gaze darkening when you suck his thumb into your mouth, tongue swirling around the digit needily, head lifting as you feign bobbing your head. “What, you want me to put you in your place or something? Is that what you need?”
The idea is appealing. You’ve been strung tight for months, between work and the never-ending cases that were stacking up on your desk, you hadn’t exactly gotten much time to yourself, to wind-down from the constant wear and tear brought about by the commitments demanded from you by the FBI.
“Maybe,” you say slowly, looking away. “I don’t know. I guess I just want some… attention or whatever.”
“From me?” Leon says, his fingers sliding over your jaw to guide your gaze back to him. “Your way of asking for attention is acting bratty?”
“I don’t know!” you sputter, pushing at his chest, feeling shy.
“Oh, that’s cute,” he coos, smiling down at you. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll give you all the attention you fuckin’ need.”
You squeak when he moves suddenly, sitting up before he’s dragging you towards him, maneuvering you until you're bent over his lap. A whimper is punched out of you when he squeezes the fat of your ass through your shorts, lashes fluttering when each consecutive grope grows rougher until it stings lightly.
“Guess if you’re into choking, you should be into something like this,” Leon murmurs thoughtfully, squeezing your ass greedily. “‘s been a while since I’ve done this with someone.”
“Since you’ve– ah– groped someone?” you ask, hips wiggling when his touches disappear, ass lifting involuntarily to chase after his touch.
“Kissed, touched,” he sucks in a sharp breath, “groped… fucked.”
You glance at him over your shoulder, brows raising curiously. “Can you still get it up?”
A sharp yelp escapes you when his hand comes down on your ass, hard and punishing. It stings, the pain spreading out over your ass unforgivingly. You try and glare at him but his hand is coming down again, landing another heavy spank to your other ass cheek.
“It was just a question!” you protest, squeaking when he spanks you again and again, eyes squeezing shut as the red-hot pain spreads over your ass, the ache in your pussy beginning to burrow deeper.
“I know,” Leon murmurs, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “Do you want me to stop?”
You pout into the sheets, voice quiet. “No.”
He huffs out a soft laugh, tapping your hip. You lift them, letting him tug your shorts down, mewling softly when he squeezes your ass, his fingers dipping past your panties, stretching them before letting them snap back against your skin.
“Cute panties,” he says, his hand rubbing over your stinging ass, fingers sneaking between your thighs, brushing over the drenched, ruined fabric. “Too bad you’ve made them all messy, baby. So fucking wet for me. You like my hand on your ass?”
“Yes,” you grumble, glaring at the wall. “Stop asking stupid questions, you jerk.”
You jolt when he spanks you, letting out an agitated breath when his hand palms over ass before coming down again in several repeated motions. A whimper escapes you when pleasure bleeds through your body, teeth sinking into your lower lip when the pace of Leon’s slaps quicken. It hurts but feels so good all the same, your thighs trying to squeeze together with how uncomfortably wet your pussy is becoming.
“Don’t– fuck! Don’t stop,” you mewl, arching your back, tears prickling at your eyes. “Leon– please ah–”
“Please?” Leon echoes, “look at that, you’re back to being polite. Good fuckin’ girl.”
You whine in agreement, nodding dazedly as you look back at him, unfocused eyes finding his lopsided smile, heart fluttering in your chest. You reach back for him, hand fighting his shirt, lips parting, eyes slipping shut when he leans towards you, head dropping to kiss you deeply, his fingers squeezing at your ass gently.
“You gonna stop being a brat? Hm? You wanna be my good girl, baby?” Leon rasps against your lips, stealing another soft kiss, his hands still palming at the blistering flesh of your ass, squeezing every now and again to force a pitiful whine out of you. He clicks his tongue when you slur, nose nudging against yours gently. “I asked you a question, sweetheart. Use your words for me.”
“Yes,” you manage out, pushing your ass back into his greedy, awaiting palm, a few stray tears dripping down your cheeks. “‘m gonna be– nghh– ‘m gonna be your good girl, Leon.”
“Yeah?” he breathes out, voice sounding rough as his thumb strokes over your cheek, wiping away the tears. “My sweet, pretty girl.”
“It– it hurts,” you babble, jerking in his lap when he rains an unsuspecting slap down onto your ass, teary eyes rolling back when his fingers slip between your thighs suddenly, rubbing at your swollen, aching clit through the dampened fabric of your panties. “Leon– ah fuck!”
“I know it does,” he soothes, pressing harder against your clit until your legs kick up, “but you asked for this, baby. Remember? You came up to me all pretty and said you wanted attention.”
“Stop being mean,” you hiccup, leaning into his palm when he offers it to you, nuzzling into the warm, rough skin.
“Mean?” Leon whispers, “‘m taking care of you, sweetheart.” He hums as he wipes away the saliva beading at the corner of your mouth, spreading it over your lips before his thumb presses down more firmly, a grunt of satisfaction leaving him when your lips part obediently. “There you go,” he breathes out, “suck on my thumb while I play with this needy, little pussy, baby.”
You whine, fingers clinging to his wrist as you suck lazily, tongue swirling around his thumb. His fingers rub against your wet panties, drawing out a soft mewl from you as he pets your clothed pussy.
“You can take them off,” you mumble around his thumb, biting gently before sucking again, happy to have your mouth occupied. “Want you to touch me.”
“I kinda like ‘em on,” Leon murmurs, his fingers grabbing at your thighs before they move, slipping past the waistband. “Besides, I can touch you like this.”
Your eyes flutter shut when his fingers glide through your sticky, puffy folds, breath hitching while Leon groans when he feels your wet pussy. His fingers are thicker than yours, slipping over the soft skin before the calloused pads find your clit. Your thighs twitch, toes curling when he starts to rub your clit using slow, measured circles.
“Is this how you do it?” he asks, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Did you play with your clit til you came in the shower?”
“Mhm,” you nod, peering up at him, lashes fluttering. You lap at his thumb, tongue flicking against the tip playfully, letting him watch.
“Fuck,” Leon rumbles, his thumb brushing over your bottom teeth before rubbing against your tongue. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart. Look at you.”
You smile, lips wrapping back around his thumb soon after, eyes rolling back when his fingers leave your clit to play with your fluttering hole. A long whine leaves you when he circles your hole teasingly, the tip of a finger pressing in briefly before he draws them back out to rub at your clit.
“Put ‘em in,” you mewl, hips beginning to roll against his hand, one of your hands squirming underneath you to try and move his wrist. “Leon,” you grumble, pulling his thumb out of your mouth when he tries to press against your tongue again. “Put ‘em in.”
“What happened to being polite?” he muses, dipping his finger in again and then pulling it out.
“If you put ‘em in, I’ll be polite,” you reply, blinking up at him sweetly, a smug smile on your face.
Leon laughs, watching as your mouth drops open when he finally inches one finger inside of your clenching pussy, beginning to slowly fuck it in and out of you.
“Go on then,” he coaxes, “beg all pretty for me, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”
“P– nghh– please fuck me with your fingers,” you whimper, fingers moving to rub at your throbbing clit. “Please, Leon? Want– fuck– want another finger.”
He doesn’t make you beg any further, sinking another finger into you. You shove your face into the sheets, hips wiggling back to meet the thrust of his fingers, your fingers quickening their pace against your clit.
“Taking me so good,” Leon murmurs, using his other hand to spread you open. You flush, feeling entirely too exposed as he stares down at your pussy stretching around his fingers. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy just sucking my fingers in.”
Your walls flutter around his fingers at that, hand reaching out for him blindly, fingers managing to curl into his shirt. You yank him down, mumbling something incoherent around his lips before dragging him down further, lips pressing against his. You moan into his mouth when he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you harder, curling them just right.
“Leon,” you pant against his mouth, biting his lower lip before tugging it. Leon groans, his fingers scissoring before you moan again, lapping at his lips. His eyes roll back when your lips find his neck, head tipping to bare more of it to you until you manage to move, crawling up onto his lap, his fingers slipping out of you momentarily.
His back hits the bed when you push at his chest, his fingers finding your pussy again, thumb rubbing at your clit while his fingers sink back inside. You shove your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in with a mewl, pawing at his firm chest as you let your hips drop, fucking yourself on his fingers.
“You gonna do that on my cock?” Leon moans, his fingers tangling in your hair when you kiss his neck feverishly, teeth scraping against his throat, the action enough to draw a hoarse growl from him. “Gonna ride my cock like you’re riding my fingers, gorgeous?”
“Yeah,” you murmur against his neck, latching onto his skin and sucking, all with the intent of leaving a mark of your own, like he had done on your ass. “Wanna– ahhh– wanna ride your cock, Leon.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, an arm clamping around your waist to hold you flush against him, his thumb pressing against your clit harder, the lewd noises of your pussy growing louder with every snap of his wrist. “You’re gonna drive me fucking insane.”
You smile against his throat, kissing the underside of his jaw when his throat bobs uncertainly.
“We haven’t even fucked yet,” you whisper, fingers slipping into his hair, pulling at the strands to make him expose his neck further, drawing out a pretty whine from his lips. “Think you can handle me?”
Your smile fades when his fingers pull out of you suddenly, a sharp yelp leaving you when he grabs your hips and manhandles you onto your stomach, the fabric of your panties tearing loudly as he rips them off of you and pulls your ass into the air.
“Those were comfy!” you protest, glaring at him. “Leon?” you jolt when he slaps your ass hard, pulling your asscheeks apart. “Leon, wait– ah fuck!”
You squeal when he buries his face between your thighs, lurching forward unsteadily on your knees, hands grabbing out for the pillows. He’s ruthless, tongue gliding through your warm folds, drinking down your slick with a rough growl, his hands squeezing at your hips, tugging you back onto his mouth when you try and squirm away. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw isn’t helping, scratching against your skin deliciously as he nips and spits onto your cunt.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he snaps lowly, biting punishingly into your thigh when you try kicking at his chest. “Huh?”
“I didn’t–” your leg jerks when Leon bites the back of your thigh, fingers curling into the pillows tightly when he bites the fat of your ass soon after, tongue laving over the bite.
“You didn’t what?” Leon asks, thumb finding your swollen bud, his tongue drifting over the inner crease of your thigh, barely shy of your aching pussy. “You didn’t mean it, is that it, baby?” he drawls, wet fingers rubbing over your pussy.
“Yes!” you choke out, hand slapping against the pillow when he sucks your clit into his mouth lazily, his nose pressing into your pussy, rough hands massaging your ass. “I– nghhhh– I didn’t mean it, Leon.”
“Oh, I think you did,” he sighs heavily, feigning disappointment. He clicks his tongue condescendingly. “I thought you were being my sweet girl, but turns out you’ve just got one hell of a mean streak. Just can’t help being a bit bratty, can you, pretty baby?”
“I’m not a brat,” you wail, shoving your face into the pillows the same time he presses his face into your pussy.
You don’t think anyone’s touched you like this before, let alone used their mouth like this. Leon’s strong, his hands clamping down onto you to keep you in place as he flicks his tongue over your clit, teeth scraping over the sensitive bud. You drool messily, whimpering and whining as he laps at your cunt, his tongue prodding against your hole.
“Oh fuck,” you whisper, glancing behind you, eyes wide to find Leon looking at you hungrily, his gaze dark and feral. You swallow nervously, thighs twitching when he kisses the curve of your ass. “Leon, Leon– oh fuck!”
A squeal escapes you when he presses his tongue into your clenching cunt, eyes squeezing shut so tightly that you feel dizzy, hips pressing back needily to meet the movements of his tongue. He fucks it into you, head tilting as he holds you against his mouth, a hand moving under your hoodie to stroke over the length of your back.
You arch, mewling, hips swaying dazedly as he caresses your pussy with his tongue. A soft, ragged moan leaves you when his mouth moves, returning to your clit, toes curling when he presses his fingers back into you.
“You sound so pretty falling apart on my tongue,” Leon murmurs, rubbing his tongue over your clit with a groan, his fingers crooking inside of you. “You gonna cum, baby? Pretty pussy’s clenching around my fingers.”
“Nghhh–” you slur into the pillows, trying and failing to keep your eyes open, your lids drooping shut when his fingers press against that spot inside of you, his fingers rubbing over it with just the right amount of pressure.
His stubble brushes against the backs of your thighs, lips soft as he trails hot kisses all over your skin. Your hips jerk when he fucks his fingers into you harder and faster, the pressure in your lower stomach growing greater. When his mouth latches back onto you, you moan loudly, knees beginning to buckle.
“Fuck! ‘m gonna cum– ‘m gonna fucking cum, Leon,” you whine, hugging the pillow to your chest, a sharp breath of air leaving you.
“Cum then, sweetheart,” he whispers, “be a good girl and cum for me.”
You cry out when he sucks harder on your clit, his face pressing harder into you, nose buried into your pussy. Leon groans loudly, the vibration shooting up through you, making your pussy clench around his fingers tightly. Your body trembles, knees giving out finally when his tongue flicks at your clit, another moan tearing its way out of your throat as you cum.
“That’s it,” Leon snarls, managing to hold you up despite your arms feeling rubber. “Cum just like that. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”
You whimper, still twitching as he laps at your cunt gently, tongue sweeping over your folds as he slurps down your slick, his thumb rubbing against your clit to draw out the final waves of your orgasm while his fingers slow their pace inside of you before pulling out completely.
Leon’s body is hot when he hovers above you, his hands brushing away the sweaty hair clinging to your skin, head dipping to press soft kisses to your cheek, his stubble oddly soothing as it rubs along your skin.
“You okay?” he asks softly, hands drifting down over your back, squeezing your waist soothingly, hands petting at your still reddened and slightly bruised ass. “I guess I’ve been a little pent up.”
“A little?” you murmur, fingers sliding into his hair when he kisses your neck. “I think you’re more than a little pent up, Leon.”
He grunts in agreement, dropping another kiss to your neck before laying down on his back, letting out a heavy breath.
“I haven’t exactly had time to relax,” he sighs, “too many fucking responsibilities ever since Raccoon City.”
You hum, sitting up, arms still a little wobbly. Leon watches you, his eyes tracking your every movement. You smile at him, eyes twinkling, fingers hooking into the hem of your hoodie before you pull it up over your head, tossing it to the side. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees your breasts, hand reaching out before he pauses mid-reach. You take his hand, pulling it toward your breast, smile growing wider when he squeezes.
“Are my tits helping you relax?” you ask innocently, hands landing on his chest as you swing a leg over his hip, straddling him.
“Guess so,” Leon says, his other hand joining the fray, squeezing your untouched breast. “Pretty fuckin’ tits, sweetheart.”
Your eyes flutter shut as you let him play with your tits, distracted momentarily by the way his fingers move – pinching and tugging, thumb sweeping over your hardened nipples. It’s when you shift on his lap that you become aware of how hard his cock is, hips rolling against the clothed length.
“To answer your question,” he murmurs, tracing the curve of your breast, gently cupping one in his hand, thumb stroking over the soft flesh. “I can, in fact, still get it up.”
You snort, unable to stop the laugh that bubbles out of you. Leon grins back, his head tilting as he peers up at you, hands sliding down over your sides to grab your waist.
“I didn’t doubt you for a second,” you breathe out, voice laced with amusement, your hands beginning to pull at his shirt. He helps you, lifting his arms so that you’re able to pull it up over his head easily. “You do look pretty good for a 49-year-old.”
You lean forward, kissing him gently before you trail kisses down his neck and over his chest, lips brushing over his thick pecs. Leon sighs, his eyes slipping shut, a hand cupping the back of your head as you continue to lay his skin with kisses. You kiss his scars tentatively, squirming lower to kiss his abdomen, tongue darting out to trace the defined ridges of his abdomen.
“You tryna make me cum?” Leon rasps, half-lidded eyes watching you as you bite at his side playfully.
“That is a priority, yes,” you say, following the trail of coarse hair that lies under his navel and the thick bulge laying further down.
His hands in your hair tighten when you nuzzle into his sweatpants, nose brushing against the fabric. When you breathe in, you can smell him, all heady and musky and arousal is seeping into your bones once more, mouth sucking at his clothed cock.
“As much fuck– I would like that,” he grumbles, hips bucking when you mouth at him again, spit dampening his sweatpants, “I’ll cum if you put your mouth on me, baby.”
“Just one suck,” you mumble stubbornly, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down.
Your eyes widen when his cock bobs heavily, struggling with its own weight. You swallow, blinking dazedly as you take in the length and the thickness and the heavy balls that sit underneath. The tip is flushed angrily, darkened and dripping with globs of pre-cum that don’t seem to stop, his cock twitching when you lean towards it slowly.
“It’s big,” you whisper, glancing up at Leon before your eyes find his cock again, pussy beginning to throb as you imagine the stretch. “Really fucking big. You’re– you’re that hard for me?”
Leon grunts, his hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a quick pump. “Yeah, just for you, sweet girl.” He pumps it again, holding his cock towards you. “You said you wanted a taste, go ‘head, pretty baby.”
You don’t need any further invitation, licking your lips hungrily, tongue lolling out. You drag your tongue along the hot length of his cock, feeling the smooth skin and saltiness of his pre-cum. Leon groans, his hips bucking again, another glob of pre-cum dribbling out. You lean forward just in time, catching it on your tongue before your lips wrap around his thick cock.
“Fuck– fuck, baby,” Leon moans, twitching underneath you as you bob your head, beginning to suck. “Your mouth– hah– fuckkk.”
You peer up at him, eyes glittering as you let your tongue swirl around the head before you pull off, pressing a wet, sticky kiss to the tip of his cock.
“Don’t do that,” he mutters hoarsely, shaking his head, “don’t fucking kiss my cock like you’re fucking in love with it.”
You do it again, brows raising when his cock twitches, looking over to find his hand clenched into the sheets, knuckles nearly white.
“I think you like it,” you tease, moving to wrap your hand around his cock, stroking it slowly. “And… I think your cock likes it too.”
“Fuck me,” he growls, head tipping back when you take his cock back into your mouth, sucking and slurping lewdly. He groans and grunts through it, eyes peeling open to watch you swallow around his cock, your pupils blown wide with lust.
When his head lolls to the side, you take your chance, head dipping before he can stop you to suck one of his balls into your mouth. He tastes so dizzyingly nice, spit beginning to leak from the corners of your mouth. Leon’s cock kicks and you land one last kiss to the tip before he’s pulling you up towards him, muffling your whine with a messy kiss.
“Wanna ride it,” you mumble against his lips, worming closer, breasts squishing up against his firm chest.
Leon doesn’t answer, too busy tipping your head up by your chin to kiss you again, stealing your breath. You paw at his chest, fingers finally latching onto his thick biceps. Squeezing, you moan into his mouth when his tongue strokes against yours, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls back up onto his lap.
Your hips roll, bare pussy gliding along the length of his cock, the tip catching on your newly swollen clit, making you twitch. He refuses to let up with the kisses, groaning into your mouth when you pull at his hair, feverishly swallowing up every little noise that bleeds from your throat.
“Yeah?” he breathes out finally, head tipping back for a moment as he catches his breath, calloused hands squeezing at your hips. “You wanna bounce on it? Hm? This needy pussy of yours need a fat cock to keep it happy, baby?”
“Mhm,” you nod, biting your lip, arousal blistering over your skin, lust beginning to cloud your thoughts once more. You press closer, lips brushing against his ear as though telling him a secret. “It needs your fat cock, Leon.”
“C’mere,” he mutters roughly, moving you up onto your knees, hand grasping the base of his cock to hold it steady for you. “Sink down on it, sweetheart.”
You shift, lowering yourself slowly, letting out a muffled gasp when you start to take his cock, the head of it already beginning to stretch out your pussy as it bullies its way past your entrance.
“‘s just so fucking thick,” you moan softly, peering up at him.
Leon hums, his thumb stroking over your lower lip while his other hand strokes over your hip soothingly.
“You got it, baby,” he smiles, dropping a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You took my fingers and my mouth so fucking good. Only got a few inches left, yeah?”
Your brows furrow as you bite your lip harder, gasping when you finally take all of him, pussy fluttering around his cock wildly in an attempt to adjust to his sheer size. You feel so full, so much so that you think you can feel him in your stomach.
“Good fuckin’ girl,” Leon whispers, his arms wrapping around your waist as he leans against the headboard of the bed. “Take what you need from me, sweetheart. ‘s all yours.”
“Leon,” you mewl, dragging out the syllables of his name, whimpering against his mouth when he kisses your cheek. “I… I can’t,” you say, flushing hot, “it’s too big, I don’t–”
“Good girls don’t give up,” he breathes out, hands moving to squeeze at your waist, “not to mention you were so headstrong earlier. Where’s that attitude now, baby?”
“You fucked it outta me,” you retort poutily, shoving your face into the crook of his neck.
“And to think you said I was old and weird– shit, baby–”
You relish in the loud, guttural groan he lets out when the walls of your pussy squeeze around him. Nuzzling closer, you kiss the spot under his ear before your hips move, rocking and rolling in a lazy rhythm as you get used to his size.
“I’m not giving up,” you murmur, glancing up at him as he watches you, head tipping back when his hand moves up over your breasts, slipping between them to wrap around your throat.
“Atta girl.”
Leon squeezes and you moan, grabbing his wrist as your knees dig into the bedding, hips beginning to rise and fall. He pulls you into a sloppy kiss, growling into your mouth, panting as his tongue slips over yours messily, his thumb prying your mouth open. You pant, tongue lolling out as you ride his cock, the bed creaking from your motions as you fuck yourself on his cock needily.
“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Leon rasps, watching you with dark eyes, his hair messy and hanging over one side of his face. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart.”
