Pairing: Leon Kennedy (RE9) x younger female reader
Summary: Leon doesn't do jealousy... Except when it comes to you.
WC: 5.6k
Warnings: SMUT (Oral / fingering / P in V), Age-gap, insecure Leon
Notes: Kinda proofread? Also my first long fic so sorry if it sucks.
The briefing room always felt too small when you were in it with him.
Not physically–there was more than enough space for the dozen agents scattered around the table–but something about the presence of Leon S. Kennedy made the air feel heavier. Maybe it was the reputation. Maybe it was the quiet way everyone deferred to him without realizing they were doing it.
Or maybe it was because you knew him in ways they didn’t.
You sat at the desk, near the middle, arms loosely folded over some of the files that were spread around. Across from you, leaning back against the wall like he had all the time in the world, Leon looked exactly like he always did during briefings: quiet, controlled, giving nothing away.
All sharp edges and professionalism.
It was almost funny.
Because less than two hours ago, he’d been anything but controlled with you. Hands roaming over your body, and soft kisses on your skin as you woke up.
You swallowed the thought quickly, eyes flicking away before they could linger too long. That was the rule–no staring, no unnecessary attention, no romantic contact. Only a handful of higher-ups even knew about the relationship, and that was strictly on a need-to-know basis. Operational safety, they’d said.
Now, it was second nature.
“…intercept the exchange before distribution,” the handler droned on, clicking through slides that cast a blue glow across the room. “Bio-weapon shipment, suspected to be a modified strain. Both buyer and seller are considered hostile. You are authorized to seize all materials and eliminate all involved parties.”
Standard.
Your gaze flicked briefly to Leon again. He hadn’t moved. Arms crossed, one boot hooked casually against the wall behind him, head slightly tilted as he listened. God, he made it look easy.
“…this will be a three-unit operation.” That caught your attention. You straightened slightly.
Three?
You hadn’t been told that. The handler nodded toward Leon “Leon, you'll take lead.
Your third operative is-”
The door swung open and everyone looked up at the man who stepped inside, not looking the least bit apologetic.
He was younger–maybe late twenties–with an easy confidence that bordered on arrogance. His tactical gear sat comfortably on him, like he was used to wearing it, and he carried himself with the confidence of someone who hadn’t yet learned how badly things could go wrong.
His eyes swept the room once, quick and assessing. Then they landed on you and stayed there.
“Wow,” he said, voice light, amused. “It’s my lucky day.” You didn’t react. Didn’t give him anything. He stopped beside the table, gaze still fixed on you as it dipped–not subtly–down your body before coming back up again. “I get to work with a legend.”
You gave him a small, polite smile. “Try to keep up.” you replied with a subtle shrug. The man’s grin widened. Then, finally, he glanced past you–toward Leon. Leon hadn’t moved, still against the wall, just watching.
“…and a fossil.” the new guy added, tone teasing, almost playful.
You didn’t look at Leon. You didn’t need to. Leon pushed off the wall slowly, unfolding to his full height with that same unhurried ease that always made people underestimate him.
“Careful” His voice calm as always. “Wouldn’t want to peak during introductions.” A few more suppressed laughs. Tension broke, just slightly. The handler cleared his throat.
“Agent Hayes,” he said, gesturing to the newcomer. “You’ve already been briefed?”
“On the drive over.” Hayes confirmed easily. “Intercept, seize, eliminate. Standard stuff.” His eyes flicked back to you. “Should be fun.” You ignored the way your skin prickled under his attention but Leon noticed the slight shift.
●◉◎◈◎◉●
The target point sat on the outskirts of a crumbling industrial zone–abandoned warehouses, rusted fencing, dead security systems.
You crouched behind a stack of rubble–broken concrete, scrap metals, failed experiments–scanning the perimeter through your scope.
“Two at the north entrance” you murmured into comms. “Armed.”
“Copy that” Hayes’ voice replied smoothly, casual but alert.
“The perimeter looks clean otherwise” you continued. “No visible snipers.”
“Doesn’t mean there aren’t any.” Leon said.
