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19 this is a side blog for fics :9 main: gojoed

[leonslifealert]

watch the pasta (re4r!leon x gn!reader)

he should know better. truly.

his back's to you, a halo of steam above him from the pot on the stove, sweatpants hanging low on his waist, roped muscles on full display.

and his butt. just there, firm, waiting.

your hand acts of its own accord as you pass. a hefty smack, a little squeeze at the curve of his cheek.

something clatters behind you and you're already arching away, squealing. not fast enough, never fast enough, because his hand traps your wrist, his laugh echoing into the small space.

"that all you got?"

and he's pulling you toward him, flat hand up and darting behind you as you twist out of reach, laughter already pushing your abs to their limit.

unsuccessful, he hauls you up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. too easy.

unfortunately for him, the angle's in your favor. you bury a finger into the space between his cheeks.

he clenches with a light yell, hips jutting forward in an attempt to escape.

then you're sailing through the air, couch cushions caving under your back as his full weight comes down on top of you, his teeth grazing just above your collarbone, lips brushing delicate skin.

"leon!" you bat at him. "the noodles!"

he's up before you finish.

the snap of the dial, the squeak of the moving pot, and he's jogging back just as urgently, his mouth meeting yours as you pull him back home with arms around his neck.

[caytopia]

JURY’S OUT

Vendetta-Death Island!Leon x Lawyer!Reader | 17.2k

Summary: You’ve had plenty of unfortunate witnesses over the years of working for the DSO’s legal team: somehow, Leon Kennedy is the absolute worst. He listens, abides by your rules, until he knows when he can get under your skin. Leon has an exciting way of toeing the line until you break, and eventually, you figure out why.

Contents: 18+ eventual smut, second person pov, coworkers to lovers, friends to lovers, office romance, mutual pining but Leon is more pathetic about it, angst, alcoholism, romantic and sexual tension, plot with porn, gentle romance, recovery, anxious Leon, hurt/comfort, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, Leon has a praise kink, no use of y/n

Author’s note: First published fic on here and it's SUPER not proofread so let me know if anything is wrong!! comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

Leon S. Kennedy has to be the most infuriating witness you've ever had the displeasure of working with. 

Which isn't exactly saying a lot. You haven’t been practicing for too long, almost ten years if you were counting, and you'd been offered the position with the DSO legal team five years into your career when you were thirty-two. 

It had been a shock. You were still young in the legal world, too young to be taken seriously, but you were damn good at your job. You'd known that since you started law school. 

The feeling only solidified as you'd worked with the DSO. You have handled cases that would've made other attorneys sweat, heavy with substance and not enough evidence to prove worthwhile. To be fair, you didn't exactly have a choice on what you took on and what you didn’t, but it was enough of a challenge to keep you sharp, tough, and prepared for the worst. 

There were moments that tested you. Your least favorite part of the job was the coaching. The dealing with witnesses, directing what exactly to say and not to say, how to pull themselves together on the stand and not look guilty of whatever was being thrown against them made you want to rip your hair out strand by strand. 

Most of the time, you control the reactions well. Field agents and HR employees are used to dealing with people who openly wanted them dead. Those who worked in Logistics, Operations, or Intelligence are not. They're the hardest to work into stoicism.

Usually, the agents are good. Most of them are too exhausted from the vice grip the world has on them to care about sentencing or lawsuits. The cynicism that hangs over them is second-nature. You’ve even requested witnesses from other agencies, and they listened to your extremely important, valuable legal advice. 

Except Leon fucking Kennedy. 

For some reason, Leon doesn't obey your very clear, stern rules you lay out about presentation and wording. Or maybe he likes being defiant. Maybe he is worn down by the world of bioterrorism in a way that bleeds into the very facet of his being that he doesn't feel any guilt about losing a case. 

Maybe, more accurately, he just likes pressing your buttons. 

Because he isn't disrespectful and insubordinate all the time. Just when he knows that your eye will twitch, and your chest rattles with a sigh deep enough for your pelvis to feel, and it makes him smirk. 

When you first meet, it's in the hell that you call your office. Dark circles cling under your eyes, heavy enough to weigh on your limbs, too, from the countless late nights at the office over the last week. 

I love my job, you remind yourself. You love the pliancy of it all. The fact that the crux of your world revolves around how well you can talk, how swift you think in the moment. How you can mold whatever you’re working with into a certain narrative. 

At times like this, you really can’t forget how awful it is. How exhausting it is, carrying everything with you, unable to unentwine the concepts of home and work. 

Whatever's in your hands is long forgotten as the knock reverberates through your office. You jump. The papers fall through your fingers and land on your desk in a heap.

Fuck. Of course you forgot. You emailed back and forth with an agent from downstairs, someone in the field. Agent Kennedy had returned from a mission three days ago, and he is already back in the office. 

It's only ten o'clock, and you somehow felt like the floor was already falling out from under your feet. 

“Come in,” you call out, loud enough to be heard but soft enough to where the words didn’t scrape your chest. 

The hinges of your door creak open, slowly at first, a reminder that you need to send a request to Maintenance because it is driving you nuts. Every time an intern opens your office it sticks with you like nails on a chalkboard. 

You hardly register standing up and smoothing your hands over your slacks, straightening the collar of your blouse like it’s a habit buried deep in your muscles. 

He steps tentatively into the room, loafers first, and your breath falls short for just a moment. 

You had known Leon Kennedy was an attractive man. You work in a government office: people gossip. Interns whisper, excited that they got a glimpse of the DSO legend, the golden boy who saved President Graham's daughter from Spanish occultists and apparently backflipped while doing it. 

Murmurs go through departments, circulating like wildfire, until they reach your office through your coworker, Miles, who drops files by your desk with a small smirk and gives you details quickly, hushed, like he knows you'd be embarrassed to be tied in on office drama. 

You knew Leon was hot. You did not know that, despite that fact, he looks so haunted. 

The first thing you notice are his eyes. His light blue eyes are surrounded by deeply furrowed brows and lines that seem etched into his skin, echoes of ghosts that cling heavy on his conscience. You wonder for a second how he looked when he was younger. Did he look so angry? So exhausted? Or is that something that comes with the DSO's control of him?

He looks like he wrangles ghosts in the dead of night with willpower and occasionally a pistol. 

Usually, this unnerves you. But strangely, Leon seems harmless. 

Leon gives you a small smile that somewhat resembles a grimace. His eyebrow is held together with a butterfly stitch and a fading bruise lingers on his jaw. Obviously, he feels like shit. He shouldn't have even been cleared for desk duty yet with the way he's leaning to one side, like bearing the weight fully is too much. 

You wouldn't notice if your whole job didn't revolve around attention to detail, but his shirt is slightly untucked and wrinkled, like he didn't have time or care to iron it. Or maybe he was too tired to do so. 

He closes the door behind him and approaches your desk, steps unbelievably light considering his broad frame. 

"You must be Leon." You hold out your hand, grasping his firmly, and avoid the rush of emotions that come to you when you realize how large he is. "How are you? Can I grab you anything? We have coffee, water, I think tea-"

"I'm fine," Leon replies quickly, convincingly, like the idea of being taken care of is embarrassing. Then, somewhat more gently, he says, "Thanks though."

You squint across the table at him and take a seat, hand reaching out towards your keyboard as you open a document. The agents are easy, you reminded yourself. They take everything in, too unbothered to care about sitting in court. 

But his gaze is heavy on you across your desk as he scoots his chair in, and he rests his folded hands on your desk before clearing his throat. 

Leon is interesting in a way you can't quite decipher. Your whole life is reading people. 

You can't read him. 

That fact…makes you sort of nervous. 

"I'm sure you've been through this before with Miles so I'll try to be brief." you write down a couple of notes at the top of the document and narrow your eyes in his direction. "I'm surprised you're back so soon. You're healing from a hip injury."

Leon tries to hide his surprise. "Think I'm running them out of PTO."

"Right," you offer him a small smile that does nothing to hide your disagreement with his words. "Let's go over some things before I get too into this."

With a clinical clarity that you typically carried everywhere, but especially in your job, you prompt Leon to tell you, exactly, what happened in North Dakota months ago when he was on an assignment. Logically, you have all of the information you need. There's no way this guy isn't getting sentenced. But it matters how Leon views this case, how he remembers it, because the way he talks on the stand is important. 

He recalls the events through furrowed brows, gaze burning a hole into your desk, hands never leaving their spot on the particle board. You never interrupt. You never do, not in the first go of the story, at least. Seeing the spots where he hesitates, where he ponders over his words, was crucial. Because you have to make sure he doesn't do that on the stand. 

And there is something interesting about Leon that you don't see in other agents. He cannot hold eye contact, even though his words are clear and level, like he had somewhat rehearsed it, or maybe because he reduces all experiences in his life to terminology akin to a report. 

When you think you've gotten a grasp on who he is, his tone shifts, a wall flies up in his mind, and you're back at square one. 

"Listen, Agent Kennedy–"

"Leon," he says. "Please."

"Leon," you oblige him. "I'm going to be honest. You are one of the most difficult people to read I have ever encountered. I don't care. But a jury does," you lean forward in your chair and force him to meet your eyes. "Because if they can't read someone, how are they supposed to trust what they say?"

Leon tilts his head a bit, like he is caught off guard by your bluntness. "They probably shouldn't."

"Don't say that on the stand. God, that's horrible." You reach toward your keyboard and type out a couple of notes on Leon: defiant, closed-off, cynical. After consideration, you add a fourth. Sad. "The defense will take hesitation as a lack of allegiance. I don't care if you believe in your job or not. Just don't make it sound like that."

"You…" Leon churns over the words. "You're very upfront."

"I'm good at what I do." You mentally wave his discomfort away. "Go again. From the top. Be more…I don't know. Sensitive? Look like someone a jury could sympathize with."

"Am I?"

"That's up to you."

For the next hour, you give him notes, ignoring the blush that creeps up his neck when you grimace at the tone that bleeds into his testimony at times. You prepare him to answer your questions, ones that had been polished in the dim light of your living room with a horrible reality show droning on your television. 

He does well enough. You dismiss him with a, "Get some rest, Leon," and a bottle of water to take to his office downstairs. 

You don't think much about Leon Kennedy until the trial comes up a couple weeks later. There was too much to do. You'd figured he'd been on the stand enough times before, with his line of work surrounding breaking federal laws and shooting things. 

On the morning of the trial, you look around at your team. "Martina, you okay?" You ask one of the employees you subpoena'd from Logistics. "Hang on, I'll go grab you something. You're too pale." 

For most people, the courtroom is an edifice of walnut wood and anxiety, arching doorways and columns of finely-carved mahogany. For you, it's, strangely, comfort. Here, you’re completely in your element. 

You slip out of the conference room where your witnesses sit huddled around a table. Your gray pantsuit is tighter than usual, the white blouse under your vest properly pressed, and you resist the urge to undo the top button as it scratches against your neck.

When you return, it is with an armful of water bottles and pockets full of granola bars. You pass them out. When Leon Kennedy grabs one from you, his fingertips brush against yours, and he gives you a small smirk that makes you narrow your eyes suspiciously.

The cut on his eyebrow had faded into a light pink scar and there is no evidence of a bruise on his jaw. He cleaned up rather nicely, too, you notice. The dark blue suit outlines his physique nicely in all the ways that matters. Leon is a large man, no hiding that, but the silhouette of the wool makes him look small enough to seem meek. 

Good. 

Your eyes scan over the clock on the wall. "Okay, we're starting in fifteen. I'm gonna get out there. Any questions? No? Okay." 

At the time, you don't think much of the look Leon was giving you. You probably should've. 

When he is called out, he does a decent enough job of answering your questions with the tone you made him practice in your office, words calculated and level, and he actually makes an effort to hold eye contact with you and at times, the jury.

It's hard to ignore the thought that he is really handsome like this, but he is. Especially when he pushes away the harsh edges to his personality that often frighten others. From what you heard. 

It is when he is called out for cross examination that you begin to regret not being harsher on him. 

"Agent Kennedy- sorry, can I call you Leon?" the defense attorney asks, though he wasn't expecting an answer, which is obvious by the shock on his face when Leon interrupts him. 

"No, Agent Kennedy is fine." 

You don't like that. Not one bit. And Leon can tell, based on the way his eyebrow raises ever so slightly in your direction. 

"Okay, Agent Kennedy, let me ask you some questions about this experience in North Dakota…"

The attorney is grasping at straws. You can tell, because you've had to do it before. There isn't much for him to do besides try to claw himself out of the hole the evidence has dug, because it is so damning. You hadn't been too nervous about the outcome of this case, until right now. Because Leon's posture changes ever so slightly. He leans back in his chair, head upturned, and an easy smirk graces his lips. 

"Agent Kennedy," the attorney paces, turning towards the jury intentionally. "Do you enjoy your job?"

You suck in a breath and wait for the answer, which comes without much thought. 

"Not particularly, no."

"No?" 

"No."

"Why do you keep doing it?" 

You stand up, fingertips pressed against the desk. "Objection, Your Honor. Irrelevant." 

Leon gives a small, almost imperceptible, amused smirk in your direction. This is exactly the perspective you do not want to give: the cocky agent who doesn't care about his job, how he does it, or who gets hurt. 

Every detail matters. The way he is sitting matters. He knows that.

The fact that the defense is grasping at straws had been a comfort when you'd already brought in four witnesses and an expert to back the DSO up. Now that Leon is practically handing the straws to them, you start to sweat. 

You are pissed. 

As far as you know, Leon can absolutely tell. And he is deeply amused by it. 

The judge raises an eyebrow in the defense attorney's direction. 

He says, "Your Honor, trust me."

"Overruled. You may proceed."

Leon sighs and gives the jury a glance that makes you want to rip him off the stand by his ear. "I… I think that it feels good doing the right thing. There's a lot of bad in this world."

A surprisingly real answer. You adjust in your seat. 

"It's also nice seeing my gym membership pay off when I'm doing the right thing."

There it is. The big thing you told him not to do. Joke around. The jury gives a couple of quiet, half-hearted laughs. 

You clench your jaw. Hard. It’s enough for Leon to see your disapproval. 

The questioning continues, but you don't pay much attention, sometimes offering an objection to a leading question or an answer that was a non-answer. The contempt flooding through your bloodstream drowns out the proceedings. 

When the defense lawyer decides he's done, Leon is escorted off the stand. He sends you a small smile as he passes by. You didn't even give him a glance. 

What an incredible first impression he's made with you. You had been nice when you were in your office, when you were in the conference room before the trial. You gave him patience. 

You were not going to do that again. Because you know this isn't going to be the last time that you have the misfortune of working with Leon Kennedy. 

Leon's horrible performance in the cross-examination is not enough to throw the case, thank God, and the jury finds the mercenary guilty on all counts. He is sentenced to forty years in prison. 

Which is so fortunate for Leon, considering if you had lost the case, he would've lost the ability to reproduce. 

The next day, you storm through the halls of the DSO, footsteps heavy enough to be felt through the floor like an earthquake. Somehow your badge lets you into Field Operations, which doesn't quite make sense and frankly feels like something someone could get in trouble for, so you don't mention it to anyone. Especially since it's fueling a good purpose for you.

It isn't too hard to find his office. The DSO doesn't have too many field agents—hence why they are so extremely overworked and difficult to reach—and the majority of them are out on assignments at any given moment

The light of his office floods into the hallway, door propped and blinds open. His office is on the east side of the building—lucky bastard—meaning that he gets the sun in his office until about noon. 

Even though you can see him sitting at his desk, brows furrowed at the computer, file open in front of him, you check the name on the plaque outside of his office just to be safe. 

Leon S. Kennedy.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Your voice is loud enough to make him jump, and if you weren't so infuriated, maybe you'd tease him about his lack of vigilance for being a field agent. He probably has a sidearm in the drawer of his desk, because that is weirdly allowed for him, but he doesn't keep an ear out for those walking down the hall in his department. 

Leon barely looks up at you before something like a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. "What?"

"Don't what me, Leon Kennedy." You march, boldly, further into his office, standing between the two chairs opposite his desk. "You know exactly what. Do you think it's fun to not listen to me?"

"Kind of, yeah."

You sharpen on him. "I'm being serious."

"So am I." He finally leans back in his chair and gives you a proper look-over. If your blood wasn't already boiling, you'd maybe flush. "You still won. I don't know what the issue is."

"You could've completely," for some reason, you look over your shoulder to make sure no one's near, "fucked that up for me." 

"Do you want me to say sorry?"

"No, Leon, I want you to be sorry." 

He clicks his tongue. "No can do. It was fun."

"You can't just get on the stand and say whatever you want because it amuses you. That's not how it works."

"Says who?"

Your palms come down to bear your weight on his desk. You hope the height difference intimidates him, but it only seems to further entertain him. "Says me, you dumbass. This isn't funny. This is my career."

"You're highly argumentative."

"My entire job is arguing, Leon. I hope I'd be good at it by now."

Leon interlocks his fingers over his desk. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, which isn't something scandalous enough to tempt you as it is. He tilts his head toward you, and for a moment, remorse flashes through his eye. You think it's like seeing a part of him that's real. 

"Okay, fine," he utters. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again." 

“Thank you.” 

Finally getting what you wanted, you turn on your heel, feeling Leon’s eyes on you as you begin the trek out of his office. 

At the last moment, Leon calls out your name, successfully grabbing your attention. “How did you have clearance to get up here?”

You stop in your tracks. Then, you turn towards him, bracing your weight on the doorframe. “Who knows. Think someone messed up. Don’t say anything, though. I like to snoop.”

He chuckles. “Have fun, hotshot.”

You want to start the fight again. Instead, you curl your lip at him, heels echoing against the tile of the office with a distinct click-clack. 

The second time you work with Leon, you think it will be different. 

Granted, he shows up to your meeting in a leather jacket with a horrible black box hair dye job, so you don't know exactly what you should expect. 

You give him a once-over before commenting, with an extreme lack of sensitivity, “I'm pretty sure you are actively sweating whiskey right now.”

He shrugs. “Whatever.”

"Want me to comment on the hair?"

"Please don't."

Rain splatters the window of your office, making the white room somehow ever more gloomy. You had recently hung some paintings up on the walls and stuffed a cactus in the corner by your filing cabinet, though it doesn't do much to brighten up the space. 

Leon is very convincing about changing and listening. He leans into your questions, plays through the scenarios, and even asks his own questions about how to hold himself. 

You're…surprised.

In hindsight, he is definitely just trying to get around you interrogating him about his drinking, the dark circles under his eyes, the considerable amount of weight he has lost since you've last seen him, or the way his shoulders slump with something heavier than exhaustion. 

Because somehow he already knows that, if he acknowledges it, you will prod until he breaks. And Leon cannot handle breaking in your office.

So, he plays your game. And you play his. 

When the time for him to testify comes around, you maybe start to believe that it will be different. 

Until he cracks a smile and says, “I mean, I don't think it's fair to call him a criminal.”

Out of the corner of his eye, you shake your head, and a laugh fueled by annoyance leaves your lips. Leon smirks slightly like he enjoys your frustration. 

Luckily for him, his testimony isn't enough to sway the jury to deliver a not-guilty verdict. 

When you go to work the next day, you don't barge into his office to yell at him. Which, to him, feels worse than when you did. 

The DSO headquarters have a way of making you feel like you are in some sort of purgatory. 

No matter how often you repeat the I love my job mantra, the feelings creep into the edge of your being, carrying a certain type of shadow you regularly attend therapy to get rid of. 

The files that accumulated at the edge of your desk in the days of your absence have been about halved in the time between when you first sit down and when you stand up to get your lunch. 

You’d left D.C. for a friend's wedding in the middle of last week, which meant you had three work days away from the office. Somehow, in that time, your desk managed to collect about a dozen files with information for the six cases you were juggling. 

Miles is on paternity leave, which leaves you with double the amount of work you normally handle and a horrible, aching pain in your chest at the fact that you were not yet married or pregnant. 

Which, frankly, doesn't make sense, as you never particularly valued those things until you turned thirty. But everyone around you is celebrating milestones, and every time you open your phone and see a new post on Facebook, you want to crawl into a hole and die. 

The day is a blur and you're running out of steam. Information bleeds together. Things that usually stuck with you like cattle branding fall through the cracks. Every so often, you get pages into a report and realize you had no idea what you’d just read. 

Around three o'clock, a timer goes off on your desk, a horrible screeching sound that makes you wince. 

Meeting with Leon in 10. 

Fucking hell. Just when you think it can't get worse. 

You reach over and grab a handful of files, a pink tab in the corner indicating which case they were for. Even when absolutely drowning in work, you have a system that makes your life functional. 

The elevator in the DSO doesn't even play music as it descends. It feels sort of purposeful, like they limited the amount of life that could be had within the building, the amount of joy that could be felt. You'd take jazz over silence any day. 

The doors open. You take a turn to the left, then the right, then pull your badge away from its home on your belt. With a green light and the buzz of an unlocked door, you're into Field Ops.

You don't even knock on Leon's office, which is a fact that flies past you as you open the door and shut it behind you. 

The smell is what hits you first. Cologne is the strongest, a dark, woodsy scent that does little to hide the lingering stench of B.O., and whiskey that sticks to him. 

When you turn around, you can't help the shocked "What the hell are you doing here?" from leaving your mouth. 

Leon falters. His mouth opens and closes like he's finding the words. "Uh. This is my office?"

"No, Leon, I mean here. At work. Why are you here?"

"I'm…getting paid?"

You sharpen your gaze on him. "Obviously." The files fall against the grain of his desk. You gesture towards the bandage around his arm, at the blood that has dried on his shirt since he got back from a mission this morning. "You're hurt."

"When am I not?"

"I can try to work something out to get you some time off. God knows you probably need it." 

"I'm fine," Leon responds, which pulls at a certain string in your heart you thought you'd buried years ago, and the realization that you care has you wringing your hands together. "Let's talk about the case."

Begrudgingly, you do, though you get up halfway through your coaching to yank the cords on the blinds and push a large opening into the window to get some sunlight and fresh air into the cramped space. Leon doesn't hide his grimace well.

"Head pounding, champ?" You comment before pulling your chair back in. Someone honks on the street below. Leon doesn't reply. "Good. Stay focused."

You return to the files in front of you with an impressive amount of precision. Leon smiles at you, and it's the first time you've seen him smile in months. 

Leon pushes your buttons and goes off script. You win the case. You can't particularly say you hate his antics anymore. 

This is the tenth time Leon has helped with one of your cases, and he's starting to feel pathetic. 

He is thirty-eight years old. The black dye is fading from his hair, though Helena tells him that it's probably not going to go back to his usual blonde until it grows out. He still spends every night drinking until he falls asleep. 

On days that he knows he has a meeting with you or a hearing at the courtroom, he wakes up a little easier. When he gets to see you, he goes to bed feeling lighter. 

Leon Kennedy has a crush and he is pushing forty. 

It's something he realized after probably case number five, though he was caught off guard by your beauty the second he met you. 

Your office faces the west, meaning that you have sunlight in your office from about noon to when it sets, and you were cast in an insane ray of light that made you look heavenly when he barged into your office for the first time. 

Now, he prefers when you come up to meet him and you have the sun on your face. He likes seeing your jaw tick when you're mad at him, or the smile that prods at your lips when he offers you a snack in the form of a stale granola bar from his desk. 

You don't say anything when he buys a new box and the stale granola bars suddenly taste new. 

Leon is pushing forty, and he asks Helena Harper that afternoon if you have a boyfriend. 

It's in the breakroom and Helena has a forgotten paper cup of burnt coffee discarded to the edge of the counter as she hammers away at a report. Leon sits across from her, silent, as he pushes around whatever he brought for lunch with a fork. 

When he asks it, Helena almost chokes on her own spit. "Leon Kennedy. Are you serious?"

"She's not married," he elaborates, like it helps his case. "There's no ring."

"Oh my God." She leans back in her chair. "You can't be serious."

"Embarrassed enough already, Harper." 

"You like her. She complains about you all the time and you like her."

Every word is punctuated enough to feel like a punch to his ego. "Yes, Helena. Can you answer my question?"

After a couple seconds, she leans back and looks at the ceiling. "No. She does not. Hasn't for years."

Leon almost asks how she knows that part, then remembers that the two of you are somehow friends. Like, outside-of-work friends. Go-to-each-other's-houses friends. Which didn’t always make sense to him. You were too…not like Helena. Soft in ways that mattered, rigid in ways that sometimes didn’t. 

"She really can't stand you, Leon."

"I know."

"So what's your plan here?"

Leon gives a small smile and his usual, cocky charmer persona slides into place. "I don't have one. That's what makes this fun."

So, Leon ends up in your office. Ever since Miles returned from paternity leave, your workload has halved, and it is apparent in the way your shoulders are straighter and the pinch to your eyebrows have somewhat eased. The top buttons of your blouse are undone, showing a tempting amount of skin and bone. The gold pendant of your necklace hanging in the hollow of your throat almost makes his jaw drop. 

He thinks you look beautiful. 

Which isn't a new revelation, just one he lets himself entertain before you go into work-mode, all focused words and narrowed eyes. 

"Can you grab some papers I just printed?"

“Hello to you, too.”

You don’t look up. “Yes, Leon, hello. Can you please grab the papers for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He turns down the hallway back to where he came, and swiftly grabs the stack of paper off the printer. Miles is in his office with someone who definitely has never been inside of the DSO headquarters before, and when he catches Leon’s eyes his brows raise in a hey man, what’s up? gesture that Leon returns without much thought. 

Leon shuts the door to your office and drops the papers onto your desk, which evidently you don't like, as you gather them up before they can flutter askew with the air. You let out a huff of breath and turn your attention to your computer. 

"You mad at me or something?" Leon asks, sitting down in the chair across from you. 

A smile, or something close to it, pulls at the corner of your mouth. "I always am. You know that."

"Yeah, whatever." 

The look he gives you across the walnut desk is impossibly soft, and you are not stupid. You shift slightly in your seat, spine tingling, and open a folder on your desk, trying desperately to pretend that Leon is not the most attractive man you've ever laid eyes on. 

When the two of you first met, he was obviously going through some shit, with the horrible dye job he gave himself, the eyeliner, and the remarkable amount of weight he lost. 

Something changed between then and now. He packed on weight again, and though some of his pants still look too small, you think it is unbelievably hot. The black hair is growing out into his usual dusty-blond, which brought a youthfulness to him that you really enjoy. 

He doesn't come into work smelling like whisky and regret anymore. 

Bottom line: Leon is doing better. And it looks good on him.

Instead, you clear your throat and say, "Should I even bother with the usual lecture?"

"Definitely not," Leon leans forward in his chair. Something is different about him, even though you can't exactly place it, which as usual, makes you a little unsettled. "Can we just go around to the questions? I don't necessarily need to jog my memory here."

"Leon, if I'm thinking correctly, it seems like you don’t want to spend time with me."

"I'm thinking that I have a hot date with my couch, a shitty movie, and a twelve pack of beer. Nothing to do with you."

"What's your movie of choice? I bet you love a rom-com."

