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anytime, for anything ✦ ch. 2

ao3 : ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3

summary: reader is a bartender. one night, your whiskey-favoring regular asks to walk you home and you invite him in for the night. the man you just slept with, leon s kennedy? he's a federal agent with a dead wife, and you're a few months out of an abusive relationship. neither of you know how to navigate this, but you can't keep your hands off one another. pairing: leon kennedy / reader rating: explicit 🔞 series tags: no y/n for reader insert, widow!RE9!Leon, soft dom and submissive Leon, age difference (reader is in her 30s), alcoholism, abusive relationships (not with leon!), trauma... chapter tags: fingering, oral (f!receiving), riding, unprotected sex

note: reposting from ao3! posting the first 2 to start, then I'll slow drip until I catch up <3

... YOU, II

“Hold tight.”

You wrap your arms around Leon’s neck as he wedges his hands between your thighs and the counter to lift you, pressing almost all of your body to him now, both of your bodies’ heat radiating off you.

Your ankles interlock behind his back too, though he picked you up with such ease that you could probably go completely limp and he’d still have you, easily.

You could melt like this, really feeling just how fucking huge he is, his arms completely consuming you. You feel like a feather compared to him, and you question if he could hold you up with only one hand (probably!). He could probably snap you in half without much effort.

With you fully secured to his body, he walks down your hallway, peering into the doorways of the few rooms—a spare room, a bathroom—until he finds your bedroom.

“Need a shower,” you say before Leon has a chance to set you down. “Join me?”

He nods and turns, taking you to your ensuite and carefully sitting you down on the bathroom counter. Your limbs relax, arms by your sides and legs no longer holding onto him for dear life, but still spread enough to give him room to settle between.

Leon kisses you again, short and tender.

“May I?” he asks, tugging at the hem of your shirt.

“Only if I get to do the same to you after.”

And he undresses you, shirt first, guiding it over the curve of your breasts and over your head and arms—and he makes damn sure to graze his palms over every inch of your soft skin that he can reach as he does it.

He doesn’t even try to hide his eyes looking you up and down, and you like it, you revel in the attention. But then, realizing this harsh bathroom lighting shows all of your flaws, you second guess it and start to cross your arms over your body, covering what you don’t like; the pounds you wish you’d burnt off on your stomach, the scar across your abdomen.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” he murmurs, gently taking your wrists and pulling your arms away. He spots your scar first and runs his fingertip from end to end, using a cautious touch. “What’s it from?”

“I don’t really remember,” you lie.

You’ve never been a great liar, but he doesn’t push you further.

You don’t like to think about it and you really don’t like the scar. It’s too big and a stark, hideous contrast to the rest of your skin. The healing process was not exactly kind to you.

Leon’s face doesn’t give away if he believes you or not. He slowly lowers himself to his haunches, kissing around your scar.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers into your stomach; the skim of his lips as he speaks and warmth of his breath are so fucking gentle it hurts—it’s been so long since you experienced anything like this, been treated like this. “Including this,” he adds, looking up at you, and god does he look like a devout man, kneeling at your altar.

He continues undressing you, hooking his fingers in the waist of your pants and glancing at you for approval, to which you nod, lifting your ass so he can drag them down your legs. He tosses them aside and turns his attention between your thighs, fixated now on that dark, damp spot over your cunt.

“Jesus, baby, you’re so wet already,” Leon says, and the way he calls you ‘baby’ turns your brain inside out. “We should do somethin’ about that.”

“You’re the one taking your sweet time undressing me!”

“Can you blame a man for savoring this?”

He’s teasing you, that bastard.

Leon grips your thighs and spreads your legs until there’s enough space for him to settle between; he nuzzles his nose in your wetness and rubs your thighs with his thumbs. You slap your palm to your mouth, muffling the desperate plea you couldn’t tamp down.

“Let me hear you.”

You pull your palm away, tangling it in his hair instead.

Though you try not to pull or scratch too hard, Leon flattens his tongue to you, licking a long stripe from your opening to your clit, making you writhe and claw at his scalp, senseless. And he’s humming into your cunt in the satisfaction of it all, the vibrations reverberating through your fiery blood.

“Goddamn, you taste so much better than I imagined,” he moans.

Fuck. It’s the sweetest agony. Wish he’d just pull your underwear aside and fuck you with his tongue, let you come on his face before he impales you on his dick—

Shit, you’re so hypnotized that you nearly skip over the fact that he just casually admitted he’s imagined tasting you.

