So, Mote, It Be - 18+ [SERIES]
Piano's Labyrinth - 13+[FLUFF]
Son of the Moon - 16+ [ANGST]
Red Bow - 13+ [FLUFF]
The Phantom - 18+ [SMUT/ANGST]
Rose Red - 13+ [FLUFF]
Carry Me From The Forest - 13+ [FLUFF]
Pasteries, With Love - 13+ [FLUFF]
4th fic of my 1k event :) || masterlist || based on this
You were terrible at keeping secrets from Tim Drake.
Not because you were bad at lying — you were actually quite good at it — but because Tim was Tim. A detective. A genius. A human lie detector with a brain that never slept and a habit of noticing everything.
Still, you tried.
The surprise birthday party had been in the works for weeks. Tim’s birthday was always a quiet affair — he hated big celebrations, said they felt performative — but this year you wanted to do something special. Something that said “I see you. I love you. Even when you forget to eat because you’re chasing a lead at 4am.”
You’d recruited Dick, Steph, and Cass for help. Dick was in charge of the cake (a massive chocolate one with tiny bat symbols in the frosting). Steph handled decorations. Cass was on music. You handled the guest list (small, just the family and a few close friends) and the venue (the manor’s rarely-used ballroom, which Alfred had already started polishing).
The hardest part was hiding it from Tim.
You used three different Amazon accounts to order decorations. You whispered planning calls with Dick in the bathroom with the shower running. You told Tim you were “taking a ceramics class” on Tuesdays when you were actually meeting with the caterer.
He still figured it out.
You didn’t know how, but you knew the exact moment he did. It was three days before the party. You’d come home from “ceramics” with paint on your hands (actually from helping Steph make a banner) and found Tim in the kitchen, making tea like nothing was wrong. But his eyes had that sharp, knowing glint.
He didn’t say anything.
He just smiled, kissed your forehead, and asked how class went.
You almost cracked then.
But you held it together.
The night of the party, you were a nervous wreck.
You’d told Tim you were taking him out for a “low-key dinner” — just the two of you. He’d agreed easily, too easily, and now he was sitting in the passenger seat of your car, looking unfairly handsome in a simple black button-down, watching you with that soft, amused expression he got when he knew something you didn’t.
“You’re acting weird,” he said as you pulled up to the manor.
“Am not,” you replied, voice a little too high. “It’s your birthday. I’m allowed to be excited.”
He hummed, unconvinced, but let you lead him inside.
The lights were off when you opened the door.
Then — on cue — they flipped on.
“SURPRISE!”
The room erupted. Balloons, streamers, a massive “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TIM!” banner that Steph had clearly spent hours on. The whole family was there — Bruce trying (and failing) to look relaxed, Dick grinning like an idiot, Damian pretending he wasn’t happy to be included, Alfred with a perfectly iced cake.
Tim froze for half a second.
Then he broke into the biggest, brightest smile you’d ever seen on him.
“No way,” he said, voice cracking with genuine surprise. “You guys… you did all this?”
He turned to you, eyes wide and soft. “You planned this?”
You nodded, suddenly shy. “Happy birthday, Tim.”
He pulled you into a tight hug, face buried in your hair. “I love you,” he whispered, so quietly only you could hear. “So much.”
The party was perfect.
Dick told embarrassing stories from when they were kids. Steph forced everyone into a terrible karaoke battle. Damian pretended to hate the cake but ate three slices. Bruce gave a short, awkward but sincere toast about how proud he was of the man Tim had become.
Tim stayed close to you the whole night, hand on your lower back, stealing kisses when no one was looking. He looked happier than you’d seen him in months — relaxed, loved, surrounded by people who chose him.
When the last guest left and the manor was quiet again, Tim pulled you into the library, the one room that always felt like his. He closed the door, then turned and kissed you — slow, deep, full of gratitude.
When he pulled back, forehead against yours, he smiled.
“I knew,” he admitted softly.
You blinked. “What?”
“About the party. I knew for weeks.” He laughed at your stunned expression. “You used three different Amazon accounts. You whispered on the phone with Dick in the shower — which, by the way, doesn’t actually block sound as well as you think. And you kept saying you were ‘taking ceramics’ but came home with glitter on your hands. I’m a detective, baby. I notice things.”
You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “I tried so hard.”
“You did,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “And it was perfect. The best birthday I’ve ever had. Because you did it for me. Because you see me. Because you love me enough to try to surprise the guy who notices everything.”
He tilted your chin up, eyes warm and full of love. “Thank you. For the party. For putting up with me. For being the best thing in my life.”
You kissed him again, soft and sweet. “Happy birthday, Tim. I love you.”
“I love you more,” he whispered.
The library was quiet except for the crackle of the fireplace and the steady beat of his heart under your ear. Tim held you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.
So, i don’t know if this is something i going through mentally but im not becoming a huge fan of a majority of Leon blogs. Like some people are taking it too far and it’s just coming too much for me. I’ll still write for Leon but I plan on staying away from the DDLG (just a little bit) Dark and whatever Leon I used to write. It will just be plain Leon (maybe a splash of DDLG don’t know yet)
Way too many blogs are saying the r— word freely and as someone who’s been a victim of that three times and SA’d for years. I’m so sorry but I’m unfollowing those blogs. I don’t plan on writing more dark because genuinely, some people take it too far. But I’ll still be mutuals with some friends because i genuinely love them however everyone else, I just can’t anymore.
I used to indulge in dark fanfics to cope with what happened to me but some people are just too desensitized and use certain words so freely, it fucks me over for hours or days. So yeah I’m sorry for not posting new fanfics, I think it’s just crisis episode or whatever. But I’m genuinely starting to give less than two shits on tumblr which sucks because I made really good friends here.
Hey everyone, small update. I’ve been in Mexico since Friday morning and you won’t believe it…I got the Montezuma’s revenge specialty. It really be your own people 💔 I came to Mexico for three weeks to celebrate Cinco de Mayo because my maternal family is from Puebla. I come to Mexico often but oh my god, when will my stomach finally get used to the food here?!
So until I recover, I won’t be able to work on my stories. I know it’s been over a month but I didn’t ask for my ancestors to curse me every time I visit them. But I’ve been reading my mutuals’ stories and omg they’re so good 🫶
I’ll tag them so you can read their stories while I repent to my ancestors to release me from this agony 💔
Hello, this is an updated list of upcoming fanfics from me!
So, I did take my month hiatus, and it was...interesting, because I ended up writing despite my hiatus. But I did meet wonderful people throughout my break. If you ever want to talk outside of Tumblr, ask for my Discord, I'm active there daily ❤
With that in mind, here is an updated list of upcoming fanfics!
Resident Evil
RE 2!Leon S. Kennedy - A Rookie's Confession - FLUFF
RE 9!Leon S. Kennedy - Be Quiet - SMUT
DC Comics [The Batfamily]
Bruce Wayne - Double Pleasure - SMUT
Untitled Jason Todd fanfic - still brainstorming - IDK
Thank you all for being patient with me! I'll be traveling overseas, but I'll still be active here. If you wish to be tagged in a fanfic, ask me! Mwah 💋
Small. Stupid. Jason shutting down the second things got too real.
You’d asked him - gently - why he’d disappeared for three days after a rough patrol. No text. No call. Just radio silence while you sat in your apartment worrying yourself sick.
“I was handling it,” he’d said, voice flat, arms crossed like he was bracing for impact. “You don’t need to know every detail of my shit.”
“I’m not asking for every detail,” you’d replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m asking you to let me in. I’m your girlfriend, Jason. Not some civilian you have to protect from the truth.”
He’d laughed - short, bitter. “Yeah? Well maybe I don’t want you in. Maybe I don’t want you seeing the parts of me that are still fucked up from the grave.”
The words had landed like punches. You’d stood there, chest tight, and said the thing you’d been thinking for weeks.
“Maybe we need a break.”
Not a breakup.
A break.
Time. Space. Air.
Jason had gone very still. “What?”
“Just… a break,” you’d said, voice cracking. “Not forever. I just need to breathe, Jason. And you need to figure out if you even want me in your life or if I’m just another person you’re protecting from yourself.”
He hadn’t argued. Hadn’t fought. He’d just nodded once, jaw tight, and left.
That was nine days ago.
Jason Todd had never been good at feelings.
He’d spent years building walls so high no one could climb them. Death had only made them taller. But you - quiet, patient, stubborn you - had somehow slipped through the cracks anyway.
Now those cracks felt like canyons.
He’d spent the first few days throwing himself into work. Patrols. Warehouse raids. Anything to keep his hands busy and his mind quiet. But every night he came home to an empty apartment and the silence screamed louder than any gunshot.
Then he saw you.
It was at a small café near the university. You were sitting outside with a guy — some tall, friendly-looking idiot with glasses and a soft smile. He said something that made you laugh, head tilted back, eyes bright the way they used to be with him.
Jason’s stomach dropped.
He told himself it was nothing. Just a friend. You were allowed to have friends. But the image stuck - you smiling at someone else while he was falling apart.
That night he did something he’d sworn he’d never do.
He drank.
Not a beer. Not a glass of whiskey.
A bottle. Then another.
The alcohol burned going down, but it didn’t quiet the noise in his head. It only made it louder. By 2am he was drunk for the first time in his life, sitting on the floor of his apartment with his phone in his hand, thumb hovering over your name.
He pressed call.
You answered on the third ring, voice sleepy. “Jason?”
“You’re out there smiling at other guys,” he slurred, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “While I’m sitting here like a fucking idiot thinking about you every second. You said a break. Not a breakup. But it feels like you’re already moving on. Like I was just a phase. Like-“
“Jason,” you cut in, sounding more awake now. “Are you drunk?”
He laughed — ugly and raw. “Yeah. First time in ages. Congratulations. You made the emotionally constipated zombie drink. Happy now?”
There was a pause. Then your voice, sharper. “Stop it. You’re spiraling. Come over. We need to talk.”
“No,” he snapped, but his voice cracked. “You wanted space. You got it. Go smile at your new friend. I’m sure he’s nicer. Doesn’t have blood on his hands. Doesn’t wake up screaming—”
“Jason Todd,” you said, voice firm but gentle, the way you always got when he was like this. “Stop. You’re breaking my heart right now. I’m coming over. Do not hang up.”
He didn’t.
He sat on the floor, phone pressed to his ear, listening to you move around your apartment, the sound of keys, the door closing. Twenty minutes later there was a knock.
He opened it.
You stood there in sweatpants and one of his old hoodies, hair messy, eyes wide with worry. The second you saw him - red-eyed, swaying slightly, looking smaller than you’d ever seen him - your face crumpled.
“Oh, Jay…”
He broke.
The tears came fast and ugly, shoulders shaking as he tried to hold them back. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so fucking sorry. I thought… I thought you were done. I saw you with that guy and I just… I panicked. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be someone worth staying for.”
You stepped inside, closing the door behind you, and pulled him into your arms. He collapsed against you, burying his face in your neck, arms wrapping around your waist like you might disappear.
“I’m not done,” you whispered, holding him tight. “It was a break, Jason. Not a breakup. I needed space because I was scared too. Scared that you’d keep shutting me out until there was nothing left of us. But I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”
He cried harder, the kind of raw, broken sound that tore at your chest. You guided him to the couch, pulling him down so his head rested in your lap. Your fingers stroked through his hair, slow and soothing, the way you knew he liked.
“I love you,” you said quietly. “The angry parts. The scared parts. The parts that think they’re too broken to be loved. All of them. You’re not too much. You’re not too damaged. You’re mine. And I’m yours. Okay?”
He nodded against your thigh, fingers clutching the hem of your hoodie. “Okay,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I got drunk. I’m sorry I said those things. I was just… scared. I saw you smiling and I thought I’d lost you for good.”
“You haven’t,” you assured him, leaning down to kiss his temple. “I’m right here. And I’m staying. We’ll figure out the rest. Together.”
Jason stayed curled in your lap for a long time, breathing gradually evening out as your fingers continued their slow path through his hair. Every so often he’d press a kiss to your thigh or your wrist, like he needed the constant reminder you were real.
“I love you,” he said again, softer this time. “More than I know how to say. I’ll try to be better. Less… constipated.”
You laughed quietly, the sound warm. “I love you too. Even when you’re emotionally constipated. Especially then.”
He shifted, pulling you down so you were lying beside him on the couch, your head on his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you like you were the only safe thing left in the world.
The city hummed far below. The argument, the fear, the drunk call — all of it faded into the background as Jason held you close, his heartbeat steady under your ear.
“I’m keeping you,” he whispered into your hair. “For as long as you’ll let me.”
You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
In the quiet dark of the apartment, Jason Todd — the man who came back from the dead, the one who built walls so high no one could climb them — finally let someone in.
And you?
You stayed.
Because loving Jason Todd had never been easy.
But it had always been worth it.
a/n : this is a newer request I got but I’m working on older ones sorry! (Reqs open <3) @moviecritc bc u wanted to be tagged babe 🌷
PSA to fic readers, it is so hard to freak a fic writer out with your comments. we are just as crazy about the fic as you are.
tell me you love it. tell me it made you slam your laptop shut. tell me you brought it up at your college lecture about kink. key smash in all caps. quote the passage that made you think. i promise, we’ll love it.
we spend hours thinking about it, writing it, editing it. there is no such thing as over enthusiasm when you’re talking about our fics to us. we are sooooo weird about them, i assure you. you are just matching my freak. the freak bar is already set so high. feel no anxiety about enjoying something and letting the creator know.
I will be taking at least a month off from writing. From March 27th to April 4th, I released seven fanfics: Call Me, Nurse Bunny, Just Relax for Me, Judas, Baby, Two Little Kittens, and Pop A Pill. Combined, I wrote 43.2k words in just a week. I will be taking a break to prevent burnout, because before being a Resident Evil writer, I was a "The Sandman" writer, releasing over 7 one-shots and a 16-part series in a span of four months, which led to a severe burnout that I didn't recover until literally a week ago.
In the meantime, I will be lurking around to support others and read whatever I want. If you'd like to DM me, I'll still answer. However, by May, I will be traveling to Mexico for a holiday, so I'll be a bit busy; however, I'll always make time for anyone 💋
When I return, I will be releasing more Resident Evil material and diving into DC Comics territory! If you'd like to follow me outside of Tumblr, don't be shy to send a DM, I have Discord, and Instagram! Until then, thank you so much for your support and for giving me a heartwarming welcome.
Being married to the legendary Leon Kennedy comes with a unique set of advantages. He is an attentive and loving husband, always ensuring you are kept informed about his dangerous missions with the DSO. His thoughtfulness extends far beyond just sharing information; he genuinely cares for your well-being. However, there is one notable drawback—a significant age difference, with him more than twice your age. Yet, this difference doesn’t bother either of you. Leon enjoys the vibrancy you bring to his life, feeling youthful in your presence, while you cherish the security and protection he provides. Leon often reflects on how fortunate he is to share his life with someone as accepting and loving as you. You embrace every facet of his life, from the haunting memories of Raccoon City to the pressures of his demanding role in the DSO. Even in the most intimate moments of your relationship, you reassure him of your unconditional love, acknowledging every part of him, including the challenges that come with his age. While he is a fit and healthy man, he occasionally requires medication to enhance your shared experiences in the bedroom. Still, your affection for him remains unwavering; you appreciate all aspects of him, including his old cock.
The penthouse envelops you in a serene embrace, where the silence is only broken by the sultry notes of jazz wafting through the air from the vintage record player nestled in the corner. Silvery moonlight streams through the tall French doors, casting elongated shadows that dance across the glossy black marble floors, creating an enchanting play of light and darkness. The atmosphere is thick with the warm, earthy fragrance of sandalwood mingling with the musty aroma of well-loved books—an intoxicating blend that lingers like a comforting memory, clinging to the rich, dark Victorian furnishings and the brooding tenebrist paintings that peer down from the walls with an almost watchful gaze.
You’ve just finished clearing the dinner plates, remnants of a meal that Leon passionately insisted on preparing himself. He stands casually, leaning against the grand archway leading to the hallway, his silver-streaked hair catching the soft glow of the room. Despite the passage of time, his build remains robust, though age has added a gentle softness to his form. His piercing blue eyes—sharp yet filled with warmth—follow your every movement, emanating a protective tenderness that makes your heart swell. As the lines at the corners of his eyes deepen, he offers a small, weary smile, one that speaks of a thousand shared moments.
“I insist,” you assert gently, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin against your lips. “You work so hard for us; it’s the least I could do.” As you pull away, he captures your hand in his grasp, firm yet tender, his fingers wrapping around you like a protective shield. His thumb lightly grazes over your knuckles, drawing his gaze to the wedding ring adorning your finger. The tanzanite stone glimmers in the dim light, reflecting shades of deep blue and violet that seem to absorb the ambiance, embodying the love and commitment that binds you together.
“My young wife is too good to me. Always taking care of her old man,” Leon whispers, his voice low and warm, like a gentle melody echoing in the quiet of the evening. He doesn't release your hand; instead, he uses it to draw you closer, until you find yourself pressed against his solid chest. The familiar warmth radiates from him, intertwined with the faint, intoxicating scent of his cologne and the lingering notes of the evening's red wine. This cozy blend envelops you like a cherished embrace. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a delightful shiver down your spine, “Let me take care of you now. Come to bed with me.”
“Only if you carry me,” you reply with a playful giggle, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Come on, baby... please?” A slow, deep chuckle escapes him, a sound that vibrates through your very being, resonating in a way that only he can. His arms, still strong and capable despite the passage of time, slide around your body—one hand cradling your knees while the other supports your back. With effortless grace, he lifts you into his arms, as if you were weightless, holding you securely against him. The world tilts gently as he turns, striding purposefully down the dimly lit hallway towards your bedroom. The soft glow from the sconces casts gentle shadows across his face, highlighting the serious yet loving lines that define him.
“Anything for my girl. You know that,” he murmurs, a promise lingering in his tone.
He nudges the heavy bedroom door open with his foot, revealing a sanctuary bathed in the soft, golden glow of a single lamp perched on the nightstand. The light dances across the dark, ornate bedframe and the luxurious silk sheets, creating an intimate atmosphere that feels like a dream. He doesn’t set you down right away; instead, he stands there in the center of the room, holding you close, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of desire and vulnerability. A hint of that old, familiar shame flickers in his gaze, softening his expression, “You're sure about this, baby? You don’t have to… just for me.” His embrace tightens slightly, a silent plea battling against his overwhelming desire to prioritize your comfort above all else.
You lean in, pressing your lips softly against his, the warmth of your kiss chasing away the shadows of doubt that lurked in his eyes. “I’m sure, hon... It’s for us two.” Your gentle kiss seems to dissolve the uncertainty within him, and he releases a slow, shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders easing as he finally moves toward the bed. He lays you down on the cool silk sheets with an unhurried reverence that makes your heart flutter, his hands lingering on your hips with a tenderness that stirs your soul. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his voice barely above a whisper, “For us. Always for us.”
He straightens his back, his movements slow and purposeful, as he starts to unbutton his shirt one by one. The warm lamplight bathes him in a soft glow, highlighting the flecks of silver in his hair and the contours of his torso, bearing the marks of a life filled with both strength and resilience. His eyes are locked onto yours, dark and intense, conveying a potent blend of deep affection and unwavering resolve. When he speaks, his voice drops to a sultry whisper, laden with promise, “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby. Gonna fill that pretty little pussy up until you can't think straight.”
You gasped as warmth flushed through your cheeks, your voice a mix of shock and playful reprimand. “Leon! You’re so dirty!” A low, throaty laugh escaped his lips, rich and warm, filling the quiet room with an electric tension. His deft fingers swiftly worked through the remaining buttons of his shirt, each release accompanied by the sound of fabric parting. With a fluid motion, he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it cascade silently to the floor. The sight of his chest was familiar yet thrilling—broad and defined, the pale silver scars mapping a life lived on the edge.
As he unbuckled his belt with a soft, deliberate click, he leaned closer, his voice a seductive whisper, “You love it when I talk dirty to you. Don’t pretend you don’t, sweetheart.” The warmth of his breath brushed against your skin, igniting a fire within you.
He joined you on the bed, the mattress surrendering to his weight, sinking lightly as he caged you in with his arms. His face hovered mere inches from yours, his gaze intense and smoldering. You were enveloped in the intoxicating scent of him—sandalwood mingled with clean sweat, a hint of something uniquely Leon that made your pulse quicken. He trailed a calloused finger down your cheek, over your jaw, his touch sending shivers through your body. “My good girl. My perfect wife. Gonna give you a baby tonight. Gonna try so damn hard,” he murmured against your skin, the promise of his words lingering in the air as he lowered his head, capturing your lips in a deep, claiming kiss.