Leon immediately flushes red. "Absolutely not."

"You probably always side with the men. Especially when the woman overreacts about it."

"Sounds like you know a lot about rom-coms."

You give him a look. "Sounds like someone is dodging the question."

"Speculation."

"Leon, you can't just throw in courtroom objections when you're losing an argument and backed into a corner."

"Are we arguing?"

You run your tongue over your teeth and ignore that he follows the movement with his eyes. "No. We're riffing. And wasting time. I had you grab some papers that are going home with you."

Leon lifts an eyebrow. He didn't even bother to look at the contents of the hefty stack when he took them from the printer. "You're giving me homework on my rom-com and booze night?"

"So you admit it's a rom-com." You narrow your eyes and a triumphant smirk stretches across your lips. Leon smiles, half knowing you snatched him in a trap, half knowing he walked in willingly. "But yes. I'm giving you homework."

You can't pinpoint when this, exactly, began. The joking. The banter, the light-hearted jokes that ate too much into your meeting times. But you don't…hate it. So you don't stop it. 

You spend the next half-hour going over information and clarifying his answers. He always gets tense, like most of his life isn't about performance. You'd read the reports that you definitely did not need to acquire clearance for, but applied for access because you were curious. Evidently, they don't really know what you do in the legal department, because you haven't been rejected yet. 

Leon is still an enigma to you. At times, truly seeing him is like looking through glass, so glaringly obvious it sometimes hurts your head. Most of the time, though, it's like wading through thick mud, the answers buried deep below. He smiles at you in such a charming way that it's nearly possible to forget all of the times that he pissed you off in the courtroom. 

The case you're working on is a huge one, one that will result in either the sentencing or acquisition of a DSO executive with conspiracy and securities fraud. You are not usually stressed about work, but this one has you a little uneasy. Rarely are you a defense lawyer, and rarely are you unsure of whether or not your client is lying to you. 

Leon makes you nervous in a way that makes you reconsider even putting him on the witness stand, but his perspective is really important. He helped found the DSO and has been working in bioterrorism for over fifteen years. 

Either way, you're rolling a dice here. And hopefully Leon doesn't fuck this up for you.

When Leon leaves your office, it's with a small wink and a manilla envelope tucked under his arm. You hold off your smile and blush until he's far, far away, and Miles shakes his head at you when he catches your eye in the crack of your door. 

You don't see Leon again until the hearing, and he touches you for the first time in the conference room in the courthouse when his fingertips ghost against the small of your back as he passes by to use the restroom. 

It lights you on fire in a humiliating way, the heat coursing through your veins in the confines of the courtroom intense enough to make you down a Gatorade from a vending machine. You don't even like Gatorade. 

Once Leon is on the stand, you think you have it secured. Maybe giving him homework is good. 

The confidence is short-lived, however, until prosecution cross-examines him and he begins to explain how the DSO itself has corrupt ideals that bleed into the executives, and that the government itself is concealing so many things that would make the world stop. He doesn't stop talking, even when you give him a look so intense, he can feel it in his bones.

You can't hear most of it through the rush of blood in your ears. You are going to kill him. He's not wrong, to give him a little bit of slack. Like any government agency, the DSO glosses over life-ending, horrific events with an efficiency that surprises you. The morality of it hangs with you at times. 

You lose track of how many times you object. It's enough to get a scolding from the judge, and when you sit down, the floor sways under you. 

For once, Leon looks apologetic on the stand. You want to strangle him. 

You lose the case. 

The director sits you down in his office to discuss your position, though it's not in a 'you're-getting-fired' way. Just a 'you're-being-monitored' way, which is somehow worse. 

You take two weeks off and barely get out of bed. 

Miles brings you food about six days in. 

He didn’t call beforehand, which doesn’t surprise you. Miles has always been that kind of guy. But he knocks on your door, firm, and for half a second you’re worried it’s Leon. 

When you look through the peephole, your shoulders drop an inch with relief. 

“Miles,” you mutter as you open the door, wearing your Very Hungry Caterpillar t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. Your hair has… seen better days. 

Miles says your name and his gaze flickers fleetingly over your appearance. For being a lawyer, he has a horrible poker face, which was one of the first things you ever said to him. It’s probably why he’s predominantly a civil court attorney and not a criminal one. 

“Hey,” he finally says. When you look down at his hands, the tin-foil covered Pyrex dish steals your attention. “I told Angie what happened. She wanted to do something nice.”

Angie is Miles’s wife that he met five years ago when she rear ended him at a red light. She’s a teacher. Elementary school. They dated for two years, then got married when they hit three. You weren't a big crier, but you had to wipe some tears away at their wedding. They welcomed their first child months ago and you’ve never seen Miles happier. 

They’re the textbook happy, married couple, and as happy as you are for them, you’re a tad bit resentful, too. 

It’s also funny to you that Miles blames the act of kindness on Angie, when you know that he’s definitely the one who proposed the idea. 

You let it pass. Embarrassed Miles is worse than Nonchalant Miles. 

“Thanks,” you say, and when he passes you the dish, it’s warm under your hands. Freshly made. 

You really, really don’t deserve them. 

Out of courtesy, you ask, “How is she? And Liam?”

“Oh, they’re amazing.” Miles gives you a smile and shoves his hands in his pockets, comfortably, like he doesn’t mind standing on your porch when it’s eighty degrees. Somehow, he never shies away from intimacy. “Liam’s sitting on his own now. It’s great.”

“That is great,” you say, and even though it is, you still sound far away. 

Miles’s gaze hardens slightly and he tilts his head. He’s five years your junior, and you never really think about it until he looks so young. “How’ve you been?”

You swallow hard. “Fine. I think I’ve watched half of Pretty Little Liars.”

“Oof,” Miles winces. “It’s been six days. That’s…gotta be a record.”

“Whatever. I’m depressed. I deserve it.”

Miles raises his eyebrows in a sure gesture, then his shoulders stiffen slightly. “He’s been asking me about you.”

Suddenly, you regret having this conversation on the porch. You feel so exposed. But having Miles inside of your house is much, much worse than standing in the heat. 

You don’t have to ask who. “What’ve you been saying?”

“That you’re fine.”

“I am fine.”

“The three thousand hours of shitty T.V. says otherwise.”

You can’t argue against it being shitty. “Whatever.”

Miles pops the joint of his ankle and you barely even register it before he sighs and says, “He’s worried.”

“I think you’re worried.”

Your coworker looks like he wants to walk off the porch. “Yes, I’m worried. It’s not bad that people care about you. Even if it’s me and Leon Kennedy.” 

The words hit deep. The casserole dish is making your arms ache, but that’s not primarily what wants to get you off of this porch and back in the solace of your bed. It’s the panic rising in your chest, a familiar sensation that would have your hands shaking if not for the Pyrex. 

One of Miles’s hands reaches out and grazes the fabric of your Hungry Caterpillar shirt before his hand locks onto your shoulder with an unyielding strength. “Just keep me updated, okay? Once in the morning and once at night. To let me know you’re fine. But if you’re not, send me the word apricot. I’ll be here.”

You would be crying if your body wasn’t entirely depleted of its water intake. This is pathetic. You’re almost forty pouting on your porch while your younger coworker comforts you. 

Either way, you nod in compliance. Miles gives you a big hug like he’s used to it (which is really weird, considering you don’t exactly hug much) and then retreats back into his car. 

The casserole Angie made you is the best you’ve ever had. You fall asleep with the dish on your nightstand and the light from Pretty Little Liars bleeding into the stillness of the night. 

When you return to work, there's a bouquet of flowers sitting in a vase on your desk with a note attached to them. 

You don't have to look at the card in the bouquet to know who they're from. They're mostly lilies, reds and whites, which is a strangely accurate piece of information that he couldn't have just guessed. It makes you think that one of your friends is a mole who somehow has a soft spot for Leon Kennedy. 

With a huff, you push the vase to the corner of your desk and pull your folders out of the briefcase you house them in, diving into your work in the only way you know how: head-first.

It only takes an hour into the day for Leon to show up to your office. He knocks on the door, soft, tentative, so much like the first time you met him that it makes your chest clench with deja-vu. 

You don't invite him in, though he opens the door anyway. 

"I don't want to talk to you." The words leave your mouth before you can find a way to sugarcoat them a bit. Usually, you try not to be so harsh with him. He can be sensitive. Your family used to tell you that it's very good for the world that you didn't become a therapist. 

Leon doesn't listen to your words, and instead closes the door behind him and pulls out the chair across from you. 

"Leon. I'm serious. I do not want to talk to you."

He says your name like a plea, and for a moment, you forgive him. Then, the anger rushes through you like water breaking through a dam, and the walls fly back up. His eyes are so blue in your office and it takes a great deal of effort to not look at them. "Please. I'm sorry."

You scoff at the papers you're marking up with a red pen. "I've heard that one before."

"I mean it this time." 

"You didn't mean it all the other times?" 

Leon's getting frustrated. You can see it in the way his neck turns pink and his hands grow restless. In the large chair he's sat in, he looks impossibly small. "I did. I do. You know that."

"Do I?"

He clears his throat. "I know you're mad—"

"That is the understatement of the century."

"I know I fucked up, and that I pushed it too far, and that—" his head tips down to see your eyes that are burning holes into the paperwork. "—can you please look at me?"

You do, and the sight almost breaks your composure. In the years you've known Leon, he has never looked at you like this. You can't place it. His brows are pinched together and his eyes are pleading with you in such a gentle way. 

"I'm so, so sorry. I hate that I did this to you. You don't deserve it, you never have. And I…I feel so bad that I put your career on the line."

The words are so genuine and imperfect and so him that it finally breaks you. With a breath, tears blossom on your waterline and you look up at the ceiling to try to keep them at bay. Leon, for once, looks like he does not know what to do. 

"Close the blinds," you order through the thick emotion in your voice, something tired and humiliated at the fact that he's seeing you cry. "Don't want the interns having more to gossip about."

"Oh, no, we can't have that." 

Leon gets up and yanks at the cord of the blinds, pulling both sets shut before he scoots his chair around to your side of the desk. He takes care to not let the legs scrape against the cheap laminate. Somehow, he knows that bothers you. 

You open a drawer to your desk and snatch a tissue out of a box and dab at the tears before they can fall. "Leon, I know you don't always get it because this is such a small part of your job. The courtrooms, and testimonies, all of it. But this is my life. And I know it's fun for you to fuck with me but…" you swallow hard. "I am damn good at what I do. And it's so unfair that you did this to me."

Leon wants to reach out and touch you. His finger twitches with the urge, but he doesn't act on it. Instead, he lets you cry. Somehow, you still have tears left after the last two weeks. Not a lot, but enough to make Leon's chest clench. 

His elbows rest on his knees and he looks up at you like a sinner being forgiven. He's not, not yet, at least, but this is a good start. You'd truly forgive him once he started listening to you. 

You don't know when your relationship with Leon changed from that first time in the courtroom. You still didn't really get along with him all the time, but between now and then, he seems to understand you a little better. Which, to be honest, is a little ridiculous. The most time you've spent together is hour-long meetings in the restrictions of your walnut-clad offices with stale air. 

It's the most seen you've felt by anyone in a long time. 

You don't realize you've been sitting in silence until he says your name, delicately, like he can't bring himself to do it any other way. "I'm sorry. I really am."

For the first time, you believe his apology. But it's too much, too overwhelming, having Leon in your office, inches away from you, looking at you like that when you were so fucking mad at him.

The words are heavy as they leave you. "I think I want you to leave, Leon. Thanks."

Leon has not felt guilt like this since he was twenty-one. 

It feels stupid to admit, but it's true. At least he thinks it is. The game he played with you was fun when you always came out on top, and he looked a little dumb. But it's not the case now. Now that your eyes are red and you've tracked tears into your makeup, he feels like the most awful person on the planet. 

He doesn't drink, though. No, he knows you don't approve of that. You'd been hungover before one of your meetings, just once, and something tells him you aren't a big drinker. That, coupled with all of the comments you make in passing when you can tell he had a rough night. Somehow, you can always tell. 

He likes that you're so perceptive. He supposes you should be used to it by now, but it still manages to catch him off guard when he meets your eye and feels stripped bare. 

Leon cries to Helena over dinner once before you return to work. She laughs at him and calls him stupid. 

The next case Leon is subpoena'd for is a petty sentencing for someone he'd brought into custody months ago. Well, petty might not be the right word. Insensitive. But it happens a lot, and most of the assignments blend together. 

It's almost summertime, and the window in his office is cracked open enough to get some fresh air in the room. He never used to do that before…well, before you. 

On the way to his office, you stop into Helena Harper's, and you giggle loud enough that Leon can hear it from his ergonomic desk chair. 

If he could bottle sound, this is one he'd like to keep. Your laugh. 

So, this is salvageable, he thinks. 

You don't knock. To be fair, you never do. It doesn't really matter, since the door is open, but you walk in, hurried, like you own the place. 

As a matter of fact, you do this everywhere you go. Fill up space. You have quite a presence. 

It’s one of Leon’s favorite things about you. 

You drop your files on his desk and pull out your computer. For once, you have your glasses on—a couple of months ago you told him the computer screens gave you headaches. They frame your face nicely. It’s his first time seeing you with them, and it makes Leon feel probably too turned on. 

You sit down without even looking at him.

“Hi,” Leon offers, gently.

“Yes, hi, Leon.” you hit some keys on your laptop. “You’re staring.”

"Hard not to."

Finally, you look at him, thoroughly unimpressed, though he has a proud smirk and a light blush dusting his cheeks. "Ha ha. Can we talk about work?"

Leon tilts his head back. "Ah. My least favorite subject."

"Leon, I need you to listen to me this time." You lean forward in your seat, enough to try to grasp his attention from the spot on the ceiling. "Look at me. My job might be on the line. I can't…I can't do that again." 

Leon meets your eyes with a look that is sort of foreign to you. At least on him. You've seen it before in bars, clubs, in law school whilst buried in books at a library, but not ever in the DSO headquarters. It's…soft. Longing, maybe, if you read into it. 

"I have a proposal," he says, and the way he laces his fingers together on his desk makes your hands itch towards your papers, the keyboard, anything. "I'll be good."

Your stomach twists. "Oh, God. There's a but. Or an if."

"If," he emphasizes like you did, "you let me take you out on a date."

There is no fucking way. You know Leon is cocky. You've worked with him long enough to hear it firsthand. This is next-level douchebag behavior that you hadn't expected from him. 

But when you look at him, it doesn't look like he's trying to be a dick. Or just trying to get in your pants. His eyes are too soft, his brows too relaxed. He seems… genuine. It makes heat flash through you.

You sigh. "Leon, I'm being serious."

Leon smirks in a way that reminds you of the first time you met him, when he was a little more broken, more desperate for connection. Maybe more earnest, too. "So am I."

"I could report you to HR."

He doubles down. "You could. Or you could let me make it up to you."

You want to argue. One of your major rules about working in an office is to never, under any circumstances, date your coworkers. There are (somehow) too many people with too much time on their hands, who want nothing more than to stir up drama. Miles is embarrassingly one of them. Weirdly, a lot of ladies in Intelligence, too. 

You want to say no. Your brain is hardwired for logic, and there's no way to avoid that the majority of the paths Leon and you could go down would not end well. Nothing sounds worse than having to sit in this office with him if things fall through. 

But a part of you manages to come in through the noise of what's reasonable to say, but maybe this could be nice. 

Leon is an extremely good man. He's kind, too, if you avoid the times he borderline commits perjury to get a rise out of you. And something in you likes that he waited to do this until he was…better. Until he didn't roll out of bed and throw on his clothes, still reeking of vomit and alcohol from whatever hour he stopped drinking. If he stopped drinking. For some reason, you appreciate that. 

You haven't had a nice date in awhile. Or a nice man in your life. 

And you like Leon. God, you really do like him. It's possible that's why you were so upset over losing that case, because you felt so betrayed by him. As much as he gets under your skin, and is annoying and insubordinate and borderline rude, you feel a stupid sort of affection towards him, because you have a slight feeling that you understand him better than anyone else. 

So, you ignore every instinct in your body that has your skin prickling, and say, "Fine."

He seems to celebrate a little bit, by the way his hands reach back into his lap to twiddle with his thumbs, like he always does when he is a little bit nervous, but a bit giddy, too. 

"But," you interject. "I plan. You pay. I'm picky about my dates."

"Deal," he responds without hesitation. It makes your stomach flutter. 

Leon reaches a hand across the walnut desk and waits for you to shake. Your palms connect, and his is a little bit clammy. You smile at him, a real, excited smile. 

"We're doing lunch. Casual. I'm going to wear jeans and a t-shirt, because I'm tired of dressing up every day. We'll go to some pub with awful, greasy American food that will most definitely sit in my stomach wrong and I'll complain about it the whole time. No movies. Something… I don't know. Fun. Exciting."

"All of your requests are completely doable."

"I know. I don't fight for things out of reach."

"You do that all the time," he reminds you. "In court."

"Well, I always reach them, don't I?" 

He tries to smother a smile. "Yes. Yes, you do. Saturday sounds okay?"

"Fine. I'm half doing this because I want to, half because I know the DSO will take your side if I refuse and report you to HR."

Leon gives you a deadpan look. "You would never. Bethany intimidates you."

"Bethany should intimidate everyone," you whisper, on the fact that the blinds are still open and these offices are absolutely not soundproof. At least, yours isn't. Maybe Agent Kennedy is an exception to the cheap government infrastructure. "She has the eyes of the devil. I swear."

"Whatever." The words are squeezed out through his teeth as Leon gives you a big smile. "Let's talk about the case. Gotta have time tonight to draft an itinerary tonight."

"Have you ever drafted an itinerary, Leon?"

"No." He shrugs. "But you have. Plenty of times, I'm sure."

You roll your eyes and open a document on your computer, pretending like the excitement swimming in your bloodstream doesn't make you feel twenty years old again. 

You get a text around eight o'clock from an unknown number. You're in bed, pajama-clad, with a facemask drying and a Diet Coke in your hand. You sip it from a straw. 

Hey. It's Leon. Got your number from your file in HR.

You grin at the screen and write out a text in record time. I see we're just violating employee code of conduct left and right.

The bubble takes way too long to disappear before you get the next message. Leon is not tech-savvy, and it sometimes makes you snicker at him. 

Technically, I pulled some strings. Ingrid is especially helpful.

I don't see how this isn't proving my point. You could've just asked Helena. You two are close. You just wanted an excuse to see that photo of me from when I was thirty.

You can imagine the look on Leon's face and it brings a stupid amount of warmth to your chest. Dumbfounded Leon might be your favorite Leon. But maybe Date Leon will take the cake soon. 

You aren't sure when this happened. The contentment with Leon. At first, you had been annoyed by him asking you out, even though he was long forgiven. But you were far from dumb—it was painfully obvious Leon has liked you for a long time. He’s not good at hiding it.

You also can’t exactly pinpoint when he became so transparent to you. The first few times you met, he was painfully closed-off.

Finally, Leon replies. Yeah, whatever. I need your address to pick you up on Saturday.

You didn't pull that from my file while you were snooping around in there, too?

Can only do so much with what limited connections I have here.

The idea that Leon S. Kennedy has “limited connections” anywhere makes you roll your eyes. I'm a little concerned about your lack of thoroughness for being a world-renowned fed, Kennedy. 

This bubble comes faster. I hate that you just called me a fed.

The laugh tears out of your throat before you can stop it. It's probably the first time your house has heard your laugh in months, and it echoes off the wall and almost scares you. Your cat, Barty, jumps up next to you, looking slightly concerned at the sound, before letting out a comfortable chirp and curling up next to you. 

You ARE a fed, you reply, and your thumbs move in circles above your keypad as you think out the next one. 

Leon beats you to it. FED sounds so gross. I'm an agent. 

That sounds worse. Like you're James Bond. Which you're not. They dropped you in Spain with a full magazine and a dream. I'm surprised you had enough gusteau to backflip. 

Leon's reply takes a second. You hope it's because of your use of the word "gusteau." How do you know that?

You hope he can feel your smile through the screen. I get the office gossip too, Leon. I know all your dirty secrets. 

For some reason, you snap a picture of Barty, belly-up, against the green fabric of your comforter, and press send.

Sorry to cut the party short but Barty and I must retire to our chambers. I'll see you on Saturday. Don’t be a stranger. 

You send him your address and turn your phone on silent, not letting yourself see his response, or else you'll be up all night, grinning like a teenager. 

Leon is pushing forty, and he thinks he’s going to throw up. 

Earlier in the week, he had sent back: Barty is a horrible name for a cat. What’s his full name? Barthes? Bartholemew?

He didn’t think much about asking you out until it happened. For being a government agent, he sure does have a lot of anxiety issues. Shannon, his appointed therapist, talked him off of a ledge yesterday when he wanted to cancel from sheer panic. He’s almost forty, and he hasn’t been on a real date in well over ten years. Which…is kind of sad. But he wasn’t the type of man to date back then. He wasn't someone who could be a partner. 

You make him want to be different. Which, for the most part, is why he stopped drinking. 

Well. He mostly stopped drinking.

He’s not a liar. 

You, on the other hand, never seem nervous about a thing. The only signs he picks up on when you’re uneasy is the muscle in your jaw and the way your fingers twitch, like they’re itching for something to grab. 

Leon’s dabbing away sweat from his forehead with a towel in his bathroom and holding an ice cube in his hand when you call. 

It’s a sudden sound, one so jarring he almost jumps out of his skin. Humiliating for a government field agent, but whatever. His phone almost vibrates off the table before he grabs it and answers before he can compose himself. 

“Hello?” He asks shakily. 

“Hey,” your voice crackles through the speaker of his iPhone 4 like it’s a casual Tuesday. “Need your input. Is this a graphic band-tee occasion or a…something else.”

Leon pulls himself together to crack a small smile. “I cannot believe you own a graphic tee.”

“It’s practically the entirety of my closet besides my work clothes.”

He’s surprised by this for a second, until he’s not. He guesses it makes sense. Under your hard-ass exterior, you probably feel very passionately about your hatred of synth music. 

“Wear a band tee. I’ll be in linen.”

“Oh, you are so annoying. I’ll be in an Alicia Keys tee shirt and you’re wearing linen?”

He blinks. “I don’t see the issue.”

“Leon, you are already extremely out of my league. You can’t look better than me.”

“I guarantee that I never look better than you. Plus, we’re getting burgers. It’s not like we’re meeting the Queen.” 

Leon doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, and it’s especially true right now. In what world is he more attractive than you? 

“Whatever,” you concede, obviously getting flustered, but Leon can only tell because he knows your voice too well. “What’s your sitrep? I can be ready in 15.”

“First of all: I can’t believe you just used sitrep semi-correctly. Second of all: I’m about to leave.”

Leon absolutely is not. He is trying not to hyperventilate in his bathroom, with his perfectly steamed shirt hanging behind him, waiting to be put on. The ice cube has successfully turned his hand numb and is fully melting through his vice grip.

“Just text me when you’re on the way,” you say, and then lower your voice gently. “And Leon? You don’t have to be nervous. This isn’t make-or-break. We’re good.” 

It’s the first time you’ve said we’re good since he lost you that case. The words feel like sun on his face, warm and forgiving, and the cage around his chest loosens enough to get a good breath in. 

“Okay. I’ll be there soon. Text you when I’m on the way.”

“Bye, Leon.”

He hangs up and dries his hands. When he turns around, he considers what you said about his blue linen shirt, but disregards it. Hastily, he buttons it up, fingers somehow no longer shaking, and when he gives himself one last glance in the mirror, he feels okay. 

Better than okay. Good. Excited. 

You throw open the door when Leon knocks and promptly turn the other direction, leaving him to utter, "Uh. Hi?"

"Come in!" you call behind you, and he tentatively steps into your foyer. "Gimme a sec. I just need…" your voice fades away as you duck into a room. 

Leon is abandoned in your home. He tries not to stray far away from the spot he's been invited into. Your place feels… comforting. It’s clean, but lived-in, and there’s that lingering scent of jasmine that usually follows you around prevalent in the air. 

Something chirps underneath his feet, and when he looks down, there's a small, grey cat twisting around and rubbing against his calves. Barty, he remembers. 

"Hey, buddy." Leon crouches and lets Barty sniff his fingers, his voice going an octave higher. "How are you?"

Barty meows and thrusts his head into Leon's palm. With a gentleness Leon didn't know he had, he scratches Barty under the chin and behind the ears. 

"I see the terrorist of the household has you fooled," you say as you shove an earring into your ear, evidently what you were looking for. "He's evil."

"You're his lawyer. Whose side are you on?"

When Leon finally looks up at you and away from your cat, surprise flashes through his eyes. You're wearing, as promised, your Alicia Keys Song in A-Minor t-shirt, which is french tucked into your jeans.  

It's the most casual you've ever been around him. And, Leon thinks, the most beautiful. Relaxed. 

He wants to say something. You’d be stupid to not realize. 

"This is not my client," you deny, though you have a grin on your face. You reach out and grab your purse from the console table by the front door. "Okay, let's go. Stop coming onto him, Barty. He doesn't want you."

Leon hides a smile at that and smoothes his hands over his jeans once he stands. A habit. 

You lock the front door behind you once you manage to pry Leon away from your cat. You hate that he's in linen, but God, he does look really good. He always does, which isn't fair, but something about seeing him in jeans and a shirt fit for Grecian sunsets is enough to have you… considering things. 

You are almost forty years old. You’re not admitting that Leon’s turning you on just by existing. 

You land eyes on his car. “Leon.”

“Hm?”

“This is your car?”

He smirks. “I don’t see what’s wrong with it.”

“You are a federal agent. You make probably triple what I do. You drive a Buick from 2002?”

Leon opens the passenger side door for you and gestures for you to sit down. “I know what I like. And I like this Buick.”

You really, truly, severely misjudged Leon Kennedy. 

And you are still trying to be a stick in the mud about this date. But in all honesty, you were really looking forward to it. Your friends joke that you’re married to work, with how often you take cases home to mull over with a glass of wine. It’s nice to… be normal. 

That, and the fact that Leon’s stupid smirk makes your stomach flip, is making it hard to act annoyed. 

You duck into the sedan and Leon makes sure you're secured before he closes the door. On the inside, the car is polished clean and looks recently vacuumed. Part of you wonders if Leon keeps it like this, or if he cleaned it up for you. 

Leon hands you his phone. "Play whatever you want."

You stare at the device in your hand. "This is powerful."

"That is a phone with my Apple Music open."

"An unlocked phone has power. Plenty of evidence." 

"You're a lawyer. Everything is evidence to you."

He's not wrong, so you shrug, and he puts the car in reverse. "Fair." You go to the search bar and say, "You must trust me a lot."

Leon's lip upturns slightly. "Something like that, yeah." 

You click on a playlist and hit shuffle. Leon's face contorts in an approving look, and he rests his arm atop the center console. 

This should feel weird. Awkward. You've never seen each other outside of work, let alone like this, and you're managing to act pretty normal considering it's a date. 