“Y-you thought of this before? With… me?”

“‘Course I did,” Leon says matter-of-factly, like it should be the most obvious thing in the fucking world. “Would drink my whiskey at your counter, thinkin’ about what it’d be like to have you sitting on me instead.”

Oh, he’s shameless.

“Might be the only substance that could make me quit the alcohol,” he continues, half-smiling.

“Ohmygod,” you sputter, embarrassed and dumbfounded and anticipation rising exponentially all at once. “You’ve been holding back on me.”

“Usually not appropriate to ask your much younger, cuter bartender to ride your face.”

“Fantasizing about me while you sit at my bar… and I still had to fight tooth and nail to get the first smile out of you, let alone a laugh!” you protest.

“Like I said… too young.”

“That’s what was stopping you? What changed?”

“Ran outta restraint.” Leon stands back up, finally snapping and needing to finish his task of getting you out of your clothes. He leans in close and reaches behind your back for your bra straps and whispers against your ear, “Was enjoying watchin’ you work for it, though.”

You inhale deeply as your bra drops next and Leon takes one of your nipples in his mouth, rolling the stiff peak around with the tip of his tongue. Your whole body is on fucking fire, this foreplay blissfully agonizing; your back arches into him involuntarily, just needing to be closer, closer—and you pull on his hair again, harder this time.

That only encourages him. He likes when you pull his hair.

Clearly being close to reaching his limit too, his removal of your underwear is far less graceful; he nearly tears them off you, growing frustrated and refusing to unlatch from your breast when they manage to catch on one of the drawer knobs.

“Ha,” you utter, barely a whisper, “Leon… it’s my turn…”

He pinches your nipple between his teeth, dragging a low whimper from your throat before pulling away with a filthy wet sound.

“All yours, sweetheart,” he says, standing fully again and relaxing. The best he can, anyway, with his pants this fucking tight.

You go for his shirt first, thinking of when you felt him up at the kitchen counter; how toned he was, how his abs flexed under you, that trail of hair you want to follow to the end…

You start to lift it over him, but it quickly becomes clear that you cannot do it yourself. He’s just too fucking big, you can’t reach every place you need to be, you’re not tall enough. So you guide his ridiculously tight-fitting shirt over him as much as you can, and he finishes the job for you, giving you a brilliant view of his flexed arms in the process.

And then you notice it.

Scars all over his body. Some like yours. Some lighter, some darker. They’re scattered across almost every part of him.

Yeah, he’s definitely not a normal cop.

You’re speechless and he sees it, too, and for a short second neither of you really know what to say to fill the silence. But you realize you understand him, now, because as you look over his body, you never once feel like they’re unattractive. The opposite, in fact.

You imagine there’s a lot of stories to tell, and you want to hear as many of them as he’ll share.

“You’re… beautiful,” you say, echoing him.

“Not too much of an old man for you?”

“Are you joking?” you giggle. “Look at you, furthest fucking thing from an old man.”

You can’t wipe the stupid smile off your face so you carry on, your hands roaming from his chest downwards, following that path of hair at last.

Leon tenses up more the lower you go. You tug at his pants to bring him closer, your mouths almost coming together, breathing one another’s air. Curling a fingertip in the patch of hair poking out of his pants, you feel him twitch, and your other hand starts unfastening. Slowly, still toying with those hairs and dipping further down as you make room.

Making him wait, as he made you wait.

He helps you get his pants over his ass and down his legs (and boy, he certainly works his glutes too) once you’re done. All that’s left between you two now are his very tented boxers. You reach down and cup him over the fabric, and though you knew he was going to be large with how he felt pressed against you earlier, now that he’s actually in your palm… yeah, every part of him is big.

Leon’s dick twitches in your hand and he tilts his head back, mouth slightly open. You get the sense that the tension is just as thick for him as it is for you, but he’s well in control of himself, scrunching his face like it’s the barrier holding back his sounds. Once you start stroking him, though, he’s done for; a deep groan rising from his throat, intensified by how long he’s been fucking waiting for this, how long he’s been holding back.

Sounds like heaven to you.

You keep fondling him with a weak grip, taunting him; it’s just enough to feel his length throb in your palm and dampen the fabric at the tip, which you swipe over with your thumb.

Not only taunting him, but yourself too.

“Go turn on the shower,” you say, taking your hand back.

He clearly mourns the loss, but you’re both beyond ready for what comes next, aching for it. Leon, unwilling to leave this spot perfectly suited for him between your knees, leans over and awkwardly fumbles with your shower knob for a second before yanking it upwards and running water.