The kiss was not rushed; it was slow and thorough, a tantalizing prelude to the intimacy that lay ahead. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his silver-streaked hair, feeling the strength of his body close to yours. “Please, baby, I know you can do it,” you urged, your voice breathless. He groaned into the kiss, the sound vibrating through you, deep and primal, as your fingers twisted in his soft hair. His hands roamed down your sides, settling possessively on your hips, his grip firm and reassuring. When he finally broke the kiss, his breathing was heavier, his blue eyes darkened with raw desire, filled with an unmistakable hunger for the moment that was unfolding between you.
Leon’s voice trembles with raw emotion, a gravelly whisper that sends shivers down your spine. “That's my girl. Always believing in me, even when I don't deserve it.” He shifts closer, kneeling between your legs, his eyes roaming over your body with a heat that ignites your skin, setting it alight with awareness. His fingers skim the waistband of your pants, their touch both gentle and deliberate as he begins to peel them down your legs, sending your heartbeat racing. The cool air envelopes your exposed skin, creating a contrast that heightens your senses, but it's the intensity of his gaze that keeps that warmth radiating within you. With a swift motion, he tosses your clothing aside, his voice low and teasing, “Look at you. So beautiful for me. Always so ready.”
His gaze lingers on the curve of your thighs, hunger flickering in his eyes. Leaning closer, he brushes his lips against the delicate skin of your inner thigh, the gentle pressure of his soft, open-mouthed kiss sending a shiver through you. The subtle scratch of his stubble adds an enticing contrast to the warmth of your skin, igniting a spark of sensation that makes you gasp softly, “Oh…fuck, it feels so good.” His breath ghosts hot against your thigh before he delivers another kiss, higher this time, closer to your core. You can feel the damp heat of his mouth through the thin hair. He nuzzles there for a moment, inhaling your scent deeply, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
He muttered against your skin, “You smell so fucking good, baby. Like heaven and sin all mixed.” He shifts again, his hands sliding under your ass to tilt your hips up, exposing you completely to his gaze and the lamplight. His eyes are heavy-lidded, yet they blaze with an intense, possessive fire, taking in the scene before him with a hunger that speaks volumes. Each glance is charged with a mixture of desire and determination, revealing an unmistakable fervor that captures the very essence of his longing for your wet, glistening pussy. “Look at this messy little cunt. Already dripping for me, isn't it? My needy girl.”
You let out a soft whimper, the sound almost bittersweet as you nodded. “Yes, honey, just for you… always for you.” A satisfied breath escaped his lips at your submission, his thumbs digging into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, sending shivers up your spine. The warmth of his touch was both possessive and electrifying, igniting a fire deep within you as he held you captive in that moment, spreading you wider. He lowers his head, and you feel the hot, wet swipe of his tongue through your folds, slow and deliberate. It's not teasing; it's claiming. He laps at your arousal, groaning as he tastes you, his stubble rough against your tender skin.
Leon lifted his head, his lips glistening, “Fuck, you taste even better. Like you were made just for my mouth.” He doesn't wait for a reply, diving back in with a fervor that steals your breath. His tongue flicks over your clit, once, twice, then settles into a relentless, circling rhythm. One of his hands moves from your thigh to slide two fingers into your soaking cunt, curling them deep inside you. The dual sensation of his mouth and fingers working in tandem is overwhelming. Your gummy walls closed in on his fingers like a viper, his fingers getting soaked by your wetness.
His words muffled against you, “That's it, baby. Cum on my face. Get your pretty pussy all messy for me before I fuck it full of my seed.”
You whimpered as you buck your hips, “Please... more, god please more!” He answers your plea with a low, guttural sound of approval, his fingers pushing deeper, crooking against that sweet, spongy spot inside you that makes your back arch off the sheets. His tongue becomes more insistent, flicking rapidly over your clit while he sucks gently, the tension envelops you, relentless and overwhelming. You can sense the roughness of his beard brushing against the tender skin of your inner thighs, a stark juxtaposition to the warm, soft moisture of his mouth. Each moment adds to the intoxicating mix of sensation, heightening your awareness and igniting a fiery yearning within.
He retracted slightly, creating a sliver of space between them, his breath hot against your skin. The words escaped his lips in a gritty, husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine, “You gonna...cum for me, baby? Gonna scream for your husband?” Leon doesn't let you answer, diving back in with a renewed hunger, his fingers pumping in and out of your slick cunt, the wet, squelching sounds obscene in the quiet room. His other hand grips your hip hard, holding you steady against his onslaught, his own hips shifting restlessly against the mattress.
You grind your hips against his face, forcing his tongue deeper, and he takes it with a groan of pure ecstasy. His fingers curl harder inside you, pressing relentlessly against your G-spot while his mouth works your clit into a frenzied, throbbing peak. The pressure coils tight in your belly, a spring about to snap. His voice was a muffled command against your flesh, “That's it, baby. Come on. Do it. Soak my fucking face.”
The orgasm crashes over you without warning, a white-hot wave of pleasure that rips a sharp, broken cry from your throat. Your body convulses, thighs trembling violently around his head as you squirt your release against his mouth and chin. He drinks it down greedily, his tongue lapping at your pulsating cunt until the last shudder passes through you. Leon lifted his head, his face glistening, and his breathing heavy, “Good girl. Such a good fucking girl for me.”
You pant softly, looking at him with a dazed look, “Come on, Leon...pop a pill for me. Fuck me good, please.” He watches you descend, his gaze intense, brimming with a mix of pride and insatiable desire. With a deliberate movement, he wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, a subtle gesture that accentuates his confidence. A slow, possessive smirk spreads across his lips, radiating a sense of ownership that sends a shiver down your spine. As he reaches for the nightstand drawer, the sound of it sliding open reverberates through the quiet room, sharp and pronounced, breaking the stillness like the promise of something imminent in the post-orgasmic quiet. He reached into the drawer and withdrew a small, discreet blister pack, his fingers moving deftly but betraying a slight tension coursing through his shoulders—the lingering shadow of regrets. With a soft, purposeful click, he extracted a single pill, the glossy surface catching the light for just a moment. "For you, baby," he said, his voice low and intimate, "Anything for you."
He dry-swallows the pill, his Adam's apple bobbing with the effort, and then he pivots back toward you. The moment his eyes meet yours, the usual intensity shifts to something softer, more tender, as he notices the dazed, blissful look etched across your face. With a gentle yet purposeful movement, he leans in closer, his breath mingling with yours before his lips find yours in a deep, intoxicating kiss. In that moment, he allows you to taste the essence of your own arousal on his tongue. Leon broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, “Just need a few minutes. Then I'm gonna ruin this pretty little pussy. Gonna fuck a baby so deep inside you, you'll feel me for days.”
You pressed your lips against his, diving deep into the kiss as you gently sucked on his tongue. “No rush, baby...because I love you regardless,” you whispered, your words hanging in the air like a promise. A low groan escaped him, reverberating against your mouth as his body responded with a shudder, the warmth of your connection igniting something primal within him. When he finally pulled back, his crystal-blue eyes shimmered with an intoxicating mix of desire and vulnerability, the depth of emotion etched into his weathered face.
With a trembling thumb, he caressed your cheek, his touch both tender and electric. His voice emerged, thick and laced with raw feeling, “God, baby... I don't know what I did to deserve you.”
He shifted on the bed, drawing you closer into his embrace. You nestled against him, your head resting comfortably beneath his chin, the steady cadence of his heartbeat a reassuring balm against your ear. The silence enveloped you like a warm blanket, filled with an unspoken understanding that transcended words. After a few moments of this serene intimacy, you felt a subtle flutter against your thigh—the Viagra coursing through him, heightening the palpable tension that crackled in the air between you. His cock hardens insistently against you. He whispered into your hair, “It's working, baby. You feel that? All for you.” His hand slides down your back, over the curve of your ass, his touch reverent and hungry. He guides you onto your back again, his body covering yours, his erection pressing against your still-sensitive, wet pussy. He doesn't enter you yet, just grinds against you slowly, letting you feel the full, thick length of him through the friction.
“Gonna take my time with you. Gonna make sure my seed finds a home.”
You let out a soft, lingering moan as you nestled your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. The warmth of his skin against yours sent shivers down your spine as you whispered, “Please, Leon, knock up this slutty pussy.” A dark, possessive smile spreads across his face at your words. His hips press down more firmly, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance, spreading your arousal. He braces himself on one arm, his other hand cupping your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his intense gaze.
Leon whispered, “That's right. My little slut. My wife. Gonna put a baby in this perfect cunt if it's the last thing I do.” He shifts his hips, and with a slow, deliberate push, he begins to enter you. The stretch is exquisite, familiar, and yet always overwhelming. He fills you inch by agonizing inch, his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of sensation cross your face. The feeling of him, hard and thick and perfect inside you, steals the air from your lungs. He groaned, his eyes closing from the tightness, “Fuck... you're so tight. Soaking wet, but still so fucking tight for me.” He bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, and stays there for a long moment, both of you breathing heavily. He begins to move, a slow, deep roll of his hips that has you seeing stars. Each thrust is measured, purposeful, grinding against that deep, sensitive spot that makes your toes curl—the wet, slick sounds of your joining mix with his ragged breaths.
You let out a soft moan, unable to contain your pleasure as your fingers glided over his skin, nails trailing down his back with a hint of urgency. “Fuck…so good, love your old cock.” The words slipped from your lips, heavy with desire. You could hear his breath catch, a sharp, ecstatic sound that fueled the fire between you. As your nails pressed deeper, leaving a mark behind, it was as if the slight sting only ignited his passion further, driving him to give you even more, his thrusts gaining a fraction more intensity, each deep, grinding push hitting your cervix with a jolt that borders on pleasure and pain. He lowers his head, his lips finding your neck, sucking a dark mark into your smooth, youthful skin.
Leon let out a possessive growl against your throat, “You love this old cock? This worn-out dick that needs a pill to get hard for his perfect young wife?” He punctuates the self-deprecating question with a particularly deep, punishing thrust that makes you gasp. His hand slides from your jaw down to your throat, not squeezing, just holding, a firm, dominant pressure that makes you feel utterly claimed. His hips set a relentless, slow rhythm, the thick length of him stretching your needy pussy with every movement. Leon pulled back to look you in the eyes, his own blazing, “Tell me again. Tell me you love it.”
His thrusts become less measured, more primal, the force of them rocking your body against the silk sheets. The headboard meets the wall with a gentle, rhythmic thud, creating a cadence that echoes through the room. Every ounce of his strength, concentration, and yearning is poured into this intimate exchange, his body taut with effort as he strives to fulfill the deep desires you both share. You can feel the tension building within you as you begin to arch your back to meet his powerful thrusts, soft breaths escaping your lips as you whisper, “I love it, babe! I love your old cock...please harder! Please!” Your whines were filling the room, high and pleading.
A primal, guttural sound erupts from his chest as he responds to your pleas, a deeply resonant blend of triumph and unrestrained lust that sends shivers down your spine. His hand grips your throat, firm yet measured—enough to leave you breathless, but not enough to stifle your air. The raw intensity of his dominance envelops you, a palpable force that pulses between you, electric and commanding. His hips snap forward with a new, brutal force, driving his cock so deep it feels like he's branding your insides. The wet, slapping sounds of your bodies meeting fill the room, a filthy soundtrack to his possession. “You want it harder, baby?” Leon said with a voice strain, “You want this old man to fuck you like he's twenty again?” He shifts his angle, lifting your hips higher, and the next thrust rams directly into your cervix, a sharp, blinding burst of sensation that makes you cry out. His balls slap against your ass with each powerful drive, the sensation raw and animalistic. Sweat drips from his brow onto your chest, his muscles corded with the effort of maintaining the punishing pace.
Leon’s eyes gleamed with wild intensity, a mix of excitement and fear. He muttered under his breath, “Gonna....breed you. Gonna pump this cunt so full of cum it drips out of you for days.”The rough rhythm of his movements caused your breasts to bounce as you screamed in pleasure, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Leon, please! I want to carry your baby!” You yelled out, feeling your nails drag down his back.
His rhythm becomes frantic, losing all pretense of control. It's pure, raw instinct now-the primal drive to claim, to seed, to possess. Every muscle in his body is coiled tight, radiating energy and determination. His face, a canvas of intense focus, reflects both fierce concentration and a desperate, all-consuming love that seems to intertwine with every breath he takes. You can feel the tension coiling in his hips, the telltale throbbing deep inside you as he nears his peak. The air is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, his grunts and your cries mingling in the lamplight. “Fuck... I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum, baby!” Leon screamed out; his voice was rough.
With one final, earth-shattering thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and stills. A guttural roar rips from his throat as he pours his release deep into your womb, his cock pulsing violently inside you, flooding your sensitive cunt with hot, thick cum. His entire body shudders with the force of his orgasm, his grip on you bruisingly tight as he empties himself. Leon collapsed atop you, breathless, his face buried in your neck, “Oh, God…(Y/N)…”
“Leon!” You let out a loud, shaky whine. Your body convulses beneath him, a second, sharper orgasm tearing through you as you feel his hot seed flooding your depths. Your inner muscles clench and milk his still-pulsing cock, drawing out every last drop with involuntary, greedy spasms. The sensation washes over you like a tidal wave, an intense, white-hot cascade of pleasure that ignites every nerve, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. Your cries are stifled against the warmth of his sweat-slicked shoulder, the salty taste of him lingering on your lips.
His body, heavy and spent, rests on top of you, a comforting weight as his ragged breaths create warm gusts against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “That's it, baby… take it all. Take every exquisite drop,” he murmurs, his voice a low, husky command that stirs something deep within you. He stays inside you for a long moment, both of you panting and shuddering in the aftermath. Slowly, carefully, he rolls onto his side, taking you with him so you're curled against his chest, still intimately joined. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as his cock slowly softens within your well-used, messy cunt. His cum begins to seep out, a warm trickle against your thigh.
Leon stroked your hair with a trembling hand, his voice hoarse and thick with emotion, “I love you so much, baby. More than anything.” He kisses your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks-soft, reverent kisses that contrast sharply with the animalistic intensity of moments before. The lamp casts a soft glow over the two of you, tangled together in the rumpled silk sheets, the room smelling of sex and love and hope.
You pressed your lips softly against his, savoring the tender moment. “I love you so much, Leon,” you whispered, your voice filled with warmth. “Even with your old age, I need no one else. Just you.” He responded with a shaky, contented sigh that brushed against your skin, his body sinking deeper into the softness of the mattress beneath you. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as if you were the most precious treasure in his universe. In the stillness that surrounded you, the only sounds were the gentle rhythm of your mingled breaths and the distant, soothing hum of the city, a world alive far below the serene sanctuary of the penthouse. His cum continues to seep from your well-fucked pussy, a warm, sticky testament to his efforts, pooling on the sheet beneath you.
“You're my whole world, baby girl. This old heart doesn't beat for anyone but you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, each word laced with the weight of devotion. He shifts slightly, his softening cock slipping free with a wet, soft sound. He doesn't let you go, instead pulling the silk sheet up over your cooling bodies, tucking it around your shoulders. His hand rests possessively on your lower belly, his thumb stroking slow, gentle circles over the skin where he hopes his seed is taking root. His eyes closing, a tired, hopeful smile touching his lips, “Let's just stay like this for a while. You feel so perfect in my arms.”
You giggled softly, humming while looking down at his spent cock. “Honey…” you whispered, your voice soft and inviting. Your playful giggle lingered in the air, a tantalizing invitation that drew him closer, the air thick with anticipation. His eyes, heavy-lidded with post-coital bliss, crack open to see you looking down at his spent cock with a mischievous glint. A slow, understanding smile spreads across his face, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling deeply.
Leon chuckled, a low, tired but indulgent sound, “Insatiable little thing, aren't you? My greedy girl.” His hand moves from your belly, sliding down through the sticky mess between your thighs. His fingers, still slick with your combined release, find your sensitive, swollen clit. He begins to rub slow, gentle circles, his touch feather-light but deliberate, a stark contrast to the earlier fervor. “You want another one, baby? Want your husband to make you cum again on his fingers?”
He watches your face intently, his thumb applying just the right amount of pressure to make you shudder. The sensation is a slow, building thrum of pleasure, coaxing your oversensitive body back towards the edge. His other arm remains a solid, comforting weight around you, holding you close against his side. You whimpered softly as you rock your hips, “Yes, honey...But I also want to suck your cock...think it's possible?”
His breath catches at your request, a mix of surprise and raw, immediate arousal flashing in his tired blue eyes. The gentle circles his thumb was tracing on your clit still for a moment as he processes your words. A deep, appreciative groan escapes from his chest, vibrating with a mix of urgency and pleasure. Leon’s voice drips with a thick, renewed desire as he breathes out, "Christ, baby... You're going to give me a heart attack. In the best fucking way." His body shifts on the bed, movements languid yet purposeful, each gesture accentuating the fresh hunger glimmering in his gaze, that fiery intensity making the atmosphere electric. He guides you gently, turning you so you're lying alongside his body, your head level with his hips. His semi-soft cock lies against his thigh, already beginning to stir again under your intense, wanting look. The sight of it, glistening with your mixed fluids, is intensely intimate.
Leon propped himself up on one elbow, a lazy yet captivating smile playing on his lips as his free hand gently wove through your hair, fingers gliding like a feather. “You can have anything you want. Always. You know that,” he murmured, his voice a blend of sincerity and warmth. He then sank back against the soft, plush pillows, his body appearing relaxed and at ease, yet his gaze burned with an intense, possessive heat, capturing your attention as he watched you with unwavering focus. His cock, responding to your focused attention, begins to fill out again, thickening and lengthening against his stomach. The scent of sex is heavy in the air, a potent aphrodisiac.
You gently bit your lower lip, a playful smile dancing across your face. “See, babe? Maybe you don’t always need that pill,” you teased, your voice light and teasing. He responded with a rough, choked laugh, vibrant and raw, a sound that echoed with a blend of affection, embarrassment, and a hint of sheer wonder. His eyes sparkled with emotions, revealing a vulnerability that was both charming and endearing, as if your words had unlocked something deep within him. His cock, now fully hard again without any pharmaceutical aid, stands proud against his belly, a testament to the effect you have on him. A faint blush creeps up his neck, visible even in the soft lamp light.
Leon shook his head in disbelief, his brow furrowing with intensity. His voice, thick and husky, carried a weight of longing as he said, “Only for you, baby. My body... it only ever remembers how to want you.” He reaches down, his hand not guiding you but instead wrapping around the base of his own cock, giving it a slow, firm stroke. Pre-cum beads at the tip, glistening. He holds himself steady for you, his gaze dark and utterly captivated. “It's all yours, baby. Do whatever you want to it. It's yours to play with.”
He watches, his breath hitching as you lean in, the heat of your breath ghosting over the sensitive head. The possessive, adoring look in his eyes is overwhelming. You began to kitten lick his swollen tip, humming softly while looking up at him, “Think you can finger fuck my pussy, Leon? While I suck you dry?” A sharp, gratified hiss escapes his lips as your tongue makes contact, the warm, wet touch sending a jolt straight through his spent body. His hips give a tiny, involuntary buck off the mattress. The sight of you looking up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief and affection, is captivating. Your tongue teasingly dances across his most sensitive skin, creating an overwhelming intensity that’s hard to bear.
“Fuck, yes...Anything you want.”
His free hand, the one not holding his cock, slides down your body. His fingers, still slick from your previous orgasm, find your wet, messy cunt with unerring accuracy. He doesn't hesitate, pushing two fingers deep inside you, curling them to press against that spongy spot that makes you gasp around his tip.
Leon groaned as your kitten licks become more purposeful, “That's it, baby... suck your husband’s cock. Let me feel that pretty mouth.” His fingers begin a slow, deep rhythm inside you, pumping in and out while his thumb finds your clit, applying a steady, circling pressure. The dual sensation of being filled and having your mouth on him is overwhelming, a feedback loop of pleasure. He watches you, his eyes heavy-lidded with bliss, completely lost in the worship of your body. Your throat opens for him, taking his full length in one smooth, deep swallow until your nose is pressed into the coarse hair at the base. As you arched your back, a soft moan escaped your lips, filling the air with a sense of pleasure. Your head moved with a gentle rhythm, each bob creating an intimate dance that heightened the moment. The feeling of him hitting the back of your throat makes him groan, a deep, guttural sound of pure ecstasy. His fingers inside you curl harder, pressing relentlessly against your G-spot as you bob your head, setting a rhythm that has his hips twitching beneath you.