“Wouldn’t be a party without surprises.” Hayes added. You rolled your shoulders back, settling into position, looking through the sniper scope again.
“Ready when you are,” You said, letting them know you're ready.
“Move.” Leon ordered. Everything snapped into motion. Leon and Hayes broke from cover at the same time, fast and deliberate, closing the distance to the entrance before the guards could fully register what was happening. Their boots barely making a sound against the cracked concrete.
The first guard turned too slow. Leon was already there. A quick, efficient takedown. No hesitation, no wasted movement. The man dropped before he could even shout.
Hayes handled the second with equal speed, though his style was a touch louder, more force behind it, a little flashier. Still effective. The guard hit the ground hard, weapon clattering beside him.
“Entrance clear.” Hayes spoke into comms. You kept your scope trained, steady and patient, sweeping across the terrain and building.
Then a third man stepped out from behind a rusted support beam, rifle half-raised, eyes locked into Leon. You didn’t hesitate.
A single shot.
The crack of your rifle split the air. The man dropped instantly, crumpling where he stood.
“Third down,” you said calmly.
A brief pause.
“Damn. Remind me not to get on your bad side.” Hayes said, low and impressed. You ignored it, already rising from your position.
“Area’s still clear. No additional movement.” You descended quickly, boots finding familiar footing through debris and broken ground.
Leon's gaze flicked to you, only briefly, but cautiously. You gave a small nod. Even after all the years, missions, him knowing what you're capable of, nothing ever stops him from checking in with you. Hayes glanced between the two of you, but it was gone just as quickly as it came.
Both men stepped towards the door and you followed without a word, slipping into formation beside them.
“On me.” And just like that, you pushed inside.
Inside, the warehouse was dim, lit only by scattered overhead fixtures that flickered intermittently. Voices echoed from deeper within.
You signaled the others.
Three.
Two.
One.
You moved.
The takedown was fast, controlled chaos.
Gunfire cracked through the space, sharp and deafening. You dropped low, sweeping one target off his feet before disarming him, pivoting to fire at another rushing in from the side.
Where Hayes was loud, Leon was quiet. Where Hayes forced openings, Leon created them. Every movement was deliberate, every shot placed with lethal precision. You caught glimpses of him between targets.
“Behind you!” Hayes’ voice snapped your attention back just as a man lunged from the side. You reacted instantly, twisting out of reach and driving your elbow into his throat before taking him down.
“Got it,” you said.
“Nice” he murmured, stepping closer than necessary. “You’re even better up close.”
“Focus,” you said.
He chuckled softly, and from across the room, Leon watched. He didn’t say anything but the next time you moved, he was there. His hand brushed your arm as he guided you back slightly, positioning himself between you and the few remaining targets. His hand lingered a second longer than it needed to.
Hayes noticed. You saw it in the way his expression shifted–just briefly. The remaining targets went down quickly after that. You exhaled slowly, lowering your weapon.
“Package secured.” you reported, moving toward the case in the center of the room. “Bio-weapons confirmed.”
“Extraction’s inbound.” Leon said. “Lets head out.” He lifts the heavy case with ease and headed towards the door.
“Not bad for someone who was taught by an old man,” He said lightly.
“Not bad for someone who showed up late.” you replied, with a shrug, and he grinned.
“Guess I made a good first impression.” From the smirk on his lips you could tell he was proud.
“Jury’s still out.”
He laughed. The distant thrum of helicopter blades began to build overhead. You moved toward the designated point, stepping out into the open yard as the helicopter descended, wind whipping around you.
Hayes moved in close again as you waited for the rope drop. When it did you grabbed it without hesitation, climbing up. Hayes followed, then Leon last.
The ascent was quick, the ground shrinking beneath you as the helicopter pulled away from the site.
Inside, the noise was loud enough to drown most conversation. Yet still Hayes tried. He leant forward in his seat.
“Drinks after this?” he called over the roar.
“Not usually my scene.” You shook your head.
“Didn’t say no.” He tilted his head slightly when you look over at him. You shook your head again, in a sense of disbelief, he wasn't giving up.
