You can't explain it. You tried once, but words didn't feel quite right.
Put simply, there's a constant, overwhelming urge to sit yourself in Leon's lap whenever the chance arises.
It doesn't matter that the couch can comfortably seat six people. If Leon's there? You're right on top of him. He's working late and hasn't come to bed yet? You're right there keeping him company until he (very quickly) decides to call it a night.
What can you say? His lap is just so comfortable and inviting. Not to mention, it's a good spot to be when you feel like yapping about your day.
Not that he minds. He thinks it's cute, comforting even (and very convenient when the mood strikes). For him, it means he has your full attention and vice versa.
If you happen to fall asleep? Fine by him. Either he'll stay right where he is or he'll pick you up and carry you to bed.
It's such a physical reminder that you're there and you're real. When he has you in his lap, where he can hug you and hold you and love on you all he wants, the rest of the world falls away.
Content: smut, oral, heavy petting, some spitting, creamiest of pies, “just the tip”, panties stay on!
Masterlist ❤︎
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Leon is a creature of habit, if not a slave to his compulsions. Which sounds practical considering the absurdity of his job.
Spending decades wading through nightmares is why operating in violent extremes has become a language he intuitively understands. His obsessive streak seems reasonable if he views it as the price of survival, one that steadily rises in proportion to his scars and the amount of bullshit the government loves to toss him into.
Blowing out money is also a habit he enjoys indulging. If hell is where he’s destined to spend most of his days, he might as well do it in style. If he sinks an obscene fortune into the cars and bikes sitting in his garage, it’s only because he’s cheated death from a creature the size of a goddamn tank—crawling massive thing with repulsive hairy legs. A fucking giant spider.
Also happened with liquor, and an excessive streak of the punishing hours at the gym—build as much solid mass on his arms, he persisted.
So yeah, sensible, given the circumstances.
Rational, even, when his capacity for obsession started to redirect itself the moment a new target is acquired. Barreling straight towards you.
Or your panties, specifically.
Although the entirety of you is a perfectly justifiable thing to lose his mind over. It just so happens that your own little habit for pretty underwear has easily rubbed off on him. From silk to lace to whatever impractical mesh he happily bleeds his bank accounts for. Numbers he quickly discovered ran obscenely high for a few measly inches of thread.
Not that he minds. You like to call him your sugar daddy whenever he catches you hesitating over a ridiculously expensive set, and he’d simply shrug and slide you his card in return. Maybe he is. Kind of. He’s your boyfriend above all else, but if his urge to keep you spoiled rotten qualifies him for the role, then maybe the title isn’t so wrong.
Also doesn’t hurt that every dime spent ultimately works in his favor. Every purchase is perfectly rational when he gets to peel his money's worth right off your skin. Gets to appreciate how a splash of color and fabric can accentuate every curve of your body.
He views red as undeniably sexy. Blue as soft and sweet, and thinks black is a staple that never fails. You always look gorgeous in every color of the rainbow. Divine charm, very easy on the eyes.
But this purple. This damn bruised shade of plum hugging your hips has him crossing the room to haul you onto his desk before he’s even made a conscious decision to move. The stack of reports he’s already been neglecting for a week goes completely shoved aside. Now he’s got you sprawled on your back, looking entirely too satisfied with yourself for finally breaking his focus.
Smart girl, weaponizing his own money to sabotage his productivity.
It doesn’t take much prompting for him to map the familiar lines of your body, dragging his fingers over the delicate lace until his thumb pushes over your sheer-clad breast, pinching a tight nipple.
“This new?”
He smiles when you squirm, watching the way your eyes slant over him. “Mhm. D’you like it?”
His mouth quirks higher. What a redundant question to even entertain, as if being asked whether he prefers a clear line of sight, or if he's happy to find a fully loaded rifle when he’s backed into a corner. It’s basically a fundamental law of nature for him at this point. Lacking appreciation for the way the thin stretch of fabric barely covers your crotch isn't even a possibility.
And that little triangle is downright taunting him, doing absolutely nothing but draw his attention. He finds himself taking a sufficient moment to fully appraise what’s in front of him, letting out a rough breath through his nostrils as he grips the edge of the lace. Pulls it up snugly between your folds.
Fuck if it doesn’t make his cock stir.
You’re awfully wet and swollen and he finds guilt gnawing at him for not tending to you much sooner. An idiot, really, can be too blind when he gets caught up in his own head. Quite the irony when he’s typically so attuned to your moods.
When you’re hungry for affection, you’re quick to cling your arms around his neck while settling on his lap. Yearning for comfort, you bury yourself against his chest to chase the solid thud of his heartbeat.
Desperation runs in your blood when you’re fully aroused.
Like what you’re doing now, he acknowledges. With that impatient heat in your eyes and thighs spread wide apart, openly offering yourself on a silver platter like a five-star meal.
He slacks comfortably back in his chair. Ask and you shall receive, because Leon is inherently a selfless person, hardwired to assist any person in distress with a reflex so deeply ingrained in his bones. You’re writhing so restlessly towards his open mouth that his only instinct is to give in.
The first kiss has you shuddering. The second draws a weak gasp from your throat. For the third, your fingers tangle into his hair.
There’s no gentle fourth kiss that follows because he starts making out with your pussy. Drinks you in to quench his parched taste buds. Devours the taste of intoxicating musk and damp skin, of warm arousal and delicate salt, rich flavors that continuously drool into his mouth as he grinds his tongue flat against your panties.
Can’t even be bothered to peel the thing away. Sure, the fabric scratches right along his jaw, but it does absolutely nothing to stop him from finding your clit. Sweet little thing growing desperately hard with the greedy pull of his lips.
Your nails bite sharply into his scalp. “Fuck, b-baby, I’m gonna—”
He quickly draws back, and your hands immediately clench tight against his roots.