“Oh, God... honey... that mouth... your perfect fucking mouth…” He gasped with a shudder. His fingers work you in time with your movements, a filthy, wet squelch accompanying each thrust of his hand. His thumb rubs tight, insistent circles on your clit, the stimulation relentless. Pre-cum leaks from his tip onto your tongue, a salty, musky taste that you swallow greedily. His body is taut, every muscle straining as he fights not to thrust up into your throat. Through gritted teeth, his free hand tangling in your hair, “Don't stop, baby... gonna make me cum again... gonna fill that sweet mouth…”
The sight of you looking up at him with those doe-like eyes, your lips stretched around his girth and drool slicking your chin, is his undoing. A ragged, broken cry tears from his throat as your hum vibrates through his sensitive cock. His fingers inside you stutter, then press deeper, fucking into your wet cunt with renewed fervor. His thumb grinds hard against your clit. His voice shattered, his body trembling, “That's it... fuck, that's it... I'm cumming, baby... gonna... Ah, God!” His orgasm hits him like a tidal wave, his cock pulsing violently down your throat. Hot, thick spurts of cum flood your mouth, the taste salty and primal. His hips buck off the bed uncontrollably as he empties himself, his release seeming endless. His fingers inside you curl and press, milking a sharp, shuddering climax from your own oversensitive body in tandem with his.
He collapses back against the pillows, spent and breathless, his hand falling from your hair to rest weakly on the sheet. You swallowed the cum, popping your lips from his cock as your legs trembled from the orgasm. “Love... thank you,” You whimpered, trying to recover from the climax.
He lies utterly spent beneath you, his chest rising and falling in deep, ragged breaths that seem to echo in the quiet room. His eyes are softly closed, and a serene expression washes over his face, smoothing out the worry lines that once etched his brow. The gentle rise and fall of his body creates a rhythm that is both soothing and intimate, a silent testament to the exhaustion that has surrendered to tranquility. His softening cock slips from your lips with a wet, final sound, resting against his thigh, glistening with your saliva and his release. The room is enveloped in an almost palpable silence, broken only by the sound of your shared breaths—rapid and filled with intensity. Outside, a faint hum from the bustling city pulses like a heartbeat, a distant reminder of life continuing beyond these walls.
“No... thank you, my angel. My perfect girl.”
With a hand that trembles ever so slightly, he reaches up to tenderly swipe away the drool that drips from your chin, his thumb grazing your skin with a softness that feels almost reverent. The warmth of his touch offers a striking contrast to the passionate intensity that filled the moments before. He gently pulls you upwards, guiding your body against his until you're nestled on his chest, your head resting comfortably beneath his chin. His arms encircle you like a protective cocoon, drawing you in closer and holding you securely against him, as if he never wants to let go. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat underlines the intimacy of the moment. The scent of sex and sweat and him is overwhelming, a comforting, possessive blanket. He kissed the top of your head, his voice thick with emotion, “You're everything. Everything to me.”
“You're everything to me too, love,” you murmured, your fingers gliding over the warmth of his chest. The air around you felt charged, a blend of hope and intimacy. “Do you think I got knocked up this time?” He let out a slow, deep breath, his chest expanding and contracting beneath your caress. The room fell into a serene silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of your breathing. With a gentle assurance, his hand shifted from your back, his fingers intertwining with yours over his heart, a silent promise binding you both in this moment.
For what felt like an eternity, he held you close, his thumb tracing soothing patterns over your knuckles, as if trying to imprint the warmth of this shared moment into his memory. “God, I hope so, baby,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, laced with a raw, tender emotion that belied his usual strength. “I felt... deep this time. Real deep.” His other hand slid down, palm pressing against your lower belly with a surprising gentleness, as if he were already trying to nurture life within you. The heat from his skin seeped into yours, the lingering traces of your shared passion making the touch both intimate and electric.
He pressed down softly, as if he could sense the potential life he wished so fervently to see flourish there. The lamplight enveloped him, catching the silver strands of his hair and illuminating the deep, loving lines etched around his eyes. As he gazed down at you, his expression was soft, almost reverent. “If anyone could make it happen... It's you. Your body was made for this. For me.” He shifts slightly, wincing as his old muscles protest the movement, and reaches over to the nightstand for a clean cloth from the drawer. He dampens it slightly with water from a glass, then begins to gently clean the sticky, cooling mess from between your thighs with a tenderness that aches. His touch is meticulous, caring, wiping away the evidence of his efforts while his eyes remain locked on your face. Leon whispered as he worked, “Whatever happens... you're my miracle. You know that, right?”
You pressed your lips gently to the tip of his nose, a tender gesture that spoke volumes. “You're my miracle too, Leon...we should try again tomorrow,” you whispered, your voice wrapping around the room like a warm embrace.
He emitted a soft, choked sound at the unexpected kiss, his eyes shimmering like dew-kissed leaves in the dim light. The cloth he had been holding stilled in his hand as he gazed at you, really gazed, his eyes moving beyond the visage of the beautiful young woman cradled in his arms. Instead, he saw the fierce, loving soul that had chosen him, wrinkles, Vigra, and all. A solitary tear escaped from the corner of his eye, gliding down his cheek, tracing a shimmering path through the faint stubble that adorned his skin. He made no move to wipe it away, allowing it to symbolize the depth of his emotion.
“Tomorrow, and the next day, and every day after that,” he spoke, his voice trembling with an intensity that resonated in the quiet space. “For as long as this old body will let me.”
With infinite care, he continued to cleanse the remnants of the spent from your skin, every movement deliberate and tender. Once he finished, he tossed the cloth aside, letting it fall away like a forgotten memory. He then pulled the luxurious silk sheet up over both of you, tucking it snugly around your shoulders as if to cocoon you in safety and warmth. As he wrapped his arms around you once more, enveloping you so closely that you could feel the steady, rhythmic thumping of his heart against your ear, the outside world faded to silence.
The penthouse lay in a serene stillness, the jazzy notes from the record player long since melted into the quiet. Moonlight poured through the French doors, casting ethereal silver stripes across the dark, polished marble floor, painting a scene that encapsulated the two of you as you lay entwined—lost in a moment woven with threads of love, hope, and promise for tomorrow.
His voice drifts down to you like a soft, final murmur brushing against your hair, “Sleep now, baby girl. I got you.” His breathing gradually deepens into a steady, rhythmic cadence, a lullaby of tranquility, and his body envelops you, a warm, solid fortress that shields you from the world. His hand rests protectively over your lower belly, a silent, hopeful vigil held even in the realm of his dreams. You linger awake for a while longer, wrapped in the comforting cocoon of his presence. Despite the years that stretch between you, his maturity marked by the need for medication for something as intimate as sex, you accept him wholly, just as he begins to embrace himself. At last, he allows himself to indulge in the life he believed had slipped through his fingers, with you as his youthful wife and the future mother of his child.
You find yourself entwined with the steady thrum of his heart, a rhythm that has become the very soundtrack of your safety, your haven. The gentle rise and fall of his chest, slow and deep, signifies the sleep of a man who has finally found peace. In the quiet dark, you sense a faint tremor running through his muscles, a lingering echo of his efforts and emotional release. The hand resting on your belly carries weight, warmth—a permanent claim, a tangible connection between you both.
In his slumber, he murmurs, “My girl…love you.” His arm instinctively tightens around you, pulling you even closer against him. A soft sigh slips from his lips, and the worry that often creases his brow when he is awake smooths away entirely, leaving behind a visage of pure, unguarded contentment. In sleep, he appears younger, freed from the lines that map his worries.
As the moonlight shifts subtly across the floor, time stretches languidly onward. The city below lies still, a distant, slumbering beast. Enveloped in the profound silence of the penthouse, surrounded by dark wood and the watchful gaze of tenebrist paintings, the truth settles deep within your bones, grounding you in this moment of serenity.
This is your life now—a beautiful tapestry woven from choice, not compromise or sacrifice. Every line etched into his face tells a story; his age, scar, and the little pill in the drawer are not flaws to endure, but rich consistencies that illustrate the man you love. He envelops you in his arms, holding you tightly as if you are his sole anchor in an often chaotic world. As the day fades, your eyelids grow heavy, a gentle pull toward restful oblivion. The comforting warmth radiating from his body, the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat, and the reassuring weight of his hand resting possessively on you create a cocoon of safety, lulling you into a deep, peaceful sleep.
In your dreams, a future unfolds before you, painted in the same deep, rich hues as your present—a vision of a child with his striking blue eyes and soft blond hair, laughing joyfully in this serene, lavish space you’ve created together. It feels like a promise, a glimpse of the life that is yet to come.
not me playing RE 5 with a toxic crush of mine…we have so much history together, good and bad 💔
We’re more than friends but less than lovers. After we finish RE 5, we’re going to RE 6. He loves the game so far and I’m having a fun time with him. I just wish things were more simple for us.
I’ll gladly share our history to anyone who wants to know, it’s extensive 😭
Notes: Inspired by my adopted kittens, Remy and Michi. Married couple. PSA, this is RE 9 Leon. That’s it.
If you'd like to be a part of a tag list, just ask me. Requests are closed. Asks are open.
Word count: 9.8k
Masterlist
The penthouse wraps you in tranquility this evening, a refuge of dark mahogany and black marble, high above the city’s relentless murmur. The last rays of sunset bleed through heavy velvet drapes, casting shadows across polished surfaces—paintings from a bygone era line the walls, their subjects seemingly alive in the fading light. The air is filled with the clean scent of polished wood and a hint of your favorite perfume. In this dim-lit haven, your phone’s glow highlights your face as you immerse yourself in adorable kitten videos, soft “awws” escaping your lips. From a plush velvet armchair by the fireplace, Leon watches you with a mix of inscrutability and affection, sipping amber whiskey, his relaxed posture betraying an underlying tension. “Still on those kittens?” he rumbled, his voice deep and smooth like the whiskey swirling in his glass. “You’ve been scrolling for an hour.” You look up at him, your lips forming a soft pout as you reply, “Yes, I am! Because I want a kitten! Or two! Or three… or four!”
With a soft, definitive click, Leon placed his glass on the side table, the sound reverberating through the high-ceilinged room like a gentle reminder of reality. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, fixing you with a look that is a mix of exasperation and unmistakable adoration. Releasing a long, weary sigh, he continues, “Baby… We've been over this. A pet is a responsibility…a living thing that depends entirely on you.” He gestured around the opulence of your home, the dark marble floors glistening under the fading light, the delicate Victorian furnishings that whisper stories of elegance long past, and the tenebrist paintings that seem to absorb every glimmer that dares intrude. “This isn’t exactly a... forgiving environment for something small and fragile. With your work and my work… we're hardly home enough.”
As if to emphasize his point, a low, distant siren wails from the streets far below, a haunting reminder of the world that exists beyond your gothic haven. Leon reaches out, his calloused fingers tenderly brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his touch igniting a warmth that spreads through you.
His voice drops to a serious timbre, one that signals his resolute nature, “It's not happening, sweetheart. Not now.”
“But we could make it work!” you insisted, your voice rising with a blend of hope and frustration. “We could ask our friends to help take care of them when we're gone, or maybe even invest in timed food dispensers!” You placed your phone on your lap, the screen still glowing with images of playful kittens, but Leon’s gentle touch and the intensity of his gaze drew your focus back to him. His thumb softly stroked your temple, a tender contrast to the tension etched into his angular features. The deep blue of his eyes held a mixture of warmth and concern, a protectiveness that enveloped your shared life and stretched toward the tiny creatures you longed for. Silence enveloped the room, punctuated only by the rhythmic ticking of the ornate grandfather clock, its sound echoing like the heartbeat of the space around you.
Leon shook his head slowly, the movement deliberate as if weighing the seriousness of the conversation. “A timed feeder isn’t companionship. It’s not someone to notice if they’re sick or scared. It’s a big decision, princess. One I’m not ready to make.” He leaned back into his chair, the soft creak of the leather resonating in the quiet room. His gaze shifted toward the French doors, where the last glimmer of the crimson sun dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a tapestry of city lights that twinkled like distant stars. The air felt heavy, a finality settling over the moment like an uninvited chill. You shifted on the plush velvet armrest, the fabric whispered under your movements as you leaned closer into his space. The scent of his cologne, richly dark and woody, mingled with a trace of whiskey that lingered in the air. He didn’t pull away, yet the rigidity of his posture spoke volumes—he was a man resolutely guarding a boundary he had no intention of crossing. But when his eyes fell to your face, they softened, taking in the earnest plea reflected in your expression.
With a resigned breath, he sighed softly through his nose, “Those eyes are a weapon, you know that? A dirty trick.” He lifted his large hand to cradle your cheek, his thumb gently stroking the apple of your cheek, grounding you in that moment. “But no, baby girl. Not this time. It’s for your own good. For our good.”
You stood abruptly, a huff escaping your lips. “Fine, I’m going to step outside for some fresh air. One of these days, we will get a kitten, Daddy.” As you spoke, the movement sent a light draft billowing through the still air. Leon watched you, his expression a bittersweet mix of fond exasperation and steadfast resolve. He didn’t make a move to stop you, yet his eyes tracked your progress as you glided toward the penthouse’s grand entrance. The heavy oak door swung open with a slow creak, and when it clicked shut behind you, the sound echoed like the final note of a symphony, completing a bittersweet chord of longing.
Once outside, you felt a pout forming on your lips, your steps growing heavier as you made your way to the elevators. As you let the cart descend, you scrolled through your phone, absorbing more adorable kitten videos. Your lower lip trembled, and your eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I really want a kitten...just when he’s away on missions…” You whispered, wishing for the day those tiny creatures would be part of your world.
The elevator glides downward, its smooth descent accompanied by a gentle hum that starkly contrasts with the tension you left behind. The mirrored walls reflect your sulky visage, the dark eyeliner framing your eyes making the tears that threaten to spill even more pronounced. Your phone illuminates with a cherished video of a tiny black kitten swatting at a feather toy, a poignant reminder of the innocence and joy now out of reach. As the elevator doors slide open to reveal the opulent lobby, you are met with an expanse of glossy dark marble and lush potted ferns, all shrouded in a haunting silence at this late hour.
As you step out, a cool evening breeze caresses your skin, a refreshing yet bittersweet contrast to the heaviness in your heart. You push through the hefty glass doors and onto the street, greeted by the mingling scents of damp earth and a sprinkle of far-off traffic, a blend that feels familiar yet disconcertingly distant. Your feet instinctively guide you towards the quaint, gated garden alley beside your building; a narrow ribbon of greenery sandwiched between towering structures, offering a fleeting promise of solitude.
As you navigate around the corner, skirting the large, overflowing trash and recycling bins tucked into an alcove, an unexpected sound halts you in your tracks. A faint, high-pitched mewl pierces through the urban noise, delicate and desperate, just audible enough to make you frown. You peer into the shadows cast by the flickering streetlamp, and there, shivering against the cold, hard brick wall, you catch sight of a tiny form. A jet-black kitten, its fur sullied and matted, huddles in fear, trembling as it seeks refuge from the world. Its luminous blue eyes, wide and brimming with terror, reflect the faint light in a hauntingly beautiful way, and another desperate cry escapes its mouth, a stark reminder of its solitude.
A rush of urgency fills your heart as you whisper, “No way... oh my god, it’s a kitten.” You kneel onto the damp pavement, feeling the chill seep into the fabric of your pants. The kitten flinched at your movement, instinctively pressing its slight body further against the unforgiving wall. As you draw closer, it becomes heartbreakingly clear just how small and fragile it is, its ribs prominently visible through its disheveled fur. A weak, trembling meow escapes its throat, a sound so faint it barely slices through the silence around you. Its tiny frame shudders, trying to shrink into the shadows as if it could disappear altogether.
A crumpled fast-food wrapper dances in the cool breeze nearby, and the kitten jumps at the sound, fresh tremors coursing through its minuscule body. It is alone, and the fear radiating off it is palpable, almost suffocating.
Tears well in your eyes as your compassionate heart struggles with the scene unfolding before you. “Hey, kitty, come here... I’m not going to hurt you. Psst, psst.” Your hand extends, trembling slightly as you call to it. The kitten's eyes remain locked onto your outstretched palm, its bright blue gaze filled with both curiosity and trepidation. It hesitates, taking a shaky, minuscule step back, burrowing deeper into the dim shadows cast by the trash bin. A low, shaky growl, barely more than a whisper, emerges from its tiny throat—a pitiful defense born from sheer fear.
The little creature cowers before you, more frightened than aggressive. Its delicate ears, flattened against its skull, betray the deep-seated trepidation coursing through its tiny body, which is taut as a drawn bow, poised for flight. The alley around you seems to grow hushed, as if it, too, is holding its breath along with you. The distant cacophony of the city fades into a low, ambient roar, leaving only the frantic thumping of your own heart and the kitten's rapid, shallow breaths echoing in the stillness.
Slowly, you lower your hand fully, palm up, resting it on the damp, cold ground, which feels like the earth itself were holding its breath along with you. You remain perfectly still, silence enveloping you both. For what seems like an eternity, nothing stirs. Then, the kitten's sensitive nose twitches ever so slightly. It takes one cautious step forward, followed by another, its round eyes fixed intently on your face. It stretches its slender neck, sniffing the air just above your fingers, curiosity battling with fear.
The kitten releases a soft mewl that breaks the tension, a sound that shifts from pure dread to an inquisitive plea. Tentatively, it takes another step closer, its cold, wet nose grazing your fingertip. It recoils for a moment, startled, but after a heartbeat, it approaches again, this time investigating you with greater confidence. A tiny, rough tongue darts out, delicately licking the salt from your skin, as if tasting the promise of safety.
“Come here, I’m not going to hurt you. I promise,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath as you gently scoop the trembling creature into your hands. Your fingers cradle the kitten with the utmost care, encircling its fragile form. It emits a small, startled squeak but does not fight you; instead, it seems too weary and chilled to resist. You can feel every delicate rib beneath the matted, dirty fur, a reminder of its vulnerability and fragility.
Looking up at you, the kitten’s bright blue eyes are wide, filled with uncertainty and a hint of despair. Yet, as if weighing the warmth of your presence against the chill of the alley, it pushes its head weakly against your thumb, seeking solace. A faint, tentative purr begins to resonate through its tiny body, a shaky, tremulous sound that speaks volumes about its relief.
Carefully, you rise to your feet, cradling the kitten against your chest. It instinctively burrows into the fabric of your top, craving warmth and security. As it nestles against you, its purr strengthens, evolving into a steady, comforting rumble that vibrates through your skin, driving away the shadows that loom in the alley. The dimness feels less foreboding now that a sense of purpose has taken hold.
Just then, you hear Leon’s voice resonating from the lobby entrance, “Baby? Everything alright out here?” He stands in the doorway, a tall figure silhouetted against the light spilling from inside. His presence is both imposing and protective, a reminder that he hasn’t allowed you to wander too far. His gaze drops, drawn to the small, dark shape curled against you—a fragile beacon of hope in a once-ominous night.
You approach Leon, the tiny black kitten now a quiet, purring weight nestled against your chest. “He was all alone, Daddy,” you say, your voice soft and pleading. Leon’s expression shifts as he takes in the sight before him: your tear-streaked cheeks, the triumphant beam lighting up your eyes, and the filthy, shivering creature you cradle so carefully in your arms. He stands in the doorway, a solid barrier between the opulent warmth of your home and the biting cold of the city night.
Leon lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his tousled hair, his brow furrowing with concern. “(Y/N)... what did you do?” At that moment, the kitten peeks out from the folds of your shirt, its bright blue eyes blinking slowly at the new, larger presence. A soft mewl escapes its tiny mouth, a sound that seems to echo in the vastness of the lobby entryway. Leon’s stern gaze drops to the struggling creature, and for a heartbeat, his resolve starts to waver. His voice softens to almost a whisper, infused with compassion, “He’s half-starved. And freezing. Look at him.”
“If we leave him out here, he’ll die!” you protest, your face set in a stubborn pout, refusing to let go of the kitten that has begun to nestle deeper into your embrace. “This has to be destiny! Like the cat distribution system.”
Leon’s jaw tightens as he oscillates between your pleading eyes and the pitiable creature cradled in your arms. The logical arguments he had prepared about responsibility, about the implications of your lifestyle, begin to fade in the light of the kitten’s palpable suffering. He reaches out, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear with a surprising tenderness. “The cat distribution system, huh?” Leon murmurs, a hint of incredulity in his voice, “You and your... internet theories.”
With a resigned exhale, he steps aside, holding the heavy door open. A wave of warm, fragrant air from the penthouse rushes over you, a stark contrast to the bitter chill of the alley outside. His gaze remains fixed on the tiny kitten, which is now kneading weakly at your shirt with its minuscule claws, its purr gradually growing steadier. Leon’s sigh is heavy with surrender, “Get inside. Before he catches his death out here, we’ll... We’ll figure it out. For tonight.” The kitten responds by purring louder, nuzzling deeper into the warmth of your chest.
