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mars • 22 • she/they

[kn1feinthec0ffee]

masterlist

requests are open!!

< rules for requesting >

flower patch (current fandoms)

out of season (old fandom works)

in bloom (current fandom works)

[hollow-toy]

mutuals can always dm me but be warned i talk like your coworker who is trying too hard to get to know you and my response times are akin to the response times you might get if we were communicating by letter

[silence-caravan]

☆ The Stargirl ☆

I've seen people of Twitter dressing her up in cute little outfits and I just can't resist!

[simlishveeve]

where’s uncle sukuna

[kdhumecurios]

There was a massive shift in how our culture understood morality when, after World War II, the general public realized “just following orders” was not an excuse for crimes against humanity. Now we need another moral shift in which we decide, as a culture, that “for the benefit of the stockholders” is not an excuse for anything.

[speciesofleastconcern]

We kind of need to relearn the “just following orders” part again

[inkskinned]

unfortunately, due to several experiences in my youth, i cannot just “walk up and join the circle of people talking”, but it does sound lovely thank you

[thegoodvybe]

i’m basically “pro-do whatever you want as long as you’re enjoying yourself and not hurting other people”

[lolalov3s]

Leon makes you squirt (for the first time)

Content: smut, p in v, fingering, squirting, alcohol consumption, hookup culture lol

Masterlist❤︎

-

There is nothing better than being fucked completely senseless.

Arguably the best remedy for a chronically overactive mind.

After five straight days of managing passive-aggressive emails and smiling through situations that tested the absolute limits of human sanity, you decided the only cure for this impending mental breakdown was a stiff drink and zero inhibitions on this lovely weekend.

Two shots of whatever was closest, and the company of a man who looked just as desperately in need of a distraction as you, if not more so.

Beautiful was what you initially pegged him as, eyes sweeping along the striking lines of an exhausted face and the stubborn swoop of hair spilling carelessly over his brow. Then you decided he was just prematurely aged. The silver threads catching at his temples and the aggressive shadow of a stubble made him look worn down by a decade of exceptionally bad sleep and even worse stress.

He looked like a man who could fuck good. Looked like he approached sex the exact same way he approached the rest of his miserable life, with unrelenting stamina and a terrifyingly methodical focus designed to dismantle whatever stood before him.

He also looked like an easy target, staring into the amber depths of his glass with a level of sad depression that practically radiated off his shoulders. All it took was you stepping directly into his line of sight, ordering another shot with a dramatic sigh, and offering him a painfully cynical comment about the state of the world (while deliberately showing off your cleavage).

The guarded set of his jaw twitched into the faintest ghost of a smirk.

You offered your name, he offered his (Leon—was it short for Leonard? Leonel?), and he leaned in when you laughed at his terrible attempt at a joke. A genuine chortled laugh because you hadn't expected a dad joke from a man who looked as brooding as he did.

You licked your lips, he followed your tongue.

Hook, line, sinker.

Which explains how you now find yourself trapped in a mating press on a mattress that probably costs more per night than your rent. A dingy, cheap motel would have been your practical choice, but you had noted the expensive gleam of the watch on his wrist within five minutes of sitting next to him. Freaking Hamilton that looked distinctly like a limited edition, judging by the brushed steel and intricate dial.

Frankly, you shouldn't be surprised he carried that much net worth. He’s handsome, weathered beautifully into his age (Late forties? Early fifties?), and clearly paid an exorbitant amount of money to survive whatever horrors are actively ruining his mental health.

What does surprise you is how you’ve underestimated the scope of his physical abilities.

Over the past blurry hour, this complete stranger has effortlessly folded you into positions that defy your understanding of your own flexibility. Knees pressed so securely beside your own ears you start to believe the fee you pay for your weekly reformer pilates class might be a scam.

Apparently what you needed to achieve this level of advanced mobility was the unrelenting dead weight of a very, very capable man. So fucking capable that you’ve genuinely lost count of how many times he’s wrung you out on these expensive sheets.

Four orgasms? Maybe five? Whatever the number is, another one is dangerously crawling up the base of your spine.

Your sanity might be beyond saving at this point. You’re sweating profusely, and the backs of your thighs are screaming in dull protest from being pinned back for god knows how long. Leon pulls out and snaps his hips again with a jarring impact that seems to grow more ruthlessly aggressive with every single grind.

He does it again and again and again until you’re basically screaming from the unavoidable crash of yet another orgasm, toes curling frantically in the suspended air while your nails bite into the heavy muscle of his arms.

This man is something else, obviously nothing akin to the standard parade of disappointing men who talked big but possessed absolutely zero game. They were a flimsy attempt to scratch the very surface of your boredom. Leon, by comparison, is clawing straight down to the bone.

There’s a slowness in his thrusts now, and you blink to find an actual smile breaking through the sweat and exhaustion on his face. The warm puff of a chuckle against your cheek tells you he isn't simply amused. He’s actually entertained.

You huff, making a valiant but entirely useless attempt to mock him, "Stop laughing."

The sweat beading along his heavy brow does absolutely nothing to detract from how devastatingly smug he looks right now. “You’re shaking so much. It’s cute.”

So much for playing the femme fatale act at the bar. He swipes a thumb across your blotchy cheek, courtesy of his rough afternoon shadow.

“You okay?”

You sigh out a harsh breath, blowing a damp strand of hair out of your eyes. “Have you," you manage to wheeze, "even cum yet?”

He shakes his head, blue eyes glinting with unapologetic amusement.

"Are you ever going to?"

His low laughter rumbles warmly in your ears. “Why, you want me to stop already?" he presses a kiss against your jaw. "Thought you were having a good time."

“I’m having a great time.”

“Then what’s with the rush?”

“Maybe we should take a break,” you whine, gasping sharply when the weight of his pelvis rocks aggressively against your lower belly. “I-I need to pee.”

He seems unfazed. Moves like you didn't utter a word to begin with. Instead, what he does is press you even further into the mattress. “Is that right?”

“Fuck—Leon—” You arch your back as he maliciously tilts his hips. “You’re not helping.”

“I actually am,” he argues.

“What—”

“Let's test a theory," he drawls, hot breath ghosting over your pulse. "Do you really think you just need to pee, or are you about to squirt?”

You go completely still for a moment. Considering your track record of thoroughly uninspired hookups and non-lasting relationships, there is absolutely no palpable evidence to suggest you are capable of doing what he’s asking.

“I’m pretty sure I need to pee,” you reason quietly. “I’m not a squirter.”

He pulls back enough to meet your eyes. “You’re telling me you’ve never done that before?”

“I have no prior experience to suggest it's even an option.”

He looks genuinely offended by your answer. “Do you want to try?”

Your head falls back to fully take him in. He really is pretty. Never mind the faint, tired wrinkles bracketing his pale blue eyes, or the harsh features of a man who has clearly seen too much and slept too little. He’s simply too devastatingly gorgeous for his own good.

Even with the fragments of scars you’ve spent the last hour subconsciously counting on his neck, his shoulder, his chest. Scars that make you wonder what kind of terrifying life he leads when he isn't in a hotel room with a stranger, fucking their brains out.

And you’re very much aware you’re one of the few he’s taken to bed.

But is he always this attentive? This generous?

Does he fuck everyone else this hard yet still find the gentle grace to cradle their face and brush the hair out of their eyes?

You instantly hate how territorial you sound. It's wildly hypocritical for someone who values the cheap thrill of a purely physical transaction just as much as he clearly does. He’s just a good lover, you decide. And if tonight is the only night you get to have this man all to yourself, then so be it.

If he thinks he can make you squirt, then who are you to deny?

“You really think I’m about to squirt?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

You frown. “What if it’s just pee?”

He kisses the wrinkled line between your brows. “Make a mess then, I don’t mind.”

Yeah, you’re going to let him absolutely ruin you tonight.

“Then make me squirt, Leon.”

He dips his head, breathing the hot air of his lungs directly into your open mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

Your pussy tightens reflexively at that, which he obviously catches. He catches on to every desperate tell your body gives him, actually. Probably the sole reason why you've already come an embarrassing number of times.

Not enough, apparently, because he’s already moving his hips in rapid rhythms—not too fast or too slow, but enough to have your eyes sliding shut, focusing on the stretch of his cock driving deep in and out of your cunt.

“Fucking beautiful,” he hums, binding your wrists together above your head. “Just lying there looking all pretty."

“H-harder,” you whine, weakly pushing your hips up to meet him.

“Yeah?” He squeezes your wrists together, leaning even more of his massive frame over you. “You like it when I go hard on you?”

Like it? You thrive on it, nodding frantically as your trembling thighs try to lock around his waist. Try is definitely the word when he’s practically flattened you beneath his crushing weight, effortlessly trapping your body. You can feel your limbs turn gooey and powerless, your stomach contrastingly hard.

“I know, baby, I know,” he rasps, ramming his hips harshly against yours. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Ngh—h—”

“That’s it, give it to me. Make a mess on me.”

The panic hits you first, quickly swallowed by an absolute wave of pure heat. Starts as a buzzing ache in your core before violently spiking into an unbearable sensation. Your belly burns, coils, rattles—and you blink your eyes open, brimming with tears. “Leon—”

He instantly reads the panicked clench of your muscles.

“Don't fight it.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Your groan is feral. “I can’t—”

“Come on, baby, you’ve got to trust me,” he croons softly. “Do you trust me?”

Surprisingly, you do, even if your only judgment on this man comes from the three hours that have passed since you sat down next to him at the bar. “Yes.”

“Good. Then let it happen.”

Your breath stutters. Your body jerks.

“Breathe through your nose.”

He plunges in with a particularly harsh thrust and you gasp. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Oh, fuck—”

“That’s it.” He closes the last inch of space between you. Foreheads touching. “Let it go.”