“Babe.”
His amused laughter lingers on your skin as he gently unwinds your grip. Brings your hand down to his lips to press a kiss into your palm. “I know, honey. Promise I'll give it to you.”
You let out a keening whine. “This is not the right time to edge me.”
Leon huffs out another chuckle.
He begs to differ, actually. Not because he genuinely enjoys being a sadist. No, of course not. Ignoring you for the better part of the day already has him feeling awful enough. By way of making amends, the least he can do is be generous—selfless, as he likes to consider himself. Put you out of your goddamn misery.
But a little dragging out couldn’t possibly hurt. He couldn’t touch you all day, couldn’t even look at you properly, so why not take his time now?
Just an extra minute to be greedy, he insists. A few more seconds to admire the state he’s left you in. From the perky jut of your tits behind the see-through mesh to the dark, soaked fabric caught between your dripping pussy. Gooey honey he can still taste on the back of his tongue.
He presses his mouth to your belly, under your heart, over it. Then stands to his full height, tugs the waistband of his sweats down an inch and lets his heavy length spring free.
“Baby, come on.” You track the thick line of him, then mewl when he gives himself a stroke. “Just fuck me already.”
He pushes into you over the flimsy lace. “Like this?”
“Fuck—fuck.” Your hips grind back, partially trying to swallow him right through the damp material. “Take it off.”
“I will."
He does, by pulling the material aside, smoothly sliding back the rich purple that compliments your bare skin. It brings out the natural glow of your damp thighs, highlights the slickness coating your exposed pussy. Swollen folds so thoroughly glazed he adds his own spit, driven by another stubborn compulsion of his to see you absolutely drenched.
You can do it, right? Wet his cock to the point he barely has to put in any effort to slide in?
He starts by giving your sensitive opening a rhythmic taptaptap with his tip. Settles with rubbing the blunt length of it through the wetness he spent so much time admiring. He admires the way you submit to him, too, letting him manhandle your thighs a fraction wider. Takes whatever scraps of friction he decides to give with a soft grace.
A lot of patience, he decides. And the kissing cousin to patience is tenacity.
Your hips give a tiny roll. He smiles—grins, even. It’s hard not to when you’re strung out and teetering so precariously on the edge of the desk, fighting gravity itself to grind against him. He rewards your effort with a slow thrust, finally letting the thick crown sink into your hole.
Slowly, steadily. Watches the way he’s splitting you open, barely, before letting himself savor the sensation of you clenching around the little inch of him buried inside. Incredibly warm, so fucking tight.
His eyes travel along your body, comes to a stop to watch the distortion of your pretty face. Eyes heavy and drooping as if you’re barely conscious, your lips parted in a breathless sigh.
“Sweetheart,” he drawls in a gravelly purr. “You’re trying to swallow me.”
An incoherent noise of pure desperation spills past your lips.
“You want all of it?” Your head jerks in a nod, he does the same. “Okay, okay. You'll get it, honey, don’t worry.”
Later, he adds to himself. Later, when you’re drenching his thighs in so much slick. He settles with rutting against your tightest ring of muscle, instead, relishing the sloppy sound that blends with your high-pitched whines and the destructive crinkle of whatever document you’re currently crushing in your fist.
“I—shit," you whimper. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head, tosses a damp piece of hair across his brow. “Ruin everything for all I care.”
You huff out a small, thin laugh. “But you’ve worked so hard on it.”
“I can work hard on it again.”
Your smile is sweet and soft as your hands blindly paw into the empty air, searching for some leverage that doesn’t end in shredding the rest of his papers. He groans when they find purchase on your chest. Moans even louder when you unceremoniously yank the cups down, holding greedy handfuls in your palms.
“That’s it, play with ‘em,” he rasps. “Show me.”
You do, and it takes a huge amount of effort for him not to blow his load right there and then. He could. He would. Yeah, he definitely would. It’s become an ingrained habit for him to empty himself while being buried deep inside you. Stopped buying condoms the first time you guided him bare.
He’s never looked back since then. Might be a kink of his, come to think of it. The sensation of becoming entirely one with you, of leaving a warm part of his very soul that it feels like the ultimate culmination of a hundred different overlapping obsessions. Your immaculate taste in underwear, the very intoxicating taste of you.
Your voice. The deliberate way you pronounce his name. Your restless, wandering hands now gripping your chest, hard nipples peaking between keen fingers.
The sound your body is making. Squelching and sloshing and spilling and dripping as you openly drown in your own pleasure.
You’re wet enough, he decides. Although it doesn’t stop him from gathering a thick pool of saliva behind his teeth again. Lets the string of drool land directly onto your clit before his thumb lands right on top of it. Swirls the little nub with eager eyes as he visibly drinks in another spill of arousal leaking right through the desperate clench of your cunt.
Clench, unclench. Suck, squeeze, hold. You’re practically making a mess on his desk, squirming erratically against the wood in your own puddle the second he quickens the pressure of his thumb.
He wonders if you can cum with just the tip of his cock and the focused burn on your clit.
You show him that you can. Easily. With a tremor that forcefully smears your slickness further across the polished mahogany while your back bows sharply and your eyes roll back in absolute delirium. Watching you swim in a mindless haze is enough to shatter whatever control he had left.
He cums easily, too. Does so by dropping his head with a wildly heaving chest as he quickly strokes the remaining inches of his cock. Pleasure melts right into his bones, as does his cum, spilling hot and thick inside you before letting it overflow across your stretched folds, along the quivering juncture of your legs.
He makes sure it seeps into the edge of your panties. White on purple. Like a painter aggressively smearing his living canvas by swirling your arousal and his cum and his trail of hot saliva into one glob of a creamy mess.
He spits again. Because he can't help himself.