You dash into the penthouse lobby, laughter bubbling up as you eagerly push the elevator button. “Oh, you’re so cute! Like a tiny shadow bat…” The doors slide shut, encasing you in the warm, intimate solitude of the elevator. The kitten seems to sense the shift, its trembling subsiding into the steady, rumbling purr that vibrates against your chest. Leon follows you inside, his tall frame making the spacious elevator feel suddenly much smaller. He leans against the mirrored wall with his arms crossed, watching you cradle the delicate creature with an expression that dances between exasperation and undeniable fondness. Leon shook his head slowly, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips, “A shadow bat. Of course, you'd come up with something like that already.”
“Come on, what should we name him? He looks so sleepy...and he’s so fluffy and cuddly.” Your voice was filled with excitement as you cradled the small creature, feeling the softness of his fur against your skin.
The elevator hummed softly as it glided upward, the gentle whirring the only sound besides the kitten's contented purring. Morpheus had stopped shaking entirely now, nestled securely in the crook of your arm, his bright blue eyes half-closed in drowsy trust. Leon watched the two of you intently, his usual stern demeanor melting in the face of such a vulnerable and heartwarming sight. He uncrossed his arms, his voice dropping to a low, warm rumble, “Morpheus. The god of dreams. It fits. He was sleeping in a damn trash pile. Seems like he needed a better one.”
The elevator doors slid open, revealing the grand foyer of the penthouse. The expansive space felt transformed now, shifting from an austere museum to a place that brimmed with the potential of home. You carried Morpheus into the main living area, and Leon followed, his gaze roving over the elegant surroundings as if seeing them for the first time—the rich, dark furniture, the luxurious, priceless rugs beneath your feet, and the sharp, polished corners of the marble-topped tables that gleamed under the soft lighting. He rubbed the back of his neck, a look of determination crossing his features, “First thing tomorrow, we're kitten-proofing this entire place. And a vet visit. He needs to be checked over.”
Morpheus let out a tiny, squeaky yawn, stretching one minuscule paw in a gesture of utter exhaustion. A genuine, soft laugh escaped Leon’s lips, “Yeah, you’re exhausted, aren’t you, little guy?”
With a joyful squeal, you gently set Morpheus down onto the cool, slick black marble floor. “He’s so cute! Oh, do we have any tuna? Or milk? Or should we rush to the pet store right now? I can’t let him go hungry while he’s with us! He’s just so adorable, Daddy, and I love him already—” Your words flowed rapidly, filled with a rush of affection.
Morpheus took a few wobbly steps on the gleaming surface, his tiny claws making faint scratching sounds that echoed in the otherwise silent room. He seemed momentarily disoriented by the sprawling, opulent space, his bright blue eyes wide as he surveyed the towering bookshelves and the imposing, dark furniture that surrounded him. With a questioning meow, he promptly sat down, beginning to clean one of his little, grimy front paws meticulously.
Leon chuckled softly, his voice grounding amidst your whirlwind of excitement as he moved toward the open-plan kitchen. “Slow down, baby girl. Milk isn’t good for them. And we’re not going out again tonight. It’s late, and he’s safe now.” He opened the refrigerator, the bright light spilling out into the dim room like a beacon, illuminating the rich dark tones of the kitchen. “Let me see what we have… some leftover roast chicken. That’ll do. We’ll get proper food tomorrow.”
At the rustling of the packaging, Morpheus perked up, his ears twitching with interest. He let out a more insistent, hungry-sounding meow, a plea that tugged at your heartstrings.
“Milk isn’t good for him? But I see it all the time on TV and in movies! Kittens love milk, don’t they? Don’t you, Morpheus?” You questioned, looking down at the little bundle of fur, and hoped your assumptions were right.
Leon retrieved a small container of shredded chicken from the fridge, the cool, bright light flooding the kitchen and casting a soft glow on his focused expression. With deliberate care, he placed a few enticing morsels onto a delicate, handcrafted ceramic saucer, the dish's vibrant colors contrasting with the pale chicken. Next, he filled a sturdy bowl with fresh water, its surface shimmering under the overhead light. The clatter of dishes seemed to draw Morpheus in, the little kitten inching forward with a tentative gait, his tail held high but subtly quivering at the tip, betraying his initial uncertainty.
Leon carried the saucer and bowl to a clear patch on the hardwood floor, ensuring it was free of clutter. “Common misconception, sweetheart. Cow's milk can upset their stomachs. They need a special formula if they're very young, or just water and proper cat food,” he explained, a hint of warmth in his tone. With meticulous care, he set the dishes down, ensuring they were stable.
Morpheus paused for a heartbeat, his tiny body frozen with curiosity. Then, with cautious determination, he crept forward, his pink nose twitching as he inspected the chicken. After a tentative sniff, he suddenly lunged forward, devouring the chicken with an enthusiasm that belied his small stature, his little body trembling with the fervor of his hunger.
Leon observed the kitten with a gentle smile, a softness lighting up his eyes. “Looks like he agrees with me. Hungry little shadow bat,” he murmured, his voice laced with affection.
You leaned back against the plush couch, a smile spreading across your face. “We should bathe him tomorrow and head to the pet store to spoil him,” you suggested, your voice filled with excitement at the thought of pampering the little creature.
Once Morpheus polished off the last shred of chicken with a dainty lick of the saucer, his tiny belly appeared noticeably rounder, a testament to the meal. He tottered over to the water bowl, lapping at it eagerly for a brief moment. But with the energy required to feast now sapped, he stumbled back toward the center of the room, avoiding the inviting soft rugs and the furniture. Instead, he made a beeline for the darkest, most shadowy corner of the living area, shuffling behind the grand piano as if it were the most desirable refuge.
You and Leon watched as he disappeared into the obscurity. “And there he goes. Straight for the darkest spot he can find. Guess the name fits,” Leon mumbled, a hint of amusement in his voice. A gentle rustling echoed from the corner as Morpheus began to make himself a nest amidst the dust bunnies, the soft sound a testament to his determination to find comfort in the secluded space. Soon, a soothing, steady purring emerged from the darkness, a melody of pure, exhausted contentment.
Leon turned to you, his expression shifting from gentle warmth to something more serious, though the fondness in his gaze remained. “Alright. Come here,” he said, his voice firm yet affectionate. Without waiting for your response, he closed the distance between you in two long strides, his hands warm and reassuring as they grasped your waist. He lifted you effortlessly and settled you onto his lap, arranging you so you were sideways, your legs draped over his while your back rested against the armrest of the couch. He enclosed you within the sanctuary of his arm, his other hand coming up to gently tilt your chin, compelling you to meet his intense gaze.
In a low, quiet rumble meant only for you, he stated, “We are going to have a very serious talk about this 'cat distribution system' of yours. You're bringing home strays.”
“You're a stray I brought in,” you teased, your voice playful yet laced with an undercurrent of challenge. The low, rumbling growl that emanated from his chest reverberated through your body, sending a shiver of excitement coursing through you as you pressed against him. His eyes, once soft and inviting, darkened with an intense, dominant glimmer. The hand gripping your chin tightened momentarily—a warning, and his thumb began to stroke your lower lip with a tantalizing gentleness.
Leon’s voice dipped to a dangerously intimate whisper, “Cheeky little girl. You think that's a smart thing to say to me right after I've let you have your way?” His other hand slid possessively from your waist down to your thigh, his grip firm and unwavering. From the shadowy corner, the purring sound of a cat seemed to grow louder, a blissfully oblivious soundtrack to the charged atmosphere building between you two.
He leaned in, closing the distance with an electric proximity, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of your ear. “You brought me in, hm? Maybe I should remind you who really owns who in this penthouse. Who takes care of who?” The way you squirmed only seemed to amplify his hold—if anything, it tightened further around you. Without hesitation, he shifted your position, easily maneuvering you onto his lap, where you found yourself facing him, straddling him in an intimate tableau that left you at eye level with his piercing gaze. The purring in the background continued to weave a stark contrast with the thick, silent tension hanging in the air.
His hands found their home on your hips, anchoring you in place. “None of that. You don't get to drop a line like that and then try to run away,” he murmured, his voice low and controlled. “You wanted a kitten. You got a kitten. Because I care about you too much to watch you be sad, but that doesn’t mean you get to be a brat about it.” As he leaned forward, his forehead came to rest gently against yours, an oddly tender moment amidst the intensity.
His eyes closed briefly, but you could feel the underlying tension in his body, a complex mix of surrender and authority that was impossible to ignore. The scent of him—whiskey, cologne, and the unmistakable essence of Leon wrapped around you, intoxicating and familiar.
“I’m sorry, Daddy… I just wanted to make a joke…” You whispered, your voice softer now.
As his eyes fluttered open, the depths of blue held you captive, drawing you in. The rigid line of his mouth softened into an expression blending amusement, exasperation, and deep affection. His hand, once firmly gripping your hip, moved gently to cradle the back of your neck, his thumb caressing the delicate skin just beneath your hairline. Leon sighed, a sound that spoke volumes. “I know, baby girl. I know you were joking.”
You nod, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, a peace offering that lingers just for a moment. The softness of your lips meets the warm, stubbled surface of his skin, and he accepts your gesture with an easing of his grip, though he doesn't let go entirely. For a long while, the two of you breathe in harmony, enveloped in the dim, amber glow of the room. The only sounds are the rhythmic, hypnotic purring from the corner and the soft, steady ticking of the grandfather clock as it marks the passage of time. The palpable tension from moments ago melts away, replaced by a heavy blanket of comfortable warmth that settles around you both.
“You’re going to give me a heart attack one day. Bringing home strays. First me, now him,” he murmurs, a teasing lilt in his voice.
He shifts you ever so slightly, arranging you more comfortably against his solid chest, where the steady rise and fall of his heartbeat creates a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. Your head nestles under his chin, his large hand moving to cradle your hair, his fingers delicately threading through the dark strands in a calming, practiced rhythm. “But he is cute. I’ll give you that. Even if he’s currently snoozing in a heap of dust behind the piano,” Leon whispers, his breath warm against your ear. A gentle, sleepy snore floats from the shadowy corner, prompting a soft, rumbling laugh that vibrates through his chest and resonates in the room's stillness.
You both sit there for a time, watching as the shadows grow and stretch across the space, the night's embrace fully enveloping the city beyond the French doors. Finally, Leon’s voice breaks the silence once more, thoughtful and slightly bemused, “We’ll need to get a carrier. And a bed. And food. And toys. And, let’s be honest, probably scratch up half my good furniture… It’s a good thing you’re so damn pretty. Makes it hard to stay mad at you.”
A giggle escapes your lips as you snuggle closer into his warm embrace. “Thank you for letting me keep him… Now I have someone to take care of me when you’re away on missions.” The air grows dense with unspoken feelings at your words, the implication striking him like a gentle blow—your need for care, the weight of solitude that settles over you in his absence. He instinctively pulls you in tighter, his chin resting protectively on the crown of your head as the soft purring from the corner settles into a tranquil, steady rhythm.
“You don’t need a kitten to look after you when I’m gone. You have me. Always,” he reassures you, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your back. “But… if having him here makes you feel safer… if it makes this place feel more like home for you… Then I’m glad he’s here.” A tiny, dream-induced twitch stirs the quiet shadows in the dark corner, affirming the comfort of this newfound companionship.
He chuckled softly, a warm sound that danced in the air like a gentle breeze. “Although I think it's going to be us taking care of him. Look at him. He’s out cold. Not much of a protector yet.” His dark eyes sparkled with amusement as he shifted his weight, effortlessly lifting you from the couch. The moment he stood, his presence loomed larger; his muscular frame carried you down the corridor leading to the bedrooms, each step sure and quiet on the polished marble floor that glistened under the faint glow of moonlight. He paused at the threshold of the living room, casting a lingering glance toward the shadowy corner where your new charge slept, a small bundle of fur curled tightly into itself, oblivious to the world.
“Goodnight, Morpheus. Don’t get into any trouble,” Leon whispered, his voice low and laced with affection.
With you cradled in his arms, he made his way down the hall to your shared bedroom. The space was grand yet inviting, draped in deep, dark furnishings that seemed to absorb the soft, silvery light filtering through the parted curtains. He laid you down gently on the lavish, black duvet, the fabric soft and cool against your skin. Standing over you, his silhouette was a striking contrast against the luminous window, a guardian watching over his domain. “We have a big day tomorrow,” he said, his tone both patient and teasing. “Vet. Pet store. Kitten-proofing. You’re going to need your rest.”
You sighed contentedly, snuggling into the plush pillows that cradled your head. “Can he sleep in here with us?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper, filled with hope.
Leon hesitated, his hands lingering on his belt buckle as he weighed your request. He looked from your eager face to the dark hallway that veiled Morpheus’s sleeping form and back to the inviting bed. The moonlight caught the faintest smile at the corners of his lips, but his response was firm yet gentle. “Absolutely not. He’s filthy, for one thing. And he needs to get used to his own space. Our bed is for us.”
Finishing up his undressing, he slid into bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight. He pulled you against him, your back melding into the solid warmth of his chest as his arm wrapped securely around your waist, creating a cocoon of safety. The room enveloped you in silence, pierced only by the soft rhythm of your breathing and the distant, persistent hum of the city below. He nuzzled into the delicate curve of your neck, his breath warm and inviting. “He’s safe in his corner. He’ll be fine. Now sleep. Big day tomorrow for our little shadow bat.”
You let out a soft giggle, turning your head to capture his lips in a deep kiss that spoke of longing and connection. “You’re secretly a softie, daddy,” you murmured teasingly. His lips responded with a slow, thorough kiss that spoke volumes of possession and a profound tenderness. When he pulled back, his eyes were darkened by a mix of affection and playful warning, the moonlight dancing in their depths. “Don’t go spreading that around. I have a reputation to maintain.”
With a gentle tug, he tightened his arm around you, pressing you more closely against his warm, solid body as if he were creating a fortress. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in your scent, letting the familiarity wash over him. The penthouse was still now, suspended high above the bustling city, where the faint, rhythmic sound of Morpheus’s sleeping purr could be heard drifting from the living room, a serene reminder of the new life you both had welcomed into your home.
His voice, thick with drowsiness and already slipping into the realm of dreams, murmured, “Now close your eyes, baby girl. Tomorrow, we become cat people. God help us.” In the stillness of the other room, a gentle, sleepy mrrp escaped Morpheus, punctuated by the soft rustling of him shifting in his dusty nest. Almost instantly, Leon's breathing deepened into the steady rhythm of sleep, his grip around you remaining solid and secure even in unconsciousness. Moonlight filtered through the windows, casting intricate patterns across the dark bedding, while the penthouse embraced a serene tranquility, watched over by a slumbering agent and his newly expanded family.
You cradled a freshly cleaned and impossibly fluffy Morpheus in your arms, his purr resonating like a little motorboat, a comforting sound against the backdrop of your thoughts. The vet appointment had been fruitful, yet a twinge of concern lingered; the doctor had warned that he was severely dehydrated and underweight for a mere 4-month-old kitten. Despite this, he radiated health and vitality. Now, you and Leon were making your way to "Paws and Claws," a pet store brimming with possibilities.
As you stepped through the threshold of "Paws & Claws," the bell above the door jingled cheerfully, an inviting sound that contrasted with the store's bustling energy. Inside, the atmosphere was bright and warm, a stark contrast to the cozy shadows of your penthouse. The air buzzed with the happy sounds of gentle barking, birdsong, and the soft hum of aquarium filters. A rich blend of cedar shavings, dry pet food, and a subtle hint of antiseptic filled your senses.
Behind the counter, a young woman with striking purple hair and an apron adorned with playful paw prints looked up, her face lighting up in delight at the sight of Morpheus snug in your embrace.
She waved enthusiastically, “Welcome! Oh my goodness, what a sweet little void you have there!”
With his hand firmly encircling your waist, Leon guided you further into the store, his demeanor calm and focused. “We’re here for the essentials,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Carrier, bed, food, the works.” His eyes darted across the aisles, already assessing each section, mapping out a plan.
Morpheus, now adorable and fluffy, blinked his bright blue eyes slowly at the vibrant new environment, his purr never wavering as he burrowed deeper into your arms. Completely at ease, he resembled a tiny king surveying his newly claimed kingdom. The store clerk stepped out from behind the counter, her smile warm and inviting. “Absolutely! We can definitely help with that. He looks like he’s settling in nicely. Is he a new rescue?”
As Morpheus lets out a soft, affirmative-sounding mrrow, the warmth of his tiny body in your arms brings a smile to your face. “I found him in the alleyway all alone yesterday. But he's a fighter; his name is Morpheus,” you reply, your voice filled with a mix of pride and affection. The clerk's expression shifts, softening with understanding as she gestures toward the aisles lined with plush beds and towering scratching posts, each colorful and inviting.
Leon, ever the steady presence beside you, scans the surroundings with a critical eye. He picks up a robust-looking carrier, examining its latches and sturdiness with a discerning touch. The clerk motions toward a wall filled with bags of cat food, her voice enthusiastic, “For a kitten his age, we recommend this high-protein kibble. And wet food for extra hydration.”
Without hesitation, Leon nods in agreement, his brow furrowing in concentration as he grabs a bag of the recommended kibble, “We'll take both. And a case of the wet food.” At that moment, Morpheus becomes restless in your arms, wriggling with curiosity as he stretches one tiny paw toward a vibrant display of feather wands. His bright blue eyes gleam with excitement, fixated on the colorful feathers that dance enticingly in the light. Leon catches sight of Morpheus's interest, a faint smile gracing his lips, “And a couple of those toys. Seems like he’s got an eye for hunting already.”
The store clerk beams with delight, clearly charmed by the little creature in your arms. “He's adorable! You know, we actually have a litter of rescue kittens in the back right now. They're all black, just like your little guy. The runt is especially tiny, but such a sweetheart.”
Your heart swells at the mention of the runt, a thrill of excitement bubbling up inside you. Ignoring Leon’s call for you to come back, you can’t hold back and speed-walk toward the back of the store, drawn in like a moth to a flame. You leave Leon behind, navigating past aisles stacked high with cat food and toys.
As you reach a small enclosure tucked away underneath a warm light, your breath catches in your throat. Inside, a delightful jumble of jet-black kittens tumbles over one another, their tiny bodies a whirlwind of squirming fur. Among them, one kitten stands apart, noticeably smaller than the rest, with wide, bright blue eyes that seem to be taking in the whole world. He sits slightly aloof, observing the playful chaos around him with an air of gentle contemplation.
Leon's voice resonates down the aisle, a blend of exasperation and amusement, “Baby... don't you dare.”
The store clerk follows close behind, her smile knowing and encouraging. “That’s Phantasos. He’s the runt. A little shy, but he’s got the sweetest purr.” You can almost hear your heart whispering in agreement as you gaze at the small, delicate creature, your resolve beginning to waver.
Phantasos, the small kitten, gazes up at you as you approach the glass enclosure, emitting a soft, reedy mew that seems to echo his innocent uncertainty. The little runt takes a tentative step forward, his tiny body quivering slightly, as if he might dissolve into a puff of air at any moment. His fur, a delicate hue lighter than that of Morpheus, drapes over him like a whisper of smoke, soft and ethereal. With his enormous blue eyes shining with curiosity, he locks onto yours, and a gentle, thrumming purr begins to resonate from him, a hopeful melody that carries clearly, even through the thick barrier of glass.
Leon stands close behind you, letting his hands rest on your shoulders. He exhales a heavy sigh that rustles through your hair, his voice laced with weariness. “I can feel my resolve crumbling from here. He looks just like Morpheus.”
Pressing your face against the cool, transparent surface, you fog up a small circle with your warm breath. “He’s so little…” You murmur, watching as Phantasos mirrors your movement, his tiny pink nose almost brushing against the glass, a fragile bridge of connection between you. His purr grows louder, morphing into a hopeful, vibrating hum that seems to resonate through the air. He lifts a minuscule paw and places it delicately against the glass, right where your face is, a gesture filled with innocence and yearning.
The clerk leans in close, offering her secrets as if sharing a hidden treasure. “He’s been here a week longer than the others. They’re all getting adopted, but people keep overlooking him because he’s so small. He just needs a little extra love.”
Leon’s grip tightens on your shoulders, his gaze flicking between your rapt expression and the tiny, imploring kitten, finally drifting down to Morpheus, who still purrs contentedly in the crook of your other arm. He lets out a long, weary sigh, as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. “Goddammit.” His voice drops to a low, resigned murmur, “He does need a friend, doesn’t he? Morpheus shouldn’t be alone all day while we’re at work.”
Phantasos seems to sense the shift in the air, letting out another soft, pleading mew and beginning to knead the air with his dainty paws against the glass, an act of all-consuming hope. You turn to face Leon, your big, pleading eyes sparkling with an unwavering desire, while Morpheus lifts his tiny head, gazing up at Leon with innocent curiosity. “He likes me already... please? Please? Please!” you implore, your voice laced with desperation.