You try to follow his words and suck in a sharp breath. Lungs expanding, ribs flaring, and the rush of oxygen pouring into your blood sharpens every sensation to something blinding.

It’s like a switch. One moment your muscles are tensed, then a passage of whines pitches upward as your orgasm barrels through you without warning. Strong and gut-wrenching. Body hot in bliss and shame—only for two seconds. Quick as it hits, he abruptly pulls out, instantly replacing his cock with two calloused fingers.

Your mouth gapes in a silent scream. Even more so when his offhand curls around your neck. Fingers pressing against the sides of your throat, palm flat against your windpipe, but exercising barely any pressure all the while his fingers fucks your swollen, dripping cunt.

You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself getting drenched, but you’ve never experienced anything as wild as this.

Speckles of liquid spatter across the sheets the more he drags his hand in an up-and-down motion, its squelching sound rising above the fight of your labored breathing.

He pushes his palm against your clit.

“Oh fuck! fuckfuckfuck—”

A sudden rush spills over him. Soaks the sheets beneath you in dark patches and streams down the inside of his wrist, seeping hot onto his thighs. He continues to pump his fingers while you lie there—crying openly, violently shuddering. It goes on for what feels like forever until he smoothes out his pressure around your throat, kissing the drool glistening on your lips with a disbelief chuckle.

“Should’ve met you sooner,” he laughs into your mouth, easily slipping his cock back in.

Maybe it’s the bliss completely corrupting your nervous system, or perhaps it’s the overwhelming stretch of his thick cock driving back into your overstimulated cunt. Whatever it is, you completely lose your grip on the casual nature of a one night stand, eager words spilling past your wet lips before you can even screen them.

“Can we meet again?” You pant. “Like—after tonight?”

He withdraws his hips with a smug grin.

“I would,” thrust, “very much,” thrust, “like that.”

Thrust, thrust, thrust.

You’re somewhere right on the edge of a pathetic whimper and a helpless laugh, entirely too pleasured to think straight, dangerously too giddy at the possibility of actually getting to know him. To uncover those scars in daylight, to figure out what kind of hell he had to survive to inherit those devastatingly sad yet kind eyes.

To learn his last name. To unearth his middle.

You gasp when he effortlessly flips you over, twisting his fingers in your hair and pulling it back.

Yeah, you’re going to let him absolutely ruin you tonight—and all the days that follow.

[zoesupreme]

[leninthesixth]

think about this every time i watch videos about youtuber drama

[local-lesbian-tree-demon]

they should invent a body that feels normal to be inside of

[imjunebitch]

actually fucking disgusting that glasses cost any money like if you actually think about it for more than a few seconds it is so unconscionably inhumane. this goes for things like insulin and mobility aids and hearing aids too ofc but fuck man, fucking glasses? the thing you need to fucking see? its genuinely sickening and inhumanly evil that those cost ANYTHING.

[manipulated-pieces]

Why is it easier and more comfortable to sit in a position that actively damages my joints than it is to just sit with okay posture. Why does my body crave its own destruction

[absolutearsenal]

When the female character meets her male love interest and you watch in real time as the writers hollow her out and zombify her with tradwife spores

[z0ruastudyblr]

Common Words & Phrases from AAVE

Gullah & Early AAVE

Gumbo – From Bantu kingombo (okra), brought by enslaved Africans and became the name of the Creole stew thickened with okra.

Goober – From Kikongo nguba, the Bantu word for peanut that entered American English via enslaved Africans.

Yam – From West African languages (e.g., Wolof nyami, "to eat"), brought over during the slave trade and adopted into Southern cuisine.

Banjo – From a Bantu root (mbanza), the instrument was crafted by enslaved Africans based on West African string instruments.

Bogus – Likely from Hausa boko-boko (deceitful, fraudulent), entering American English through African American speech in the 19th century.

Juke (box/joint) – From Gullah juke (rowdy, disorderly), derived from Wolof dzug (to live wickedly), later attached to roadside bars.

Tote (to carry) – From West African languages (e.g., Kikongo tota, "to pick up"), recorded in Gullah before spreading to mainstream English.

Dig (to understand) – From Wolof degg (to understand), popularized by jazz musicians in the 1930s after entering English through AAVE.

Jazz – Possibly from West African or Creole slang for energy/sex, first documented in AAVE in Chicago around 1912.

Okay (OK) – Though its origin is debated, strong evidence traces it to West African languages (e.g., Wolof waw kay) via enslaved Gullah speakers.

Hip/Hep – From Wolof hipi (to open one's eyes, to be aware), entering jazz slang in the early 1900s before going mainstream.

Hepcat – A compound of "hep" + "cat" (jazz slang for a person), literally meaning "one who has his eyes open" in West African-influenced jazz culture.

Jazz, Blues & 1940s–60s Era

Cool (as in fashionable/calm) – Originated in jazz circles, likely from saxophonist Lester Young, and entered mainstream via West African aesthetic concepts of composure.

Cat – A jazz-era term for a skilled musician or cool person, derived from West African-influenced jive talk.

Crib – Jazz slang for a house or apartment, popularized in the 1940s before becoming mainstream in the 1990s.

Hokum – AAVE slang for nonsense or BS, used in blues and jazz before being adopted more widely.

Diss – Short for "disrespect," coined in AAVE and popularized through hip-hop in the 1980s and 1990s.

Bad (meaning good) – From AAVE, where inversion of meaning creates emphasis (something so "bad" it's actually good), used since early jazz era.

Jive – AAVE slang for deceptive talk or a style of jazz dancing, used by Cab Calloway in his 1930s Hepster Dictionary.

1970s–90s (Hip-Hop & Pre-Internet Era)

Homeboy/Homegirl – AAVE for a close friend from one's neighborhood, popularized in hip-hop and later shortened to "homes" in casual speech.

Dope (meaning great) – Shifted from "stupid" in standard English to "excellent" in AAVE during the 1980s hip-hop era.

Props – Short for "proper respects" in AAVE, used in hip-hop to acknowledge skill or achievement before entering mainstream slang.

Word (as in "I agree") – AAVE interjection ("Word!" or "Word is bond") meaning "I'm telling the truth," derived from Nation of Islam teachings.

Phat (meaning cool/great) – AAVE acronym believed to stand for "Pretty Hot And Tempting," though likely an invented backronym; popularized in 90s hip-hop.

The Bomb – AAVE phrase for something excellent or top-quality, widely used in hip-hop lyrics before mainstream adoption.

Def – AAVE slang for "excellent," popularized by Run-DMC's "King of Rock" and 80s hip-hop culture.

Fresh – AAVE for stylish or excellent, used in early hip-hop and 80s pop culture before spreading globally.

Wack – AAVE for "bad, inferior, uncool," popularized in hip-hop and later mainstream youth speech as the opposite of "cool."

Hella – AAVE intensifier meaning "very" or "a lot of," originating in Oakland/Bay Area AAVE in the 1970s-80s.

Cap / No Cap – AAVE meaning "lie" and "no lie," popularized by Bay Area rap in the 2010s, derived from "capping" (exaggerating).

1990s–2000s (Internet Adoption & Ballroom Culture)

Slay – From AAVE and Black ballroom culture (Paris is Burning, 1990), meaning to do something extremely well, now mainstream via social media.

Spill the Tea – From AAVE (originally "spill the T," with "T" meaning truth), popularized by drag culture and Black queer communities.

Shade (as in insult) – From Black ballroom culture (documented in Paris is Burning), meaning a subtle insult, now used broadly in pop culture.

Reading (as in insulting) – From ballroom culture ("reading" someone), meaning to publicly insult with wit, immortalized in Paris is Burning.

Kiki – AAVE from ballroom culture meaning a casual gathering for gossip or chatting, later mainstreamed through pop music (e.g., Kesha).

Fierce – AAVE and ballroom term meaning exceptionally good or intense, applied to fashion, performance, or attitude.

Woke – From AAVE meaning socially and politically aware, first used in 1940s Black activism before resurging with Black Lives Matter.

Shook – AAVE meaning startled or upset, used in 1990s New York hip-hop (e.g., Mobb Deep) before mainstream adoption in the 2010s.

On Fleek – AAVE phrase meaning perfectly executed, coined in a 2014 Vine by Peaches Monroee, one of the last pre-AI viral AAVE innovations.

Finna – From AAVE contraction of "fixing to" (preparing to), documented in Southern AAVE for decades before wider use and dictionary recognition.

Chile – A phonetic spelling of "child" in Southern AAVE, used as a term of endearment or exclamation since at least the 1970s (The Wiz, 1978).

2010s–Present (Social Media & Gen Z Slang Pipeline)

Lit – AAVE meaning exciting or excellent (originally "intoxicated" or "on fire"), popularized in hip-hop before becoming a Gen Z staple.

Bae – AAVE term of endearment meaning "before anyone else" or just a shortened form of "babe/baby," mainstreamed in the 2010s.

Ratchet – AAVE originally meaning a rowdy, aggressive woman (from "wretched"), later used to describe anything wild or out of control.

Turnt – AAVE meaning excited or intoxicated, from "turned up" in hip-hop lyrics, mainstreamed in early 2010s party slang.

Clap Back – AAVE for a sharp, witty comeback or retaliation, popularized in hip-hop (e.g., Ja Rule's 2003 song "Clap Back") before internet slang.

Bussin' – AAVE meaning delicious or excellent, applied to food or anything great, popularized on TikTok in the 2020s.

Sus – AAVE shortening of "suspicious" or "shady," used for decades before Among Us made it a global meme in 2020.

Snatched – AAVE originally describing flawless hair/makeup or a tight waist, now used to praise anything perfectly executed.

Periodt – AAVE emphatic form of "period" (meaning "end of discussion"), with a hard "t" for emphasis, popularized on Black Twitter before global use.