And you laugh. Weak and fond and amused while you lean back on your elbows to watch him obsess over his art.
“You’re such a perv, you know that?”
He does, there’s no point in denying it. But admittedly, he's your perv. And you are his, considering you’re already trying to swallow him whole the moment he tries to nudge back in. Sure, his obsessive streak can be a little overwhelming for polite society, a definite negative for most people to handle. But it’s a good thing two distinct negatives have always made a positive.
Reasonable, then, when it's both of you in the equation.
So he throws you a smirk in return, drags you flush against his hips, and finally fucks you deep.
summary: it had been a stupid fight—the kind that should’ve ended with you begrudgingly crawling into leon’s lap with his arms pulling you close like you’d never left. instead, he was forced to leave for his mission, unresolved tension simmering between you. two weeks later, he’s back and intent on making it up to you.
warnings: (18+) smut, some fluff, older bf!leon, age gap, established relationship, pet names (baby and sweetheart), make up/reunion sex, unprotected p in v, me being really horny about leon’s biceps and hands
word count: 3.3k
music choice: i’m your man by leonard cohen.
masterlist | request
The door creaks open at half past two.
Leon entered quietly, trying his best to keep quiet and avoid waking you. Though, he couldn’t help the way his feet dragged on the carpet, the floor protesting against his weight with each step.
You take a deep breath before sliding out of bed, palm rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes. Heart thumping in your chest, you aren’t quite sure what the cause of it is this time—his return home, safely, in one piece, or the fact that your tiff had been left unresolved. You figure it’s a mixture of the two, an uncomfortable one that swirls like nervousness personified in your stomach.
Hand resting on the wall, you peek out from behind the corner. Leon had damn near collapsed on the couch, head tipped back with his eyes shut. For a moment, you wondered whether to approach him now or bother him in the morning.
Only, you didn’t have a chance to make that decision before Leon’s head picked up, those tired eyes searching your face in the dim light. His jaw tenses, innate stubbornness wrestling with how much he’s missed you, before he exhales through his nose. Relenting. The moment his gaze drops to the shirt you’re wearing—his shirt that swallows you whole—he realizes that he has no chance in hell at staying upset with you.
“Hey, you,” he says, his voice rough from lack of sleep, yet softer than usual.
Leon shifts on the couch, making space without asking you to come closer. It was a stubborn man’s apology if you’d ever seen one. And when you don’t come near, he looks away, expression almost shy, fingers still tapping absently against his thigh.
You only make him wait a few seconds longer before you approach, bare feet padding softly on the carpet. When you lower yourself onto his lap, you feel the way Leon’s entire body loosens—like he’d been all wound up without realizing it. Like clockwork, his arm curls around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest.
Head tucked under his chin, you melt into him too, like a homecoming postponed two weeks too long. “Hey,” you finally whisper back.
Leon’s free hand lifts, brushing over your hair. He presses his face into it, inhaling your scent while his eyes come to a close. “Missed you, baby.”
Your fingers fumble with the hem of his shirt, something to keep your hands distracted. He seems to notice, wrapping his large, rough hand around yours. His thumb strokes the back of your hand before he brings it up, pressing his lips to your knuckles.
“You still mad at me?” he asks, chin nudging the top of your head, a silent ask for you to meet his eyes.
And when you do, you can practically see the way the older man melts for you. He releases your hand, placing it on his shoulder, then cups your cheek. It was a habit of his, just looking at you like this. Especially when he returns home from missions, his words and energy having been wrung dry. His touch communicates just how happy he is to see you, safe and sound.
“Mm-hmm,” you hum, though you betray your response by pressing your cheek more firmly to his palm.
You watch as a lazy smile tugs on the corner of his mouth, thumb rubbing your cheek. He pulls you in, lips pressing to the top of your head, and then once more to your forehead.
He lingers for a moment before pulling back just enough to catch your eye. “We gonna talk about it?”
You shrug, noncommittal. “If you want to.”
Leon’s mouth twitches, very easily reading in between the lines and picking up on the hidden subtexts in every word you say by this point. His fingers trail down your arm.
“I shouldn’t have left you like that,” he murmurs, hand coming down to rest on your thigh, thumb stroking your skin. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Should’ve apologized before I left. Made it right.”
When you lower your head to his shoulder, Leon feels somewhat better. Maybe he was better at using his words than he thought. Or maybe you were just tired, sleepy, needing rest. It was the middle of the night, after all.
But when you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing even closer to him, he begins to feel more confident in the former.
Leon turns, lips to your temple. “Still mad at me?”
“Kinda,” you mumble against his neck, nodding. “But I’m too tired to do anything about it right now.”
Leon hums, the sound vibrating against you as his arms tighten around your waist to pull you more securely against his chest. “Lucky me,” he whispers, and even though you can’t see his face, you can hear the proud smirk on it.
One hand slides up your back, settling between your shoulder blades. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
Nodding with your voice muffled against his skin, you say, “Take us to bed.”
Leon tuts. “Bossy.”
But even as he says it, he’s already moving to hoist you up. His arm hooks beneath your legs, lifting you as though you weighed nothing. Sneakily, you peek an eye open, admiring the way his bicep looks from this angle.
Years of working out, excessive training, the grueling missions—they’ve paid off, at least in this way—a way you could admire.
Leon nudges the bedroom door closed behind him before depositing you gently on the bed. He strips out of his clothes until he is left in his boxers, each article thumping to the ground, before climbing in behind you without a word.
“Not bossy,” you mutter as you lean back against his chest.
Leon huffs, a sound between a laugh and a scoff, his breath stirring the hairs at the back of your neck. “Right,” he quietly replies, lips just barely skimming the shell of your ear, “you’re just very politely demanding.”