Leon didn’t look at either of you but his jaw tightened. The rest of the ride passed in relative silence.
●◉◎◈◎◉●
Back at base, the debrief was brief–Successful mission. Minimal complications. Objectives completed–Exactly what was expected.
As people shuffled out the room Hayes lingered. You acted like you didn't see him, gathering your gear, keeping your movements purposeful, aware of him approaching before he even spoke.
“So…” he said, stopping just within your space again. “You always turn down offers or?”
You slung your bag over your shoulder. “I don’t mix work and…whatever this is.” you said, gesturing between the small space between you. He studied you for a moment.
“Fair enough. I’ll wear you down eventually.”
You didn’t respond because Leon stepped in, joining the conversation. Standing close enough that your arms nearly brushed.
“Briefing’s over” Leon said coolly. “Surely there's somewhere else for you to be.”
Hayes looked between the two of you, a slight squint before going back to norm, like something clicked.
“Right,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.” He gave you one last look. “I’ll see you around.” Then he walked off. You waited until he was gone before you let out a slow breath.
The room had emptied, leaving just you and Leon now. Silence stretched between you for a moment.
“That guy’s a problem.” Leon muttered. You huffed a quiet laugh.
“He’s harmless.” You counter. Leon turned his head slightly, finally looking at you properly. You do the same before moving in front to look at him properly.
“He’s not harmless,” he said. “He’s reckless.”
“And you’re not?” You tilted your head. A faint smirk tugged at his mouth.
“Not like that.”
“You were jealous.” You stepped a little closer, lowering your voice. His expression didn’t change but you felt it.
“I was adjusting the situation,” he said, tone steady. You softly laugh, just an exhale through your nose.
“Right. Just happened to put yourself between us.” You moved a fraction closer, testing, watching him. His gaze dropped to you, slow, deliberate. It made something tighten low in your chest.
“Didn’t think you were the territorial type at work.” You tilted your head slightly.
“I’m not.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” Silence stretched for a moment.
“He was pushing.” Leon said finally, quieter now. “Seeing what he could get away with.”
“And?” Your eyes searched his. It was normally like this, having to prompt Leon to get more of an answer when talking about feelings. His jaw flexed, just slightly.
“I didn’t like it.” He admits, slow.
“Didn’t think it’d bother you that much.” His gaze dipped for half a second, then came back sharper.
“It doesn’t,” he said. You raised a brow.
“Leon.” A beat.
“…It does.” That pulled a faint smile from you. “Don’t get used to it,” he said, voice rougher now.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You held his gaze, placing a hand on his chest.
“We’re in public.” he reminded you quietly. You hummed.
“Barely.” You fob it off. “I meant what I said.” you flutter your lashes softly. “He doesn’t mean anything.”
“I know.” And he did. That was never the issue. The issue was everything else. The secrecy. The lines you couldn’t cross. The way you had to pretend none of this existed the second anyone else walked into the room.
You shifted back, moving your hand off of his chest.
“Let's go home,” you said softly.
“Yeah.” He grabbed his bag and you walked out to the carpark, getting into your separate cars to go to the same location.
●◉◎◈◎◉●
The drive home was done in silence. The familiar streets blurred past Leon’s windows, city light and nightlife, but his mind wasn’t on the road. It was back in the warehouse, in the briefing room, on the helicopter. It was on Hayes.
He’s harmless, you’d said.
Leon’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, the new leather creaking under his fingers. He knew better. Men like Hayes weren’t harmless. Confident, entitled, seeing something they wanted and assuming the path to it was clear. He’d seen the look in Hayes’ eyes when he’d watched you move, when he’d stepped into your space. It wasn’t just professional admiration. It was hunger. A young, brash hunger that didn’t hide itself.
And why should it? Hayes was young, and talented. He had the physicality of someone whose body hadn’t been carved by decades of scars. He had a smile that was quick and still real. He could offer the kind of simple, open affection that Leon’s life had long since burned out of him.
