Synopsis: Another bad night for your man, but you know how to comfort him!
Tags: RE6!Leon x F!Reader, established relationship, smut, unprotected sex (don't do this, take care 🙏🏻), creampie, riding, pathetic men, whiny and crybaby Leon, mentions of dependence and post-traumatic stress, some angst, comfort and more!
Note: Hi!! I finally had time to finish this request from a while ago. It just wouldn't leave my head 😩 we don't talk about RE6!Leon enough, and I really need it. Pleasee ignore any mistakes and enjoy!💕💕
When you met Leon, years ago, you knew you were dealing with someone complex. You could see it in his eyes, which always concealed the seemingly endless pain in his life. When things escalated and the relationship became official, you came to know his wounds more deeply. The nightmares in the middle of the night, the cold sweat that trickled down his forehead when he remembered too much, or how there were times when all he wanted was to be with you.
You were the only thing that kept him sane. The only thing that kept him grounded. He felt guilty for wanting to merge his body with yours, for clinging to you until his last days. Could you blame him? He loved you like he'd never loved anyone or anything. The way you always took care of him when he was too depressed to get out of bed, how you washed his hair so gently, and above all, how you let him sink into you until he couldn't think of anything bad.
Tonight was one of those nights where dark thoughts clouded his judgment, and he couldn't stop the tears fall down for his face. His arms were tightly around you, his face buried between your tits as if letting go would mean the end of his life. Small, husky moans danced against your skin, muffling the occasional sob from Leon.
"You okay, baby?" you asked, trying to keep your tone sweet despite his length being buried deep inside you. You could practically feel his cock brushing against that delicious spot inside you with every movement you made on top of him.
All you got was a small nod, or maybe he was just rubbing his face against your chest like a big, old dog looking for love. He was a mess of tears and saliva, letting out long sighs of pleasure as he felt you ride him up and down, soaking him from base to tip. You went all the way down, until his swollen balls bumped against your entrance, then back up again, leaving only the dripping tip of his cock inside.
Your fingers brushed against his sweat-damp hair, pulling him close to your chest as you rode him slowly. His trembling hands roamed your back adoringly, drawing you closer with the need for there to be not an inch of distance between you. Your lips sought his, pouring all your feelings onto his trembling lips. He looked so fragile, panting into your mouth, his brows furrowed with pleasure and the need to silence the voices in his head.
"I love you, don't leave me..." He whispered, breathless. "Please, I love you so much, baby." Repeating his words with painful sincerity, he held you tighter, letting you bounce faster on him. His brain was completely melting, and long-forgotten tears slid down his rosy cheeks. He knew it was pathetic, but he couldn't help begging for more, pleading for you shamelessly.
His moans grew louder, more shaky, as his cock trembled inside your wet walls, making a loud, obscene squelching sound that echoed throughout the room. You were no better, the friction of your throbbing clit against his pelvis, lightly covered by pubic hair that created a path to his member, was driving you absolutely wild. That, and his wet, desperate kisses on your neck, were bringing you closer and closer to the edge.
"Look at me, please..." he begged, pulling you out of your trance. He knew you were close by the way your hot walls gripped him and the way your breathing became more frantic. "I want to see you—" he murmured, his voice hoarse with adrenaline. You opened your eyes, finding yourself confronted by a sight: his wet eyelashes fluttered quickly, his unfocused eyes showing only pure longing, and his jaw slack with pleasure. He was close too, just wanting to feel you come around his eager cock.
His hands released your hips to cup your hot face, his sweaty forehead pressed against yours to maintain eye contact. He was too busy admiring your beauty and how you crumbled around him.
Your body couldn't take it anymore, coming around his cock completely, soaking you both. Your eyes rolled back for a few seconds, feeling your walls tighten around him with spasms of pleasure. The thrusts were now slightly more frantic, wetter, helping you ride the waves of orgasm.
Leon's hips trembled helplessly beneath you, pulling your face closer to try and kiss you one last time before he came. But all he could do was groan against your mouth, breathing heavily as thick strands of hot, thick semen exploded inside you, making him forget even his own name for a second.
You moaned shakily as you felt him tremble inside you, emptying himself completely into your rubbery, sensitive walls. Your hips rubbed lazily against his, both of you panting into each other's mouths, still dazed from having come so hard. His semen, mixed with your release, began to seep from your pussy, dripping down base until it dripped onto his balls.
You leaned against his chest, and he hugged you, burying his nose in your tangled hair. His heart still pounded, trying to gather his thoughts.
"Thanks for...all." he murmured, his voice filled with the relief of being here with you. In your arms, he wasn't a tool, not an agent, he was just a man determined to love.
You were the cause of his happiness, his little paradise on earth, and he had no problem admitting it.
omg, i loove pathetic men, yummy 😋 and im so sorry I haven't been able to update often, im in the final stretch of my finals!! So i hope everyone is doing well and taking care ❤️🩹
vampire!leon kennedy x gn!reader
🍵 ‼️: 0.4k words. vampire au. blood. mention of sex. sexual tension.
a/n: decided to post a leon fic in this acc & i wanted it to be an re9 leon vampire fic. i think i will post more leon fics starting from now on, i might also open a taglist and post a leon masterlist soon!
To be a vampire’s lover means sometimes being his willing little lamb.
Leon Kennedy is a master of facade. He refuses to let the world see him as a blood thirsty vampire. He makes himself be seen as a composed and intimidating man. But you? You know the exact way his composure fractures when his gaze drops to the pulse fluttering at your throat when his thirst for you attacks. No blood has ever tempted him the way yours does. No blood has ever haunted him the way yours does.
Yet you love being his.. because the feeling is mutual. He’s hungry for your blood, you’re hungry to see his composure break when it comes to you. So the greatest intimacy in your relationship could not be found in sex, but in the moment you allow him to have a taste of your blood.
As he looms over you, he tells you to just hold his hand through it. “Your man just needs a little bit of indulgence.” he murmurs with a small smirk on his lips. His eyes that were staring into your eyes slowly drifts to your neck. He’s always gentle at first, his hand gently intertwined with yours while gently lapping up the blood spilling from the two small holes he had made on your neck.
But it never ends like that, soon you'll find your hand tightly pinned on the mattress as he’s now messily devouring your blood. It’s fucking hot how it makes him grunt and growl from time to time. But then he feels your grip on his hand weakening. “Leon..” you whimper. That’s always your sign for him to stop. With that, he slowly pulls away, looking into your exhausted eyes. He pants heavily while his mouth and chin are covered with your blood.
“You’re looking a bit pale as usual, angel.” he teases you. He then leans in to capture your lips in a hungry kiss. He slides his tongue into your mouth, making you taste your own blood. You melt into the kiss, making him hum in satisfaction through the kiss. As he slowly pulls away, a blood stained string of saliva stretches between you. “Better?” he asks with that small smirk on his lips.
“Mhm..” you reply weakly. He lets out a deep chuckle at that and leans in to plant a soft kiss on the mark he left on your neck.
likes/reblogs/comments are very much appreciated! 🫶
Leon thinks back all the times he has corrected you when you call him ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Kennedy’, always requesting that you use his first name, for purely selfish reasons. He just wants to hear it on your lips, those soft, plump lips that have never once been used to talk back to him, to second guess his orders–the kind of flack he gets from the junior agents he’s been tasked to train. Speaking of, he should really pass the baton to someone else. For the first time in his career, he’d much rather stay holed up in his office, clacking away at his computer, doing the mind-numbing work of writing reports, all so he can be within an arm’s reach of you.
You remember how he takes his coffee, mostly black with the tiniest dollop of cream, hold the sugar, but be generous with the honey. And somehow, you get the ratio just right every time. A real Goldilocks, you are.