And Leon’s obviously freaking the fuck out. But it’s not inhibiting your mood. If anything, it’s making you like him a little bit more, if it’s even possible. 

“You look like a scared dog at the shelter," you comment teasingly, eyes slightly squinted in a smile that only feels slightly out of place. 

"I absolutely do not."

"Leon Kennedy, DSO golden boy, national superhero, is shaking in his boots at going on a date with an overworked, exhausted, cynical attorney. I don't know whether to be flattered or a little upset."

Leon rolls his eyes at you and his fingers tap along with the song you've played from his phone. "I'm used to handling explosives and shooting things and breaking bones." 

There's an unspoken thing here that this is foreign to him, and the thought warms your chest a little bit. You'd read files upon files, mostly full of little black rectangles redacting information that you did not need, or necessarily want, to know, but there was enough substance in them for you to read between the lines. 

You had a grasp on who Leon was when you first started working together. Over time, that shifted, and the Leon you know now isn't the Leon you had any clue about years ago. 

"And you should be flattered," he adds, quieter this time. "Very flattered."

"I hate to say this," you cross your ankles, "but I am. And you should be, too. I don't… I haven't gone on a date in years, I think." 

Leon cracks a smile, so different from the shy blush he had before, and it reminds you of the Leon that first charmed you. "So, you must like me."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"When did that change?"

You pause. "Hm?"

"When did you stop hating me?"

You want to laugh, and a small huff escapes your nose, amused, before you can stop it. "Leon, I never hated you. No matter what Helena said. You piss me off, yes, but you're too cute to stay mad at."

After that, the ride is full of teasing comments and flirting that would've made sixteen-year-old you proud. At one point, your stomach growls so loudly Leon cannot hide the laugh that escapes him. He pulls into the shitty brewery you requested, and before you can even unbuckle your seatbelt, he's yanking the key out of the ignition and jogging to your side of the car. 

God, he looks good. The sunlight catches in his hair, the blonde peeking out through the strands of brunette, and you have to remind yourself to swallow. 

He is stupidly good at this dating thing, you realize as he opens the door and gives you a hand to pull yourself out of his low-rider. 

“You’re suspiciously good at this,” you say as you place your hand in his and grab your purse with the other. “Makes me think you practiced or something.”

“You’ve given me homework before. Is it so bad that I studied, too?”

You narrow your eyes and let him lead you into the pub, hand still grasping yours, which makes you smile slightly. You have to slap his arm when he goes to pull out your barstool, and you don’t miss the way his lower lip extends in a pout. 

“You’re ridiculous. This is casual. Let me do it.”

He retreats to the other side of the table. The waitress comes over and you order two sodas. Before long, you’re stuffing a burger into your mouth, successfully smearing sauce all over your face. 

“I got a question.” Leon looks up in contemplation, burger in one hand. 

“Well, that's never good."

“What made you want to be an attorney?”

Instinctively, you get defensive. “What made you want to be a field agent?”

Leon senses the mood change. Then, with a breath, like it hurts him to be vulnerable, “I didn’t want to be a government agent. I just wanted to be a cop. But I ended up in Raccoon City and… Y’know.”

You do know, and immediately, you feel bad for the tone you used. You pause. “My brother was a cop.”

“Yeah?”

You wipe at the corner of your mouth with a napkin. Then, feigning casualty, you say, “Yeah, he died when I was… Eighteen? Jesus. Twenty years ago.” You clear your throat and get back on track. “And the guy who killed him got off on a very generous plea deal that I would never offer. It was my first year of college, and I was so upset, I changed my major to political science the day after the trial. It’s cheesy-“

“It’s not.” Leon’s voice is firm, eyes conveying his sincerity. “Really. It’s not cheesy.”

“Thanks. I guess I just didn’t want any families to feel how I felt about my brother. He was only twenty-two.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Been a long time.”

Leon catches your eyes in an expression soft enough to tug at your heart. “Doesn’t mean it’s any easier.”

He’s got you beat, so you shrug and make a face that’s not decipherable to him, ignoring the twisting of nerves in your chest. His hands wipe against his napkin. “My parents died in a car crash when I was young. The cop that first showed up saved my life. And I feel cheesy, too.” 

“You shouldn’t. That’s important.”

“Exactly.”

Now that you’ve made it weird with the dead-brother talk, you take a moment to bask in your shame before bringing another fry to your mouth.

If you ignore the discomfort of being normal (as in, not filtering your words with legal terms and courtroom jargon) and borderline vulnerable with Leon, the date is going really well. It's not like the two of you are strangers by any means. You've known each other for, what? Three years at this point? And for some reason, you feel most comfortable with Leon at any given time. 

He gives you space. He's too present. He annoys you. He makes you laugh. The most turned on you've been in years was at the feeling of his fingertips ghosting over your back. You think he might understand you better than any of your friends do. This… sticks with you. 

“Wish I begged to see the itinerary,” you say through a mouth of food. “Should’ve made you get a gold star from me first.”

Leon chuckles and the sound makes you smile in an embarrassing way. “Isn’t the surprise half the fun?”

“No, Leon. Surprises are what catch me off guard and make me scramble in the courtroom.”

“We aren’t in the courtroom, sweetheart,” Leon drawls, and if he realizes the pet name he just called you, he doesn’t act embarrassed, even though you almost choke on your food. “It’s just us. And I think I did a pretty good job.”

“You always think you do a pretty good job.”

Leon gives you a look. “That’s not true.”

You take a sip of your beer and shrug. He’s right. “Yeah, whatever. I just like to push you around a bit.”

When the waitress comes back around to check on you two, Leon slides her his card, and you clock the black metal almost immediately. A teasing smirk stretches across your face. Of course Leon has a black card. He’s a government field agent. 

“Don’t comment on the card,” he says, giving you a knowing look. 

“Wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“Those are two different accusations, Leon.”

He smiles. The waitress returns with the clipboard of paperwork for him, and Leon quickly scribbles down a number and a signature and escorts you out of the restaurant. 

When he opens the door to his Buick, you collapse into the passenger seat. He turns the key in the ignition and when he looks over at you, the fondness in his eyes is enough to melt you. Just a little bit. 

The heat coursing through your veins, pooling in your abdomen, starts when Leon pulls you out of the car and wraps an arm around your waist as he guides you into the second brewery of the day. It comes off as casual, though you can sort of feel his heartbeat (or maybe it's yours) and you know that it's anything but. 

“So, I'm confused," you say, at the fact that you just left a brewery. 

"Shh," Leon's fingertips shift against your waist. "I'll explain once we're inside."

You're a little nervous, though you're used to suppressing it over the years of uncertainty behind a desk. Leon opens the door and steers you inside with a hand to the small of your back. Your eyes narrow as you examine the bar. 

"Leon."

"Hm?"

"Is this what I think it is?"

Leon's cheeks are flushed, and for a moment, you think about kissing him. He says, "If you're thinking this is trivia, then you are correct."

Your first thought is: He is such a nerd. But then you realize that he wouldn't have brought you here if he didn't think you were a nerd. And admittedly, you love trivia. Probably too much. 

"How'd you know I love this?"

"Because," he leads you to a table, "I know you."

Truthfully, you think he talked to Helena, or maybe Miles. But either way, he truly hit the nail on the head, and you are stupidly excited. You feel somewhat laid bare in front of him as you let the joy wash over you. Usually, you'd take a moment to feel embarrassed. But this is Leon. You've seen all shades of him. What do you have to be nervous about?

You sit down and stick on a nametag. It's just you and Leon on your team, but when you look around, it does seem to majorly be couples, so it's not like you're at a disadvantage. 

Leon leans back and rests his arm against the back of your chair, leaning closer to talk to you over the music. It makes your stomach lurch in an embarrassing way. "You excited?"

You nod, and an unguarded smile washes over you. 

Leon's eyebrows furrow. "I did good?"

The words are light, but you notice the serious undertones. Leon, shockingly, is a rather nervous guy. Probably because his cortisol levels are shot from the twenty years of government work and near-death experiences. You don't fully know what goes on in the field, but you've gathered enough to understand why Leon is the way he is. 

"Yes, honey. You did good." 

Leon flushes bright red and immediately takes a sip of the waters he grabbed you at some point. You giggle at him being flustered and a man's voice is broadcasted over the speakers, explaining the rules. You don't listen to much, as you're far too focused on Leon's arm behind you and the feeling of certainty in your chest that says, yes, this was a good idea.

As you expected, you and Leon blow trivia out of the water. 

He did a great job with the geography and travel categories, which made sense, given that he is regularly deployed to other countries. You nailed history and literature, and sometimes Leon would say, “How the fuck do you know that?” when you’d scribble out an answer without much thought.

Combined, you’re a great team.

When it's announced that the two of you win, you let out a squeal and Leon picks you up in a hug. 

You think, I am so fucked.

“You’ve read King Lear?” Leon says incredulously, one hand on the steering wheel and the other suspiciously close to your thigh. 

“I took a lot of Shakespeare in college,” you explain and swallow the lump in your throat. “I’ve forgotten most of it by now. But some stuff sticks.”

Leon makes an impressed face. “I forget sometimes that you went to college and weren’t just born like this.”

“What does that mean?”

“No, no not like that,” Leon backtracks and it makes you smile. “You just seem so naturally smart. Sharp. I’ve always really liked that about you.”

Something in you flutters. “I have a question.”

“Hm?”

“How long… have you wanted to do this?”

It’s the first time you’ve asked him a question without your lawyer voice bleeding into your tone, and it kind of makes your head spin. 

“What? Go on a date with you?”

“Mhm.”

“Uhh,” Leon pretends to consider your question. You can tell the motion of it is fake. “Since that first time in your office. When you noticed my hip.”

You think back to that day and what you wrote in your notes about Leon. Sad. Cynical. Defiant. Closed-off. You’d make some revisions now. Hopeful. Lost. Maybe one more: Loving. 

Leon has so much love in his heart. You can see that from miles away. The issue is that everyone he’s ever trusted has betrayed him or thought poorly of him because of his addiction. You never did that, and you still don’t. 

You make a noise in the back of your throat. “So, this is more than a case to you?”

What you mean is unspoken, and in that moment you realize why you misread Leon at first: because you saw parts of yourself in the reflection of him. Cynical. Closed-off. Sad. And you haven’t exactly been feeling like that since you came back to work. 

Leon huffs, humored and breathless. “It’s always been more than the case. Over the years.” He glances away from the road and looks at you for a long second. “But I think you know that.”

You nod. “I know.”

Leon swallows and you follow the bob of his Adam’s apple with your eyes. “Is this… more to you, too?”

He is almost forty, just like you are, but with this look in your eyes that he’s giving you, he looks about ten years younger. A smile stretches at the corner of your lips before you can truly process it, and you’re laughing slightly.

“Yes, Leon. I would’ve said no if not.” You settle your hand against his arm that’s resting against the center console, and gently pull his hand to splay against your thigh. “You’re shaking again.” 

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“Whatever.”

“Do I make you nervous, Leon?”

He makes a choking sound deep in his throat. “God, you’re upfront.”

“You’ve told me that before, yes.” You bat your eyelashes and keep your same expecting stare on him. When he glances over at you, you can visibly see the restraint pulling him back. “So?”

“Yes,” he relents with a sigh. “You make me nervous.”

You chuckle, though it sounds light of humor. The rest of the drive home is full of comments about trivia that are half paid attention to from both of you, considering Leon’s fingertips are lightly brushing against your denim jeans and sending bolts of anticipation through you. Sometimes, you get so lost in it that you realize you didn’t listen to a word he said. 

This feels so natural. Too natural. It’s a bit unnerving, to be honest, but you don’t necessarily care. It’s been… a long time since you’ve gotten laid. Not that that’s what’s going on. Obviously. 

When he pulls into your driveway, you move to gather your purse that has found a home at your feet. Leon puts the car in park and gives you a soft smile, like he's a little optimistic that this isn't it. 

You look at him for a moment. Your facade falls. Then, you say, "Do you want to come inside?" 

His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and he quickly intakes a breath. "Do you want that?"

Your face contorts into something sly, and it obviously affects Leon with how he looks away from you. "Yes. I do." 

When you reach over to undo your seatbelt, Leon kills the engine and undoes his seatbelt like he's getting shot at. You climb out of his Buick and shut your door, pretending not to notice him adjusting his pants before trailing behind you to your front door. 

You pull your keys out of your purse and unlock the door with a steady hand that sort of surprises you, considering you have enough anxiety to permanently fry your nervous system. 

Once you swing the door open and successfully herd Leon inside, his hands are on your hips. 

"This is crazy," he pants. With one step, your back is flush against the door, and his head hangs close to your neck. 

"And highly unethical. Fucking your lawyer."

"Jesus Christ. Don't say it like that." His body betrays him at that, though, because his grip tightens at the idea of fucking you. 

"What do you want me to say, then?" Your voice has a cheeky edge to it that feels soft enough to hold, and it's a certain type of gentleness you didn't know you still had. With one hand, you brush away the hair that has fallen into his face. 

Leon smiles, then gets a little serious, because of course he does. "I don't want you to think this is a weightless thing. I've wanted this for a while, and I'm trying to be the person you deserve to have."

The honesty strips you raw, and your eyebrows "Do I have you, Leon?"

"Yes," he confesses, and it makes you feel weightless. "Always have."

You tilt his head with a hand on his jaw, and when you pull him down and your lips connect, you think, this is incredible.

At first, the kiss is gentle; tentative and soft. Something you've dreamed about while watching movies and reading books. Before long, though, he's untucking your shirt with impatience and splaying his palm flat against your back, tugging you closer into him and moaning into your mouth. Each move sends waves of want through you and you yank him closer to you via his shoulders. 

You move in tandem, each chasing the feeling of the other like you need it to live. He licks a stripe against the crease of your lips, and immediately you're opening up and letting him deepen the kiss into something more.

When you finally reach down and yank his shirt up to feel his abdomen, he pulls away from you, breathless with swollen lips. "This is okay?"

"I'm actively throwing myself at you, Leon. Yes, it's okay." 

He dips down to press a kiss against your neck, open-mouthed and desperate, and you let out a whine when his teeth grazes the vertex of your neck and shoulder. Leon's hips buck, and you arch into him when you feel the imprint of his cock. 

He pulls back far enough to look you in the eyes. "Where's your bedroom?"

"Last door on the right." You point with your hand, and before you can look back at him, his hands are locking under your thighs and lifting you up into his arms. You yelp. "Leon!"

"What?" He grins at you. "I won't break anything."

Sometimes you forget that Leon is an absolute unit of a human being, built of years of government training and field exercises that have successfully hardened his muscles beyond human perception. When he does shit like this, though, it's impossible to ignore. 

His lips are on you again, wet and hot and everything you imagined it to be, and he kicks the door shut behind him before laying you flat on your back on the comforter. Down the hall comes a disgruntled mrrp from your cat, who is obviously very upset about getting his spot taken. 

Leon's hands come up to push your shirt away from your abdomen, revealing your skin inch by inch. "Can I—"

"Please," you manage to breathe out, and you sit up slightly as Leon pulls the fabric over your head, leaving you in your red lacy bra. You tug at the hem of his shirt, too, and he undoes the top two buttons enough to yank it over his head. At the sight of his skin, you sigh. "Jesus."

"You're one to talk," Leon mutters before lurching toward you again, lips connecting with the skin of your collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave marks. 

Instinctively, your hands reach towards his head, threading through his hair and tugging at it gently. Leon groans against your skin and presses down into you, eager to relieve the tension in his pants. 

"Take them off," you order as seriously as you can, but your breath betrays you and you let out a moan when Leon's lips graze your breast. "Leon."

"Be patient," he muses, and the teasing tone makes you throb. "I've waited long enough."

"I thought you were making it up to me," you comment, lips close to his ear. Your breath fans his skin, making goosebumps rise, and you can immediately tell his resolve is crumbling fast. "Or are you not?"

"I am," he says, bordering on a whine. "Please."

"Thought you wanted to be good for me," you coo, and his head drops against your stomach. With one hand, you reach behind you and unclasp your bra, removing it swiftly and exposing your breasts to the cold air of your own bedroom. "Don't you want to be good?"

Once again, Leon's tone is insistent, "I am." 

"Then prove it to me," your finger traces the skin under his chin, tilting his head up to meet your gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his lower lip extended in a pout. "Take them off." 

He sighs something broken and quiet, before lifting himself off of you and unbuttoning his jeans. You follow suit, undoing yours and kicking them down your legs, revealing your matching lingerie set. Your eyes never leave him. 

God, he's beautiful. Something straight out of Ancient Rome, you think as he shoves his jeans and briefs down his legs in one go. Carved marble, or an oil painting, something delicate and hand-made and breathtaking. You've never let yourself think about him like this—so raw and passionately and unguarded. It undoes something in you. 

"Leon, you're perfect," you gush before you can stop yourself, and you're too horny to be embarrassed about it. 

Leon cracks a smile and climbs back on top of you. "Couldn't hold a candle to you, honey." 

You roll your eyes. "You're stupid."

"You love it."

You recoil at the word for a moment, before letting it settle over you. You do love it. And you love Leon, in some naive way. So, he's not wrong, and you let yourself be right. 

"'M gonna take care of you, okay?" Leon runs a hand down the side of your head tenderly, brushing your hair away from your face. "Just tell me to stop and I will."

"I trust you," you respond, borderline eager. 

"You do?"

You smile. "Yes, Leon. Against my better judgement, I trust you. Get to work."

He does without much thought, kissing chastely down your stomach towards the apex of your thighs, only stopping to breathe every couple kisses. Slyly, he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down in one swift motion, and the feeling of the air on your core makes you clench, desperate and impatient. A chuckle escapes him, low and humorless, and you groan in anticipation.

Finally, he settles between your legs and draws your thighs over his arms. You're trapped underneath him, his grip on your hips tight, but you can't complain. No, you're exactly where you want to be. 

He starts slowly, kisses and kitten licks to your folds, easing into you like he can't tell you're drenched. You mewl something obscene, and when you arch, Leon takes it as an invitation to dive in. He takes one hand away from your hip and pulls it under him. 

Leon attacks your clit like a man starved. He learns, quickly, and a spike of jealousy flashes up in your mind when you think about where, exactly, he got this information from. But a hard suck has your head thrown back against the mattress, erasing any thoughts from your mind. 

When you reach down and grasp his head, pulling him firmer into you, he lets out a groan, and it's then you realize that he is grinding into the mattress and seeking some release, too. 

"God, Leon, you're doing so good."

Leon's whine is high pitched against your cunt, and it sends a jolt of pleasure through you. Before long, you're shamelessly grinding against his face, seeking an orgasm you didn't know you were capable of having so fast. 

"I'm—fuck, Leon. Please."

He uses the opportunity to finally slide two fingers into you. Your toes curl at the sensation, and without much warning, you're tipping over the edge, moaning and groaning and saying words, you realize at some point. They're unintelligible to you through the rush of blood in your ears, but they really do a lot to Leon, you realize, who is whining against you as you ride out your orgasm. 

When he pulls away, you crack a smile, still gasping and experiencing the aftershocks. He wipes his face off with the back of his hand and crawls back up to you. 

Leon's eyes pinch together in a pleading way, and when you realize what he wants, you giggle. "That was stupidly good, Leon. Thank you."

He grins and dips his head down to kiss you, slow and passionate. Words bleed into it, unspoken but still understood, and you nearly want to cry at the meaning and vulnerability of it all. 

"Can I fuck you?" Leon asks. His eyes bounce between yours, looking for a doubtful look or a flash of remorse. He finds none, apparently, and you nod eagerly. "Do you have…"

"I'm safe," you sputter out. "On birth control, I mean." 

Leon exhales. "You're sure this is okay?"

"Leon, if you don't fuck me right now, I'm going to take matters into my own hands."

He grins and wraps a hand around his cock, pumping a few times to get fully stiff. He groans at the contact. "Who says I won't like that?"

"We both know you would." You lean up to kiss his cheek. "But I think I deserve to lay back. Don't you?"

Leon makes a shuddering, broken sound at your tone, and lines himself up with your entrance. Every time he seems to get lost in his own pleasure, he remembers yours. You note this mentally. "If it hurts—"

"I know, sweetheart. It's okay."

He rolls his eyes at your impatience, but begins to press into you. The stretch is immediate—Leon is big, and you knew that since you started kissing—and you gasp with each inch he pushes into you. He's whispering, too, comforting you with every move he makes. He kisses your neck; you turn to catch his lips with your own. 

His hips lurch and he's bottomed out, tip kissing your cervix. You feel so full. Of him, of life, of love. It’s everything. It’s too much, but not enough. At the sensation, you moan, and when he begins moving, the sound itself is so lewd you're somehow close again. 

"Christ," he chokes out. "You feel good." 

"Fuck." You press your face into Leon's shoulder. You're still sensitive from your first orgasm, and every drag of his cock inside of you has another fire lit in your abdomen. "This is so worth it." 

Leon is breathless. "Yeah?"

“Yes,” you insist. “God. Leon—“

“I know. I know. I’m here.”

Leon snakes a hand under you to wrap around the back of your neck, not hard, just enough to secure you to him. It gives him a new vantage to thrust harder into you experimentally. You yelp out a moan but grab at him, pressing your thumbs appreciatively into his shoulders. 

Obviously, Leon had tried to stay focused to bring you over the edge again, but his breathing was hurting shallow, and short moans escaped him, some bordering on whimpers. 

His grip on your neck tightens and it has the coil in your belly wound completely tight. “Please, Leon, I—“

“Come on, sweetheart. I can take it. I’m right here.”

“Leon—“

“I know. It’s okay. I’m here.”

He keeps murmuring in your ear, and he’s so trusting and gentle, when you tip over the edge once again and fall head first into your orgasm, he kisses your neck and keeps talking you through it. Your body is pulled taut, a live wire coursing through you, as Leon slows his pace slightly. 

“Fuck,” he grits out. “I’m—“

“Flip me over,” you command, somehow able to talk through the aftershocks. 

Leon whines your name. “Please. I’m close. I—“

“Leon.” You grab his chin in your hand. He looks destroyed when you catch his gaze. “You wanted to be good for me, right? You took care of me. Let me help you. Be my good boy I know you are.”

He shudders at the words, blood running hot in his veins. Somehow, he has the energy to grab onto you and roll over, scooting up until his upper back hits the headboard. 

You’re still secure on top of him, his cock buried deep inside of you, and you press a kiss to his forehead. His eyes follow your every movement, and when they land on your face, he thinks he’s seeing an angel. 

Leon has scars that you know you may never get the story to. There’s one on his shoulder, the left one, that’s deep and sensitive to the touch, you notice. That one’s the most prominent. But God, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a man more beautiful than him. 

You give an experimental roll of your hips since Leon has adjusted to the new position. He looks up at you like you’re something to be worshipped, and when your hips move again, his hands land on your hips. They grip hard enough to bruise. 

“Thank you,” he grits out. “I— Please, I—“

“It’s okay, honey. I’ve got you.” 

And you do. Leon wants you so bad it hurts, which feels ironic, considering he’s inside of you. But this isn’t all there is to you. He wants everything. The rough nights, the late hours at the office, the arguments over taking out the trash and watching horrible movies together. He was worried this would feel like the end. 

No, it’s just the beginning. 

You find a rhythm, hard and unrelenting, and it doesn’t take Leon long to reach his own climax with how you’re grinding against him, uttering encouragement in his ears like second nature. Your hands naturally explore. They run from his shoulders, down his pecs, then trace his abs lightly, over and over again, as you bounce and grind on him. 

Logically, you could cum again. But this was better, you think, watching Agent Kennedy absolutely fall apart under you. Your tone is slightly mocking.  “Leon, I’m doing all this for you. Don’t you want to cum?” 

“Shit. Fuck, baby, I’m—“

“Yeah?”

He whimpers. “Please. Yeah, pl—“

The words die in his mouth as he spills into you, lips parted. You have to remind him to breathe. His hands grab at you, your hips, boobs, shoulders, before finally one hand grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you in close. Leon groans something primal and you nip at his earlobe. 

You two lay there for a moment, absolutely spent, and Leon’s neck is bright red, either with lust or embarrassment or something else entirely. 

Against your biological wishes, you lift slightly off of him, his softening cock falling flat against his abdomen. Your combined juices leak out of you, but you can’t be bothered as you drip all over him. 

Leon kisses the junction of your neck and shoulder lightly before rolling you over, laying you flat against your sheets. You aren’t sure when the comforter got pushed down. 

Whatever. 

“Where’s your bathroom?” Leon whispers and the tenderness of the moment is not lost on you. 

You point with one hand. “Over there. I think I’m gonna die now.”

“Could I be charged with murder if that happened?”

You huff out a laugh. “Manslaughter at the most. Negligence, maybe.”

“You’re too smart for me.” He calls over his shoulder as he makes his way to your bathroom. When he opens the bedroom door, Barty comes trotting in, rubbing up against Leon’s ankles. “Hi, buddy. Yeah. Let’s…go out here.”

Leon leads your cat away from you and you hear the rustling of a cabinet before the tap starts to run. Before long, Leon’s returning to you, and you realize he left to get a washcloth for you. 

The intimacy of it all brings a tear to your eye. You sniffle as Leon parts your legs, this time with a gentleness you didn’t know he had, and he caresses the towel between your folds and over your legs. When you whimper, he utters, “I know. I’m sorry.”

He wipes himself down and collapses next to you. When he pulls you into him, you're pliant, like putty, under his touch, and tuck into his side without any argument. 

“You okay?” Leon whispers into your hairline, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. 

You nod. “I’m great, Leon. You’re great.”

You want to tease him on the whole praise stuff, but you like it. So you swallow your words and let yourself melt into Leon. It’s the safest you’ve felt in years. 

Leon pulls the covers over you. “Did I make it up to you?”

You snicker. “Leon, you were forgiven a long time ago. You know that.”

“I know,” he murmurs. He swallows thickly. “Are we…”

“Yes, Leon. You can call us together now. I’d like that.”

“Really?”

You give him a look. “Yes. Really. Stop arguing with me and let me take a little nap here. You’re warm.”

Leon gives out a noise of contentment, and when he settles beneath you, his heartbeat is steady. “I meant what I said.”

“Hm?”

“About wanting to be better for you. I hated the way you looked at me back then. I wanted to be the kind of man you deserved.”

The confession makes you tilt your head up to him, catching his eyes in an honest trap. You press a kiss to the stubble on his jawline and pretend the tear leaking from the corner of your eye is from yawning, which Leon doesn’t believe for a second. 

“I know, Leon. You’re amazing.”

Just when you’re drifting off to sleep, four little paws climb over your back, settling on Leon’s chest. Barty has found a home here, and admittedly, you have, too. 

taglist: @night-scare @leonsbestgirl @lysol1201 @eclairlvr @deadlyecstasy @nambii @cakewinswars @shortcake356

if y'all want a part two... i have ideas.

[tvirusfics]

a hero's farewell

the tea had barely touched the coffee table before leon looked up at you. he'd been wrapped in the same blanket since morning, a box of tissues beside him and an empty one discarded on the floor. his nose was red, his hair was a mess, and he looked completely convinced he was on death's door.