The age difference had never felt so wide before. It was just a number, a fact. But tonight, it felt like a weight. Hayes’ teasing ‘fossil’ comment echoed in his mind, not as an insult, but as a reminder. Leon was a veteran of a war that reshaped him, built from trauma and resolve. You were… life. A vibrant, brilliant life. You cooked meals that filled the quiet apartment with warmth. You fell asleep on his chest, your breathing soft against his skin. You pulled him into slow dances in the kitchen when a good song came on the radio, laughing when he stepped on your feet.
These were the precious things Hayes likely still took for granted. The things Leon clung to with a quiet, desperate kind of devotion he could never say out loud. What if, one day, you wanted something easier, choosing a man without ghosts over one who carried a cemetery inside himself?
He pulled into the underground garage of your shared building, the engine turning into silence. He saw your car already parked, and the sight was both a comfort and a fresh twist of anxiety. You were home, and safe. You were his. But for how long?
The apartment was quiet when he entered, the only sound was the distant rush of water from the shower. You always showered first after a mission. Wash away the grime, the tension, the scent of violence and fear. He did the same. It was a way to leave the operational persona at the door.
He went to the second bathroom, stripping off the tactical gear with practiced efficiency. The hot water was pure relief, over knotted shoulders and the scattering of old scars. He scrubbed at his skin as if he could erase the memory of Hayes’ smirk, the proprietary glance he’d given you. He leaned his forehead against the cool tiles, letting the steam envelop him.
By the time he emerged, dressed in soft sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, the apartment smelled of garlic, ginger, and soy. You were in the kitchen, moving with a softness that was the direct opposite of your strict precision in the field. Your hair was damp, curling at the ends, and you wore one of his old sweaters that swallowed your frame.
“Stir fry okay?” you asked without turning, sensing his presence.
“Perfect,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. You glanced over your shoulder, a soft smile on your lips.
“Long shower.” You commented, not pushing for anything, just an observation.
“I needed it.” He had moved closer, placing a kiss on your cheek.
Dinner was had in comfortable silence while the tv played a nature documentary. Moving to the couch once you cleaned together.
You sat on the chaise, Leon settled behind you, his legs bracketing your body. You leaned back into him with a sigh, your head coming to rest on his shoulder. His arms came around you naturally, one hand splayed over your stomach, the other coming up to idly stroke your damp hair.
This was the peace he fought and killed for.
The documentary droned on. An older lion, challenged by a younger, stronger male from a rival pride. The narration felt targeted. The older male, though experienced, may no longer have the sheer physical power to defend his territory…
“Does it ever bother you?” The question was out before he could stop it.
You tilted your head back to look up at him, your brow furrowed. “Does what bother me?”
He hesitated, the words sticking in his throat. He gestured vaguely, his hand leaving your hair to indicate the space around you, then coming to rest on his own thigh. “This. Me. The… gap.” You shifted, turning within the circle of his arms so you were half-facing him, your expression now one of confusion.
“What are you talking about?” You questioned it, but he couldn’t meet your eyes, he just looked at the television.
“The age difference. I don’t have that… easy energy anymore.” He looked down at you, his blue eyes stark with a vulnerability he showed to no one else. “You cook for me. You fall asleep on me. You drag me into dances when I’d rather just stand and watch and I love it. I love all of it. But it’s your youth you’re spending on me. What happens when the newness of it wears off? When my quiet feels like silence? When my scars feel less like history and more like… baggage?”
Your expression had softened from confusion into something unbearably tender. You brought a hand up, your fingers tracing the line of his stubbled jaw. “Leon…” you whispered yet he pressed on.
“One day, you might want someone who can give you a life that isn’t measured in mission cycles and security clearances.” He captured your hand, holding it against his cheek, turning his face into your palm. “The thought of you losing that feeling for me… of you looking at me one day and just seeing an old agent… it terrifies me more than anything else ever could.”
You looked at him for a long moment, your eyes searching his, seeing the raw truth of his fear. Then you moved. You pushed yourself up, kneeling before him, your hands coming to cup his face, forcing him to hold your gaze.