“Here you are, sir,” you say, the words dripping from your lips like the honey you have stirred into the coffee you set down on his desk, bowing slightly at the hips as you do. The pervert he’s come to be in his old age, Leon bends to the side to catch a glance at the slope of your ass. So pert, the taut curve enunciated by that form-fitting skirt you’re wearing.
As soon as the bottom of the saucer hits his desk, he grabs your wrist. The jarring touch prompts you to look down at him as he sits up straight in his chair, leaning forward with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me ‘Leon’?”
You giggle, slithering from his hold on your hand. Not offended, you don’t shy away like you are. Instead, you retain the kind of confidence that leaves you unshakable in the face of his absurdity.
Silly old man.
It’s as though you send the message telepathically, the way you smirk down at him before turning on your heel and stepping toward the door. Leon tests the strength of his dress pants beneath his desk as he watches the sway of your hips, the way the muscles in your legs flex as they carry you. So lithe. So graceful. Like a ballerina trapped in a jewelry box. He’d like to immortalize you in resin, dress you in a tutu, and keep you stored away on a shelf to twirl for him anytime he pleased.
Silly old man, indeed.
Hand on the knob, hair flipped over your shoulder, you pivot just slightly to glance back at him. Such a coquettish minx you are, yet entirely too naive to be either. He has to hide his mouth behind a closed fist, tracing his lower lip with a fingernail, willing himself not to crack, however difficult it is when you look at him like that. Like you respect him. Like he walks on water. Like you’re begging to be proven wrong.
“If there’s anything else I can do for you, Mr. Kennedy,” you coo sweetly. “You know where to find me.”
Unfortunately, it’s true. When you shut the door behind you, and leave him to his own devices, the voices of the devil and angel on his shoulder which are much louder in the silence of his office, he knows exactly where to go.
It’s not long before Mr. Kennedy needs something else, beckoning you to his office. He opens the door, slipping his head through the crack, finding you at your desk just a few feet down the hall. He calls your name, waving you over.
It’s half-past-five, and both of you were still working. He typically reprimands you for staying late, playfully of course, but the sentiment still stands. Tonight is different, however. It’s as though he was relieved to see you still at your desk, the lamp light still on, illuminating the cold patch of hallway you now have all to yourself.
You nod, finishing the work at your computer, hopping to your feet as soon as physically possible so as not to keep him waiting. He works so hard, always arriving early, leaving late. He doesn’t deserve a lazy assistant, not when he’s been nothing but polite and helpful to you as you adjust to the new position.
“Sir?” You ask as you arrive at the door. He gestures for you to close it behind you. It’s obvious that he’s stressed, half-moons of purple skin beneath his reddened eyes, hair that has been raked through over and over by a restless hand. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, his blazer strewn onto the sofa, not neatly hung on the coat rack, nor folded and placed delicately on the armrest.
“Yes, come in,” he says, and you obey, venturing further into his office. His voice is hoarse. Perhaps he’s going to ask you to make him tea. “Take a seat. I want to talk to you about something.”
Your heart drops as your body does, lowering yourself into one of the chairs on the other side of his desk. He’s dressed in one of his typical white button-down shirts, pressed and tucked neatly into his slacks, sealed with a leather belt.
Three months. Three months you’ve been working for the department as Mr. Kennedy’s assistant, and it’s going to end today. In the beat of silence that falls over his office, you rack your brain for any idea as to what you could have gotten wrong. Maybe you forgot to alert him of an important meeting and he missed it. Perhaps you made one too many typos on the mission briefs you’d write up for him.
Saying a silent prayer, but preparing yourself for the worst, you sit, with your hands in your lap, awaiting your impending termination.
“I don’t know if I tell you this enough, but you do such great work here.”
Like a dog at the promise of a treat, your head shoots up and your eyes widen. “Really?”
He nods, a smile spreading across his face, flashing a set of white teeth. “Really.” You watch intently as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his desk, still covered in a bunch of loose leafs of paper and random sticky notes reminding him of approaching deadlines and assignments. “You’re always so attentive to my needs. It’s kind of impressive, how you seem to read my mind, knowing what I want before I even know it.”
You giggle, cutting your eyes to the floor beneath the praise. “I don’t think so.”
He stands up, walking around the corner of his desk to stand in front of where you're sitting, leaning his seat against the ledge. He supports himself on his palms, reclining back at the same time as he shifts his hips forward, settling into the new position.
He’s so close that you can smell the faint scent of his cologne as it radiates off the patch of skin exposed by his loosened collar. This closeness, his body so near to yours, it conjures a simmering gurgling of anticipation in your gut, a primal instinct left by your ancestors to tell you that danger is near.
Well, maybe not danger, but something altogether wicked.
“Hmm,” he hums, nodding, as though truly considering your statement. “You don’t think so.” It’s not a question, he’s simply testing the thought on his tongue. “How about we test out that theory. What am I thinking about now?”
All that confidence you try to muster has swiftly made its exit, slamming the door behind itself, leaving you like a crustacean, naked without its shell to protect its gummy center.
Your eyes cut past him to see an empty glass, the tiniest drop of amber resting at the bottom, betraying the liquid courage he downed before you walked in, as if you couldn’t smell it on his breath as he spoke.
Mr. Kennedy isn’t a big drinker, you’ve learned, but he indulges on occasion, digging into a small bottle of whiskey he keeps locked in a drawer behind his desk.
“I–I don’t know,” you stutter. “That it’s late and you want to go home.”
He cocks his head to the side. That wasn’t the answer he was looking for, and you know that.
“That I should win employee of the month because of how good of a job I’m doing?”
You know good and well the DSO isn’t the kind of organization that has enough spare time to indulge in such corporate fantasies, but you’re buying yourself time, not quite ready to be done with this song and dance.
Mr. Kennedy laughs, tossing his head back, letting the sound loose from his chest. Then, he glances back down at you, leaning forward at the hip, ever so slightly. Not near enough to touch, just near enough to threaten it. “Close, but not quite. Though I do think you deserve a reward.”
“How about five more vacation days?” You arch a brow, a smug grin on your mouth. “Paid. Or maybe just a trophy.”
That elicits another tittering chuckle. “You drive a hard bargain, but no.” He kicks a foot out to tap yours, nudging it to the side, your knees parting slightly in consequence. The blast of air conditioning billowing from the vent in the wall wafts between your opened legs, tickling the exposed flesh of your thighs. Goosebumps rise on your skin, to which Mr. Kennedy takes notice, licking his bottom lip at the sight.
“Then what are you thinking, sir?”
He lets out a puff of air he was harboring in his lungs, closing his eyes as he takes in that sound, caught between both hating it and needing you to say it again.
Without another second wasted to hesitation, Leon bends down to catch your lips, pulling them into a passionate dance of tongues. If his words, his presence near you, were the igniting sparks, this was a roaring flame. White-hot with blue tips, it burned, leaving singing marks in its wake, marks you’d proudly wear.
“Sir, I–”
“Leon,” he murmurs, cutting off your speech. And thank goodness for it, because you spoke purely out of ceremony, not even sure what you would have said if he hadn’t interrupted. You surely weren’t about to tell him to stop, to push him away on principle of him being your boss, your superior. He tastes far too good to give up now. Mint and sweet liquor and need. It’s thick on his tongue.
“What?” You ask, your voice weak and flinty, hardly able to carry out a single word. He asks you almost every day to use his first name, to which you always pleasantly refuse, the back-and-forth becoming a little game between you both. Tonight, however, the name carries more weight than it usually does, sounding almost desperate the way it leaves his throat on a breath.
He retreats, just an inch to “You’re gonna call me ‘Leon’ when you come on my face.”
You’ve never actually seen Mr. Kennedy–Leon–use the sofa in his office. It sometimes serves as a coat rack, other times as a filing cabinet, scattered with manilla folders and loose pages of paper. But he doesn’t sit on it, at least not that you know of, the upholstered cushions never indented, never a hair out of place.