He’s so hard now, it feels like he could burst through those fucking boxers. Finally, you take pity on him, slipping your hand under the elastic band and tugging them over his hips and sending them to the floor.

God, the way it springs to life after you remove his boxers feels like it could be enough to make you pass out.

Soon as steam’s rising from the shower, you hop off the counter and slip between his knee and the counter, practically leaping into the walk-in. Leon’s faster than you, though, and he catches you by the waist, pulling you back into him with your back to his chest as he steps in and slides the glass door closed. The hot rain of water drenches you, ruining your perfect hair day, but for this? It’s worth it.

“Leon!” you cry as he cages you between his body and the wall, nudging his head between your neck and shoulder and kissing the skin there. “Let me—”

He already knows what you’re going to say and beats you to it, finding your bar soap on a ledge on the shower wall. First, he lathers up his hands, then hands it to you.

And even though you’re touching everywhere, with his cock distinctly pushing into your backside, your hands meeting his when you take the soap is what really makes you blush.

Your lower half remains very much connected, but Leon makes space between your upper bodies to massage your back with his lathered hands and it feels like fucking heaven.

You can’t remember the last time you relaxed properly. Standing at the bar day after day takes its toll on you; while you’re still young, you’re not twenty-one young anymore, and you’re not very kind on yourself. You never stop, always going, going, going. Always doing something.

Lazily, you soap up your body and wash yourself while he rubs your back, but he’s so good at it you can hardly stand to think about anything else. He pushes against the right muscles, loosens the knots, and whenever his motions border painful, a relief comes quick. As if he’s expelled whatever evil being is weighing on your body with just his hands.

Leon encloses you in his arms once he’s done, reaching around and cupping your soaped up breasts, squishing them to your chest and tweaking your pert nipples.

His mouth is on your ear, kissing the rim, and it’s all so fucking overwhelming—you shiver with a force that rushes through your whole body and comes right back to your ear where it started—fuck, you’re sensitive there—then the tip of his tongue is snaking along the perimeter—every little thing he does—still caressing your breasts, still rolling and pulling your nipples between his fingers—it all demands your attention, prickles your skin, your mind constantly bouncing from touch to touch, feel like you might break—

You and tilt your head back, nestling into the crook of his neck and letting go, moaning loud, borderline a whimper, a cry of want, of need.

“I’ve got you,” Leon says, one hand moving down your soap-slick stomach to your cunt, slowly sliding through your soaked folds and you melt instantly.

His other hand wraps fully around your front, supporting you as you grow weaker under his spell. He hangs his head lower, looking past the wet hair hanging in his face to watch his fingers working you and listen to the tantalizing sounds you’re making, so close to his ear now—mixing in with the obscene wet noises rising from between your legs.

His cock throbs at your back, and you don’t know how he hasn’t lost it and fucked you senseless yet, but god, you’re eager for whatever he’ll give you next. Anything.

“You’re ready.”

You’ve been fucking ready.

Leon slides one finger inside you.

“Shit,” he swears like he’s lost his breath, stroking you only a few times before he decides you can handle another and slips another one in, making you cry out. “So tight.”

You claw at his arm keeping you steady as he pumps into you faster, eyes glued shut, teeth gritted in between the moans you don’t have the strength to quiet.

Then you whine Leon’s name when he curls his fingers and that unlocks something inside him—he fucks you harder on his hand, sloppy kisses your throat, his hips rutting into you desperately.

“You’re… doing so well,” he praises you, at great effort. “C’mon—baby, you got this…”

Fuck, how is he doing this to you? And so quickly? Is it the experience that comes with his age, or fucking magic?

Your whole body tightens, in tune with the loss of balance and stability in your legs, your knees finally buckling and giving out on you. Leon’s fully propping you up; your nails dig into his forearm and your cunt similarly clenches even tighter around his fingers as he thrusts them into you, your whole body trembling now, on the precipice, just begging to be allowed to jump off the edge, every part of you squeezing so hard you think you might pass out—

You come loud, clenching around him like a vice, then pulsating like you’re trying to milk his fingers—he keeps handfucking you throughout, even when you’re scratching his arm so hard that you’re close to breaking the skin, even as you whimper and buck against him. Oh, no, he won’t let you get off that easy. He’s happy—blissful, in fact—to fuck you through it, maybe even faster than before—you can’t tell in your hazy state, riding out the waves of your peak.