"i think this is it, honey," he rasped, his voice full of exaggerated misery. "tell the president i fought bravely."

a sneeze cut him off before he could continue, and he reached for another tissue with a tired groan.

you smiled to yourself as you brushed his hair away from his forehead, your hand lingering there for a moment before moving to his cheek. he turned his head into the touch, letting out a heavy sigh as his eyes slipped closed.

it never stopped amusing you. leon could brush off almost anything, yet a simple head cold always managed to turn him into the most dramatic man you'd ever met.

[lanadelreyylover]

Crybaby

RE9!Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader

Leon comes home grump, with the attitude of a toddler who doesn't get their way. There is one thing you can do to make him feel better...

based on this request

oral, m receiving, emotional hurt/comfort, established relationship

taglist: @cakeofhorrors @rainyxie @venus-in-roses @ghostieistiredd @jqsjournal @bloodysnow15

And he slams the fridge door too. The gall.

“Woof,” you mumble to yourself. With what apparently is superhuman hearing, Leon pivots at the waist slowly to glance over his shoulder, hands stalling over whatever protein slop he’s preparing at the counter. 

“What was that?’ 

You peek over the pages of your book. His eyes are sharp, blue irises complimented by the lilac crescents beneath them. “Oh, nothing. Just…thinking out loud. I’m reading about a dog right now so, yeah. Reading out loud and all. Yep.”

He just grunts, reverting to the counter, and you shut your book before he can hone in on the cover, which features an illustration of the main characters (neither being a dog), who were just about to kiss for the first time before Leon came home with an attitude, stomping and mumbling to himself, slamming drawers shut and shoving anything in his path.

You don’t dare ask what’s going on, not wanting such bubbling frustration pointed at you any time soon, sure that if you do, this little simmer will boil over, and you’ll be damned if you’re at the brunt of it.

Instead of staying within firing distance in the living room, you pad upstairs to ready yourself for an early night, tucked in bed with your story and something hydrating on your skin. After a steamy shower, you slip into a nightgown, something silky and cooling on your skin. 

Right before you can finally wrap your body in a cocoon of Egyptian cotton and bamboo, you hear the shattering of glass echoing up the walls of the staircase and the hallway that leads to your bedroom. 

“Leon?” You call out as you gingerly make your way down the steps, peering over the banister into the kitchen. Leon stands, with a broom and dustpan already put to work, sweeping up the pieces of a ceramic plate. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, not looking up at you. 

“What happened?” 

He glances up with an extended hand to halt your movement. “Don’t walk over here. I don’t want you to step on any of the shards and cut your foot.” 

You nod, staying in place on the bottom step. “Are you alright?” 

“Just go back to bed.” 

You obey, sauntering back up the stairs, but not burrowing back under the covers, waiting for Leon on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, reclined back on your palms. He crosses the threshold of the bedroom, not paying you much mind as he undresses, discarding the day on his clothes, and hops into a pair of sweatpants, yanking on a t-shirt. 

He stands at the high-boy dresses, back to you as he removes his watch and wedding band. You take the opportunity to approach, and as he turns around, brows squinted, you push him up against the piece of furniture. 

“Stop, I’m not in the mood,” he says weakly, turning his head to the side as you plant a garden of kisses on his neck and cheek, eyes faulting to the floor. 

“No, but you’re in a mood, and I’d like to know what’s going on.”

He just shakes his head, extending his hands to your arms, however, he doesn’t use the leverage to push you away. 

“Come on,” you goad, palming his dick through the fleece fabric. It’s not long before he begins to grow beneath your hand as you continue to grind the heel up and down his hardening length. 

He groans. “Work was–mhm–bad. Got reamed for a call I had to make in the field. Assholes.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” you say, giving him one last kiss on the lips before you sink down to your knees, pulling the band of his sweatpants and briefs with you. Freed at last, you get to take in the sight of his cock, pulsating and twitching as you teasingly graze your fingers up and down the shaft. 

With a hand wrapped around his base, you open your lips to stick out your tongue, flat and thick and wanton as you slide the head across it. Leon’s whole body shivers, his hands running to grab the knobs of the dresser drawers as he clenches his teeth through the sudden pleasure. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” he hisses, caressing the back of your head. “Take all of me, baby, just like that.” Funny that he thinks he’s going to be the one in charge tonight. 

You give him what he wants, taking half of his length into your mouth, the other half stroked by your hand. The hand that isn’t working his cock is extended above your head, palming his abdomen beneath the fabric of his t-shirt, feeling the muscles tense and release as you suck him down. He takes the collar of his shirt in his mouth, pulling it up and away from your hand on his stomach so you have better access, and he has a bit he can chomp down on when his ecstasy is nearly unbearable. 

“I’m so close,” he warns through gritted teeth and cotton. “Keep going.” 

As if. 

You use that as your cue to pull away, retreating back onto your heels. 

“Wha–,” he whines. “Why’d you stop?” His lips pucker into a pout, his eyes glassy beneath a set of woven brows. “I was–oh god–” He takes in a deep breath so as not to finish anywhere but between your sweet lips, and he’s able to get it under control, sparing himself the embarrassment of finishing in the air. 

“Are you gonna come home, slamming doors again?” You ask in a syrupy, saccharine voice, batting your lashes up at him, oh-so sweet. Like maraschino cherries. Or milk chocolate. 

Leon shakes his head frantically, casting his eyes down at his throbbing cock, desperate for your mouth to return as if to beg you –as if it would only take one at how painful it is for you to show him mercy. And it does look painful, you’ll give him that much. Saliva and anticipation gleam across the angry head, red and weeping. 

“Use your words, Leon,” you croon, fighting a smug smile that threatens to appear on your lips. 

Tossing his neck back, he lets his head hang for a moment before he glances back down at you. “No, I won’t. Fuck, I promise, just keep going. Please.”

With the lightest touch of your tongue, you flick the tip across his head, gathering a drop of salty moisture before you abdicate once more. His hips jolt forward, and his hands race to your shoulders, fingers bearing down into your skin like you’re some stress ball he can squeeze under the torturous pain you’re inflicting upon him. 

You hum, tilting your head back and forth, letting the plea roll around in your brain as you ponder his apology. “And what about when you didn’t give me a kiss when you came home? You know how much I hate that.” 

“I’ll kiss you,” he spits. “I won’t forget again, just please–shit–”

He’s so loud, always has been, never able to contain the guttural cries that pry open his mouth. It turns you on to hear audible evidence of the pleasure you inflict upon him, your ears drooling at every desperate whimper and primal scream that leaves his chest, and tonight is no different. If you were wearing underwear beneath your nightgown, you’re sure the gusset would be completely drenched. 

“Come on, baby, you’re being mean.” 

“So were you,” you nearly shout before lowering your voice back to a seductive whisper. “How do you think I felt when you came home, didn’t say a word to me, and started huffing and puffing and breaking plates. Huh? I’m not the mean one.” 

“No, you’re not, baby, I’m sorry.” He always gets loose-lipped with the pet names when he’s in the throes of his pleasure, especially if you’re playing hard to get. Cupping your cheek, he continues his apology. “It was unfair of me to bring that home to you, and I’m sorry. I was just having a shitty day…I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay to bring it home, Leon, but only if you’re going to talk about it like an adult. You know you don’t have to hide your feelings from me.” You flutter your lashes, rising back up to your knees. “Now, enough of all of that. Let me make you feel better.” 

He gives you a slight smile, a go-ahead for you to lick a stripe of tongue and spit up and down his shaft, preparing to take him into your mouth once more. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he says, a hand finding the back of your head to help guide you onto his length. His hips thrust forward slightly. “Just like that–oh god–yeah, that’s it.” 

He doesn’t last much longer once your mouth returns after luring him to the brink of his pleasure and withholding it. Leon finishes in your mouth with a string of curse-laced gratitudes, moans spilling from his bottom lip, only released from the lock of his front teeth once he can no longer contain the sounds of pleasure lodged in his chest. Once he removes himself, dragging a line of cum and saliva across your bottom lip, you swallow down every last drop of his release, licking any remnants from the corners of your mouth. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says with a labored breath, regaining consciousness from his mind-numbing climax so he can bow down and caress your face with his palm. When you glance up to study his face, you see a couple wet strands trickling down his cheeks–oily droplets bathed in the low light from the lamp on your night stand. The whites of his eyes are glistening, his lower lashes stuck together like the feathers of a bird flying through rain. “I needed that.”

You smile sweetly as he pulls you up onto your feet, holding your face so close to his that you can reach up and swipe away the tears. “I’m glad I could be of service,” you quip. “Now where’s that kiss you owe me?”

[operator-umbra]

[the cautionary tale of manifesting love]; [03]

leon s. kennedy x f!reader

warnings: second-person pov, excessive profanity, excessive thirsting, head trauma, comedy to thirst to angst to feels, tonal whiplash, peak human male anatomy as a psychological weapon, four leon kennedys (as stupid as that sounds), accidental found family, a missing bra, excessive intake of the respecc-whamen-juice™

chapter summary:

it started with a wish. initially, your ovaries were very happy for the buy-one-take-three outcome, until the consequences of your heart's desire inevitably crushed your fantasies altogether.

word count: 4.6k

author's note:

the leons have nicknames here to avoid confusion: re2r is rookie, re4r is agent, re6 is captain, and re9/requiem is wolf i hide now kthxbai. |˶˙ᵕ˙ )

masterlist || ao3 || wattpad

This was absolutely the worst Monday of your life.

And the reason for that? Let’s just say you have officially been categorized as the most spectacularly uncool female protagonist of every romantic story possible.

Before your neurons inevitably decided to unionize and temporarily vacate the premises of your already barely functioning brain, the last thing you saw was the four variants of the man you had been panting over like a hyena in heat for the last week. Unfortunately, this not-so-meet-cute ended quite abruptly for you in the most awkward way possible.

You were wobbly. Cold. Drenched in the blood of a fallen enemy. You were on the brink of actually cackling at how ridiculous the entire turn of events was, because seriously, what kind of fucking plot is this? And in a blur, before logic could even investigate this situation with the conviction of a battle-hardened activist, you were in free fall.

The Leons tried to catch you. Truly, they did. There was a burst of movement, a few panicked yells, and a lot of very attractive confusion. Alas, gravity was operating at 9.8 meters per second squared, while the four of them collectively managed an unfortunate 9.7 in civilian perception.

And then…

THUNK.

That was your skull hitting the asphalt.

Your body positioning was a wreck as well. Even purple prose couldn’t describe it with any elegant cadence other than you were bent in a way that would be a tale passed amongst first responders through memes in a group chat. Totally fine. Totally normal. Great first impression. Definitely something you shouldn’t do on a first date, though. 

Oh well. At least you had four Leons now. Might be the best non-refundable mishap of your life.

Now, you were lying comfortably on the ground—eyes shut—with a folded leather jacket laid beneath your head as a makeshift pillow. There were two Leon Kennedys gathered around what looked like a small campfire in the middle of the road; the other two scavenging for supplies out in the urban wilderness. Very survival horror and survival crafting in spirit, with the whole hunting-for-goods-and-seeking-out-shelter-with-infected-popping-around type of scenario.

To the Leons, however, it was honestly quite a novel experience—given their countless intimate tangos with death itself. It was almost like camping out in the woods with brothers they never knew they had alongside a mysterious stranger they had rescued from the clutches of the local fauna. Except this time, instead of bears, they had to look out for bio-organic weapons.

You were a lucky woman—for now.

You would’ve helped these men as a thank you for saving your sorry hide back in that street, had you not been so disgracefully knocked out by circumstance. It is what it is. Repayment can wait until this entire scenario becomes slightly less fucked than it already was.

The youngest Leon huddled closer to the fire, rubbing his bare arms. His eyes were fixed on your sleeping figure while the oldest Leon cleaned you, wiping the dried infected blood off your skin with an alcohol-doused cloth. Chivalry was apparently a default setting for him even as a young man, having offered his jacket as a pillow. Now, the sensory receptors on his skin were at war with the cold.

“I-is she okay?” His teeth chattered. “She looks pretty roughed up.”

“She’s fine,” his older counterpart muttered in response. “Handled herself better than most. Should’ve seen her axe one of ‘em.”

The rookie perked up. “Really? She did?”

“Yeah. A Cerberus. Caught one mid-pounce.”

“Huh.” He glanced at you in awe. “That’s kinda cool, actually.”

He gave his younger self a wry smirk before continuing to wipe you clean again.

It didn’t take long for the other two to return with a large haul of supplies—food, clothes, medical supplies, and water.

“This’ll have to do for now,” the more experienced of the two said, setting the pile of supplies near your feet. “We haven’t checked the other side of the strip.”

“And the one I told you to find?”

“Check the box. It’s all there.”

The eldest nodded. “Good. We’ll get more along the way.”

Meanwhile, the second youngest Leon went ahead and dumped the food supplies beside the rookie before plopping down on the ground beside him with a disgruntled groan.

This entire day had been a string of disastrous inconveniences, much to his annoyance. It had only been a week or two since his mission from Spain reached its conclusion. In a fit of stress, he took the liberty of going to his favorite bar on a Sunday night just to get pissed drunk to the point of near hospitalization. The next thing he knew, he woke up in some place that was clearly not his with a raging hangover, with half a zombie crawling across the floor, wanting a piece of him.

“Urgh… Fuck me…” the agent grumbled miserably as his head throbbed—the proof that the hard liquor equivalent of an omakase experience was his stupidest idea yet.

Thank fuck the ibuprofen he found earlier in the search wasn’t expired. Hell, it’s a miracle he even managed to survive this long in whatever this place was with this fucking menace of a headache.

But… Where exactly is this hellscape?

And why are there four of him here?

And how did a civilian—who was clearly incapable of fending for herself alone—end up in the heart of an infested zone?

With an audible groan, he fished out a partially frozen bag of peas from the pile of goods and rested the back of his head on the bench, slapping the bag on the upper half of his face.

He’ll figure it out later. For now? Non-functional. Mildly pissed the fuck off with the existence of photons. Adios. Hasta fucking luego.

Meanwhile, the second eldest’s eyes flitted toward you. You were now somewhat clean of blood and tucked beneath a very oversized leather jacket that somehow managed to cover more than half your body length-wise. There was a certain hint of melancholy in his eyes—unreadable but obvious—as his gaze trailed to your face and lingered for a heartbeat, before averting his gaze to his two younger selves as he sat on a nearby stack of wheels.

He had tried contacting comms earlier, but it was just static. Checked his phone too, and there was no signal. Next thing he knew, this whole four Leons incident in the middle of an abandoned junction, as incredulous as it was, became a sliver of hope in surviving this place.

Finally, the eldest of the Leons had finished cleaning you the best he could, and was now attempting to change your clothes with his jacket draped over you, muttering “sorry” and “excuse me” every time his fingertips accidentally brushed against your bare skin. Each article had to be changed for good measure—infected blood and all. Thankfully, it had only splattered across unbroken skin, but it was dangerous regardless and needed immediate attention.

Almost as if on cue, the third Leon grunted and turned his back on the scene. Then he grabbed the frozen peas out of the second youngest's face—much to the other's chagrin—before curtly tilting his head in the direction of the desolated commercial strip they hadn't scoured yet. Even the rookie made himself busy by organizing the food rations by type to divert his attention away, tossing an electrolyte drink to the one with the hangover, who caught it before he left to gather more supplies.

Soon you were in new clothing—not the best ones but better than the ones you were in anyway. A soft sweater with a cotton T-shirt beneath, and a new pair of jeans that was a bit loose on your frame, held up firmly with a belt. For a second, blue eyes—the weariest out of the four—lingered on you with a strange, inexplicable familiarity, his gloved hand brushing a stray speck of dust from your cheek before he turned to the rookie.

“Keep watch. I’ll fix the camper.”

The rookie nodded and plopped down beside you, legs crossed as he adjusted the makeshift blanket to tuck you in better. Silence loomed over the campsite, with curious eyes occasionally glancing your way.

Time seemed to blur along with the quiet, and he eventually allowed himself a moment to think.

This place was almost like Raccoon City again—or at least, a part of what remained of it. Except this time, the infected weren’t in every nook and cranny of this already dead city. And now that he was finally out of another fight-or-flight scenario, he was slowly starting to feel the ache in his muscles despite being the youngest of the four—partly from his ongoing military training, and the fact that he was actually mentally exhausted from this whiplash of a circumstance.

“Got something on your mind, kid?”

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a more worn-down and aged version of his voice, accompanied by two sets of footsteps on the road. The rookie looked toward the approaching duo, who each carried a box.

“Kind of,” he admitted, his curious eyes flitting between each of his older versions. “It’s just so… weird, y’know? Seeing this many me’s in one place.”

The corner of the older Leon’s lips twitched up, and he placed the box near the other supplies before replying.

“Yeah, we’re going to need nicknames to avoid confusion.”

“Got any ideas?”

“Dunno. ‘Condor One’?”

“Hell no. I—we—are off-duty and—fuck, my head is splitting open—”

“Waitwaitwait. How about we take one part of our name each? I’ll be Leon, the other two can either be Scott or Kennedy.”

“Kid, there are four of us.”

“Uhh… One of us can be the dot after S?”

“Shut it, Dot.”

“Hey! I said I’m the Leon!—”

A groan escaped you as their voices began to grow louder.

All three of them froze while the oldest of the bunch continued repairing the camper, occasional metallic clangs ripping through the air. Three sets of eyes were on you as you tossed onto your side, curling up a little to bury yourself in more warmth.

The nearest Leon—the third—voluntarily shed his jacket as well and dumped it over you before turning back to the group.

“Well? Are we deciding or not?”

The recent Spain survivor sighed and slapped another bag of frozen peas over his forehead and eyes. Instantly, his thumb pointed toward their eldest.

“Why don’t we let that guy decide?”

The eldest didn’t respond, still focused on his task. The other Leons were on the brink of fighting over Leon, Scott, Dot, and Kennedy when a small voice—yours, groggy and still weak—broke through the silence.

“Rookie… Agent… Captain… Wolf…” you slurred out in a croaky voice, while your eyes still remained shut. All four Leons turned to you, including the one with the temporary ice pack, who briefly lifted it from his head.

“That works.”

“Agent?”

“Huh. Alright.”

“...You’re awake.”

“No…” You mumbled unconsciously. “...’m going back to bed…”

You sighed, already slipping back into unconsciousness as you tugged on the jacket covering you with a mild tremble. The camp stilled once again before the most disgruntled of the bunch finally walked over to your sleeping form and placed his jacket over you along with the others’. Only then did you unconsciously smile, finally satisfied with the warmth.

The hours flew by—mostly with the Leons just handling everything they could while they kept an eye on you as you dozed away. And when it was almost afternoon, that’s when you decided to finally wake up.

Only this time, it felt like a dream.

A morally scandalous, horrifying dream.

You naturally winced when your eyes fluttered open, the warmth of the early afternoon sun spilling through the cracked buildings and bathing the abandoned streets in faint gold. Dust motes drifted through the air, and somewhere nearby, water simmered into a pot.

It was peaceful. Relaxing.

A fucking red flag.

Because let’s be real: the concept of a peaceful Monday morning is an urban myth to those who lived in a bustling town.

Normally, you wouldn’t need an alarm clock to wake up. Your neighbors would be the ones who would do the honors, either by the random hammering against drywall, the garbage truck just stinking up the entire block, or when the upstairs stay-at-home mom was screaming at her kids because she doesn't believe in the concept of gentle parenting.

And none of that daily nonsense all of a sudden? Terrifying.

Your instincts were screaming at you. Pay attention, they warned. Wake the fuck up, they urged. So you did, and that itself was the trapdoor that swallowed you whole. You were certain that God was actually conniving against both your sanity and dignity with an elaborate, inescapable plan at your behest—because what in the fucking Calvin Klein fragrance ad is all this?

Four Leon S. Kennedys. Working on separate tasks, sweating it out, and looking disgustingly scrumptious in the face of manual labor. Your biological optics are rebelling against you, and as much as you absolutely despise it, you can't blame them. You have no choice but to respect their juvenile free will.

…

There are hypothetical guitar riffs in the background.

Mother of Christ above. This was going to end horribly for you.

Wolf was crouched beside the camper van in a dark-colored Henley, his sleeves rolled past his forearms as he tightened something beneath the hood before tossing an oil-stained rag over his shoulder. He was arguably the most well-built out of the group—a realization you obviously did not fucking need for the sake of your self-control. And the tired, throaty groan he let out the moment he leaned back to pop his lower back? A federal crime against your reproductive organs.

Then, there was Captain. The man had decided to forgo his button-up shirt, leaving him in a wifebeater—a very tight-fitting wifebeater. He was clearly strong and disciplined, his muscles flexing while he carried heavy boxes to the camper van with soft grunts. You had so many questions, but the longer you watched, the more it felt like you were reading a thirsty headcanon of Leon on Tumblr. He was glistening. His arms were shiny. His muscles were flexing. And you? You were crying. Just not at the ocular region.

Now, for Rookie—still in his ever chipper mood. Innocent Rookie, who was standing over the camp stove, humming a tune while stirring a pot of what you surmised as instant ramen…with his fucking shirt off. This man was a hazard with a pulse. An OSHA violator who decided to free his chest while being near boiling water. Where’s the safety inspector? And why are his pectorals defined despite being the baby of the group? It was rudely staring at you, and you were staring back at it. You swore it winked at you, and you almost winked back.

And Agent.

…Huh.

This is surprising.

He was actually the most normal out of the four in this fever dream of a situation. Fully dressed. No rolled-up sleeves. No exposed biceps. No gratuitous display of anything that could escalate into a criminal offense. He was assisting with hauling some of the items under Captain’s directions. You heaved a sigh of relief and smiled. The modesty was tasteful and much appreciated—spectacularly better than the terrorism of pectorals, forearms, and manly grunting.

You were finally breathing easy and admiring him from afar (because he’s the only one your heart can handle right now) until he stopped not far from you. He was panting slightly, beads of sweat trickling down his temples. Your smile immediately disappeared, sensing the impending danger coming for you.

And then, the killshot happened.

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, and before you could look away, he lifted the hem of his T-shirt and wiped his face.

A trickle of sweat.

Down.

Lower.

In the fucking belly button and out again.

And right in the—

…

Fuck.

That’s… Yeah.

No wonder the internet collectively lost its fucking mind when his remake game was released.

You gulped, and all you could hear in your head was a mixture of the sound of the dial-up connection, Windows XP shutting down, a screaming goat from a distance, and the rattling of the bars of a prison cell with you in it.

This was unfair. A coordinated four-man assault on your self-control (and your frankly unhinged libido). And much to your dismay, that was not the end of your embarrassing struggle. Agent’s eyes had flitted instinctively in your direction in the midst of your crisis, and you instantly let your inner possum possess your body as a survival response.

“Hey. Are you awake?”

…Were you?

“...”

“...”

“...No.”

Fuck, even the thought of him staring at you made you instantaneously ovulate.

…

That was a cursed sentence.

You needed to get spayed. Or euthanized. Either one works. The muzzle is useless at this point.

Your eyes remained closed, looking as dead as you believably can (and wanted to be) before the footsteps became louder until it eventually settled right beside your head.

Then silence.

Hypothetical crickets (because it was high noon).

In seconds, the temptation to peek was too overwhelming, and eventually a pair of blue eyes met yours. The Leon who had caught you was squatting and looking at you from above, hand pressing against your forehead with a serious expression on his face.

“You alright? You’ve been out cold for a while.”

It was a simple question—and one that you didn’t know you actually needed. But given your situation, it held a different kind of weight. You felt your sexual panic slowly melt away, and you let yourself actually observe the surroundings as you finally sat up.

It wasn’t a fever dream after all, and your heart slowly sank at the realization that you were—in fact—far from the comfort of your home. Civilization was dead—at least, it was dead where you were currently. And on your lap were…Three leather jackets?

And your clothes are…

Oh no. These aren’t yours.

Your eyes widened, and you immediately peeked beneath your shirt, only to find your bra gone. In an instant, your arms shot up to cover your chest, breath quickening in a panic.

“We didn’t see anything, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Captain cut in. “I—Wolf was the one who changed you. Had the jacket as a blanket on you too.”

“Medical necessity. You would’ve gotten infected if the blood stayed on you,” Wolf added simply before taking a sip from a bottle of water.

You slowly looked back at Agent, uncertainty now evident in your tone after a beat of processing their words. “How… How long was I out?”

“Half a day, give or take.”

You let out an exhale before looking at the others. The same four pairs of eyes were staring back at you. A disbelieving yet melancholic chuckle bubbled from you.

“Fuck. This is crazy. I…” You swallowed thickly. “I was just at home and…And…”

The words you actually wanted to say remained lodged in your throat. It would be rude to just flat-out say that you knew them, even if it is only by name, or even mention that they’re fictional when they are very clearly right in front of you.

You let out a ragged exhale before you continued slowly. “I remember I was at home, and when I opened my balcony, I was here.”

The silence was deafening. The Leons looked at one another, almost as if they were telepathically seeking answers in each other’s heads. Agent eventually locked his gaze on you again, and his words made your stomach drop.

“You’re not the only one.”

You sucked a breath in, looking at each of them. Rookie’s shoulders raised by a fraction. “It’s true. Same happened to me.”

“And we have no idea why there are four of us either,” Wolf added, following it with a small chuckle. “Thought I’ve seen the worst of things. But this… This is something else, I’ll give you that.”

That was the confirmation that made your blood turn to ice.

You had hoped this was nothing more than a misunderstanding. You had tried to assume that they were brothers. Cousins, even. Or even four very unfortunate men who happened to look uncannily alike. But the ugly truth of this wish fulfillment had finally reared its head, and there was no excusing what you had done.

Your head hurt. Your chest twisted with remorse. Your seemingly harmless decision was now the reason five people, yourself included, had been spirited away into an unknown place.

You heaved a sigh, running your fingers through your hair, whispering to yourself while you stared at the pile of leather jackets on your lap.

“Fuck, what have I done?”

Leon didn’t need this to happen. Leon deserved rest, not whatever mess this was. And now he had been dragged into another mess to fix another problem he hadn’t caused. You could still feel their gazes on you, and they felt like shards of ice against your skin now that you had fully processed the ramifications of your actions.

“Hey.” You felt the weight of Agent’s palm against your shoulder. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not your fault.”

Fuck, you didn’t know what to reply to that—not when you knew that you were to blame for this. You desperately wanted to believe him. But you could only muster out a sigh, gripping onto the jackets that belonged to them.

You let yourself inhale deep breaths, leveling the storm of emotions within you to a manageable baseline.

You knew this was not the time to wallow—not when the clock was ticking, and all five of you were vulnerable, especially you. You fucked up—actually fucked up with actual people, even if they had once been fictional characters in your world. That was the part you could never ignore again. Not after they had saved you, given you their jackets, cleaned you up, and made sure you were safe.