Bonus: My personal favorite AAVE term that I see used online religiously is receipts! AAVE meaning the proof shown to back up an accustation

[sirbeanqueen]

Let your Guard (Dog) Down

synopsis: Leon has been stressed taking care of people 24/7 at work. You, his girlfriend, want to pamper him, but know he’s too selfless to agree to it outright. So, you suggest to try pet play…..hoping it will ease him into submission.

includes: Leon Kennedy x fem!reader, RE2 Leon Kennedy, pet play, mommy kink, dacryphilia, handjob, blowjob, vaginal fingering, butt plug, come eating, slight hurt/comfort, smut, praise kink, slight dom/sub, sub!inexperienced!Leon Kennedy, puppyboy Leon Kennedy

words: 5.4k

a/n: I haven’t played any of the RE games, I’m just here for the fandom. So there’s a fat chance I mischaracterized him. I believe in sub RE2 Leon supremacy………and need to walk him like a dog.

AO3 Link

Your boyfriend, Leon Kennedy, had been through a rough few weeks at work. Although he couldn’t tell you much about his job at the RPD, you see the news reports against Umbrella. Like any first responder, he can never catch a break. Seeing how truly terrible people can be, watching them turn on their own kind just for a slice of power? That’s gotta weigh on him. Let alone the physical demand of it all. Leon doesn’t bring up work around you, but you can read his body language well enough to know that he’s been struggling to relax. So this week, you proposed a fun shenanigan.

“Are you….sure you want me in a…..costume?” Leon turned away from your laptop, giving you a timid, brows-raised look.

“I wouldn’t really say it’s a costume, just uh……more like some toys. Accessories, maybe?” Maybe it was selfish, using your own fantasy to try and indulge your inexperienced boyfriend. A little pet play never hurt two consenting individuals, right?

“I dunno…..it just seems you’re a little ‘all bark, no bite’.” You roll your eyes and shove his shoulder at his petty dad joke. Leon knew you were a dreamer, always offhandedly mentioning random fantasies. But this time, you really did have a plan.

“I really mean it this time! There’s a Petco five minutes from my work, I can stop by tomorrow and grab everything.” You set the laptop down and grab his hands.

Leon’s still unconvinced. “Uhhhh, since when did they have dog ears and tail butt plugs at Petco?” You both break into a fit of laughter, crashing into eachother.

“Ok, you got me there. So maybe I’ll have to make two stops, but that’s not the point! Will you be the bestest boyfriend ever and indulge me, my love?” It may be low-hanging fruit to sucker him into this, but you wouldn’t try it if it didn’t work. Besides, you know if you proposed a scenario to satisfy solely him, he would never agree. Leon always puts you first.

Your boyfriend lets out a big sigh, blush spreading across his face. Clearly giving it a proper thought. He wasn’t nearly as experienced as you when it came to sex.

“I just thought it made sense because you’re a very loyal……and obedient……excitable person.” You raise one of his hands to give his knuckles a quick kiss. “And it’s kinda hot imagining such a strong man submit to me.” You set his hand onto his thigh, letting your touch linger for a second.

A noticeable tent was forming in his pants at the thought, but he caught you staring.

“Ok, for you? I’ll do it.”

“THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!” You whip him into a big hug, assuring him that you’ll walk him through it and give him plenty of room to opt out.

———————————

The next day, you came home, goodies in hand, to find Leon sitting on the couch in the living room. He had the tv on as he usually does, but was leaned forward onto bouncing legs. Clearly, he’s a little nervous.

You set the bags next to the couch, and plop down beside him to snuggle up and give him a kiss hello.

“~hi, handsome~” you walk your fingers up his bicep, giving a playful squeeze.

“Hi, babe. I see, uh….see you got the stuff.” Leon’s gaze fixated on the bags on the ground, leg still bouncing.

“I did! But again, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I kept receipts and everything, and I won’t be mad if today is a no-go.” You sit up to look at him as he speaks to you.

“I want to, i just…you know I’m not as experienced as you. I just want it to be good for you.” Leon looks like a kicked puppy turning to meet your gaze. Poor guy. He really can’t ever do anything to benefit himself, can he?

“Of course I know that, baby. That’s why I wanted to explore this with you! Besides, it’s just meant to play around with today. If either of us don’t like it, we’ll stop, but I’m not expecting anything to be life-changing. Just experimenting with you is exciting enough.” And you meant every word of it. Leon’s whole body let out a collective sigh of relief, easing his bodyweight into you.

After he gave confirmation to start, you pulled a collar, leash, headband with dog ears, and a tailed butt plug out of the shopping bags. You both read through the sex toy packaging, making sure to disinfect it before use. Leon refused to let you dress him, fastening the collar/leash and headband on himself. You offered to warm his body up a bit for the tail, but he insisted on taking care of it himself. So, despite several offers, you let him take it to the bathroom.

Leon took about 5-10 minutes to insert the plug, blatantly struggling but refusing to ask you for help. This was your fantasy, and he didn’t want to feel like a burden if he couldn’t make it happen. Poor boy even pulled up some tutorials on his phone. You didn’t want to pressure him by knocking on the door to check-in, but got lost in watching tv while you waited regardless.

Until, there’s a soft click of the bathroom door. You jolt towards the remote to shut the tv off. Body flushing with excitement as each soft footstep moved closer to the living room.

He looked better than you imagined.

The dog ears perfectly matched his ashy blonde hair. Blush littered his face, his eyes darting anywhere but you. Although his head dipped down slightly, you could see the blue leather collar wrapped tightly around his neck. The dog tags clinking as he moved. If things went well, you’d get his name engraved into it for sure. The matching blue leash trailed down his chiseled torso, already catching beads of sweat. His thick arms outstretched in front of him, hands covering his genitals. Legs turned slightly inwards, he spun 90 degrees to show off the thick blonde tail coming out of his backside. Leon was nervous as fuck, and would have been shuffling between his feet……if every step didn’t press the plug against his sensitive sweet spot.

Fuck. You’ve definitely been staring speechless for too long.

“Oh…….my god.” Your jaw is slack, but mouth curving into a gentle smile. Leon finally makes eye contact, watching as your eyes darken with need.

“If it’s not good, I can change. Or am I wearing it wrong? I don’t really-“ he stammers, unsure of what you’re feeling.

“You look so fucking hot right now.” You stand from the couch, having to hold yourself back from pouncing on him. You didn’t expect him to come out completely nude, but you figured there wasn’t a way to wear clothes around the massive tail plug.

Leon turns back to face you head-on, eyes scrunching as the plug shifts inside him. You inch your finger, beckoning him to approach you.

He shuffles, barely lifting his feet off the floor.

Soooo obedient.

Leon stands directly in front of you, breath heavy, face flush, and hands still covering his cock. Not that you can see how hard he is, anyway. His height causing him to tower over you slightly, you have to look up to meet his eyes. You flash a smile.

“Hi, baby.” You swear you aren’t trying to look predatory.

“…..hi….” You can tell he’s nervous.

“How are you feeling, love?” You fold your hands behind your back, rocking on your toes. Obviously he needs direction, but you want to sit with his vulnerability for a second.

“I feel…..ok.” He tilts his head.

“Ok….is that a good ok?” Leon nods sheepishly, looking at the ground. You hum in approval. “Sweetheart, if you ever stop feeling ok, I need you to tell me. Just use our safe word and I’ll back off.” You bend down to meet his lowered gaze. “I won’t be upset, I promise.”

He gives a soft exhale. “Ok. I’m ok, really. Just a bit nervous.” Leon starts to shift his stance, wincing once he remembers the plug stuffed inside him.

“Let’s start slow. Can you sit for me?” You fold your arms over your chest. Leon looks back down at the floor. With his hands still occupied, he bends his knees to sit on his heels.

The way his eyes glimmer as he looks up at you sends blush scattering across your face. He shifts his hands around his crotch, presumably making more room for his hardening dick. As much as you’re loving the height difference, you don’t want to intimidate him, so you sit on the couch in front of him. Your bent knees now reach his eye level. Leon’s big blue eyes track your movements down.

“Gooooood. Hmmmm, let’s see.” You give him a moment to get comfortable, understanding his sensitivity from the plug stuffed inside him. Leon’s leg starts to bounce again, causing the tail to wag slightly behind him.

The leash….

You lean forward to grab the leash, pressing a deep kiss into his lips. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, tongue quickly swiping over your bottom lip and hungry for more. You pull away, barely an inch from his face to let him pant a bit. He’s so needy already.

Leaning back with the leash in hand, you overestimate it’s length and accidentally tug him forward. Secretly, you’re a bit disappointed that he didn’t remove his hands to catch his fall. You want to see all of him. But let’s not kick him while he’s down. Poor boy is still nervous.

“Now, pet….” You tested the waters with the nickname. Both sets of his ears perked up.

“Can you be a good boy for me and show me your puppy parts?” You looked down your nose at Leon, patient, but incredibly turned on.

He lowered his gaze again as he slowly brought his hands to his knees. A string of pre snapped from his fingertips to his shaft. Leon’s been leaking this whole time.

You tug at the leash, forcing him on all fours. But, still keeping him propped up to fully expose his entire, dewy body.

“Puppies are supposed to be on all fours, right?” Leon locks eyes with you, blushing harder. “Yes, ma’am.” The honorific went straight to your core.

Someone was getting a little confident, knowing how to chip at your composure.

And you can’t have that. Good thing you’re wearing a low-cut tank top today.

You lean down to touch Leon’s dog ears, pushing your cleavage into his face. His hot breath fans over your skin, hitching as you scratched behind his headband.

“What’s a-matter, pup? Does that spot feel good?” You lean further forward to scratch the nape of his neck, fully shoving his nose between your breasts. Running your nails up his nape and across his scalp a few times, Leon finally gets restless and nibbles on your breast.

You abruptly lean up with a gasp. “Leooonnnnn, good puppies don’t bite.” You condescendingly tease him, knowing full well you baited him into that. While he attempts to stutter out a response, you drag your eyes over his figure, spotting his now red-flushed cock.