“Listen to me,” you said, your voice firm yet soft. “The moment I stop feeling the way I do the moment my heart doesn’t skip when I see you, the moment I don’t crave the weight of your arms, orI don’t look at your scars and feel proud of the man who made it through… that’s the moment I take my last breath because loving you is the one thing I know I’ll never let go of.”
A soft breath escaped him. He didn’t speak; his words were inadequate for what he felt. Instead, he moved forward, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that was nothing short of electric.
It wasn’t gentle. It was all the words he couldn’t say poured into the meeting of lips and tongue. You met him with equal fervor, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if you could fuse your bodies together.
He broke the kiss only to whisper your name against your lips. Then his mouth was everywhere–on your jaw, down the column of your throat, nipping at the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder. He pulled the oversized sweater over your head. His hand came to palm at your breast, his thumb circling your nipple until it pebbled into a hard point. A sharp gasp escaped you when he pinched, and the sound went straight to his cock, which was already straining painfully against his sweatpants.
“Leon!” you breathed, arching into his touch.
In one fluid motion, he stood, pulling you up with him. He didn’t carry you to the bedroom; the distance was too great. He needed you now. He laid you back onto the chaise, your legs hanging off the end.
He yanked your panties off with urgency, and worshiped every inch he uncovered. He knelt down between your legs, kissing your stomach, then over your hips, and your thighs. His stubble lightly scratched along your skin.
When his mouth finally found your core, you cried his name out softly. He didn’t tease. His tongue worked with a hungry, single-minded intensity, circling your clit before dipping lower. He savoured the taste as if it were the antidote to every poison he’d ever ingested.
His hands held your thighs apart, his grip firm and unyielding. You tried to buck against the overwhelming sensation, but his hold was immovable. He pinned you to the couch, forcing you to feel every devastatingly perfect movement. He established a brutal, perfect rhythm. Long, languid strokes of his tongue from your entrance to your clit, gathering your wetness, then plunging back inside, fucking you with his mouth. You could hear the wet sounds filling the room, your own cries were layered over the top–whimpers, soft sobs, and repetitions of his name.
“Please…” you managed to gasp, though you didn’t know what you were begging for. He answered by shifting his focus, zeroing in on your clit. His tongue became a rapid, fluttering point of fire, circling and flicking so fast it was almost a blur of sensation. You moaned, your hands flying to his hair, not to push him away, but to pull him closer, grinding yourself against his face in a frantic search for release.
His hair was soft between your fingers, a stark contrast to the harsh, demanding pleasure he was wringing from your body. Just as you felt the first sign of an orgasm gathering deep in your belly, he stopped. You let out a soft cry. Your hips jerked up uselessly against the empty air.
He lifted his head, breathing heavily, his lips swollen and wet. He didn’t say a word. He simply watched the desperate frustration on your face, the slight tremor through your body.
Then, he lowered his mouth again, but not to where you needed. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh, his teeth nipping at the skin. He then traced the spot with his tongue, a soothing counterpoint to the sting. He moved to the other thigh, repeating the process, his hands still vise-like on your legs, keeping you achingly open.
“Look at me.” he commanded. You forced your eyes open, not realizing you’d closed them. Looking down the length of your body, to where he knelt between your thighs. The sight was erotic–his broad shoulders, the focus on his face, his mouth hovering so close to where you ached for him. He held your gaze as he slowly extended his tongue and gave one long, slow, flat lick from your entrance all the way up to your throbbing clit. You whimpered, your hips lifting off the bed.
He dove back in with renewed fervor. This time, he introduced his fingers. You felt the blunt pressure of one, then two fingers at your entrance, testing, circling, before pushing deep inside you in one smooth stroke.He crooned his fingers, finding the spot that made you see stars. He worked them in and out, in a counter-rhythm to his tongue on your clit.
The dual assault was too much. It was everything. The coil of pleasure, so tightly wound before, now snapped with ease. You shattered around his fingers, rhythmically, and his mouth never left you, feeling every pulse and spasm. He worked you through it, his tongue gentling to soft, lapping strokes, his fingers slowing to a gentle pumping, drawing out the aftershocks until they were tiny, sensitive shivers.