Even if they did not need you as much as you needed them, you would do whatever you could to get them home. It was the least you could do for them—if they were willing to have you.

“My stuff,” you cut through the tension with a sense of renewed conviction. “Did I have any of my stuff with me?”

Rookie immediately pointed to the pile not far from where you sat. Your clothes were separated from your other items: phone, wallet, keys, taser, and pepper spray. Without hesitation, you immediately rummage through the pockets of your contaminated clothes.

“Hey! Be careful with that!”

Rookie was already grabbing a bottle of rubbing alcohol to splash your hands with after. And then you felt it. Your fingertips brushed against metal—round and the size of a poker chip.

You took it out immediately to inspect it. Nothing about it had changed. Still, you pocketed it carefully before turning to the others. This was the only clue you had, and depending on where this band of Leons decided to go next, you would follow while keeping an eye out for answers.

“So, what’s your plan?” you asked.

“If we’re lucky, we can reach a nearby town within the next twenty-four hours,” Captain said, lifting what looked like an old tablet from the pile of supplies. “Found this in a car. Still works.”

“Town?” you repeated, a little too quickly.

He nodded once. “We’ll need to check for a map, a safe route, maybe a radio tower. If there’s anyone else alive out here, a town is our best shot.”

You swallowed and looked between them. The four Leons were spread around the campsite, paying close attention to not just Captain’s words but you as well. It was almost as if you were included in this entire arrangement—which somehow made this entire thing harder than it should be.

Because the thing was, they were clearly planning. Moving. Thinking ahead. Like people who belonged here, even if the place itself was a nightmare. And you—well—to put it simply, you were just a civilian in a borrowed sweater with your bra missing and a pocket full of useless courage.

“I mean,” you started, then stopped, immediately hating how small your voice sounded. You cleared your throat and tried again. “I don’t know what I’d even be useful for. I have a taser. And pepper spray. Which, for the record, feels aggressively useless right now.”

That got a brief snort out of Rookie.

You took a breath. “But if you’re heading somewhere, I can keep up. Probably. I’m not saying I’m a survival expert or anything, because I am very much not, but I can carry things. And I can help look. And I won’t get in the way on purpose.”

Captain watched you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Wolf leaned back against the camper and folded his arms. “That’s a very polite way to say you’re asking to come with us.”

Heat climbed up your neck instantly. Great. Fantastic. Amazing. You wanted the floor to open up and do you a favor.

“I—” You grimaced, glancing down at the jackets again. “Look. I just don’t really want to assume anything.”

Agent huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You think we’re just going to leave you here?”

You blinked at him. “Well. You do all technically have places to be, and I am a random stranger who woke up in the middle of your shared apocalyptic identity crisis…?”

Rookie made a noise that sounded suspiciously like he was trying not to laugh. Captain’s mouth twitched a fraction. “She’s got a point.”

“Not one you should be agreeing with,” Agent muttered, which made Captain clear his throat a little. Meanwhile, Wolf pushed off the camper and bent down a little so he was eye level with you.

“Wanna come?”

The question was simple. Almost unfairly so.

“I... yes?” you nearly whimpered, then immediately winced at how pitiful that sounded. “I mean—if that’s okay. I don’t want to slow you down. Or make things worse. Or become a liability. Or anything like that.”

Rookie’s brows lifted. “You woke up in the middle of nowhere after getting knocked flat by a Cerberus and your first concern is being annoying?”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Then he broke first, grin widening as if he’d just discovered something deeply entertaining. “Yeah, you can come with us. I wanna see you axe an infected for myself.”

You huffed a small chuckle. Captain looked at the tablet again, then sighed through his nose. “Yeah, you’re coming with us. We leave in thirty.”

You looked at him, startled.

He glanced up. “Unless you’d rather stay here and wait for the infected to return, in which case I’m sure the road will be much less crowded.”

“No,” you answered at once. “No, that sounds terrible.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.”

For one impossible second, you just stood there looking at them as they hauled the remaining necessities into the camper van.

You were going with them.

You were actually going with them.

Your chest tightened, not with fear, but with something that felt a little too much like relief. Agent glanced at you, nodding toward the direction of the camper.

“Get in. Before we accidentally leave you behind.”

You looked at the camper van, then back at the four men waiting for you. Then, with four borrowed jackets in your arms and absolutely no idea where the road would take you, you climbed aboard without looking back.

< previous chapter || next chapter >

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[cursivevm]

jerking husband!leon off from behind // mdni

dim lights. flickering candles. the smell of a delicious home cooked meal and the soft murmur of a forgotten movie playing in the background. your shared living room was a cosy paradise. the two of you were seated in a heap of fluffy blankets on the couch, your legs wrapped around leon’s waist, his broad back pressing into your front, large hands grazing the bare skin of your legs. ring on his finger cold to the touch.

he severely enjoyed this. so much that it made him feel crazy, lightheaded and buzzing with adrenaline. being in your arms, your control, it set alight a fire in him that would never, could never, burn out. he rested a calloused hand on your knee, gripping your leg and pulling it tighter around him. your hands hovered over the steadily growing bulge in his sweatpants, the ghostly touch making his dick twitch in anticipation.

when he tilted his head back, looking into your eyes with the devotion that’d gotten you to marry him, you all but crashed your lips onto his. he groaned, parting his lips slightly to let in your tongue. he’d missed you an ungodly amount. gone for two weeks on a mission in the middle of nowhere with no reception. he’d been worried sick, worried that you’d think he was dead and gone. that you’d forget about him.

leon was anything if not dramatic, and infatuated with you.

you kissed for minutes on end, like you had all the time in the world, grazing the tent in his pants with increasing fervour and pressure. leon started grinding his hips upwards, chasing your touch, impatient. you smiled into his mouth, a soft chuckle lilting out of you. it made his stomach flip. he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, looking down at his lap where you finally began to give him a fraction of what he needed.

he watched, lips parted, as you pushed down his sweats, tapping the wet spot that had formed on his boxers. he sucked in a breath at the pressure, heart flying in his chest. he was so easy for you. he couldn’t believe it sometimes, how quickly you could undo him. take down his walls, the walls he’d spent so many years building. all it took was a single look from you, a touch, a word, and he was done for. he licked his lips, shivering when you exposed his dick to the air, hiking the hem of his boxers and pants underneath his balls.

“so pretty.” you murmured, manicured nails dragging along his length in a way that made leon gasp. your lips brushed against his nape, sending shivers down his spine and causing his grip on you to tighten.

“i-“ he stammered, hips rising when you finally wrapped a warm palm around him, squeezing at the base. god, you were going to kill him. he didn’t even know how he’d made it this far. married for years, and he still acted like a virgin around you. it would be embarrassing if he didn’t love you as much as he did.

you grazed your fingers over his tip, gathering the pre that had begun to form, and slathering it across the rest of his length. you felt his neck tense against you as he swallowed. a wet shlick sounded through the room as you stroked him. leon breathed into your neck, warmth spreading through your body and spiking at your core. he was so needy. so perfect. your free hand rubbed at his chest, massaging the solid muscle beneath his shirt in time with your strokes. leon was trembling.

“how are you doing, handsome?” you whispered into his hair, smelling his shampoo; rich, warm, soft, like home.

“mmm.” he groaned, a deep rumbling reverberating from his chest, grinding his hips into your hand. “good, huh?” you giggled, grabbing a handful of his pec and speeding up your strokes. leon exhaled, twitching in your grip.

“god, you’re going to kill me, sweetheart.” he mumbled, biting his lip. his skin was on fire. your strokes were producing pornographically wet sounds, he was leaking like a faucet. the hand that had been playing with his chest moved to the top of his head, running fingers through his hair. leon’s eyes rolled into the back of his head at the onslaught of sensation. he swears he could cum just from you running your fingers down the back of his neck.

he was close. you were altering your strokes, gripping at his tip, applying pressure just underneath the head. just the way he adored. his canting hips were beginning to tremble, thighs shaking. you gripped his hair in your fingers. not too tight but tight enough to turn his head gently towards you. his blue eyes were fogged with pleasure, eyebrows furrowed in a plea. you kissed his swollen lips, licking his teeth, making him moan. his hand on your knee moved down to your calf, gripping your flesh harder.

“i’m gonna-“ leon whimpered into your mouth, capturing your lips in another kiss. you smiled, running your hand from his hair to his jaw, caressing the stubble there.

“fuck.”

“let go, i’ve got you.” you whispered, speeding up your strokes, his dick was now pulsing in your hand. he threw his head back over your shoulder, hips lifting off of the couch and fucking into your fist. harsh pants left his parted lips as he succumbed to you, letting the coil in his abdomen snap with a grunt. spurts of cum splattered all over the both of you, some of it reaching the column of leon’s neck. your hand was wet, covered in his cum, as you continued stroking him through his orgasm, letting him ride the wave until his hips were twitching frantically from overstimulation.

“fuck, too much.” he whimpered, his hand flying to grip your wrist. you hummed, ceasing your movements. next time, then. because tonight was about pleasing him, letting him relax after a long mission. a proper welcome home.

“i missed you so fucking much.” he panted into your neck, pressing his lips against your pulse, committing to memory that you’re alive. that he’s not dreaming. that he’s in your arms, in your home. he’s not dead, and you’re not left alone, wondering where he is.

————————————————————————

ok, so i’m lit just horny for sub leon kennedy and wanted some domestic fluff sprinkled in there. sorry for any spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes, etc, was writing this with one hand 🥰

also his age here is up to you but i’m thinking of re6 leon specifically #needhim

[pawprimt]

a drabble about how leon kennedy can't stop thinking and dreaming for the past and better days.

cw: hurt no comfort, alcohol addiction and the effects of its withdrawals on leon, brief suicide idealization mentioned. it's 1am n this man has consumed my mind, i'm sorry if there are typos or if things don't make sense :'3 can be imagined with any older leon !!

leon kennedy is a good man.

he goes to work, saves the world, and keeps in touch with his friends. he makes promises and does his best to keep them. he works on himself to get better just like a good man should.

he's gotten awards, made friends with people he saved, and the world continues to get better— all because of his involvement.

but a good man does not get nightmares of the people— if he can even call them that— who were killed by his hands.

he thinks about it sometimes; when he misses the burn of whiskey against his throat, and the tang of iron lingers in his mouth days after his body heals.

he thinks about what lives they could've led before the viruses took over their bodies. before they became things they never should've been.

he remembers having to put down a civilian girl, no younger than 18, all because of a leaked virus. he remembers having to axe down an undead mother from eating her own child, and he doesn't know how to feel about the look of hurt and betrayal that little boy had in his eyes as leon towered over the stench of decaying matter and rotting flesh.

he knows he did the right thing, just like a good man should, so why does it hurt so much?

he tries not to let his mind linger in things that'll only lead him to no good. he's learned many years ago from when he was still in the police academy that although empathy was a good thing, it was important to detach and move on.

but sometimes, he can't help it. even at his old age.

he remembers kendo; the helplessness he felt knowing he couldn't do jackshit as a police officer— but even now, as a seasoned veteran agent of the DSO, can he really say he's made a difference?

he remembers luis; the smell of smoke and his laughter filling his senses in dreams he wished he had more often— the faint feeling of a reality where he could've treated him to a nice pack of cigs makes his stomach sick in a way he can't linger on too long.

and god, he remembers sherry. for the little kid he saved, and for the woman he needs to save again. the black veins on his hands are a reminder of how far he's gone, but it's also a reminder of how much he lacks.

it's painful to know and remember, but it feels wrong for leon to just... move on and forget.

maybe he deserves it— these sick, twisted nightmares and thoughts are here to remind him of what he lacks and what he could've done.

because if leon kennedy was truly a good man, he wouldn't be plagued by the past.

can he really say he is a good man?

he goes to slave away at the hands of the people who ripped away his freedom, he saves the world at the cost of his own, and the only reason why he even has his friends is because they keep him grounded and aware— that he shouldn't relapse, he shouldn't try to die, and he shouldn't do things that hurt himself (or others). he makes promises he knows he can't keep, and yet he tries his best to keep them, even if he's basically betting on losing dogs. he wants to say he hasn't been drinking, but he knows that a good man doesn't lie.

he thinks about it sometimes. the thought of a bullet in his head— but of course, good men never think about things like that; and he's learned to push it down and move forward, because it's all he can do.

the identity of a good man who saves the world is the only thing he can cling onto now.

with that thought in mind, leon is stuck in a cycle of nightmares that continue to break away at his mind when the need of alcohol is too much to ignore and the weight of sobriety is on the verge of breaking him apart.

but it's okay. he'll forget all about these thoughts and nightmares when he's on another mission. they'll be tucked away at the farthest part of his mind— only to resurface when things get too much again. and that's fine with him.

because leon kennedy is a good man. and a good man does not lose hope for better days.

[thiswasgreatbut]

tears + nasty edging ✩‧₊˚

continuation of this post (2000 likes waow🩵🩵🩵)

you’d been edging leon for god knows how long now. the sight before you only makes you want to draw this out for longer.

the restraints on his wrists are on the verge of snapping with how hard he’s pulled on them—and he’s moved on to gripping at the air so hard his knuckles are going white.

his whole body is trembling beneath your hand, which drags itself up and down his dick at an unbelievably sluggish pace. he’s muttering strings of incomprehensible swears: a little breathless, chest heaving with every rough breath.

and the teary eyes on top of all that—jesus christ. you could get off just by listening to his cries.

“i thought you said this was a piece of cake, leon?” your eyes search for his, looking past the sweaty blonde strands of hair sticking to his forehead.

he lets out an unconvincing scoff. “fh-fuck you,” he gasps, a sorry excuse for a smirk curling his lips. “‘s already humiliating enough…”

you tut. “if you keep talking like that, you won’t ever be able to come on my watch.”

when he doesn’t answer, you rub your thumb a little firmer against his tip—there’s pre all over your hand, and he’s so sensitive now, he nearly jumps.

“hah- sorry, fuck, i’m sorry,” he says, while neediness bleeds from him—it’s cute, really. the fact that he’s still trying to keep a smidge of his decency, even as teardrops pool in his eyes and his thighs tremble like he’s just had 10 consecutive leg days. actually, you don’t think even that could make him this big of a mess—only you.

you give a chuckle—cruel, at least to leon’s ears—and pump his cock faster by a hairsbreadth. “i could do this all day, you know. the question is whether you’d be able to handle it.”

he turns his head to the side, buried in the inside of his elbow, giving a whimper that sounds vaguely like a no.

“you can’t do it? you can’t even try for me?”

his breath quivers with each exhale. “wanna cum, please…“

it’s almost pitiful.

“you think you’ve tried hard enough?” oh, but teasing him is just too fun, especially when he squirms and you know that nobody else has seen him like this before.

“god, i— i’ve been so good,” he sobs, “pleasepleaseplease let me—“

you feel as if you’re in seventh heaven.

he’s begging, pleading without you even ordering him to. he’s offering himself up to you, throughly responsive—pathetically so. you can’t help but give him a little reward.

“oh-“ his jaw drops open a margin, as you pick up the pace. “more, please, shit—!”

his fists ball up tighter when you lean down, breath teasing at his tip. “just like that, use your words, baby.”

it’s the drag of your wet tongue on the slit that makes him stutter over your name; hips jolting despite himself. a fat tear rolls down his face, and then another, and another—

his voice is shaking in the most tempting way when he warns you: “gonna cum, f-fuck..”

you know the constellation of his moles on the skin of his thighs from memory, and the way they twitch with aching need is something you’ll work to remember too.

you take your mouth off of his dick, stroking him with full intent. “come for me, leon.”

he throws his head back, cuffed hands grabbing at the headboard—and you notice, he’s mouthing something. it’s barely a whisper.

“th-thank you, thank you—“

oh.

“thank you, fuck—“

oh.

he finishes with something between a groan and a sob, loud as much as obscene—spilling all over your fingers and his abs. the tears continue to fall, and his nose is slightly runny. an absolute mess—but the way he worshipped you under his breath was heavenly.

in the aftermath, he’s completely still long enough to worry you.

“leon? you there?” you ask, even as you want to bring your messy fingers to your mouth and lick them clean.

he takes a slow breath in, voice rough: “yeah.”

“was that fine?”

“fine?” it made him lose consciousness for a second, he was sure. but…

“it was great,” is what comes out.

no way in hell was he going to tell you how blissed out his brain was just now.

[thiswasgreatbut]

edging him to tears ✩‧₊˚

leon’s endurance absolutely was not to be taken lightly—and as his partner, you knew that more than anything.

but just how far can he go until he breaks?

for the longest time, the question nagged at you from a corner of your mind that you… preferred to ignore most of the time. if it were real, you imagine it to be a dark place, dirty and overflowing with filth.

leon would know all about abandoned places like that, wouldn’t he?

────✴︎─

you kiss the blonde man, tender. “i’ll ask you again, are you sure about this?”

he smiles against your lips. “yeah. piece of cake.”

how the hell you ended up getting him on the bed with his wrists cuffed together to the headboard, you wouldn’t know.

a light mention of your nasty curiosity during a conversation was all it took, and then leon was interrupting you mid-sentence, asking questions, dropping hints for you to elaborate. and here he was now, boxers helplessly lowered to his ankles.

“alright. if you need me to stop, you know the word.”

“mhm.”

when you begin to slowly run your hand up and down his cock, he doesn’t sweat it.

the first time, he’s panting quietly, and the only warning you get from him is a word muttered under his breath; “close.”

your touch turns fluttery—light in a matter of seconds after his confirmation. not enough at all. he bites his lip, silent still.

it went on like that for a few more times. you had to admit, he was going strong.

the fourth time and beyond—that’s when you start to tease him a little more. running your free hand over his abs, or rubbing at his tip and smearing the precum there.

now, you can visibly see when he’s going to finish.

his hips will chase your fist almost imperceptibly but not quite. he’ll throw his head back with a low groan, and purse his lips together to muffle himself.

although, the part where he gives up on trying to stay quiet is by far your favorite.

it’s been about an hour—and possibly a half? leon can’t tell—and you still keep him on his toes, teetering on the edge of orgasm.

“damn it,” he huffs after the seventh time, sweat running down his brow.

you wish he could’ve felt the exhilaration you get from watching him squirm. your gut twists every time he nearly whines or moans or lets out an equally humiliating sound before he manages to catch himself—it’s bliss. you don’t know why it feels so good to see his thighs twitch with need.

“you’re doing so well, baby,” you croon.

it’s so unlike him, and maybe that’s what’s so deliciously enticing—the stoic, badass facade broken down into a mess. it sounds impossible, but you’re hopelessly in love with the idea.

the idea that is becoming reality now, right in front of you.

as you praise him, your hand speeds up and pumps his cock with fervent enthusiasm. he lets out an audible breath, then—

“hnn, fuck, m’bout to cum…”

his voice cracks; rises into an almost-whimper. god, it’s like he’s teasing you back, isn’t it?

“don’t be shy, let me hear you.” faster. harder. a squeeze on the upwards stroke that makes precum leak out every time.

“shit—! shitshitshit, please, god, so close—“

he downright sobs when you stop abruptly, hand stationary on the base of his dick. “that’s what i like to hear,” you say sweetly, and right before he can adjust, you start to pump his dick again—picking up at the speed where you left off.

“please,” he squeaks, a pathetic sound, somewhere from the back of his throat.

you see him—feel him—on the verge of release. he’s one breeze away from falling off the goddamn cliff with how close he is to the edge. “hold it.”

“can’t,” he sputters. his hands jerk against the restraints and yank and yank and yank—

“if you break those handcuffs, i swear to god, leon…” the quick rhythm of stimulation you were giving him breaks as you stroke him slower;

and then he lets out a hiccup.

“shit— sorry, fuck, keep going—“

“babe, are you crying?”

he sniffs. “i’m fine.”

you look closer at his face, and yeah, the inner corners of his eyes are shiny and wet (just like the head of his dick, you can’t help but compare).

you try to bite back a smile but to no avail. to be frank, you’re so aroused at the moment you feel woozy. “i can go on, yeah?”

“don’t look so happy that i cried,” he scoffs, playful if you ignore how hard he’s panting. “you’re too into this.”

“i can’t help it. you look incredibly hot.”

“so now you’ve finally noticed. what, are your eyes closed every oth-… ohhh, fuck—“

you start stroking him once more—just to hear him break mid-sentence, if you’re being honest—and push on his stomach with your free hand.

“hips down, pretty,” you tell him; another hiccup is torn from his throat. “we’ve barely just started.”

[millimeraki]

LAZY MORNING

Part of @rednnedy's 9 Days To Requiem event 💕

[RE9!Leon / Fem!Reader]

(On a rare day off, you wake up before Leon, and even get up before he does. Not with your boyfriend.)

Word Count: ~ 1k Rating: T - established relationship, short n fluffy, cuddly Leon meets not so cuddly reader Author's Note: I accidentally posted this two days before the actual start of the event cause the app decided it was the draft's time lol. Did anyone see me being dumb? I hope not. ANYWAY! I had this idea in my mind that older Leon is so touch starved he would literally wrestle his s/o into a cuddle if he needed to. This is told pretty quickly as it turns out, cause this entry really is very short n sweet (unusual for me, but hey, the fics surprise me all the time). It's very cutie tho, so I hope you enjoy the light read! 💕

Languid. No thoughts. Just you, the couch, and the television. You yawned as you scrolled through the endless options Netflix and its many cousins had to offer. It was the perfect Sunday. No obligations today, no work – just a free, ordinary day.

That was why you hadn’t even bothered getting ready. You’d woken up, pressed a kiss to your boyfriend's sleep-creased cheek while he claimed the rest of his well-earned rest, then pulled on sweatpants and a hoodie before padding into the living room, leaving your bed hair exactly as it was.

When Leon woke up, you’d make breakfast together. For now, though, it was just streaming on demand and you.

That moment ended the second you allowed the thought to settle. From the hallway you heard the bedroom door open, followed by shuffling steps that, thankfully, didn’t put you on edge.

Then Leon appeared in the doorway, sleep-heavy and not entirely present yet. His eyes were still half-lidded as he leaned against the frame, one hand buried in his messy hair sticking out in every direction.

He always looked adorable like this, you often thought in the mornings – completely off guard, just your boyfriend in a loose sleep shirt and pajama pants.

“Hey, honey,” he murmured, the words more mashed together than clearly spoken. “Where did you go?”

That warm feeling spread through your chest, the one that always bloomed whenever he entered a room looking for you – usually with a soft smile, sometimes with one of his silly lines, just to make you smile.

“I woke up,” you explained.

Leon hummed in mild disapproval, though his gaze resting on you was soft. A gentle smile curved his features.

“You’re beautiful.”

You snorted. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who thinks that when I look like this.”

“Everyone thinks so,” Leon replied matter-of-factly.

He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward you slowly. You half expected him to collapse beside you on the couch and continue sleeping. That was why you set the remote aside and instinctively opened your arms to welcome him.

A small squeak escaped you when he simply bent down instead, grabbed you, and lifted you into the air with a strength you were tempted to call superhuman. To avoid immediately toppling out of his arms onto the living room floor, you clung to his neck.

“I hope you didn’t lift with your back,” you joked. He complained about it sometimes – usually after sleeping wrong.

“Even if I did. You’re light as a feather,” he replied with a grin. To emphasize his point, he shifted your weight in his arms and practically tossed you upward.

You giggled. “Okay, Superman. Where are we going?”

“Back to the bedroom. Where you belong.”

With you carried like a trophy, Leon stomped back into the hallway, ignoring your quiet protest.

“Leon, I stood up to get out of bed, not to get in again.”

“Thought this was your happy place,” he muttered as he pushed the bedroom door open again – the room where he’d woken up without you beside him just moments earlier.

Really, you should have known better than to get up without telling him. When he woke and realized he’d slept deeply enough not to notice your departure, a small ripple of anxiety still passed through him. You could still bring him peace so easily. And that peace deserved to be savored whenever possible.

You couldn’t exactly refute his argument. Your shared bed was the coziest place in the apartment. The soft, high-quality mattress you sank into like lying on clouds; the sheets impossibly plush. A nap in that bed felt like the sleep of gods. But you truly hadn’t planned on returning so soon.

You didn’t resist much anyway. Leon was a cuddlebug – especially on free days like this.

So you only made a small agreeing sound, followed by a soft laugh as he carried you to the side of the bed, sat down with you still in his arms, and then – in true Leon “I train five times a week” Kennedy fashion – swung you around and positioned you exactly where he wanted you.

You bounced lightly against the mattress, and the next moment Leon pressed himself against you. His broad left arm – big enough to cover half your ribcage – draped over you, the other slipping beneath your head and pillow, while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

Your scent wrapped around him and calmed him instantly, as though a mix of lavender and melatonin had been injected straight into his veins.

“That’s better…” he hummed against your skin, his warm breath followed by a kiss pressed right there.

You made a soft, fond sound, your fingertips tracing lightly over the heavy but comforting weight of his arm – at least for now. When you actually wanted to sleep, he was far too solid on top of you.

Leon gave another contented noise against your skin, and slowly, steadily, silence settled over you both.

You simply lay there, caressing your man, waiting patiently. Surely he would release you again in a moment. Surely he wouldn’t hold you captive like usual when you tried to get up. You tried every time.

“…Leon?” you asked eventually.

No response.

“Leon,” you said more firmly. “You can’t fall asleep again. We’re awake.”

You nudged his arm. Nothing.

The game played out like always. Somewhere between charmed and mildly exasperated, you turned toward him, face to face, studying his expression. Eyes closed now. Muscles relaxed. Breathing steady. He was just… sweet like this.

“Are you asleep?” you whispered, leaning forward to brush your lips against his.

A low hum answered you. Leon pulled you closer, catching your lips properly and wordlessly preventing any escape.

Your arm slid around his larger frame, and you melted into him – into his irresistible warmth, his soft lips. Maybe he sought your closeness more often, but you were always the one who let yourself be tempted into staying.

“I love you…” Leon breathed against your mouth, drowsy and gentle all at once.

“I love you, too,” you replied with a smile. “Wanna get up and make breakfast?”

“No,” came the immediate answer. “Stay. You’re so comfy.”

With that, Leon tightened his hold around you – and you surrendered to your fate as his eternal cuddle toy.

[millimeraki]

DISPATCH

Part of @rednnedy's 9 Days To Requiem event 💕

[RE9!Leon / Fem!Reader]

(You land a highly coveted position at the FOS and are immediately assigned to Leon Kennedy. As you learn more about him, you begin to see what lies beneath the gruff façade.)

Word Count: ~ 4.4k Rating: T - minor angst but mostly just sweetness with a sprinkle of a yearning, old Leon Author's Note: This is more of a character analysis of our older Leon than anything, and I am a little insecure if this is out of character, but I got super inspired by another post (I can't find anymore aagghh) about how this Leon would just melt into a significant other once he feels safe to do so and I CAN SEE THAT (don't tell the other entries but this one is my favorite). Hope you enjoy 💕

As you settled into your chair in the HUB, surrounded by other information operatives speaking with their agents, you couldn’t help but wonder if you better should have met yours beforehand. Especially considering it was your first day in the FOS.