His arm wraps around your waist, and he tugs you back against him while he pulls the blanket up. The warmth of his body soothed all of your aches and pains, his chest molding against your back. You raise your head, and like routine, Leon lays down his arm, his bicep pillowing your head.
“You’re lucky I like it when you’re bossy.”
You reach for his hand, splayed over your stomach, lacing your fingers with his. “I know you do.”
Leon replies by brushing his thumb over your fingers, face pressing into the back of your neck. For a long moment, the only sound to be heard is the synchronicity of your breathing, the occasional shift beneath the covers.
Another caress comes in the form of muffled words against your neck, “I missed you.”
You press more firmly against him, testing the waters. “I missed you too.”
When he doesn’t answer, you worry that he might be falling asleep. You should want him to rest and catch up on lost sleep. But selfishly—and selfish is what you can be when it comes to Leon’s attention—you press against him again, wiggling your ass just a bit more, because you just can’t help it. It’d been two weeks. Two long, torturous weeks.
You nearly smile when you hear him groan into your ear, feeling emboldened by such a quiet sound. Steeling yourself, you press your back to his front again, and this time, you can feel his erection press back.
Shifting to do it again, Leon’s hand comes down on your hip, halting your movement in his iron grip. “What’re ya doing? I thought my girl was still mad at me.”
Leon’s voice produces a heat that travels through your body, making your heart rate double in your chest. It was groggy and deep, rumbling in his chest with each word he said. You would’ve squirmed if his hand hadn’t brushed your hair away from your neck, his lips replacing it.
“I am still mad at you,” you say, doing your best to stabilize your voice, lest you whine midway through your sentence.
He laughs in your ear, the sound tired and deep, while his fingertips skim the skin of your stomach, slipping beneath the old band T-shirt that you found in the closet.
“I’m sure you are, baby,” he says, lips now encouraged to press an open-mouthed kiss to the spot just beneath your ear.
You gasp as his hand flattens on your stomach, pressing you against him until the scant distance between you is no more. He takes one of your breasts into his palm, squeezing gently.
“I am,” you choke out, though you aren’t even convincing yourself anymore.
Leon hums, naturally unconvinced. He kneads the softness of your breast in his hand, lips traveling the slope of your neck. “Then let me kiss it better. Can’t have my baby mad at me forever, can I?”
You’ve never known a love quite like Leon’s. He was gentle in a way guys your age usually aren’t. Never impatient, never rushing. Would rather touch your body in ways that make it sing than ever use it as a means to an end.
Leon pushes the shirt up your torso, pulling it off and over your head in one gentle movement. His hand cradles the back of your head as you lie back down, lips on the tip of your nose before they land on your lips.
Even now, you notice it.
Hands that rub and knead, rather than pinch and pull. Teeth kept behind the lips that kiss your skin rather than bite into it.
A whimper leaves your lips as his fingertips smooth down your torso, tracing the hem of your panties.
Leon kisses your shoulder, eyes on the side of your face. “Can you do me a favor, sweetheart?”
You nod your head, rewarded with a kiss to your cheek. “Y-Yes.”
He smiles against your skin; you can feel it. “Spread your legs for me. Help an old man out.”
Heat burns your cheeks, a tingling sensation traces the curve of your spine, and you nearly squirm at the feeling. A part of you feels too vulnerable like this, even now, even when you know that Leon isn’t the big bad wolf who’s out to hurt you.
The rough pad of his thumb strokes your lower stomach, lips finding the underside of your jaw, planting soft kisses that only stoke the fire within you. All of it was patient. Pressureless.
As you lift your thigh, his hand smooths over the inner side, keeping you spread open. “There you go,” he praises, hand resting on your knee as he waits for you to get comfortable in this new position.
Leon flexes his bicep beneath your head, an attempt to get your attention. When you tilt your head back to meet his gaze, he lowers to meet you where you are, lips pressing to yours.
You whine into his mouth, hips twitching as his hand properly slips between your legs, cupping your mound. Before you know it, his fingers slip beneath the damp fabric, sliding through your folds with ease.
“F-Fuck,” you stutter.
He groans, and you can feel his cock twitch against your ass. “Left my pretty girl so pent up. Gonna let me do right by you now?”
You nod against his lips, and his hand slips lower, gathering your wetness on his fingertips before bringing them to your clit, circling the pearl at a speed he knows you love. Not too little, but not too much. Just enough.
You pull away from his kiss, burying your face into his arm beneath your head. A whine of his name makes his fingers slip down, two fingers prodding your entrance to work you open.
In response, your thighs threaten to close around his hand, but he uses the strength of his forearm to keep your legs spread, fingers never stopping their pursuit.
His lips skim your ear, voice rough with arousal. “Missed this pretty pussy—shit, squeezing my fingers so tight. She missed me too, huh?”
A whine escapes you as you shift your hips, eager for more. “Yes— fuck, I want you.” Your hand slips between the two of you, just fingertips, just barely running over the thick print of his erection. “Want this—”
Leon damn near whimpers in your ear, forehead dropping onto your shoulder. “Shit, none of that, sweetheart— gonna make me cum before I even get to be inside ya. Don’t want that, do we?”
You shake your head, a small pout forming on your lips. He smiles, head dipping to kiss it away. “Don’t gimme that look, pretty baby. You’ll get what ya want, promise.”
Leon continues to fuck you slowly with his fingers, not aiming to overwhelm you. But two weeks apart have turned you greedy.
“Faster,” you say through a breath.
His lips trace your neck. “Mm-mm. How about a please?”
You huff, already impatient. “Faster, please.”
His lips curve up against your skin, but he obliges you anyway. Always does. His fingers quicken in pace, fingers long enough to easily curl inside you, knuckles deep.
The heel of his palm drags against your clit with every thrust of his fingers, the sound of your arousal and pleasure filling the otherwise quiet room.