The silence stretches on, palpable and charged, interrupted only by Phantasos's insistent purring and the distant chirping of birds flitting about the store. Leon's gaze is locked onto yours, the conflict evident on his face as his jaw tightens. He shifts his eyes from your gleaming, hopeful expression to Morpheus's intrigued blue stare, then back to the tiny kitten pawing ecstatically at the glass. The battle on his face is almost comical—caught between the hardened agent he is and the man who, hours ago, surrendered to another set of pleading eyes.
He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to stave off a headache. “You are a menace. An absolute menace.” With that declaration, he drops his hand, opening his eyes once more. The resignation is profound, a slow, deep sigh escaping him, like a fortress wall finally crumbling under unyielding pressure.
Leon fixed his gaze on the store clerk, his voice a blend of gruff authority and unwavering resolve. “We’ll take him, too. Get whatever he needs. Another carrier, another bed... whatever.”
The clerk's face lit up, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she clapped her hands together softly, “Oh, that's wonderful! Phantasos will be so happy! I’ll get the paperwork started right away.” With a quick nod, she darted off toward the front counter, leaving you in the cozy warmth of the pet store, alone with Leon and the two tiny, fluffy kittens.
Leon shook his head with a mix of disbelief and amusement, a wry smile slowly creeping onto his lips as he turned to you. “Two kittens in two days. You’re killing me, princess.” He leaned in closer, his forehead coming to rest gently against yours. “But you...” His voice softened, eyes brimming with affection, “You and those eyes. I can’t say no to you.”
From within the enclosure, Phantasos let out a loud and triumphant meow, breaking the moment with a joyful proclamation. Morpheus, nestled comfortably in your arms, perked up at the new sound, his purring stuttering for just a moment before resuming with renewed enthusiasm, as if welcoming the idea of a brother.
“Thank you, thank you, Daddy! I promise I’ll take good care of them both,” you exclaimed, enveloping Leon in a warm, tight embrace that radiated pure, unadulterated joy. His initial stiffness melted away as he wrapped his arms around you, being ever so careful not to squish the small bundle of fur nestled between you. In that moment, his chest rumbled with a soft, defeated laugh, sending waves of comfort through you. The mingling scents of his cologne and the clean, fresh aroma of Morpheus’s fur filled the warm air of the shop, creating an intimate cocoon around you.
Leon muttered into your hair, his voice laced with a mix of fondness and exasperation. “You’d better take good care of them. Because I’m holding you to that promise, baby girl.” He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes serious yet softened with warmth. His thumb brushed gently against your cheek, leaving a trail of affection in its wake.
Meanwhile, Phantasos continued his chorus of eager little mews, scratching at the glass of his enclosure with tiny paws, as if sensing the excitement surrounding him. Leon let out a resigned sigh, turning his attention to the eager kitten. “Alright, alright. Let’s get your brother out of there.”
“It was fate,” you whispered, a spark of excitement lighting up your eyes. “Phantasos is the brother of Morpheus in Greek mythology! The cat distribution system strikes again!”
The clerk returned, balancing a stack of paperwork in one hand and a small, soft-sided carrier in the other. With a practiced ease, she unzipped the enclosure, revealing its cozy interior. Phantasos didn’t hesitate; he leaped into her hands, his tiny body vibrating with a deep, rumbling purr that filled the quiet air. The woman cradled him gently, her fingers brushing through his velvety fur as she placed him in the new carrier. Instantly, he curled up in a snug ball, his striking blue eyes peeking out through the mesh, full of curiosity and a hint of excitement.
“He knows he’s going home. He’s such a sweet boy,” she remarked softly, her voice laced with warmth.
Leon took the carrier from her, his large hand enveloping it and making it seem a mere trinket in his grasp. “Let’s get this shopping trip over with. We’re going to need double of everything now,” he said with a hint of determination in his tone. The next hour unraveled like a whirlwind; Leon steered the cart with the precision of a commander orchestrating a military operation, while you trailed patiently behind, cradling Morpheus close to your chest. His soft purring vibrated gently against you as you peeked into the carrier at Phantasos, who was now nestled comfortably inside.
The cart quickly transformed into a treasure trove, filling up with plush beds so soft even the pickiest of cats would love them, towering scratching posts, and a mountain of colorful toys designed to engage and entertain. A stockpile of food and tantalizing treats filled the remaining spaces, alongside two identical, ornate silver food bowls—one etched with "Morpheus" and the other with "Phantasos," shining brightly in the store's fluorescent lights.
Later, as the last bag slid into the trunk of the car with a satisfying thud, Leon exhaled, “There. The penthouse is officially a feline sanctuary. Happy?” From your arms, Morpheus purred loudly, nuzzling against your chin, while Phantasos let out a soft, sleepy mew from his carrier in the backseat.
“Yep!” you beamed at Leon, a playful grin spreading across your face. “Now double the cats, double the trouble! Come on, you’re going to love them both. You managed to love me.”
Leon shook his head, a slow, genuine smile breaking through his previous exasperation as he closed the trunk with a soft thud. The bustling city noise gradually faded into the background, wrapping the three of you in a comforting bubble of quiet contentment, with the gentle, sleepy purring resonating from the carrier. As he rounded the car to your side, his gaze swept over you, taking in the sight of you holding Morpheus and the carrier containing Phantasos. He opened your car door, his voice a low, warm rumble that felt like a soft embrace, “I did manage to love you, didn’t I? Against my better judgment.”
“And you put a ring on it!” You proudly raised your ring finger, letting the gleam of the tanzanite stone catch the light before you settled into the plush leather seat of the car. He leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin as he gently took your hand, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the dazzling gem. The gesture felt both possessive and tender, a silent promise shared between you.
Once you were inside, he carefully secured Morpheus's carrier beside Phantasos's in the backseat, ensuring they were firmly in place before he closed your door with a gentle thud. Circling to the driver's side, he slid into the seat, and the engine thrummed to life, a deep, smooth resonance that perfectly matched the soft purring of the kittens.
As he navigated out of the parking lot, he cast a sidelong glance your way, a hint of playful exasperation in his voice. “I did put a ring on it. Best and worst decision of my life. Now I’m hopelessly outnumbered by my wife and her strays.”
The drive back to the penthouse was enveloped in a comforting silence, the cityscape slipping past the tinted windows like a moving painting. Morpheus had curled up and drifted off to sleep in your lap, a warm, purring bundle that added to the serenity of the moment. From the safety of his carrier, Phantasos let out tiny, sleepy squeaks, reflecting a growing sense of comfort in his new surroundings.
Leon’s hand found its way to your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles over the fabric of your jeans, a silent gesture of affection that filled the space between you both. The car seemed to hum with a tranquil, settled inevitability, as if it, too, were aware of the bite-sized chaos that awaited at home. As your building loomed closer, Leon broke the peace with a mock-serious tone. “We’re going to have to set some ground rules. No cats in the bedroom. No cats on the dining table. And absolutely no using my good sweaters as scratching posts.”
Morpheus stirred in his sleep, stretching luxuriously as if to mock his owner’s concerns. “I’m talking to myself, aren’t I? They already own the place.”
“Yeah, sorry, Daddy…” you teased, a grin spreading across your face, reveling in the delightful chaos that awaited you both.
The car glides smoothly into the underground garage of your building, the tires producing a soft, slick whisper against the polished concrete floor. A profound silence envelops the space, interrupted only by the gentle purr of the engine and the faint, sleepy mews emanating from the backseat. Leon expertly maneuvered the vehicle into his designated spot, the space feeling oddly domestic now, adorned with the little signs of your new life together. With a final twist of the key, he switched off the ignition, and the abrupt stillness made the kittens' soft sounds seem almost amplified. “Alright. Operation Kitten Relocation begins,” he announced with a hint of amusement.
He stepped out and quickly rounded to your side, opening the door with an assured yet quiet efficiency. In one fluid motion, he carefully lifted the carrier containing Phantasos, his large hand cradling it as if it were the most precious cargo. Morpheus stirred in your lap, his striking blue eyes blinking open in response to the sudden rush of cool air from the open door. “You get the king. I'll get the prince, princess,” Leon declared playfully. Morpheus responded with a curious mrrp, stretching his small body, the delicate tips of his claws lightly pricking through your jeans.
Leading the way toward the private elevator, Leon's posture was composed and alert, a subtle reminder of his ever-watchful nature even in this secure environment. The elevator ride was silent but electrically charged, the soft hum of the machinery the only sound as the numbers lit up, climbing steadily upward. When the doors slid open to reveal the penthouse foyer, a wave of warm, inviting air washed over you, carrying with it a hint of sandalwood and fresh linen. The expansive space felt transformed, no longer a cold fortress but a welcoming home brimming with potential. He set Phantasos's carrier down gently on the gleaming marble floor, a smile touching his lips as he surveyed the room. “Home sweet home. Again,” Leon said, a note of contentment in his voice.
Phantasos, nestled inside the cozy confines of the carrier, let out a tiny yet inquisitive mew, accompanied by the soft sound of his little nose sniffing at the mesh barrier. With a gentle touch, Leon knelt and carefully unzipped the carrier's door. As the opening widened, Phantasos peeked out, his bright blue eyes shimmering with curiosity as they scanned the expansive, dimly lit room. Hesitant yet brave, he took a tentative step onto the cool marble floor, his tiny body quivering slightly as the chill greeted him. Looking up at Leon and then at you, he emitted another soft mew, a sweet plea for reassurance.
Leon remained still, his presence calm and reassuring. His deep voice rolled out like a gentle wave, “It's okay, little guy. You're safe here.”
In your arms, Morpheus squirmed restlessly, eager to explore. With a delicate touch, you set him down, and he bounded forward, trotting over to sniff at his new brother. His tail arched playfully above his back, a friendly question mark in the air.
“They're going to be best friends,” you whispered, glancing up at Leon with a hopeful smile.
Morpheus approached Phantasos with an air of confidence, his paws padding softly against the marble. The rhythm of his purr reverberated like a steady motorboat, filling the silence between them. Phantasos, momentarily frozen, felt a mix of excitement and trepidation, his tiny body tense. But then, he took a wobbly step forward, curiosity overcoming his fear. Their noses touched in a fleeting, delicate act of investigation. Phantasos let out a reedy squeak, uncertain yet intrigued. In response, Morpheus gently nudged his head against the smaller kitten's side, his purr intensifying into a warm embrace of sound, a clear and comforting signal of welcome.
Within moments, Phantasos began to unwind, his own faint purr emerging as he followed Morpheus on a slow and cautious tour around the foyer’s perimeter, his steps growing steadier with each passing moment.
Leon observed this budding friendship with his arms crossed, a faint, undeniable smile playing on his lips, softening the seriousness of his demeanor. “Looks like it,” he commented, his eyes glimmering with affection. “They already speak the same language.”
You wrap your arms around his waist, feeling the warmth radiating from his body as you lean in closer. "You know," you whisper playfully, "as a little thank you..." Your fingers delicately trace the outline of his belt buckle, a teasing gesture that sends a shiver of excitement through the air. "Why not let the kittens roam free for a bit, daddy?" you add, your voice laced with a hint of mischief, inviting him into a world of playful indulgence.
Leon's body goes still beneath your gentle touch, an unexpected tension rippling through the air. The softness in his gaze, once tender as he observed the kittens frolicking nearby, sharpens into something more intense and dark, locking onto you with an unwavering focus. The grand foyer around you seems to thicken with an electric charge, the atmosphere heavy with an unspoken connection. In the corner, Morpheus emits a soft chirp, batting playfully at Phantasos, who squeaks and tumbles onto the polished marble floor in a flurry of paws and mischief.
Leon's voice lowers to a gravelly whisper, its richness cascading around you, as his hand envelops yours, halting its movement on his belt. “Is that right? Trying to bribe me with your mouth after I just surrendered my entire home to a pair of miniature panthers?” His other hand rises to cradle your jaw, his thumb grazing your bottom lip with a feather-light caress. His gaze, now fierce and possessive, seems to penetrate the depths of your being, peeling away the layers of playful banter to reveal the gratitude and affection coursing underneath. “You think you can just offer that up as a 'thank you'? As if it’s merely a treat?”
“Yep,” you replied with a playful smirk, fluttering your eyelashes suggestively. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of dangerous amusement igniting in their striking blue depths. The grip on your jaw tightened just a fraction, a subtle warning that sent a shiver down your spine. The playful squeaks and soft thumps of the kittens as they curiously explored their new surroundings faded into a distant blur, overshadowed by the tension hanging between you two.
“You're pushing your luck, baby girl,” he warned, a low, almost teasing note in his voice. “You got your kittens. Don’t get greedy.”
He released your jaw, his hand moving with deliberate slowness down to the nape of your neck, pulling you flush against him. The heat radiating from his body was intoxicating, and you could feel the firm pressure of his other hand pinning yours to his belt buckle, unyielding and possessive. His mouth hovered tantalizingly close to yours, the space between you charged with an electric energy. “But since you asked so nicely,” he murmured, his breath whispering against your lips, “We’ll let them explore. And you... You can show me exactly how grateful you are.”
“And I want to,” you breathed, your heart racing in anticipation. The kittens, oblivious to the shift in atmosphere, continue their tentative exploration. Morpheus leads Phantasos on a slow, sniffing patrol along the base of a dark wood console table, their tiny paws silent on the marble. Leon's gaze doesn't leave yours. He slowly, deliberately, releases your hand from his belt and instead takes your wrist, guiding it away.
“On your knees. Now.”
“In front of them?” You gasped, your voice a mix of disbelief and concern. “But Daddy, they're just babies!” Leon remained stoic, yet a dark, knowing smirk curled at the corners of his lips. His gaze flicked over to the kittens, who were now completely captivated by a stray dust bunny skittering beneath the console table, their tiny tails flicking back and forth in excited curiosity.
“They're just kittens, sweetheart. They don’t comprehend what’s happening,” he replied, the gravity in his voice sharp enough to cut through the air. “And they’re about to discover that this is my house. And you… You belong to me.” His words emerged as a low murmur, rich with a sense of ownership. His grip on your wrist was firm yet gentle, guiding you down with unfaltering certainty rather than aggression. The cool, polished marble pressed against your knees as you sank, the chill a stark contrast to the heat radiating off your skin.
Across the exquisite marble expanse of the room, Phantasos emitted a tiny, startled squeak as Morpheus pounced on the dust bunny, sending it careening through the air.
You looked up at him, a flicker of defiance in your eye. “Should’ve known you’d play dirty, Daddy.”
Leon’s gaze bore down on you, your face tilted upward, framed by the dark, gothic grandeur of the foyer. The ornate details of the room loomed around you, a stark juxtaposition to the innocent play of the kittens frolicking nearby. His thumb brushed along the line of your jaw, a possessive yet tender caress that sent shivers coursing through your body. “You ignited this, baby girl. Don’t feign surprise when I choose to finish it,” Leon replied with an unsettling calm.
His other hand glided to his belt buckle, the soft sound of leather slid against metal, punctuating the room's stillness with an almost deliberate slowness. Morpheus, momentarily distracted from his chase, paused and turned his bright blue eyes toward you, blinking slowly in curiosity. A soft mrrp escaped his lips before he redirected his attention back to Phantasos, who was now in hot pursuit of the liberated dust bunny rolling across the floor.
Leon’s piercing gaze bore into yours, exuding an intensity that was both commanding and magnetic. The corners of his mouth curled into a slight, knowing smirk as he leaned closer, his presence enveloping you like a warm blanket. “Now,” he said, his voice low and firm, “show me just how grateful you are for your new kittens.” The air between you crackled with anticipation, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the space around you. And you showed him how grateful you were for the new kittens, well, you considered them your furry baby sons, and Leon begrudgingly agreed eventually.
ngl…the next two fanfics I’m writing will most likely be short. That fanfic of 14k ate my whole soul. But I work like a dog so expect the two fanfics coming out by the end of this week 😘
Upcoming fanfics:
Daddy!Leon x F!Reader: Two Little Kittens [Fluff] - Published
Older!Leon x F!Reader: Pop A Pill [Smut] - Published
Then from there, I’ll be taking a break. I don’t know for how long? But until I get new ideas…so thanks for supporting me ❤️
If you’ll like to be tagged for any upcoming fanfics, don’t hesitate to ask me!
ps. I take medication, so I apologize if I act…bizarre here
From a tender age, you were enveloped in the traditions of a devout Catholic household. Each Sunday, you carefully selected your most cherished frilly dress, its lace shimmering softly in the morning light, and slipped into your polished Mary Janes. A silver purity ring adorned your left hand since you turned twelve, a constant reminder of your promise to cherish your virginity until the sacred union of marriage. Yet, amidst the warmth of your faith, you found your path leading you into a world of shadows as a DSO field agent. Working alongside your seasoned mentor, Leon Kennedy, you felt both admiration and trust. However, hidden beneath Leon’s calm demeanor lay a darker obsession— a twisted desire to corrupt the very purity you held so dear, seeking to unravel the sanctity of your commitment for his own twisted pleasure. The conflict of such contrasting worlds began to weigh “heavily” on his heart as he navigated the traitorous path with you under the same roof.
The silence in your penthouse is thick and enveloping, the only sound the gentle ticking of an ornate grandfather clock that stands like a sentinel between two towering bookshelves, brimming with tomes of every size and age. Beyond the French doors, the city's lights shimmer in the distance, glimmering like a spilled treasure of jewels; they twinkle softly, muted by the expanse of night. The air carries the rich, warm scent of aged leather from the well-loved volumes that line the walls, mingling with the crisp, clean aroma of the polished black marble floors beneath your feet. A low fire crackles in the hearth, sending flickering golden light that dances upon the walls, creating long, sinuous shadows that seem to animate the figures in the dramatic tenebrist paintings. Each stroke of dark color seems to come alive, whispering secrets and stories into the room's hush.
Leon Kennedy stands by the fireplace, an iconic figure with one arm resting casually on the mantel. He's been your mentor for several weeks, a steadfast and formidable presence. His gaze is not fixed on the fire, but rather piercing into you, the crimson glow from the flames accentuating the sharp angles of his face and igniting the intensity in his striking blue eyes. Tonight, however, a weightiness hangs in the air, his usual confidence tempered by the recent turn of your conversation into more personal realms. The lingering revelation of your... inexperience hovers unspoken, a palpable tension that fills the space between you both, heavy and unacknowledged.
He pushed himself away from the mantle with a deliberate grace, his movement slow and deliberate, as if measuring the space between you. “You know, for an agent capable of hacking into a secure server in a mere thirty seconds, you're surprisingly… sheltered.” A murmur resonated through the quiet room, wrapping around you like a dark shroud. He paused a few feet away, his gaze momentarily dropping to the silver ring that glimmered on your finger, before returning to meet your eyes. “That little ring, it's a promise, isn't it? A promise to remain pure.” He drew out the word 'pure', infusing it with curiosity, as though he were examining a rare artifact.
As he took another step closer, the distance between you narrowed, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows around you. The scent of his cologne wafted through the air, rich and smoky, entwining with the faint aroma of wood burning, creating an intoxicating atmosphere.
You nodded, feeling the gravity of the moment, and replied, “It's a part of my religion, Leon. I'm a Catholic.” In response, he released a soft exhale, almost imperceptible, a breath that hinted at amusement. His eyes remained locked onto yours, the deep blue seeming to darken as the firelight danced across his features. “Religion,” he repeated, each syllable drawn out as if he were savoring the taste of the word. “I’ve witnessed what faith can do to people in foxholes. For some, it brings comfort; for others… It’s merely a chain.” He reached out then, not to touch, but to gesture toward the ring that adorned your finger, his hand a tapestry of calluses and scars, each mark a testament to a history steeped in violence and struggle.
“A chain you put on yourself when you were just a kid. Do you even realize what you're sacrificing by keeping it on?” He bridges the gap between you, closing in until he's almost invading your personal space. The heat radiating from his body is an undeniable presence, blending with the room’s soft warmth, making the atmosphere feel electric. His voice lowers further, wrapping around the words with an intimacy that feels conspiratorial, as if sharing a secret meant only for you. “Or are you simply too afraid to uncover the truth?”
You furrow your brows in response, a flicker of defiance igniting within you. “It's my faith, Leon. I don't believe it's a chain.” The air grows thicker, the tension palpable, as if the very walls are listening intently to the exchange. The flickering firelight dances across the diamond in your earrings, causing them to shimmer as you hold his unwavering gaze, the challenge between you both igniting an unspoken connection.
“A core value.” He repeats the phrase, his voice dangerously soft, a whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. He lifts his hand slowly, deliberately, and this time, he brushes against you, though not where you expected. His fingers, rough yet warm, glide gently across your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with careful precision. The touch is fleeting, yet it lingers in the air between you, charged with an intensity that makes your breath hitch in your throat. “Values can change, (Y/N). They're supposed to. It's called growing up.”