You’d been told he had declined the introductory meeting and gone straight to the new mission instead – but not to worry, you’d see each other afterward, and he was generally very friendly. A bit resistant to advice, perhaps.

That hadn’t exactly filled you with confidence. As a new information operative, you could have used an easy field agent. Not that you weren’t used to headaches from your previous government position – only that there had been a good reason you’d applied internally for the FOS in the first place.

Your supervisor for the first few days – and the woman who had hired you – Ingrid Hunnigan took the desk beside you. She offered you an encouraging smile when she caught sight of your nervous expression.

“Don’t worry, really. Leon is a great guy once you warm up to one another. And this mission doesn’t have high stakes.”

The corner of your mouth twitched. “Thanks, Ingrid. But that’s usually what people say when the mission absolutely will have high stakes.”

She let out an amused huff. “With that kind of insight, you’ll handle Leon better than most.”

You made a soft sound of recognition. A brief silence passed between you, and for a moment you wondered whether this had been such a good idea after all. But Ingrid didn’t give you the option of backing out – she gestured toward your headset.

“Leon’s in the helicopter approaching the landing zone near Inverness. You know everything about the mission. Just guide him through it.”

Your throat remained dry despite the heavy swallow that followed. Your nerves didn’t calm under your resolute – if slightly forced – nod. You put on the headset, activating not only the intercom but also your outgoing image to your field agent’s comms device.

“Agent Kennedy, come in. This is your new IO.” You added your name at the end – a small attempt to build trust from the start.

On the large monitor in front of you flickered a map of Scotland. A red dot marked the helicopter’s position above Inverness, near Loch Ness.

Silence on the other end. No incoming image, either.

Your eyes grew dry from staring at the screen. You shot Ingrid an uncertain glance, but she was already absorbed in a conversation on her own headset.

Nervous energy fluttered in your stomach. You swallowed the filler word rising to your lips to ease the silence and instead remembered your training – and your position.

“Agent Kennedy, this is your information operative. Come in.”

When there was still no response, you tapped increasingly confused against your state-of-the-art microphone.

“Did I even turn it on?” you muttered to yourself.

“You did.”

The deep voice in your ear made you squeak in surprise. So much for calm professionalism.

At last, an incoming image appeared on your screen – and with it, the face of Agent Leon Kennedy.

A veteran of the DSO. More than that – co-founder alongside the late President of the United States, Adam Benford. The fact that you’d been assigned to him at all had stunned you. But of course you had accepted the role. You’d wanted this position after all.

The agent was looking downward, clearly holding his comms device in hand, the roar of helicopter rotors audible somewhere behind him. He was already in motion. Wind caught the dark strands of his hair in the stormy Scottish air.

“Couldn’t answer. We just touched down at the arrival point. Proceeding to the lake now.”

Straight to business. It could have been worse.

“Right. If our intel is correct, the handoff of the smuggled goods should be taking place at this location.” Your fingers flew over the keyboard, the mouse clicking sharply under your hand. “If you can, get a visual of the area and assess.”

You transmitted the updated objective near Loch Ness to his device.

“Understood. I’ll report when I’ve secured the cargo.”

You froze. “You mean when you have a visual.”

“Sure. Let’s say I said that,” he replied, a strangely amused undertone in his voice.

And then he cut the connection.

“H–Hey!” you called out, pinging him again. No response.

You stared at the screen, mouth slightly open, needing a moment to process your first exchange with Agent Leon Kennedy.

“Is he always like that?”

Ingrid smiled – and her gaze softened in a way that suggested fond memories.

“You’ll get used to it,” was all she said.

If she remembered her time working with him that fondly, it couldn’t be that bad… could it?

It was worse.

On the screen, the GPS dot marking Agent Kennedy’s position moved steadily forward – but he didn’t respond to calls, effectively ghosting you, and with you any useful incoming information.

At some point you resorted to text messages, hoping he might at least read those. You reminded him to check in once he had visual on the site.

But… even this early on, you doubted he would.

With a sigh, you removed your headset for a short break. The chair tilted back smoothly, ergonomically supporting your head. You pressed your fingers against the bridge of your nose and squeezed your eyes shut.

“Bit of advice,” Ingrid’s voice sounded beside you. She looked at you with understanding. “Try being a little more relaxed with him.”

“This is my workplace,” you replied dryly. What were you supposed to do? Crack jokes with the seasoned field agent?

“I know,” she said with smile. “But hear me out. Leon tends to make light of most things. That’s his way.” Her attention briefly flicked back to her own screen, something there drawing her focus. Her expression grew more serious as she began typing. “He takes his job seriously. But you have to help him deal with it.”

“Deal with it…?” you began, but Ingrid didn’t answer, already too absorbed in her own work.

You considered her advice. It wasn’t as though Agent Kennedy was eagerly awaiting your voice in his ear anyway.

Field agents in the DSO lived dangerously. And you had read his file. He had – to put it mildly – a complicated history. A survivor of Raccoon City. The man who had rescued the president’s daughter from a cult entirely on his own years ago.

Had those experiences turned him into a lone wolf? Someone who didn’t take kindly to orders? Maybe that was what Ingrid meant. Thoughtfully, you slipped your headset back on – and immediately heard your agent’s voice.

“Come in. Anyone there?”

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Sorry, I was –” You paused, then decided to follow Ingrid’s advice. “ – online shopping. Given that you stopped checking in, I got bored.”

Was that funny? Or the most catastrophic misstep imaginable?

After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Leon activated his outgoing image.

He appeared somewhere in the Scottish Highlands, rain streaking through the darkness around him, his hair damp and clinging in strands. It was night – you still couldn’t see much – but you saw enough. A handsome face marked by faint lines of age, his expression looser now than earlier, curiosity flickering in his gaze as he looked at your image.

“Didn’t mean to drive you into a boreout,” he quipped, that amused undertone returning to his otherwise rough voice. “I’ve secured the cargo. Located and restrained the smugglers at the lake. Calling for extraction.”

You had half a mind to tell him that this was absolutely not how procedure was meant to go. But something told you that wouldn’t accomplish much.

You still had one card left to play.

“In Scotland, they’re called lochs.”

His eyebrows twitched upward – brief, but noticeable. You were a trained operative, after all.

“Alright, Miss Know-It-All. Didn’t realize they’d assign me another teacher like Hunnigan at my age.” The words sounded sharp, but the tone behind them had softened.

You smiled. “For more general knowledge and useless facts in the future, don’t ignore the intercom, Agent Kennedy.”

“Leon,” he corrected.

You gave him your first name in return.

A win.

“About that extraction…” he continued.

“Right. Economy class, correct?” you pushed it just a little further while already calling in the chopper.

“Didn’t know we were on a budget.”

You laughed, and Leon let out a low chuckle in response.

Whatever that small, innocent piece of advice from your supervisor had set into motion over the next months bordered on the supernatural.

The first time you met Leon Kennedy outside of field communications was immediately after the Scotland mission.

The coffee machine hummed as though mocking your clumsy attempts to operate it. Why was every office coffee machine in existence completely different from every other one? This one displayed a red triangle on its ultra-modern screen, drawing a frustrated sigh from you.

“The filter needs changing.”

The voice sounded right beside you.

You flinched. How had someone managed to approach you that silently?

One glance to the side answered the question instantly.

“Leon.”

Surprise colored your voice at the sight of your agent standing there in the FOS offices. You had assumed he would write his report and then be deployed to the next mission – that the next time you saw him would be on your screen again.

Only your extroverted nature saved you from simply staring at him as though you’d seen a ghost – which, frankly, would have been ironic. From now on, you were partially responsible for making sure he didn’t become one.

It was just… his presence was both intimidating and strangely magnetic.

A smile spread across your face – whether out of politeness or an effort to appear especially approachable, you couldn’t quite tell. “Thanks. I’ll have to call maintenance, I guess.” You extended your hand. “Nice to meet you in person.”

The very noticeable muscles of his arms rippled beneath a nearly criminally tight athletic sweater as he unfolded them to accept your handshake. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.

Completely unexpectedly, a shiver ran through you – one you barely prevented from manifesting physically – when your skin met his. His hand was softer than you’d anticipated. His grip more careful than what you were used to from other agents.

Unfortunately, despite extensive training, you had never possessed a convincing poker face. That was precisely why you worked at a desk and not in the field. You could never run covert operations; every target would read you instantly. You would never be able to play a role that wasn’t entirely yourself.

Still, you were highly trained in reading microexpressions. So you didn’t just notice the way your eyes widened slightly or how your lips parted a fraction – you also noticed that he noticed.

And here was the twist: you were fairly certain something shifted in his far more practiced poker face as well. A subtle dilation of his pupils in eyes narrowed just a touch too tightly. The faintest twitch of his brow.

The way your hands lingered together two seconds longer than socially necessary.

Then you were both disciplined enough not to let the moment escalate.

Your smile remained firmly in place – perhaps a little wider now – while he maintained his gruff composure, though his frown had softened, his features relaxing ever so slightly.

“So…” you continued once your hands had returned to your respective sides, “to what do we owe this pleasure? Here to fix the coffee machines?” You gestured toward the stubborn device denying you caffeine.

Leon glanced at it. A smirk. “Just one of my many alternative career paths.” But almost immediately, his startlingly intense gaze returned to you, threaded with something you would swear was gentleness. “I wanted to reschedule our introductory meeting. If you’re available.”

Had you not already sensed that strange current humming between you, the way he stood there – tall, undeniably impressive, yet shaped by a history that had marked him in ways few could comprehend – would have charmed you on its own.

As it was, you simply wanted to know him better.

Remembering that part of your job was to help him cope, you crossed your arms and pursed your lips. “Let me check my calendar for a free slot – somewhere between mission prep and arguing with coffee machines.”

Leon responded with a smile that reached his eyes.

Your experience as a government-trained pencil pusher paid off in ways you never would have expected.

Leon Kennedy was a closed-off man. He didn’t reveal much about himself. Not exactly a chatterbox – but not silent either. He existed somewhere in between. And, above all, he always had a quip ready. For nearly every situation.

You noticed it during your first meeting.

You told him about yourself – how you’d entered government service, why you transferred to the FOS, that you loved musicals, that your favorite food was sushi.

Leon’s response? “So a musical adaptation of Finding Nemo would be your ideal night out?”

The question caught you so off guard that you snorted before you could stop yourself. “What?” you laughed, covering your mouth and giggling a little too brightly – you hoped it was amusement and not because you found him unprofessionally attractive.

Leon’s expression turned distinctly self-satisfied.

“So you’ve seen Finding Nemo?” you challenged.

He shrugged. “I at least remember the marketing.”

A lie? You weren’t entirely sure.

What you did become sure of rather quickly was that he hid a significant portion of himself behind those kinds of remarks.

You had read his file. What he’d lived through did not leave anyone untouched. And through these small exchanges between the two of you, you began to understand what Ingrid had meant.

He took the job seriously.

But you were going to have to help him carry it.

It became clearer and clearer to you the more you stayed in contact with Leon. The way he was: focused, highly specialized, but – at least after the initial storming – very attentive whenever you reached out to him. After only a short time, he let you take the lead in nearly every situation, took your input seriously, and only disagreed when he had a genuinely good reason.

It wasn’t that Leon – and maybe all agents of the DSO – needed dispatchers solely for professional guidance. He needed you to process what he was seeing. The conviction behind that realization was so strong that you went out of your way to guide him through every situation – no matter how terrifying it became. And God, you saw terrifying things at the DSO.

“I’ve been thinking,” you heard his voice – more open now, always a little softer when he addressed you directly.

“Uh-oh, better not hurt yourself doing that,” you joked, focused on your grocery list for tonight. It already came naturally to you – helped by the fact that Leon was extremely capable and you rarely had to worry about him.

He huffed before continuing unfazed. “I know a pretty good sushi place – can I take you there sometime?”

Your synapses fired wildly through your brain; your attention snapped fully back into place. Not before the pen slipped from your fingers at your startled jerk and you had to catch the rolling thing on your desk. Had your agent just asked you out on a date? Or was this more of a business dinner? Was that even allowed? You almost wanted to ask Ingrid – but she wasn’t sitting next to you anymore, of course, busy somewhere else with her management duties. Wait, hadn’t she once mentioned that he’d asked for her number too?

“Like… a date?” you blurted out impulsively, biting into your fist a second later in embarrassment. Way to keep it cool.

“Nice scramble there,” Leon remarked, mildly amused.

That’s when you realized your outgoing image was still on. Your heart was pounding erratically, a faint unease pooling in your stomach. It took you several seconds to find your composure.

“There was a spider.”

He made a sound of recognition, mercifully not pressing further about your embarrassing reaction. “Should I pick you up at eight?”

“Uh… you’re on a mission two states away?”

“No problem. I’ll hurry up and ping you when I need extraction.”

Now you were charmed – evidenced by the soft warmth creeping into your cheeks. “First class this time?”

You had suspected that Leon Kennedy was a true gentleman. Your first date confirmed it.

He picked you up from the FOS in his Porsche – everyone knew it was Leon’s Porsche you were getting into. You braced yourself for the inevitable gossip. A small price to pay for going out with an attractive man and absolute sweetheart.

He opened doors for you, pulled out your chair, ordered sake for you and a lemonade for himself. You knew he didn’t drink – more than that, that he was a recovering alcoholic. You knew a lot about him, things he had either revealed casually in passing or that you had read in his file.

He probably knew everything there was to know about you, too. Still, you never addressed that directly. Instead, you told each other things you both already knew – within a frame that felt safe.

Leon had never spoken about Raccoon City.

“Ever been to Japan?” you asked, sipping your sake as your sushi was served. Leon didn’t just know “a sushi place.” It was the most expensive one in the city.

“Been to China,” Leon answered briefly. His gaze turned distant for a moment. You had heard – and read – about that incident as well. Back then, Leon had faked his own death through Ingrid to pursue the former National Security Advisor, Derek C. Simmons, all the way to China. Everyone knew the story. Leon knew that you knew.

“Can’t really recommend it,” he added smoothly, defusing his slip into the past.

“What were the most beautiful countries you’ve ever seen?” you asked curiously.

Leon studied the sushi in front of him, considering which piece to start with.

“Well,” he began, picking up his chopsticks, “one of them was definitely Scotland… with its lochs.”

He looked up at you, giving you an amused grin – followed by a wink that drew a soft, nervous giggle from you.

All that knowledge about Leon, all the familiarity you had built with him, and that final spark when he had asked you out – it was enough. For you. For both of you. Enough to somehow, naturally, almost supernaturally, keep ending up in the same room again and again, drawn together, drifting closer and closer.

You couldn’t know what Leon truly carried inside him – what he truly felt. But you could help him deal with it.

“You wanna come up for a nightcap?” you asked after your first date, almost completely without shame, without hesitation. It felt natural to want your agent in your space – to protect him.

Leon didn’t hesitate either. He parked the Porsche in front of your building and let you lead him upstairs. As an FSO agent, you didn’t earn poorly, so you could afford a beautiful apartment with a good view.

“Look, a coffee machine I actually enjoy operating,” you joked from the kitchen while preparing an espresso.

“I might not be able to give you what you deserve.”

Leon’s voice behind you was suddenly serious.

Surprised by the emotional shift, you turned to him as the machine hummed and whirred. He was leaning against your dining table, arms folded, head tilted slightly as he watched you. His brow furrowed as it often was, dark blond hair falling into his face – but his eyes carried something you hadn’t seen before. Was it worry? Pain? Whatever it was, it hurt him.

And you knew what he meant. He was a field agent. He had seen and endured things most people couldn’t imagine.

“Oh,” you said softly, leaving the coffee behind and taking a few small steps toward him. As you approached, his arms unfolded instantly.

“Why did you ask me out then?” you asked quietly, carefully – but confident there was something real between you.

He exhaled as you came closer. “Because…” he began, but the words caught in his throat. His eyes were fixed on you – your face, your eyes, your hair, your beautiful smile.

You stopped in front of him, your bodies barely separated, attentive to his reaction in case it became too much – in case he decided this was a mistake.

Leon looked down at you as his body, which had been subtly angled away, shifted forward without conscious effort, directly into your space. You both felt the energy between you – pooling, swirling, growing restless before settling into something steady and quiet.

A soft breath left your lips when he gently – cautiously, even – placed his hands on your hips and pulled you closer. Your bodies met with the soft rustle of fabric. Your stomach flipped, your eyes unblinking as you searched his, whose irises moved slightly, unsure which part of you to focus on next.

“Honestly,” a flicker of amusement returned to his gaze, “I didn’t think that far ahead.”

You blinked, then let out a quiet laugh.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

Even though you knew he couldn’t help but worry.

So you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

His hands at your sides stiffened at the sudden contact. More than that – his whole body went rigid for a brief moment. A moment in which he very well could have pulled away.

But then, as if crossing an invisible barrier, Leon released a long breath through his nose. His body relaxed, his shoulders lowering, his hands sliding from your hips to trace your shape. He pulled you firmly against him and leaned fully into the kiss.

From the second he did, everything you had suspected but never fully seen came to the surface. His movements were devoted. No pressure – only going as far as you were willing to give.

The way he searched for you made you lift your hands to his jaw, his stubble lightly prickling your fingertips – his soft exhale against your lips your reward.

The kiss deepened. Your perception blurred – there was only Leon. His closeness. His taste on your tongue. The quiet, instinctive responses of your bodies. Tingling. Shivering. Searching fingers. Deep looks when you finally pulled apart after what felt like forever.

“Espresso…” you whispered with a soft smile, “… or straight to bed?”

Leon’s mind – fogged by you, your scent, your steadiness – slowly returned from the trance you had drawn him into. His glassy eyes refocused. A beat passed as your words sank in – then a deep laugh rumbled from his chest.

“Bed sounds nice,” he murmured, his fingers playing with a strand of your hair. “I’ll probably kick myself for saying this later but… can we take it slow today?”

You almost made a joke, the way you usually did with him – something about the wisdom of old age, or whether he didn’t find you sexy. But your common sense stopped you. He looked vulnerable, so you would treat that vulnerability with care. You nodded in understanding, took his hand, and led him once more – guiding him into your bedroom.

You had realized quickly that Leon S. Kennedy was a special kind of person. Funny, always ready with a remark, content when you laughed – and someone who needed help just as much as he wanted to give it. A veteran who had seen everything, and so rarely received anything in return.

If you could, you would at least be a small comfort to him. A small harbor, if he wanted one.

Leon entered that harbor without hesitation the moment the lighthouse began to shine.

You lay in your bed, clothes having become obsolete for the kind of closeness Leon sought – and found – with you. Your wardrobe lay scattered across the floor; only your bra and panties remained, and his boxers.

The intimacy surrounding you was perhaps more overwhelming than anything you had witnessed during missions with Leon. He enveloped you in his toned body, holding you close enough that your goosebumps brushed against his own, your body heat rising together. You felt not only defined muscle, but the fluttering of his heart against your chest, the small shivers running through him in response to your touch.

He looked at you as though you were a beacon in a pitch-black night – a familiar landmark when searching for the way home. His gaze burned into yours as he studied you intensely, lips parted for more air, devotion and gratitude written across his features. You had to be careful not to fall endlessly just because of that look.

You had no sense of how much time had passed when he exhaled softly and captured your lips again, deep enough to steal your breath. Hands explored – faces, hair, arms, backs. Everything about him so strong it was almost astonishing how soft he became here.

Leon practically melted into you, responding to every touch with a closer press of his body, sometimes even with a content hum against your lips or a gentle squeeze of his hands against your skin. Again and again he sought to move against you, to remain within your space, to feel you.

Even though he had said he wanted to take it slow, his touches grew just a little more suggestive – enough to make actual heat bloom under your skin and draw a quiet moan from you when you felt his arousal against your thigh.

“Sorry,” he murmured only inches from your lips. “You’re very sexy. So soft…” The words faded into the thickened air of your bedroom while his fingers continued tracing their paths along your skin.

“Mhm,” you hummed contentedly, enjoying his touch. “You were the one who said you wanted to take it slow.”

Leon smirked. “Doesn’t mean I won’t react to such a beautiful woman lying almost naked in bed with me.”

Another kiss landed on your lips before he shifted downward, resting his head beneath your chin on the pillow. His lips brushed your skin a few times along your cleavage while his strong arms slipped around you.

When you wrapped your arms around him in return, he sighed in satisfaction. Your bodies fit together perfectly, the atmosphere turning quiet and serene. Your eyelids grew heavy, closing slowly, while Leon inhaled your scent as often as he could.

“You are one good dispatcher,” he rumbled against your skin.

[millimeraki]

FLEXIN'

Part of @rednnedy's 9 Days To Requiem event 💕

[RE9!Leon / Fem!Reader]

(Leon got you that expensive camera from your wishlist for your birthday, unaware that you'd get all sorts of ideas about your next motif)

Word Count: ~ 2.2k Rating: T - established relationship, just appreciation for old man Leon's biceps Author's Note: The first entry (I already teased) for Elsie's event! 💕 The release date of Requiem is so close now and with this, we celebrate 💃 I have four entries lined up as promised - so keep your eyes open in the next days (or, as spoilers are out there, I can just tag you if you'd like 👀). Hope you enjoy ✨ Also: Images of this Leon are still so rare I had the hardest time. The banner is all cutesy and he is just...gruff lol.

What Leon Kennedy had actually expected was that you’d be genuinely thrilled about the ultra-modern system camera he’d given you for your birthday. After all, you’d spent a long time – and with great enthusiasm – talking about handling, pros and cons compared to classic DSLR cameras, and every technical detail under the sun.

What Leon should have anticipated, but didn’t, was that the umpteenth still life in front of your lens would somehow feel… dull. The flowers that had come with the camera looked beautiful – and the camera captured every tiny structure in the petals – but they didn’t quite satisfy your craving for sensation.

With a huff, you dropped onto the cozy designer couch in the spacious living room, staring thoughtfully down at the camera as you weighed it in your hand. What in this ultra-expensive apartment, perched high in a D.C. skyscraper suite, could possibly do justice to an ultra-expensive camera like this? The costly art you’d convinced Leon to buy? The long-untouched whiskey bar with its purely decorative charm? The high ceilings and the spiral staircase leading up to the second floor? Or maybe just the view?

No.

There was something far better in this apartment – something truly worth capturing. It should have occurred to you sooner.

“Leon?” you called into the suite, searching for your boyfriend.

“Yeah?” he replied immediately, and you thought you could tell he was in the study.

With a small hop, you were back on your feet, strolling across the hardwood floor.

“Where are you?”

“In the study,” he confirmed, as expected.

So your path led you beneath the spiral staircase with its glass steps, through the hallway behind it, and toward the door on the left, left slightly ajar. The space felt less and less like a labyrinth to you. The last time you’d gotten lost had been a week ago. Progress.

You nudged the door to the study open. Leon’s taste in interior design had always been hard to pin down. Somewhere between rustic and modern – the desk dark, heavy wood, the rug beneath it cream-colored. A small leather couch – from which you sometimes watched him work, an alibi book in your hand – paired with linen curtains framing the floor-to-ceiling window.

Maybe an interior designer had taken one look at him and thought, Yep, this man is the embodiment of duality! You wouldn’t blame them. Leon was serious when it came to his job. In private moments, though, he was… simply Leon.

Right now, that same Leon sat at his desk with brows drawn together in concentration, eyes fixed on the screen in front of him, his hand resting thoughtfully over his mouth. He acknowledged your presence with a brief sideways glance and a wink – a silent request for a moment to finish his thought.

While he did, you already raised the camera to your eye, framing him in the viewfinder and zooming in. A composition already worth capturing.

Your boyfriend was absurdly attractive. The way his dark-blond hair, threaded with ashy strands, fell softly into his face – that iconic, nostalgic ’90s hairstyle – and honestly, you counted yourself lucky that a man his age still had such a full head of hair. One of these days, you’d just have to convince him to deep-condition the dry strands.

And then there was the focused intensity of his pale, sky-blue eyes – eyes that softened so tenderly whenever you became the center of his attention.

The shutter clicked.

“What are you doing there, love?” Leon mumbled into his hand, his gaze still on the task in front of him.

“Nothing,” you hummed sweetly.

His eyes flicked over to you again, and you quickly snapped another picture.

“Mmh-hm,” he rumbled, the corner of his mouth twitching upward behind his hand – not hidden at all thanks to the strong zoom of your lens.

Your viewfinder wandered over his face, down his neck, lingering on his prominent Adam’s apple, then following the edge of his collar to his collarbone.

Right beside it, wrapped in the dark gray, patterned fabric of his cozy sweater, his bicep dominated the center of the grid.

Before you could take another photo, Leon moved – apparently done with his last thought. He pushed himself back from the desk in his chair, his trained arms slipping out of the lens’s reach and forcing you to lower the camera.

You loved days like this, when Leon worked from home. He looked best like this – hair slightly messy, unstyled, clothes comfortable, sweatpants instead of suits. It carried a sense of normalcy, even though his job was anything but normal. He studied you with his arms crossed, but you caught that familiar, affectionate spark in his eyes.

“I wanted to show you something,” you said without preamble. Your once fairly harmless plan grew bolder.

His eyes gleamed, a small smirk joining them as he gestured toward your camera.

“Photos?”

You bit down on your lower lip, a playful gesture Leon knew all too well. You’d set your mind on something – fortunately, most of the time, it was something he benefited from. That was precisely why Leon leaned back in his chair, relaxed, fully aware that you probably didn’t just want to show him photos.

Your shake of the head and the invitation that followed confirmed his suspicion.

“It’s a photo motif I found. Better if I show you.” You stepped closer, offering him your hand. “That is, if you have the time.”

Just to tease you for a few seconds, Leon studied your outstretched hand as if he were genuinely considering not following you wherever you intended to lead him. Just as quickly, his arms untangled and his hand slid into yours.

He let you pull him along willingly, leaving the study behind for a few sweet moments with his girl.

As your direct path quite obviously led toward the bedroom, you chatted a bit about the motifs you’d had in front of your lens so far, and how you could definitely use an additional wide-angle lens.

Somewhere between the words “focal length” and “long exposure,” Leon let out a small laugh.

“What?” you asked, laughter coloring your voice as well.

“I love it when you get this excited about something.”

The affection in his voice was so deep, so sincere, it sent a warm little shiver down your spine. Leon was your biggest supporter in every endeavor – and if he were to drop to one knee right here and now, you wouldn’t hesitate for a second before saying yes. No one had ever supported you the way this man did.

“Oh, good,” you managed anyway, keeping yourself from getting sentimental. “Then you can surely help me.”

You’d reached the bedroom, standing in front of the black, upholstered king-size bed.

Leon raised an eyebrow.

“Thought you wanted to show me a motif.”

“Yeah,” you replied, grinning up at him. Your hand found its way to his steel-solid chest, pressing flat against it as you pivoted him toward the edge of the bed before giving him a gentle but decisive push.