“Good girl,” he coos into your neck, finally slowing the onslaught between your thighs as you come down.

“I—”

“Shh. Just relax.”

Leon kisses your neck as he draws his fingers out of you; careful, patient. You just exist there for a few, panting and giving your body a chance to recover.

The water washes away some of it, but he makes a show of licking you off his fingers anyway.

You’ve never finished like that before, with only penetration, you realize, still partially in a fucked-out daze. Maybe he does do magic.

“I’ll finish showering,” he says. “Wait on the bed for me?”

You nod lazily.

“D’you need me to walk you there?”

“I can walk!” you protest, suddenly pushing against his body to stand yourself up.

He allows you and watches, clearly holding back a snicker as your legs turn to fucking putty and you do everything in your power to stay upright. God, he’s done a number on you. Unbelievable.

Leon’s arm follows you as you walk away, his fingertips brushing your arm as you move out of reach and grab your towel, quickly drying off before heading back to your room.

You first sit at the edge of your bed, head and body swimming, shaking out of it after a short pause.

Then you think that maybe you should at least throw on some lingerie. It’s tough to decide—do you really know what this is? Is it odd to put on lingerie for a one-night stand?

Do one-night stands typically shower with you, for that matter?

You decide to throw on a nice pair of black underwear and a bra. Nothing too extraordinary, but something, then put an oversized shirt on.

Oh, god, but aren’t you wearing the typical girlfriend getup? I mean, it’s your own shirt, but isn’t this outfit pretty much the de facto ‘girlfriend stays over and wears your clothes’ deal?

The shower knob squeaks and the low sound of flowing water ceases.

And what do you do now? Sit on the edge of the bed and wait? Occupy yourself? Would that be more natural? Or you could—

Jesus. Again, you’re teleported to your fucking school days.

Ultimately, you stand in front of your full mirror and run your fingers through your damp hair, untangling a few pieces and laying them where you’d like them to dry—knowing damn well it won’t survive the next few hours.

In the mirror, you see Leon emerging from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and damp hair clinging to his face. When you crane your neck to look at him, he runs a hand through his hair to push it back, a move that threatens to stop your heart.

Mustering up your courage, you stand and close the distance between you, taking his hand and guiding him to the bed. You back him up to the edge, then push on his chest for him to sit down.

Leon stares up at you from behind thick eyelashes, your eyes settling on his deep blues, entranced.

As you climb into his lap, straddling him, he lays his hands on your hips and his thumbs make slow, relaxing circles into your skin. It’s sweet. It’s thoughtful.

“You’re a giver,” you say.

“That obvious, huh?”

Instead of answering, you put your hands on his shoulders and lean down to press your lips to his. You start slow and grind your lower half into his, occasionally swiping your tongue across his bottom lip.

Only takes a time or two before he’s onto you; he captures the tip of your tongue and sucks, taking you by surprise and releasing after a second. The palms at your hips grip tighter, amplifying your movements, his cock growing thicker beneath the towel.

Leon’s grip travels upwards once he’s got you meeting his harder, faster rhythm, then lifts your shirt up to your bra, revealing your matching set.

“Didn’t know we were dressing up,” he comments, pulling your shirt over your raised arms and discarding it. “Woulda come prepared.”

“Next time,” you say.

Fuck.

Next time, huh? And what if this is nothing more than a one-night stand to him? Will you make him uncomfortable? Will it—

“Next time,” he repeats.

“Leon,” you breathe, reaching behind you and quickly discarding your bra. “Need you inside… now.”

“Yeah? Needy girl.”

“Please,” you beg.

“You gotta condom?”

“No,” you answer. “I’m on birth control, but I understand if you’d rather…”

“Christ,” he mutters, and at first, you wonder if it’s disappointment that neither of you had come prepared.

It’s definitely not disappointment. It all seems to happens at once, it’s so frantic, so feral: Leon slips two fingers under your bottoms, stroking you and coating himself in your wetness, then yanks them aside and grabs your ass, positioning you over him and thrusting into you with little warning—you cry out his name again, and Leon’s groan is akin to a growl. You collapse forward, arms over his shoulders and clawing at his back, and you lay your forehead between his neck and shoulder.

You direct all your energy to your lower body and start to ride him. Slow, at first, and not taking all of him. After a few rolls of your hips, you take him deeper, sitting yourself all the way down until you’ve taken all of him, the stretch of your cunt an otherwordly bliss.

“That’s it,” he says, one hand finding your hair, stroking it softly and soothing you. “You can take me, baby, I know you can.”