You definitely haven’t seen him use it like this before.
He has you sitting with your hips settled–practically dangling–near the edge, your legs parted, skirt pulled up, panties pulled down. His face is buried in your pussy, the evidence of your previous two orgasms painting his chin, knees digging into the carpet beneath him. After your first climax, you were worried about his joints, and you had asked him such. He responded with a click of his tongue and a hand on your lower stomach, keeping you pinned to the sofa.
“Fuck, you taste so sweet.” The vibration tickles your clit as he takes the bud in his mouth, suctioning his lips around it. Your hips jolt upward, and it takes an enormous amount of willpower not to cower beneath the stimulation. His tongue laps at your cunt once more, dragging slow, languid lines up from seam to clit, gathering your wetness on his tongue. “This is much better than a vacation, huh?”
“I don’t know about that,” you giggle, the sound eclipsed by a moan as he slaps your pussy, warning you that this reward could quickly turn into a punishment. “Definitely better than a trophy, though.”
i said on my latency window post i was tempted to write the morning-after scene and... well, i did it!
here's your little tumblr-exclusive bonus scene (that was supposed to be only 800 words max but i got possessed before i could stop) <3
✦ access granted ✦
leon s. kennedy x reader
18+
domestic fluff, workplace flirting, post-smut softness, leon as a yearning man
(just a reminder that this is part 2 of latency window. i suggest you read that first)
───────────── ✦ ─────────────
You wake as morning light spills across your face.
After processing reality just enough to recognize your room, you try to roll over and check the digital clock on your nightstand.
The first thing that hit you was the ache in your muscles, followed by a weight draped over your waist, keeping you in place.
Then the warmth pressed against your back—and the sudden recall that you hadn’t gone to bed alone last night.
Fragments flash through your mind before you can stop them.
Rough hands roaming over your body. A gravelly voice calling your name against your skin. The overwhelming feeling of letting go completely beneath him.
You could’ve almost convinced yourself it had all been some absurd dream, if not for the fact that Leon was still there when you finally rolled over, peacefully asleep in your bed.
His expression was softened—a stark contrast to the sharp composure he carried through the office—and his bare chest still bore the faded scars you’d traced so earnestly the night before.
You could’ve easily stared at him for the rest of the morning.
But the thought died the second your eyes caught the glowing numbers on the clock behind him.
Your stomach dropped.
You suddenly remembered you had a job. And you were late.
“Shit,” you whispered.
You shoved the blankets aside and forced yourself upright at the edge of the bed. The movement immediately punished you for it, soreness flashing sharply through your body as your feet hit the floor.
Your legs nearly gave out beneath you.
Apparently, sleeping with Leon Kennedy had roughly the same physical impact as two days of your strength training.
You dropped back onto the mattress with a quiet groan.
“Hey.”
Leon’s voice came from behind you, rough with sleep.
“What’s got you panicking this early in the morning?”
You glanced over your shoulder to find him squinting against the sunlight spilling across the bed.
Fuck.
He was unfairly handsome even this early in the morning.
“I need to get ready or I’ll miss the bus,” you muttered, bracing yourself for another attempt at standing.
Leon blinked at you slowly.
“The fuck are you talking about?” he asked. “We’re taking my car.”
Before you could push yourself up again, a warm hand closed around your arm and tugged you backward.
You barely had time to react before Leon pulled you back under the covers, guiding you closer until you were lying facing him again.
One of his arms slipped around your waist, pulling you close enough that your knees brushed beneath the sheets.
The same hands that had held you down so relentlessly only hours earlier now brushed slowly against your skin.
“Stay with me for five more minutes,” Leon murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
Up close like this, you could feel the steady warmth radiating from him, the lazy weight of his arm around you, the slow rhythm of his breathing drifting across your skin.
How the hell were you supposed to say no to that?
────────────────────────────
Sleeping in for a few more minutes had been enough to completely derail your morning schedule. But it felt nicer than your usual rush to get ready and go to the bus stop.
Getting your own car was starting to sound less like a luxury and more like a survival strategy.
Leon insisted on helping while you cooked breakfast, his large frame making your already small kitchen feel impossibly smaller as he moved around behind you.
You were hyperaware of him everywhere.
The quiet sound of cabinets opening. The brush of his arm against yours as he reached past you for plates. The way he searched through your kitchen like he already knew his way around it.
It should’ve felt strange having another person in your apartment like this.
Instead, it felt dangerously easy.
“Mugs?” Leon asked while you stood at the stove, pushing scrambled eggs around the pan.
“Dishwasher.”
He followed your instruction, grabbing two mugs from the dishwasher before setting them beside the toaster along with the plates.
You moved beside him with the pan in hand, close enough for your hip to brush his as you distributed the eggs between the plates.
“You can fill only half of mine,” you said as he grabbed the coffee jug. “I’m putting cream.”
Leon glanced at you.
“Huh.”
You looked up immediately. “What?”
Leon poured the coffee carefully before sliding your mug toward you.
“You always drink your coffee black.”
The observation caught you off guard.
“You noticed that?”
Leon gave you a look over the rim of his mug.
“You think I wouldn’t notice how the woman I’ve been obsessing over drinks her coffee?”
Your brain stopped functioning. Completely.
Leon, apparently unaware he’d just detonated a live grenade directly into your nervous system, took a sip of his coffee.
You cleared your throat quickly and turned back toward the counter before he could see your flushed face.
“There’s no cream at the agency,” you muttered. “And getting coffee at work is already annoying enough.”
Leon frowned slightly. “So you started drinking it black because it was more convenient?”
You shrugged, suddenly very focused on arranging toast onto the plates.
“It saves time.”
A quiet pause followed as Leon studied you again.
“You optimize your coffee,” he said finally, sounding genuinely intrigued.
“I optimize everything.”
“I know.”
The way he said it made your stomach flip embarrassingly hard.
Leon reached past you for the plates, his arm brushing yours again as he carried them toward the table.
“You know,” he said casually, “normal people usually just buy the coffee they actually like.”
You narrowed your eyes at him as you grabbed the silverware and followed.
He pulled out one of the chairs and dropped into it comfortably, like he belonged in your apartment just as much as you did.
“Normal people also don’t have to account for the statistical probability of having to escape collapsing buildings every other mission,” you stated, sitting down at the table.
Leon paused mid-sip.
“You calculated that?”
“I have charts.”
A beat of silence passed.
“That’s concerning,” Leon muttered.
“You’re the one going after the potentially exploding ones.”
“That only happened a few times.”
You stared at him flatly.
“Leon.”
He sighed dramatically, reaching for his coffee again.
“Okay,” he admitted. “Maybe it’s happened more frequently than normal.”
A laugh escaped you, warm and unrestrained enough to make Leon glance up immediately.
And then he was looking at you again with a softness that made your chest feel strangely tight.
Your smile faded slightly as you caught yourself staring back.
Leon leaned back in his chair.
“You keep looking at me like that,” he said casually, “and I’m gonna start thinking you’re into me.”
You blinked at him.
“I slept with you,” you deadpanned, shifting your eyes to stare at your plate. “I think we’re a little past speculation.”
Leon nearly choked on his coffee. The startled sound that escaped him made you look up again.
He was grinning, looking genuinely amused.
“Yeah,” Leon said easily. “But now you’re looking at me without actively planning an escape route.”
He took another sip of coffee, gaze drifting back to you over the rim of his mug.
“Makes me wonder if you’d think about keeping me around.”
────────────────────────────
The ride to the agency was quiet.
But unlike every other silent drive you’d shared with Leon, this one felt easy. Comfortable.
Your fragile little bubble lasted right up until the moment you stepped inside the agency building.