You smile at him dopily, breath slowing when his hand tightens, starting to cut off your intake of oxygen. His nose nudges against yours, breath hot as he kisses you, lips working against yours eagerly until his grip loosens, letting you suck in a breath.
“You trust me that much?” Leon asks, smiling back at you with a feral look in his eyes when your hand wraps around his throat. “You think that’s a good idea, sweetheart? You wanna choke me out while you ride my cock?”
“Oh, you can take it,” you whisper, tightening your grip. Your movements don’t slow, thighs smacking against his as you bounce on his lap, your hand landing on his shoulder for leverage as you drop yourself down on his cock harder, setting a firmer rhythm. “Heard you– ahh– kicked ass back at Rhodes Hill.”
He grins, eyes glinting, a ragged noise leaving him when you pant into his mouth, licking at his lips.
“Yeah, I still hah– got it,” Leon muses, hands squeezing at your ass.
Your brows furrow when his grip tightens, a moan punched out of you when he grips your hips starting to lift you, using you as he fucks you on his cock.
“That’s it,” he drawls, controlling the rhythm and you, his forehead pressing against yours as he jerks you up and down his thick, throbbing cock. “Take my fat fuckin’ cock, baby. Cute, little pussy’s just swallowing me up.”
You whimper, hand sliding to cup the nape of his neck, your bodies moving together as his cock carves its way through your pussy, nestling against that spot before it glides out and drives back in. His chest is pressed against yours, firm muscle pressed against your soft breasts, the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing along your clit.
“Harder,” you whisper, eyes finding his, hips starting to sway back to meet his thrusts when he plants his feet into the bed, knees bending as he fucks his cock up into you. “Want it– nghh– harder, Leon.”
“That might strain my joints, baby,” he says softly, smiling up at you when you huff out an annoyed breath. “What? You were concerned about my bones.”
“Fuck your bones,” you groan, pushing at his chest, squirming off of his lap onto your hands and knees, ass swaying up into the air. You look back at him over your shoulder, hand worming between your thighs to spread yourself open for him, wet, dripping pussy all on display for him. “‘m so empty,” you whisper, voice lilting. “Fill me up?” You bat your lashes, “please?”
Leon mutters a low curse, his chest heaving as he rises up onto his knees, using your ankle to pull you toward him, his hand stroking his cock with uneven motions, knuckles tightening when he sees the slick webbing between your puffy folds and clinging to your thighs.
You’re half-expecting some witty remark, but all Leon does is brush a rough kiss to your shoulder, grunting into your ear before he’s notching the head of his cock against your aching pussy and driving his cock into you.
“Too– fuck! Too fast!” you squeal when he starts thrusting hard and fast, the bed beginning to rock with every snap of his hips.
“But you said you were empty,” Leon rumbles into your ear, “‘m just filling up this needy, pretty fucking cunt for you, sweetheart. So stop squirming,” his hand clamps down on your hips, “and fucking take it.”
You wail into the room, thrashing under him when his hips smack into your ass, balls slapping against your throbbing clit, the lewd noises echoing through the small space. He draws moan after moan out of you, his cock pounding into your pussy unforgivingly. You think you can feel it in your throat, his fat cock sliding through your gripping, fluttering walls.
Leon’s body is draping over your back, his mouth settling right next to your ear as he grunts and groans. Your toes curl, back arching when he pushes down on the small of your back, his breathing ragged as he grinds his impossibly thick cock into you.
“Fuck,” you mewl, spying his flexed bicep near your head, drool pooling into your mouth. Your head tilts as the muscle bulges, all inhibitions lost when you follow the line of his arm to stare hazily at his veiny forearm. You lean towards his bicep, teeth sinking into the thick muscle with a moan.
Leon’s breath hitches, his hips stuttering for a moment when he realizes you’ve bit him before his thrusts start up again, his hot, heavy cock pounding back into your needy pussy. You lick his bicep, tongue laving over his warm skin, eyes rolling back when his arm moves, wrapping around your throat, his bicep pressed up against the side of your neck.
“You keep– fuck– staring at my arms, sweetheart,” Leon rasps, grinning against your cheek when you let out a choked moan, his breath cut off by a low moan of his own. “Is this what you need? A strong arm wrapped around your throat, fat cock pounding into your needy cunt and sweet, little kisses?” He punctuates his question by kissing your temple.
“I– nghhh– need you,” you whine, feeling dazed as he drops his weight onto you a little more, enough so that you can feel every inch of him against your back.
You can’t really do anything but take it, his skin slapping against yours and breath rough in your ear. When his fingers move, finding your clit to rub the swollen bud, you whimper, clutching the sheets, nails raking against the fabric as the string of pleasure draws tighter.
“‘m gonna cum,” you say hoarsely, cunt clenching around his cock desperately. “Leon– Leon, Leon, Leon!”
“‘m right here, baby,” Leon whispers, kissing your cheek, “taking my cock so well. Doing so– fuck– good for me, yeah? Cum whenever you want, sweet girl, I’ve got you.”
Your body jerks when his fingers rub against your clit faster, a ragged scream erupting from you as you cum violently. Leon swears, his grip on you faltering, the arm on your throat drawing away as you twitch on his cock, grasping at the sheets, at the pillows until Leon offers you his hand.
Your fingers lace together with his and you squeeze tightly, gasping uncontrollably until his mouth finds yours, capturing your lips in a kiss. You whimper into his mouth, knees weak and thighs tired, your death-grip on his hand loosening when he soothes you with soft kisses. Your pussy clenches and Leon groans into your mouth, his hips jerking forward unevenly.
“‘m gonna cum too, pretty baby,” he grunts, fingers pushing at your ass gently, hips beginning to pull away. “Greedy, little pussy’s clenching around me too tight, I can’t–”
“Inside,” you mumble, letting your hips sway back tiredly, trying to swallow down the length of his cock. “Cum inside.”
“That’s– shittt– a bad idea, baby,” Leon groans, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder as his hips rock into you, pace stuttering.
You can feel his cock throb and twitch, a soft mewl escaping you. “You said you were full of bad ideas.”
Leon lets out a startled laugh, his breath coming out in short, choppy bursts. “I did– hahhh– I did say that. Take my cum then, sweetheart, gonna flood this perfect fuckin’ cunt with cum.”
He grips your hips, thrusting forward with a hard drive of his cock. Leon swears under his breath, his hips jerking into your ass as he cums, cock kicking and throbbing as hot, thick cum floods your pussy.
You let out a contented noise when he moans into your ear, low and guttural, the sound making you feel warm. His softening cock slips out after a few moments and Leon pulls himself away from you, the bed protesting under the weight of you both. You curl up into his side, head dropping over his chest, eyes drooping when you feel the steady beat of his heart.
Leon’s hand settles on your head, stroking over your hair lazily as he pants, chest rising and falling.
“Do you feel relaxed?” you murmur, peering up at him with a sleepy smile.
“I feel fucked out,” Leon mutters, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek, rubbing at the spot of drool that had pooled at the corner of your mouth. “You did a number on me, sweetheart.”
“I aim to please.”
He laughs, hauling you closer and you smile, kissing the underside of his jaw. “You went above and beyond, I can tell you that much.”
You snort, arms wrapping around his neck. “Am I gonna get that in writing?”
“I’ll think about it,” Leon murmurs, his fingers slipping under your chin to tip your head, lips pressing against yours. You hum into the kiss, fingers tangling in his soft hair, a quiet noise leaving you as he squeezes your ass.
When Leon pulls away, you chase after his lips, eyes fluttering shut when he returns your kiss just as eagerly, your thigh hooking over his hip, brows furrowing when you feel his cock against your thigh.
You look down, cheeks flushing when you find his spent cock beginning to harden, the fat length bobbing gently as it fills out.
“Already?” you murmur, sighing softly when he leaves stubbly kisses along your jaw.
“What can I say?” Leon whispers, his hips bucking when your hand wraps around his hardening cock. “You uh… bring out the best in me, I guess.”
You raise your brows, unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across your face. “Your best attribute is your cock? That’s a little disappointing.”
He grins, groaning when you kiss his pec.
“You didn’t seem to think it was disappointing when I fucked you with it.”
“It is nice,” you acquiesce, head tipping back as he leans into you, trailing hot kisses down your neck, his hips beginning to rock lazily, meeting the strokes of your hand.
“I do have other nice, non-sexual attributes,” Leon says, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin gently. There’s a light flush settled on his cheeks and he clears his throat, sucking in a soft breath when you squeeze his cock. “Maybe you’d like to find out sometime?”
Your smile softens, affection beginning to creep in through the cracks of your ribs. Leaning forward, you kiss him gently.
calling leon by his middle name. he loves it… maybe a little too much (18+)
“leon— mmhm, fuck!”
the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoed in the room, along with your moans and his grunts. he’d been back from whatever mission he was on, a week ago. and he’d missed your pussy, and you deeply, which he was showing you enthusiastically.
“so tight f’me, baby,” he grunts, his voice low and breathless, hips pounding into you relentlessly. “missed you so— hah... so much.”
you could only wantonly moan in response with the way he had you spread under him, legs propped up on his broad and muscular shoulders, copious amounts of slick leaking from around his cock, trickling down your ass and into the bedsheet, ruining them.
you wrapped your hands around his strong forearms, digging your nails and leaving behind bloody half crescent indents, and if it was possible, it turned him on even more.
he let out a deep, throaty groan. fuck, you couldn’t get any better. “yes, baby. that’s it, mark me up.”
he moved faster now, almost at a punishing pace, eliciting a few tears out of your eyes.
“baby… scott— you’re too fast! ah… slow down,” you whine, almost crying out, nails still digging onto his forearm.
the moment his brain registers what you just said, he freezes. literally. his hips stutter mid-thrust, the rhythm faltering altogether and then, he stops. “what’d you just say?” he asks, observing your face, watching a tear roll down from your eyes to your temple.
you breathe deeply, easing your body, and loosening your grip on his forearms. “what?”
you look at him, eyes locked with his. why did he stop? you just asked him to slow down, didn’t you? “i just… wanted you to slow down… you were going too hard.”
“no, not that. what did you call me?” he asks, his voice was soft, body at ease now, not strained. just propped up above you on his forearm.
oh. you had called him by his middle name. scott. you would’ve been worried about him being displeased if it was not for his cock twitching traitorously inside you. “scott. it slipped. my bad,” you say, smiling coquettishly.
leon smiled back, almost boyishly. he reached up and gently grabbed you by the thighs, pulling back just enough to dislodge your legs from his shoulders and letting them fall back on the bed, eyes never leaving yours.
“well, don’t let me stop you,” he says softly, propping himself back on his forearms that rested besides your shoulders. you noticed his face was flushed when he leaned closer, that silly smile never leaving his face.
“leon scott kennedy, are you blushing?” you giggle in amusement.
he groans softly, burrowing his face into the curve of your neck, breathing in your scent. you giggle again, one hand coming up to play with his hair.
“did you like it when i called you scott?”
he lifts up his head, just slightly, to look back into your eyes. “…a little.” when you kept looking at him, he surrendered. “‘kay, yeah. i did. that was hot—you are hot. fuck, i missed you.”
not even a millisecond later, his lips were on yours, tasting and coaxing you open. and then, a soft thrust, which had you grip his biceps. his whole body was weighing down on you, every inch of his skin pressed against yours.
“scott,” you whimpered in his ears, voice soft and gentle, as he kept thrusting into you shallowly.
“christ, you’re going to be the death of me, love,” he grunted out, increasing his pace. “dont stop.”
it didn’t take too long for you to come apart under him, pussy clenching and fluttering around his cock as your orgasm crashed over you. soon enough, he followed with a choked grunt, emptying himself inside you, filling you up to the brim.
after you had caught your breath, you couldn’t help but giggle again. “now i know just what to say to get you blushing like a schoolgirl.”
leon huffed out a breathless laugh, looking at you with amusement. “not if i make you scream it all night long. think you can handle a second round, hmm?”
Summary: Everyone flocks to him when they have an issue, but it's not because he's good at everything. It's clear. Everyone wants to get into Mr. Kennedy's pants. Luckily Mr. Kennedy is willing to show you the one area that he excels in.
Warnings: Minors do not interact! Neighbor!Leon, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Squirting, Creampie, Nipple Play, Biting, Age Gap (RE9 Leon)
You always feel a little weird when you make eye contact with your neighbor. While Mr. Kennedy is always a gentleman, you can’t help but feel awkward around him. The man is simply intimidating, you can’t help but look down at the floor whenever he asks you a question. Maybe it’s because he’s twice your size, that with a single touch he can break you in half. Perhaps it’s because there’s not much information surrounding him, none of the neighbors know much about him. It could also be that even though he’s almost old enough to be your father, you’re damn near giggling when he tells a shitty joke.
Mr. Kennedy is no comedian, but he never fails to make the women around him laugh. Whenever you bump into him, another neighbor already has his claws in him. You watch a superficial interaction for a couple of seconds, where he tells a dry joke that never fails to make the person with him bend over laughing. They wipe away a tear, and you roll your eyes as you walk away– But you can’t help but think that if you were in that position you’d do the same thing. You’re always too awkward, the thought of even starting a conversation with Mr. Kennedy feels inconceivable.
Even though the man does attempt to strike a conversation with you, your words are dry. It’s hard to keep a conversation going, which should be fine, he’s just your neighbor. You’re just there to help each other out when a day-to-day task becomes a little too hard. For nothing else.
“Let me get that for you,” Mr. Kennedy notices the absurd amount of groceries in your arms, and he runs to your aid. He picks up a can that fell to the ground, before taking the brown paper bag in your grasp. You feel a heavy weight lifted, one that he now carries. He doesn’t seem to be struggling though, which doesn’t particularly shock you.
“Thank you, Mr. Kennedy,” you sheepishly smile at him, before successfully opening the door to your apartment. You stand to the side, allowing the man to walk in first.
“Mister?” He cocks an eyebrow, something you don’t get to see as he walks ahead of you. You brush off the comment, knowing that you’d feel weird if you called him by his first name. Sure, he has no authority over you but that doesn’t negate the fact that he’s much older than you and you aren’t friends by any means. You’re just trying to be polite. “You got enough groceries to feed a village.”
“Yeah I’m going to a baby shower and bringing some food,” you share as you begin to unload the groceries in the bags. You shamefully put the prepackaged cookies to the side, knowing that you’re planning to pass them off as your own. You sheepishly smile at your neighbor before saying, “would you like anything, Mr. Kennedy? Something to drink? A snack?”
“Leon,” he says, making you tilt your head. He notices a perplexed look in your face, making him say, “Leon, call me Leon.”
“Alright, Leon,” you nod. “Is that a no to a drink?”
“I’m good, sweetheart,” he answers, sending a chill down your spine. Sweetheart, such a simple pet name yet you feel your face get warm as you hear it from your neighbor– Your very attractive neighbor dare you comment.
You mindlessly stare at each other in an awkward silence before he finally clears his throat. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Yeah, it’s down the hall to your–” you begin, and he finishes the sentence for you.
“Left,” he nods. “I have the same layout.”
He walks away, leaving you to unpack everything and put it away in silence. You’re biting down your lip, trying to figure out what your next move is going to be. Are you going to attempt to talk to him more or just let him go unscathed? If you were any other neighbor you’d be jumping on his bones right at this moment.
You nearly chuckle as you imagine a nearly impossible scenario that starts in the living room, goes to the kitchen, bathroom and finally your bedroom– It’s not shocking why you can’t maintain eye contact with him, just a simple glance at him leads you to the dirtiest fantasies that make your own brain blush.
You’re getting carried away in your own thoughts barely noticing what happens in your own home. A loud thud brings you back to reality as a rolling can finally hits the vinyl floor. Just as you’re about to lean down to pick it up, you notice that you aren’t alone in the kitchen anymore.
“Let me get that for you.” He rushes to your side, acting as if the can was some sort of danger that he needed to save you from. He picks it up, setting it down on the counter.
“Thank you,” you smile at him, and he nods. “Would you like that–”
“You know you’ve got a leaky faucet?” he unintentionally cuts you off. Your eyes widen, and you feel your face get warm with slight embarrassment before you nod.
You awkwardly chuckle. “I’ve been trying to get maintenance to fix it but they’ve been taking their sweet time.”
“I can fix it,” he offers without hesitation, making your brows raise. You quickly shake your head.
“That’s okay, that’s too much to ask from you,” you reassure him, making a guttural laugh leave his throat.
“I have everything right next door, it’ll be quick,” he answers.
“Are you sure?” you ask, and instead of giving you a verbal answer, he steps out of the apartment to search for the tools. You’ve always been too much of a wimp to hold a normal conversation with him, or else you would have noticed just how kind Mr. Kennedy is.
Within minutes he’s back inside with all the tools he needs. He holds up the bag before saying, “I am going to need your help though.”
“Of course!” You rush to his side, following behind him as he walks to your bathroom. You feel your hands get sweaty, nervous that you find yourself alone with your neighbor– Though you have no reason to be nervous while you’re around him. It’s not like you have anything up your sleeve.
“So what do you do?” you ask as he begins to work on your faucet, checking what exactly needs fixing. He cocks an eyebrow, humming as he directs his gaze at you for a second.
“Why do you want to know, sweetheart?” he asks, instead of giving you a straightforward answer. Either he does something sketchy or he’s as closed off as he looks. You suck in your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling slightly embarrassed at your failed attempt at chitchat.
“Just curious, that’s all,” you respond, sitting down on the sink, eyes intently watching. You note his every move as you focus on his dexterous hands.
“Nothing interesting. How about you?” His answer makes you furrow your brows while your curiosity grows. Nothing interesting yet your neighbor drives a brand new Porsche.
“Nothing interesting as well,” you respond, figuring that details aren’t needed. You can be as secretive as he is.
“You come home late a lot,” he points out, and you end up shrugging. He opens the tool bag that’s beside you. He rummages, trying to find a specific tool.
“Are you keeping tabs on me or–” you begin, only to be cut off by him.
“Can you hand me the screwdriver?”
You begin to look inside the bag, trying to find what he needs. Rummaging through all the tools, half that you can’t even give a proper name, you finally find something that’s screwdriver shaped. You take it out, and hold it like a trophy. “This it?”
“Bingo.” He snatches it from your hands before speaking again, “What were you saying?”
“Nothing,” you answer, getting off the sink. You decide that it’s not worth the hassle. “I’m gonna get some water, you want some?”
“I’m good.” He’s focused on the task at hand, not daring to take his eyes off the faucet. You hum in response before walking away.
You’re sure he’ll be fine for two minutes while you get water– You don’t know what it is but you’re suddenly thirsty. As you open the cupboard, you hear a clank followed by a very loud, “Shit!”
“You okay, Leon?” You practically run back to the bathroom, only to find that the faucet has burst. Leon gets it under control, but now he’s completely drenched. You immediately look for a towel to hand him. “What happened? I thought you had everything under control?”
“I did, until the sink decided to fight back.” He lets out a low chuckle as he takes the towel that you hand him. He dries his hair before trying to dry his shirt with the towel, essentially doing nothing. It’s completely soaked.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t expect it to cause you so much trouble,” you apologize, grabbing the towel and rubbing his shirt to undo the damage. It’s to no avail.
“It’s okay, I’m the one who overstepped–” he begins, but his train of thought is quickly cut off when he realizes that you’re trying to… take off his shirt?
“Let me throw it in the dryer,” you insist, and Leon is about to cut you off and remind you that he lives right next door. He can simply go back to his apartment, throw the shirt in the dryer and grab a new one, but what would be the fun in that?
“You’re a doll, thank you,” he answers, helping you out and taking off his shirt without a sweat. Your eyes widen, face getting warm as you hold his shirt in your hand, realizing that your neighbor is shirtless in front of you. Not only is he shirtless but he looks good.
You almost feel dirty, knowing your eyes can’t help but stare at him like you’re some sort of pervert. For fuck’s sake, you’re ogling like some sort of caveman.
“Everything okay?” he asks, knocking you out of the trance he put you in. You bite down your lip before nodding in response.
“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a step back. “So am I sinkless for a while now?”
“I’ll call maintenance and get them to come over,” he says, and you chuckle.
“Oh, good luck. That’s going to take ages.”
“They’ll be here tomorrow morning,” he assures you, following behind you as you throw his shirt in the dryer.
“Right,” you respond sarcastically.
“Why do you think all the neighbors come to me? I get–”
“I can think of another reason,” you mumble, and he cocks his eyebrow.
He hums. “Care to share?”
“You’re smart enough to know, Mr. Kennedy,” you answer, and he doesn’t bother to push you on the subject. If you don’t want to give a clear answer, fine. “Will you call maintenance for me then?”
“Of course, sweetheart.” He grabs his phone and does as he’s asked without hesitation. You watch him, eyes lingering where they shouldn’t. Even though you make eye contact every couple of seconds, your eyes appear to be glued. You have no shame.
He sits comfortably on your couch, putting the phone on the coffee table. He has no desire to hold the phone while he’s on hold for however long it takes. He spreads his legs, throwing his head back– Almost as if he’s putting on some sort of show for you.
“You know, I thought you’d be better at handiwork,” you comment, a rather snide remark toward someone who’s gone out of their way to help you. You don’t mean it as an insult, it’s just an awkward attempt at conversation with him.
“I’m much better at destroying things.” He doesn’t even attempt to defend himself. You chuckle, sitting down beside him. “That’s what I get for trying to help out.”
“I really appreciate you! You really didn’t have to but you went out of your way to fix things,” you say, giving him a warm smile. “And I’m sorry your shirt got all wet.”