Leon kisses your temple, a gentle gesture that contrasts with the movement of his hand. He keeps his eyes on your face, reading each expression. Lips fall onto your cheek. “My beautiful girl.”
You find yourself arching against him, the warmth of his cock twitching back and the heat coiling in your stomach making you moan. Your hand shoots down, wrapping around his wrist, feeling the muscles flex with every move of his hand. “Please, Leon, I’m—”
“I know you are, sweetheart,” he rasps, thumb finding your clit. “I’ve got you. Tell me where it feels good.”
He purposefully slips his fingers in a moment later, fingertips stroking the spot inside of you that makes your thighs begin to shake. The sound you let out is music to his ears, a mix between a whimper and a whine, muffled against his bicep.
“Right there, baby? Yeah?”
You nod, moans spilling from you as you bury your face in his arm completely. His fingers curl against that spot once more, sending you flying over the edge, completely undone. Your hips rock against his hand as your orgasm washes over you, panting harshly against his skin.
Leon’s fingers work you through it until your entire body goes limp against him, withdrawing them entirely. He brings his hand up to his mouth, licking his fingers clean of your release, groaning at the taste.
Still panting from your climax, you find yourself pressing back into Leon once more, his erection fitting snug against your ass.
You can hear him chuckle against your neck. “So soon?”
“Mm-hmm,” you hum in response, fingers just barely slipping beneath the waistband of his underwear. “Unless you need to catch your breath…rest your joints. I know you have your senior moments from time to time.”
Leon catches your wrist in a firm grip and uses your arm to roll you onto your back. He nudges your thighs apart once more, fingers hooking into the sides of your underwear to slide the flimsy fabric down your legs.
“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t get all bratty on me ‘cause you’re getting impatient,” he says, voice rumbling against your skin as he presses a kiss on your hip bone.
You try not to squirm—to act affected at all—as he licks a stripe over your puffy slit, just enough to taste you from the source. “W-Well, all I’m hearing is more stalling.”
Leon clicks his tongue, shaking his head. He presses a kiss on your inner thigh before pulling back, resting his weight on his heels. Tugging his boxers down, he easily kicks them away, until you’re both left just as naked as the day you were born.
His hand wraps around his shaft, stroking himself while positioning his leaking tip at your entrance. “There’s nothing elderly about how I fuck this pussy, baby, you know that.”
Your eyes widen, glued to the movement of his hand as he settles between your thighs once more. His cock seems bigger every time you see it, the head flushed a pretty pink color and beading with the evidence of his arousal.
You gulp, still trying to seem brave. “N-No? It’s just been so long, I guess I forgot.”
Rather than reprimanding you, Leon laughs under his breath, hands smoothing over your thighs as he pulls you closer, tip catching your entrance. “Such a brat,” he muses, voice light.
He slants his hips before you can rattle off another dull jab, sliding inside your warmth, cock snug inside you. His lips are on your neck almost immediately.
Your fingers card into his hair, lightly tugging at the root. “Oh, fuck, Leon—”
Another roll of his hips, another moan earned from your kiss-bruised lips.
He keeps his hands planted on your hips, thumbs stroking over the widest points. “Thought about you the whole time I was gone— shhit, baby, don’t squeeze me so tight.”
You gasp as he tilts your hips up just right, enough for his tip to reach the deepest point inside you. “Y-You did?”
Leon pants against your neck, kisses trailing up the side of your face, hot and wet. “‘Course I did. Wanted to—fuck, there ya go—get back home to my pretty girl.”
You turn your head to catch his mouth with your own, hands coming to cup both sides of his face. “I love you. ‘M sorry I’m such a—hah—brat. Missed you s’much.”
He twitches inside you with a groan into your mouth.
Leon is close, and he can feel that you are too.
He smooths a hand over your forehead, brushing your hair from your face. “I love you too, baby. Always gonna.”
You love this feeling. Being so full of him, so warm and loved. Hands in his hair, on his shoulders, raking down his back. Legs wrapping around his hips, keeping him near.
Leon breaks your kiss only to murmur against your cheek, “Fuck— gotta pull out, baby. Perfect pussy’s gonna make me cum.”
Ankles lock around his hips. Your mouth is back on his. “Mm-mm. Inside.”
A sound in between a gasp and a laugh leaves him, pulling away from the kiss just enough to look down at you. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, sweetheart. Say you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” your response comes faster than lightning. “I-I’m gonna cum!”
Leon’s hips stutter in response to you clenching down on him like a vice. He laces his fingers in yours like it was his first instinct, free hand slipping between you to rub your clit.
He watches your face, brought closer to the edge himself with every pinch of your brows and drop of your lips. “There it is, atta girl. So pretty when you cum.”
Your orgasm strikes you, hot and bright and as intense as electricity. Your hips jerk up into his, your veins thrumming with a pleasure that you’ve long been waiting for.
Just as you fall against him, Leon is there to catch you, hips buried to the hilt. Head tucked into your shoulder, you feel the moment he spills inside you. He cums with a choked sound against your skin, his hips stuttering until he empties himself, still buried snug inside you.
Eyes opening, you still see stars. You almost have to remind yourself how to breathe.
Lips on your shoulder. “Love you.”
A kiss on your forehead, hands pressing against the mattress on either side of your head as he stands up. By the time your eyes open, he’s back with a damp rag and a glass of water to your lips.
Cleaned up and sleepy, he slides into bed behind you once more, arm slung lazily over your middle.