The familiar sounds hit immediately—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, overlapping conversations buzzing beneath fluorescent lights.
Your brain instinctively tried to force itself back into professional mode. It wasn’t working particularly well.
You adjusted the strap of your bag higher onto your shoulder as you walked beside Leon toward the elevators, mentally preparing yourself for an entire day of avoiding eye contact with him despite having very recently had his tongue—
Nope.
Absolutely not.
The elevator doors slid shut behind the two of you.
Your body immediately tensed.
The thoughts struck you all at once:
Someone must’ve noticed you arrived together.
Or… did everyone—somehow—know?
Maybe the agency had secretly developed mind-reading technology overnight exclusively to see your vivid flashbacks of Leon between your thighs.
Your jaw clenched automatically.
Beside you, Leon glanced down and, without hesitation, rested a hand against your waist.
The sudden contact made you jump slightly. But almost immediately, the warmth of his hand grounded you back to reality.
Your shoulders slowly loosened.
He simply faced forward again, broad frame relaxed beside yours as the elevator continued its slow climb upward.
He seemed completely composed and unaffected.
“You’re spiraling again,” he said casually.
You stared at the side of his face in disbelief.
“I’m conducting a risk assessment.”
Leon hummed thoughtfully.
“Should I be worried?”
You looked at him flatly. “Maybe.”
That finally pulled a quiet laugh from him. Low. Amused.
Unfortunately, it did absolutely nothing to help your ability to think clearly around him.
“Hey!”
One of the analysts from your team approached quickly as you and Leon stepped out of the elevator.
“Command moved up the debrief,” he said. “Ten minutes.”
You nodded automatically. “Copy that.”
Your brain was still halfway stuck in the elevator when you turned toward Leon.
“Leon, you can head up first,” you said absentmindedly. “I need to grab the material from my desk.”
The silence that followed was brief, but more than enough.
The corner of Leon’s mouth pulled upward ever so slightly.
And only then did your brain finally catch up with your mouth.
You had called him by his first name. At work.
Oh, God.
Your eyes immediately darted toward the analyst standing beside you, then toward the bullpen beyond him.
Nobody looked particularly alarmed, or had dropped dead from the horrifying breach of professionalism.
A few people were walking past normally. Phones still rang in the background. Someone laughed near the coffee station.
No visible signs that your career had just ended.
Which meant the only person fully aware of your catastrophic mistake was standing directly in front of you, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Sure, take your time,” he said easily. His expression couldn’t have been more knowing if he tried. “I’ll let the commander know.”
The slight smirk lingering at the corner of his mouth only made the heat crawling up your neck worse.
You turned immediately before anyone could witness the full extent of your inner humiliation, already making an escape toward your office.
Behind you, you heard Leon chuckle quietly to himself. Which, frankly, felt unnecessary.
────────────────────────────
The debrief went smoothly, as always. Nothing unusual happened.
At least, not externally.
Internally, however, you were hyperaware of absolutely everything in the room. Every glance. Every shift in tone.
Every time Leon spoke beside you.
By the time the meeting finally ended, your social battery was hanging by a thread.
You made a rapid escape straight for the server cave, fully prepared to spend the rest of the day hiding behind monitors and several layers of professional denial.
As if avoiding Leon for a few hours would somehow make the universe forget the fact that you’d slept with him.
But your plan collapsed.
Your glasses were missing. The blue-light glasses your eye doctor had explicitly warned you not to work without.
And you had a lot of work to do.
Anxiety immediately piled on top of the lingering chaos already occupying your nervous system.
You opened drawers harder than necessary, digging through cables, folders, and loose paperwork with growing frustration.
You checked the glasses case sitting beside your keyboard for what had to be the tenth time, as if they might suddenly materialize inside it out of pity.
Nothing.
“Looking for these?”
You startled so hard you nearly hit your knee against the desk, turning immediately toward the familiar voice.
Leon leaned casually against the doorframe, broad shoulders relaxed as he held your glasses loosely between two fingers.
Memory hit instantly.
His hands sliding the glasses from your face in the karaoke booth. The careful way he folded them before slipping them into his jacket pocket.
“Oh, thank God,” you breathed, stepping toward him.
Leon lifted the glasses slightly higher. “I think you mean ‘Thank Leon.’”
You stared at him flatly despite the relief.
“Give them back.”
“Mm.” Leon tilted his head thoughtfully. “Tempting.”
The corner of his mouth twitched as he watched your growing frustration.
“Unfortunately,” he continued, “I’m pretty sure this counts as returning stolen property. There should be some kind of reward involved.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “You stole them.”
“You left them in my jacket.”
“You removed them from my face. And that counts as theft.”
A slow grin spread across his expression.
“That’s true.”
Heat crawled immediately back into your cheeks as memory flashed far too vividly for the middle of a workday.
Leon pushed himself off the doorframe, finally closing the distance between you.
“One kiss,” he said lightly.
Your pulse jumped.
Not because you didn’t want to. That was the problem.
You glanced automatically toward the hallway behind him before lowering your voice.
“We’re at work.”
Leon hummed softly, gaze drifting briefly toward your mouth.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “We are.”
The agreement somehow made it worse.
Leon remained standing close enough that you could feel his warmth through the thin space between you, your glasses still loose in his hand. He seemed to have all the time in the world to wait for you to decide.
With one final glance toward the hallway, you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down into a quick kiss.
It was supposed to be brief and controlled. Professional-adjacent.
But Leon kissed you back.
His hand settled immediately against your nape, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened just enough to make your thoughts blur pleasantly at the edges.
By the time you two pulled away, slightly breathless, Leon looked entirely too satisfied with himself.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” he murmured.
Instead of simply handing your glasses over, he carefully slid them back onto your face himself, his touch gentle and deliberate. Your breath caught softly as his fingers adjusted them.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Then, before your courage could fail you completely, you reached up and caught the front of Leon’s shirt lightly between your fingers.
His brows lifted slightly as you tugged him down closer. Close enough that your lips brushed the shell of his ear when you spoke.
“I’d like to do more than business with you later,” you whispered.
Leon went completely still. You felt the subtle shift in his breathing immediately.
And when he finally pulled back enough to look at you again, the warmth spreading slowly across his expression was devastating.
“Well,” he said quietly, one hand settling briefly against your waist before he stepped back toward the hallway, “that’s definitely getting me through the rest of the day.”
cw/tags: 18+ (mdni), age gap (reader is over 18), oral f! receiving, daddy kink, taboo, all in lowercase
summary: sending dbf! leon a spicy selfie while he’s downstairs with your dad and his friends
wc: 700
you were in your room, bored as hell. leon was downstairs with some friends and your dad, all of them chatting and laughing in the backyard while sipping beers and grilling.
your secret relationship with him was still going strong, but he hadn’t given you nearly enough attention lately. work had kept him busy, and now he was stuck in a “boys night” with your father right outside.
you secretly watched him through your window. he looked so handsome no matter what he did. perfect. the sight of him made you ache. you couldn’t help imagining him excusing himself for just a few minutes, coming upstairs, and burying his face between your thighs to eat your pussy. the thought alone made you instantly wet. you slipped a hand down and stroked yourself through your thin panties, trying to ease the throbbing need.
then an idea hit you. why not send him a photo of your tits? he was obsessed with them. always sucking, squeezing, and teasing your nipples until you squirmed.
you quickly pulled off your tank top, sat on the bed, and took a cute selfie. it was perfect. just enough tease. you opened your messenger and hit send, heart racing as you waited.
you hurried back to the window to watch. when his phone buzzed, he checked it under the table. seconds later his face froze, eyes locked on the screen like he’d forgotten how to breathe. your father asked if he was okay, and leon quickly excused himself, heading inside.
your plan had worked perfectly.
you stripped completely naked and waited on your bed, legs slightly spread, pulse hammering with anticipation.
footsteps approached. the door opened, and there he was. eyes dark and glistening with raw lust as they devoured every inch of your bare body. “fuck, sweetheart… you can’t do this to me right now,” he growled, voice low and strained, clearly fighting for control.