His fingertips hover near your skin for a heartbeat that stretches into eternity before he lowers his hand, the absence of contact leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. He shifts his weight, subtly positioning his body to block your path to the door, creating an unspoken barrier that feels both confining and oddly thrilling. “You've been trained to assess threats, to read situations. So read this one. Do I look like a threat to your values? Or…” His voice drops to a husky mutter, wrapping around you like the smoke from the fire that crackles nearby. “...Do I look like an opportunity to discover new ones?”
You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest like a frantic drum against your ribs, a rhythm so loud you’re convinced he must hear it echoing in the silence. The glow of the fire flickers and dances, casting long, sinister shadows that stretch across the black marble floor, enveloping your smaller silhouette in a dark, looming presence. The question hangs between you both—fragile, exposed—carrying the weight of uncertainty and potential.
“Look at you," he says, his voice steady and unwavering, holding your gaze with an intensity that strips away all pretense. “You’re not just that little girl at the church anymore. You’ve grown into a woman. A damn capable one.” There’s a weight to his words that both anchors and liberates you, as if he’s peeling away layers you didn’t even know you had. His thumb glides slowly over the back of your hand, just beside the silver band—a piece of jewelry that now feels like an anchor, a relic from a life that no longer suits you. “That ring…” he murmurs, his touch unexpectedly intimate, a contrast to the roughness of his hands. “It’s keeping you in a cage.”
His voice, low and sultry, pulls you in, promising something you can’t quite define. “Let me show you what lies beyond those bars. Just a taste. You trust me, don’t you? I’m your mentor.” The air thickens with the scent of him—smoke, leather, and an indescribable essence that is uniquely Leon. The city lights twinkle in the distance beyond the balcony, fading into a blurred backdrop as everything around you narrows to just this moment, this room, this man, and the choice you’re faced with.
A soft whine escapes your lips, a whisper of hesitation. “Leon… but I’m supposed to be married first.” The words hang in the air, swallowed by the electric atmosphere that surrounds you. He continues the steady rhythm of his thumb over your skin, juxtaposed with the quickening heartbeat in your chest. The thought of marriage ignites a fire in his gaze, a flash of something dark and possessive, an impatience that flickers just beneath the surface, swiftly masked by a veneer of feigned understanding.
“Married,” he repeats, the word rolling off his tongue as if it’s a quaint, antiquated notion from a bygone era. “To who? Some nice Catholic boy who’ll never grasp the depths of what you’ve faced? The things you’re capable of?” His voice drops. It transforms into a whisper against your ear. “That life is merely a fairy tale, while this…” He gestures expansively, encompassing the opulence of the penthouse, the sprawling city beyond, the very space between your bodies. “...this is real. I am real.”
With a deliberate grace, he moves his hand from the back of your hand to gently encircle your wrist, his grip firm yet tender. The other hand slides up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone, just below your eye. The contact sends electric shivers throughout your body, overwhelming everything else, making it impossible to think of anything except the intoxicating closeness between you.
“You think a vow made when you were just twelve carries more weight than what you're feeling in this very moment? Than this?” His thumb grazes your bottom lip, smudging the vibrant red of your lipstick and leaving a delicate mark. “Your body knows the truth, even if your mind is tangled in doubt. Stop letting those thoughts interfere.” He leans in, his forehead almost brushing against yours, the warmth of his breath enveloping you, carrying a hint of whiskey that adds a heady swirl to the air between you. As he moves closer, a shiver runs down your spine, compelling you to pull back slightly and feel breathless. “Oh, I must not! Father Ruiz, my pastor…he would be so disappointed.” You let out a soft gasp, the weight of his gaze intensifying the moment.
The name “Father Ruiz” resonates in the air as a stone dropped into a serene pond, sending ripples of tension between you. Leon’s expression shifts, hardening imperceptibly; a fleeting flicker of annoyance flashes in his piercing blue eyes before it morphs into a deeper, more calculating intensity. His thumb, still resting on your slightly smudged lip, presses down with a subtle but undeniable insistence. “Father Ruiz isn't here. It's just us. And God…” A soft, cynical exhale escapes his lips, the words laden with a heavy irony. “If He's watching, He's witnessed far worse. I doubt He’d blink at this.”
With deliberate ease, his hand on your jaw tilts your face upward, compelling your gaze to meet his. The grip on your wrist tightens just enough to serve as a reminder of his presence, a tether that holds you firmly in this charged moment. “Disappointing a man who lives in a stained-glass world is a small price to pay for living your own life. Don’t you think?” His eyes drift down to your mouth, anticipation flickering like the flames in the fireplace that crackles nearby, casting dancing shadows across the room.
You whimper softly, barely able to voice your doubts, “But I want to be married... Leon.” The protest is a fragile whisper, a final, trembling defense gazing up at the weight of the moment. Yet, instead of retreating, Leon’s expression shifts into a slow, predatory smile that curls at the corners of his lips, a smile that fails to reach the intensity of his stormy gaze, which remains locked onto you.
“You will be just not to some boy from a pew. You'll be married to the darkness. To the job. To me. That’s the only vow that matters now.”
His hand glides from your jaw down to the side of your neck, his thumb pressing gently against your pulse point, feeling the frantic rhythm racing beneath your skin. With a fluid motion, his other hand releases your wrist, sliding around your lower back and pulling you flush against him. The hard planes of his body are a stark contrast to your own softness, igniting a confusing mix of heat and apprehension within you. “This is your wedding night, (Y/N). Right here. And I'm not asking for your hand,” he states coldly, a hint of possessiveness lacing his voice. “I’m taking it.”
He delays the kiss, holding you in this suspended moment, allowing the weight of his words to settle around you like a heavy cloak. Outside, the city lights blur into a distant watercolor painting. Still, inside, the only sensations that feel real are the heat radiating from his body, the firm but gentle pressure of his hands, and the cold silver band of your purity ring pressing against your skin, a faint reminder of your past.
For a long moment, the only sounds that break the silence are your soft, uneven breaths, echoing alongside the crackle of the fire. Leon’s body feels like a solid wall of heat and muscle against yours, unyielding and steady. His hand on your back is firm, an anchor, while his thumb continues its slow, rhythmic pressure, heightening your awareness of your fluttering pulse beneath his touch.
“That's it. Just breathe. It's just fear. And fear…” He shifts, his hips pressing against yours, making you acutely aware of the hard ridge of his erection through his trousers. “It's just excitement waiting for permission.
He finally pulls his head back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes a stormy abyss, dark and unfathomable, pupils dilated to nearly swallow the vibrant blue of his irises. The playful mockery that once danced there has vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, almost visceral hunger that sends shivers down your spine. “Give me permission. Say yes,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear, igniting the air between you with a palpable tension.
His hand, which had gripped your neck with a mix of power and tenderness, now glides down your skin, fingertips tracing the delicate curve of your collarbone, then drifting lower, lingering at the top button of your blouse. He doesn't dare undo it; instead, he simply rests his fingertip there, creating a silent but burning question that hangs in the air like thick fog. The atmosphere crackles with suspense, heavy and intoxicating, punctured only by the erratic rhythm of your breathing and the gentle crackle of the flames, a backdrop to the chaos swirling inside you. With every unsteady rise and fall of your chest, you sense the war waging within—fear, desire, uncertainty.
Leon observes you closely, an incomprehensible expression etched on his features, his patience unwavering. The fingertip resting against your button feels like a brand, a promise of something more tantalizing yet terrifying just beyond your grip.
“Silence is an answer too,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost swallowed by the crackling fire’s warmth. “It usually means 'I’m scared.' But it never means 'no.'” His hand shifts, moving away from your collarbone, not to untie your blouse but to drift upwards, once again tracing the gentle slope of your jaw before his thumb finds the softness of your bottom lip. He applies the slightest pressure, parting your lips with a tender insistence. “Let’s start small. Just a kiss. A taste.” His eyes are entrancing, locked onto yours as if he’s captured your very soul within their depths. “Let me have that. Let me have your first kiss. Then you can decide about the rest.”
Leaning in closer, his lips hover mere millimeters from yours, an electrifying proximity that leaves your heart racing. The intoxicating scent of him; rich notes of whiskey, smoke, and the clean warmth of his skin—envelops you, intertwining with the frantic pulse of your breath. In this single, suspended moment, the world outside fades into obscurity, reduced to just the two of you, suspended in time.
“Just a kiss,” your whispered words echo like a surrender, a subtle breach in the fortress you've built around your heart. Leon's eyes sparkle with a dark triumph that sends a thrill coursing through you, yet his expression remains surprisingly gentle, almost reverent. He doesn’t rush; he savors every second, his thumb still grazing your lower lip, feeling the tiny tremors of anticipation that course through you. “Just a kiss.” He repeats softly, closing the infinitesimal distance that separates you.
When his lips finally meet yours, it's a revelation. They are unexpectedly soft, an enchanting contrast to the coarseness of his hands and the undeniable strength of his body. The kiss begins as a tender exploration, his lips moving against yours with slow deliberation, as if he’s sealing a pact between you, an unspoken agreement that carries a weight of longing.
His hand shifts from your lip, cradling the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you gently but firmly in place. He pulls back slightly, just enough to murmur against your lips, “See? Not so bad, is it?” Before your mind can catch up to your racing heart, he kisses you again. This one is different—deeper, more fervent. His tongue grazes the seam of your lips, a silent plea for entrance. The hand at your back pulls you tightly against him, banishing any gap between your bodies. The cold metal of your purity ring presses insistently against the small of your back, a haunting reminder of the life you momentarily leave behind.
His mouth swallows the gasp as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding past your lips with an easy, practiced confidence. It's - invasion, gentle one, coaxing rather than taking. The hand tangled in your hair keeps you anchored, while the one on your back roams lower, splaying over the curve of your hip, pulling you flush against the hard line of his arousal.
The world narrows to the heat of his mouth, the scent of his skin, the solid reality of his body against yours.
Leon breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to gaze deeply into your eyes, his breath coming in quick, heated bursts. “There. Your first kiss. And you're still standing. Still pure.” The last word slips from his lips with a teasing, almost wicked undertone, as his thumb brushes softly along your cheek, igniting a warmth that spreads through you. His eyes are heavy-lidded, darkened with an insatiable hunger that lingers just beneath the surface, only partially quelled. The flickering firelight dances in the depths of your gaze, capturing the shimmering silver of your earrings and highlighting the deep crimson smudge of your lipstick now imprinted on his mouth.
“Now... let's try for a second. And this time... don’t be afraid to kiss me back.”
With that, he draws you in again, capturing your mouth with a fierce urgency, this kiss becoming a blend of passion and command. It feels like a lesson, an exploration, an enticing test all rolled into one. His hand, warm and possessive, glides from your hip to your front, his palm pressing against your lower stomach—an electric sensation that sends shivers coursing through you. As you respond hesitantly, your inexperience seems to spark amusement in him; a low, approving hum resonates from his chest, vibrating between you, amplifying the electric connection that binds you in this stolen moment.
His hand on your stomach slides upward, slowly, deliberately, until his palm rests just below your breasts. He doesn't grab you, but the intent is clear, the pressure of his hand a promise of what's to come. The kiss intensifies, his tongue gliding with a languid assurance that sends shivers down your spine and leaves you momentarily breathless. Each gentle caress is electric, igniting a warmth that spreads through you as he explores the depths of your mouth, savoring every moment.
“That's it. There's no wrong way. Just feel it.” His gaze sweeps across your face, lingering on your flushed cheeks and the way your wide, dark eyes glisten with a mix of surprise and desire. A slow, predatory smile spreads across his lips, captivating and teasing. His thumb glides over the remnants of your smudged lipstick, leaving a trail of warmth. “You taste like heaven and sin all mixed—a perfect combination,” he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.
Leaning in closer, he dips his head again, but this time his lips find the delicate skin of your neck. Warmth radiates from his touch, each kiss insistent and electrifying. His tongue flicks out, tasting the salty sweetness of your skin, igniting a fire deep within you. The gentle scrape of his teeth grazes against you, a teasing hint of bite that makes you gasp and jump in response.
As if sensing your reaction, his hand on your stomach moves slowly, deliberately, his fingers finding the first button of your blouse. The soft fabric yields beneath his touch, the atmosphere thick with anticipation and the promise of what’s to come. “Let's lose this shield, too.”
“Leon! I… Leon,” you breathed out, tilting your head back to seek his gaze, but your words trailed off into an unsteady whimper as his teeth sank into the tender flesh of your neck. The pressure was teasingly firm—just enough to spark a rush of sensation that radiated through your body, igniting a warmth deep within. His shoulder swallowed the protest that formed on your lips, the words dissolving into incoherent murmurs, lost among the weight of the moment.
With a practiced touch, Leon’s fingers danced down the delicate line of your blouse, effortlessly undoing the first button with a soft pop. Instantly, the cool air of the penthouse enveloped the newly exposed skin, a stark and invigorating contrast to the fervent heat emanating from his mouth and roaming hands.
He lifted his head, locking his gaze onto yours, a fire smoldering in his eyes. “Shhh. ‘But’ is just the chain talking again. I’m here to cut it loose,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. His hand ventured to the second button, then the third, each soft click echoing in the charged atmosphere as he methodically parted the fabric. With every button he undid, more of you was unveiled to the flickering firelight, and to his insatiable desire.
Finally, he pushed the blouse wide open, revealing the simple yet elegant bra underneath, almost a contrast to the fiercely charged situation. “Look at you,” he breathed, his eyes roaming your form with palpable hunger. “All that training, all that strength… hiding beneath a schoolgirl’s uniform. It really is a shame.”His palm slides over the fabric of your bra, cupping your breast. His touch is firm, possessive. He watches your face, reading every flicker of fear and reluctant arousal. “Tonight, you graduate.” He said with finality, as if writing your destiny.
You whined softly, “Leon...but marriage, please.” The whine is weak, a last, fading echo of a protest that's already lost. Your eyebrows furrow, but the expression is one of confusion and conflict, not defiance. Leon's hand stills on your breast, his thumb stroking slowly over the fabric. He keeps his hand in place, yet leans back slightly, allowing you to see the full intensity of his gaze. His face reflects a blend of impatience and an almost palpable pity, as if he struggles to comprehend your situation while grappling with sympathy.
“Marriage is a piece of paper. It's a ceremony for people who need permission. You don't need permission from a priest or the government. The only permission you need is from yourself. And you're giving it to me right now. I can feel it.” His hand moves from your breast, but only to slide up to your shoulder, pushing the blouse down your arm. The fabric catches at your elbow, baring your shoulder and the strap of your bra. His other hand comes up to trace the line of the strap, his finger hooking underneath it.
“This is more real than any vow you could say in a church. This heat. This want. He leans in, his lips brushing your ear again. I can smell it on you. That little virgin pussy is already getting wet for me, isn't it? Thinking about what it will feel like to have a real man inside it for the first time.”
The vulgarity of his words, so stark and crude in the opulent room, sends another shock through you. He says them with a casual certainty, as if stating a simple fact. His finger, under the strap, slowly and deliberately pushes it down your shoulder. The room's heavy silence swallows the soft, startled squeak. The bra strap slides down your shoulder, baring the smooth skin. Leon's eyes darken as he watches the fabric give way, his gaze hot and possessive. He takes his time, relishing the slow unveiling and the gradual surrender that feels almost sacred. The fire crackles and pops with a fierce intensity, sending flickering shadows leaping across the walls. These shadows dance over the intricate religious paintings, transforming the sorrowful saints and the vigilant archangels into silent observers, their painted eyes seemingly filled with profound understanding. Is God, in His infinite wisdom, bearing witness to this unfolding sin? Or is He, like everyone else in this moment, turning away in sorrow, unable to bear the weight of it all?
“There. That's the first step. No going back now.” His hand moves from your shoulder to the back of your bra, his fingers finding the clasp with an easy, practiced familiarity. He locks his piercing blue eyes onto yours, a mix of unspoken challenge and unshakeable promise swirling between you. The cool metal of the clasp presses against your skin, a tangible reminder of the boundary that now stands between you, as if it were the last defense before crossing into the unknown. You can sense the weight of the moment, heavy with anticipation and the thrill of possibility. “Ready for the second?”
With a soft click, the clasp comes undone. The bra loosens, but he doesn't pull it away yet. He lets it hang for a moment, the pressure of the fabric the only thing keeping it in place. His other hand slides around to your front, his palm warm against your stomach, his fingers splayed low, near the waistband of your trousers. “Your heart's beating so fast... like a little bird's.
But you're not a bird. You're a predator. Just like me. It's time you started acting like one.”
You began to shake your head, “Leon, no, please...I can't do this.” The slight shake of your head is a feeble, quivering gesture, the last flicker of your will slowly eroding beneath the oppressive aura he exudes. Your whispered plea floats delicately in the stillness, a fragile barrier against the encroaching tide of his presence. Leon, however, does not withdraw his hands; instead, he freezes them in place, his palm resting heavily and warmly on your stomach, fingers still entwined in the loosened straps of your bra. His expression doesn’t morph into one of rage; rather, it deepens into a dangerously soft look, tinged with a possessive understanding that sends a chill down your spine.
“You can. You are. Right now. Look at you. You're shaking, but you're not pushing me away. Your body is telling me 'yes' even if your mouth is saying 'no.'”
He leans in closer, his lips softly brushing against your temple, sending a warm shiver down your spine. His breath, warm and inviting, radiates against your skin, igniting a flutter of excitement within you. The hand resting on your stomach moves in languid, soothing circles, as if trying to erase every ounce of tension. “That 'can't' is just the last echo of the little girl who believed in fairy tales,” he murmurs, his voice low and rich with sincerity. “I'm here to embrace the woman now—the one who knows exactly what she desires. And believe me, I know what you want.” His fingers tighten gently around the strap of your bra, not to pull it away, but to offer a tender yet insistent pressure that both reassures and excites. Meanwhile, his other hand glides from your stomach to the small of your back, pressing you firmly against the undeniable evidence of his growing desire, deepening the connection between you in this intimate moment.
“Let her out, (Y/N). Just let go.”
“I'm scared…”
The whispered confession lingers between you, raw and honest, a fragile thread woven from vulnerability. It’s the first genuine emotion you’ve unveiled, stripped of deflection and rules, revealing the truth beneath. Leon's intense gaze, usually sharp and unwavering, softens just a fraction, though the possessiveness within it remains unyielding. He nods slowly, as if your admission is precisely what he anticipated. “I know you are,” he murmurs, his voice unexpectedly gentle—a low, rumbling balm intended to soothe even as it constrains you. “That’s good. Fear means it matters. It signifies you’re on the brink of crossing a threshold from which there’s no return. And that’s the essence of it.”
His hand, warm and reassuring, glides along your back, moving upward to cradle the base of your skull. His fingers weave through your hair, a tender but possessive touch that amplifies the sense of intimacy. As the loosened bra slips down your arms, it reveals your skin to the flickering firelight, bathing you in a soft, golden glow. The cool air kisses your bare skin, eliciting a shiver, but the heat radiating from his body, combined with the intensity of his gaze, creates an overwhelming warmth that envelops you.
“But you're not alone. I'm right here,” he promises, his voice steady and calm, a steady anchor amidst the swirling chaos of your emotions. “I’ll guide you through every second of it. I’ll make it good for you. I promise.” He leans in again, and this kiss is unlike the others. It’s not a fierce demand or an exploration; it’s slow, deep, and enveloping. It’s designed not only to calm your racing heart but also to ignite a rousing spark of desire. His tongue meets yours in a languorous dance, a deliberate intimacy that seeks to soothe your fears while simultaneously fanning the flames of your arousal.
As he breaks the kiss, his lips linger just above yours, a tantalizing breath away. “Just keep your eyes on me. Don’t think about tomorrow. Don’t think about Father Ruiz. Just feel this. Right now. With me.”
“But then...I won’t be pure for marriage, Leon,” you whisper, your voice trembling, laced with trepidation. “No one would want me.”
The fear in your words is tangible, a last-ditch effort to cling to the life you've been conditioned to desire. Leon’s expression remains stoic, yet a newfound intensity ignites within his eyes—a mix of triumph and something darker, a steely resolve to dismantle the last vestiges of your ingrained beliefs. He holds you there, half-undressed and trembling in his warm embrace, the firelight casting flickering shadows across your bare skin, painting you in shades of gold and crimson.
Leon’s voice drops to a low, lethal whisper, each word coated in gravity. “Pure for what marriage? For some faceless stranger who will never grasp the darkness lurking in your soul? The horrors you’ve witnessed in the shadows?” His thumb glides gently along your cheek, a gesture that feels more like a possessive mark than a mere comfort. “You really think a husband would look at you after a mission and see anything other than the monster you occasionally have to become? I see it. I see every fragment of your truth. And still, I want you. More than any boy from your church ever could.”