If Leon is too occupied with feeling flustered, he surely can’t be stressed about work right now.

Score.

“I’m going to need you to sit at the corner of the couch until you learn how to behave.” Leon stands up to step on the couch. You fully extend your arm to the left to yank him back off.

“Ah, ah, ah! Pups aren’t allowed on the furniture.” You tut at him, pointing to a spot on the ground by the arm rest. Leon lets out a deflated sigh, propping himself back on his heels.

He’s so desperate and scrumptious. You want to pounce him. Bad. But who can’t resist edging him a little? You decide to milk his timeout. Grabbing the tv remote, you flick the tv back on. His leash neglected and tied around the armrest, your right hand is free to fiddle with his hair. There’s only so much sensual touch you can give to his scalp. And you have a spare hand for yourself……

You lower the waistband of your shorts below your hips, aimlessly circling your clit. There was more than enough slick to finger yourself while you wait.

Leon was worried he already messed up once, and really locked in on watching the tv to wait until further instructions.

Until he heard a breathy moan from you.

He snapped his head in your direction, almost knocking off his headband in the process. You were knuckle deep in your hole, thumb delicately pressed against your clit. Leon blinked for a moment, realizing that you were too focused on the screen to notice him watching. He slowly crawled your way, desperately wanting a taste of you, but was too ambitious.

“Leoooon, stayyyyyyy. I promise, I’ll give you a treat if you just wait a little bit longer.” You roll your head to look at him, eyes hooded as the squelches from your cunt fill the room. Leon’s lips scrunch, teeth shifting in anger as he returns to his timeout spot. His eyes stayed glued to you, though, despite yours returning to the tv.

Of course you have to seize the moment, moaning a little louder with each pump of your fingers. Adding a little squirm of your hips just so he can imagine what it feels like to make you writhe with pleasure.

Out of the corner of your eye, Leon rocks slightly on his heels. Tail brushing against the bottom of the couch, his eyes wrench shut in pleasure. You pretend not to notice, but revel in seeing the puddle of pre form under him as he slowly bounces on the butt plug.

Leon’s sure he will draw blood from the way he bites his lip to muffle the moans.

You make sure to stop fingering yourself before reaching your orgasm. Coming without him? You’re not a monster. Rolling your head to look at Leon, he quickly snaps his gaze to the tv to pretend he was staying still. You’ll give him a pass.

“Leon, baby….” You grab back the leash and give it a pull. “Be a good pup and join me up here.” His dick throbs. “I’ll let you on the furniture, just this once.” He jumps up onto the couch, perched on all fours with big pleading eyes. The couch is definitely going to need to be spot-cleaned by the way he’s leaking pre everywhere.

“Goooood boy. Sit against the armrest and I’ll give you your treat. You lean forward to unlatch the leash, a silent agreement between you both that he’ll obey you.

Leon’s breath picks up as you snake your arms around his legs, spreading them apart for easy access. You lay your body down and start nudging the plug deeper as you speak.

“You’re such a good boy, listening to all my directions. I trained you well, pup.” Nudge, nudge, nudging as you kiss up his thighs.

“You’ve even been nice and quiet so far.” You shift to kiss up his other thigh. Still, pressing the plug deeper inside him.

“Not even a whine or whimper from you, pup. It would be a shame if you spoke…” dropping a not-so-subtle hint, you licked a wet stripe up the underside of his shaft. On cue, a whimper fell out of Leon’s mouth. He smacked a hand over his lips, embarrassed at the noise. You chuckle into an open mouthed kiss on his tip, vibrating it ever so slightly. No sounds this time, but his breath is so shaky that you can hear it.

Enough waiting. You deepthroat him to the hilt. Leon’s hands fly to either side of your head as you time the plug pumps with your mouth bobbing. He attempts to meet you for a second thrust, stuttering until you feel hot liquid shoot down your throat.

After less than five seconds of head, and he already came?

God, he’s so needy.

It’s so fucking hot.

You slowly drag your mouth up off his shaft, giving a wet kiss to the tip after swallowing his salty juices. Understandably, you’re stunned. Stunned, speechless, and breathless, you rest your head on his inner thigh, spacing out while you collect your thoughts.

A beat passes before you tilt up to take in the sight of your hopefully fucked out boyfriend.

Except that wasn’t the case.

Leon’s face is flushed red, his eyes starting to crinkle at the seams. If the ears were real, they’d droop down into his ashy blonde locks. Poor boy just felt so embarrassed.

You brushed your hand up his neck, settling on his chin to lift his gaze. A gaze that he refuses to meet. And not because of the tears clouding his vision.

You give him a second to breathe as anxiety creeps in convincing you that you’ve pushed him too far. He sniffles a bit as you rub circles into the corner of his mouth, chest stuttering and pulling uneven breaths.

Leon swats your hand away, shifting to the floor out of sight and whipping his knees into his chest to hide his face.

Fuck. What have you done?

“Heyyyy, hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong, baby?” You coo, scooting off the couch to meet him on the floor. It seems he didn’t want to be touched at the moment, and you had to stop yourself from instinctively grabbing his shoulder. Instantly, you’re picking at your nails trying to jump into problem-solving mode.

“Talk to me, baby, what’s wrong?”

“I-I-I-I-it…..*sniff*…..um…..*sniff, sniff*…. I-I-I u-uh-hum…..” Leon’s forcing words through stutters, frantically wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. His chest falls back into a steady rhythm. It breaks your heart to hear each of his inhales quiver. Blush still heavy, he tilts his head up to look in your direction…….his nose instantly scrunches and tears fall back down his face.

“Awww, come here, baby.” Almost as if reading each other’s minds, you dive into a hug together. Your nails running up the nape of his neck to play with Leon’s hair the way you know soothes him. “Shhhhhh, it’s ok, you’re ok. I’ve got you.” Trying your best not to choke up yourself, your mind is still desperately searching through the last hour for any possible mishaps. You steady your breath, doing so out loud to give him something to match his own breathing to.

You both established a safe word. You yourself made sure to do all check ins. Not that it would make it better, but with a man of his strength and police training? If something went wrong, he has more than enough strength to push you away. But he didn’t. It should never come to that. But did it come to that? Could you have gotten too wrapped up in toying with him that you missed a cue??? Right now he needed to let his feelings out, but you couldn’t really help him if you didn’t know what was wrong.

You just kept holding him close, rubbing along his back and whispering reassurance.

“You’re safe, baby. I’m not mad at you, i could never be mad with you. I just want to make sure you’re ok. I’ll take care of you, whatever it is.”

Leon’s breathing is still heavy, tears falling faster against your arms.

Ohhhhh. He’s not hurt.

“I’m here for you, baby. Whatever you need. I’ll take care of you, you can relax with me. You don’t have to do anything, just breathe with me.”

Tilting down to carefully catch his tears with your thumbs, Leon relaxes into your hold and stretches his legs out beside you.

Oh.

Oh.

Leon was still hard. Not just erect, but his tip angry red and his inner thighs were glistening with new slick.

You reach down to massage his leg, trying to connect the dots……but his behavior and his body are telling you two different things. Was he just ashamed for coming so fast? It’s not abnormal for him to still be hard after five seconds of head. Or, was it not satisfying enough for him?

“Baby, is this what was wrong?” You pat his inner thigh as Leon buries his face into your shoulder. Sniffling, he manages to mutter out a “mmhmm”.

Poor thing. He’s still embarrassed.

“Leon, baby, do you want me to take care of it for you? You know I really don’t mind…” shedding a soft smile, you finally manage to tilt his gaze towards yours. He huffs. The tears have stopped, his face still flushed and eyes puffy. Cute.

“I-…..I just……” he takes a deep breath, starting to fiddle with your hair as he speaks.

“I’m j-j-just not u-u-used t-t-to it is-s-s a-all.” You give a soft nod, silently relieved that you didn’t hurt him. “S-s-some-ome-one c-caring f-for me l-like t-t-t-this.”

Oh.

Of course.

A police officer dealing with the literal end of the world. Your boyfriend. Who spends every hour of every day saving people. Rescuing them. Risking his own life for the better of others. Constantly worried someone will die on his watch. Constantly on the lookout for himself, his colleagues, AND civilians. Not that he had low self esteem, but when did he ever have time for himself?

When did he have a person to take care of him?

“I’m so sorry, Leon. I’m so sorry.” You feel heat sting your eyes, tears streaming to cool your flushed face. Wrapping your arms tighter around the man, holding him like he’d disappear into thin air, you pull him back up onto the couch with you. Figuring that cushions would be more comfortable than the cold hardwood floor. And that he’d prefer to lay on your lap, fully being held.

“Shhh, I have you, baby. I’ll never let go. Let me take care of you.” You whisper, stifling your own sobs to delicately brush his hair out of his face.

You both sit for a moment, your feet resting on the floor with Leon sitting sideways on your lap. His head rested heavy against your shoulder. Leon’s fingers still delicately intertwined with your hair. Time passes, easing your grip on one another, and stilling your breathing. Your eyes closed and head tilted back against the top of the couch, you decide to break the silence.

“You know…….you know I want to take care of you, right?” Leon kisses your shoulder before tilting up to look at you. “I mean, for god’s sake…..” a giggle forces its way out of your chest. “I’m the one who suggested getting kinky. If anything, you’re just having a normal response to me literally slobbering all over your dick.” Leon busts out into laughter. God, that felt good to hear. He presses kisses onto your shoulder, trailing across your collarbone. Failing to muffle his laughs with each peck.

“I mean, seriously, you think you’re the freak?? I literally went shopping at Petco……for my boyfriend. Does that not feel insane to you??” Leon’s his lips begin to vibrate against your chest as his laugh deepens. He gives an open mouth kiss right under your jaw before quipping back.