“mmm, yes i can,” you cooed sweetly. “you’ve been ignoring me too much.”
he stepped in, closed the door, and locked it with one hand. “you’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”
you slowly traced your fingers down to your soaked pussy, spreading your lips just enough to show him how wet you already were. “maybe.”
he moved closer and caged you against the bed with both hands on either side of your head. “you want it so bad, huh?”
you nodded eagerly.
“then i’ll give it to you, baby. but we have to be quick, your father’s waiting downstairs.” his voice was rough, hungry.
the risky thrill of being quick only made you wetter. “okay, daddy.”
the word “daddy” while your real dad was right outside did something filthy to him. his eyes flashed.
“fuck… you’re such a horny little slut for me.” he crashed his mouth against yours in a sloppy, desperate kiss, then started kissing his way down — neck, breasts, belly — until he reached your swollen, dripping folds. “want my mouth right here?”
“mhm!” you whimpered.
“good girl. daddy’s gonna eat this pretty pussy.”
he gave you one slow, teasing lick from your entrance up to your clit, savoring you. “shit, i missed this sweet taste.” then he dove in hungrily, licking and sucking with pure greed, his tongue flicking and circling your swollen clit while two thick fingers pushed deep inside you, curling just right.
your thighs shook as you moaned, hands gripping his hair tightly. he ate you like a starving man. fast and messy. the wet sounds of his tongue and fingers filled the room, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
“like that, baby?” he growled between long, hungry licks.
“yes— fuck, yes,” you gasped.
he sucked your clit hard, fingers pumping faster, and that was it. your orgasm crashed over you violently. you came hard, crying out his name, hips bucking against his face as waves of pleasure ripped through you.
“good girl,” he purred, licking up every drop of your cum with filthy enthusiasm. “so fucking good for me.”
“t-thank you,” you breathed, still trembling.
he lifted his face, lips shiny with your juices, and met your flushed gaze. “you’re welcome, baby. now i really have to go, before your father suspects anything. okay?”
summary: reader is a bartender. one night, your whiskey-favoring regular asks to walk you home and you invite him in for the night. the man you just slept with, leon s kennedy? he's a federal agent with a dead wife, and you're a few months out of an abusive relationship. neither of you know how to navigate this, but you can't keep your hands off one another.
pairing: leon kennedy / reader
rating: explicit 🔞
series tags: no y/n for reader insert, widow!RE9!Leon, soft dom and submissive Leon, age difference (reader is in her 30s), alcoholism, abusive relationships (not with leon!), trauma...
chapter tags: oral sex (f!receiving) while on period :3
note: this is a bonus chapter ~ it can be read as a oneshot, but it's part of their story so i included it in the series ❤️🔥 since it's a bonus chapter - the exact timing is up for interpretation. chapter 17 will continue right where chapter 15 left off!
... BONUS, I
“Leon, you didn’t have to do all that…”
“I know, but I wanted to,” Leon says. “Want you to stay right here and relax, sweetheart.”
He plugs the cable for the heating pad he just ran off and picked up for you into an outlet by the chaise you’re laying on, then sets the dial to low heat. As you sit there, blushing and holding back a bunch of words about how you can take care of yourself (it’s so odd to be doted on like this, but you know he wants to), he’s unpacking everything else from the bag he’s holding and setting them on the coffee table, one by one.
Ibuprofen, pads, tampons, tea, chocolate. Dark chocolate with espresso beans in it, your favorite.
“You know, I was doing some reading,” Leon starts, “‘bout how to help alleviate your cramps.”
“And what’d you find?”
“Said releasing endorphins can help ease the discomfort.” He closes the distance between your faces, open hand coming up to brush his fingertips across your cheek. “Muscle contractions, too.”
He’s on you before you react, gently tilting your head aside to expose your neck to him and resting the pad of his thumb on your upper lip; his mouth, wonderfully warm on your cool skin, presses a slow kiss into the spot along your jaw right below the ear.
The kisses continue down your neck, longer and wetter as he goes, coaxing the first moan from you. You reach towards his pants, running your hand over the rising ridge of his length. He pulls your shirt up over your breasts and traces the surface of your body with two fingertips, over the curve of your breast, down your stomach, then lifting the band of your pants. His mouth’s not too far behind, going further lower than you anticipated.
“Leon—”
“Don’t want me to?” he asks, genuinely concerned.
“I-I do,” you admit hesitantly, “but it’s… I feel gross, I don’t want to gross you out—”
“Never,” he rebuts. “Baby, let me, if you want it. ‘Cause god knows I fuckin’ want it.”
You breathe in deep and exhale, having to take a moment to fully digest this. Fuck, of course you want it. You can feel your pussy leaking just from the thought of his mouth on you right now, the view of him between your thighs, and how he could look up at you and if you’re lucky, maybe you’d see a smear of red on his lips.
“Okay,” you concede.
“Good,” he murmurs, expression beyond eager.
Leon finally guides your pants over your legs, you lifting yourself up a bit and bending your knees to make it easier for him. Then, he situates himself so he’s prone along the long piece of the couch, propping himself up with his elbows, and rotates you to face him.
“Relax.”
Leon kisses the skin he didn’t have access to while your pants were still on—the top of your mound, down the dip where your leg meets your pelvis, then to your dripping cunt. He glances up at you to see that you’re covering your mouth with one hand like you want to stay quiet, and he simply won’t have that; he takes your wrist in a soft grip and pries your palm from your face, kissing the center before letting you go and settling back where he belongs.
“Wanna see and hear you. Ain’t nobody here but us.”
You nod in answer.
So beautiful, he thinks, your face flushed bright red.
Leon watches you and buries his face back between your thighs, diving right into licking long stripes along the length of your cunt. Instantly, you’re threading a hand in his hair and weakly gripping at the top of his head, your other digging into the throw blanket beside you. Satisfied in the sight, your mouth hanging slightly slack in pleasure, he shuts his eyes and shifts his focus entirely to the meal in front of him.
He laps your liquids up indiscriminately and delightfully, tongue sliding between your lips and around your hole, making you grasp harder at the blanket held tight in your hand and moan.
You’re quiet, at first, but Leon’s relentless, entirely unwilling to let you off so easily. The tip of his nose rubs into the wet flesh around your clit as he licks up the evidence of your arousal and your moans grow louder as you let go and your body melts into the pleasure he’s giving you. This is the affirmation he chased moments ago, absolutely certain you wanted this but only protested because you were feeling shy. It was cute, but he still needed to win. Still needed to do this for you.
He opens his eyes and looks back up at you, but you’re the one lost now, eyebrows drawn tight and mouth open, sounds flowing free. You couldn’t stop them if you tried, and you gave up on that awhile ago.
The deeper you fall, the more he bestows on you. Leon finally laps directly at your clit, and as you whine louder and louder—increasingly desperate for him to fill you—he, too, finds himself in need, grinding his hips into the couch for any semblance of relief he can fucking find.
You’d been doing your best to be good and keep your hand in his hair loose, but Leon moans low into your pussy as he ruts mindlessly into a pillow he managed to shift below him and you break, pulling at his hair and whining his name, tripping on your voice in the second syllable.
It’s like you activate him with that, pressing an invisible button.
“Baby, fuck,” he growls.
Next thing you know, two fingers slide deep into your slit. No easing into it—not that you needed to; Leon finds your soft spot in record time and immediately begins thrusting his hand in and out of you, curling his fingers up into it in every plunge.
“L-Leon! Oh, fuck, I can’t—I can’t— it’s too much,” you cry.