“It’s all good, I was planning on going for a swim later anyway,” he jokes, earning a pity laugh from you. He licks his lips before asking, “Was the joke that bad?”
“What kind of laugh did you think you were going to earn from me?” you reply, and he shrugs.
“Usually I have someone bending over and wiping away a tear,” he claims, and you attempt your best not to laugh. A hearty laugh, the one that he wants to earn from you.
“Because they want to be bent over and wiping away tears in another manner.” You’re rather bold with your choice of words, but they get the point across. He laughs, before nodding in agreement. It’s not like he can deny something that’s so painfully obvious.
“I guess I have no future as a comedian then,” he says, and you can’t help but hum in agreement. “Maybe as a stripper.”
“Considering you’re shirtless on my couch, I say go for it,” you answer, and he hums.
“You’ve been staring for quite a while, I say I’ll make quite a fortune.” He doesn’t bother holding back, knowing there’s no need to sugarcoat what’s clearly obvious. Your eyes won’t tear away. Maybe he would’ve ignored it had it been a casual glance, but you’re staring at him like he’s a fresh piece of meat.
“What– No, no I haven’t.” You quickly shake your head, feeling your face get unbelievably hot. You’re lying through your teeth, but you refuse to admit it.
“No need to be ashamed, you know. You can touch if that’s what you want.” He looks at you smugly, and you bite down your lip. Oh how so many women would kill to be in your spot.
Your hand begins to move involuntarily, inching towards him. Just as you feel the heat that radiates off his body, a voice cuts you off. “Front office.”
You freeze as he reaches for the phone, bringing it up to his ear. You retract your hand, awkwardly resting over your thigh. You stand up, going back to the kitchen to take out the ingredients that you need– Remembering your original plans for the day. None which involved your neighbor.
You have a lot to do, and you quickly remember as you take out piles of food. You try to ignore him, but his rather demanding voice catches your attention. It upsets you just how hot he sounds. You try not to even look in his direction as he talks, feeling like you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough. You manage to control yourself until the talking finally stops.
“They’ll be here tomorrow morning, sweetheart.” He joins you in the kitchen, watching as you run around trying to go back and forth between the recipe book and your ingredients.
“Thank you, Leon,” you answer, not adding much more. He stares at you for a moment, expecting you to say something else but you remain silent.
“I’ll get going then,” he says, waiting for some sort of protest from you. You look at him for a moment, before opening a drawer and pulling out a rolled up cloth. You toss it in his direction where he unfolds the rather small apron– Small in his terms. “What’s this for?”
“You’re helping me bake,” you answer, and without hesitation he puts it on.
“Why am I helping you bake?” he asks as if he wasn’t putting on the apron. He’s simply curious, that's all. A man is allowed to have questions.
“Since you fucked up my sink,” you reply as he turns his back to you. You click your tongue as you tie the back, just as he wants. “I also need a lot of help.”
“How many people are going to this baby shower?” He notices all the ingredients that you have resting on the counter. “Are you planning to feed a village?”
“If you behave you can have a taste,” you say, and there’s a hint of a smirk on his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. “Do you know how to make a cheesecake?”
“Sure.” His voice isn’t very convincing, but he grabs one of your bowls and cracks two eggs in it. You leave it be since you don’t have an idea on how to even start it.
You’re running around, going back and forth between the ingredients on your hand, the ones that the recipe book calls and searching for the dishes you need. Leon can’t help but notice how you’re all over the place, making him question, “Are you the group’s certified baker or are you simply doing a favor?”
“Why?” you ask, and he shrugs before a guttural laugh leaves his mouth. You purse your lips, eyes narrowing as you stare at him. You dramatically gasp, before flicking his bicep, “Are you suggesting that I don’t know what I’m doing!”
“You said it, not me!” He defends himself, quickly followed by a chuckle that makes you laugh as well. He clears his throat before speaking again, switching the topic, “So… What you were about to do…”
“Hmm…?” you hum, acting oblivious as if your hand wasn’t about to act on its own.
“You can act stupid all you want but–”
“Why are you insisting on talking about this, Leon? Is there something you want to say?”
He stops what he’s doing, dusting his hands off and steps toward you, getting dangerously close. He maintains intense eye contact with you until he’s right behind you. You feel his breathing down your neck, and a lump forms on your throat as your heart skips a beat. The nerves that had faded as you felt more comfortable are quickly back.
“Why do you think I always offer to help you out?” His voice is hoarse, sending a chill down your spine. You slowly turn to face him, looking directly into his intimidating eyes.
“Because you’re a gentleman.” You know your words are full of shit, but you don’t want to be too straightforward. “Isn’t that what you do with everyone?”
“They run to me, not the other way around,” he clarifies, and you can’t help but chuckle. You’ve seen it one too many times where they flock to him at any minor inconvenience. You can’t judge because that would be you if you weren’t so awkward with the man. But he’s intrigued.
“What? Does the chase excite you? Is that why you’re here?” You try to step back as you feel the place get unbelievably hot. But there’s not much room for you to move, you’re quickly backed against the counter.
“The chase? There has been no chase, doll. I talk to you and you smile and wave goodbye.” His hand goes under your chin, tilting your head so you look directly at him as you attempt to avert your sight.
“Then why are you here?”
He smirks. “Because I think you’re the sweetest thing my eyes have come across, and I have the biggest sweet tooth.”
“Isn’t the proper thing to ask for a date?” you ask, though that’s the last thing your body wants. Your body craves for his touch and you almost believe that he looks like this to elicit some sort of reaction in you– There is no reason for him to be shirtless in your apartment.
“We both know you want to skip that step.” He’s not the type to do this, but Leon doesn't know for how much longer he can hold back. He’s never gotten this opportunity with you and now that he’s so fucking close he’s not letting the chance slip from his fingers.
“You know…” Your hands meet behind his neck, pulling him closer so he’s meeting you eye to eye. You catch the scent of mint on his breath, letting you know that he’s been anticipating this. Leon came ready. He didn’t offer to help out of the goodness of his heart. He probably only got shirtless to make a move on you. Worst of all is that it’s working. A low effort plan, and it’s working. “That’s not what a lady wants to hear.”
“I’ve never been particularly good with impressing the ladies,” he says, and you end up laughing as if it were some sort of joke, even if he isn’t joking. You reach behind his back, undoing the knot that holds the apron together.
“You’re such a liar.” You roll your eyes.
“Hmm? What does that mean, sweetheart?” He cocks his eyebrow, and you bite your tongue. You’re trying to break eye contact, trying to resist temptation. Your hands land on his biceps, thinking of pushing him away and fighting back until you actually feel just how strong he is.
“If we did something you wouldn’t tell a soul, right?” you ask as he cups your face.
“You wouldn’t like to brag about it? I’m kind of a catch around here,” he jokes, making you roll your eyes. His face inches closer to yours, and just as his lips are about to meet yours, he reassures you, “I won’t tell a single soul.”
“Then kiss me.” You close the distance that keeps you apart, soft lips pressing against his own. You’re shy, he can tell. You pull away quickly, but he pulls you back in just as fast, more intense than your initial kiss. His hands move down, leaving your face and sliding down to your waist.
You get more comfortable, melting into his lips. Anticipation grows with each second. Leon’s hands begin to play with the hem of your shirt, growing restless. Your tongue glides into his mouth, pressing against his own. His hand finally goes under your shirt, the swiftest touch making your skin burn. He begins to trace lazy circles on your torso, the softest touch making you press your legs together. You almost forget how to breathe, making you pull away.
“I think we should move elsewhere,” you breathlessly say, your forehead pressing against Leon’s.
“Anywhere you want, doll.” He nods, taking his hand out of your shirt and taking a step back. He takes off the apron that you’ve given him, tossing it to the side before grabbing your hand and leading you to your room– It’s as if he knew the place like the back of his hand.
“Did I tell you just how beautiful you are?” Leon caresses your cheek before he kisses you again. Things get heated quickly, and before you know it, he’s lifting up your shirt and taking it off. His large hand goes to your back, undoing your bra with one swift movement. That’s when Leon’s attention shifts from your lips, and he kisses down to your breasts.
Wet lips fill your breasts with kisses before his tongue circles your nipple. His hand cups your tits, mouth wrapping around your nipple and sucking. Your breath gets caught up in your chest, and you’re damn near putty under his touch. When he feels like he’s given enough love to your tit, he moves to your other tit.
“Fuck!” you curse as the man bites down before pulling away. There’s a look of mischief in his eyes, and before you can even scold him, he kisses you again. He’s pushing you onto the bed until you finally take a seat.
“You’ve got the cutest tits.” He kisses them again, not daring to bite down on the soft flesh again even though it’s so tempting.
“I need to taste you, sweetheart.” He’s desperately trying to unbutton your pants, but his fingers don’t seem dexterous enough. “Fuck, help me.”
You do as he wants, unbuttoning your pants and taking them off. A task that’s so easy yet seems impossible today. The denim sticks to your thighs and takes a lot of effort to take off. But you finally succeed. He lets out a low laugh at the design of the panties before saying, “Cute panties.”
“I also bite,” you warn him, and he hums in response. He smiles at you before getting on his knees and spreading your legs and staring at your panties. He can’t even bring himself to push them to the side before he buries his face between them, pressing his lips against them. He slides his tongue down your panties, managing to send a jolt down your body. He isn’t even properly touching you, and he’s getting a reaction out of you.
“Leon, please.” Your voice sounds pathetic but you want to feel him without anything in between. You need to feel his tongue on your pussy. He listens, pulling down your panties. His eyes glisten and his mouth begins to water at the mere sight in front of him. He never thought he’d get this far but today is his lucky day.
“I haven’t even done anything to you yet.” There’s a smirk on his face as he runs two fingers through your folds, gathering your slick with the sole purpose of showing it to you. “You’re so wet for me, doll.”
“Shut up and just–” You can’t bring yourself to actually say it. But he understands. He presses a kiss to your bare cunt before his tongue runs down your pussy. A soft moan leaves your lips as his tongue swipes up and down your pussy.
“Fuck– There. Right there,” you whisper, almost as if you were scared that someone might catch you. His tongue flicks your clit, going just at the right pace. Just by the looks of it, you would have expected to know the ins and outs of the female anatomical system, but you didn’t expect him to be so quick with it. You know guys your age typically have a hard time getting to that spot– At least the ones that manage to get thus far with you.
You shut your eyes, slowly getting lost in the pleasure that he gives your body– And then you feel him run two fingers through your cunt, getting them wet with your own juices before pushing them in. You bite down your lip as the large fingers fill you up.
He’s humming against your pussy, the vibrations filling you with pleasure. He’s loving this just as much as you are, if not more. Who are you kidding? Leon is loving this much more than you. Your thighs are squeezing around him, and Leon can confidently say that he’s never been this happy before.
He curves his finger, hitting just the right spot that makes your eyes roll to the back of their head. Pleasure builds up within you, and it gets harder for you to contain yourself. You finally begin to moan the sweetest melody. It feels sinful for Leon to hear it with his very own ears.
“Leon, fuck, you’re doing so good,” you moan, throwing your head back as your orgasm builds up. Your hand goes to the back of his head, pulling him in closer as if it could be possible. It’s like you want to completely merge together.
It doesn’t take too long for your orgasm to wash over you, loudly moaning and chanting his name over and over again as if it was the only word you knew. The most beautiful sound to have ever grazed his ears. Leon keeps flicking your oversensitive clit, tongue running up and down your cunt until he’s finally satiated. When he lifts his head, his mouth and chin are coated with your juices and his own drool. That doesn’t stop him from getting off the floor and hungrily kissing you.
“You taste so good,” he tells you between kisses.
When he pulls away, you fall back on the bed completely. Leon stares at you with lustful eyes, ready to get his share. He unbuttons his pants with one hand, the other hand making sure your legs are kept spread and ready for him.
“Are you sure you want this?” he asks, knowing that you want this more than anything. Leon simply wants to hear you beg. Is that so bad? He’s already heard you beg once, his ears need to hear it at least once more. You nod, but that isn’t enough for him. “Beg for it.”
“Please, Leon. I need to feel you inside of me.” You normally wouldn’t give in so easily, but you need to feel– Your eyes widen as he drops his briefs, revealing his erect cock. You bite down your lip before you continue begging. Saying you needed him before was an understatement. “Please, I need you Leon. So so bad.”
“I’ll give you the whole world if that’s what you want,” he answers, finally giving in. He runs the tip of his cock through your folds before slowly sliding inside of you. He stretches you out, and when he finally bottoms out he gives you a second before he begins to move. Soft moans leave your lips as he gives slow, gentle thrusts.
He leans down, kissing you and drowning out the moans that leave your lips. It gives your hands the opportunity to go to his back, nails digging in and marking him. Scratches that if he could, he’d show off as some sort of trophy.
“You feel so perfect around me,” he groans into your ear, slowly getting lost inside of you. He’s imagined this type of encounter a thousand times and none have ever come close to how good it actually is. It’s truly surreal.
“Right there, Leon,” you moan, your back arching as his cock hits just the right spot. His hand goes down to play with your clit again, making your cunt squeeze around him. He moans your name as his thrusts get faster and faster.
He keeps his eye on you, making sure that you enjoy every second just as he is. He’ll make sure this isn’t a one time thing, even though you might claim it is. Within a week you’ll be knocking on his door, begging for more.
“You’ve got the sweetest little pussy, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear, melting you into a puddle. His cock hits every right spot, he knows how to make you forget your entire being.
“You’re fucking me so good, Leon.” You feel yourself close again even if you’re still sensitive from the last one. It’s almost as if your body is his own, like he knows you better than you know yourself.
“Leon, I’m gonna–” you begin, but before you can get the proper sentence out you reach that climax that was looming over. Your legs spasm and you gush, making a mess all over him. A mess that leaves him wide-eyed but shortly followed by a prideful laugh. He made you squirt.
“Is it that good, doll? Did you have to shower me with the mess?” he teases, and you’d be embarrassed if you weren’t in a state of euphoria.
He feels his breath get caught in his chest, slowly losing the control that he first stated. He wishes he could spend the rest of eternity buried inside of you, but it seems that his body is giving out. He asks, “Can I–”
“Inside,” you command, and who is Leon to ignore your wishes? He gives a couple more thrusts before he moans your name, throwing his head back as he releases his warm cum inside of you. He completely makes a mess out of you, giving a couple more thrusts before pulling out.
He stares at the mess he’s made. Both you and the bed. Truth be told, he couldn’t be prouder.
He lays down beside you, on the side of the bed that’s still nice and dry, staring as you come down off the cloud that he’s put you on. He smirks, proud.
“Good job,” he praises, hand attempting to caress your arm, and you look at him and give him a sheepish smile.
“You fuck good for an old man,” you answer, and Leon laughs. Whatever happened to the shy neighbor who could barely make eye contact.
“You fuck good. Period.”
“Great, now I have to change my bedsheets.” You sit up, looking at the mess that you’ve managed to make on the bed. The wise move would have been getting a towel.
You look at Leon. “At least you’ll help with the cheesecake.”
“About that… I don’t know how to make a cheesecake,” he answers, making you furrow your brows. “I hope that’s not a dealbreaker for when I try to take you on a date.”
You simply sigh.
“Get your shirt from the dryer and go back to your apartment– Matter of fact, help me change the bedsheets, get your shirt, and get out.”
(Watching your husband sleep so peacefully gives you an idea. Just how deeply is he really sleeping?)
Word Count: ~ 3k
Rating: E - Domestic smut, oral sex (m receiving), slice of life
Reader: Depicted as an agent in some lines
Author's Note: This was supposed to be a drabble, but oh well. Still counts! I got inspired the other day to write a little indulgent something for us, the readers 🤭 I imagine Leon has a much better sleep being married, more settled down and having that place where he can have nice things. And we just know our husband likes to be taken care of once in a while 🫦 Hope you enjoy! 💕
Your husband slept deeper and better than ever before. It was a realization that had crept in over time. The longer you had been Mrs. Kennedy, the more relaxed he had become.
By now, you knew that if you reached for him in the middle of the night, he wouldn’t jolt awake at the touch of your hand and ask what was wrong.
If you snuggled up to him, he wouldn’t angle his body in a way that let him spring up at any moment. Instead, he would let out a content sound and pull you close enough that his strong squeeze would leave you just a little breathless.
If you woke up before him, he wouldn’t abandon the sleep he so desperately needed just because of your quiet, waking energy.
And if you got up before him, the sight of the empty side of the bed wouldn’t send a sinking feeling through his stomach or startle him awake.
That he had managed to bring this kind of peace into his life over the years didn’t just satisfy you – it made you deeply, profoundly happy.
Even on this Sunday morning, when you had woken before him for once, you found yourself simply enjoying the sight of him breathing steadily beside you.
Warm morning light trickled through the fine gaps in your heavy bedroom curtains, just enough to let you see him clearly.
Leon lay on his back, one arm bent with his hand tucked behind his head, the other resting on his bare chest. He looked so peaceful – his face slightly turned toward you, completely relaxed, hair falling softly over his closed eyes, his breathing calm and even. His hand rose and fell with his chest, the soft blanket only just beginning at his waist – he always ran warm at night, while you pulled yours up to your chin to soak in every bit of comfort.
Propped up on your hand, you smiled, quietly blissful as you took in your handsome sleeping beauty. That the two of you had made it here – sharing a bed, a home, a life – felt almost unreal. So much had spoken against it: your lifestyle, your jobs, the constant danger that one of you might not make it home.
But you had tied the knot anyway. And it had been the best decision of your lives. Not only had Leon found a sense of peace in coming home – you had, too. You had gained a reason to return, no matter where you were. You had caught each other in a fall you had both willingly leapt into.
Carefully, you pressed your lips to his large bicep, perfectly angled in this position – a beautiful curve that always looked especially good beneath tight tactical attire. Even more so when he’d flash you that subtle grin and flex the trained muscle on purpose, coaxing a reaction out of you – somewhere between a nervous giggle and an appreciative hum. A lightness he had come to carry now, gifting you moments you cherished deeply.
You scattered soft, featherlight kisses across his firm skin, even placing a gentle one against his stubbled cheek.
Leon didn’t stir. He remained lost in sleep.
Part of you considered simply getting up and letting him rest – but at the same time, you wanted to stay right here. Ideally, you wanted to climb onto his big, comfortable, made-for-you body and make yourself at home there.
But then, another idea slipped into your mind. Why not? You could see how long it would take for him to wake up to a good morning blowjob.
A spark of excitement rippled through your body as the thought took root. Not that the two of you weren’t already familiar with slow, sleepy morning sex. On those quiet mornings, he would wake you with lingering kisses – soft and sensual against your neck, your shoulder, the curve where they met – pressing himself against you, hands wandering until you were awake enough to respond, to turn toward him and melt into his touch.
This time, though, you’d be sneaky about it.
You let your lips drift lightly over his skin, the touch barely more than a whisper of air – over his jaw, his neck, his collarbone.
Slowly, carefully, your body moved downward – the blanket rustled traitorously, but Leon didn’t seem to notice. He stayed exactly as he was, only drawing in a slightly deeper breath through his nose.
Encouraged, you placed one last kiss against his wrist before slipping beneath the covers, immediately surrounded by warmth – and the trapped scent of Leon, that unique blend of something like leather, metal, and wood.
His defined muscles, as always, offered strong contours beneath your touch. Solid abs greeted you – a blessing that he always slept shirtless.
And even if you liked to think you weren’t shallow, the reality of your ridiculously attractive husband certainly didn’t hurt. It only made you want to touch him more – to feel that firm physique beneath your hands, to trace every line… and eventually, to feel the way he softened under your touch, yielding so perfectly to you.
Here, in the middle of sleep, Leon was already soft. Not tense – just sunk into the mattress, at rest.
At least, except for one thing.
While you couldn’t resist tracing the contours of his six-pack with your lips, your hand wandered to his boxers – the only sleep attire he ever needed.
His morning wood pressed firmly against the soft cotton, a clear outline beneath your hand, perfectly tangible as always – long, straight, like it had been made for you.
A sense of satisfaction spread through you at the thought that you could start from a very… ready position today – even though it wouldn’t have mattered otherwise.
There was something especially intoxicating about feeling him grow fully hard in your mouth whenever you dropped to your knees for him unprompted – whether Leon was sitting at his desk at home, relaxing on the couch, or when you joined him in the shower.
He welcomed you everywhere.
This morning, your playful little idea seemed perfectly aligned with his cock – maybe he had already read your intentions.
You smirked softly before hooking your finger beneath the elastic of his boxers and tugging them down.
Even beneath the heavy blanket, barely able to see, you knew exactly how his tip looked as it was freed from the confines of the fabric.
A thick, beautiful head that always stretched you so perfectly when he pushed into you – maybe already glistening with a bit of precum now that you had started to work your magic on your handsome husband.
At the thought, you quickly decided on a small taste test, closing your lips around him in a brief but delicious kiss.
A few salty drops met your tongue as you let it glide over him, all while watching Leon closely for any reaction – was he already awake, waiting to see what you would do next?
As your tongue circled his tip, softening his skin with saliva, your fingers pushed his boxers further down, revealing more of his length – more for you to explore.
More kisses followed along his shaft, accompanied by small licks over the prominent veins – and he twitched beneath your lips. Whether the man himself was awake or not, his cock definitely was by now.
A quiet, pleased laugh slipped from you as you continued, savoring his reactions, tasting the salt of his skin, lavishing attention on him – a slow lick along his entire length, around him, your cheek pressing softly against him, growing wetter from your own watering mouth – all while you had to keep his boxers down so they wouldn’t get in your way.