“No, it doesn’t. Cause I was the one who was into it……” he giggles, too embarrassed to look you in the eyes again.

Even after all the crying, this motherfucker is still. Hard. You’re sure your whole body beats red at the sight of your boyfriend curled up yet turned on in your lap.

Leon picks up his pace with the open mouth kisses, tongue beginning to lave at the sensitive spots along your neck. His hand tracing up your side, hugging you tighter…..but introducing an air of sensuality.

“Baby…..” you coo, bringing a hand down to his hip. His cock jumps at the gesture. Leon runs his tongue along your collarbone, punctuating the line with a kiss.

“Yeeeeees, ma’am?” He gives you a snarky look, knowing that nickname is going to turn you feral. There’s the man you know and love.

You gently massage circles into his hip, slowly inching down towards his v-line. He takes a sharp inhale.

His once tear-filled eyes now glimmer at you, blue irises starkly contrasting the pink blush on his cheeks.

Leon’s chest begins slow its rise and fall, taking long, deep drawls of air. His eyes flutter shut as you reach his inner thigh, barely brushing his balls.

“Daaaaaarling…..pup?” You purr, tapping his chin with your alternate hand. His body is on fire, overwhelmingly so. But you need his eyes open for what you’re about to do. As if you haven’t already pushed the limits enough today.

Leon’s eyes darkened, looking at you like you hung the stars, watching you grasp the strap of your tank top. Gently, you drag the strap off your shoulder to reveal your braless chest underneath. Which, he had to have deduced by now, considering your perky nipples were nearly ripping holes through your shirt.

His jaw dropped. You felt a small spurt of pre dribble down his shaft and splash onto your hand. Leon speechless, you can’t help but break him.

“Do you want mommy to take care of you?”

You can’t even blink before Leon dives into your chest, peppering kisses everywhere he could reach. He’s moving FAST, blonde hair tickling your skin as he moves. You use your spare hand to cradle the back of his head.

“Thaaaaat’s it, there’s my good boy. Such a good pup for mommy.”

He fucking whimpers.

With each kiss, he lets out a high-pitched whine, akin to a dog begging for treats. He’s falling into the puppyboy role a little too well…..

Leon latches onto your pert nipple, beckoning the peak with his tongue while popping his mouth off it. You both let out twin moans at the act, warm energy shooting to your core, and his muscles instantly easing into you.

You reward him by gently grabbing his balls, thumbing them to feel his tenderness. His whines vibrate heavenly against your nipple. This man was going to be the death of you.

And it’s your fault, too.

Oh well.

Leon rests his head against your shoulder again, lulling himself into suckling your breast. Gently pulling his lips against your sensitive flesh, he pinches your nipple between his teeth before soothing it with his warm, wet tongue.

Running your fingers through his hair with one hand, you finally wrap your other around his weeping shaft. He lets out another whine. “Thank you, thank you. ~Nnnugh~ Thank you, mommy, I promise I’ll be good.”

Oh he is really going to be the death of you.

You’re fucked.

You press a thumb on the underside of his shaft, running along a thick vein that leads you to his tip. Although he’s already soaking with pre, you circle the head of his cock in your palm. His suckling stutters as you hit the slit on his tip. You curl your fingers around the underside, rubbing your thumb along his frenulum.

“~Nnnugh~ Mmmmm…” Leon unlatches, instantly overwhelmed by the pleasure. His chest starts shuttering against yours, unable to breathe as he begins bucking his hips into your hand.

“Ah, ah, ah. Puppy….what did I just tell you?” You press his hips flesh against the top of your thighs, keeping him in place. He lets out a thick sob. It was nice to see him shed tears when he wasn’t upset.

“Mommy wants to take care of you, baby. Can you stay still for me and let me do the work?” You tease him, earning a soft nod in response before he dives back into your breast. Your fingers return to the underside of his tip. “You’re such a needy little pup, but I don’t want you to do absolutely anything.” Your hand slowly sinks, then rises up his shaft. Leon throws his head back, a guttural moan ripping from his chest.

“I just need you to feeeeeeel for me. Do you think you can do that? Good pups let their mommies make them feel good.” You pump his swollen cock faster.

“Mmmm ~ughhhh~…….mmm-h-h-h-mmm.” Leon mumbles into your chest, nodding while suckling. He’d rather die than be separated from your breast again.

“Goooood pup. That’s my good boy.” His thighs are trembling. Borderline vibrating alongside you. The next pump, you swipe your thumb across his slit before pumping down his shaft again.

“Y-y-you mean it?” You’re shocked Leon can pronounce have a sentence through his trembling. “I-i-I’m y-y-your go-o-o-od boy?” Another tear falls down his cheek.

Your stomach drops.

You press an open mouthed kiss over his tear stains, continuing the fast pace on his dick. “Every word of it, baby.” He sobs under your praise.

“Mmmmmmoooooommmm-m-m-m….” Leon’s whimpers muffle into your chest, his tongue stuttering while swiping across your nipple. You can’t help but giggle.

“Ma-ma……..mom-m-m-mmy??” His shaky breath chills your nipple, your hand practically soaked with his pre now.

“Yes, my sweet puppy?”

Pump, swipe, pump, swipe.

His balls swell so big that you can’t help but knock into them with your fist. Leon is barely able to get his words out, so you know he’s close.

You force him to speak anyways.

“Can I come, m-m-m-mommy?” Leon, slack jawed and lazily lapping at your nipple, locks eye contact as hot tears stream down his face.

“Good pups use their manners….” You smirk down at him, slowing the motion of your hand.

“PLEASE. Please, mommy, please let me come. I’ve been so good for you, please mommy.” He throws his head into your chest, fully sobbing as you quicken the pumping on his cock.

Leon’s moans echoing off the walls of your apartment, he starts to lose his breath with each nudge of his balls. Only able to let out steady whines, the best he can do is attempt to warn you.

“M-mom-m-m………c-c-cum-cum-cu-….” His hips thrust into your hand, hot ropes of cum seeping onto your arm. You rub your thumb along his shaft to milk out his orgasm, savoring the sobs he lets out with each swipe.

“Theeeeere’s my good pup, there we are. Let it all out for mommy. Suuuuuch a good boy.” You shush him and give him gentle kisses as he eases off his high. Once it settles, he lets out a soft chuckle in disbelief. He leans up to give you a quick kiss on your lips, his mouth raw from sucking on your boob.

Leon takes a few deep breaths as you lick his cum off your arm, swiping up the drops on his legs to consume every bit. Although doing it for your own pleasure, you wish your boyfriend caught a glimpse of you savoring his juices. He was too fucked out, his pretty blue eyes already fluttered shut.

Breath still deep and slow, he still can’t stifle his own selflessness. “Thank you, baby. I…….~phew~…….I promise I’ll……I’ll repay you.” You scoff and give him another kiss on his forehead, using your now clean hands to brush through his hair.

“Leon….what did I say earlier? I don’t need you to repay me. I want to pamper you. You deserve it.” Leon gives a soft, sleepy smirk, nuzzling his body towards you to cuddle. You reposition yourself to lay alongside him on the couch, but he quickly rolls to lay on top of you. He could get used to this.

“I just feel special enough that you’re so vulnerable with me. That, and letting you relax is all the enjoyment I need.” You reach over the end of the couch to pull a blanket over you both. Just by the shallowness of his breathing, you can tell he’s going to pass out soon.

“Thank YOU. For letting me treat you, Leon.” You press a kiss to his nose, to which he barely musters a smile.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Get some rest.”

[lolalov3s]

Fine Wine

Leon Kennedy (Re9) x Fem!reader

Summary: Hitting the big 3-0 feels like an existential crisis when society has convinced you your desirability will officially expire. Fortunately, your 51-year-old neighbor is more than happy to prove that sex appeal only gets better with age.

Content: Smut (fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie), slightly insecure reader, and so much fluff it’s actually sickening

Word count: 6.5k

Masterlist❤︎ | Read on AO3

-

“What are you doing out here?”

The scent of cedar and gunpowder hits your nostrils before a pair of polished boots comes into your line of sight, stopping inches away from your toes.

Your complete lack of awareness is exactly why embarrassment warms your cold cheeks. Too consumed by mourning your current predicament, you hadn't even caught the subtle displacement of the evening air, nor the heavy crunch of Leon's stride closing the stretch of lawn between your two houses.

You should’ve, considering you’ve always been attuned to his presence, to the low timbre of his voice—heard it across the street while he’s bent over the hood of his car, felt it vibrate through the air when he offers a polite good morning that lingers long after he’s gone.

But that same voice currently carries a note of concern as he finds you at your absolute lowest, shivering in a low-cut party dress and smudged eyeliner right on your doorstep.

Your composure slumps even lower. “I’m locked out.”

The polished leather of his boots shifts. "Locked out," he repeats, “from your own house?”

“Lost my keys,” you explain, sounding as pathetic as you feel. You can feel his gaze tracking the line of your neck, kissing the field of goosebumps blooming across your skin. Leaving the house in nothing but a slip of silk suddenly seems like the worst decision of your life.

"I see," he says. "You don’t have a spare key under one of your plants?”

Your nose wrinkles in a small, self-deprecating scrunch as you glance up at him.

“Wouldn’t that be too obvious?”

“Obvious is often better than shivering in the dark.” His eyes sweep gently over your collarbone, noticing the way the thin straps of your dress dig slightly into your skin as you hunch over. “How long have you been sitting out in the cold?”

“Long enough to lose feeling in my toes.”

He frowns at the way you’ve wrapped your arms around yourself. Fragile little thing. “Come on.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to let you freeze to death on your own porch," he says, extending a hand towards you. "And I’m certainly not going to watch you turn blue from across the street while I have a perfectly good spare room.”

You stare at his large hand, contemplating whether stepping into the lair of the neighborhood’s most eligible (and most intimidating) bachelor is actually a safer bet than hypothermia.