“You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart,” he encourages you, gaze fixated on the way your pussy’s swallowing up his fingers, mixed fluids dripping onto the couch. “Christ, so hot—you crying it’s too much, but that’s not what she’s tellin’ me, huh?”
The tell is that you’re not pushing him away; you wouldn’t hesitate to fight him off if you truly couldn’t take what he’s giving you, so, what else is he to do but slip a third finger in the next time his hand fucks up into you? Why would he slow down when you’re whimpering after the third’s added, pussy gripping him tight and he can tell you’re almost there?
“‘M gonna… gonna…!”
“That’s it, c’mon… come on my face.”
It’s the last thing he says before he’s wrapping his lips around your clit again, lightly sucking, quickly shoving you right off the edge and into ruin; into abyssal pleasure with him right behind you, dry humping that fucking pillow and spilling into his pants.
Leon moans your name for the first time, incapable of keeping his lips on your clit, the noises rising from him as he rides out his orgasm unstoppable and keeping his mouth thoroughly occupied—but his hand’s pumping into you, still curling perfectly into that spot over and over while you’re clamping down tighter than ever on his fingers and arching your back, obscenely coating them with red.
Leon cautiously withdraws his hand from you, pushing himself up from the couch and coming to sit up on his knees. Both of you slow, trembling and panting hard from your come down, each looking at the other’s dishevelment, the visuals of your mutual undoing.
His hand’s a fucking crime scene, his mouth painted in your blood just like you imagined, wet stain on the front of his pants.
He looks at you—sunken back into the couch, legs spread wide and a mess between, eyes half closed like you’re about to drift off to sleep—then down at the spot, laughing twice.
“Didn’t even know this old body could do that anymore,” he says. “See what you did to me, baby?”
-> lucky you, you get to bounce on it. what would leon kennedy be like in bed?
notes: smut/nsfw, 18+ - interact at your own discretion
- Leon would be very vocal, but not very loud. You can easily coax a lot of grunts, cusses, and soft moans from him. When he’s close, he usually lets out a barely audible whimper too.
- Leon also talks dirty a fair bit, but it’s usually in short sentences, like “fuck, you look so pretty like this.” He’d definitely talk you through it too, with those little sentences that drive you insane, like “good girl, ride it out for me.”
- Favourite positions of his would be mating press, pro bone, and you riding him while he’s sat. Anything where your bodies are physically as close as possible will always be his favourite.
- Leon would be a switch. In a more dominant role, he’d still have tenderness and care, so he’d be a service dom. He’d want his partner to feel immense pleasure at all times, to the point where he’d push you with some overstimulation and praise. You’d hear something along the lines of “Keep going… You can cum for me one more time right?? …Yeah, that’s my girl.”
- In a more submissive role, Leon would be incredibly obedient and serve you in whatever way possible with total devotion. Again, he wouldn’t be incredibly loud, but you can easily earn a lot of stifled whimpers and rasped out pleas from him. He’d also be the type to blush furiously when he’s in a more submissive role in the bedroom. Post RE2 Leon wouldn’t be so easily flustered, so you can expect more of a shy demeanour with a beet-red face when he’s in a submissive role. You’d likely hear a lot of pleading, such as “please, oh, fuck, fuck, please don’t stop, please” in a breathy whimper.
- Leon is a selfless person, and it translates in the bedroom too. He prioritises your pleasure over his - he’ll slow down to pace himself if your orgasm is still far away.
- Leon Kennedy is a munch. This is said so much by so many fanfic authors that we could say it’s practically canon.
- Leon has a praise kink. He loves to hear it from your mouth - whether it’s telling him he’s doing a good job, how good he’s making you feel, and calling him a good boy… He wants all of it. He can’t get enough of it, in fact, he’d probably get drunk on it if he could.
- He also loves to give praise just as much as he loves to receive it. It usually comes in the form of a “fuck, you feel so good,” or “you’re taking me so well, baby.”
- As much as he’d love to sext you, especially when he’s away on a mission, there’s a big risk that his phone could be tapped or stolen. He has no choice but to remain pent up until a mission is over. Upon his return, the both of you fuck like rabbits for a good 2 days. You’ve probably had sex on every surface imaginable in his place by now.
- He’ll fuck you hard, but never rough - unless you ask. Even then, he’s not the biggest fan of inflicting marks (aside from a lovebite or two if he’s feeling possessive) or leaving you sore the next day. He’s very aware of his strength and he’s terrified of harming you.
- Leon prefers taking his time with you over a quickie; while he’s definitely not opposed to those, he prefers to appreciate you, and doesn’t like to rush.
- Leon’s job requires him to stay in peak physical condition, so you’d probably tag along with him to learn a thing or two. After a workout, Leon usually gets such a big burst of energy that he almost always ends up horny after working out. You’ve also asked him to teach you self defense manoeuvres, but it pretty much always starts with sparring and ends with him fucking you into the mat of his home gym.
- Every time without fail, he whispers an ‘I love you’ during or right after. :p
Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Your past sexual experiences have been unsavory, to say the least, and without anyone to change your mind, you have long decided that sex is terrible. That is, until you let your very convincing boyfriend try to change your mind.
Word Count: 2.3k
based on this request
You remember the first time you thought about sex–like really, truly pondered the act. Twelve years old, bored to the marrow in your bones listening to Mrs. Wilson drone on and on about some cliff-notes interpretation of Hamlet’s soliloquy.
As though the flesh constructed in the four corners of your mind was tangible, you could feel the phantom touch of a man on your skin. His lips on yours. His fingertips grazing your bare body from breast to core. Twelve years old and the floodgates broke open. It crept into your waking thought at least once a day, every day since then.
You watched porn, read the naughty books tucked away in the outermost aisle of the grocery store. Spent hours in the mirror practicing a seductive mug you’d pull out when the time was right. Humped your pillow to perfect your rhythm. Made out with your fist. Deepthroated a banana. You studied it.
So of course sex had to be great. It just had to be. For you.
You had been obsessed with it since you first saw your favorite actor on the silver screen, and he played a recurring role in your hypnagogic fantasies. Missionary, cowgirl, doggy, all the numbers to infinity and every letter in the alphabet.
It had to be.
And then it wasn’t.
The first time was mediocre. But then again, isn’t it for everyone? Perhaps you couldn’t judge the very thing that has kept humans on this earth for six million years based on ten awkward seconds on an air mattress in someone’s dad’s basement with who knows what species of rat sneaking behind the moldy walls.
The second time was alright. You were just getting used to the feeling of someone being inside you, and the fact that it happened in a hot tub, jets blowing bubbles up your ass cheeks while a man’s unlubricated fingers poked and prodded at you, didn’t help.
The third time was terrible. A balcony on a hot, summer night beneath an endless southern sun. Why did you keep choosing the worst places on earth to fuck? That one was on you. Mosquito wings in places no insect should ever be. And an ant bite on your ankle. No thanks.
Fourth, fifth, sixth. One man. A different man. The same man who couldn’t get it up the first time but he begged for a second chance. An older man. A younger man. Two men? Hotel, bar, living room, car. Your sexual past was beginning to sound like Dr. Seuss slam poetry.
Scratch. Veto. Eehhh.
“It’s not you,” you promise sweetly, looking up at Leon. His wide, puppy-dog eyes hold blown pupils and oceanic irises that could stop a blind man in his tracks. You were completely starstruck when you saw him for the first time, shaggy blonde hair and lines carved by Michaelangelo himself.
“Don’t give me the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ thing, alright? If you’re not interested, just put me out of my misery.” He sighs, gaze faulting to the floor between his feet, shoulders falling in defeat.
You place a hand on his back, pivoting your hips on the sofa cushion to turn toward him.
“Leon, no,” you croon, garnering his attention once more. He glances up and to the side, meeting your eyeline. “I am so interested. Like really, really interested.”