You start moving again, riding him harder this time—deeper, taking all of him with every thrust, putting more and more energy into it until you’re slamming yourself onto his cock and the only noises either of you can make are wicked moans and whimpers, pairing with the repetitive slap, slap, slap of skin-on-skin.

Fuck, it’s too much; you’re close, and you’re running out of strength in your lower body, suddenly wishing you’d hit the gym more often.

“Need help?” Leon asks, still running his fingers through your hair in encouragement, his other hand caressing your thigh, then your hip, landing at your waist.

“Mm-hm,” you answer affirmatively, muffled in his shoulder, and you sit down still.

“Hold onto me.”

You adjust your arms for a better grip around the back of his neck.

First, he manages to get his feet to the edge of the bed, getting enough leverage to push both of you further back onto the bed and giving him space to prop his legs up.

Then he holds you tight and fucking impales you on him, his thrusts faster and rougher than you could’ve even imagined; you can’t even string a single thought together, lost in how he fills you completely and pushes your body to its limits, the sweat coating you both and sliding between your bodies as he slams into you, the smell of sex overtaking everything else, the waves of pure pleasure radiating through your body as you edge closer and closer to the precipice…

You finally lift your head and look at him, and you’ll never forget this view. His face contorted in sheer pleasure above you, strands of damp hair stuck to his face and others falling forward, cheeks glistening.

He licks one thumb and reaches down, wedging it between your bodies and circling your clit.

“C-Come for me—sweetheart—”

That’s enough.

Everything seems to stop for a second as you come for the second time; all of you tensing so impossibly tightly and then bursting open, coming un-fucking-done at how divine you feel. Leon’s thrusts pierce you through the pleasure, elongating your release and fucking you through it, relentless; rhythm now far less steady as he’s close to finishing, too.

Your cunt squeezing his dick while you ride out your orgasm sends Leon over the edge; he embraces your full torso with both his arms and pulls you down into the bed with him while he comes, spilling inside you wet and hot in spurts, being wrung dry by your pussy. He’s whimpering in your ear, and holy shit, if you hadn’t just come a few seconds ago you think hearing him like this could’ve made you come all by itself.

“Leon…”

You trail off, you don’t even know what you were planning to say. You only know that he just gave you the dick down of a lifetime, and you’ll never fucking forget this moment.

And you know that you’re ruined after this. That nothing will compare. That you can never be happy with this as a one-timer.

He looks like he knows it, too.

***

You wake up in the middle of night, just before dawn breaks, your bladder incessantly screaming at you to run to the toilet, so you stealthily slip out from under Leon’s arm (regrettably—you wish you could live in his embrace). While you’re sitting there, you notice Leon left his pants on the ground, and spot his wallet peeking out of a pocket.

You shouldn’t look.

But you’re so fucking curious. You never carded him, although you admit now that would be a far more ethical way to get a look at his ID. Would only tell you so much, though, and you’re too curious for your own good about his employment.

So, once you’re done and finish washing your hands, you sit on your haunches and pull his wallet out, opening it and taking a look at the first piece of identification you see.

Leon S. Kennedy.

D.S.O… Prime Operative… Active.

You just slept with a federal fucking agent. No wonder he wouldn’t tell you about his job.

You shove that back in his wallet in a panic, but can’t stop yourself from looking more, interest only piqued further by the badge. You find his driver’s license next, skimming his address—surprisingly far away from here—and doing a double take at the clearly dated photo. Hair a bit shorter, face a bit brighter; still charming, but in a very different manner than he is today.

Cute.

Born 1977. Bit less than a twenty year age gap. Could be worse, you think, but this is certainly not the norm for you.

Just thinking about how you so nonchalantly said “next time” before he rearranged your organs twists your gut.

Shame finally creeps back into your body and you decide it’s time to stop looking at his personal items, but when you reach back into his pocket, something cold and hard brushes up against your finger.

It’s silly, you’re all too aware, but your heart seems to skip a beat when you pull the thing out and see what it is: a ring. A simple silver band.

Then, against your better judgment, you quickly sift through his wallet again, finding a softer, worn piece of paper in the back, behind all the cards. You carefully slide your finger between it and the edge of the pocket and fish it out.

It’s Leon and another woman; they’re both much younger, closer in appearance to his driver’s license photo. He’s cleaned up, in a tuxedo and she’s in a white dress, her veil tucked back and a bouquet in her arms…

He has a fucking wife.

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