Is it a good idea? Probably not. But the alternative is another hour of trembling in a thin slip while the wind bites harshly at your skin.

So you reach up, and under the disguise of a curiosity on what lies beyond his walls, you let his hand engulf your smaller one. His skin is a shock of warmth against your frozen fingers, and he pulls you up with an effortless strength that makes you feel momentarily weightless.

“Just for tonight,” you mumble, trying to reclaim a shred of your dignity as you wobble on your numb feet. You pointedly ignore the sharp pain in your heels as you find your balance. “I’ll call the locksmith first thing in the morning.”

“There’s no rush.” He lets go of your hand, palm sliding from your fingers to the small of your back. “The locksmith can wait until you’ve actually had a few hours of sleep.”

“I look that bad, huh?”

“Bad isn’t the word I’d use. Tired, maybe.” He gives you a once-over, looking a little bashful. “Still unfairly pretty.”

You let out a shaky breath, your legs feeling like lead as you navigate the curb. “You’re just being a good neighbor. You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying. The dress looks good on you.”

You look down at the soft material that clings to your damp skin, feeling suddenly very exposed. “Thanks.” Unconsciously, you find yourself leaning a fraction closer to him, seeking his body heat. “But it’s doing a terrible job of keeping me alive right now.”

And unconsciously, his palm skims around the curve of your waist. “Inclined to agree, unfortunately.”

“It was aesthetics over survival, felt like a fair trade for a celebration.”

“Yeah? What was the occasion?”

You let the silence linger a little longer before slowly answering, “My birthday.”

There’s a slight, reflexive squeeze of his hand on your waist. "Today's your birthday?"

“Yesterday, technically,” you correct him, noting that the hour has long since bled past midnight. "But yes."

"Well, happy birthday."

"Mhm."

He stops just inches from his front door, turns his head to peer down at you. You notice his brows pulling together in an observant line. "Don't sound too happy about it."

You let out a long sigh, letting your weight slump against the cold wood of the doorframe. The exhaustion is finally winning. “Birthdays are depressing,” you hum, tilting your head back to meet his eyes. “Another year of expectations you didn’t meet, another reminder that the clock is ticking. Don't you find them a bit… grim?”

He looks at you for a long beat before shaking his head, a single lock of silver falling across his left eye. "No. Not really," he says, turning the heavy brass handle and pushing the door inward. "But I’ve already had fifty-one of them to get used to the idea."

“So what you’re saying is I have to wait another twenty years to finally stop feeling like the world is ending?”

He catches your gaze, his expression softening into something dangerously close to a smile. “I’m saying that by the time you hit fifty, you realize the expectations were the only thing making it grim."

"That doesn't sound encouraging," you note as the house’s heating begins to thaw your frozen skin. "Twenty years is a long time to spend being disappointed."

His lips twitch. "It's not about the wait. It's about the perspective," he explains, guiding you further into the amber warmth of the foyer. "And you’re far too young to be this cynical."

"I wouldn't call myself young anymore."

"Fifty-one minus twenty. That makes you… what? Thirty-one?"

You try not to flinch, but a small, involuntary wince escapes you at the overestimation. "Thirty, actually."

"That’s still fairly young."

You throw him a dubious look. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepen. "It’s young," he insists, kicking off his shoes. You follow suit. Then he reaches out, catches your elbow, and guides you toward the living room where a long couch waits for you in the shadows.

His space is exactly as you’d imagined, steeped in warm masculine tones of deep walnut and charcoal. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. There’s the scent of old paper, expensive tobacco, and something clean like rain-washed cedar.

You also catch a faint, woody sting of bourbon, which you expected, but as you sink into the couch, you're surprised to notice a lone glass of red wine sitting on the coffee table.

"You drink wine?" You ask. "Never pegged you as a wine kind of guy."

He reaches for a heavy throw blanket draped over the back of an armchair and drapes it over your shoulder. "What do you peg me for?”

“Straight bourbon,” you admit, huddling into the wool. “Neat. Probably a double."

“I do have my few shares of bourbon.”

“Then I rest my case.”

He tilts his head in contemplation. "I suppose I've earned that reputation."

"You've earned a lot of reputation in this neighborhood."

“Don’t think I want to hear the half of it. Would you like a glass?"

You ponder if it’s a wise move. You’d spent the last four hours drowning in cocktails that were far too sweet, and the fuzzy warmth in your chest is a precarious balance against the exhaustion. Adding a glass of wine to the mix might be the final nudge your brain needs to completely shut down.

But as you look at him, standing tall and massive against the backdrop of his endless books with the fluorescent light tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the idea of a quiet glass of wine with your hot neighbor suddenly feels much more appealing than any of the neon shots you’d endured at the bar.

"I probably shouldn't… but it is my birthday.”

“Not trying to pressure you.”

“Not pressured. I’m actually curious what kind of wine a fifty-one year old bachelor drinks.”

“So I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Take it as a hell yeah.”

He disappears into what you think is a kitchen, and your bravado disappears along with him, replaced by a sudden spike of nerves. Now that he isn't standing directly over you, the reality of the situation settles over you like a heavy blanket draped over your frame.

You’re sitting on the couch of a man who is as intimidating as he is handsome, and you’re about to spend the first hours of your thirty-year drinking expensive wine in his lair.

The rug tickles your bare feet as you nervously tuck them under your thighs, trying to make yourself as small as possible in the vastness of his cushions.

“Here,” he announces himself again, and you notice that he’s pushed the long sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, revealing forearms that are corded with muscles and mapped with a faint dusting of hair.

You try not to blatantly stare at the prominent veins tracing down to his wrists as you reach out to take the glass from him. “What is it?”

“A Stag’s Leap Cabernet Sauvignon,” he says, settling into the opposite end of the long couch. He drapes one arm over the back, turns his body toward you. “From Napa. This one’s got a bit of ripeness to it. Black cherry, maybe a touch of vanilla.”

You hum, bringing the glass a little closer.

“Gets better with age too,” he continues, eyes lifting to yours. Then with the faintest hint of a smile, “Though it'd be perfect for the occasion.”

You can’t stop the flutter in your belly.

“That’s very sweet of you.”

“It does have a touch of sweetness if you let it sit.”

“No, I mean you, Leon.” You finally gather the nerve to meet his gaze, and find yourself tracing the tiny, crystalline specks of silver that radiate from his blue orbs. “Trying to make me feel better, offering me shelter when I was half-frozen on my doorstep.”

The air in the room seems to shift the moment his name leaves your lips. His shoulders visibly drop an inch. “Yeah, well, you’d do the same.”

You would. Although, as you look at the unshakable size of him, you could never imagine a man like him sitting pathetically out in the cold, mourning a nonexistent tragedy while spiraling over a birthday. Still, you’d have opened your door for him in a heartbeat, even if he weren't half-frozen—maybe especially if he weren't.

And you’re not sure what to make of that.

It’s a thought that feels a little too dangerous to hold onto while sitting this close to him, and you find yourself suddenly, helplessly distracted by the sharp curve of his lower lip.

“Here’s to saving Neighbors in Distress, then,” you offer absentmindedly.

He reaches out for his own glass on the coffee table. Hones his eyes on you with a sincerity that feels tangible as the room falls to the quiet space between his gaze and your breath. The silver specks in his irises seem to ignite in the low light, pinning you to his cushions.

“And to aging like fine wine,” he adds.

A soft burst of laughter bubbles out of you. “That is so corny.” Then angle your head to the side. “And such an old saying.”

“I’m half a century, what did you expect?”

There’s no trace of forced humor in his voice, and that lack of irony makes his delivery even more amusing. The smile on your face lingers as a warm pulse in your cheeks. It blooms as a genuine spark of comfort in your chest, prints over the rim of your glass as you take a sip.

“Wow,” you say appreciatively. “That’s really good wine.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s also incredibly dangerous, I think I need to pace myself,” you admit, placing your glass on the coffee table. “Thirty is supposed to be the age of moderation, isn't it?”

“According to who?”

“Everyone,” you answer, a little too quickly. “Social media, podcasts, people who suddenly start playing padel and structured routines.”

“I think moderation is something people reach for when they’re trying to feel safe,” he observes, rolling the stem of his glass between his fingers. “Less risk. Fewer surprises.”

You smile faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s… reality catching up?”

His gaze shifts, catching that subtle change in you. “You don’t sound convinced.”

You shrug. “I just thought by now things would feel more... settled. Or clear.” Your fingers trace the intricate, frayed embroidery at the edge of the blanket around you. “Instead it kind of feels like I’m aging out of things without ever really being part of them in the first place.”

“Aging out of what?”

You let out a small breath, almost embarrassed to say it out loud. “Being… wanted, I guess.” A quick, self-conscious laugh follows. “Or at least effortlessly so. Like there’s a point where you stop turning heads and start blending in, and you don’t even realize when the moment of being undesirable happens.”

“You really think that’s already happened to you?”

You don’t answer right away, and that probably answers enough. His glass meets the table with a soft thud. “That’s a dangerous assumption.”

“More dangerous than the wine?”

“Much. Because it’s wrong.”

You’re not sure whether to laugh it off or deny it outright.

“Desirability isn’t about being the loudest thing in the room,” he continues. “Or the youngest. It’s not about catching everyone’s attention for five seconds.”

“Then what is it about?”

The room exhales into silence. The lone lamp spills a muted glow, its light stretching into uneven shadows that breathe along the walls while somewhere deeper in the house, a clock ticks softly as each second threads itself through the sudden quiet.

“Presence,” his voice finally settles into the stillness. “About knowing yourself well enough that when someone does notice you, they don’t forget it.”

“And you think that just… gets better?”

“I know it does.”

The certainty in his voice makes your chest tighten. You look down, suddenly aware of your bare shoulders under the blanket, the thin fabric of your dress, the way you’d felt so exposed stepping into his house.