You fall asleep in his arms a quarter past four.
masterlist | request
an: i finally wrote something after having writers block for months on end everyone cheer !!! sorry if it’s lowk trash, i’ve been out of the writers room for so longggg 😞
leon was the same man you'd known for the past six years. hardened shell, gruff voice, a body worn and rough from years of training and fighting—of surviving, never knowing if he’d even see the next sunrise. the dark circles under his striking blue eyes, the gentle wrinkles that adorned his face, small creases around his mouth and nose showing glimpse of the rare moments where life had given him something worth laughing for.
moments with you.
he never thought he'd experience a love like this, didn't think he was worthy of it—of a dynamic like yours. the kind you'd see in 90's movies where the main couple grows old together, learning every little detail about each other until decades pass and their presence becomes something as familiar as breathing. a love that stays through cold winters, warm and sticky summers, floral springs, and muddy autumns. love that didn't fade with time, but instead grew alongside it, blooming quietly with every passing season.
the kind that made him feel embarrassingly soft and had him getting all gooey inside, blush creeping up the back of his neck before slowly traveling to the apples of his cheeks, grinning so hard his lips would quiver.
when he finally proposed, the ring he slipped onto your finger wasn't extravagant. it didn't need to be. it was thoughtful, carefully chosen, and carried every unspoken promise he struggled to put into words. a promise of every quiet morning, every ordinary day, every tomorrow he was lucky enough to have.
the vows he shared with you would keep you up on random nights, heart still thumping at the thought.
“i spent a long time thinking i wouldn't get a future,” he'd whispered, his thumb brushing gently over your hand as he held back a grin. “but somehow, I found one with you.” his voice trembled slightly, nervous.
“i can't promise that life will always be easy. i can't promise i'll never worry, or that i won't come home exhausted and stubborn…” a small laugh escaped him.
“but i can promise i'll love you through all of it. i want to spend every tomorrow i can get with you.”
little drabble bc im feeling sad and nostalgic tonight so i thought writing would get some of that weight off my chest + im sappy for old man leon
something about: needy leon through the ages.. 18+. afab reader.
a/n: im eating up
RE2:
this leon isn't that experienced. he probably had a gf and has had sex. but? he never knew sex could be that intense. he's sitting up against the bed, and you're riding him, your pussy sucking him in with squelching sounds. he's already came more than once, his dick aching and raw. you still grinded against his pelvis, moving your hips up and down no giving him any time to catch his breath.
"b-baby.. ple- AH!-" he whined "c-c'mon ba- babe! i can't do this anymore!" he panted, his own hips betraying him by bucking against you.
you were close, until you reached a pace, up-down up-down. he gasped and his hips moved against you "d-don't stop!" he drooled "s-so good, ba-abe"
he didn't want you to stop, everything about your pussy made him happy, giddy, he could only thought of you, his brain in a one track path, were you were everything he wanted.
RE4:
this leon? he's a bit more experienced, still a spring chicken, it was all work no play for him. a few rounds passed between you, he was behind you, pounding away, your chest was pushed down, your back arched. he'd already cum 3 times, but you were relentless, he stil pounded away, he was close, your cunt was perfect, moist, gummmy, welcome. like everything he missed in spain.
leon's voice cracked, he didn't think he could go anymore, he stopped to take a breather.
"ngh-" he panted, but you began fucking yourself back, his cock hitting the right spot, that made your walls tighten, trying to milk him for all he's worth. "o-oh.. calm.. calm down bab-by..." he huffed when your feet crossed over his ass, pushing him in.
he whined, actually a high pitched one, as if it was too much for him to even be inside you.
"e-easy... ah! s'too much!"
RE6 :
in here? leon is grown. not fully, he still can learn new things. but something he always falls for?
when he laid back, hands on your hips and helped you bounce away.
leon had his back against the headboard, not fully naked, but his purple button up shirt was wrinkled and open, leaving his sweaty chest out for you to rake. his hands, calloused from handling guns and weapons, squeezed each time you fell down.
"Careful, baby..." he huffed, he still teased you, but he started to stutter, and his groans morphed into moans, and you just couldn't help yourself. so you began moving up and down faster, your pussy wanting to melt his cock with how warm it was. and just when you felt him swolle a bit, you stop, and just sit still, looking into his eyes.
"hah- oh shi- baby, please... dont tease me.." he panted, with each breath, looking into your eyes with his blues, you could feel his cheeks, he was burning up, his hands tried to make you move, he needed the movement.
"c'mon sweetheart, do you really- ngh- ah- move..'ove.." he slurred, trying to kiss you.
there was still rookie in him.
"please"
RE9:
as soon as he had signal he had texted you one thing
"coming home baby, don't make plans tomorrow"
you thought he was talking about a surprise date he had planned for you, or a whole day together. you were wrong. as soon as leon got home, he didn't take his dirty combat boots or take a shower. he kissed you, as if he had missed you for a thousand years, leon's lips deepened the kiss, the warm chapped lips he had opened and his tongue slithered into yours. then, his arms lifted you up mid kiss and carried you to the bedroom.
that's how you got here. your hips held down his hands, pushing you down and sitting on his face.
he moaned and groaned into your cunt, his nose pressing against your clit just right and pressing each time his mouth moved. you tried to move, worried about his breathing, but he growled and shoved you deeper into his face.
his wet tongue pushed in, while his lips made out with your cunt, kissing it like it was a long lost lover he would never see again. he pecked it one last time before focusing on your nub, sucking on it, nibbling it gently but desperate. you pulled on his hair, moaning that 's'too much' but he went harder, sucking, licking, nibbling.
it reached a point where you could help yourself and you came all over his face. he gave you a second to catch your air. then, he looked up to you-
leon's eyes were dilated, his chin and stubble fresh with slick, a smile on his lips, then he said.
"i missed'em..missed you..." he nuzzled into your thight "let me memorize the taste.."
he wasn't leaving until wrangling his taste of you.
୨୧ — Valko was sprawled on his stomach, one arm dangling off the edge of the bed, hair an absolute disaster, ears twitching occasionally at sounds only he could hear. His tail had escaped the covers sometime in the night and lay flopped over your legs like a furry anchor.