The hottest man you’ve ever seen grace the planet was sitting in your living room, not even a foot away. And you were touching him!
Of course you were interested.
“Really?” He asks, lifting his dark brows, as though he can’t believe that a woman would be interested in pursuing something deeper with him.
‘Really.” Releasing your bottom lip from its prison between your teeth, you cut the bullshit, and ignore the ferocious flush rising to your cheeks. “It’s just that, I’ve had some really unsavory experiences in the past, and what you and I have now is so perfect. I don’t want to…I don’t know? Mess it up?”
He blinks hard, and you could hit yourself for doing the very thing you were afraid of.
“Gosh, that sounded bad. I don’t know how to explain it any better. I’m sorry if I offended you, I just…geez.”
The two of you chuckle at your idiotic rambling, and you take another jab at trying to explain yourself. “Sex just hasn’t been great for me, no matter who I do it with or what we do. It’s just…bad. And every time I’ve made that leap with partners in the past, it ends up souring things between us. I really like you, Leon, and I don’t want to risk that. Not yet.”
He raises a hand to cup your cheek, steadying your trembling chin. “Hey,” he coos. “Look at me.” How could you pass up an opportunity like that? The look in his eyes is tender and sweet, and the corner of his lips perks up into a half-smile. “I like you too. A lot. And as much as I’d love to take the next step with you, I understand.” He flexes his jaw and tears his gaze away from you for a moment before letting it return. “Although I’d really like to show you how good sex can be…with the right person.”
You scoff, incredulous, though you wish you could stuff the sound back in your mouth and swallow it. To rectify the gesture, you arch a brow and smile. “Are you the right person, Leon?”
He huffs a breathy sound through a big, pearly smile. “I like to think so. Will you let me? Show you?”
Will you? Let him? Are you ready to be disappointed once again? To let your hopes fly high like a kite, only to be shot down once more?
With Leon, yes.
“Yes,” you say, the word more like a sigh on your tongue.
“Lead the way.”
Your bedroom is shrouded in shadows, only illuminated by the orange gleam of the street below as the rain-mottled window lets in the light from passing cars and the streetlamps that line the avenue.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks, cupping your face, as if that isn’t exactly what the two of you had been doing all evening. You nod anyway, and his lips return to yours, meeting in a marriage of plump skin and tooth. He tastes like the bourbon he had at dinner, the mint he popped in his mouth after. Cinnamon and spice.
He’s an amazing kisser, knowing exactly when to invite his tongue, where to swirl it around, when to bite and nibble, and how to touch your body as he does it.
His hands find your waist, fingers splayed across your ribs like digits on the keys of a piano. Just the touch is enough to send electric eels coursing through your veins, shocks radiating from limb to limb.
You can already feel a gush of arousal pool on the crotch of your panties, and your stomach feels hot with anticipation.
“Still okay?” He asks, pulling away to tug at the hem of your shirt.
“Still okay,” you repeat, helping him peel off each article of clothing keeping your body from him. Once you’re completely bare and reclined on the mattress, he remains standing above you, starting with his shirt.
You watch intently as he gingerly unlatches the buttons, slowly revealing more and more skin, beautiful in its pale translucence. Taut muscles tense and release beneath it as he pulls the sleeves off his arms. Although you had already gotten a sneak peek at his biceps when he wore a short-sleeve tee, it’s as though you’re seeing them for the first time. Bulging balls of muscle. Virile veins. You salivate like a dog sitting for a bone, and your teeth ache, longing to bite.
Next, his belt. The metal of the buckle clinks in the near-silence of the room, followed by the sound of zipper teeth being pulled apart. You swallow hard as he hooks his fingers under the band of his briefs, shoving them, along with his dress pants, down his thighs, fully revealing himself to you.
You bite your lip to keep your jaw from dropping at the sight of his cock. The prettiest one you’ve ever seen. A perfect ratio of length to girth, a head already weeping with lubrication. A thick vein trailing up the shaft.
He climbs onto bed with you, kissing the curve of your neck, trailing wet lips down to your breasts. His fingers play with one of your nipples while his teeth nibble gingerly at the other. You hiss, back arching off the mattress as a wave of pleasure rolls from your chest to your core. An itching sensation follows, and if you weren’t planning on letting him take his time, you’d beg the man to enter you right now.
The point of his tongue flicks across the hardening bud of one breast as his hand palms the fat of the other, kneading the flesh. Mouth still latched onto your nipple, he moans, and the vibration elicits an embarrassing sound from your throat. It seems to goad him on even more, and he treks down your abdomen, planting chaste kisses down the line of your stomach, on the bones of your hips.
Then, he presses your legs apart, hands wrapped around your waist as he dives into your pussy. Without any warning, he begins to devour you as though you’re the manna welcoming him after forty years in the desert. His tongue alternates between heavy, flat laps from seam to clit, and pointed licks that draw long lines up and down your inner lips, hitting either side of your throbbing bud.
You mewl and yelp and whine. Fingers find his hair and tug. The muscles in your abdomen contract uncontrollably, and the sensation you have only ever felt when you are resigned to your room, alone except for the company of a battery-operated device, begins to grow inside you.
He adds two fingers, stretching your hole, crooking them until you whimper and he knows he has found your sweet spot.
It doesn’t take long for your climax to wash over you–no, this one hits you like a truck and backs up over your limb body for good measure. He doesn’t stop eating, even after you finish all over his face. Not until you physically push him off of you, too sensitive and sore to manage another touch.
A grin appears on his face, and this is the most smug you’ve ever seen him look. You weren’t even sure you’d seen him so happy before.
He wipes your juices off his chin and mouth with the back of his hand, rising to his knees before he comes onto his fists and crawls up your body to plant a wet kiss on your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
“You sure?”
As if he didn’t just give you the best orgasm of your life. Did he think you’d want to stop there?
“I’m sure, Leon,” you say in a gasping breath.
Still between your legs, kneeling, Leon nods, the gesture punctuated by a slight chuckle as he takes himself into his palm, pumping his cock to its full stiffness.
His forearms bracket your head, one leaving for just a moment, maneuvering between your bodies to help glide the head of his cock into your dripping pussy. The stretch is delicious, and leaves you craving more.
“‘S this okay?”
Like it’s your first time. Maybe it is.
“Very.”
And he slides the rest of his length into you, his face contorting, head falling into the crook of your neck. A long, heaving growl leaves his chest, and for a moment, you’re not sure who is experiencing the most ecstasy. You or the man who is whimpering like a puppy above you.
“Move, please,” you plea, hands coming to either of his cheeks as if to manually thrust his hips into you. He begins on his own, however, and you drink up the strangled noises he sings into your ear.
“Fuck, you’re so tight, holy shit.” His voice is weak, breath hitched. “I’m not gonna last.”
“Harder,” you cry out, wanting more of him. You’re not sure exactly what you need, you just need more of his cock inside you, his hands all over your body, his groans loud, and his breath hot at your neck.
Faster. Harder. More, more, more.
“Harder?” He asks in confirmation, the heads of his brows cinched. “I don’t know if I can–fuck–last if I go harder.”
“I don’t care,” you sigh, holding his sweaty face in your hands.
“Okay, shit, hold on.” He adjusts your body on the mattress, removing your legs from his waist, pressing your knees into your chest. As he pounds into you, his shaft rubbing against your front wall, and the new angle has you crying out for every name in your contacts.
“I’m gonna come,” he groans, palms still digging into the backs of your thighs. “Fuck, fuck. I’m coming. Shit.”
After a few more seconds, a second orgasm shatters your body into a million shooting stars, and you clench around him in a staccato rhythm, practically milking him dry as he finishes inside. Aftershocks flicker like live wires through your body, starting in your toes, traveling up and down your legs, your arms.