He leans forward then, just enough to close some of the distance, the sheer presence of his broad frame grounding in a way that makes it harder to retreat into your own thoughts.

“Look at me,” he urges softly.

Hesitation flickers through your posture before you finally lift your chin. There’s a quiet warmth in his gaze, something unguarded that softens the harder edges of him that turns all his intensity into something almost unbearably kind.

“You're worried about becoming invisible, but I can tell you right now, there is not a single thing about you that is easy to look away from."

Your breath shatters in your throat as he reaches out. His hand is large, the skin calloused, but his touch is incredibly light as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Caresses your cheekbone with a thumb.

“So no,” he adds, quieter but no less certain, “I don’t think you’re becoming less desirable.”

If you weren't sure what would finally wreck you on this milestone birthday, what would be the thing to finally break the surface of your spiraling thoughts—you are now, and it’s the magnetic pull of wanting to kiss a man twenty-one years your senior.

But age is just a number, isn't it? Leon has obviously made it clear that he doesn’t view the passage of time as a problem, and looking at the way his eyes are currently tracing the shape of your mouth, you’re starting to believe him.

The gap between your ages feels like an invitation to a level of intensity you weren't prepared for at twenty-nine.

“You really think so?”

“Sweetheart, you’re the most desirable thing I’ve had the privilege of seeing in my entire life.”

You can’t believe you’ve resisted his charm for so long.

You’ve imagined similar scenarios, of course. Living right across to a man who carries himself with so much lethal grace made it entirely impossible not to.

The men you’ve dated in your twenties were mostly just boys still trying to figure themselves out. You were used to clumsy hands and rushed fumbling, to guys who barely knew how to hold a conversation.

Leon is different. Maybe it’s his age. Confidence, agility—it’s obvious he doesn't possess the frantic energy of a younger man, instead moving with an authority that commands your attention without him even having to try. As a result, countless lonely nights were spent of you lying awake wondering what it would actually feel like to have his solid weight pressing you down.

Not that you would ever dare to admit that to anyone. No, thinking it in the privacy of your own mind is already embarrassing enough.

Although the gratification of having him kissing you obliterates any sense of shame. And the way his hands are exploring every corner of your curves proves that he’s spent just as much time agonizing over the exact same thoughts.

You’re uncertain when the blanket fell off your shoulders, but you can feel the rough friction of his palms everywhere. Your arms, your knees, your thighs. You’re aware of him bunching the skirt of your dress upward until it’s gathered at your waist.

You also sense a slight desperation in his touch. A monumental inkling of need bleeding through a composure that suggests he’s been holding himself back for so long, and it is as staggering as the deceptive softness of his lips to realize the sheer force of his hunger.

It isn’t until your lips are swollen and stinging and wet from the relentless pressure of his that you finally fill your lungs with air.

And to your chagrin, he momentarily pulls away. “Maybe we should slow down.”

“Why?” you whine, a little pout hanging on your puckered lips. “Thought I was desirable.”

“You are,” he grunts. His nose grazes the high curve of your cheek. “Believe me, you are.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

He levels with your concerned gaze. “Don’t want you waking up thinking this was a mistake.”

Yeah, right. As if a few sugary cocktails could be the sole reason of a desire this potent.

Sure, there’s a sweet haze effectively numbing your usual inhibitions, but alcohol didn't carve the hollow ache in your chest every time you watched him pull into his driveway. Nor did it plant the heat that pooled in your belly whenever he caught your eye over the property line—more times than you could admit, less than what you truly craved.

In retrospect, the tension had always been there. Unconsciously. Even if you were stone-cold sober you would still be here.

The morning light couldn't possibly undo the rightness of finally having him in your vicinity.

You reach a palm towards his face. “The only mistake," you whisper, soft words against the rough scrape of his jaw, "would be making me wait another second."

He’s quiet for a moment, but your pretty eyes tip whatever restraint he’s holding onto. Has him tracing the supple skin of your breast with a newfound zeal.

“You sure?”

“Why don’t you take off my dress and find out?”

You feel his amusement radiate against your skin. “Glad your confidence is back.” Then he hooks a finger under the thin silk of your dress, slides the strap down your shoulder. “Because you are beautiful.”

The cool air hits your skin. Two sensitive peaks beg for his attention.

“So goddamn beautiful. Look at these tits.”

There’s amusement laced in your smile. “Also didn’t peg you with such an abrasive vocabulary.”

“Politeness won’t cover what I want to do to you right now.”

Soft strands of hair thread between your fingers as his mouth wraps around a nipple.

Plays with it eagerly, lapping around in circles with agonizing precision before drawing it back as if trying to make the sensitive point swell even larger in his mouth. Repeats the motion far longer than you anticipated, searing a path that sends a rush of hot blood to your core until every atom of your being is vibrating.

You’re convinced the room is spinning as he gives the same attention to your other breast, painting your areola with a slickness that is as heavy as the dampness between your thighs.

He seems to sense the change in your breathing, lets a hand travel down your hip before draping one of your legs over his lap. Bends your other knee, fingers hooking into the crook of your leg to draw you apart.

“Keep them open for me.”

You nod limply. He kisses the side of your throat.

“Undesirable,” he tuts, large hand moving to the wet patch on your panties to map the exact shape of your arousal through the silk. “Do you realize how ridiculous that is?”

You try to form a response, to make some self-deprecating excuse about the depressive weight of your birthday or the slow decay of your youth, but the air simply vanishes from your lungs. The pressure he applies over you sends an electric shockwave of sensation through your nervous system.

He watches the words die on your lips. Watches the way your hips hitch upward. Observes the shallow rhythm of your chest with every rhythmic circle he rubs into your aching little clit.

His mouth ticks up into a smile that softens the weathered lines of his devastatingly handsome face.

“Should I show you myself then?”

“Show…” The supple grain of the couch bites into your shoulder blades as your toes curl into the material. “…what?”

His fingers slip under your flimsy lace. “Exactly how desirable you are.”

“Ahh—” Your hazy mind goes into an absolute sensory overload. One second the room is a blur of amber light and red wine, the next heartbeat you are violently aware of the viscous heat of your own arousal as he gathers it on his fingertips. “Leon—”

He sweeps upward, smearing that glistening moisture across the swollen outer folds and pressing it deep into the delicate flesh of your labia, and you are acutely aware of the aching bead of your clit trapped beneath the abrasive swirl of his fingers, feeling it throb in perfect synchronization with your racing heart.

Leon feels it too. The sharp rhythm of his breathing stutters as he watches you squirm.

“Gorgeous girl.” The blunt tip of his middle finger presses against your slick opening, testing the tight ring of muscle before slowly sinking in. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“Le…on… oh!”

The addition of a second finger pulls a high keening from your throat.

Two fingers and you feel impossibly full. You can barely fathom the weight of taking his actual cock, and your walls pulsate at the thought. He groans, pulls his hand back almost to the entrance before driving his knuckles deep inside you again.

In and out, back and forth, turning your entire world into a blur of pleasure and the heady scent of him. Incredibly, unapologetically male.

The only thing consuming your mind right now, rightfully so. The pleasure-induced haze that clouds your brain parts just enough for you to breathe in his musk, to watch the absolute concentration on his face as he dedicates himself to your pleasure. At the quiet lines carved beside his eyes. The faint crease at the corner of his mouth. The hard flex of his chiseled jaw, dusted with fine hints of gray.

Maybe aging isn’t so bad after all. You’re suddenly grateful for every single year that carved him into the man who’s currently dismantling you with his bare hands.

Because you feel it. The ongoing swell of an orgasm gathering at the base of your spine. Your breath fractures into a wordless sob and Leon feels your undoing the second it begins. Helps you through it. Massages the deep, aching knot of tension inside your cunt, using the volume of your own wetness to press the base of his palm against your puffy clit.

Your mouth opens wide to gulp in air but all that comes out is a groan that shocks your bones.

Legs parted instinctively wide, it is one of the strongest orgasms you have experienced in a very long time. You’d argue it might be the strongest one ever, but the thought of cumming onto his cock seemed like the only thing that could possibly top the rank.

Your satiated limbs melt into the cushions as he kisses the sweat dripping down your hairline. “Lift your arms up for me.”

You obey wordlessly, and he starts to undress you. Slips off the once delicate lace down the length of your legs. You’re still drifting in a post-orgasmic haze, but your focus snaps back the second he peels his shirt over his head. The flex of his thick biceps and broad shoulders completely rewires your sluggish brain that you find yourself leaning forward as he makes quick work of his pants.

And then it’s genuinely hard to believe that the Leon Kennedy—intimidating, sweet Leon who lives right across your house—is sitting spread out with a raging hard-on that demands your attention.

Which, obviously, you give to him without needing to be asked. The second your fingers fully encircle and squeeze his impressive size, his head falls back against the couch, exposing the strained column of his neck.

You also give your attention to the erratic pulse at his throat. Pressing your lips against a scattering of sun-faded freckles beneath his jaw, swallowing the deep vibration of another groan.

Leon, you’ve come to realize, is not ashamed of being loud. A delightful knowledge that this formidable man is perfectly willing to let his voice gravel with each motion along his shaft. You experimentally tighten your grip and drag a thumb across the weeping slit of his cock, and feel your heart swell with giddiness the moment he comes to cradle your cheeks and groans straight into your mouth.

The power you hold over him is intoxicating. Addicting. Very, very dangerous. Whatever excuse you initially gave yourself about tonight as a symptom of being touch-deprived and horny on your birthday is rapidly dissolving. You can already see yourself easily basking in the undivided attention he's so far given you.

Granted, it is nearly impossible to worry about the long-term consequences when he’s panting directly into your open mouth, failing bid to keep his control intact.