When the last tremor subsided, he finally withdrew his fingers. He placed one last tender kiss on your oversensitive clit, making you flinch with a residual jolt of pleasure. Then he released your thighs, his fingers leaving faint, red imprints on your skin. He moved up your body slowly, kissing his way up your stomach, between your breasts, along your collarbone. He was heavy and warm as he settled over you, his arousal a hard pressure against your thigh.
His breath was hot and ragged against your lips.
“You are everything to me.” he whispered, the words gravelly and raw, as if it was dragged from a place deeper than his soul. He didn’t wait for a response. He kissed you again, a consuming kiss that let you taste yourself on his tongue.
Your hands came up, sliding under the soft cotton of his t-shirt, mapping the hard planes of his stomach, the ridges of old scars you knew by heart. You pushed the fabric upward, and he broke the kiss just long enough to yank it over his head and toss it aside.
Your fingers went to the waistband of his sweatpants, but he caught your wrists, pinning them gently but firmly above your head on the couch cushion. Holding your wrists with one strong hand, he used the other to push his sweatpants and boxer briefs down over his hips in one impatient shove. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed and beautifully hard, the tip already glistening. He kicked the clothing away, leaving him naked.
He released your wrists, but only to settle his weight more fully over you. He was so warm, so solid, so real. You wrapped your legs around his hips, your heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him closer until the hard length of him nudged against your entrance.
He slowly rocked his hips, dragging his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your wetness. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered your name like a mantra.
“I need to see you.” he rasped, more to himself, lifting his head. He braced himself on his forearms, caging your face, his eyes locked on yours. “I need to watch you take me.”
You nodded, breathless, beyond words. You reached between your bodies, your hand wrapping around his length, guiding him to you. The broad head pressed against you, and you both let out a shuddering sigh. With agonizing slowness, he pushed forward.
He watched your face intently, every flicker of pleasure, every wince of overwhelming sensation. He sank deeper, inch by torturous inch, until he was fully sheathed, his hips flush against yours. For a long moment, he didn’t move. He just stayed there, You could feel the tremble in his muscles, to hold still.
“Leon…” you breathed, your voice trembling. You shifted your hips, a tiny, instinctive movement, and it broke his stillness. A low groan tore from his throat. He began to move.
His first thrust was a deep, deliberate roll of his hips, withdrawing almost completely before sinking back in with the same measured pace. It wasn't frantic, it was worship. Each stroke was long, deep, and achingly slow. He was making love to you with a focused, tender intensity that was somehow more overwhelming than any display of brute force.
“So perfect.” he whispered, his voice thick. “So tight for me. Taking me so deep.” He shifted his angle slightly, and on the next thrust, he hit a spot that made you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. A faint, satisfied smirk touched his lips. “There it is.”
He found that angle and held it, each slow, penetrating thrust now brushing directly over that sweet, sensitive spot deep inside you. Pleasure began to coil again, low and hot and insistent, but it was a different kind of build–deeper, slower, more consuming. It wasn’t a race to the peak; it was a deliberate climb up a mountain, and he was ensuring you felt every single second.
One of his hands slid down your body, his fingers finding the swollen nub of your clit. He didn’t rub frantically; he simply pressed the pad of his thumb against it, as he continued his deep, smooth thrusts. The dual stimulation was maddening in its perfection. Your moans became continuous, a soft, broken melody that filled the space between your ragged breaths.
“That’s it” he encouraged, his own breath coming in hot gusts against your cheek. “Let me hear you. Let me feel you cum around me.”
His pace began to increase. The slow, deep rolls became more urgent, the slide of his body in and out of yours creating a wet, rhythmic sound. The pressure of his thumb on your clit became a deliberate, circling motion, perfectly timed with his thrusts. Your legs tightened around him, pulling him deeper.
“I’m… Leon, I’m going to…” you choked out, the words fracturing into a gasp.
“Look at me.” he commanded again, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own climax. “Come for me. Let me see it.”
You held his gaze as the wave broke. It crested not with a violent crash, but with a deep, rolling swell of pure pleasure. Your body clenched around him in powerful pulses, milking his length, drawing a ragged groan from his chest. Your vision whited out at the edges, but you kept your eyes open, locked on his, and you saw the exact moment your pleasure triggered his own.