It wagged once. Twice. Even in sleep, some part of him always knew you were there.
You'd been awake for an hour already- crept out at an ungodly time to execute your master plan, then slipped back in to wait. The apartment smelled like vanilla and sugar and slightly burnt frosting (you'd scraped off the evidence), and the living room was housing a mountain of wrapped presents you'd been secretly hoarding for weeks.
His nose twitched.
There it is.
You watched his brow furrow, still mostly asleep, processing the unusual scent data. His tail started wagging faster. Then his ears perked up- one, then the other, swiveling toward the bedroom door like little radar dishes.
“Mmrph” A grumble. His arm reached out blindly, patting the mattress until he found your thigh and latched on, “Why's it smell like... cake?”
“Good morning to you too.”
One golden eye cracked open. Then the other. He squinted at you suspiciously, clearly not trusting his own senses this early, “‘S not my birthday.”
“It literally is.”
He buried his face back into the pillow, “Birthdays are for people who age. I refuse. I'm eternal.”
You snorted and scratched behind one ear. His whole body went boneless, a low rumble building in his chest.
Cheater, he thought hazily. Using the ears against me.
“Made you a cake,” you said in the sweetest fucking voice.
His head lifted. Both ears now at full attention, pointed directly at you with laser focus.
“…What kind?”
“Chocolate. Three layers. Homemade buttercream… There may also be irresponsible amounts of presents. That leather jacket you've been staring at for six months? Those limited edition headphones that sold out in three minutes?" You grinned. "Oh, and I contacted that artist you like for a custom commission- it won't be ready for weeks so you're getting an IOU with a badly drawn wolf on it. Don't judge my art skills."
His tail was going insane now- hard enough to shake the bed. But his face was doing that thing where he tried to look cool and unaffected and was failing spectacularly.
She remembered, he thought, something warm and overwhelming expanding in his chest. Every stupid little thing I mentioned once. She was listening. She planned this. For me.
You didn't get to finish the sentence.
Valko moved fast and suddenly you were pinned beneath him, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his face inches from yours.
“You,” he said roughly, “are so annoying.”
“Rude. I made you cake-“
“The most annoying person I've ever met.” He kissed your forehead. “Insufferable even.” Your nose. “Absolutely unbearable.” The corner of your mouth.
You cupped his face in both hands.
“Happy birthday, my little wolfie.”
He made a small, undignified sound. His tail drooped. His ears flattened.
And then he buried his face in your neck, arms wrapping around you tight enough to squeeze the air from your lungs, and just... stayed there. Breathing you in.
You held him tighter, scratching at the base of his ears as his whole body melted against yours.
His tail started wagging again- slower, softer.
Best day, he thought. Best person. Gonna marry her.
“So,” you finally said, breaking the silence, “wanna see your presents? Orrrr is it still too early?”
He bit your shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to make you yelp.
“Five more minutes.” He lifted his head, flashing that sharp grin- still slightly watery but getting cockier, “Then presents. Then cake. Then I'm gonna show you exactly how grateful I am. Repeatedly.”
“...It's eight AM.”
“And? I've got all day. You gave me three layers. That's at least three rounds.”
“That math doesn't-“
He dropped back down, pressing a kiss to your pulse point, “My birthday. My math.”
- Leon isn’t very big on public displays of affection, although he will hold your hand through a busy crowd, or place his hand on the small of your back if he’s guiding you somewhere.
- That being said… On the occasional subway ride, Leon refuses to let you touch the grimy grab handles. He insists you hold onto his bicep instead. Not like you’d complain.
- When he’s at home with you, Leon is practically your shadow - putting his head on top of your chin or in the crook of your neck while you’re attending to a task, such as a typing away at a report or cooking something. He also pulls you in super close whenever you’re sat on the couch or lying in bed, and he absolutely hates letting go.
- Leon also enjoys physical touch, but from you and only you, since he sees you as a safe space. He especially loves when you rake your fingers through his hair, lightly touching his scalp. It reminds you of a dog leaning in to nuzzle the hand petting it. He’s more touch starved than he lets on.
- Even after a long day at the office or returning from a mission, Leon is the one who will cook you both breakfast the following morning, or he’ll notice that oil leak from your car and fix it for you before you even spot it yourself. Leon would never let you lift a finger, unless you wanted to.
- He always gets a little surge of pride when he’s able to be the hero for you - especially if it involves brute strength, such as opening stubborn jars or moving a piece of heavy furniture. It’s a bit amusing watching him try to play it cool when you thank him for his help.
- Words and grand romantic gestures aren’t Leon’s strongest suit - but he doesn’t go a day without saying “I love you”.
- Leon is not really big on the gift giving and receiving front, but he always gathers information by asking your friends and paying attention to what you’re looking at in the mall so he can get you a nice gift. His preferred gifts from you are handmade, since he’s quite sentimental.
- When things became serious, Leon told you that he trusts you with his card, and you can buy whatever you want with it. For whatever reason, you still kind of hold back on using it… So sometimes Leon will just straight up ask you to visit a luxury store and put his card to use, because he has no clue how else he’s going to spend all that money otherwise.
- Making corny jokes is just a reflex for Leon at this point. If you say something that reminds him of a joke, he will add an awful one-liner after your sentence before you can even stop him. In response, you usually stare at him with a deadpan look, while he’s staring back at you looking pleased with himself.
- Leon is a very clean guy, he sometimes showers twice a day. He has a very strong soapy aldehydic scent, which is softened only by a fraction from his sandalwood aftershave and his natural skin musk. He smells a lot like freshly washed linen.