You decide to offer him some grace, slowly loosening your grip. Let your nails graze the soft hair at his base, trace the dark trail up the firm ridge of his stomach until your hand settles on the hard plane of his chest.

He pulls back and pins your hand over his heart. “We should move to the bedroom.”

The heat of his skin is too comforting for you to even consider the effort of standing up.

“Why?”

“Condoms," he huffs. "Don't have any on me."

Your nose curls. It really is hard to worry about the long-term consequences when all you can think about is the desperate need to feel him raw. Surprising, considering safe sex is a practice you've always adhered to.

But Leon really does have a habit of pulling completely new things out of you. Effortlessly dismantles your depressed thoughts, unravels your usual guarded boundaries, and is now rewiring your entire view on intimacy.

There’s a tiny lull of silence before you gather the courage to ask, “How much can I trust you without using one?”

His heartbeat kicks under your palm, and you watch as his brows draw together before the harsh lines on his face soften. “As much as you’re willing to give.” His thumb drags over the back of your hand. “You sure ‘bout that?”

It surprises you how easy the words slip past your lips, devoid of the usual overthinking that has haunted this day so far.

For the first time in a long time, the air in your lungs feels clear.

“I want you to go without,” you confirm.

“C’mere.”

He tugs you closer and sits you right on top of his lap, back firmly flushed against his chest.

“Lift your hips a little.”

You brace your hands against his thick thighs, let him guide the blunt tip of his cock right to your slick hole. The keening sound you make vibrates in the room as gravity slowly takes over, allowing your wet muscles to swallow the first few inches of him.

It doesn’t hurt, but it isn’t any less intense. He fills you with a burning heat.

“Ah—ngh… Leon…”

“Breathe,” he drawls. You feel his lips on the crook of your neck, gooseflesh rising up when you feel the tip of his tongue. “A little more, yeah?”

Your head bobs in a nod. Lungs expanding, lungs deflating—diaphragm relaxed. You count to three and let your body melt against his chest.

It takes him a full minute, filled with soft whines that rumble in the back of your throat and little strokes coming from his hips. Your eyes are unfocused when he gives a final jerk, feeling the coarseness of his hair grind against the slope of your ass.

“Oh, fuck.”

“So fucking warm,” he grunts, pulling open your thighs wide across his lap, knees hooked over his sides with your bare feet dangling in the air. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you slur. There’s no pain to speak of but the strain of him pressing against your sensitive flesh. “Just… full.”

At least, full is the only word your overstimulated brain can offer.

No amount of previous longing could have prepared you for the way his pulse drums in tandem with your own, thudding so violently against your internal nerves. Perfectly snug inside you, as if your very anatomy is fundamentally shifting—melting, molding. Making room to seamlessly map every thick ridge of his shape until there's no space left between your bodies.

But sitting perfectly still is its own kind of torture. The throb in your cunt is spiraling into a desperate itch, and simply having him seated to the hilt is no longer enough.

Friction is what you seek, and friction is what you ask, rolling your hips in a needy grind, doing your best to wiggle against his lap just to coax out even a fraction.

"Christ." The sound he makes vibrates through your entire back, dragged out with sluggish words you have trouble making sense. "...embarrassing this old man.”

You tilt your head back in confusion, try to parse his meaning through the thick haze of pleasure.

“Won’t last long tonight," he explains, slowly rolling his hips that draws another groan. “Not even a good ten minutes.”

A giggle interrupts your keening whine. You let your head fall to the side, resting your temple against the sweaty curve of his throat.

“It’s okay... you can fuck me again in the morning.”

The breathless laugh he wheezes sounds partly wicked.

“You’re goddamn right I will. Take you in my bed.” He drags his hips backward. “The shower.” Then languidly thrusts forward. “Even the kitchen.”

He takes the full weight of your breasts in eager hands.

“Fuck you in the back of my car like rabid teenagers.”

You choke on a moan and reach behind, fingers finding the damp hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t think our bones can handle the lack of legroom.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it work.”

You feebly smile at the confidence in his voice.

Somehow, you don’t doubt him. Anyone with a conscious mind would agree that Leon is a man of absolute competence. You might not know the secret he keeps behind closed doors, or the full depth of his life, but you know the way he commands the space he occupies. And you'd expect nothing less from him when the space he's currently residing in is yours.

Physically, sure. He's sheathed impossibly deep within your cunt.

Metaphorically, too, when he’s been threading in your thoughts with a steady persistence. Lingers between looks, between breaths. Settles deep into the unspoken gaps of your everyday life, anticipating your needs long before you do by offering things without excess.

A roof over your head. A glass of wine in your hand without expectation. Heartfelt words that reach you even when you hadn’t realized you needed to hear them.

You wonder if you asked for more for the sake of your own comfort, he would give that too.

For your pleasure, at least. The stretch of him fucking you in slow ceremony is already delicious as it is, but a fierce hunger still gnaws at your neglected clit. You try to guide the hand on your right tit down to the slope of your stomach, drawing it directly toward the spot where your bodies meet.

Fortunately, Leon is more than happy to oblige.

“Right here?"

You nod silently, let your body do the talking. And talking it does in a language of erratic breaths and arching hips. Pliant to his touch, yet greedy for his fingertips. The sheer volume of slick, overheated syrup that instantly coats his skin has him inhaling sharply.

"Fucking drenched,” he grunts, feeling the rigid length of his cock disappear completely between your glistening folds. "Gonna eat this pussy next time."

Crude and abrasive. You like this version of him. So much so that your internal muscles respond before your voice can, milking him with a series of desperate clenches that has his jaw locking tight.

“Next time, sweetheart,” he promises, rubbing circles over the hard knot of your clit. “Taste how sweet this pussy is.”

That seems to do it. Your entire frame tenses, toes curling in anticipation of the sensation climbing up in your leg. Even breathing seems like a secondary concern, a distant chore your lungs are struggling to remember how to perform when you’ve succumbed so completely to the intensity.

"That’s it. You gon' give me another?”

You hiccup through a frantic chorus of “Fuckfuckfuckfuck” and wail helplessly.

“Go on. Let me feel it."

“Shit,” you heave, right before you shatter, squeezing your eyes shut.

You collapse with a satisfied smile, reveling in the ecstasy seeping deep into your bones. But that quiet hum is cut abruptly short when his hands suddenly hook under the backs of your knees, hoisting your legs up and peeling you open.

Starts fucking you for the sake of his pleasure.

You find no mercy in his rhythm, pistoning force that has your breasts bouncing with every jarring strike. Limbs shaking, bones rattling. The room shuddering with echoes of wet, heavy slaps.

It’s nothing you can’t take when you seem to be enjoying it yourself. You realize, staring down at the clotted, white fluid foaming around his cock, that you would gladly give him anything he so much as looked at. He’s already given you plenty of attention that you’ll let him take whatever he needs in the name of gratitude.

A token of appreciation, if you will. A thank you for being the perfect neighbor—the perfect man, capable of melting your resolve with kind gestures before proceeding to rearrange your guts.

Although thinking this is solely for his benefit seems foolish when he's ruining you oh-so-good. Fast and precise, hitting right where you love it, touching exactly where you're tight. 

A harsh jerk of his cock has you blubbering incoherent words, "HolyfuckLe—Leon!"

You're answered with a row of grunts, of squelching noises that increase the more he thrusts in. You feel like a carved pretzel as he pins your legs to your chest, locking you firmly in place. Drilling hard, erratic, pushing all the strength he possesses into your pliant body.

There’s a hot tension in your lower belly. The muscles slacken in your neck—throat closing in as your mouth opens in a scream that doesn't quite make it through.

The silence punched out of you is finally rewarded.

Your third orgasm is gut-wrenching when it happens. It twists your insides, wringing you dry. You’re a mess of tears and drool and Leon makes sure you aren't left completely empty. With two final strong thrusts, he pumps a flood deep into your cunt in exchange for every drop of liquid he’s drained from your pores.

Overstimulated and exhausted, you slowly let your heartbeat settle. So does Leon. His breath tickles the crook of your neck, and there’s a thick, gravelly edge in his voice as he drawls, “I should’ve pulled out.”

Not exactly regret, but an acknowledgment of his complete loss of control. Not that you particularly care.

Lifting a lazy hand, you gently stroke the corded muscle of his arm, soothing down the dusting of silvered hair.

“You don't see me complaining," you whisper, voice utterly sated.

“Yeah? Let me see you.”

The smell of sex is so pungent and sweet as he slips you off his thighs. Lays you gently on the empty space of the couch beside him. Parts your legs for the many times tonight, and marvels at the sight of his cum making its way down to your puckered hole.

He spreads your spent, swollen folds with his thumb. “Gorgeous girl.”

You offer him a tired smile.

Surprisingly, you do believe him.

In a physical sense, yes, that’s true. The way he’s imprinted himself inside your body is proof enough of exactly how fiercely he desires you. But the weight of his words carries a gravity that pulls at something far deeper than your skin. Past the pulse at your throat and the ache in your thighs, settling heavy in the hollow of your chest.

Society has a way of making you feel like you’re meant to diminish with time. Expected to survive in barren soil, pouring yourself out while trying to bloom from roots that wouldn't even bother to water you. Grown accustomed to a slow drought from an environment that convinced you were fading out of focus as the years ticked by.

The way he looks at you defies that logic. The blue in his eyes suggests time has only made your harvest sweeter.

Any insecurities you harbored evaporate under the pads of his fingers as he maps the rise of your belly. All the self-criticism and nagging fear of becoming invisible dissolve the same way he smoothly glides through the valley of your breasts.

The frantic noise of the world goes completely silent when he palms your cheek. His body is hot atop yours, and his gaze holds genuine comfort of being truly, unconditionally seen.

For the first time tonight, you discern the affection decorating his eyes.

And it’s certainly not for the last.

His smile is warm and tender as his breath kisses your lips. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Your birthday is happy indeed.