Above the blanket, Leon’s irises moved rapidly beneath his closed lids as he drifted through a dream wetter than anything he’d had since teenage years.
Disjointed images of you in the most tempting little outfits flashed through his mind – then the memory of your first time, which had turned out so different from what he had imagined, yet far better than anything he could have dreamed of.
Images of him taking you on every available surface, his favorite place still the bed, where he could take his time with you.
“Mhm.” A low sound slipped from him as his body vibrated with growing arousal.
Somewhere at the edges of his hazy awareness, Leon realized he could easily come like this – like some teenager losing control in his sleep.
Slowly, sleep and dreams began to give way to something more conscious, his thoughts forming more clearly – though still entirely focused on you, his wife. If that floating feeling didn’t fade, he might just reach for you and whisper those dreams against your skin.
He shifted from the position that had brought on those vivid dreams, his eyes fluttering open as he searched for you beside him, his hand already reaching toward your shoulder –
But you weren’t there.
Leon frowned slightly, his mind still sluggish, trying to catch up with what was happening while he remained inexplicably aroused.
He almost sat up, ready to shake his head and bring himself down from the high – when it hit him that the heat had a very real source.
And it was beneath the blanket.
He felt it before his mind could connect the dots. Warm, wet heat against his hips, against his cock. Lips – movements he knew far too well. Fingers that had touched him countless times before, sliding soft and slick along his shaft.
A tongue circling the head of his erection – before a warm, perfect cave, your mouth, took him in completely.
Leon couldn’t see you – your entire body hidden beneath the blanket. All he could make out were the subtle, rhythmic movements of the covers.
And just like that, his brief confusion melted into pure, heavy relaxation.
His gaze drifted from the blanket up to the ceiling as he let his head sink back into the soft, heavenly pillow with a quiet sigh.
Married life was the best.
In moments like these, Leon sometimes regretted how long he had taken to propose to you. It was one thing when his girlfriend made him feel this good – but something entirely different when it was his beautiful wife.
When Leon adjusted his body, you realized he had woken up – and wasn’t stopping you. He lifted his hips, giving you the opportunity to pull his shorts all the way down so you wouldn’t have to hold the waistband anymore.
Both of your hands settled on his now thoroughly soaked length, fingers gliding along before wrapping around him, angling. You let him slide back into your mouth, taking him deep and purposeful, your lips closing firmly around him as your head moved up and down his perfect hardness – only to slow again moments later, letting him slip free as you exhaled.
The sloppy, breathless part was always the most fun about a good blowjob. When you were chasing your breath, soft sounds spilling from your throat, your mouth open, your tongue working as you made a mess of your face and his pelvis.
Leon’s hand settled on your back, just like it always did during longer sessions, showing his appreciation with light, wandering touches and quiet, breathy words.
“Hey, baby,” he murmured, his voice threaded with a heavy exhale. “Keep going for me.”
The sudden stimulation had lit his body up completely.
“God, you’re amazing.”
You knew him so well – knew exactly what he liked. The way you hummed softly around him, licked, sucked – so wet, so soft – perfect rhythm, perfect pressure. And most importantly: indulgent. Not rushed, but exactly the way you enjoyed it, too.
Leon loved it when you played with him like that – when your tongue wandered, when you kissed him. He could picture your watery eyes when you pushed just a little further, letting him slip past the barrier of your throat, making him see stars.
Every time he thought it couldn’t get any better, that you couldn’t possibly take him higher – you proved him wrong.
His eyes fluttered shut again, mind focused on nothing but you. Every single day with you felt like heaven – seventh, eighth, ninth, whatever – especially when you did things like this to him.
Without thinking, his hand moved from your back to your neck, gently massaging the soft skin there before his fingers tangled in your hair, searching for purchase, giving just the faintest nudge to keep going.
His lips parted for the heavy breaths his lungs struggled to keep up with, his heartbeat pounding hard in his chest.
You felt his fingers twitch against your scalp at the same moment his cock throbbed in your mouth, pressing against your slowly numbing lips. You knew he was enjoying this part the most, so you pushed through, keeping him firmly between your lips, your cheek hollowing, leaving no room for air.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, spilling freely down your already soaked face – mixed with spit from your messy, devoted attention – as you worked him with steady, purposeful movements, reading his cues, the pressure on your head telling you he was close.
God, how Leon wished he could see you right now – your perfect face, the way his cock disappeared into your mouth again and again. The thought alone sent heat crashing through his body, settling deep in his balls, ready to burst.
“That’s it,” he breathed. “Doing so good, baby. I’m gonna come.”
In his sleepy state, his orgasms always felt different, somehow better. Like his body moved without his mind, driven purely by instinct, desire, need.
Leon couldn’t help but grab a handful of your soft hair as he came hard, the force of it nearly stealing his breath entirely – if not for the deep, chest-shaking groan that tore from him as his body tensed, releasing his load into the depths of your mouth. His hips lifted just slightly, an instinctive movement he barely managed to catch.
You took him like a champ, even continuing to move your beautiful lips along him, letting him ride out his climax, focused on not choking as he spilled hotly into your throat.
Only when his small movements eased and his grip in your hair loosened did you allow yourself to slow, carefully licking him clean and swallowing what he’d given you.
You followed the gentle – so very gentle – pull of his hand in your hair back up, emerging from beneath the blanket. The air above felt almost cold, no longer thick and heavy with sex like the cocoon you had just left.
Leon’s eyes settled on your face instantly, reverence and so much love in them as he lifted both hands to cup your cheeks, wiping away the traces of your effort with his thumbs.
Your tears fell victim to his touch while you quickly wiped over your mouth and chin, clearing away the lingering wetness.
Already, your still slightly dazed, heavy-breathing husband pulled you closer – half guiding you onto his chest as his soft lips met your sore ones, offering immediate relief.
He kissed you deeply, intensely, with so much fire meant only for you – everything you deserved in worship and devotion. He tasted himself on your tongue as he licked into your mouth, finally having your face close to his again.
Strong arms wrapped around you, pressing you against his large, welcoming body, grounding you in safety and warmth, just like he always did. The perfect man, who treated time with you as something sacred.
A soft, loving hum slipped from your lips against his, a smile forming as you pulled back just enough to look at him – his post-orgasmic haze giving way to that deep, steady contentment you loved seeing on him. You were sure it mirrored your own expression perfectly.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said softly, a warm smile on his lips. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, my love.”
You leaned into his hand as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
“You are –” Leon exhaled, granting your lips another soft kiss, “ – so, so amazing. I’m on cloud nine.”
Your chest swelled with quiet pride at his praise.
“Love when you have fun with him like that, too,” he added with a teasing smirk.
“Yeah,” you giggled. “I had fun. Wasn’t sure if you’d wake up right away.”
“Well, either way, it was a pretty nice surprise.” One of his large hands playfully slipped beneath your silky nightgown, caressing the soft skin at the small of your back. “Want me to return the favor?”
At a single word, he would have buried his head between your thighs and not come back up until his cock had recovered enough to take you again – slow, deep, filled with everything he felt for you. Another kind of heaven, as so many of them revolved around you.
“Actually – ” you drew some random patterns on his skin, “ – I was wondering if you could make me some chocolate chip pancakes. With orange juice? I feel like having a nice breakfast with you.”
There would be time for more intimacy later. Right now, you felt a little softer, a little more vulnerable, and wanted to be taken care of.
Leon understood instantly. His hand slipped from beneath your nightgown, instead tracing slow, comforting lines along your arm.
“Of course.”
With a sudden, playful motion, Leon rolled you onto your back and hovered above you, drawing out that light, carefree laughter he loved so much – so unguarded, so full of trust, knowing you were exactly where you wanted to be.
Your eyes told him the same, soft and full of affection as you looked up at him, one hand cupping his cheek, fingers brushing over his stubble.
One last time, he leaned down and kissed you, taking a few indulgent moments with your lips before finally pulling away.
“You stay here. I’ll get breakfast ready, and we’ll eat in bed, yeah?”
“That would be amazing,” you smiled.
“Anything for my girl.” His gaze softened even further – if that was even possible – his eyes completely free of the weight you always tried to help him carry. “My wife.”
Summary: Leon comes home to a quiet house, a broken mug on the floor, and the sinking certainty that something is wrong. You should’ve been there. By the time he finds you, it’s already too late for things to be simple, but not too late to bring you back.
The road stretches out in front of him, long and dim, washed in the amber glow of streetlights that flicker past the windshield in steady intervals. Each one slides over him like a pulse, light, shadow, light again. It's late enough that traffic has thinned to almost nothing, the occasional pair of headlights drifting past like distant ghosts before disappearing into the dark.
It's late. Later than he told you he'd be. His hands rest loosely on the steering wheel, one thumb tapping absently against the sleek, black leather. The radio hums low, something forgettable that he isn't really listening to. His mind is already somewhere else. Somewhere softer.
Home.
There's a quiet kind of anticipation sitting in his chest, steady and familiar. You'll probably be asleep by now, or pretending to be, maybe upset because he didn't text you.
He can already picture it, the faint glow of the lamp, the way you'd shift when he walked in, like you always knew it was him even before he said a word. Maybe you'd mumble something about how late it is, voice thick with sleep, but your arms would still find him anyway. That part never changed, even if you were upset.
Leon exhales, long and slow. He's tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes in a single night, but the kind that lingers in the muscles, in the back of the mind, in the quiet spaces between thoughts. The mission hadn't been catastrophic, nothing that would make headlines or stick with him for years, but it had been enough. Enough to leave his shoulders tight, his reflexes still a fraction too sharp, his awareness just slightly out of step with the calm around him. It takes time for that to fade. It always does.
But you help. Just being near you does something he can't name. Like his body remembers how to stand down, how to unclench, how to exist without scanning every shadow for movement. It's a rare thing; he doesn't take it for granted.
The houses sit quietly, windows dark, the world settled into that deep, unmoving stillness that only comes in the middle of the night. No movement, no noise, just the low hum of distant electricity and the soft crunch of tires against pavement.
Leon slows as he pulls into the driveway, engine idling for a second longer than necessary. The engine clicks as it cools, metal ticking softly in the quiet. His gaze drifts to the front door. Something in his chest tightens. The porch lights are off. He knows you better than that. You'd never shut the porch lights off before he's home.
He lingers for a moment longer than necessary, fingers still resting on the wheel, that feeling brushing again at the edges of his awareness. It would be easy to dismiss it, to chalk it up to fatigue or the remnants of adrenaline that haven't quite settled yet. That happens sometimes. The body takes longer than the mind to understand that it's safe.
"Get a grip," he mutters under his breath, voice low and rough in the confined space of the car.
The night air is cool when he steps out, sharp enough to cut through the lingering haze in his head. It grounds him, brings everything back into focus as he shuts the door and starts toward the house. The walk is short and familiar, each step guided by routine more than by conscious thought. He's done this hundreds of times, returning from missions at odd hours, slipping back into a life that exists in the spaces between everything else.
His keys slide easily into the lock. The mechanism turns with a soft, familiar click. The door opens, and something shifts. It isn't immediate, not something loud or obvious. There's no sign of forced entry, no overturned furniture, no visible disruption waiting to greet him. At a glance, everything is as it should be. The entryway is intact, your shoes still near the door, your jacket hanging in its usual place. The house looks lived in, normal, untouched.
Leon pauses just inside the doorway, one hand still resting lightly against the door as it swings closed behind him. The silence presses in, thicker than it should be, carrying a weight he can't immediately explain. It isn't just quiet, it's still, the kind of stillness that feels unnatural in a space that's usually shared. His gaze moves automatically, sweeping the room with quiet precision. Every detail registers. Every shadow is accounted for. He doesn't think about it. He never has to.
"Hey," he calls out, his voice steady but low, carrying just enough to reach the next room. "I'm home."
The words settle into the silence and go unanswered. That, on its own, isn't unusual. You could be asleep, the house wrapped in the kind of quiet that comes with it. It wouldn't be the first time he's come back late enough to find you already resting, the world reduced to soft breathing and dim light.
Leon steps further inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click that seems louder than it should. The sound echoes faintly, swallowed quickly by the stillness. He shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair without looking, his attention already shifting past the entryway and into the rest of the house.
The living room is undisturbed. The couch sits as it always does, a blanket folded neatly over the arm, the pillows on either cushion are perfectly shaped in the corners, and the remote rests in its usual place on the table next to your book.
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly as he moves past, his focus narrowing toward the kitchen. There's a light on. It's a small detail, the kind most people wouldn't think twice about, but it stands out to him. You don't leave lights on when you go to bed. You never have. It's a habit, one of those small, consistent things that become part of a person without them realizing it.
Leon slows as he approaches, his steps quieter now, more deliberate. "You still up?" he calls again, softer this time, the words carrying less distance.
No answer.
He crosses the threshold into the kitchen and stops. At first, it doesn't fully register. His gaze catches on the shape, the disruption in the otherwise clean lines of the room, but his mind takes a fraction of a second longer to process what he's seeing.
A mug lies shattered on the floor. The pieces are scattered unevenly, some larger, some reduced to sharp fragments that catch the light at odd angles. A dark stain spreads beneath them, long since dried, its edges faintly dull against the tile. It's been there for a while.
Leon doesn't move. His attention fixes on it, sharp and unblinking, his mind beginning to assemble the details whether he wants it to or not. The position. The spread. The way the pieces fell. You dropped the mug. You didn't set it down or knock it over. You dropped it. His mind is already working, already assembling the sequence of events in the only way it knows how, reconstructing motion from stillness, cause from aftermath.
His gaze shifts, slow and deliberate, tracing the subtle disruption in the room. The chair. The scuff along the floor. The angle of it was just slightly off, like it had been forced back rather than pulled. There's no sign of a prolonged struggle, nothing overturned, nothing chaotic. Whatever happened here was quick. His realization settles somewhere deep, heavy, and unwelcome.
Leon exhales quietly, the sound barely audible, and steps further into the kitchen. His boots avoid the larger shards without thought, his path instinctively careful as his attention moves beyond the obvious, searching for what doesn't immediately stand out. That's where the truth usually hides.
His fingers brush lightly along the edge of the counter as he passes, grounding, steadying, before his gaze catches on something near the sink. At first, it doesn't register as anything unusual. Just another piece of the kitchen, another detail in a space he knows well enough to navigate in the dark. But something about it holds his attention a second longer than it should.
Leon steps closer, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly as the details come into focus. It's a casing. Metal, cylindrical, no larger than his thumb. Clean. Intact. Deliberately set, not dropped or discarded.
He doesn't touch it immediately. Instead, he studies it, his gaze narrowing as recognition begins to surface, slow and unwelcome. The design is subtle, almost unremarkable to anyone who doesn't know what they're looking for. No obvious markings, no bright identifiers.
But Leon knows better. He's seen something like this before. His hand moves then, precise and controlled, fingers closing around the casing with practiced care. It's lighter than it looks. His thumb turns it slightly, just enough for the faint etching along its side to catch the light. It's small. Nearly invisible unless you're looking for it. Not exactly Umbrella's symbol, but something newer, built from the debris.
Leon's jaw tightens, a muscle in his cheek flickering once as the last piece slides into place. This wasn't random. It wasn't a break-in. It wasn't chance, or opportunity, or someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. This was deliberate, targeted, and whoever did it wanted him to know.
The air in the room feels different now, heavier, like the walls themselves are closing in around the realization. Leon's grip on the casing tightens just slightly before he forces it to ease, control reasserting itself with practiced precision. Emotion can come later.
Right now, he needs clarity. He sets the casing back down exactly where he found it, careful not to disturb its position any more than necessary, and reaches for his phone. The motion is smooth and efficient, his mind already several steps ahead, pulling threads together and mapping out what comes next.
There are only a handful of people in the world who would leave something like this behind. Fewer still would dare to use it as a message.
The phone rings once. Twice.
Leon's gaze drifts back to the shattered mug on the floor, to the silence that's settled into every corner of the house, and for a brief moment, something flickers beneath the surface. It's cold and dangerous, leaving no room for panic.
The line clicks, and he wastes no time. "I need everything you have on Victor Gideon."
THREE HOURS EARLIER
The quiet in the house isn't unsettling. It settles around you like something familiar, something earned after a long day, the kind of silence that doesn't press too heavily but instead exists in soft layers. The lamp in the living room casts a warm, golden glow that pools gently over the couch and the edges of the coffee table, leaving the rest of the house in a comfortable dimness. Outside, the night has already taken hold, the world reduced to distant sounds that barely reach you, a passing car, the faint whisper of wind brushing against the windows, nothing that demands your attention.
You sit curled into the corner of the couch, one leg tucked beneath you, a book open in your hands. The pages shift slightly under your fingers as you read, though your focus drifts more than it settles. Your eyes move across the lines, but the words don't always stay with you, slipping away as your thoughts circle back to the same place they've been returning to all evening. You glance at the clock without fully meaning to, then back down at the page, then toward the door, a quiet, unconscious pattern that repeats itself before you even realize you're doing it.
Sometimes he doesn't have a chance to tell you he's going to be late. You knew that. You told yourself you wouldn't wait up this time. But here you are.
A small breath leaves you, something softer than a sigh, as you tilt your head back against the couch cushion. The book dips slightly in your hands, your thumb still marking your place even as your attention drifts completely away from it. It's not worry that keeps you awake, not exactly. You're used to this part of his life, the late nights, the unpredictability, the quiet spaces between when he leaves and when he comes back. It doesn't scare you the way it might have once. Not anymore. But that doesn't mean you don't feel it.
You sit up a little straighter after a moment, closing the book carefully and setting it aside on the table. The room feels just a touch too quiet now, the kind of quiet that makes you aware of your own breathing, your own movement, the small sounds that would normally go unnoticed. Your gaze drifts again, this time lingering on the front door, as if you could will it to open just by watching it long enough.
You push yourself up from the couch instead, the fabric shifting softly beneath you as your feet meet the cool floor. You fix the pillow in the corner of the couch, pushing it back and fluffing it up. The movement feels natural, easy, like slipping into a routine you didn't realize you'd already decided on. If you're going to stay up, you might as well make it count for something.
The kitchen light clicks on with a soft snap, brightening the space in an instant. The contrast from the dim living room is enough to pull you fully into the present, your surroundings sharpening into focus as you move further in. Everything is where it should be. Clean counters. Familiar shapes. The quiet hum of appliances that fill the silence just enough to keep it from feeling empty.
The coffee maker hums to life as you set it going, the low, steady sound filling the room in a way that makes it feel less still. You lean lightly against the counter while you wait, arms folding loosely as your gaze drifts again, unfocused now, pulled back into thought.
You wonder how the mission went. Whether it was one of the easier ones or something that left its mark in quieter ways. Leon never comes back unchanged, not really. Even on the good days, there's always something lingering beneath the surface, something in the way he holds himself, the way his eyes settle on things just a second longer than they should. You've learned to read those details over time, to understand them without needing him to explain.
Your expression softens without you realizing it. You'll see it the moment he walks through the door. You always do. And you'll meet him there, the way you always do. Sometimes with quiet, sometimes with warmth, sometimes with both. It's never something you plan out, never something you rehearse. It just happens, instinctively, the same way breathing does.
The coffee maker clicks softly as it finishes, the sound pulling you gently back into the present. You reach for the mug, wrapping your hands around it as the heat seeps into your skin, steady and grounding. For a moment, you just stand there, letting the warmth settle into your palms, letting the quiet exist around you again.
Your gaze drifts toward the doorway, toward the darker stretch of the hallway beyond it, and a faint smile touches your lips, subtle enough that you barely notice it. "C'mon," you murmur under your breath, your voice soft in the stillness. "You're taking too long."
You hear a soft tick against the window, like maybe a branch in the wind tapping against the glass. You look over, a weird feeling pooling in your stomach. At first, it's just a feeling, a subtle shift that brushes against your awareness without fully forming into thought.
You straighten a little, your fingers tightening just slightly around the mug as your gaze moves across the kitchen. Everything looks the same. Nothing has changed. The counters are clean. The light is steady. The space is exactly as you left it. And yet, the feeling lingers.
You listen more closely this time, your attention sharpening as you try to pinpoint what caused it. For a moment, there's nothing. Just the quiet hum of the house, the faint buzz of electricity, the soft settling of something far away.
Another sound. It's faint. Quick. Easy to miss if you weren't already paying attention.
Your head turns toward it immediately, your brows knitting slightly as your pulse gives a small, unexpected jump. "Leon?" you call, the name leaving you instinctively, hope threading through it before you can stop it.
The silence that answers is immediate.
Your grip tightens around the mug, the heat suddenly too noticeable, too sharp against your skin as your awareness shifts, sharpening into something more alert. "Hello?" you try again, quieter now, your voice carrying less distance, less certainty.
No response. But the silence has changed. It isn't empty anymore. It feels occupied. Your breath slows, shallow without you meaning it to be, as your eyes move carefully across the room, tracking shadows, edges, the negative space between things. Your body has gone still, instinct taking over in a way your mind hasn't quite caught up with yet.
There's a presence here. You can't see it. But you can feel it. A subtle awareness presses at the back of your neck, a quiet, unmistakable certainty that settles in before you can rationalize it away. You're not alone.
The realization doesn't come all at once. It unfolds slowly, like something being revealed piece by piece, each second stretching just long enough to let it sink deeper. Your heart picks up, not racing yet, but faster, heavier, each beat more noticeable than the last.
You take a small step back without thinking, your fingers brushing against the edge of the counter as if anchoring yourself to something solid. The kitchen suddenly feels too open, too exposed, every angle unfamiliar in a way it never has before.
There's a shift behind you, closer this time, unmistakable. Your breath catches as you start to turn, instinct finally overriding hesitation. But you don't get to finish turning.