His control shattered. With a final, deep thrust that buried him as far as he could possibly go, he threw his head back, a raw, guttural groan tearing from his throat. His nose scrunching softly, as he gritted his teeth. You felt the hot rush of his release deep inside you, each jet synchronized with the contractions still rippling through your own body.
Slowly, the tremors subsided. His weight settled upon you, a warm, comforting heaviness. He was still inside you, as his breathing gradually slowed from ragged gasps to deep, even draws. He turned his head, his lips finding your shoulder, placing a soft, lingering kiss there.
For a long time, neither of you moved. The only sounds were the whisper of the television and the syncopated rhythm of your hearts slowing together. The couch was nothing but a mess of discarded clothes and tangled limbs, but at that moment, it felt like the most sacred of places.
Slowly, he lifted himself carefully off you, the loss of his warmth and weight made you shiver. But he didn’t go far. He gathered you into his arms, shifting both of you so you were lying side-by-side on the couch, your back curled against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you. He pulled the soft throw blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over both of you.
He nuzzled into your hair, his lips brushing your ear. “I love you.” he whispered, the words simple, final, and carrying the weight of the entire universe.
You covered his hands with yours, lacing your fingers together over your stomach.
“You’re thinking again.” you murmured, not even opening your eyes. A soft huff of breath left him, almost a laugh.
“That obvious?”
“Always.” There was no bite to your reply. Just familiarity. You shifted slightly, pressing back into him more fully, your head tilting just enough to brush your lips against his jaw. “I’m here.” you added quietly, making his hold on you tighten, just for a second.
“I know,” he said, though it came out rougher than he intended. But you felt the truth in it. He did know. He just… needed to keep knowing. You turned in his arms until you were facing him properly. Your hand came up, resting over his heart which was still beating a little too fast.
“You don’t have to compete with anyone,” you said softly, your eyes searching his. “Not him. Not anyone. There’s no comparison to make.” His gaze flickered, like the instinct to argue was there, but he didn’t even open his mouth. “I’ve seen what’s out there, Leon.” you continued, your voice gentle but unwavering. “I chose you anyway. Not because you’re safe, or easy, or convenient…” Your fingers curled slightly against his chest. “But because you’re you.”
You saw that it meant something to him in the way his expression shifted, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.
“You’re the one I come home to, or…with.” you added, quieter now. “The one I think about when things get bad. The one I want beside me when things are good.” A small, almost shy smile touched your lips. “You’re it for me.” And for a moment, he just looked at you.
Like he was trying to memorize every word, every expression, every piece of you that was offering him something he still didn’t fully believe he deserved. Then his hand came up, covering yours where it rested over his heart, pressing it more firmly there.
“Yeah?” he asked, softer now.
“Yeah.” You didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. He stayed close, eyes still half shut like he didn’t quite want to come back from the moment. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slowly, as something in him finally settled.
Talked with a friend about the trash man recently, so here he is.
Also I reject Heisenberg with abs, thanks. Only squishy tummy Heisenberg in this house.
Some women will never want children in their life in any meaningful capacity. They don't want to give birth. They don't want to adopt. They don't want to be the fun auntie. They don't want to be a godmother. They don't want to work in a field with children. They will never change a child's diaper and don't believe their lack of childcare skills is a problem that needs fixing, because childcare is not a crucial part of the human experience, with billions of people on the planet. They go about their day while only seeing kids out at the grocery store or at the park, and nothing is missing from their lives.
The refusal to accept this is driving a global right-wing backlash movement.
Why is it that the absolute best, 200k-word, life-ruining fanfics only reveal themselves past midnight, when I have responsibilities, alarms, and a fragile adult reputation to maintain the next morning?
Anyway. See y'all when I’m emotionally attached to fictional people and wildly unprepared for the morning.
ellievsbear
gummygunk
baratheonpilled
titsay
andulkaphoto
germansingergirl
kaledo-art
turnnoffyourmind