His hand shifts from your cheek, sliding down to rest over your chest, his palm in direct contact with your racing heart. He can feel its frantic rhythm pulsing beneath his fingers, an echo of the tumult within you.
“That ring... It's meant for a girl who’s no longer alive. The woman you’ve transformed into... she belongs with me. In the darkness of this world, where you’ve already surrendered yourself to my claim.” He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting touch, more a whisper of a kiss than anything substantial. “And believe me, (Y/N)... after tonight, the only man who will ever truly possess you... It’s me.”
“But what if I regret it?” The question slips from your lips, soft and tentative, a delicate thread of doubt woven into the charged atmosphere. Leon’s gaze remains unwavering, intense as he listens, mulling over your concern as if it were the most critical inquiry he’d ever faced. The flickering firelight casts his features in stark contrast, revealing sharp lines and shadowy contours, a blend of danger and allure. His hand stays pressed over your heart, heavy and unyielding, a weight that grounds you amidst the chaos swirling around you.
"You won’t," he declares, his voice steady and unwavering, as if he’s stating an undeniable fact, a law of nature like gravity itself. “Regret is reserved for mistakes. This isn’t a mistake. This is an awakening.” His hand, which had been resting lightly on your hip, slides sensually around to the small of your back, pulling you against him with an intoxicating urgency. The unmistakable firmness of his body presses against your lower stomach, a heat that ignites your skin.
"I’ll ensure that you become devoted to me," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "I’ll ruin you for anyone else, so completely that even the thought of another man’s touch will feel like betrayal. A betrayal of me. To yourself.” He lowers his head, and his lips find the delicate spot where your neck meets your shoulder. This time, instead of biting, he places a lingering, slow kiss there, his tongue tracing a heated and tantalizing line along your skin. A delicious shiver courses through you, igniting your senses.
“Feel that fear? It’s the last remnant of the girl you once were. Let me free you from it,” he whispers against your skin, his words laced with promise and danger, beckoning you closer to the precipice of desire.
“Leon...then would we…” You asked, while furrowing your eyebrows. The unfinished question hangs in the air, a hesitant, breathless thing. You can feel the tension coiling in your body, the war between a lifetime of conditioning and the raw, undeniable pull of the man holding you.
Leon's eyes gleam in the firelight, seeing the crack in your resolve, the unspoken curiosity. He doesn't smile, but satisfaction radiates from him.
“Would we what? Say it, use your words, tell me what you’re thinking,” His voice is a low, intimate prompt, his thumb stroking the bare skin of your side where your blouse hangs open.
His hand on your back slides lower, his fingers splaying over the curve of your backside, a possessive, grounding pressure. He shifts his hips, making the hard ridge of his erection press more insistently against you. The message is clear, crude, and impossible to ignore. “Would we be together? Is that what you're asking?”
He leans in, his lips brushing your ear, “After I've been inside that tight little virgin cunt? After I've made you come apart on my cock? After I've filled you up?” The vulgar words are a deliberate shock, meant to shatter the last of your innocence. He pulls back just enough to see your reaction, his gaze dark and hungry. “Yeah. We will. In every way that matters.”
The kiss you begin is a languid, tentative exploration, a delicate surrender that conveys emotions deeper than words ever could. Your eyelids flutter shut, and your entire being is enveloped in the unexpected warmth of his lips brushing against yours. You are blissfully unaware of the subtle movement of his hand; the gentle way his fingers slide around your ring, coaxing the silver band from your finger with a soft, almost reverent touch. It slips off, leaving a faint, cold imprint on your skin—a reminder of the past now severed.
As Leon withdraws from the kiss, there is a moment of stillness. He holds the ring up between his thumb and forefinger, the metal gleaming in the light, an unspoken declaration hanging in the air. “There. No more chains,” he states, his voice steady yet laced with an underlying intensity. He doesn’t hastily tuck it away or carelessly toss it aside; instead, he gently closes his fist around it. The sight of his knuckles turning white conveys an urgency, as if he is trying to absorb the weight of its significance, the power it symbolizes, melding it into his very being. Then his free hand cups your bare breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, making you gasp into the renewed contact. “Now... let's get you out of the rest of these clothes. I want to see all of you.”
He doesn't wait for permission. His hands are suddenly everywhere, pushing your blouse the rest of the way off your arms, working the button of your trousers. The warm glow of the firelight flickers and dances across your newly revealed skin, casting an enchanting warmth that accentuates every curve and contour. The shadows on the wall unite, swirling into an abstract figure that seems to pulse with life. Your fingers tightly grasp the fabric of his shirt, clinging to it like a lifeline, desperate for an anchor amidst the ebb and flow of the moment, as he efficiently undoes the fastening of your trousers. The sound of the zipper is loud in the quiet room. He pushes the material down your hips, the cool air a shock against your heated skin. You can feel the rough texture of his shirt under your fingertips, the solid muscle of his chest beneath.
He kneels slightly to help you step out of the pants, he said, “That's it. Hold on to me. I've got you.” Once your trousers and underwear are pooled around your ankles, he guides you to step out of them. You stand before him, completely bare except for your socks and jewelry, the diamond earrings and diamond cross, a stark contrast to your nakedness. The firelight paints your body in warm tones, highlighting the gentle curve of your hips, the triangle of hair between your legs. His eyes roam over you with a possessiveness that feels like a physical touch.
“God, look at you... Perfect. All that training, that strength... and this softness. All for me.” Leon whispered to himself. He reaches out, not to touch you intimately yet, but to trace the line of your collarbone with one calloused finger, down between your breasts, over your stomach. His touch is deliberate, worshipful almost, but with an undercurrent of sheer hunger. “Now it's my turn.”
His hands glide to the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head in one seamless, graceful motion. The flickering firelight dances across the hard contours of his chest and abdomen, illuminating the scars that etch a narrative of a life steeped in conflict. He stands before you, a striking figure of sinewy muscle and weathered skin, a living testament to the tumultuous world he has vowed to shield you from.
You find yourself captivated, your heart racing against your ribs, akin to a frantic bird trying to escape its cage. The sight of him, bare from the waist up, is nothing short of intoxicating. Scars crisscross his torso—each one a pale, jagged line that whispers secrets along his ribs, a puckered mark near his shoulder that silently recounts a story of pain and survival. The firelight sculpts his physique, enhancing the powerful definition of his muscles, and drawing the eye along the dark trail of hair that leads tantalizingly down towards his still-fastened trousers.
He is a monument to a life spent in the shadows, and as he gazes at you, his eyes hold a fierce intensity, as if you are the most precious trophy he has ever fought to claim.
“See? No more hiding. For either of us.”
His hands go to his belt buckle, the metal clicking open with a definitive sound. He undoes the button of his trousers, then the zipper, the rasp loud in the tense silence. He pushes them down, along with his briefs, kicking them aside. He stands before you, fully erect, his arousal stark and undeniable. The size of him, the sheer reality of it, makes your breath catch in your throat.
“Leon!” You let out a sharp yelp, your eyes widening in shock at the sudden sight of him standing there, completely vulnerable. The gasp escapes your lips, a reflexive reaction that overwhelms you as your hands instinctively fly up to shield your eyes. The movement is one of pure instinct—a last effort to block out the raw, undeniable reality of what’s about to unfold. Leon remains still, not reaching to pull your hands away; instead, he allows you to make that choice—whether to look or to hide.
The air is thick with tension, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire that dances between you, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Your breath comes in quick, anxious bursts, echoing in the silence that feels almost electric.
“Shy? After everything we've been through?” His voice is low, almost teasing, as he tilts his head, revealing a smirk that twists his lips with mischief. “You can look, (Y/N). It's just a part of me—the part that’s going to be inside you very soon.” With deliberate slowness, he steps forward, and you can feel the heat radiating off his body, warm and intoxicating, even with your eyes covered. The scent of him envelops you—clean sweat mingling with the rich aroma of leather and pure masculinity—an overwhelming sensation that ignites something deep within you. “Take your hands down. I want to see your eyes when I touch you for the first time. I want you to see me.” His hands settle on your wrists, not forcing them down, but applying a gentle, insistent pressure. His touch is warm, his grip firm. “Don't be afraid of it. It's just flesh and blood. Like yours.”
Your hands gradually descend, revealing wide, startled eyes locked on his unwavering gaze. The flickering firelight dances within their depths, transforming them into twin points of incandescent flame, shimmering with a mix of trepidation and newfound fascination. You avoid diverting your attention to his body for the moment; your focus is anchored on his face, where an intense, possessive certainty radiates. He meets your gaze with unwavering conviction, his own eyes a dark abyss filled with an emotion that transcends mere lust, hinting at something much deeper.
“That’s better,” he murmurs, his voice low and rich, laced with approval. “Now... look.” His hands glide from your wrists, gently trailing down your arms in a deliberate and tender caress, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake, a path marked with goosebumps that ripple across your skin. He doesn’t force your gaze away; instead, he patiently holds your stare, his own gaze unwavering, until the pull of your curiosity—or perhaps his silent command—compels you to glance downward finally. The sight is intimidating, visceral. He is fully erect, thick and veined, a stark symbol of the act that will irrevocably change you.
“See? Nothing to be scared of. It's going to make you feel good.” His thumb strokes the inside of your wrist, right over your pulse point. “I'm going to make sure of it.” He steps closer, the air between you crackling with an electric tension as his body hovers just inches from yours, radiating warmth that feels almost magnetic. His hand glides from your arm to rest on your hip, fingers embracing the gentle curve of your waist, their touch both gentle and possessive. As his thumb brushes over the tender skin of your lower stomach, a shiver of sensation dances through you, awakening every nerve with a tantalizing softness. “Now... touch me.”
He doesn't guide your hand. It's another test, another step he wants you to take on your own. His gaze is heavy, expectant. The air in the room is thick with the scent of smoke, leather, and the heady, primal smell of arousal. “Leon, I... I don't know how.” You confessed softly. The confession is soft, almost lost in the crackle of the fire. Your uncertainty hangs in the air, a stark contrast to his raw confidence. Leon's expression doesn't shift to impatience; instead, a slow, predatory smile touches his lips. He seems to relish your hesitation, seeing it not as a refusal, but as an opportunity to guide you, to claim another part of your initiation.
“You don't have to know how.” His voice is a low, reassuring rumble. “I'll teach you. There's no right or wrong way. Just your way.” His hand leaves your hip and closes gently around your wrist. His grip is firm but not forceful, guiding your hand downward. He moves slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. The air hums with tension as he brings your fingertips to rest against the warm, hard plane of his stomach, just above the coarse trail of hair. “Start here. Just feel.” He said while looking at your soft hand. His skin is hot and surprisingly smooth over the rigid muscle. He lets your hand rest there for a moment, his own hand covering yours, a steadying pressure. Then, he guides your hand lower, inch by deliberate inch, until your fingers brush against the base of his erection.
The contact is electric, and you flinch instinctively, but his hand holds yours firmly in place. His breath hitching slightly, “That's it. See? It's just skin. It won't bite.” He moves your hand slowly, wrapping your fingers around him. The feeling is alien…the heat, the hardness, the soft skin over steel-like tension. His own hand remains on top of yours, showing you a gentle, rhythmic motion. “Just like that. Easy. You're doing perfectly.”
He studies your face closely, his gaze piercing as he takes in the swirl of emotions reflected in your wide eyes—fear, curiosity, and a hint of shock dancing together. With a gentle yet deliberate motion, he raises his other hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your jawline in an intimate gesture. “Now you understand how this works,” he murmurs, his voice steady and confident. “And tonight... tonight, you’re going to discover so much more.”
“It's so warm and...big.” Your whispered observation, a mixture of awe and trepidation, seems to please him immensely. A low, rough sound escapes his throat, part laugh, part groan. His hand remains over yours, maintaining the slow, guiding pressure as you hold him. The sheer size and heat of him is undeniable, a physical promise of the intimacy to come.
His voice thick with arousal, “Yeah, it is. It has to be. To fill you up properly. To make sure you feel every inch.” He slowly removes his hand from atop yours, leaving you holding him on your own. His gaze is heavy, watching your reaction as you feel the weight and pulse of him in your hand. His other hand slides from your cheek down your neck, over your collarbone, and comes to rest on your other hip, pulling you a fraction closer.
“Get used to the feel of it. Because soon…” He leans in, his lips brushing your ear, his voice dropping to a possessive whisper. “It's going to be buried so deep inside that tight little cunt, you'll forget what it was like to be empty.” His crude words send another jolt through you, but your hand doesn't pull away. The initial shock is giving way to a hesitant, fascinated exploration. Your thumb tentatively strokes the velvety skin, feeling the powerful thrum of his heartbeat there and watching your every move. “That's it. Explore. It's all yours tonight.” Leon whispered.
You pull your hand back, the sudden loss of contact leaving your fingers tingling. You gaze up at Leon, your heart racing, the vibrant energy coursing through you akin to the dizzying sensation of standing precariously at the edge of a cliff. Leon’s eyes are deep, dark pools filled with intent, searching you, deciphering the silent acquiescence that your body exudes. He takes his time, not rushing; with deliberate slowness, he steps forward, closing the small gap between you until his bare chest nearly grazes yours. The warmth radiating from him envelops you, a tangible force that stirs something primal within.
With a tender yet commanding touch, Leon reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment against the soft skin of your temple. “Waiting for instructions? Good girl. That's how this starts,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry. His hand trails smoothly from your hair down to your arm, a slow, possessive caress that ignites the nerves beneath your skin. His gaze leaves your eyes, skimming down your figure with a voracious hunger, an appraisal that sends a flush creeping up your neck and across your cheeks.
He takes your hand again, but rather than guiding it back to himself as you might expect, he turns it over with a subtle authority, exposing your palm. Leaning in closer, he brings your hand to his lips, where he kisses the center with deliberate slowness. His mouth is warm and inviting, and the sensation of his tongue darting out to taste your skin sends a shiver up your spine. “But the lesson's over for now. It's time for the main event,” he says, the promise in his words hanging heavy in the air like an unspoken thrill.
He gently releases your hand, allowing his own hands to find their place on your hips, his grip both firm and reassuring. With measured slowness, he guides you backward, each step deliberate, until the backs of your legs come to rest against the plush edge of the large chaise lounge, its sumptuous velvet upholstery offering a tantalizing contrast to the warmth of your skin.
“Lie back,” he commands softly.
There’s no force behind his words; the weight of his hands is enough to coax you into compliance. You yield to the invitation, sinking into the chaise, the velvet enveloping you in a soft embrace that feels almost luxurious against your heated body. The firelight casts your naked body in a warm, golden glow, highlighting the delicate lines of your DSO-trained form. Leon stands over you for a moment, a predator surveying his prize, his erection standing thick and demanding against his stomach. Leon kneels on the chaise, one knee between your legs, “Let's see how ready you are for me.”
His hand slides up the inside of your thigh, a slow, deliberate journey. His calloused fingers are a rough contrast to your soft skin. He doesn't stop until his fingertips brush against the damp curls between your legs. You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily at the contact.
“Just as I thought. Soaked. That scared little pussy is already begging for it.” His fingers part you, a gentle but firm pressure. He leans down, his face close to yours, his eyes holding yours captive. “Keep your eyes on me.”
“Okay…okay,” You whispered, your gaze locked onto his, as if willing the final barriers to dissolve between you. Your eyebrows knitted together, not in defiance, but in a blend of fear and unwavering determination. Leon’s demeanor transformed; the air of predatory patience quickly evaporated, replaced by an intense, ravenous hunger that burned in his eyes. He remained silent, a chilling intensity radiating from him, his concentration razor-sharp, as though nothing else in the world existed outside of this moment. He spreads your legs wider with his knees, “That’s my girl.”
His fingers slide deeper, exploring your folds with a practiced, deliberate touch. The calloused pads of his fingers are rough against your most sensitive flesh, a shocking contrast that makes you jolt. He finds your entrance and presses one finger gently, not entering, just testing the give. A low, approving sound rumbles in his chest. He could feel the small pink flesh begging to be ruined by a man like him.
“So tight. Like a fist.” His voice is thick with arousal. “It's going to be a hell of a fit.” He leans down closer, his sturdy frame enveloping yours as he hovers just inches above you. The musky scent that clings to him—an intoxicating blend of aged whiskey, the heat of his sweat, and an undeniable essence of raw masculinity—fills the air around you, wrapping you in a heady embrace. His other hand comes up to cup your breast, his thumb circling your nipple, making it peak into a hard bud.
“Leon! It... feels weird,” You yelled out, your voice trembling with a mix of surprise and vulnerability. Instinctively, your legs snapped shut, a reflexive motion aimed at protecting yourself from the invasive sensation that coursed through you. The sudden movement caught his hand between your thighs, but to your astonishment, Leon didn’t withdraw. Instead, he let out a deep, resonant chuckle that rolled through his chest, sending vibrations straight into your own. The sound was dark and captivating, unexpectedly wrapping around you. His other hand continues its slow, maddening circles on your breast.
“Shhh. I know it feels weird. It's supposed to. It's new. Your body doesn't know what to do with it yet. But it will.” He let out a soft laugh. He applies a gentle, insistent pressure with his knees, coaxing your legs to part again. His trapped hand doesn't move; his finger remains pressed against your entrance, a persistent, warm pressure. “That 'weird' is just the feeling of waking up. Of that little pussy realizing what it's for.” He leans down, his lips brushing yours. “Let it happen. Open for me.”
His thumb on your nipple presses harder, a sharp, pleasant pain that makes you gasp. At the same time, the finger at your entrance pushes forward, just the tip breaching you. The sensation is a shocking mix of stretching pressure and a deep, unfamiliar thrill. Your hips buck involuntarily. He lets out a soft groan, feeling the tightness of your pink muscle suffocating his finger. Leon watches your face intently, “See? Not so bad. Just the beginning.”
“It's... a lot…”
Your body is tense beneath him, like a bowstring drawn to its utmost tension. Leon takes in your words and your response with a deep, possessive satisfaction that dances in his eyes. Instead of relieving the pressure, he leans into it further, his presence enveloping you. His finger presses deeper, an unhurried yet relentless exploration that elicits a breathless gasp from your lips. The stretch is undeniable, a burning fullness that is both alarming and, against your will, intensely arousing. “I know it's a lot. It's supposed to be. I'm not some boy who's going to tiptoe around you. I'm going to take all of you. Every. Tight. Inch.” Leon stated while looking down at you. His thumb on your nipple rolls it firmly, sending a jolt straight to your core. His finger inside you crooks slightly, pressing against a spot that makes your eyes widen. A sharp, involuntary sound escapes your throat—part gasp, part moan.
A sly, predatory grin curled at the edges of his lips, exuding an air of intoxicating confidence. “And you’re going to absolutely love it,” he murmured, his voice dripping with a tantalizing allure. “Your body already craves it. Just listen to what it's telling you.” Leon's tone was soft, almost hypnotic, drawing you in closer as he spoke. He begins to move his finger, a slow, shallow thrust in and out. The friction is wet, slick with your own arousal, a crude confirmation of his words. The sensation is overwhelming, a confusing mix of pleasure and the sheer, shocking reality of being penetrated for the first time. His eyes are locked on yours, watching every flicker of fear and fascination cross your face.
“Okay…” You whimpered softly, the sound escaping your lips like a delicate plea. Your fingers dug into the hard muscle of his forearm, clinging to him as if he were the only solid anchor in a world that seemed to tilt dangerously off its axis. That soft whimper, laced with a mixture of vulnerability and yearning, was all the permission Leon needed.
His gaze deepened, turning dark with an intensity that made your heart race, the last flicker of patience in his eyes evaporating, replaced by a fierce, predatory intent. “Good girl,” he murmured, a trace of dark amusement dancing in his voice. “Now... let’s get you ready for the main course.”
With deliberate slowness, he withdrew his finger, the sudden absence of pressure causing a gasp to escape your mouth, a blend of surprise and longing swirling within you. But he doesn't pull away. His hand moves lower, his thumb finding the sensitive, swollen bud at your apex. He presses down, a firm, circular motion that sends a shockwave of pure sensation through your entire body. Your back arches off the chaise, a silent, involuntary plea. “So responsive. Every part of you is begging for it.” He said in a hungry tone.
He shifts his weight, positioning himself more fully between your spread legs. The blunt, hot head of his erection presses against your entrance, a promise of what's to come. He doesn't push in yet. He just rests it there, letting you feel the immense pressure, the undeniable reality of his size against your most intimate flesh. He leans down, his lips brushing your ear, “This is it, (Y/N). The point of no return. You ready?”