The movement behind you is faster than your body can react to, faster than your mind can process, a sudden shift in the air that collapses the space between awareness and action into nothing. One second you're standing there, breath caught somewhere between instinct and realization, and the next there's a hand on you, firm and unyielding.
It clamps around your arm and wrenches you backward with a force that steals the ground out from under your feet. The world tilts sharply, your balance gone before you can even try to recover it. The counter digs briefly into your hip as you're pulled away from it, your body twisting on instinct, a startled breath tearing from your chest before you can stop it.
The mug slips from your hand. You don't feel it leave your fingers so much as realize it's gone, the warmth vanishing in an instant as gravity takes over. There's a split second where it hangs in the air, suspended between what was and what's about to happen.
Then it shatters. The sound is sharp. Violent in the quiet. Ceramic breaking against tile in a way that feels far too loud, far too final, the pieces scattering outward in a jagged arc as dark liquid splashes and spreads across the floor. It happens in the background of everything else, but it sticks, imprinting itself in your mind even as everything around you spirals out of control.
Your hands come up instinctively, grabbing at the arm holding you, fingers digging in as you try to twist free, your breath coming faster now, sharper. "Hey!" The word breaks out of you, half-formed, more reflex than intention, your voice catching as your body fights to regain control.
It doesn't work. The grip on you tightens, not frantic, not rushed, but controlled in a way that's somehow worse. Whoever is behind you knows exactly what they're doing. There's no hesitation in the movement, no wasted motion, just precision.
Your shoulder is forced back, your balance shifting again as your heel catches against the tile. For a brief, disorienting second, your gaze catches on the floor, on the shattered remains of the mug, on the dark stain already beginning to spread outward between the pieces.
Your heart is pounding harder now, the rhythm uneven, loud in your ears as adrenaline begins to surge, your thoughts scrambling to catch up with what's happening. You're not confused anymore. This is real, and this is happening to you.
You try again to pull free, your other hand coming up, reaching back, searching for anything you can grab onto, anything you can use. Your fingers brush fabric, then something harder beneath it, but before you can react, before you can even see, something presses against your face.
A cloth, rough and sudden. Your breath catches as the smell hits you, sharp and chemical, unfamiliar and immediately wrong. You jerk back on instinct, your body reacting before your mind can fully understand it, but the hold on you doesn't falter; it tightens.
Your lungs burn as you try not to breathe it in, your head turning sharply to the side, your movements desperate now, less controlled. Your hands come up again, grabbing, pushing, nails digging into anything they can find as panic begins to break through the edges of your control.
"Stop—" The word comes out strained, uneven, your voice already weakening as the world tilts again, the edges of your vision beginning to blur.
The room starts to slip, the sharp lines of the kitchen softening, distorting at the edges as your strength begins to falter. Your movements slow, not by choice, but because your body is betraying you, your limbs growing heavier with each passing second.
Your gaze drops again, unfocused now, catching one last glimpse of the floor. The shattered mug. The spreading stain. A moment frozen in place, already turning into something that will be left behind.
Your chest tightens as you try to pull in one more clean breath, but it doesn't come the way it should. Everything feels distant, like you're being pulled away from it piece by piece, your awareness slipping no matter how hard you fight to hold onto it.
The last thing you feel is the grip on you shifting, steady, controlled, as your body gives in. The last thing you hear is the quiet sound of movement in the house that was never empty, and then nothing.
Consciousness doesn't return in a clean, merciful line. It comes apart and back together in fragments, thin slivers of awareness pushing through a heavy, resistant fog that clings to you no matter how hard your body tries to surface. At first, there's no sense of where you are, no clear thought to anchor to, only sensation. A dull, distant awareness of your own weight presses against something solid beneath you, your limbs feeling slow and unresponsive, as though they belong to someone else entirely. There's a strange disconnect between intention and movement, like the signal is there but the response is delayed, muffled.
Sound finds you next, seeping in gradually rather than arriving all at once. A low, mechanical hum settles into your awareness, steady and unwavering, its presence so constant it almost feels like part of you rather than something external. It doesn't fluctuate or shift in tone. It simply exists, filling the silence in a way that makes the space feel controlled, contained. Beneath it, there's something softer, less predictable, a faint, irregular noise that might be water or machinery or something else entirely. It's too distant to identify, but close enough to remind you that you're not in a place meant for comfort.
Your breathing deepens unevenly as your body begins to catch up, each inhale dragging in air that feels heavier than it should, as though it carries a weight your lungs don't quite know how to process. Your chest rises a little too quickly, then steadies, then falters again as your system struggles to find a rhythm that feels natural.
When your eyes finally open, the light doesn't welcome you. It hits too harshly at first, blurring your vision into indistinct shapes and washed-out edges that refuse to settle into anything recognizable. You blink slowly, your lashes dragging as if even that small movement requires more effort than it should. The second attempt is steadier, your vision beginning to sharpen in reluctant increments until the ceiling above you comes into focus.
It's all wrong. That realization settles almost immediately, cutting clean through the haze with a clarity that feels almost jarring. The surface above you is smooth and industrial, broken only by faint seams that run in measured lines across it. A light fixture is embedded neatly overhead, its glow sterile and uninviting, casting illumination that feels functional rather than warm. There is no softness to it, no variation. It simply exists to reveal.
Your stomach tightens. Memory doesn't return gently. It forces its way in, sharp and fragmented, each piece colliding with the next in a way that leaves no room for denial. The kitchen. The quiet. The shift in the air. The hand. The smell. The mug.
Your breath catches, the reaction immediate and involuntary as your body attempts to respond before your mind can fully process. You try to sit up, the movement sudden, instinctive, driven by a need to orient yourself, to do something. The world tilts in response, your equilibrium failing you for a split second as your muscles protest the motion. A wave of dizziness pulls at the edges of your vision, the room threatening to slip out of focus again as your body struggles to cooperate.
Something stops you. The resistance is immediate, firm enough to halt your movement without jerking you back. It takes a second for your mind to catch up, for your gaze to drop and register what your body has already begun to understand.
Your wrists are bound. The realization lands heavy and cold, your pulse spiking in response as your hands instinctively pull against the restraint. The movement is quick, uncoordinated, driven more by reflex than thought, but the result is immediate and unchanging. There's no give, they're tight, and hold you down exactly like they're supposed to.
You slow, not because you want to, but because you have to, your breathing sharpening as you force yourself to look more closely. The material is unfamiliar, smooth against your skin but unyielding beneath your grip. It is not rope, not anything improvised or hastily applied. It feels intentional and manufactured. Meant to hold without question.
Your fingers flex against it again, more deliberately this time, searching for a shift, for anything, any weakness in its structure. There are none.
A slow breath moves through you, deeper this time, though it still catches slightly at the end as your chest tightens. Panic presses at the edges of your awareness, sharp and insistent, but it doesn't overtake you. Not yet anyway. You hold it there, contained, forcing yourself to focus on what you can control instead of what you can't.
The room is small, but not claustrophobic. Contained in a way that feels deliberate rather than accidental. The walls match the ceiling, the same sterile material, seamless and uninterrupted. There are no windows, no variation in texture or color, nothing to suggest time or place. The space feels isolated, cut off from anything beyond it.
Across from you, a door is set into the wall. It's solid, featureless from your side, with no visible handle or mechanism to open it. It blends almost too well into its surroundings, as though it is meant to go unnoticed until it becomes relevant.
Your shoulders tense slightly as your gaze drops again, taking in your position more carefully now. Your arms are secured in front of you rather than behind, which feels intentional in a way you don't like. It allows for movement, but not freedom. It gives the illusion of control while ensuring you have none.
A slow, measured breath fills your lungs as you force your body to settle, your thoughts beginning to align despite the lingering fog. You swallow, your throat dry, the motion grounding in its simplicity.
"Think..." you whisper, barely audible.
You piece it together as best you can, working backward from what you know. You were at home. You were waiting. You were safe until you weren't. The shift from one to the other had been fast. Too fast to fully process, too controlled to have been random. Whoever took you knew what they were doing. There had been no hesitation and no fumbling.
Your chest tightens again, thinking of Leon. The thought of him lands heavier than anything else, threading through the fear and the confusion with a sharp, undeniable weight. He wasn't there. He didn't see it happen. He doesn't know where you are. But one thing is certain, he'll know something is wrong. He'll know it the second he sees the porch lights off and the shattered mug.
Your eyes close briefly, not in defeat, but in focus, as you draw in another slow breath. He'll see it and he'll understand. And when he does he'll come looking.
The thought isn't really hopeful in the way you might expect. It's not fragile or uncertain either. It's something you hold onto without question. He will come.
Your eyes open again, sharper now, your awareness settling into something more controlled, more deliberate. Your gaze moves across the room once more, but this time with purpose, taking in every detail, every possible variable: the walls, the door, the light, the sound.
You're not safe. But you're not helpless. And whoever brought you here? They made one simple mistake, and that was taking you away from Leon.
The kitchen doesn't change. Even as Leon steps back, even as he forces himself to take in the full space again from a distance, nothing shifts, nothing rearranges itself into something easier to accept. The shattered ceramic still litters the floor in the same uneven arc, the dried coffee staining the tile in a way that speaks too clearly of time passed. The chair remains slightly out of place, the scuff mark near its leg catching the light just enough to make it impossible to ignore.
Everything is exactly as it was. And that's the problem. Leon's gaze moves slowly, deliberately, retracing the scene with sharper focus now that the initial shock has burned away into something colder. He doesn't rush. He never does. Every detail matters, and he knows better than to miss something because he moved too fast. His eyes track the path of disruption, from the counter to the floor, from the chair to the empty space where you should be.
He reconstructs it without thinking.
You were standing here. The mug in your hand. The machine still warm, recently used. You hadn't been waiting long. Maybe you were thinking about him, maybe you were distracted, maybe you didn't hear the first movement behind you. That's when the contact must have happened.
The mug drops. Shatters. You don't get the chance to react properly before you're already being restrained. There's no sign of prolonged struggle, which means whoever took you didn't need one. They knew exactly how to handle it. How to end it before it could escalate. All signs point to Victor.
Leon's jaw tightens slightly, the muscle flickering once as the image settles into place.
Staying won't give him anything new.
Finding you will.
He moves with purpose now, the transition so clean it almost feels like a switch has been flipped somewhere beneath the surface. The part of him that came home, the part that allowed himself to think about warmth, about rest, about you waiting on the couch, is gone. What's left is sharper, focused. Built for this, but wishing it wasn't you he was looking for.
"I need everything you have on Victor Gideon." Leon says, his tone even, stripped of anything unnecessary. There's no hesitation in it, no lead-in, no explanation offered before the request.
"That's not a name you drop casually," Hunnigan replies, quietly. "What happened?"
Leon steps out of the kitchen as he speaks, his gaze sweeping once through the living room, not searching anymore, just confirming. The space feels wrong now in a way that can't be fixed, the absence too loud to ignore.
"She's gone."
Hunnigan doesn't respond right away. He can hear it in the silence, the shift from listening to processing, the moment where this stops being a call and becomes a situation.
"When?" she asks.
"Within the last few hours," Leon answers, already moving toward the door. His free hand reaches for his jacket without looking, pulling it back on in one smooth motion. "It was a surprise attack."
"You're sure it's him."
Again, not a question.
Leon's expression doesn't change, but something in his posture tightens, something subtle that only shows if you know where to look. "I'm sure."
There's the faint sound of keys on the other end, fast and efficient, the rhythm of someone digging through things that aren't meant to be found easily. Leon steps outside as she works, the cool air hitting him again, sharper now, more grounding. The quiet of the neighborhood hasn't changed, but it feels different to him now, like a layer has been stripped back.
"Gideon's been buried for years," Hunnigan says after a moment, her voice threading through the line with a tighter edge. "Everything tied to Project Elpis was wiped or sealed. Official channels won't give us much."
"I don't need official," Leon replies, already moving toward his car. His steps are quick but controlled, each one placed with intent. "I need what slipped through."
"You'll have it," she says. There's no hesitation there, no pushback. She knows how this goes. "Give me a few minutes. I'll start with old Umbrella splinter data and see what overlaps."
Leon opens the car door but doesn't get in right away. His hand rests briefly against the frame, his gaze lifting toward the dark stretch of road ahead, his mind already moving beyond this moment, beyond this place.
"Leon," Hunnigan adds, her tone shifting just slightly. Not softer, but more deliberate. "If Gideon's involved, this isn't just leverage. He doesn't operate like that."
Leon's grip tightens almost imperceptibly against the door. "I know." Which means this isn't just about taking you. It's about using you.
The thought settles in without resistance, cold and immediate, but it doesn't derail him. It sharpens him further, narrows his focus into something that doesn't leave room for hesitation.
"I'll send you anything I find," Hunnigan continues. "Locations, contacts, even rumors. But Leon... don't disappear on me."
He exhales quietly, the sound barely audible over the line, more a release of breath than anything else. "I won't."
The line goes silent, an understanding quiet from Hunnigan as she works on her end. She'll dig, pull threads, and find what she can. Leon doesn't wait for it to be enough. He gets into the car, the engine turning over with a low, steady sound that cuts clean through the stillness. His hands settle on the wheel, familiar, steady, but there's a difference now in the way he holds it, a tension that wasn't there before, something coiled beneath the surface.
The car pulls out of the driveway, tires rolling over pavement with quiet intent as the house disappears behind him, shrinking into the dark like something already past. Somewhere out there, you're still breathing, and Leon is going to make sure it stays that way.
Time doesn't move the way it should in a place like this. It stretches, folds in on itself, becomes something difficult to measure without anything familiar to anchor it. The steady hum in the room never changes, never rises or falls, and without windows or shifting light, there is no natural rhythm to follow. You're left with your own breathing, your own thoughts, the subtle shifts in your body as the only markers that time is passing at all.
You've tried to count it. At first, it felt like something you could control, something to hold onto. Seconds stacking into minutes, minutes into something longer, a quiet attempt to impose order onto a place that clearly wasn't designed to have any. But the effort didn't last. Your focus slipped, your thoughts pulled elsewhere, and somewhere along the way, the numbers stopped meaning anything.
Now, you rely on smaller things. The way the air feels against your skin. The slight stiffness settling into your shoulders. The faint dryness in your throat that comes and goes in waves. They're not precise, but they're real, and right now that's enough.
You shift slightly where you sit, the movement careful, deliberate, testing the limits of what the restraints allow without drawing unnecessary strain. They haven't loosened. Not even slightly. Whatever they're made of, whatever mechanism holds them in place, it was designed with intention, with the expectation that resistance would come.
Your gaze drifts across the room again, slower now, more practiced. The walls haven't changed. The door remains closed, silent, offering nothing in the way of clues. There are no seams visible from this side, no indication of how or when it might open. The light overhead continues its steady, sterile glow, unchanging, indifferent.
It would be easy to let the stillness get to you. Easy to let your thoughts spiral, to fill the silence with fear, with everything you don't know, everything you can't control. The uncertainty presses at the edges, persistent, waiting for an opening.
Leon is still on your mind. But the thoughts come quieter than before. You picture him the way you last saw him, not physically, but in memory, in the small details that always stick. The way he moves when he's tired but trying not to show it. The way his voice softens just slightly when he's talking to you, even if he doesn't realize it. Surely he's on his way by now. He has to be looking for you already.
A sound breaks through your thoughts. It's subtle, like a door somewhere else in the building closing. Your body stills instinctively, your breathing slowing as your focus sharpens, every sense narrowing toward the source.
It's nearly silent, the kind of movement designed not to draw attention, but you feel it more than you hear it. A faint change in pressure, a slight adjustment in the air as the seam of the door separates just enough to allow it to open.
The light in the hallway beyond is dimmer, cooler, casting a muted contrast against the sterile brightness of the room. A figure steps through it, their movement unhurried and controlled, immediately setting the tone of the space. He's in no rush. And he probably doesn't need to be.
The door closes behind him with the same quiet precision, sealing the room again as if it had never opened at all. Your gaze lifts to meet him fully now, your posture tightening despite your effort to remain composed. Every instinct in your body sharpens at once, awareness spiking as you take him in.
There's nothing subtle about the wrongness of him. He stands just within the light, and it reveals too much all at once. His frame is tall but uneven in a way that isn't immediately obvious until you look closer, his posture held upright with deliberate control rather than natural ease. The long coat he wears hangs heavily from his shoulders, patterned and textured in a way that feels almost ornamental at a distance, but up close only adds to the sense that everything about him has been chosen with intention rather than comfort.
His skin is the first thing that truly settles in. It's pale, but not in any natural sense of the word. The color sits wrong, stretched thin across his face and neck with a texture that looks almost brittle, as if it might crack under pressure. Faint, branching lines run beneath the surface, subtle but visible, like fractures that were never meant to heal properly. They trace along his jaw, disappear beneath the collar of his coat, and reappear again near his mouth, where they pull slightly when he speaks, distorting the movement just enough to make it feel off.
Your focus shifts higher to his eyes. Or what's been done to them. Metal curves along his temple and cheek, anchoring multiple lenses over one eye, each one different in size, each catching the light in a way that makes it impossible to tell where he's actually looking. One lens glows faintly, a dull, artificial point of red that remains steady even as he moves, unblinking, unchanging.
"You're awake," he says finally.
Your jaw tightens slightly, but you don't respond immediately. You hold his gaze instead, steady despite the tension coiling beneath your ribs, refusing to give him anything more than what he can already see.
He takes a step closer. Then another. Each one is deliberate, controlled, the distance between you closing in a way that feels calculated rather than threatening. He stops just outside your reach, his attention never leaving you, his expression unchanged.
"Good," he continues, as if confirming something to himself rather than speaking to you directly. "That makes this easier."
Your fingers curl slightly against the restraint, the motion subtle, controlled, as your mind begins to work again, piecing together what you can from what little you've been given.
"Where am I?" you ask, your voice steady despite the dryness in your throat.
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, his gaze shifts briefly, taking in your position, the restraints, the room, as if reviewing something already familiar. When his attention returns to you, there's something faintly different in it now. Interest.
"That's not the question you should be asking," he replies. A small pause follows, just long enough to make the silence feel intentional. "You should be asking why."
Your stomach tightens, but your expression doesn't change. You don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even as the weight of his words settles in. Because he's right. You know as well as he does that this was planned.
His head tilts slightly, studying you in a way that feels less like observation and more like evaluation, as though he's measuring something you can't see.
"Tell me," he says, his tone still calm, still clinical. "How long do you think it will take him to find you?"
Your breath steadies, your shoulders squaring just slightly as you meet his gaze without hesitation.
"...Not long," you answer.
For the first time, something shifts in his expression. It isn't a smile, but it's damn close.
"Good," he says quietly. "Maybe he will enjoy this show."
Even as every instinct in your body urges you to, even as the weight of his attention presses heavier with each passing second, you hold your gaze steady. There's something instinctive about it, something that refuses to give him more than he already has. If he's studying you, measuring you, the least you can do is make sure what he sees isn't fear.
His head tilts slightly, the movement small, almost thoughtful, as though he's adjusting his perspective rather than reacting to anything you've done. The lenses over his eye catch the light as he shifts, reflecting it in fractured pieces that make it impossible to track where his focus truly settles.
"Confidence," he says quietly, more to himself than to you. "Interesting."
The word doesn't sound like praise. It sounds like a note he says out loud.
Your fingers tighten slightly against the restraint, the motion subtle, controlled, your body grounding itself in something physical as your mind continues to work. Every word he says matters. Every reaction, every pause. You don't know what he's looking for yet, but you can feel the structure of it, the way this interaction isn't random. It's being observed.
"People tend to default to fear in unfamiliar environments," he continues, his tone calm, measured in a way that never rises or falls enough to offer you anything to read. "It's efficient. Predictable. Useful, in its own way."
He takes another step closer, closing what little distance remains between you. Not enough to invade your space completely, but enough that you can see the fine details more clearly now, the unnatural texture of his skin, the faint pull of those fractured lines when he speaks, the stillness of him that never quite resolves into something human.
"You didn't," he adds.
You don't respond immediately. Your throat is still dry, your body still adjusting, but your mind is sharper now than it was when you first woke up. You weigh your words before you let them go, not out of fear, but out of instinct.
"I don't know what you want yet," you say finally, your voice steady despite the tension coiled beneath it. "Seems like a waste to panic before I do."
There's a pause. It stretches just long enough to feel intentional, to make you aware of the silence again, of the hum threading through it, of the way his attention sharpens just slightly in response.
"Efficiency through restraint," he murmurs, almost thoughtfully. "You're already adapting."
Your chest tightens slightly at that, the implication settling in before you can stop it. This isn't just a conversation. It never was. Every response, every choice you make, is feeding into something larger, something you still can't fully see.
"You're trying to understand the situation before reacting to it," he says. "That's... uncommon, given the circumstances." Another small pause. "Encouraging."
Your jaw tightens, but you don't let it show beyond that. You don't give him the reaction he might be looking for, even as your mind starts connecting pieces you didn't want to consider.
Encouraging. Not for you. For him.
"For what?" you ask, the question leaving you before you can stop it, quieter than before but no less steady.
This time, he doesn't answer immediately. His gaze shifts, not away from you, but through you, as if he's considering how much to say, how much to reveal. When his focus settles again, there's that same faint edge of interest behind it, something clinical and precise.
"You're not here by accident," he says. "Of course, I'm sure you've noticed that already."
Your breath slows, just slightly, your body stilling in a way that has nothing to do with the restraints. He knows you knew that already. You felt it the moment you woke up, the moment everything about this place told you it had been planned.