- Since beginning to work for the DSO, Leon became an extremely organised and tidy person; he’s meticulous in the way he arranges and stores his belongings at home. He doesn’t leave his inbox piled up with over 2,000 notifications. Hell, even his desktop computer is free from clutter, with dedicated files and subfiles with strict categorisation. He’s so organised that you’re usually the one asking him where something is.
- Leon would not give another person the time of day if they’re hitting on him. Since you began dating, Leon ignores any advances from other people to the point where he becomes visibly annoyed if they don’t take a hint the first time. He said it himself - he’s a one-woman type of guy.
- Leon runs hot at night. He also doesn’t have difficulty falling asleep, but he has trouble staying asleep because he often has nightmares. He instinctively reaches for you when he wakes up from a nightmare.
- Speaking of emotions… Leon used to cope with his trauma and emotions with alcohol before he met you. Leon wants to be present whenever he’s with you, and he wouldn’t be able to do that if he were drunk in his free time. Being in a relationship with you also gave him the boost of motivation he needed to change his drinking habits, because he wants to be a dependable partner.
- Leon is a very jumpy person. He hates horror movies and jumpscares. Anything with zombies is totally off the table - for very good reason. You’ve developed a habit of announcing when you’re home, and purposely making a bit of noise before approaching him if he can’t see you. You hate seeing him jump out of his skin when he’s caught off guard - it makes your chest clench a little because of the reason behind it.
- Leon is a starer. He’ll often admire your face with a small smile.
- People who work with Leon have noticed that he’s gotten his spark back since he began dating you. Leon was previously known for being a brooding person, who always walked around the office with a furrowed brow. One time, Leon cracked a small smile at someone’s joke in the break room - his colleagues were so used to seeing him frown all the time that the room was momentarily stunned into silence.
- He’s the one who usually drives. Surprisingly, he’s actually a good driver in every day life, even though you’ve heard the vehicle auditors at the DSO chide him over the phone about the amount of vehicles he’s totalled on missions.
- When he doesn’t hear you the first time, he leans close to you and does a little “hm?”- it gets you flustered every time. He knows what he’s doing.
based on this request--to my requester, I hope I was able to breathe life into your fantasy, thank you so much for stopping by :)
a/n: I'm finally getting back into the groove of writing. tried to keep this short and sweet, I know my drabbles have been anything but recently. anyway...please enjoy and know that my inbox is always open if you have a wicked idea you'd like me to explore
It wasn’t long into your relationship with Leon that things started to get physical. One look at the man with the dress shirt he begrudgingly wore to work with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, or those suit pants that contoured his form a little too perfectly, and you were ready to pounce like a tiger on its prey. All it took was one movie night at your apartment where the two of you were snuggled up like bugs in a rug on the sofa, sharing the warmth of one blanket to keep the winter chill seeping through the windows at bay.
A round of sharing each other’s saliva, hands roaming past the point of no return, and a clumsy trek into the bedroom on shaky legs. Things were bound to proceed as hot and heavy as they began.
After stripping you down to your underwear, Leon gently nudged you onto the bed, and your lips immediately missed the warmth and softness of his own as he stood above you just to sink down onto his knees a moment later to pull down your panties. With his hands on either of your thighs, he drove them apart, and then he took a second to manually adjust your hips on the edge of the mattress, setting you into place for him to begin his ministrations.
He started with a long lick from the bottom of your entrance all the way up to your clit, the bud pulsing in anticipation. His tongue laid flat against it as he continued to lap like a kitten at a bowl of milk, small, gentle strokes to warm you up.
Then, when he was satisfied with how wet you had gotten beneath him, how your hips were jolting, your body writhing like a live wire, he began to eat.
You had never experienced a man who lived up to the name of the act, devouring your pussy like it was his last meal on earth and he had to make every drop count. He did it with such a ferocious hunger, you were certain it was more for his pleasure than your own.
He started by sliding his down your folds, licking the nerves on either side of your clit in between hungry licks at your seam. It made your body jerk, and your abdomen tense. Groaning against your pussy, he stuck the tip of the muscle past your entrance, tonguing your insides as if testing to see how far he could go. The sensation was euphoric, and your climax was nigh and fast-approaching.
Early into your relationship, you were worried how this would go. With every man before Leon, it would take hours for you to finish, if you did at all. Even by yourself, with your own fingers, or the help of a battery-powered friend, your orgasm was as elusive as a butterfly, always out of arm’s reach.
Whether Leon was experienced or whether it was written into his biology to know exactly which buttons to press, which spot to lick, you didn’t care. Just as long as he didn’t stop.
And he didn’t.
He continued to consume you after your first, second, and third climax, his tongue far from worn, his mouth far from tired.
“Leon,” you whined, clawing at the sinew of his shoulderblades through the fabric of his t-shirt. Your fingers dug into his skin, pulled at his hair; you pleaded for some reprieve, though he didn’t overlook the lack of surety in your voice, and continued to work. The moans that escaped your throat were like the sound of a flare gun at the starting line of a race.
In turn, the sounds he made against your pussy pushed you over the edge…yet again, until you were screaming out his name, and you felt as though you could either fall through the layers of cotton and fluff in the mattress, or ascend to the heavens to live among the stars behind your eyes.
After the waterworks of your last orgasm, you were probably drowning the man, though you’re certain, by the way he’s been dining on you for the last hour, he wouldn’t mind dying a hero’s between your legs.
He retreated, an obscene sheen of sweat and arousal painted across his chin and mouth. His chest heaved with each labored breath he sucked in, his shoulders consequently rising and falling. Strands of dark blonde hair were sticking up in all directions, a tousled mess at your own hands. Surely he was done, you thought. That is, until he wiped away the moisture on his face with his forearm and lunged past you onto the mattress, his head propped up by a pillow, hands expectantly grasped on his abdomen.
“Sit on my face,” he said, with a smile as big as the moon.