Leon could have resisted without any effort at all – but where would the fun be in that? Instead, he let you lead, indulging your ideas, falling back onto the softly yielding mattress without hesitation. You followed, camera still in hand, climbing after him and settling astride him, exactly where he liked you best.

His hands immediately found your thighs, barely covered by your lounge shorts, slipping just beneath the fabric as his thumbs traced small circles over your silky skin. A sound escaped him, somewhere between a content purr and an amused hum.

“I have this feeling I’m the motif,” he said.

“Very right, Detective,” you confirmed with a smile, undeterred by his exploring hands. “This is the best view in the house.”

You lifted the camera to your face, catching Leon’s quiet smile through the viewfinder – his hair fanned out on the mattress, the way he lay beneath you, so tame, so surrendered to you. The hard shell gone, leaving only the soft core you’d fallen in love with.

“I agree,” he murmured, gripping your hips and drawing your center closer to him. Through the thin fabric of both your loungewear, you could feel him.

“Ha. Ha,” you deadpanned as the shutter clicked, Leon’s soft laugh filling the room. “Hey, babe, put your arms behind your head,” you instructed him, hunting for the shot you hadn’t been able to capture earlier.

“Reminds me of my wild days at New York Fashion Week,” Leon joked about his new modeling career, indulging your request.

He looked criminally good like that – hands laced behind his head, looking up at you with that quiet smile.

The lines around his eyes crinkled as he furrowed his brows.

“Are you zooming in on my face?”

“I’m not.”

Meanwhile, you studied the texture of his skin – the fine and deeper lines, the stubble along his cheeks and jaw. You snapped a photo of a particular angle between his mouth and jawline.

“Did you at least get my good side?” he teased.

“All your sides are good,” you replied matter-of-factly.

You couldn’t help but nibble on your lower lip again as his broad upper arms filled your lens once more.

In this position, his trained muscles were even more pronounced, the contours clearly outlined beneath his sweater. God, you loved those arms. And his shoulders. You loved watching him stretch, the way they tensed beneath his skin, or catching him shirtless in the bathroom mirror while brushing his teeth. If it were up to you, he’d walk around shirtless all the time.

“Flex your arms.”

The words came out hungrier than you’d intended. But who could blame you when he looked that good, his shoulders so full, so solid – practically made to hold on to, especially in the position you were currently in. Clothing optional, obviously.

Your request drew a slightly louder, faintly husky laugh from Leon.

“Are you trying to make a pin-up calendar of me?”

“You’re wearing way too many clothes for that,” you shot back, lowering the camera from your face. “Come on. We should document this.”

That soft grin stayed plastered to his face. “And what exactly is this?”

“Well – us. How handsome you are. We’ll look at the photo one day and remember what a beautiful day it was.”

Leon mulled that over for a brief moment before letting out an amused huff.

“Payment up front,” he demanded, tapping his lips.

You twisted your mouth playfully and rolled your eyes – but of course you leaned down anyway, paying the kiss tax for particularly silly behavior.

He smiled into your lips when they met his – a satisfied hum, and then his hands slid into the hollow of your neck. His thumbs stretched along your jawbone, applying gentle but unmistakable pressure, guiding you closer, pulling your body into his until you had to set the camera aside just to hold on to him.

Rough stubble brushed against your skin, just scratchy enough to spark something delicious beneath your fingertips – especially against the contrast of his soft lips, which lingered against yours with growing intent.

He parted his mouth just enough to coax you closer, deepening the kiss into something hungry, breath-stealing, and still capable of pulling a soft, content sound from your chest.

One of those sweet little sounds Leon loved so much.

He loved everything about you – more than that, even. He felt it in the way goosebumps spread wherever your soft fingers touched him; in how perfectly your body fit against his; in the way your hair smelled; in the heat that flared through him whenever you truly lost yourselves in each other.

Where your hips met, you could feel his desire clearly, and for just a split second, the thought of that pin-up calendar flickered back through your pleasantly hazy mind. You giggled against his lips.

He paused. “What’s funny?”

His eyes were half-lidded now, lips slightly parted, his face flushed a soft red – but he was still attentive, still Leon.

“Noth – ”

Your words dissolved into a laughing squeak as Leon used only a fraction of his considerable strength to roll you over on the bed, burying you beneath his larger frame. 

“I decided my rates just went up,” he teased, a wicked grin on his face.

Before you could reply, he rose to his knees, grabbed the hem of his sweater, and pulled it up and over his torso.

The fabric landed somewhere in the corner of the room, but your attention was locked entirely on the always-impressive body in front of you. Shit. Your boyfriend was so solid it made you wonder every single time if this would be the time you’d never walk properly again.

His skin was taut, abs sharply defined, chest broad and proud – and those arms. Thick, strong, protruding veins tracing along. Maybe you really should follow those intrusive thoughts one day and just bite into it.

The sight sent heat racing through your body.

And you’d only wanted to take pictures.

“Oh,” you realized, scrambling frantically for your camera. You grabbed it and lifted it to your face, ready to snap the very first photo for the Leon Kennedy Pin-Up Calendar – but he clicked his tongue and plucked the camera right out of your hands.

“You first, baby.”

[millimeraki]

SAFE AND SOUND

@kinktober-2025 - Prompt: Somnophilia

[ID Leon / Fem!Reader]

(During a restless night, Leon can't help but be drawn in by how peacefully you are sleeping next to him.)

Word Count: ~ 3.7k Rating: E - Somnophilia (duh), established relationship, vaginal sex, creampie Author's Note: This is my first (official) kinktober entry ever! Idk, the prompt inspired me so much to write for Leon, cause I can imagine a still younger, not super recent version of him (so essentially Infinite Darkness Leon) would get a little feral at seeing his s/o being safe. And I want the poor boi to be safe(r) too, for him to have things going different some more – so he will have it 😤

Leon S. Kennedy was well aware it would come as no surprise to anyone that peaceful sleep was a rare occurrence for him. By now, even he was no longer surprised when a sudden image, or a lingering nightmare, jolted him back into the harsh reality of a world full of danger, no matter the moment he chose to seek out a few short, sweet moments of oblivion.

He’d learned to live with it: the pounding heart, the cold sweat, the tremor in his hands – muscles primed to fire the next shot. Tonight, too, after another rude awakening, Leon pushed the covers off his overheated body, pressed both palms flat against his chest, and stared up at the ceiling. The warm light from the streetlamps outside mixed with the cool glow of the moon, coming through the open curtains and dancing across the surface above him.

The slow, hypnotic play of colors – interrupted every now and then by the passing of a car – steadily calmed his trembling body until his mind caught up, grounding him in the certainty that there was no immediate threat in this room. The room was safe. The door was closed, the windows locked, his gun within reach. The room was safe – and you were safe.

You. 

After everything – after Raccoon City, after Los Illuminados – somewhere in the chaos, Leon had found something he never expected: a harbor. Not just a temporary shelter to catch his breath, but a place he wanted to return to, a place to protect. You had to be safe. Leon had always known he wanted to stop all of this, but having you in his life had multiplied that drive tenfold.

He still didn’t quite understand how you did it – how you made him restless and yet, in the same breath, your presence alone brought him the deepest sense of peace he had ever known. You had opened your curtains for him, touched him gently, spoken softly, and turned the nights with you into the best he could possibly have.

So much so that this time, you hadn’t even stirred when his nightmares or uneven breathing had pulled him from sleep. Another perk of you being in his life – and one of the many reasons nights with you were so wonderful: your warm body lay right beside him. All he had to do was turn over.

You were lying on your side, your back to him, hair a little tousled from your own movements throughout the night. One arm rested above the blanket, bent at the elbow, your hand near your face on the pillow.

Leon shifted closer, balancing his weight on one arm as he leaned over you. A few stray strands of your hair had fallen into your face, so he brushed them back gently, his fingertips tingling at the touch of your soft skin. He traced along your cheek, over the curve of your ear, watching the strands slide down your shoulder and onto the pillow. One small nudge more, and he had a clear view of your neck. Every inch of you was perfection – something precious, something that could never be harmed.

A quiet breath of relief escaped his lips when his gaze finally reached your face. Beautiful, and so perfectly at peace. Just looking at you was enough to ease the tension from his body – and yet, it also made his just recently steadied heart skip a beat. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that his dreams had woken him. At least now he could make sure you were safe – listening to the soft, steady rhythm of your breathing, every exhale proof that you were alive and real.

Leon pressed himself closer, your body curled beneath the covers. His large hand came to rest on your waist, and even in your sleep, you let out one of those sweet little sounds he loved so much – a soft noise that told him you knew he was there, even if you stayed asleep.

Sometimes he felt a little crazy about it – how you’d say you were going to bed, and he’d follow, pretending to read beside you or finish a report, just so he could watch you. Just to see you sleep. It brought him this deep, grounding satisfaction – and somehow, it also set his blood on fire. Seeing that the most beautiful, sharp, utterly badass woman, the most important person in his life, was lying right next to him, safe enough to simply rest without needing to stay alert.

He usually did this long enough until he himself grew tired. So, at some point, he’d pull you into his arms, bury his face in your hair that always carried a faint trace of lavender, and close his eyes, hoping that the warmth of your body pressed against his would keep the nightmares at bay. Then, when the first soft light coaxed you both awake the next morning – preferably on a rare day off – his lips always seemed to find your skin before either of you were fully conscious, and soon, you would simply melt into one another.

Tonight, though, Leon had woken in the middle of the night. The heaviness of sleep still clung to his eyes, but he didn’t want to close them again. Instead, he let his gaze wander across every inch of you that the dim light allowed him to see – your face, your exposed shoulder, and if he leaned forward, the delicate line of your neck, the edge of your top.

The soft white fabric hugged you like a second skin. You looked impossibly sexy in it – the matching, lace-trimmed, skimpy sleep shorts, which he had been allowed to glance at before you slipped under the covers a few hours earlier, only added to this effect. 

With his hand still resting on your waist, Leon drew you closer. Then, carefully, he let it travel upward, over the blanket and to your shoulder blade, fingers brushing the thin strap of your top. He traced it lightly, letting his fingertip slip beneath the sweet nothing of a fabric, following its path across your shoulder before sliding it down your arm. It was nothing – a tiny shift, barely anything at all – and yet, the sight of your now bare shoulder felt like a quiet invitation.

He leaned in, his breath brushing your skin, lips barely grazing the warmth there. It wasn’t meant to wake you. He knew you were a light sleeper, and truly, all he had intended was to hold you again and drift back into rest. That’s what he told himself, anyway. But when you made a another adorable, sleepy sound and shifted ever so slightly against him, a sharp breath escaped his lips before he could stop it.

“Shit,” he whispered to himself as what normally built up until the early hours of the morning hit him all at once – that familiar, dangerous pull you had on him. It was like a spell, something woven into your very existence that he could never break free from, no matter how much he once tried to. Somehow, you’d kept running into each other, and every single time, that smile, those eyes, had made his head spin.

And now you were here, lying next to him, the perfect girl. You didn’t even have to be awake to have him under your spell. Maybe you already were half-conscious, maybe you could already feel him there; perhaps he should wake you gently, see how you’d react. The thought alone made his pulse quicken, and actually, there really was no ‘maybe’. Every second your body remained pressed against his, his blood flowed into his lower regions, boiling hot. He didn’t event try to stop it, but pressed his groin against your perfectly rounded ass.

“My beautiful princess,” he whispered against your skin, his voice rougher than before. His hand slid back under the blanket, tracing your shape with slow, deliberate care. A deep, quiet sound rumbled in his chest as he allowed himself to grab you harder, to reach in again and again and feel the reassurance of your warmth, the rhythm of your breathing. Your scent, the softness of your skin, grounded him, even as it made him dizzy.

He kissed you again, your skin tasting like you, leaving a trail of feather-light touches along your neck and shoulder, his breath more uneven, his heartbeat loud in his ears. Amidst his caresses, Leon could feel the goose bumps spreading where he pressed his slightly parted lips to your skin.

Slowly, almost painfully so, he slid his hand forward over your top, wanting to savor every inch of you, allowing you these last few seconds of sleep while at the same time desperately wanting to reach the delicate roundness of your breast. A strangled groan escaped his throat as his hand finally cupped it, gently massaging the silky fullness and caressing your nipple until it rose up.

Leon squirmed ever so slightly, his breathing becoming heavier and heavier, skin hot and cock hard, throbbing demandingly against your ass. 

“Baby,” he breathed against your ear, voice low and husky, a sound that stirred something deep inside you even before you were awake. He was trying – failing – to hold himself together, the pull toward you far too strong. Shit, all he had to do was pull down his boxer shorts and the little bit of fabric covering your body, and he could just fuck you awake. Maybe next time. 

For the moment, he simply let his hand wander beneath the thin fabric of your top so he could feel your velvety skin beneath his fingertips. His touch was slow, reverent, but edged with hunger. He teased your hardened nub, and when his lips found the curve of your ear, teeth grazing gently, a quiet sound escaped you – half sigh, half moan. You squirmed, your perfect ass pressing against his arousal – and it nearly undid him.

“Leon?” Your voice was soft, heavy with sleep. “What are you doing?” Your mind lagged behind your body, your thoughts still fogged, while every nerve beneath your skin already responded to him. You could feel it – hot, open-mouthed kisses at your neck, the weight of his hand, calloused fingertips playing with your nipples, and finally, the hard heat of him pressed close behind you.

“I love you,” Leon murmured against your skin, his words melting into the rhythm of his touch. “So, so much.”

“Mhm.” The sound you made was more felt than spoken. You leaned back into him instinctively, letting him know without words that you didn’t want him to stop.

That hazy moment between sleep and waking always made everything feel heightened – it was this gentle fog that made you stretch toward Leon's touch whenever he wanted to take you first thing in the morning. Before you'd even fully woken up, his lips were pressed against yours, or his head was between your legs, or he'd already half undressed you and was inside you seconds later. And oh, these were the best orgasms of your life.

You didn’t really mind that he’d woken you in the middle of the night. You had no plans for the next morning anyway, and the feeling of his wandering hand was far too good to resist. Your stomach tightened deliciously every time his fingers found a sensitive spot or his warm, wet breath ghosted over your skin. But especially when he spread that large, steady hand over you as far as it would reach – it felt like being completely wrapped in a cozy cocoon, one that somehow also happened to be the most sensual room in the house.

His hand rested on your stomach, moving lower and lower. Before his fingers even reached your hip, a wanting breath escaped you. The tension in your body gathered low, spreading between your legs. Desire hummed through you, so intense in your sleepy haze that it took effort not to reach for his hand, not to guide him exactly where you already needed him most.

As he had done before, Leon let his hand wander over the soft fabric of your sleepwear first, this time drawing an immediate, delightful reaction from you. His fingers traced along the silky material, boldly pushing between your legs. A soft moan escaped you as you opened them further for him. 

“Are you wet for me, beautiful?” he whispered into your ear, though he didn’t really need an answer. The fabric beneath his fingers was already damp from the arousal your body, receptive only for him, had long since built up. He moved along slowly, collecting some moisture, drawing a soft, shivering response from you.

“Leon –” you gasped his name quietly as his fingers slipped under your shorts and immediately met bare skin. 

Leon let out a low, eager growl at the heat radiating from you. He paused his kisses along your neck to focus fully on your sensitive center. With practiced precision, he traced delicate circles over your clit, knowing exactly how to make you shiver. He only briefly shifted, letting his fingers explore a little further, to catch your essence, then returned, sliding with slippery, careful pressure to where he had been before. You throbbed beneath him, your breath catching and your body moving on its own in the whirlpool of pleasure.

Your wonderfully pliant body turned toward him, eager to return his touch. Soft fingers brushed against the stubble on his chin as you tilted your face toward his, eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. The room was bathed in gentle light, but you knew his eyes were blue like a cloudless summer sky. That searing look burned into yours, heavy with drunken desire and reverence all at once.

A gentle pull brought him down to you, his lips brushing against yours. Soft hair tickled your face, but you didn't have long to focus on the new sensation. Leon’s touch deepened, fingers curving and plunging into you the next moment. A moan escaped you, carried against his lips, only edging him on to thrust deeper and hit the spot against your velvety walls that made you see stars. 

Your breaths mingled, heavy and uneven, and your hips rose to meet him – chasing that growing, irresistible pressure from his skilled fingers pumping into you with increasing passion. Each thrust drew another tremor from you, another soft sound lost between your lips. You sighed against Leon’s mouth, your fingers seeking steadiness first on his strong arms, then moving back to find his jaw again. Your kisses grew messy, breathless, coordination slipping as the heat between you took over. With a faint, desperate motion, you pushed the blanket aside, freeing your body from its confined space.

You lifted your lips from his to catch your breath, drawing the air in and out in heavy waves. His face stayed so close that you couldn’t resist brushing your mouth against his again, searching for that connection that had swept over you like a rising tide and carried you ever since. Leon was, in every sense, the man of your dreams.

“I love you,” you breathed, your vision hazy, your senses drunk on him. “I need you.”

Leon’s heart gave a wild, stumbling beat – and lower, in his boxers, that same pulse echoed just as fiercely.

“And I need you,” he murmured, tugging your shorts down with a low, breathless sound – the meaning behind his words so much deeper than the raw urge to sink his demanding dick into you. Sure, that was there too, but more than anything, it was the need to have you, alive, here, as a part of his world. He’d give anything to make no harm ever came to you, ever. 

You let Leon guide you onto your side, his arm offering a place for your head to rest – and at the same time, it drew you even closer to his large, enveloping body.

Your body opened for him. A moment later, Leon was in heaven. Your thoroughly drenched cunt welcomed him effortlessly. He slid into you so smoothly that a nearly surprised sound escaped both of you.

“You okay, baby?” Leon asked, eager to pump his cock into you, but still controlled enough to check on you.

“Yeah,” you replied with the slightest nod, your hand clutching at his arm, your eyes fluttering shut again, a sound escaping your throat as Leon wasted no time with precise movements, driving himself straight to the spot where he could make you feel best. He hit it immediately – that heavenly, spongy spot deep between your walls – making your jaw go slack instantly to give you more room to breathe.

You caught your breath only briefly as Leon’s fingers, glistening with your essence, slipped into your mouth. Willingly, you closed your lips around his digits, tasting yourself on them, spurring your handsome boyfriend to thrust harder into you, hard enough that a muffled sound vibrated from your lips, and you pulsed around him, a brief moment of tension followed by even greater relaxation, letting yourself be completely guided by Leon’s thrusts.

As so often happened in these somewhat tired sessions, this wasn’t wild, animalistic sex. Rather – and this was one of the things you both loved about it – it was deep and passionate, every sharpened sense turning the experience into a celebration of your connection. From the very first moment, the sensation was heightened, the pressure immediately delicious, the currents perfectly guiding you along without a single thought needed. Just the two of you, and the clear, flowing rhythm before you.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so good,” Leon breathed into your ear as your body tensed and twitched around him. The room was long since filled with slapping, squelching sounds, your heavy breaths, and murmured words of adoration. This – being here with you – made up for all the nights he had lain awake alone, haunted by nightmares. The way your warm, soft walls wrapped around his shaft, how your hands clutched his arms, how your soft body pressed against his – he could do this forever.

His fingers slipped from your mouth so your sighs could wash over him: “Leon – fuck – yes – ohgod –,” there was no better sound in the world. Wet fingers traced over the fabric of your top, across your nipples, all to bring you to the unlimited heights you deserved. Your mouths found each other in an open, steamy kiss. You took him like a champ, letting him drive into you with fire and vigor, moving your hips in perfect rhythm, just the way you needed.

At least until your body was surprised by another wave, a twitching rush that made you wish you could finally release all the pent-up energy. As if he heard that silent plea, Leon’s fingers slid back to your clit. Firm enough to add to the pleasure, he caressed you, slowing just the slightest bit in his motions, his usually sharp mind dulled by your exquisite pleasure, focused only on you and you alone.

Your body finally surrendered to his passionate touches and thrusts, collapsing back to the side. Your eyes rolled back, your mouth watering – not least on his arm. Leon felt your clit pulsing more and more under his fingertip, the pressure building and building, guiding you ever faster toward your climax.

“Leon – I’m coming,” you barely managed to say, clutching him as the fullness became almost too much to bear.

“I know, baby. I’m right there with you.”

Just the shortest moment later, another wave of vibration coursed through your entire body, your stomach tightening in the best way, before your nerve endings exploded in perfect ecstasy, overtaking every previously whispered sigh and soft moan – even the sound of your bodies moving together. As so often, overwhelmed by the intensity of your orgasm with Leon, you clung to his arm with whimpering, high-pitched sounds, gushing around him, while he moved relentlessly inside you, circling his hips to make you come long and hard before allowing his own release.

His hand found your hip to press you toward him, his body some space away for leverage. He pounded into you, drawing heavenly sounds from your lips one after another, until his rhythm faltered, his own high approaching faster than he’d wished for through your wild contractions around him.

Straining, Leon furrowed his brows for the last two or three thrusts before his climax overtook him, way too quickly. His head fell back, a brief moment of gritted teeth giving way to one final, instinctive thrust. He spilled inside you, coating your walls with everything he had to offer you. To this day, he oftentimes wondered if it was pathetic or not – but this moment, no matter how he made love to you, was uniquely soothing for Leon. How you stayed connected while he poured into you, this ultimate moment of vulnerability in which he was allowed to remain for just a brief moment. 

Over too quickly, but still deeply comforting when you lay together afterwards, ideally in a position like this, everything quiet except for the sound of your slowly calming breaths. 

You were the first to move again, turning – him still inside you – toward him, pressing your lips to his. He smiled into the kiss, pulling you close, melting deeper into you, so deep that there would be no turning back, ever.

“That was amazing,” you whispered lovingly, stroking his chin, dazed and satisfied. 

“Oh yeah... sooo, I could do this more often?” A grin crept onto his lips.

It took you a moment to understand what he meant – until you remembered he had woken you up in the middle of the night for this. Smiling, you slipped away from him, ignoring the soft, protesting sound he made. You wanted to cuddle up to him properly. Your head came to rest on his shoulder while his hand traced lazy, tickling circles along your arm.

“Only if I don’t have to get up early the next day,” you answered sweetly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“It’s a deal.” Leon yawned. His girl was safe in his arms, the images that had woken him earlier faded back into a distant memory. Maybe now the two of you could drift off again, sleep in, and let the morning find you with another slow, sleepy round.

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics, Header by me ✨

[millimeraki]

LATE NIGHT TALKS

@flufftober - Prompt: Late Night Talks

[DI Leon / Fem!Reader]

(Sleep is out of the question when there's still so much to learn about your boyfriend Leon S. Kennedy)

Word Count: 2.5k Rating: T Author's Note: Hiii, I am late to the party, but I really wanted to participate in a nice October event this year! And since I love writing fluff to the absolute same degree as smut, I decided to mix my very own cocktail of flufftober and kinktober, consisting of my favorite prompts from each list. All in all, I marked four prompts to write as to not overwhelm myself lol. Two of them already passed, but I would never write for these amazing prompt lists if I pressured myself to stick to the exact dates. So I hope y’all bear with me and enjoy what I cook up 🙏💕 It’s so funny to me that my first little fic for Leon is for Flufftober, but I can just…see him exactly like that. The precious boy. I also have more and bigger plans for him! 💃

You nuzzled your nose into the crook of Leon’s neck, breathing in his scent for what felt like the bazillionth time tonight. His cologne had almost faded, replaced by the warm essence of his skin, more soothing than any expensive fragrance could ever hope to be. If someone had asked you what this beautiful man actually smelled like, the only honest answer would have been Leon. Thankfully, no one had ever asked. Well – not entirely true. One of your friends had asked, the day she’d met him, what kind of cologne he wore. Luckily, you’d remembered the name of the bottle that always stood in his bathroom.

Outside, the storm raged on, rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling window of your bedroom. Yet it couldn’t drown out the soft, content sound that rumbled from Leon’s throat as you pressed yourself closer to him. One leg draped over his body, skin meeting skin beneath the soft blanket, warm and unhurried. He shifted, snaking one arm beneath you, pulling you even closer, as if that were somehow still possible. His silent way of telling you he didn’t want even an inch of distance between you.

Your fingers traced lazily across his firm chest, surprised still by the softness of his skin, fingertips soon replaced by your open palm. You wanted to feel more of him, as much of him as your touch could reach. Your hand glided upward, over his collarbone, along his neck, brushing against the pleasant roughness of his stubble. A gentle tilt toward you, and his jaw was against your lips, inviting you to explore. Your kisses trailed along his jawline, his throat, and as you shifted slightly higher, his cheek.

A low chuckle escaped Leon’s lips, deep and easy, while he let you pepper him with affection, though not without returning the favor. One hand drew soft, tickling circles on your arm, the other resting steady and reassuring on your thigh.

It was a blessing that the two of you found each other so irresistible, so intoxicating. You’d closed your eyes for a few quiet minutes, but sleep didn’t stand a chance against the pull to stay awake together, wrapped up in one another – your bedroom a place without time or space. Just the two of you, the rain, and the glittering city lights spilling through the windows of your fifteenth-floor apartment. What time was it? How long had it been since you’d fallen into bed together? It didn’t matter. There was still so much to learn about Leon S. Kennedy, the man you’d recently started dating.

“Leon?” you asked softly, your lips pausing in their ministrations against his skin.

He hummed in response, feigning reluctance. “Don’t stop.” His head turned further toward you, his lips brushing your forehead in quiet invitation. “This feels like my own personal spa night.”

“What?” you laughed softly. Your body, tired from hours of passion and the late hour (you didn’t even dare check your phone), moved slowly, but you managed to shift your weight, pushing yourself up and onto him.

A satisfied vibration hummed through his chest, his hands immediately finding your hips, anchoring there as they felt your silky curves. It took effort for him not to just blurt out how completely, stupidly in love he was with you – the sight of you on top of him, face bathed in the soft glow of city lights, almost too much to contain himself. Maybe it was too soon to say it out loud. Then again – maybe he was too old to keep playing it cool.

“Have you ever actually been to a spa?” you asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

“No,” he was quick to admit. “But I can’t imagine it being any better than this.”

You giggled, shifting your weight again as your fingers slid into his soft, dark-blond hair. His eyes fluttered closed, a small, contented smile tugging at his lips while you massaged his scalp. Another low sound of pleasure escaped him. His fingers roamed along your sides, and you shivered, goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch.

“Told you, my personal spa night,” Leon murmured, his eyes – blue like the calmest sea in a tropical paradise – finding yours again, the city lights softly reflecting in them. A gentle press of his hands against your back urged you down to him, and his lips captured yours – tender, reverent. The kiss made your head spin, your heart tightening at the sheer affection behind it. You didn’t know what to do with all that emotion except lean into it, savoring your almost instinctive, practiced kisses, as if you’d been doing this for years, every single day.

“With a happy ending,” he added against your lips, grinning.

“Leon!” you exclaimed, pretending to be scandalized but unable to stop laughing. He laughed too, even louder when you gave him a playful smack on the shoulder. “That’s not the kind of spa I meant,” you teased, grinning down at him.

“You sure?” he asked, his hands on a playful exploration tour. 