"That still doesn't explain why." Another pause, longer this time.
He studies you in silence, the kind that feels less like hesitation and more like calibration, as though he's deciding how to frame something in a way that serves his purpose best. When he speaks again, his voice hasn't changed, but the weight behind it has.
"Your physiology is unusual," he says, the words chosen carefully, deliberately. "Your system doesn't respond the way it should. Exposure markers without degradation. Cellular stress without collapse. You maintain equilibrium where others don't."
Your stomach drops. You don't interrupt him, but your mind begins to run wild.
"You've been exposed before," he continues, his voice lowering just enough to feel more precise, more deliberate. "Not directly. Not in a controlled environment. But enough to register. Enough for your body to adapt."
"That's why you were viable," he continues, stepping just slightly closer again, close enough now that there's no distance left to soften the details of him. "Your body doesn't reject. It regulates. That makes you exceptionally useful."
"And Leon?" you ask before you can stop yourself, the question slipping through the cracks of your control, quieter now, edged with something you don't fully let surface.
His gaze sharpens just slightly. The reaction is immediate, though subtle, the kind you would miss if you weren't already watching for it. For the first time since he entered the room, his focus shifts in a way that feels more deliberate, more precise.
"Ah," he says softly. He's not surprised. "So that's where your thoughts go."
Your chest tightens, but you don't look away. You won't give him that. He watches you for another moment, that same quiet assessment settling back into place before he continues.
"He is not the reason you're here," he says. "He is the reason this works."
The distinction is small, but it changes everything. Your breath catches, just slightly, the meaning threading through his words before you can fully stop it. This isn't about leverage. Not in the way you expected. Not in the way it should be. This is something else.
"You're measuring him," you say, the realization forming as you speak it, your voice quieter now, more focused. "Through me."
That almost-smile returns faintly.
"Not just him," he replies. "Both of you."
The room feels smaller now. Tighter, like the walls have shifted inward without actually moving.
"You are the constant," he continues, his tone returning to that same calm, clinical cadence. "He is the variable. Time, distance, stress. All measurable. All predictable to a degree."
Another pause.
"But what interests me," he adds, his gaze settling fully on you again, "is where those predictions fail."
The hum in the room seems louder now, but maybe you're just more aware of it, more aware of everything. Whatever this is, it didn't start when you woke up. It started without your knowledge, without Leon's knowledge, long before this kidnapping.
The road stretches forward in a long, unbroken line, disappearing into darkness that feels thicker the further it goes. The headlights carve a narrow path through it, illuminating just enough of what's ahead to keep moving, but never enough to feel certain about what comes next. It's the kind of drive Leon has made countless times before, late hours, empty roads, the quiet space between one mission and the next. Usually, it gives him time to think, to let the tension settle, to put distance between what happened and what comes after.
Tonight, though, it does none of that.
The engine hums steadily beneath his hands, the vibration traveling up through the steering wheel and settling into his arms, a constant, grounding presence that does little to ease the pressure building in his chest. His grip is firm, controlled, but tighter than it needs to be, the leather faintly creaking under his fingers before he forces it to relax again. His gaze stays locked on the road ahead, sharp and unwavering, but his mind isn't there.
It keeps going back to the house, the silence, the space you were supposed to be when he came through the door. He's already reconstructed it more times than he can count, every detail, every shift, every second leading up to the moment you were taken. Not because he doubts what happened, but because that's how he works. He breaks things down until there's nothing left to question, nothing left to guess.
But there's still something missing. A gap he can't quite fill yet. And until he does, everything feels slightly out of reach.
His phone cuts through the silence. The sound is sharp against the steady hum of the engine, immediate and unwelcome, and Leon answers it without hesitation, his thumb moving across the screen before the second ring can finish.
"Talk to me."
On the other end, Hunnigan wastes no time. There's a tightness in her voice that wasn't there before, something controlled but unmistakable, the kind of tone she uses when what she's about to say matters more than the way she says it.
"I found something," she says. "But you're not going to like it."
Leon's expression doesn't change, but his attention sharpens, narrowing further as his grip adjusts slightly on the wheel. "Start talking."
There's a faint pause, the quiet sound of keys in the background as she pulls something up, cross-checking even as she speaks.
"I went back through what's left of the Elpis records," she says. "Most of it's been scrubbed, but there are fragments, overlapping data sets that didn't get fully erased. Personnel logs, incident reports, civilian exposure lists."
Leon's jaw tightens just slightly. "Get to it."
"Your wife's name is in one of the files."
Leon doesn't respond immediately. His grip tightens without permission, the leather pressing back against his palm before he forces his hand to ease again.
"That's not possible," he says finally, his voice low and even, but there's something under it now. Not disbelief.
"It shouldn't be," Hunnigan replies. "But it is."
The silence that follows stretches just long enough to make it feel heavier than it should.
"There was an incident," she continues. "Years ago. Small-scale containment breach tied to an off-site Elpis facility. It never went public. No major outbreak, no media coverage. It was contained quickly and buried even faster."
Leon's eyes flick briefly to the side, catching his own reflection in the mirror for a fraction of a second before returning to the road. His focus splits, part of him still driving, the rest already moving through what she's saying, fitting it into something that makes sense.
"Location?" he says.
"I'm sending it," she replies. "But listen first."
He doesn't interrupt again.
"There was a civilian exposure list," she says. "People in proximity to the breach. Most of them showed standard symptoms. Some didn't survive. A handful were flagged for follow-up monitoring and she was on that list."
The confirmation settles into him slowly, like something sinking deeper the longer it stays there. It doesn't hit all at once. It builds, piece by piece, until there's no space left to ignore it.
"She never told me," Leon says.
The words are quiet, more to himself than to her, but they carry weight all the same.
Hunnigan exhales softly on the other end. "She might not have known the full extent of it," she says. "Or it was downplayed. Low-risk exposure, no visible symptoms, something they monitor quietly and then classify out of relevance."
Leon's jaw shifts, tension settling in his shoulders as he processes that. It doesn't sit right. None of it does. "Define monitored."
"Periodic evaluations," Hunnigan answers. "Bloodwork, cellular scans, long-term observation. Nothing invasive on record, but enough to track irregularities."
Irregularities.
"What kind?" Leon asks.
There's the sound of keys again, faster this time. "Adaptive response markers," she says. "Her system didn't react the way it should have. No degradation, no instability. It just stabilized. Balanced itself out."
Leon's grip tightens again before he reins it in, the motion controlled but deliberate. The road ahead blurs slightly at the edges, not from distraction, but from the weight of what's settling into place.
"She was exposed," he says, the words quieter now, more grounded.
"Yes."
"And he knows."
"That's the part we can't ignore," Hunnigan replies. "If Gideon has access to those records, or if he's been tracking survivors from that incident, then this wasn't random."
Leon doesn't need her to finish. He already understands.
"There's more," she says after a moment. "The facility tied to that breach... it was never fully decommissioned. Officially, it was abandoned. Unofficially, there are signs of recent activity. Power draws. Data pings. Someone's been using it."
Leon's focus sharpens instantly, something locking into place with quiet certainty. "Send everything."
"I just did."
The phone vibrates in his hand, the incoming data lighting the screen briefly. He glances at it just long enough to confirm coordinates, then looks back to the road, his path already adjusting in his mind before the turn even comes into view.
"If her biology is what we think it is, then she's not just leverage."
Leon cuts her off, his voice sharper this time, but not raised. "I know what she is."
There's a brief silence after that, not tense, just understood. Because to him, none of that changes the only thing that matters. You're still you.
"Be careful," Hunnigan says quietly.
Leon doesn't respond. Instead, his foot presses down on the accelerator, the car surging forward just slightly as the dark road stretches ahead, no longer empty, no longer uncertain. Now it leads somewhere. All that's left is direction. Somewhere at the end of it is you.
Gideon's hand doesn't move quickly. There is no rush in him, no sudden motion that might trigger instinct before thought. Everything he does is measured, deliberate, as if even the timing has already been calculated. His fingers close around your wrist with quiet precision, the contact firm enough to hold, but not forceful enough to bruise. It's control without struggle, restraint without effort.
Your shoulders tense, your muscles tightening instinctively as your other hand pulls once against the restraint before you force it still again. You don't give him more than that.
"Try to remain still," he says, his voice low, even, not unkind but entirely without comfort. "Movement interferes with consistency."
Instead, you focus on the pressure of his hand, on the grounding weight of it, on the way your breathing moves in and out of your chest as you force it to slow. You tell yourself to watch. To remember. If this is happening, then it matters how.
His other hand comes into view. A small device rests between his fingers, compact and precise, more clinical than threatening at first glance. The casing is metallic, clean, designed for efficiency rather than intimidation. A narrow chamber holds a clear substance that catches the light just enough to make it visible without revealing anything about what it actually is.
Your stomach tightens. "What is that?" you ask, the question quieter than you intend, but steady enough to hold.
Gideon doesn't look at the device. He's watching you.
"A variable," he says.
Your grip tightens slightly against the restraint, your breath slowing again as you brace yourself without meaning to. Your body knows before your mind fully accepts it. There's no time to argue, no space to negotiate.
He adjusts your wrist, turning it just enough to expose the inside of your arm. A sharp, precise pressure breaks the surface of your skin. A quick, controlled intrusion that sends a reflexive jolt through your system before you can stop it. The substance pushed into your system with practiced ease before the device withdraws just as smoothly as it entered. Gideon releases your wrist immediately after, stepping back without hesitation.
You don't speak. You can't even really try. Any words dissolve somewhere between your chest and your throat as the sensation deepens, spreading through you in a way that is impossible to ignore now. What began as something subtle, something easy to question, shifts into something far more defined, far more present. Heat blooms beneath your skin, not sharp or burning, but insistent, like your body is trying to correct something it doesn't understand.
Your breathing falters, then steadies, then falters again as you try to regain control over it. Each inhale feels just slightly heavier than the last, your lungs working harder for something that should come naturally. Your shoulders tense, pulling inward without permission as your muscles react to the unfamiliar strain. It doesn't hurt but the sensation is wrong.
Your fingers curl against the restraint, tightening instinctively as your pulse begins to climb, each beat more noticeable than the last. You can feel it in your wrists, in your throat, in the space just behind your ribs, a steady, growing rhythm that feels just slightly out of sync with everything else.
You force a breath in slowly, deliberately, holding it for a second before letting it out through your nose, trying to anchor yourself to something familiar, something controlled. It works, for a moment. The sharp edge of the sensation dulls just slightly, enough to give you the illusion of stability.
Gideon watches all of it. He hasn't moved from where he stepped back, his posture unchanged, his gaze fixed on you with that same clinical precision. There's no urgency in him, no concern, only observation, as though everything happening is exactly as expected.
"Elevated response," he says quietly, almost to himself. "But contained."
The words settle into the space around you, detached and measured, like he's reading from something already written rather than reacting to what he sees.
You swallow again, your throat tightening as the heat shifts, pulling inward now, concentrating somewhere deeper in your chest. For a brief moment, it feels like your body is bracing for something worse, something sharper, something that hasn't fully arrived yet. Your shoulders draw back as you try to sit straighter, your body instinctively fighting the sensation, pushing against it rather than giving in. Your breath comes faster for a second, then you force it to slow again, dragging it back under control one piece at a time.
Another wave moves through you, stronger this time, your muscles tightening in response as the heat spreads again, this time more evenly, less chaotic. It rolls through your arms, your chest, your core, like something searching for imbalance and failing to find it.
Your brow furrows slightly.
That's new. The initial spike of discomfort doesn't escalate the way you expect it to. Instead of building into pain, it... evens out. The sharp edges smooth, the irregular rhythm of your pulse settling into something steadier, something controlled despite the foreign presence still threading through your system.
Gideon's head tilts slightly as he watches the shift happen, the lenses over his eye catching the light as he adjusts his angle just enough to follow the change more closely.
"There it is," he murmurs.
The words are quiet and they carry something like confirmation in them. You feel it too. The wrongness doesn't disappear, but it changes, becoming something your body can hold rather than something it's fighting. The heat lingers, but it no longer spikes unpredictably. Your pulse steadies, your muscles easing just slightly as the initial strain fades into something more controlled.
The realization settles in slowly, unwelcome but undeniable.
You draw in another breath, deeper this time, testing it, measuring it the same way he is. It comes easier now. Not normal, not entirely, but closer than it should be given what just happened.
"What did you do?" you ask again, your voice quieter now, steadier despite everything.
Gideon doesn't answer immediately. His gaze remains fixed on you, tracking every shift, every subtle adjustment in your posture, your breathing, your expression.
"A baseline disruptor," he says after a moment. "Something that should introduce instability."
Your jaw tightens.
"Should." His head tilts again, that same small, thoughtful motion.
"In most cases, it does," he replies. "The body rejects it. Overcompensates. Breaks equilibrium in an attempt to regain it."
His gaze sharpens just slightly. "Yours didn't."
You swallow again, your throat less dry now, your body still humming faintly with the aftereffects of whatever he introduced.
"You're watching for failure," you say, the realization forming as you speak it, your voice gaining a slight edge despite your control.
A faint shift crosses his expression again, not quite a smile, but something that acknowledges the accuracy of it. "Yes."
The answer is simple.
"And when you don't get it?" you press, your fingers tightening slightly against the restraint again, grounding yourself in something solid as your mind continues to move.
"Then I adjust," he says.
Your chest tightens again, but not from the lingering effects of whatever he gave you. This could be just the beginning. Gideon steps back slightly, creating distance again now that the immediate observation is complete. His attention doesn't leave you, but his posture shifts just enough to signal that this phase, whatever it was, has reached its conclusion.
"For now," he adds quietly, almost as an afterthought, "you stabilize."
The second time, there is no warning. You see it in the shift of his posture, in the way he reaches for the panel again with the same precision, but there's something different now. Not in his movement, or in his expression, but in the certainty that settles into the space around him.
He's no longer observing you. He's about to escalate this.
Your body tenses before he even turns back toward you, every muscle tightening instinctively as your pulse begins to climb again. The lingering effects of the first injection haven't fully faded. You can still feel it beneath your skin, that faint, controlled hum of something unfamiliar that your body has somehow contained.
Gideon steps back into your space, the device in his hand similar in shape to the first, but not identical. The chamber holds something darker this time, the liquid catching the light in a way that makes it impossible to mistake the difference.
"That one didn't break me," you say quietly, your voice steadier than you feel. "So now you're going to try harder."
He doesn't deny it. "Adjustment is necessary," he replies, his tone as calm as before. "The first response confirmed baseline stability. This will test the limits of it."
You close your eyes and think of anything else. Home. Leon. He'll be here soon, you know it. Your fingers curl against the restraints again.
"He's still a variable." Gideon adds, almost absently.
"You mean me," you say.
"No, you're the constant."
Before you can respond, before you can push back against it, his hand closes around your wrist again, firm and controlled. This time, you don't pull away. Not because you don't want to, but because you already know it won't matter.
You brace. The injection comes faster. The pressure is sharper this time, the intrusion deeper, less subtle. Your breath catches immediately, your body reacting before you can suppress it, a sharp inhale breaking through your control as your muscles tense hard against the restraint.
It hits hard. There's no delay this time, no gradual creep. The sensation floods through you all at once, a violent surge beneath your skin that feels like your body is being pulled in two different directions at the same time. Heat spikes instantly, sharper than before, not spreading evenly but crashing through your system in jagged waves that refuse to settle.
Your breath breaks. You don't mean to. You want to keep quiet, composed. But the sound tears out of you anyway, raw and uncontrolled as your back arches slightly against the chair, your muscles tightening in a way you can't stop. It hurts and it hurts deep. Your chest constricts, your lungs struggling to pull in air as your pulse spikes violently, each beat slamming harder than the last. The heat turns into something sharper, something that burns through your limbs and settles in your core, like your body is trying to reject something it can't.
You try to fight it instinctively. Your hands clench, your shoulders pulling tight as you try to force your breathing back under control, but it slips, stutters, breaks again as another wave hits. Another sound escapes, and you don't recognize it at first, then you realize it's you.
Leon continues moving in. There is no space for distraction, no room for anything beyond the task in front of him. His breathing is steady, his pulse controlled, his body moving with the kind of precision that comes from years of experience and instinct working in perfect alignment.
When he reaches the door, he waits, listens. At first he hears nothing and reaches for the handle. Just the faint hum of something internal, too low to identify clearly from outside, too consistent to ignore completely. It's the kind of sound that suggests machinery, containment, something running beneath the surface where it can't be seen.
Then he hears it. Faint, distant, but unmistakable. A sound that doesn't belong to the building. His body stills instantly, every sense sharpening as his head tilts just slightly, his focus shifting inward, past the walls, past the structure, toward the source.
It comes again. Muffled and broken. Something in him snaps. He knows that sound, even distorted beneath layers of concrete and distance. He knows your voice, and you're not speaking this time, you're in pain.
Leon's hand closes around the handle, the controlled precision changing into something sharper, something faster as his entire focus locks onto one singular point. You're here. And you're close enough to hear.
Inside, the pain doesn't fade. It only builds. Another wave crashes through you, harder than the last, tearing through whatever control you managed to hold onto as your body fights something it doesn't understand. Your breath fractures again, your chest tightening painfully as you try to pull in air that won't come fast enough. Your vision blurs at the edges, the room tilting slightly as your muscles strain, your entire body reacting in ways you can't stop.
Gideon just stands there watching. Unphased by your struggle. Focused on whatever it is he's trying to figure out now.
"Instability present," he murmurs, his voice distant against the rush of sensation flooding your system. "But not catastrophic."
Your hands clench harder, your body trembling now, caught between resisting and adapting, between breaking and holding. Another scream tears from you, louder this time, less controlled. Somewhere beyond the walls, Leon is moving as fast he as can, getting closer with every second.
The door doesn't creak. It opens easily. Leon notices as he slips inside, his movement controlled and immediate, his body already adjusting to the change in the environment before the door fully closes behind him. The night are disappears in an instant, replaced by something cooler, denser, the faint sterile scent of filtered air layered over something metallic and difficult to place.
The darkness inside isn't complete. Low-level lighting runs along the edges of the corridor ahead, thin strips embedded into the walls that cast a dim, clinical glow across smooth surfaces. It isn't enough to illuminate everything, but it doesn't need to. It's designed for navigation, not comfort.
Leon pauses just inside the threshold out of instinct. His gaze moves quickly, but not carelessly, tracking the length of the corridor, the corners, the ceiling, the floor. Every surface is too clean, too controlled, the kind of space that isn't meant to be lived in, only used. There are no visible cameras, no obvious surveillance, but that doesn't mean he isn't being watched.
Leon steps forward. His footfalls are silent against the smooth flooring, his weight shifting with practiced precision as he moves deeper into the corridor. The hum he heard outside is louder now, no longer distant, but integrated into the structure itself. It vibrates faintly through the walls, through the floor, through the air.
Every doorway he passes is closed, seamless against the walls, giving nothing away about what might be behind them. There are no signs, no labels, nothing to indicate function or direction. The only thing that keeps him directionally bound is the sound of your pained screams.
Leon's jaw tightens slightly as he continues forward, his mind mapping the space as he goes, committing every turn, every distance, every possible exit to memory. If something goes wrong, he needs a way out. He needs a way to you. The thought sharpens his focus further.
Another scream escapes you. Leon stops. Not abruptly, but enough that his entire body stills, his head turning just slightly as he isolates it. The corridor stretches ahead in two directions at the next intersection, identical in structure, identical in lighting, offering no immediate indication of which path leads where.
Something shifts in Leon instantly, something deeper than instinct, something that bypasses thought entirely. His chest tightens hard, his breath shortening for a fraction of a second before it steadies again, forced back under control through sheer discipline.
He moves faster now, but not reckless, his steps still placed with precision as he turns down the corridor where the sound came from. The distance closes quickly, the hum of the facility growing louder as he goes, layered now with something else.
Every second stretches. Every step matters. He passes another door, then another, his gaze flicking briefly toward each one, searching for anything that stands out, anything that breaks the pattern. Then he sees a difference.
One of the doors ahead is slightly recessed compared to the others, its surface broken by a narrow panel along the side, faintly illuminated in a way that suggests active use. It isn't obvious. It isn't meant to be.
Leon slows as he approaches, his body lowering just slightly, his hand moving instinctively toward his weapon as he positions himself beside the frame rather than directly in front of it. His breathing steadies again, controlled, measured, his focus narrowing to a single point.
Another pained sound escapes your throat and Leon knows that you're in the other side. For a brief moment, everything compresses, the space, the sound, the distance between where he is and where you're collapsing into something immediate and undeniable.
He reaches for the panel. His fingers hover for half a second, assessing, calculating. Locked, most likely. Secured in a way that won't respond to a simple override. So he doesn't try. Instead, he shifts his stance slightly, his weight settling, his grip tightening as he prepares to force it. Inside, the sound rises again. Sharper. More raw. And that's all it takes.
Leon moves. The impact is controlled, precise, his force directed at the weakest point of the frame rather than the center. The panel cracks first, a sharp fracture that breaks the seal just enough to compromise the structure. He doesn't stop there. A second, stronger hit. The mechanism gives. The door buckles inward with a dull, heavy sound, the controlled quiet of the facility breaking for the first time since he entered. Leon doesn't wait for it to settle. He pushes through.
Inside, the world doesn't make sense all at once. It comes in fragments. The dim lights are too bright. The air is too cold. The sound of your own breathing breaking apart as another wave crashes through you, your body no longer able to hold the same control it did before. The heat has turned into something sharper, something that burns through your system in uneven pulses that refuse to stabilize.