Leon collapses onto the bed beside you, his chest coated in a sweet film of sweat that catches the light with each labored breath he takes.
When you trust that your voice won’t crack like a split log when you speak, words you never thought you’d say in a situation like this leave your lips.
based on this request--to my requester, I hope I was able to breathe life into your fantasy, thank you so much for stopping by :)
a/n: I'm finally getting back into the groove of writing. tried to keep this short and sweet, I know my drabbles have been anything but recently. anyway...please enjoy and know that my inbox is always open if you have a wicked idea you'd like me to explore
It wasn’t long into your relationship with Leon that things started to get physical. One look at the man with the dress shirt he begrudgingly wore to work with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, or those suit pants that contoured his form a little too perfectly, and you were ready to pounce like a tiger on its prey. All it took was one movie night at your apartment where the two of you were snuggled up like bugs in a rug on the sofa, sharing the warmth of one blanket to keep the winter chill seeping through the windows at bay.
A round of sharing each other’s saliva, hands roaming past the point of no return, and a clumsy trek into the bedroom on shaky legs. Things were bound to proceed as hot and heavy as they began.
After stripping you down to your underwear, Leon gently nudged you onto the bed, and your lips immediately missed the warmth and softness of his own as he stood above you just to sink down onto his knees a moment later to pull down your panties. With his hands on either of your thighs, he drove them apart, and then he took a second to manually adjust your hips on the edge of the mattress, setting you into place for him to begin his ministrations.
He started with a long lick from the bottom of your entrance all the way up to your clit, the bud pulsing in anticipation. His tongue laid flat against it as he continued to lap like a kitten at a bowl of milk, small, gentle strokes to warm you up.
Then, when he was satisfied with how wet you had gotten beneath him, how your hips were jolting, your body writhing like a live wire, he began to eat.
You had never experienced a man who lived up to the name of the act, devouring your pussy like it was his last meal on earth and he had to make every drop count. He did it with such a ferocious hunger, you were certain it was more for his pleasure than your own.
He started by sliding his down your folds, licking the nerves on either side of your clit in between hungry licks at your seam. It made your body jerk, and your abdomen tense. Groaning against your pussy, he stuck the tip of the muscle past your entrance, tonguing your insides as if testing to see how far he could go. The sensation was euphoric, and your climax was nigh and fast-approaching.
Early into your relationship, you were worried how this would go. With every man before Leon, it would take hours for you to finish, if you did at all. Even by yourself, with your own fingers, or the help of a battery-powered friend, your orgasm was as elusive as a butterfly, always out of arm’s reach.
Whether Leon was experienced or whether it was written into his biology to know exactly which buttons to press, which spot to lick, you didn’t care. Just as long as he didn’t stop.
And he didn’t.
He continued to consume you after your first, second, and third climax, his tongue far from worn, his mouth far from tired.
“Leon,” you whined, clawing at the sinew of his shoulderblades through the fabric of his t-shirt. Your fingers dug into his skin, pulled at his hair; you pleaded for some reprieve, though he didn’t overlook the lack of surety in your voice, and continued to work. The moans that escaped your throat were like the sound of a flare gun at the starting line of a race.
In turn, the sounds he made against your pussy pushed you over the edge…yet again, until you were screaming out his name, and you felt as though you could either fall through the layers of cotton and fluff in the mattress, or ascend to the heavens to live among the stars behind your eyes.
After the waterworks of your last orgasm, you were probably drowning the man, though you’re certain, by the way he’s been dining on you for the last hour, he wouldn’t mind dying a hero’s between your legs.
He retreated, an obscene sheen of sweat and arousal painted across his chin and mouth. His chest heaved with each labored breath he sucked in, his shoulders consequently rising and falling. Strands of dark blonde hair were sticking up in all directions, a tousled mess at your own hands. Surely he was done, you thought. That is, until he wiped away the moisture on his face with his forearm and lunged past you onto the mattress, his head propped up by a pillow, hands expectantly grasped on his abdomen.
“Sit on my face,” he said, with a smile as big as the moon.
based on this request--to my requester, I hope I was able to breathe life into your fantasy, thank you so much for stopping by :)
a/n: I'm finally getting back into the groove of writing. tried to keep this short and sweet, I know my drabbles have been anything but recently. anyway...please enjoy and know that my inbox is always open if you have a wicked idea you'd like me to explore
It wasn’t long into your relationship with Leon that things started to get physical. One look at the man with the dress shirt he begrudgingly wore to work with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, or those suit pants that contoured his form a little too perfectly, and you were ready to pounce like a tiger on its prey. All it took was one movie night at your apartment where the two of you were snuggled up like bugs in a rug on the sofa, sharing the warmth of one blanket to keep the winter chill seeping through the windows at bay.
A round of sharing each other’s saliva, hands roaming past the point of no return, and a clumsy trek into the bedroom on shaky legs. Things were bound to proceed as hot and heavy as they began.
After stripping you down to your underwear, Leon gently nudged you onto the bed, and your lips immediately missed the warmth and softness of his own as he stood above you just to sink down onto his knees a moment later to pull down your panties. With his hands on either of your thighs, he drove them apart, and then he took a second to manually adjust your hips on the edge of the mattress, setting you into place for him to begin his ministrations.
He started with a long lick from the bottom of your entrance all the way up to your clit, the bud pulsing in anticipation. His tongue laid flat against it as he continued to lap like a kitten at a bowl of milk, small, gentle strokes to warm you up.
Then, when he was satisfied with how wet you had gotten beneath him, how your hips were jolting, your body writhing like a live wire, he began to eat.
You had never experienced a man who lived up to the name of the act, devouring your pussy like it was his last meal on earth and he had to make every drop count. He did it with such a ferocious hunger, you were certain it was more for his pleasure than your own.
He started by sliding his down your folds, licking the nerves on either side of your clit in between hungry licks at your seam. It made your body jerk, and your abdomen tense. Groaning against your pussy, he stuck the tip of the muscle past your entrance, tonguing your insides as if testing to see how far he could go. The sensation was euphoric, and your climax was nigh and fast-approaching.
Early into your relationship, you were worried how this would go. With every man before Leon, it would take hours for you to finish, if you did at all. Even by yourself, with your own fingers, or the help of a battery-powered friend, your orgasm was as elusive as a butterfly, always out of arm’s reach.
Whether Leon was experienced or whether it was written into his biology to know exactly which buttons to press, which spot to lick, you didn’t care. Just as long as he didn’t stop.
And he didn’t.
He continued to consume you after your first, second, and third climax, his tongue far from worn, his mouth far from tired.
“Leon,” you whined, clawing at the sinew of his shoulderblades through the fabric of his t-shirt. Your fingers dug into his skin, pulled at his hair; you pleaded for some reprieve, though he didn’t overlook the lack of surety in your voice, and continued to work. The moans that escaped your throat were like the sound of a flare gun at the starting line of a race.
In turn, the sounds he made against your pussy pushed you over the edge…yet again, until you were screaming out his name, and you felt as though you could either fall through the layers of cotton and fluff in the mattress, or ascend to the heavens to live among the stars behind your eyes.
After the waterworks of your last orgasm, you were probably drowning the man, though you’re certain, by the way he’s been dining on you for the last hour, he wouldn’t mind dying a hero’s between your legs.
He retreated, an obscene sheen of sweat and arousal painted across his chin and mouth. His chest heaved with each labored breath he sucked in, his shoulders consequently rising and falling. Strands of dark blonde hair were sticking up in all directions, a tousled mess at your own hands. Surely he was done, you thought. That is, until he wiped away the moisture on his face with his forearm and lunged past you onto the mattress, his head propped up by a pillow, hands expectantly grasped on his abdomen.
“Sit on my face,” he said, with a smile as big as the moon.