You bit your lip, torn between the persuasive warmth of his touch and the question you’d actually meant to ask.

Your decision was made for you when Leon, suppressing a yawn, looked up at you with tired but devoted eyes. “What was it you wanted to ask me, Baby?”

The word still felt strange to your ears, but it sounded completely natural on his tongue. The way he said it flustered you, and the soft, bashful smile you couldn’t quite hide every time he called you that only confirmed for him that it was the perfect nickname.

“Oh, right,” you said, doing your best to sound casual, though your heart gave a little jump. Leon noticed, of course. He took your hand in his, keeping eye contact, a cheerful glimmer in his gaze as he pressed a long kiss to your palm, breathing in the faint, floral scent of your perfume that still lingered on your wrist.

You watched, fascinated, until his lips left your skin, the warmth of the kiss lingering for a moment longer. Determined not to let yourself get distracted again by those blue eyes, those inviting lips, or your name on his tongue, you placed a finger on his mouth to get his attention. He obeyed, though not without smiling against your finger, lips pursing just enough to press a fleeting kiss to your fingertip.

“I was actually going to ask if you have a guilty pleasure,” you said. “But I guess now I already know. Spas with happy endings.”

Leon’s eyes widened for a split second before a crooked smile tugged at his lips. “Only when you’re the masseuse.” He did think about your question, though. Did he have a guilty pleasure? There had never been much time in his life for hobbies. Maybe it was about time he found one. Maybe he’d just make you his hobby.

“It’s Dad jokes, isn’t it?” you blurted out the thought that had been bouncing around your head ever since the night you met Leon in that little bar.

You’d been standing at the counter, drink in hand, while your friends waited at your table, when Leon’s friend Chris had suddenly parked him next to you, said “Hi gorgeous, that’s Leon,” and promptly disappeared. Perplexed, you’d stared after him, until your gaze found the man beside you. Those ocean-blue eyes, your glass still in your hand.

Leon had looked nervous, almost panicked, glancing vaguely in your direction. Then his eyes had landed on your drink. You still remembered it vividly – how he’d obviously found his own joke at least somewhat funny when he said, “Sorry, I hope your mood hasn’t turned sour now.”

You’d blinked, confused, brows furrowing. It had taken your brain a second, before your eyes followed his to your glass.

“Oh,” you’d said, lifting your whiskey sour. “What the fuck?” A laugh had escaped you.

To this day, you weren’t sure if it was out of pity or genuine amusement. But Leon had kept throwing out one-liners since then. And more often than not, you found yourself genuinely laughing. You even caught yourself now and then anticipating one of his corny jokes, ready to let out an exaggerated groan just to make him grin that wide, bright grin of his. Whether he was happy to tease you or simply glad to make you laugh – either way, you adored it.

“Dad jokes?” Leon repeated in mock offense. “Young lady, my jokes are far too sophisticated to simply be called Dad jokes.”

You giggled, your fingers once again playing with a strand of hair while he brushed yours back, wanting to see your smile unobstructed.

“Might call them Leon jokes, then,” you said with a soft smile, glowing at the happiness written across his face. “But seriously, you’ve got a line for every situation. I admire that. But!” You straightened up a little, creating just a touch of painful distance between you. Luckily, your hips stayed connected, and the warmth under the shared blanket didn’t fade.

Leon’s eyes followed the smooth movement of your body, a quiet sound of approval escaping him as he caught another glimpse of your curves. His hands rested on your thighs, distracted by the subtle motion of your hips against him. His mind could still appreciate the view, though the rest of him might need some proper sleep before he could keep up again.

“I’ve actually got some good ones of my own now,” you continued.

Leon raised an amused brow, his hands still tracing lazy paths along your skin.

“Did your homework, huh?”

You nodded eagerly, thrilled to finally show off the worst jokes the internet had to offer. Leaning forward carefully, not to put too much weight on him, you braced your hands on his shoulders. He looked up at you, clearly intrigued and more than ready to be entertained.

“Okay, let’s see –” you mused for a moment, deciding which one to start with. “Why did the scarecrow win an award?”

Leon chuckled as soon as you began. You didn’t even get to the punchline before he replied, “Because he was outstanding in his field.”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, grinning so brightly that Leon thought you might just be the most beautiful thing in the world. Another blessing that you shared the same weird sense of humor. Maybe Dad jokes would end up being your guilty pleasure in this relationship. “You’re good. I’ll have to raise the stakes.”

Again, you thought for a moment. “A guy walks into a bar...and he was disqualified from the limbo contest.”

Leon laughed, a little louder this time but still rumbling rather low in his chest. “Poor guy, should’ve read the sign at the door.” His teasing smile encouraged you, and you jumped right to the next one, warming up and getting downright excited to keep going.

“A man walks into a bar with a parrot on his shoulder. The bartender asks, ‘Does the animal talk?’ And the parrot goes, ‘I don’t know.’”

A groan and a playful snicker later, you didn’t even give Leon time to recover before continuing: “A skeleton walks into a bar and says, ‘Hey, bartender. I’ll have one beer and a mop.’”

Leon rewarded you with a deep, genuine laugh. Sure, the jokes helped, but mostly it was you. The way you delivered them, so animated and happy, completely losing yourself in the moment. Each punchline made you giggle harder, until you were an almost breathless, radiant mess on top of him – and he found you absolutely adorable.

“What do you call a priest that becomes a lawyer?”

“I don’t know,” he played along, “what do you call a priest that becomes a lawyer?”

“A father-in-law.”

For the first time in who-knew-how-long, Leon’s hands left your skin, just to cover his face in a gesture of disbelief and amusement, letting out a long, dramatic groan. You laughed on top of him, your whole body shaking with melodic joy.

“What did the ocean say to the beach?”

“Oh my god, she’s unstoppable,” Leon commented, grabbing you and rolling you off him. You were both laughing together now, though you still hadn’t finished your new joke. Before you could, he interrupted again, gently tucking your hair out of your face. His hand lingered against your cheek, his grin softening, blue eyes sinking into yours with reverence. Then his lips found yours, silencing your laughter, replacing it with a quieter, content sound.

With your faces close together, Leon didn't miss the way your grin bloomed all over again. He chuckled under his breath.

“Okay, what did the ocean say to the beach?”

“Nothing,” you replied sweetly, “it just waved.” 

Leon rolled his eyes, but his grin told you everything you needed to know. “Jesus, Babe.”

“Aw, come on. You know you love it,” you teased.

“I know I love you–oh, shit.”

The words slipped out before he even realized they were forming, escaping somewhere between laughter and exhaustion. Silence fell instantly. Leon’s eyes went wide with shock, staring at you as if trying to rewind time. You looked right back, your grin fading into something quieter, more serious.

“Leon…” you began, unable to stand the silence.

“Sorry,” he cut in quickly, “that just…slipped out.”

Even embarrassed, he didn’t look away. Maybe, though, this was as good a moment as any. Him, lying there with his girl, laughing in bed. Maybe his stupid brain had simply forced him to say it because this, right here, felt like the happiest moment of his life.

“I do, though…love you,” he added softly. His fingertips brushed against your cheek, waiting nervously for your reaction. “Sorry if it’s too soon.”

You blinked, your brain finally catching up. “It’s not,” you said, and a tender smile spread over your lips – one that Leon instantly mirrored. “I love you too.”

He exhaled a deep, relieved breath before his mouth found yours again. His hand slid up your back, pressing you close, his soft lips and warm, broad body wrapping you in a feeling that was both intoxicating and deeply comforting. His hair tickled your face as you melted into him – he was temptation, yes, but also safety. The coziest place you could ever imagine. You could stay like this with him forever, just as he could with you – no thoughts except the ones for each other, no time but now, no world but the one made of your bodies intertwined.

“Sooo,” Leon finally said, drawing the word out as you both slowly came up for air, “, now that this is out of the way… what’s your guilty pleasure?”

You blinked back from the haze of his affection, a little dazed, before managing a smile. You did it again, pressing your finger to his lips, watching as he kissed the tip of it.

“I’m not sure you’re ready for that,” you murmured with a playful giggle.

“Hit me with your best shot,” he said, grinning.

What time was it anyway?

Didn’t matter.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics; Header by moi 🤗

[menmadeofwarninglabels]

HouseHusband Leon Kennedy: The Bird Feeder

In which Leon Kennedy uses his carpentry skills to prove he lives you

Words: 340

Other HouseHusband Leon link here

You mentioned, once, over breakfast, that your favorite bird had started visiting the feeder.

"The little red one?" Leon asked.

You nodded. "The cardinal."

"Hm."

That was the entire conversation.

Three days later, he handed you your matching his and hers mug. There was no explanation but there was the hint of a smirk on his face.

Almost like he was trying to be nonchalant. And failing.

"Come sit with me?"

You stepped onto the porch.

Leon sat in his usual chair, one boot propped on the railing, shirtless, morning light catching the soft stomach you'd worked very hard to put on him.

He sipped his coffee. Didn't point. Didn't say anything. Just waited.

You settled into the chair beside him, eyeing him over the rim of your mug. Then you followed his gaze.

The old bird feeder was gone.

In its place stood what could only be described as a luxury condominium development for local wildlife. A handmade cedar feeder. Two different seed compartments. A shallow water dish. A suet cage. A little roof to keep everything dry. Wildflowers had somehow appeared beneath it.

"Oh,” you breathed.

He took a sip of coffee. "Figured they'd appreciate options."

Right on cue, a cardinal landed on the perch.

Your hand found his without thinking.

"You built all this?"

He shrugged. "You said he was your favorite."

The cardinal ate a seed. Took one to go. Flew off.

You looked back at Leon. He was pretending to watch the feeder. You launched yourself into his lap before he could keep pretending, peppering kisses all over his face.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He tried to survive the onslaught, laughing along.

“Hey, you're going to scare off all the birds.”

You stilled.

“Oh, you're right.” Then you settled in his lap and looked out. “Is this better?”

“Perfect.”

[kindred-s0uls]

i’ll make it up to you

uh oh. leon’s cancelled your holiday together for the third time in a row now. looks like he’ll have to show you just how sorry he is

🏷️: 18+, smut, oral (f!receiving) while trying to read a book, apologetic/grovelling leon, riding, domestic fluff. wc: 3k

The spoonful of sickly sweet vanilla ice cream in your mouth practically sizzles against your tongue upon contact. It's disgustingly humid and the heat is sweltering - you're desperate to cool down, and there's no better way of doing that than taking a dip in the ocean. Unfortunately, you and Leon were supposed to have a weekend trip to the West Coast, but that was abruptly canned since his work called him in for an urgent mission, despite Leon already lodging his leave well in advance.

The whole situation vexes you - on one hand, you know you signed up for this when you began dating him; the life of a government agent isn't exactly predictable and work hours aren't always fair. But on the other hand, Leon still deserved to relax and use his leave like any other employee should - so why is this now the third time they've disrespected his leave request? You chew the inside of your cheek absentmindedly, your eyes staying glued to the TV screen as you try to focus your eyes on the scene of Mr Darcy confessing to Elizabeth in the rain, but your irritation was still simmering beneath the surface, despite your mental attempts to slam the lid on it and hope it doesn't overflow.

Your eyes dart to the handle of the front door pressing down while your hands are still under the cold running water of the tap, rinsing your ice cream spoon. Leon's tired figure trudges into the living space, purplish dark circles hanging under his eyes, chapped lips, and a dullness to his skin that isn't usually there. Your heart clenches at the sight of him - it's clear the mission he just went on did an absolute number on him. But it's what made you all the more irritated and upset; he's a human outside of his work, yet he's being treated like he's a power tool getting yanked out of a shed whenever he's needed. The most frustrating part is that it seems as if he just lets them do it as they please too.

"Hey." Leon is the first one to break the silence, his bag still dangling from his arm.

"Hey." You reply, popping the spoon on the drying rack.

"I'm sorry I had to leave suddenly again." Leon purses his lips, walking towards you slowly as if he were approaching a skittish animal.

"It's okay." Your reply is a little too quick, and your gaze is anywhere but his eyes. You're afraid that you'll take one look at him and say something you don't mean out of sheer annoyance for the situation.

Leon drags a hand over his weary face before placing his bag on the floor, leaning it against the kitchen island as he takes a seat at the kitchen stool. "It's not… I'm sorry. I know we had it all planned and I had to cancel everything."

"…Yup, for the third time." You sigh. "Leon, I know work is important, but they have hundreds of other capable agents they could send off. You only lodged leave for four days, with three month's notice too. They really couldn't find anyone else? They really had to cancel your leave two days before you were meant to go?"

"The situation was urgent and there was a limited pool of agents they could deploy for it. The consequences if nobody were there to contain it would have been catastrophic." Leon explains.

"But they could have called other agents. I know global threats don't respect leave requests, but the DSO still has plenty of capable agents that would have held the fort just fine until you got there. How are you meant to go through all these harrowing missions without having proper downtime? You're not a tool they can just pull out at their disposal, you're a human." You cross your arms.

Leon pauses; there's no anger or irritation in his eyes. He simply nods. "It's hard to say no." You can hear the fatigue in his voice, but it only serves as proof that he shouldn't keep saying yes to more work.

"Of course it is. It's the literal United States government asking you to do something. But by never saying no, you're setting a precedent for them to do it again. And besides… I also booked leave on Monday. I don't mind lounging around, but it is a shame I wasted a day of annual leave, especially when I was really looking forward to our trip. It's not fair to me either." You chide him.

"I was looking forward to it too." Leon's sentences remain short; a telltale sign of his exhaustion.

You approach Leon slowly. "I know… I didn't mean to tell you off the moment you walked through the door. I know it was tough on you, but this is the third time it's happened now, and I've been keeping my frustrations bottled up." Kissing his cheek, you give his bicep a short and gentle reassuring squeeze. "I'm gonna wind down for bed. There's some leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry." You notify him, turning to leave. Before you can even begin to take a step, you feel Leon gently grab your hand. You let out a soft "huh?" as Leon hops off the kitchen stool, kneeling down as he wraps his arms around your hips, his face pressed against your torso as he looks up at you.

"L-Leon, you look exhausted. You know if you fall asleep down there I won't be able to lug you up the stairs, right?" You chuckle, your fingers threading through his blonde silky strands. He leans into your touch, staring up at you with soft puppy eyes.

Leon is rarely like this. The only other time he's grovelled like this is when you saw someone from his past try to reach out once more; and while he didn't have her number saved, it wasn't blocked at the time, which really pissed you off. Clearly ditching three planned holidays in a row has made him feel guilty.

"I'm sorry for abandoning the third holiday we've tried to go on. But you're being so patient with me anyway. I'm so sorry." His voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey, it's fine. I'm just feeling frustrated, and it's upsetting to see you burn the candle at both ends. We're good, okay?" You murmur.

Leon shakes his head with a sigh. "It's not fine. I've abandoned our plans in favour of work three times now. I'm sorry… I want to make it up to you. I'll do anything." He looks up at you, his arms tightening around your hips.

"Anything?" You raise a brow.

"Anything." He nods.

"Okay. I want you to get up from the floor, eat the leftovers, take a nice hot shower, and get an early rest." You chuckle, knowing that he was planning on trying to apologise through sex. But as much as you'd like that, all you really want is for him to just get some rest.

"Really? You don't want me to eat y-"

"Nope. Get up from the floor, drama queen."

You're sitting on the bed, legs sprawled on top of the French flax linen sheets with a book in your hand. The amber glow of your bedside table illuminates the words, as you try to wind down and take your mind off things. Despite being peeved about the last minute cancellation of the holiday, your thoughts were mostly fixed on how burnt out Leon has been looking lately.

As you flip the page, you hear the bedroom door open, the smell of aldehydes and sandalwood flooding your nostrils. Your eyes dart to the sight of Leon - he's only wearing a pair of loose grey sweatpants, the water droplets from his damp hair sprinkled onto his muscular chest. He shakes his head twice, like a dog shaking its coat after being drenched in water, and you smile to yourself.

"Hey." He greets you, shuffling into his spot next to you.

"Hey. Feeling better?" You ask him as he settles close to you.

"Yeah. Much better." Leon nods, before clearing this throat. "I also, uh, lodged my leave again and managed to get an even nicer hotel to stay at for next weekend. I know you need to lodge that extra day of leave, so the entire trip is on me. It was my bad for cancelling in the first place. And if they ask me to come in, this time I'm saying no." He adds. You glance over and give him a small smile.

"Good. If you're exhausted then it's pointless throwing yourself in a dangerous situation. You need to take care of yourself." You hum, going back to your book.

"But nobody is taking care of you. That's meant to be my job." You catch a rare pout from Leon, which earns him a giggle from your lips.

"Hey, I'm holding up just fine, even when you have those missions that last for like two weeks." You respond, as Leon repositions himself on the bed between your legs, his calloused palms gently rubbing the side of your thighs.

"That's part of what I meant." He responds, dipping his head down and kissing your inner thigh. You peer at him from your book before setting it down, then lifting your hips up as he drags your shorts and panties off in one go. "Just let me take care of you. Go back to reading your book, baby." Leon whispers, pressing a kiss on your hip before he spreads your legs a little further.

"Missed this view so much." He murmurs in appreciation, before sticking his tongue out to lick a long, flat stripe against your cunt. Your body already begins to twitch at the sensation, your fingertips digging into your book so tightly you're already beginning to make little crescent-shaped divots in the soft cover of your novel. "Missed you so much." Leon adds, the very tip of his tongue flicking at your clit.

"I… Fuck…" You're already losing composure. The words on the page seem to jumble and swirl around as if you're looking into a bowl of alphabet spaghetti.

"You're not gonna turn the page?" Leon asks, his mouth separating from your pussy for a moment as his thumb moves against your pussy in slow but firm strokes, causing you to roll your hips.

"Forgive me, it's a little challenging to read right now." You bite your lip, staring at him. He's staring up at you with a soft gaze and parted lips, glossy with your own pussy juice. Fucking hell, he's so pretty.

"That means I'm doing my job right. Go on baby, get back to your book." Leon responds with a ghost of a grin, before dipping his head back down between your legs, sinking his tongue into your folds. You try your best to focus on the sentence before you.

'But joy soon effaced every other feeling; and loud as the wind blew, and deep as the thunder crashed, fierce and frequent as the-' …You can't fucking focus like this. But you pretend you're reading anyway, despite your breaths turning staccato as you feel the repeated flicks of his tongue against your clit with just the right amount of pressure. The crisp sound of a page flipping happens just a little too suddenly, and it's so clear your eyes are anywhere but on the words. Leon knows, but he doesn't say anything. He just looks up at you with an adoring gaze as he hums a low groan of pleasure while he continues to fuck you with his mouth. Just as you attempt to read another sentence - or at least try to, you feel Leon sink his index and middle fingers inside of you slowly, causing you to let out a breathy whine.

"F-fuck, oh my god." You gasp at the sensation of his fingers now slowly pumping in and out of you, watching as his fingers disappear into your folds and pull out, covered in your slick, syrupy pussy juice. You don't even remember what page you're on anymore.

"Atta girl." Leon whispers, kissing your inner thigh as he curls his fingers upwards, hitting that spot that makes your eyelids flutter. His mouth returns to your pussy, continuing to relentlessly lick and suck at your clit, as he keeps an almost mechanically perfect pace and pressure with his fingers hitting that perfect spot, over and over again. Your legs are now shaking, and your book is now teetering on the edge of the bed as your body pulls taut.

"I'm, hah… I'm gonna cum… Fuck…" The flesh of your lower lip is pinned under your teeth as you feel that familiar warmth pool in your stomach, your hips bucking into Leon's face as you grind your sopping wet cunt against his mouth. It earns you a deep, guttural groan of pleasure from Leon, as your body finally lets go, your orgasm completely shattering you as his name loudly falls from your lips.

Leon moves from his elbows to his knees, caging your body with his as he kisses you deeply. You realise that since he walked through the door, the two of you hadn't shared a proper kiss, and it made your heart clench a little. Breaking the kiss momentarily, you look up at him with a soft, doe-eyed gaze, your lips glossy with the mix of his saliva and your arousal. "Hm?" Leon hums; it's a gentle and caring tone with a carnal undercurrent - as if he's asking you what he can do for you next. Your hand finds the back of his neck as you pull him in once more, giving him another kiss. Leon softly moans, his lips parting as your tongues meet. You feel yourself pouring all of your love and tenderness into every stroke of your tongue against his, and he returns with equal fervor.

"Lay down. I don't want you undoing a stitch." You instruct him with a soft chuckle.

"Yes ma'am." Leon gives you a lazy smile as you hitch your leg over his thigh, his cock already hard and weeping with precum. Your hand moves from his lower stomach, tracing over his muscular abdomen as it finally rests at his jaw gently. You study his face for a moment - his eyes are locked onto yours with a soft fondness, and you can't help but smile. "What is it?" Leon asks, tilting his head in question.

"Nothing." You hum, grabbing his cock and sinking down on it slowly. You take him inch by inch, until he bottoms out inside of you. Leon lets out a soft groan of pleasure, your name echoing from his lips as you slowly begin to move your hips. The feeling of him is a toothsome stretch, his cock filling you up as if he was made just for you.

"Oh, fuck… Just like that." Leon huffs out, his calloused hands instinctively reaching for your hips as you begin to ride him a little faster. The sound of your own juices mixing with his makes an obscene wet slap with every downwards jut of your hips. Peering down, you watch as your cunt greedily swallows his cock whole, the lewd visual of your wet folds sinking down on his dick driving you insane. Leon removes one of his hands from his hip to briefly wet the pad of his thumb, before placing it on your clit and making frantic little strokes on it.

"G-gonna cum so fast if you keep doing that." You manage to say through breathy whines.

"Good, because I don't know how much longer I can last when you're riding me like this…" Leon lets out a strained grunt of pleasure as your hips burn with your quickening pace. Your breathing becomes more ragged as the tip of his dick continues to slam into that perfect, sweet spot, while his thumb relentlessly drags over your clit.

"Oh, shit…" A loud moan leaves your mouth.

"Yeah, yeah. That's it baby, ride it out for me." Leon coos in that deep, teasing voice, before a moan leaves his own mouth too. And that's all it took. Between whimpers, his name falls from your lips as you cum, your body shuddering with pleasure. As your walls grip onto Leon's cock tightly, it causes him to spill hot, white ropes of cum inside of your pussy, his hand on your hip gripping just a little tighter. Your hips slowly grind as you ride out your high, your eyelids fluttering in pleasure before you finally pull yourself off of him.

"You distracted me from my book." You pout as you roll over onto your side of the bed.

"Sorry baby, maybe you can read the rest by the beach next weekend?" Leon smiles softly at you, giving you a tender kiss on the forehead.

The sun glows a striking amber against the stripes of pale cornflower blue and magenta twilight as you turn the final page of your book. You hear the faint shuffling of feet in the sand, and you look up to see Leon standing over you with a grin. A part of you wishes you could take a photo of what you're seeing right now - the sea water clings like crystalline droplets onto his skin and damp blonde hair, the vibrant sunset behind him illuminating every peak and valley of his muscles. You watch as he shakes his head and arm twice to rid himself of the water, much like a dog shaking its coat after a bath.

"So, was the book good?" Leon asks, his knees sinking down onto your sailor blue and white terry cloth beach towel as he sprawls himself next to you, one heavy, muscular arm draping over your waist.

"It was, actually. Have you had enough of a swim?" You smile at him.

"Almost. You got dry from sitting out in the sun. You want one last dip before the sun fully sets?" Leon asks.

"Hmm, sure. I should make the most of the ocean." You nod in response. Before you can do anything else other than placing your book to the side, Leon rises from his position and scoops you into his arms, carrying you princess style in one easy, fell swoop. You yelp in surprise, but your yelp quickly turns into a giggle as he kisses the crown of your head as the icy ocean water touches your body.

"Oh my god, it's freezing!" You whine.

"That's because you were out of the water for so long." Leon lets out a small laugh, pulling you into his arms, holding you flush against him as you both watched the sun set below the horizon.

He really does love to take care of you.

-k🐈‍⬛

[crescentkalopsia]

What Was Always True

The day had been unbearable. Not because of the fight itself. That had been over something so dumb he could barely remember what started it. It was everything that came after. The silence. The closed doors. The way the house had split itself in two, each of you staying on your own side and pretending the other didn’t exist. Leon had sat in the study for hours, staring at nothing, telling himself he was right and that he wasn’t going to be the first one to reach out. But as the afternoon turned into evening, that stubbornness started feeling less like standing his ground and more like being an idiot. By the time it got dark, he realized he’d wasted an entire day digging his heels in when he could’ve been on the couch with you.

Eventually, there was nowhere left for him to hide from the regret settling in. He brushed his teeth, turned off the lights, and got into bed, hoping the quiet would make things easier. It didn’t. He lay on his side, facing the wall, keeping his back to your side of the mattress. He could hear you moving around the house, faint sounds drifting in through the open door, and every little noise made his chest tighten. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing to slow. Pretending to be asleep was easier than lying there wide-eyed, waiting for you to come in and not knowing what would happen when you did.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there before the house finally settled. Your footsteps came down the hall, and he kept up the act. Eyes shut, breathing steady. The mattress dipped as you climbed in, and he could feel your warmth even from his side of the bed. He caught the faint scent of your shampoo, and suddenly staying still became the hardest thing he’d done all day. It took everything he had not to turn around. He wanted to roll over, pull you against him, and say something to fix it. But the words were caught in his throat, and that stupid, useless pride was still weighing him down.

Then he felt you shift. You leaned over him, your hair brushing his shoulder a second before your lips pressed softly against his cheek. It was quick, so brief it could’ve meant nothing, but it meant everything. You had reached for him first, after a day where he’d done nothing but sit with his pride and let the silence grow.

You pulled back and settled onto your pillow, turning away from him again. He lay there, staring into the dark, feeling the ghost of your kiss still warm against his skin. His hand rested beside him, inches away from reaching for you. What if he pulled you closer and you pulled away? What if the kiss had only been a peace offering, not an invitation? He swallowed hard, his heart pounding against his ribs, caught between wanting to hold you and not knowing if he should. Then, finally, he gave in. He turned over and reached for you, pulling you close and wrapping an arm around your middle. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, breathing you in as the ache he’d carried all day finally started to fade.

He opened his mouth, ready to apologize, ready to explain, but none of it came out right. So he said the only thing he knew was true.

"I love you."

The words came out muffled against your skin, rough and low, carrying the weight of everything he should have said hours ago. He couldn’t find the right words for the fight, or for how much he hated that the day had gone the way it did. But he held you and said the one thing that had been true all day.

He didn’t need to see your face to know you were smiling. Your shoulders relaxed, your breathing evened out, and your hand came up to rest over his arm. Your fingers traced slow, lazy lines along his forearm. He’d convinced himself he’d ruined this, and that tiny touch was enough to remind him he hadn’t lost you. After the way he’d acted all day, you were still choosing him.

He buried his face a little deeper into your neck and closed his eyes. The house was quiet again. So were the two of you. But this time, the silence felt like home.