Your hands are clenched tight enough to ache, fingernails cutting through your palm, your muscles trembling under the strain as your chest rises and falls too fast, too shallow.
The door breaks. The sound cuts through everything. Sharp. Violent. Wrong.
Your head jerks instinctively toward it, your vision struggling to focus, the edges still blurred, the room tilting just slightly as your body tries to keep up with everything happening at once. For a split second, you don't understand what you're seeing. A familiar shape, quick movements. Another yell rips through you, the pain washing through your entire body again.
Gideon turns slightly, a full smirk playing on his lips as he recognizes who came through the door. He doesn't startle and doesn't retreat. He wanted this moment, he waited for this moment.
Leon.
The room seems to hold itself in suspension, the harsh overhead light cutting everything into sharp, unforgiving clarity. There is no shadow deep enough to hide in here, no corner untouched by the sterile brightness that reveals every detail whether it should be seen or not. The hum of the facility continues beneath it all, steady and mechanical, a constant reminder that this place was built for function, not for the moment unfolding inside it. The only sound to be heard now is your panicked breathing between screams.
Leon stands just inside the broken doorway, his body angled slightly forward, not quite advancing, not quite holding back. His breathing is controlled, but not calm, each inhale measured, each exhale tight, like something is being forced into place rather than settling naturally.
His gaze doesn't go to Gideon first. It goes to you. It finds you immediately, as if there was never any question where you would be, as if every step he took through the facility had already narrowed down to this exact point. His eyes move over you quickly at first, instinctively checking, assessing, searching for what's been done, what's still happening, what he might already be too late to stop.
He sees the tension in your body, the way your hands are clenched too tightly against the restraints, the uneven rise and fall of your chest as your breathing struggles to keep pace with something inside you that hasn't settled. The faint tremor running through your muscles isn't subtle enough to miss, not to him.
His jaw tightens. Something shifts behind his eyes, something darker, sharper, but it doesn't break through his control. Not yet.
"Leon—" Your voice doesn't come out the way you expect it to. It catches halfway, thinner than it should be, pulled tight by everything still moving through your system. Even saying his name takes more effort than it should, your breath hitching slightly as you try to push past it. But he hears it.
"I've got you," he says, his voice low, steady in a way that feels deliberate, like he's anchoring both of you at the same time. There's no hesitation in it, no question, just certainty, even if the situation in front of him doesn't offer any.
Gideon moves, turning with the same measured precision he's carried through every moment so far, his posture unchanged, his attention shifting from you to Leon as though the interruption is simply another variable entering the equation.
He studies Leon in silence for a moment, his head tilting slightly as if adjusting to a new data point rather than reacting to a threat.
"Earlier than projected," he says, his words calm. Observational.
Leon's attention shifts then, just enough to acknowledge him, but not enough to lose sight of you. His body remains angled between you and Gideon, instinctively placing himself in that space, that line, even before he's fully closed the distance.
"You picked the wrong person," Leon says, his tone controlled but edged now, something tight beneath it that doesn't quite surface but doesn't hide either.
Gideon doesn't react to the threat. If anything, his focus sharpens.
"No," he replies. "I selected precisely the right one."
Leon's gaze flickers back to you, just for a second, taking in the way your shoulders tense again as another wave moves through you, the way your breathing stutters despite your effort to keep it steady. Grunts of pain escape your lips.
"What did you do to her?" he asks.
There's no softness in his voice. Gideon doesn't answer immediately. Instead, his gaze shifts between the two of you, not weighing, not comparing, but observing, as if this moment itself is something worth studying.
"A controlled introduction," he says finally. "A stressor designed to disrupt equilibrium."
Your fingers tighten again as another pulse moves through you, your body reacting despite your efforts to contain it. You try to steady your breathing, to keep yourself grounded, but the sensation hasn't fully faded. It lingers beneath your skin, quieter than before, but still present, still wrong.
"And?" he presses, his voice lower now, more dangerous.
Gideon's expression doesn't change. "She stabilized. Handling it quite well actually."
The words hang in the air. Leon's jaw tightens harder, his focus snapping fully to Gideon now, the meaning settling in faster than it should.
"That wasn't supposed to happen," he says.
Gideon's head tilts again, that same small, deliberate motion.
"Not typically," he agrees. "But she is not a typical subject."
Your chest rises sharply again as another smaller wave moves through you, your body still adjusting, still reacting in ways you can't fully control. You grit your teeth against it, forcing yourself to stay present, to stay aware, because Leon is here now, and that changes everything.
Leon takes a step forward slowly. His attention splits again, half on Gideon, half on you, calculating distance, timing, risk. Every movement is deliberate, every shift controlled, but there's something coiled beneath it now, something that's getting harder to keep contained the longer he stands there.
"You're done," Leon says.
Gideon doesn't move to stop him. Doesn't reach for anything. Doesn't even step back.
"If that were true," he says quietly, "you wouldn't have made it this far."
Leon moves again, faster this time. He closes the distance between you in a matter of seconds, his focus narrowing completely as he reaches your side. His hands come to the restraints immediately, his touch careful despite the urgency behind it, his fingers checking the mechanism, the material, the way it's secured.
"Hey," he says, softer now, his voice dropping just enough to reach you through everything else. "Stay with me, alright?"
Your head tilts slightly toward him, your vision still not fully steady, but clearer now than it was before. Being this close to him, hearing him, it cuts through some of the noise, some of the disorientation.
"I'm—" You try to answer, but the words falter as your breath catches again, your body still not fully cooperating.
"Observe," he says softly. The word is almost lost beneath the sound of your breathing, but Leon hears it.
"I'm not part of your experiment," Leon says.
Gideon's gaze doesn't waver. "You already are."
Leon's grip tightens slightly against the restraint before he forces it to ease, his focus snapping back to you, back to what matters. The mechanism gives slightly under his touch, not completely, but it gives you some relief.
"Almost there," he murmurs, his voice low, steady, meant for you alone.
Your breathing hasn't fully settled, but it's better than it was. The violent spikes have dulled into something more contained, your body still reacting, still adjusting, but no longer overwhelming you completely. You hold onto his voice, onto the presence of him beside you, grounding yourself in something real while everything else still feels just slightly out of place.
"Leon..." Your voice is quieter now, strained but clearer, your fingers twitching faintly against the restraint as you try to steady yourself.
He glances at you briefly, just enough to confirm you're still with him, still holding on. "I've got you," he says again. And for a second, you believe it.
His hands still against the restraint, his body pauses just long enough to register the change before his head lifts, his attention snapping back toward Gideon. "You should have left when you had the opportunity, Leon."
Leon's jaw tightens, his posture shifting almost imperceptibly as he angles himself more fully between you and Gideon, his body placing itself there without thought, without hesitation.
"You're done," he says, quieter now, but edged with something harder, something less controlled.
Gideon's head tilts slightly. And then he moves. There's no warning, no buildup. One moment, he stands across the room, the next, he's there, the space between them collapsing in an instant. Leon reacts on instinct, his body turning, his arm coming up to intercept. But Gideon doesn't strike. He grips Leon's shoulder, then the force hits.
Leon's footing breaks as he's yanked sideways with a strength that doesn't belong to anything natural. The world shifts violently, the ground slamming into his back with a force that knocks the breath from his lungs before he can brace against it.
The impact echoes through the room, sharp and final.
"Leon!" The sound leaves you before you can stop it, your voice breaking through the space with a sharp edge of fear you can't contain this time.
Even as the air rushes back into his lungs in a strained inhale, his body rolls with the impact, momentum carrying him through the motion as he pushes himself back up. There's no pause, no recovery beyond what's absolutely necessary. His focus snaps back immediately, locking onto Gideon with a precision that overrides everything else.
Something in Gideon begins to change. A tension that wasn't there before, something coiling inward rather than expanding outward. His posture tightens, his shoulders drawing slightly as though containing something that no longer fits cleanly within him. The fractured lines beneath his skin darken, spreading in faint, branching patterns that pulse subtly with something alive.
You gasp because you can see it now. Something moving under his skin.
"Adaptation requires progression," Gideon says, his voice lower now, heavier, as though it's being pulled from somewhere deeper.
The mechanical apparatus over his eye flickers, the lenses shifting rapidly, adjusting in small, precise movements as if recalibrating to match whatever is happening inside him.
Leon's stance lowers instinctively, his weight settling, his body aligning for impact as his gaze tracks every shift, every unnatural movement.
"Yeah," he mutters under his breath, quieter, sharper. "Saw that coming."
A sound comes next. It's wet and wrong. A tearing pressure beneath the surface that builds for just a second too long before it breaks. His arm jerks slightly, not in pain, but in adjustment, his fingers flexing once, twice, before something forces its way through. The fabric of his sleeve splits as dark, sinewy appendages push outward, emerging from beneath the skin with a violent, organic motion that defies anything natural.
They unfurl rapidly, extending outward with unsettling control, each one moving with a purpose that suggests awareness rather than randomness.
Leon doesn't wait. He moves first.
The moment the tendrils fully extend, he closes the distance, fast and direct, his movement cutting through the space before Gideon can fully settle into whatever he's becoming. His strike is precise, aimed to disrupt, to interrupt the transformation before it completes.
But one of the tendrils reacts faster. It lashes out, snapping forward with unnatural speed, wrapping tightly around Leon's arm mid-motion. The grip is immediate, constricting hard enough to halt him completely, the pressure sharp and unyielding. Leon's jaw tightens as he tries to pull free, his muscles straining against it.
You see it before it happens, faint arcs of electricity flickering along the length of the appendage, gathering, intensifying, the air around it crackling with something volatile. You try to call to Leon but another wave of pain rushes through you, head to toe, halting everything and stealing your voice, your breath, your mind.
The discharge hits. It tears through Leon in a sharp, violent burst, his body locking for a split second under the force of it before the sound breaks from him, low and strained, forced out despite his control. The tendril releases him just as quickly. He's thrown back, his body hitting the ground hard enough to echo again, the impact reverberating through the room.
Leon lies unmoving on the floor and it's the most helpless you've ever been. Restrained with no way to help your husband, who is only here to save you.
His hand presses against the floor, his body pushing up again, slower this time, but no less determined. His breathing is heavier now, sharper, each inhale drawn in with effort, but his focus hasn't shifted a single time.
Across from him, Gideon stands taller. The human shape is still there, but it's no longer dominant. The tendrils move slowly behind him, shifting, adjusting, as if testing their range, their strength, their control. The air around him feels charged now, faint arcs of energy flickering intermittently, unstable but contained.
"This is where it becomes meaningful," Gideon says, his voice steady despite everything else.
The room doesn't hold its shape for long. It gives in stages, like something under pressure, finally reaching the point where it can no longer hold.
At first, it's only the sound. A low, strained groan somewhere deep within the structure, metal bending where it was never meant to, the clean lines of the facility distorting under the weight of what Gideon is becoming. The sterile hum that once filled the space flickers, falters, then surges unevenly, as if the systems built to sustain control are now struggling to contain it.
Gideon stands at the center of it, no longer still in the way he had been before, but not uncontrolled either. The transformation does not make him wild. It makes him larger, more present, more impossible to ignore. The tendrils extending from his body shift with a purpose that's no longer exploratory. They coil and stretch in slow, deliberate motions, each movement accompanied by faint arcs of electricity that crackle through the air and dissipate against the walls in sharp, fleeting bursts of light.
Leon watches him without retreating. His breathing is heavier now, his chest rising and falling with effort, but there's no hesitation in the way he holds his ground. His body adjusts in small, precise ways, weight shifting, stance lowering, every muscle aligning with instinct and experience. He's already recalculating, already adapting to something that should not exist, because that is what survival has always required of him.
Gideon tilts his head, the mechanical lenses over his eye flickering rapidly as they track Leon's movement. "You continue to respond within projected thresholds," he says, his voice altered now, layered faintly with something deeper that resonates beneath the words. "Even under escalating conditions."
Leon doesn't answer. There's no space for it, no value in it. The moment Gideon's tendrils shift inward, drawing close to his body as the electricity along them intensifies, Leon understands what's coming. The air sharpens, the faint scent of ozone thickening as the energy builds, no longer scattered but concentrated, focused into something far more dangerous.
He moves before it releases. The discharge tears through the space where he stood a fraction of a second before, a violent arc of electricity that slams into the far wall with enough force to fracture the surface, the impact flashing white-hot before fading into smoke and sparks. The light burns briefly across Leon's vision, but he doesn't slow. He uses the opening created by the attack, the brief window where Gideon's focus shifts to recalibrate, and closes the distance instead of retreating.
The first strike lands cleanly. It snaps Gideon's head to the side, not with enough force to drop him, but enough to confirm what Leon needs to know. The thing in front of him can still be hit. It can still be interrupted. It can still be fought.
The response is immediate. The tendrils lash outward with far less restraint than before, their movements sharper, more aggressive, each strike aimed not just to stop Leon but to overwhelm him. He pivots through the first, deflects the second, the impact sending a jolt up his arm that he absorbs without breaking rhythm. The third comes from behind, forcing him to drop low, the appendage slicing through the air just above him before slamming into the wall hard enough to crack it further.
The room is coming apart now. Panels loosen and fall, fragments of the controlled environment scattering across the floor as the fight pushes beyond anything it was designed to contain. The hum of the facility distorts into something uneven, lights flickering in brief, erratic pulses that cast the entire space in shifting brightness.
It's all too much for your body as you fight whatever is coursing through your veins. The flashing lights, the pain bursting in waves. Darkness creeps at the edges of your vision as you watch Leon try to take down Gideon.
Gideon steps forward into the chaos, his movement heavier now, less human in its weight but no less precise. "Damage acknowledged," he says, the words strained slightly as the transformation continues to push through him. "Adaptation required."
The tendrils retract again, but not in retreat. They coil tightly around him, drawing inward as the electricity intensifies along their length, brighter now, more volatile. Leon recognizes the shift immediately, his posture tightening as his focus sharpens further. This is not another strike. This is an escalation.
Gideon's body convulses with sudden force, the remaining structure of his human form breaking further as the mutation surges forward. The tendrils expand again, thicker, longer, their movement more erratic as the transformation accelerates. His frame distorts, growing beyond its original shape, the balance of control giving way to something far more aggressive, far less contained.
The walls crack under the pressure. Metal groans and bends as the space struggles to hold him, the controlled environment collapsing into something unstable and dangerous.
He moves through the chaos, faster now, more direct, his path cutting between the snapping tendrils and crackling arcs of energy with a precision that leaves no room for hesitation. One shot strikes his shoulder as he passes, the impact heavy enough to stagger him a step, but he doesn't stop. He can't. Another slams into the ground beside him, sending debris upward in a sharp burst that grazes his side, but he pushes through it, closing the distance before Gideon can fully adjust.
This time, Leon commits. There's no testing strike, no probing movement. Everything aligns into a single, decisive action as he drives forward, his focus narrowing to a singular point. The moment opens, brief and dangerous, and he takes it.
The shot lands. The sound cuts through the chaos, sharp and final, the impact hitting with enough force to break through what remains of Gideon's structure. For a fraction of a second, everything seems to hold, the movement, the sound, the space itself pausing as the effect settles in.
Gideon collapses. The tendrils recoil violently, the electricity along them snapping out in erratic bursts before dying completely. Gideon's form distorts further, not expanding now but breaking down, the structure of it failing in on itself as the mutation loses cohesion. The surface of him shifts, softens, destabilizes, the defined shape melting into something unrecognizable. He doesn't fall, but dissolves.
The mass that was Gideon collapses inward, losing form, losing structure, the remnants of his transformation breaking apart into something viscous, unstable, spreading across the fractured floor in uneven, darkened pools. The last of the energy dissipates into the air, leaving behind only the fading hum of a facility no longer fully functioning.
The silence that follows doesn't feel real. It settles too suddenly, too completely, pressing in around the room like something waiting to be acknowledged. Moments ago, everything had been noise and motion and impact, the air alive with electricity and strain, the structure itself fighting to hold together under the weight of what had been happening inside it. Now, all of that is gone, leaving behind only the faint, uneven hum of failing systems and the quiet drip of something cooling against the fractured floor.
Leon doesn't move right away. His chest rises and falls with heavier breaths than he'd allow himself under normal circumstances, each inhale dragging in air that still smells faintly of ozone and heat. The tension hasn't left his body yet. It lingers in his shoulders, in the set of his jaw, in the way his fingers flex once at his side like they're still expecting resistance.
His gaze remains fixed for a second longer on what's left of Gideon, the dark, formless remains spread across the floor where something controlled and deliberate once stood. There's no movement there now, no sign of reformation, no indication that anything is coming back from it. Just the aftermath of something that pushed too far and lost its shape completely.
Only when that certainty settles does Leon turn. Everything that had been held tight during the fight, all that focus, all that precision, redirects in an instant, snapping back to you with a force that feels almost physical. His eyes find you quickly, already expecting to see you where he left you, restrained, struggling, still fighting through whatever Gideon put into your system.
You're there. You're upright. The restraints still hold you in place, your body angled slightly forward where you'd been straining against them earlier. But the tension is gone. The movement is gone.
Leon's chest tightens sharply.
"Hey..." The word leaves him before he's even fully crossed the distance, his steps closing the space between you faster now, no longer measured, no longer cautious. The control he held onto through the fight slips just enough to let urgency through.
He reaches you in seconds, hands coming up to your cheeks. "Hey, hey—" His voice drops, softer but edged now, the words coming quicker than before as he leans closer, his gaze scanning your face, searching for any sign of response. "Come on, stay with me."
Your skin is warm beneath his hand, warmer than it should be, the heat lingering from whatever Gideon forced into your system. Your pulse is there too, faint but steady against his fingers, a rhythm that reassures him just enough to keep moving, to keep focused. But your eyes don't open.
Leon exhales through his nose, the breath sharper than he intends as he shifts his grip, his hand sliding more securely along your arm as he checks you over with quick, practiced movements. There are no visible wounds beyond the restraint, no obvious signs of physical damage from the outside, but that doesn't mean anything here.
"What did he do to you..." he mutters under his breath, the question not meant for an answer, just something that slips out as his mind tries to piece together what he's seeing with what he already knows.
He adjusts his position, moving closer, his hands returning to the mechanism with more urgency than before, but not less care. His fingers find the weakened point he'd started working earlier, the subtle give in the structure that hadn't been enough then but might be now.
"Alright," he murmurs, quieter again, as if you can hear him even like this. "I've got you, sweetheart. Just hold on."
His grip tightens slightly as he applies pressure, shifting his angle and forcing the mechanism in a way that strains against it rather than working with it. The material resists at first, holding firm like it was designed to, but Leon doesn't stop. He adjusts again, changes direction, increases force just enough to push it past its limit without snapping it in a way that could hurt you.
Finally, the first wrist comes loose. Leon doesn't hesitate. He works the opening immediately, pulling it wider, freeing your other wrist carefully but quickly, his hand catching yours the second it's loose, steadying it before it can fall.
"Got it," he breathes, more to himself than anything else.
For a second, he doesn't move you.
He just stays there, one hand still around yours, the other hovering near your shoulder like he's bracing for something, like he's expecting you to wake up, to react, to do something. When you don't, the tension shifts again. Softer this time. More careful.
Leon slides his arm behind your back, supporting your weight as he eases you forward, out of the position the restraints held you in. Your body doesn't resist. It leans into him instead, unsteady, the lack of awareness making the movement feel heavier than it should.
"I've got you," he says again, quieter now, the words closer to a promise than anything else.
He adjusts his hold, one arm secure around you, the other steadying your head as he lowers you just enough to get a better look at you. His thumb brushes lightly along your cheek without thinking, grounding himself in the contact as much as he's checking you.
Leon's jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn't let it spiral. Not now. Not when you're right here, when you're breathing, when he can still do something about it.
"Come on," he murmurs, his voice low and steady again as he shifts his grip, preparing to move. "You're not staying here."
The facility groans faintly around them, a reminder that whatever stability it had before is gone now, systems failing slowly in the aftermath of Gideon's collapse. The lights flicker once, then again, the hum dipping unevenly as something deeper in the structure begins to shut down.
Leon doesn't wait to see how far it goes. He gathers you more securely against him, lifting you carefully, mindful of your condition, of the way your body still hasn't fully recovered from whatever was done to it. His movements are controlled again, but the urgency is back, sharper now, focused entirely on getting you out.
As he turns toward the broken doorway, his grip tightens just slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to make sure you're there.
The facility doesn't sound the same on the way out. What had once been a steady, controlled hum has fractured into something uneven, strained, like the structure itself is struggling to keep up with systems that are failing faster than they can compensate. The lights flicker overhead in irregular pulses, casting the corridor in shifting bands of brightness and shadow that make the space feel unstable, unfamiliar, even though Leon had just moved through it minutes before with absolute clarity.
Your weight is secure against him, one arm braced firmly around your back, the other supporting you beneath your legs as he moves through the corridor with controlled urgency. Every step is precise despite the pace, his body adjusting instinctively to keep you steady, to minimize the jarring motion that might make things worse.
Your head rests against his shoulder, your breathing warm against his neck, uneven but present. He keeps track of it without thinking, each inhale and exhale a quiet reassurance that cuts through everything else.
"Almost out," he murmurs, more to himself than to you, his voice low and steady even as the world around him shifts.
The door he forced open earlier hangs unevenly now, the frame warped just enough to leave it partially ajar. Cool night air seeps through the opening, cutting through the sterile atmosphere behind him and bringing with it the scent of damp earth and open space.
Freedom.
Leon doesn't hesitate. He pushes through, stepping out into the night in one smooth motion, the shift in environment immediate and grounding. The air is colder here, cleaner, and for the first time since he entered the facility, his lungs pull in a breath that doesn't feel heavy.