His question is rhetorical. His hips push forward, just an inch, and the tip of him breaches you. The stretch is immediate, intense, a burning fullness that steals your breath. It's more than you expected, more than you could have imagined. “It hurts, Leon! No, stop, it hurts!” You immediately yelled out. Your scream is sharp, raw with genuine pain, a sound that cuts through the heated atmosphere of the room. Your body goes rigid beneath him, your nails digging harder into his arm as you try to push him away, to close your legs, but his weight and strength are immovable. The initial, shocking stretch is a burning, tearing sensation that feels like it might split you in two. Tears spring to your eyes, blurring the intense, focused look on his face.
His voice emerged as a low, strained command, a resonant whisper that seemed to fill the space between you. His body remained tense, suspended at the threshold, yet he didn’t pull away. “Shhh, I know,” he murmured, his tone imbued with a mixture of empathy and determination. “I know it hurts.” With careful deliberation, he brushed the tears from your cheek using his thumb, the gesture unexpectedly gentle against the backdrop of such intensity.
He stayed right where he was, his presence a steady anchor as you adjusted to the invasive pressure. The tension in his muscles was palpable, each one coiled tight with the effort it took to maintain his self-control. Leaning down, he brought his forehead to rest against yours, his eyes locking onto yours with an unnerving intensity that seemed to bore into your soul. The world outside faded away as he said, “This pain... It's the last thing holding you back. Let me take it away. Let me in. All the way.” The warmth of his breath mingled with the electricity in the air, creating a cocoon around both of you. His hips push forward another fraction of an inch, a slow, relentless invasion that makes you cry out again, a broken sob this time. The burning intensifies, a sharp, stinging fullness that is utterly overwhelming. But beneath the pain, a strange, deep thrum of sensation begins to pulse, a confusing echo of the pleasure he'd promised.
“That's it. Just a little more. Give it to me. Give me all of it.”
“Leon, it hurts, please…” You began to tear up. Your whines are high and desperate, tears now tracking through the foundation on your cheeks. Your face is scrunched tight against the searing pressure, your body a tense arch of pain beneath his. Leon's expression is a mask of grim determination, his own jaw clenched. He doesn't stop. He presses forward, another slow, inexorable inch, the thick length of him stretching you unbearably. The feeling is a brutal mix of tearing friction and deep, internal pressure.
“I know, baby. I know. It'll pass. Just hold on to me. Squeeze my arm. Breathe.”
His hand moves from your hip to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you steady. His thrust is relentless, a slow, measured push that sinks him deeper into your tight, resisting heat. The initial sharp pain begins to mingle with a dull, aching fullness. Your whimpers are choked sobs now, your body trembling violently under his. He pulls back just a fraction, then pushes in again, a shallow, testing movement. “Almost there. You're taking me so well. So fucking tight.” His voice is thick with a mix of awe and sheer carnal hunger. “Just a little more. Give me your virginity. Let me have it.”
He shifts his hips, angling them slightly, and with one final, firm thrust, he sheathes himself completely inside you. The sensation is overwhelming—a feeling of being filled, possessed, stretched to your absolute limit. The burning pain is still there, a sharp ring at your entrance, but it's now overshadowed by the deep, profound fullness of him buried to the hilt. You feel every inch of him, a hard, pulsing presence where there was only emptiness before. He stays still for a long moment, letting you feel the complete invasion, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.
You let out a loud cry as your back arches, “Leon!” Tears streamed down your face. He holds himself deep inside you, completely still, his body a solid, unyielding weight atop yours. Your cry echoes in the quiet room, mingling with the crackle of the fire. The tears stream freely now, hot and salty, and you can feel the slick, warm trickle of blood mingling with the wetness between your thighs—the physical proof of your lost innocence. Your back is arched, your body instinctively trying to accommodate his full, shocking presence. Leon's breathing is ragged against your neck, his own control visibly frayed.
Leon’s voice is a rough, shattered whisper against your skin, “It's done. It's over. The worst part is over.” He doesn't move, letting your violated cunt adjust to the brutal, bloody stretch of his thick cock buried to the root. The initial sharp, tearing pain slowly diminishes, giving way to a persistent, deep-seated ache that pulses through your body like a relentless drumbeat. Each throb resonates, reminding you of the intensity that came before, as the sensation shifts from a searing sting to a heavy, dull discomfort that wraps around your muscles and bones, lingering with an almost suffocating intensity. Your tight walls clench around him involuntarily, a spasm of raw nerves, and he lets out a low groan, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary jerk that sends a fresh wave of sensation through your sore pussy. “Fuck... you're so tight like a fucking vise. Just relax now. Let your body get used to me.”
He begins to move, not pulling out, but rocking his hips in a slow, grinding circle. The motion makes his cock rub against something deep inside you, a spot that sends a confusing jolt of sharp pleasure straight through the lingering pain. Your sniffles hitch, a surprised gasp escaping as your body betrays you. “There it is. That's what I was waiting for. Your needy little cunt is waking up. It knows what it wants now.” He whispered with a dark smirk. He pulls back slowly, the drag of his shaft a slick, burning friction. You feel every ridge of him, the sensation so intense it blurs the line between agony and ecstasy. When he's almost out, just the tip remaining, he pauses, watching your tear-streaked face.
“Ready for more?”
He doesn't wait for an answer. He thrusts back in, a smoother, fuller motion this time, burying himself deep once again. The stretch is still vast and expansive, but the once-formidable, sharp edge has faded, giving way to a heavy, comforting fullness that envelops you. A wet, filthy sound echoes in the quiet room as his balls slap against your ass.
“Leon!” Your cry is sharp, a mix of pain and the shocking, unfamiliar pleasure of his cock filling your aching cunt completely. Your fingers dig into the hard cords of muscle on his forearms, clinging to him as he sets a slow, deep rhythm. The initial thrusts are careful, almost gentle, as he works his way deeper, each movement stretching your tender, bloody flesh. The sound is wet and crude, the slick friction of his penetration echoing his possessive growls.
He locks his eyes with you, “That's it... Take it. Take all of me. Your tight little pussy is made for this. For me.” He shifts his angle slightly, and the next thrust brushes against a spot deep inside that makes you jolt. A sudden jolt of pure pleasure ignites within you, slicing through the lingering dull ache. Your body instinctively arches once more, not from discomfort, but in an astonished reaction to this unexpected delight. Each nerve ending seems to awaken, sparking a vibrant energy that courses through you, invigorating and electrifying every fiber of your being. Your cunt clenches around him instinctively, and he lets out a harsh, gratified groan. A predatory grin spreads across his face, “You feel that? That's you, baby. Your body is begging for more. Don't fight it.”
His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more confident, more demanding. The chaise lounge creaks under the force of his movements. Each drive of his hips is a claiming, a brutal reassurance that this is your reality now. The mix of pain and pleasure is intoxicating, overwhelming. Tears still glisten on your cheeks, each droplet a testament to your earlier anguish. But now, the sound of your whimpers shifts; they soften into a haunting melody infused with an unfamiliar emotion. His mouth hovers near your ear, his breath warm against your skin, and he whispers in a low, possessive tone, “You’re mine now. Every fucking inch. This cunt... this tight, dripping cunt... it belongs to me.”
You whimpered, the aching pain was lingering deep inside, “Please…. Slower…” He ignores your plea, his thrusts only deepening, each one a deliberate, punishing grind that makes his balls slap wetly against your ass. The pace is relentless, the thick length of him pistoning in and out of your sore, stretched cunt. The initial burning has faded into a raw, throbbing sensitivity. With each brutal stroke, a new, shocking wave of sensation builds—a confusing mix of deep ache and sharp, electric pleasure that makes your toes curl.
“No. You don't get slow. You get what I give you. And I'm giving you everything.”
One of his hands releases your hip and slides down, his thumb finding your swollen, sensitive clit. He presses down hard, rubbing in a rough, circular motion that wrenches a broken, high-pitched moan from your throat. The direct stimulation on top of the deep, full feeling of his cock is too much, overwhelming your senses completely. His eyes dark with triumph, “That's it. That's my girl. Come on. Let go. Let me feel you cum on my cock.”
His thrusts become faster, harder, a frantic, driving rhythm that shakes your entire body. The wet, slapping sounds of your bodies meeting fill the room, a crude soundtrack to your deflowering. You can feel a pressure building deep in your belly, a terrifying, unfamiliar tension coiling tighter and tighter with each brutal penetration. Your whimpers turn into ragged, desperate pants. Your cunt is a messy, dripping ruin around him, clenching and fluttering uncontrollably.
Through gritted teeth, his control finally snapped. “Fuck... you're gonna make me cum. Take it. Take my fucking seed, (Y/N).” You tried to push his lower stomach to slow down his thrusting. “Please, it's too much, Leon.” Your hands push weakly against the hard wall of his abdomen, but it's like trying to stop a freight train. He doesn't slow; if anything, your resistance seems to spur him on. His thrusts become even more forceful, each one a deep, grinding impact that jolts your entire frame. The trickle of blood from your torn pussy mixes with your arousal, creating a slick, filthy mess that coats his cock and thighs with each punishing stroke.
“It's supposed to be too much. I'm ruining you for anyone else. This cunt will only ever remember me.” Leon let out a raspy laugh. His thumb on your clit presses harder, rougher, the friction almost painful, but it sends jagged bolts of pleasure straight to your core. The contrasting sensations envelop you; the profound, overwhelming ache of his possession intertwines with the sharp, electrifying stimulation that prompts an exhilarating tension within you, driving you toward a shadowy brink that eludes understanding. Your body feels foreign, no longer under your own control; it has transformed into a vessel solely for his desires, quivering and writhing beneath his steady command. He leans in closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin, mere inches separating your faces. His eyes blaze with a primal intensity that ignites something deep within you. “You're mine,” he murmurs, his voice a low, urgent whisper. “Say it. Say you're mine.”
His hips slam into you with a final, brutal urgency. You can feel him swelling inside you, the base of his cock pulsing against your tender, bloodied entrance. The pressure in your own belly snaps, and a violent, unexpected climax crashes through you. Your gummy walls clenched around him in a series of tight, involuntary spasms, milking his cock as he lets out a guttural roar. As he gets ready to empty himself deep inside you, his body shuddering, “Fuck! Yes! Take it all!”
“What... What was that, Leon?” Your scream is torn from you, raw and ragged, as the climax rips through your unprepared body. It's a convulsive, overwhelming wave of sensation-not pure pleasure, but a brutal mixture of sharp, electric release and the deep, aching stretch of his cock still buried inside you. Your cunt pulses and clenches around him, milking his own orgasm as he empties his hot, thick seed deep into your violated womb. An overwhelming sensation washes over you, an invasive grip that feels like a final ownership. Tears cascade down your cheeks, hot and glistening, intertwining with the salty sheen of sweat that beads on your skin. Your body quakes with an uncontrolled tremor, the shock of the moment rendering you vulnerable. Above you, his body convulses, each shuddering breath warm and uneven as it brushes against the vulnerable expanse of your neck, igniting a mix of fear and intimacy that leaves you breathless.
“That... was you cumming. Your body is accepting what it was made for.” He answered you. He pulls out slowly, the withdrawal a slick, messy slide that leaves you feeling empty and sore. Leon looks down between your legs, at the bloody, spent-soaked mess he's made of you.
He collapses beside you on the chaise, one heavy arm thrown across your stomach, possessive even in his exhaustion. The firelight glows on his sweat-sheened skin and the stark evidence of your lost virginity smeared across his thighs and yours. The room smells of sex, smoke, and blood. He turns his head to look at you, his eyes dark and satisfied.
“The little girl is gone. That scream was her dying breath. All that's left is you. And you... You belong to me now.”
“Leon, it hurts right now,” You admitted as you rubbed your lower abdomen. Your gasps are shallow, shaky things, your body a wreck of oversensitive nerves and deep, throbbing ache. His seed leaks from your sore, well-used cunt, a warm, sticky trickle down your inner thigh, mixing with the blood. Your eyes, clouded with unshed tears, drift down to the silver purity ring that lies on the cold, dark marble floor, its dull gleam a stark reminder of the vast gulf between the person you used to be and the one you have become.
He brushes his hand across your stomach, the warmth of his touch both possessive and grounding, as he murmurs, “It's supposed to hurt. The first time always does.” Following the line of your gaze toward the ring, a flicker of dark satisfaction ignites in his eyes. “Let it hurt. Remember it. That’s the feeling of chains breaking.”
With a fluid motion, he shifts, rolling onto his side to face you completely, his muscular frame looming over you on the chaise. His fingers glide down from your stomach, tracing an unhurried path that sends shivers through your body through the mess of blood and cum, and rest possessively over your tender mound. His touch is not gentle, but claiming, a reminder of his ownership. “Your body is mine now—every ache, every shiver. I'll make it feel good, too. Soon. But right now... You just feel me.” He said.
You turn into him, burying your face against the solid warmth of his chest, seeking shelter from the overwhelming reality of what just happened. The scent of his skin-smoke, sweat, and the faint, clean smell of his soap-fills your senses, a stark contrast to the raw, metallic smell of sex and blood that clings to both of you. His arm wraps around you, pulling you tighter against him, a gesture that feels both protective and profoundly possessive. His heartbeat is a strong, steady rhythm against your ear, a counterpoint to your own racing, shaky pulse.
Leon’s hand strokes your hair, his voice a low murmur, “Shhh. It's over. You did good.”
“Are we together, Leon?” you whispered as you buried your face, “Please…”
His hand lingers in your hair, momentarily pausing as the question hangs heavily in the air between you, fragile and exposed. He exhales slowly, the sound resonating softly in the stillness, as his chest rises and falls rhythmically beneath your cheek. The arm that encircles you tightens its grip, drawing you even closer against his scarred and sturdy frame, a fortress of warmth and strength. “You're mine. That's all that matters. That's all you need to be.” His words are not framed by a simple "yes" or "no," but instead carry an intensity that transcends the ordinary—an assertion of possession that feels more binding and enduring than any typical relationship could promise.
As his fingers resume their gentle caress through your hair, each stroke feels like both a comforting embrace and an indelible mark upon your being. Outside, the city sparkles with myriad lights beyond the elegant French doors, a distant, unfeeling world that holds no relevance in this dark, gothic refuge he has meticulously crafted for the two of you. Time seems to stand still in this sanctuary, where the outside chaos fades, leaving only the profound connection that envelops you both.
After a long silence, his voice softer, but no less intense, “Go to sleep, (Y/N). I'm not going anywhere.” He shifts slightly, arranging your bodies so you're more comfortably tangled together on the chaise lounge. The fire has burned lower, casting long, dancing shadows across the tenebrist paintings on the walls. The evidence of your initiation…the blood, the spend, the fallen ring…is a dark stain on the black marble between you and the rest of the world. His breathing begins to even out into a steady, deep rhythm, but his hold on you remains firm, an unbreakable tether.
“I'm feeling a little sticky, Leon... is it from us?”
You feel the cold, sticky wetness drying on your inner thighs, a crude mixture of his semen and your own blood. The sensation is unmistakable—the physical proof of what just happened, clinging to your skin like a brand. Leon's chest vibrates with a low chuckle against your ear.
“Yeah, baby. That's from us. That's me, deep inside you. Marking you,” he let out a lazy rumble. “Get used to it.” You're gonna be feeling me on you, in you, a lot from now on.” His hand slides down your back, his palm rough and warm against your skin, coming to rest possessively on the curve of your ass. He doesn't make a move to get up and clean you; instead, he seems to relish the feeling, the evidence of his claim. He shifts slightly, deftly draping the frayed edge of a discarded blanket over both of you. The coarse wool grazes your overly sensitive skin like a thousand tiny prickles, yet his body heat radiates around you, wrapping you in an intoxicating, solid warmth. The penthouse is now enveloped in a tranquil silence, interrupted only by the gentle, crackling whispers of the dying fire casting flickering shadows across the room. In the dim light, the fallen purity ring glints momentarily, a brief flash of silver that is soon reclaimed by the encroaching darkness.
You whisper, “It feels... messy.” The word lingers in the stillness, an honest confession floating in the air. Messy. It’s the perfect word to encapsulate the tumultuous emotions swirling within you, a fitting description of the sticky, cooling fluid leaking from your sore, well-used cunt, for the coppery scent of blood mixed with the musky smell of sex that clings to the air, for the entire raw, overwhelming reality of the last hour. His seed is a warm, wet presence inside you, a constant, physical reminder of his possession.
His lips softly grazed your hair, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Life is messy. What we do is messy.” He gestured with his free hand, a sweeping motion that seemed to encompass the raw energy pulsing between you, “This… is the truth. No more clean, pretty lies.”
He shifted again, turning you slightly so that he could gaze deeply into your eyes, his gaze illuminated by the flickering flames. They sparkled like embers, revealing a depth of emotion that made your heart race. His thumb glided over your cheek, gently wiping away a stray tear that had escaped, a tender gesture amidst the chaos of the moment.
The fierce look in his eyes was no longer predatory; it had transformed into something more profound—an expression of a man who was claiming something precious, something that now belonged to him alone. “You’re not a porcelain doll anymore,” he said, his voice thick with intensity. “You’re a weapon. And weapons,” he continued, his tone steady and unyielding, “get dirty. They get used… And I’m the only one who gets to clean you off.”
The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy with promise and danger, igniting a fierce longing within you. He seals the promise with a slow, deep kiss, his tongue claiming your mouth with the same possessiveness his cock just claimed your body. It's not soft or exploratory like the first kiss; it's a stamp of ownership. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his breathing steady. The sticky feeling between your legs is already becoming a familiar, uncomfortable truth.
“Will it always hurt this much?”
His expression softens infinitesimally, a rare glimpse of something almost like sympathy in his hardened gaze. His thumb continues its slow, possessive stroke along your jawline. The fire casts shifting shadows across the sharp planes of his face. “The first time? Yeah, it hurts. Your body's not used to being opened up like that. To take a man.” His eyes drop to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “But no. It won't always hurt like this. The next time... it'll be different.”
His hand slides from your jaw down your neck, over your collarbone, coming to rest over your heart. He can feel its frantic, rabbit-like beat against his palm. “Next time, the pain will be a memory. And the pleasure... the pleasure will be so much more. I'll make sure of it. You'll be begging for it.” He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a ghost of a kiss, a promise of what's to come. The sticky, cooling mess between your thighs seems to pulse with a dull, persistent ache, a stark contrast to the gentle pressure of his mouth.
“Now sleep. Let your body heal. It belongs to me now, and I take care of what's mine.”
“Can we get...ice cream after this? I want something sweet after my nap.”
He emits a low, gravelly sound that borders on laughter, the vibrations resonating through his chest and brushing against your ear like a warm whisper. The request you made is startlingly innocent, a stark contrast to the raw, intense intimacy that lingers between you, suffusing the smoky air with an almost palpable tension.
As he tightens his arm around you, a sense of security envelops you, grounding you in the moment. He releases a slow, lazy hum of acknowledgment, his voice smooth and inviting, “Ice cream? Yeah. Absolutely, we can get ice cream.”
He shifts, pulling the blanket more securely around your shoulders. The movement makes his spent cock, soft now but still substantial, brush against your thigh, a reminder of the recent, raw connection. The sticky, cooling mess between your legs feels more pronounced with the mention of something clean and sweet. “Sleep first. You've earned a nap. And the ice cream.” He kisses the top of your head, a surprisingly tender gesture. “My good girl.”
He settles back against the plush leather of the couch, his breathing gradually deepening into the slow, soothing rhythm of impending slumber. The penthouse exudes an enveloping silence, interrupted only by the soft, crackling hiss of embers dancing in the fireplace, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Outside the grand French doors, the city lights twinkle like distant stars, but they seem a million miles away—an entirely separate world.
You find yourself nestled against him, your body aching with a deep, unfamiliar soreness—a testament to the passion shared, the sweet possession that marks your skin with the memory of his touch. For the first time since that moment when he backed you into that corner, a strange yet profound sense of safety envelops you, surrendering to his unwavering hold.
As you drift into a restless, exhausted sleep, leaning against the solid warmth of his chest, the outside world fades away. Leon remains awake for a while longer, his sharp blue eyes meticulously scanning the dimly lit room, taking in every detail. His gaze settles on the fallen purity ring, an emblem of innocence now set aside, then drops to the sticky, bloody evidence drying on your inner thighs and his own skin. A dark, possessive satisfaction settles deep in his chest. No condom. The thought is a grim, final seal on the bond. His seed is inside you, a permanent claim, and the risk only makes the victory sweeter. He pulls the blanket higher, tucking it around your shoulders, his arm a heavy, unyielding weight across your back.
“Mine, for better or worse.”
He gently closes his eyes, surrendering fully to the weight of his fatigue as it envelops him, his body curling around you in an embrace that feels both protective and constricting. The once-vibrant fire gradually dwindles, leaving only glowing embers that cast flickering shadows in the quiet room. The penthouse descends into a profound, velvety darkness, wrapping itself in silence. The only sound piercing through the stillness is the soothing, synchronized rhythm of your breathing, each inhale and exhale intertwining like a delicate dance in the night.