The car is exactly where he left it, partially obscured by the treeline, its dark silhouette blending into the surroundings. He heads straight for it, his pace steady but urgent, every second outside the facility a step further away from everything that just happened.
Your body shifts slightly in his arms. At first, it's subtle. A change in weight. A small, uncoordinated movement that could easily be dismissed as nothing. But Leon feels it immediately. His grip tightens just slightly, enough to steady you as his gaze drops briefly, searching your face for confirmation.
Your brows furrow faintly as your breathing changes.
"Hey," he says, softer now, his voice dropping instinctively as he adjusts his hold just enough to support you better. "Easy. You're alright."
"...Leon?" The word comes out quiet, rough around the edges, like your voice hasn't fully returned yet.
He hears it immediately.
"I'm here," he answers without hesitation, his voice closer now, steadier, like he's anchoring you through the haze. "I've got you."
Your eyes open slowly, the night sky above you blurred at first, shifting slightly with each step he takes. It takes a second for things to settle, for your vision to catch up enough to focus, and when it does, you see him again. Up close and real, not the image you forced yourself to see while Gideon was tormenting you.
Your fingers twitch weakly against his jacket, the movement small but intentional as you try to ground yourself in something you recognize.
"I told... told him you'd save me." You barely get out. "You're... okay?"
"I'm fine," he says, though it's not the point. "You're the one I'm worried about."
You let out a faint breath, something that might almost be a laugh if your body had the strength for it. It fades quickly as a dull ache rolls through you again, your muscles tightening instinctively before easing.
"Feel like... a million bucks..." you murmur.
Leon reaches the car quickly, shifting his hold just enough to open the passenger door without setting you down, his movements efficient despite the care behind them. He lowers you into the seat gently, one hand steadying your back as the other guides your legs in, making sure you're settled before pulling back.
For a moment, he doesn't close the door. His hand lingers briefly against your shoulder, his gaze scanning your face again, checking, confirming, making sure you're still with him.
"I'm right here," he says quietly, reaching up to caress your cheek.
You nod faintly, your head resting back against the seat, your body still heavy, still not fully your own, but more present than before.
Leon closes the door and rounds the car quickly, sliding into the driver's seat and starting the engine without hesitation. The headlights cut through the darkness ahead, illuminating the path back in a way that feels far more real than anything inside that facility ever did.
As the car pulls away, the building disappears behind them, swallowed by the trees and the night as if it was never meant to be found. For a few minutes, there's only the sound of the road under the tires.
Leon taps a few buttons on his infotainment screen. The dial tone sounds in the car.
"Leon?" Hunnigan's voice comes through, alert immediately.
"I found her," he says.
There's a pause. Then relief, quiet but unmistakable. "Is she—"
"She's alive," he cuts in, glancing briefly toward you before returning his focus forward. "But Gideon got to her first. He injected something. I don't know what."
Your eyes shift toward him slightly at that, your focus hazy but present enough to follow the conversation. There's a brief sound of typing on the other end.
"If it's Elpis-related, it's not going to be simple," Hunnigan says. "You need to get her checked out as soon as possible. I can pull what I have on Gideon's compounds, but if he refined anything—"
"Bringing her now," Leon says, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument.
There's a pause.
"Understood," Hunnigan replies, quieter now. "Monitor her until then. Watch for instability, changes in heart rate, neurological response, anything abnormal."
Leon's grip tightens slightly on the wheel. "Yeah," he says. "Already am."
"I'll send you everything I find," she adds. "Leon, you did well."
He doesn't respond to that. He ends the call a second later, the quiet of the car settling in again as the road stretches ahead.
Your head turns slightly toward him, your voice softer now, more grounded despite the lingering exhaustion. "...You always do that," you murmur.
He glances at you briefly. "Do what?"
"Act like... you weren't worried," you say, your words slower now, but clearer.
Something in his expression softens, just slightly. "I was," he admits.
The answer is simple. Honest. And it sits between you in a way that doesn't need anything added.
The road carries you forward, the distance between where you were and where you're going growing with every second. It still feels longer on the way back. The distance hasn't changed, but every second now carries weight Leon didn't have time to feel before. The urgency hasn't left him. It's just changed shape, sharpened into something quieter, more focused, more dangerous in its own way.
He doesn't take the direct route home. He turns off sooner than expected, the car shifting onto a narrower road that disappears deeper into the trees. The headlights carve through the darkness in long, steady beams, illuminating a path that doesn't look like it leads anywhere permanent.
You notice the change, even through the lingering haze. Your head shifts slightly against the seat, your eyes half-lidded but tracking the unfamiliar surroundings as best you can.
"This isn't home," you murmur, your voice still softer than usual, weighed down by exhaustion and something else you can't quite place.
Leon glances at you briefly, just long enough to confirm you're still with him.
"No," he says. "Not yet."
The road narrows further before it opens into something unexpected, a structure set back from the tree line, low and unmarked, its exterior deliberately unremarkable in the same way the facility had been, but cleaner, maintained. A single light glows near the entrance, steady and controlled. Safe. Or as close as it gets.
Leon pulls up without slowing more than necessary, the engine cutting the moment the car stops. He's out of the vehicle in seconds, moving around to your side, the door opening before you fully register the shift.
"I've got you," he says again, quieter now as he reaches in, one arm sliding behind your back, the other beneath your legs as he lifts you carefully from the seat.
Your body responds this time. Weakly. Your hand finds his jacket again, fingers curling into the fabric without thinking, holding on as the ground shifts beneath you.
"Leon..." you breathe, your voice unsteady but present.
"I know," he murmurs. "Just trust me."
The door to the building opens before he reaches it. Hunnigan stands inside, already moving and prepared. There's no surprise in her expression, no wasted time on relief, just immediate focus as her eyes take you in, assessing faster than words could keep up.
"This way," she says, stepping aside.
Leon doesn't stop. The interior is brighter, cleaner, the air carrying that same clinical sharpness, but without the wrongness that clung to Gideon's facility. This feels controlled in a different way. Not experimental. It's protective.
He follows her down a short corridor and into a room already set up, equipment active, monitors ready, everything positioned with intention.
"Set her here," Hunnigan directs.
Leon lowers you onto the table with care, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary as he makes sure you're stable before pulling back. He doesn't step far and doesn't look away.
A nurse comes over immediately, her hands steady as she begins checking vitals, attaching sensors, her focus sharp and efficient.
"Heart rate elevated but stable," she murmurs, more to herself than to either of you. "Temperature's up, not unexpected."
You flinch slightly at the contact, your body still sensitive, still not fully under your control as the lingering effects of the injection continue to hum beneath your skin.
"What did he give her?" Leon asks, his voice low, controlled, but tighter than before.
She doesn't answer right away. She moves quickly, pulling a sample, running it through a portable analyzer already humming to life on the counter beside her.
"Give me a second," she says.
The machine processes faster than anything standard, its quiet mechanical sounds filling the space between your uneven breathing and the tension settling heavier in the room.
Leon's attention doesn't leave you. Your eyes drift toward him, unfocused at first, then clearer as your body fights its way back toward something resembling normal.
"I'm okay," you try, your voice softer now, but he doesn't buy it.
"I know," he says, but it doesn't sound like agreement.
It sounds like reassurance for himself more than anyone.
The machine beeps. Hunnigan's attention snaps to it immediately, her eyes scanning the results as they populate across the screen. Her expression tightens, just slightly, something small but enough for Leon to catch it.
"What is it?" he asks.
She exhales quietly. "It's a modified Elpis compound," she says. "Derivative strain. Designed to destabilize cellular response and force rapid adaptation."
"And?"
The nurse looks at you, then at the screen, chiming in. "It should've caused systemic failure," she says. "Organ stress, neurological breakdown... worst case, full collapse."
Your stomach drops faintly, even through the haze.
"But it didn't," Leon says.
"No," Hunnigan replies. "It didn't."
She taps the screen lightly, pulling up another set of data.
"Her system compensated," she continues. "Regulated instead of rejecting. It's stabilizing the compound instead of letting it spread."
"What does that mean?" you ask.
"It means you're not in immediate danger," the nurse says. "But it also means whatever he put into you isn't gone."
Your fingers curl slightly against the surface beneath you, your breathing steadying more now as the worst of the earlier effects fade into something duller, more manageable.
"...so I'm not dying tonight?" you ask, your voice quiet, but clearer now.
Hunnigan looks at you directly.
"No," she says. "You're not."
Leon exhales, probably louder than he intended. It's the first real release of tension since he found you. Hunnigan's gaze shifts back to the screen.
"But we're going to need to monitor you," she adds. "Closely."
The house is quiet when the door opens. Not the heavy, suffocating quiet Leon had walked into earlier, the kind that had pressed in on him with something wrong beneath it. This is different. Softer. The kind of quiet that belongs to a place waiting to be filled again, not one that’s already been emptied. Still, when he steps inside with you in his arms, something in him tightens.
For a split second, the image overlaps, the broken stillness from before, the absence, the space where you should have been. It flickers through him before he can stop it. Then you shift against him.
Leon exhales slowly, the breath quieter this time, less controlled, as he nudges the door closed behind him with his foot. The soft click of it sealing shut sounds louder than it should, final in a way that settles something deep in his chest. You're here, and that's what matters.
“I can walk,” you murmur against him, your voice still a little worn, a little softer than usual, but stronger than it was before.
He doesn’t answer right away. His grip doesn’t loosen either.
“I know,” he says after a second, glancing down at you briefly. “You don’t have to.”
You huff a faint breath that turns into a smile, your hand shifting slightly where it rests against his jacket, fingers brushing the fabric like you’re reminding yourself he’s real, too.
“You’re stubborn,” you mumble.
“Yeah,” he replies. “You married me anyway.”
You break out into a sleepy grin. He carries you further into the house, his steps slower now, no urgency pushing him forward anymore, just care. The rest of the house comes into view, familiar in a way that almost feels surreal after everything that came before it.
Then he stumbles upon the kitchen. The light is left on, the chair is still slid out, and the broken mug is still there. Ceramic shards scattered across the tile, the dark stain long since dried where coffee had spilled and been left behind, frozen in the moment everything went wrong.
You follow his gaze, your brow knitting faintly as your eyes settle on it, memory catching up in pieces, the last normal moment before everything had been ripped away.
“And that was my favorite one too,” you murmur quietly.
Leon exhales, something in his chest shifting again, not sharp this time, not panic or urgency, just something quieter, something closer to relief tangled up with the remnants of everything else.
“I’ll get you a new one,” he says.
He carries you past the kitchen, leaving the broken pieces where they are for now. It can wait. None of that matters in this moment, not compared to the weight in his arms, the warmth of you against him, the quiet proof that he didn’t lose you.
When he reaches the couch, he finally lowers you carefully, his movements slow and deliberate as he eases you down into the cushions. This time, he doesn’t pull away immediately. His hands linger on your, one at your back and the other at your arm. He's not ready to let go just yet.
Instead, your hand finds his wrist again, your fingers curling lightly around it before he can step back, holding him there in a way that’s gentle but unmistakable.
“Stay,” you murmur.
He shifts instead, sitting beside you, close enough that your shoulders touch, his body angled toward yours without thinking. For a second, neither of you says anything, the quiet settling in around you again, but this time it feels different. It's safe and full.
Your head tips slightly toward him, your body leaning just enough that he reacts without hesitation, his arm coming around you instinctively, pulling you closer, steadying you against his side. You melt into him naturally, more dramatically than usual.
His hand moves slowly along your back, his thumb brushing lightly in absent, repetitive motions that feel more like habit than thought.
"When you weren't home, I thought..." his words drop quietly. They don't come easily.
You tilt your head slightly, your cheek brushing his shoulder as you glance up at him. “I know,” you say softly.
You don’t make him finish it. You don’t need to. His jaw tightens faintly, his arm around you pulling just a little closer, like the thought alone is enough to make him hold on tighter. You shift slightly, turning more toward him despite the lingering heaviness in your body, your hand sliding up from his wrist to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric there as you steady yourself.
“I’m here,” you murmur.
This time, it’s for him. His gaze drops to you, something in it softer now, less guarded, the edges worn down by everything that’s already passed.
“I know,” he says.
You study him for a second longer, then lean in, closing the small space between you. The kiss is gentle, slow, less about reassurance and more about presence. Your hand stays against his chest, grounding yourself in the steady rhythm beneath it as his hand comes up to your jaw, holding you there with quiet care. There's no urgency; it's just warmth and you.
He leans into it fully this time, the tension finally easing from his shoulders as he lets himself settle into something that doesn’t require fighting, doesn’t require thinking, doesn’t require anything except being here with you.
When he pulls back, it’s only slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath steadying in a way it hasn’t since before any of this started.
“Next time,” you murmur softly, a faint hint of teasing threading through the exhaustion, “I’m making tea instead.”
That almost makes him laugh. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Safer choice.”
The quiet stretches around you, soft and steady, the kind that doesn’t press in or demand anything. It just exists, wrapping around the two of you like something familiar, something earned.
You don’t realize how heavy your body feels until you try to move again. It’s subtle at first, a shift against him, your muscles protesting just enough to remind you that you’re still recovering, still not fully back to yourself. The exhaustion settles deeper now that everything else has quieted, pulling at you in a way that’s harder to ignore.
"We have to get cleaned up, sweetheart," he says, kissing your head.
"Okay," you reply, half asleep.
Before you can argue, before you can insist on anything else, his arm shifts around you, steady and sure as he moves to stand. The motion is smooth, practiced, like he’s done this before, like taking care of you has always come this naturally. Your arm slides around his shoulders without hesitation, your body settling against him with a quiet acceptance that feels as natural as breathing.
“You’re really not going to let me walk, are you?” you murmur, your voice softer now, edged with tired amusement.
“No,” he replies simply.
The two of you move together down the hall, slowly, quietly. The bathroom light flicks on, warm and soft, filling the space in a way that feels almost jarring after everything else. It’s normal, ordinary, safe. He sets you down on the closed toilet lid. Leon moves ahead just enough to start the water, adjusting it carefully, testing the temperature with his hand before letting it run. Steam begins to rise slowly, curling into the air and softening the edges of the room.
You lean lightly against the counter, watching him through the haze of exhaustion, the small, familiar movements grounding you in a way nothing else quite has yet.
“You do this a lot,” you murmur faintly.
He glances back at you, brow lifting just slightly. “Take care of you?” he asks.
You nod once. Something in his expression softens, just a fraction.
“I always will,” he says quietly.
He steps back toward you then, slower now, his hands gentler as they come to rest at your arms, steadying you again. His gaze flickers briefly over your face, checking, making sure you’re still with him, still present.
“Can you stand?” he asks.
You nod. “I think so.”
He doesn’t completely take your word for it. He stays close anyway. Careful and patient. There’s no rush in what comes next. Just a quiet understanding between you as he helps you out of your clothes, his movements respectful, unhurried, like this isn’t something to get through, but something to do right. His hands are steady, never lingering where they shouldn’t, never pulling away too quickly either.
When you step into the bath, the warmth surrounds you immediately, sinking into your muscles in a way that makes your breath catch softly in your chest. You lower yourself slowly, the water rising around you, easing tension you didn’t even realize you were still holding. It’s not just relief, it’s release.
Your shoulders drop, your head tipping back slightly against the edge as your eyes close for a second, letting yourself settle into it. Leon stays close. Not in the water yet, but right there beside the tub, one hand resting lightly along the edge, his attention still entirely on you.
“Too hot?” he asks quietly.
You shake your head, your voice softer now. "Perfect."
He nods once, then reaches for the shampoo, his movements slower, more deliberate as he shifts closer. His hand brushes lightly against your shoulder first, a silent check, a pause to make sure you’re with him.
You tilt your head slightly in response, and that's all he needs. His fingers move through your hair gently, working the shampoo in with care that feels like heaven. There’s no rush, no distraction, just the steady rhythm of his hands, the quiet presence of him there with you. The tension leaves you in pieces.
Your head leans back a little more, your eyes slipping closed again as you let yourself relax into it, into the warmth of him.
“You’re really good at this,” you murmur, your voice barely above the sound of the water.
When he rinses your hair, one hand steadies at the back of your neck, careful, protective, making sure the water doesn’t hit too hard, doesn’t pull you out of the quiet you’ve finally found. You lean into that touch without thinking.
By the time he's done, the air feels different. You feel lighter, cleaner, safer. He lingers for a second, his hand still resting lightly along the edge of the tub as he watches you settle deeper into the water. The tension that had been sitting in your shoulders has eased; your breathing is slower now, your body finally beginning to let go of everything it had been holding on to.
His gaze shifts, thoughtful. “You sure you’re steady?” he asks quietly.
You open your eyes just enough to look at him, the faintest hint of a smile returning. “I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur.
He exhales softly, then moves, slower this time. There’s no hesitation in it, just a quiet decision as he steps back, shedding the last of his own clothes with the same unhurried care he showed you. It’s simple, practical, like this is just the next step.
Then he steps into the bath behind you. The water shifts around him, rising slightly, warmth settling over both of you as he lowers himself carefully, mindful of your space, of your balance, of everything you’ve just been through. His movements are controlled, even here, even now, but there’s something softer in them too, something that isn’t about precision anymore.
You feel the warmth of his chest against your back. His arm comes around you almost immediately, instinctively, resting lightly across your middle, not pulling you in too tightly, just enough to steady you, to keep you anchored there with him.
You exhale, slow and quiet. “That’s better,” you murmur.
A faint breath leaves him, something just short of a laugh. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, it is.”
The water laps gently against the sides of the tub, the only sound in the room aside from your breathing, which has finally evened out into something calm, something steady. The warmth sinks deeper now, loosening what little tension remains, dulling the last edges of pain into something manageable.
Leon’s hand shifts slightly against you, his thumb brushing absent, slow patterns along your arm. It’s not deliberate, not something he’s thinking about. It’s just there, familiar, grounding, something he’s done a hundred times before in quieter moments.
“You still with me?” he asks after a while, his voice low, close to your ear.
You nod faintly, your head tipping back just enough to rest lightly against his shoulder.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “Just tired.”
“I know.”
His hand tightens just a fraction, then eases again, like he’s reminding himself you’re here, that he doesn’t have to hold on so tightly anymore.
You reach back slightly, your fingers finding his arm where it rests around you, tracing lightly over his skin without thinking. It’s a small movement, but it’s enough to pull his attention fully to you again.
“You okay?” you ask, softer now.
There’s a pause. “I am now,” he admits.
You tilt your head just enough to look up at him, your gaze meeting his in the soft, warm light of the room. For a second, neither of you moves, the space between you close but unhurried.
Then you lean in. The kiss is gentle, slower than before, your hand coming up to rest lightly against his jaw as your lips meet his. There’s no urgency in it, no need to prove anything, just quiet reassurance, the simple fact that you’re both here, both real, both okay.
He responds just as softly, his hand shifting from your arm to your side, holding you there with a steady, careful touch as he leans into it. It lingers just long enough to mean something, to settle into something real, before he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours.
"I was scared," he murmurs.
"I know," you whisper. "Me too."
His eyes close briefly at that, his breath steadying as he leans into your touch for just a second. The water cools slowly around you, but neither of you moves right away. There’s no rush to leave this moment, no urgency pulling you forward. Just warmth, and quiet, and the steady presence of each other. Eventually, though, he shifts.
“Come on,” he murmurs gently. “Let’s get dried off and get to bed.”
Leon reaches for a towel immediately, wrapping it around your shoulders before you can even think about it, his hands moving with that same practiced gentleness as he draws you closer, drying your hair first, slow and careful, working through it like he had in the water.
Another towel follows, this one warmer, softer as he drapes it around you and guides you to sit on the edge of the tub for a second, making sure you’re steady before stepping back just enough to grab fresh clothes.
He helps you again, keeping you steady as he eases the fabric over your arms, adjusts it at your shoulders, and makes sure you're comfortable before moving on. By the time you're both dressed, the whole world has softened. The sharp edges from before have faded into something else.
Leon’s hand finds yours without thinking as he leads you back toward the bedroom, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as you walk. You don’t pull away. If anything, your grip tightens slightly, grounding yourself in the warmth of him, in the steady presence that hasn’t left your side since he found you.
When you reach the bed, he slows, turning slightly toward you instead of immediately guiding you down. For a second, you just stand there.
"Thank you, Leon," you say quietly, looking at his tired eyes.
The words are simple, but they carry everything behind them, everything you don’t need to explain because he already knows. Leon’s expression softens in that small, almost imperceptible way it does when something gets past his guard. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his free hand comes up, resting gently at your jaw as he leans in just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.
“I love you, okay?” he murmurs against you, his voice low, steady, like he needs you to hear it, to hold onto it.
Your breath catches just slightly, something warm settling in your chest as you meet his gaze.
“I love you too,” you reply, just as soft.
He leans his forehead briefly against yours, then shifts, guiding you gently down onto the bed, his hand never quite leaving you as he settles beside you moments later.
You turn toward him instinctively. He meets you there. His arm wraps around you, pulling you close, your body fitting against his like it always has, like it always will. The exhaustion is heavier now, pulling at you in a way that’s impossible to fight, but it doesn’t feel overwhelming anymore.
Your hands come up to rest against his chest, and you listen to the steady sound of his heart where your head lies near his chest. Leon’s hand moves once along your back, then stills, holding you there as the quiet settles in fully around you.
When sleep finally comes, it's gentle and safe. And this time, home finally feels like home again.
-----
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Thank you to @sisterlucifergraphics for the red moon divider!
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