∗ synopsis. post patrol jason todd is desperate and banged up.
warnings. 18+. established relationship. jason todd x fem! reader. clingy jason. porn w/o plot. thigh riding. handjob. soft smut. (kinda all over the place…oops!)
jason comes in through the fire escape window instead of the front door like a normal person.
he tries to play it off, helmet already off, one hand braced against the window frame like he’s fine, totally fine, except he’s breathing wrong and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that hasn’t stopped bleeding.
“sit down,” you tell him.
“m’fine,” he says, but sits down immediately.
you get the first aid kit without being asked. pull up a chair in front of him and start with his face, cleaning the cut above his brow with steady hands while he watches you. he doesn’t flinch. just sits there and lets you work, jaw tight, eyes tracking your expression.
“stop looking at me like that,” he says.
“like what.”
“like you’re mad.”
“i’m not mad.” you press the butterfly strip down carefully. “i’m not mad at you.”
he doesn’t say anything to that.
you move down. his lip, split at the corner. his jaw, bruised deep and purple. you touch each thing gently and he takes it quietly, which is its own kind of alarming.
you get to his chest next, working the catches of his suit until it falls open. he shrugs it off his shoulders without being asked, leaving him in just his boxers, and you keep your face neutral. you do. but your hands still for just a second at the mess of him. bruises blooming across his ribs, a cut low on his side that’s dried but angry looking, the old scars underneath all of it.
you clean the cut without a word. he watches you frown at it.
his hand comes up and cups your face.
“hey,” he says quietly.
you look up.
“m’okay,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek. “i’m right here.”
when you’re done you cap the antiseptic and sit back. he catches your wrist before you can move away.
he tugs you forward into his lap without asking, arms winding around your waist, and tucks his face into your chest. just. stays there. breathing you in.
you let your fingers move into his hair.
he’s heavy against you. the tension in him slowly, slowly starting to unwind. you can feel it in the way his shoulders drop by degrees, the grip around your waist loosening just slightly.
you card through his hair and say nothing.
after a while he turns his face up.
he kisses you soft at first. careful, like he’s relearning you, mouth moving gentle against yours. but then his hands tighten at your waist and he kisses you again, needier this time, a quiet urgency underneath it like he just needs to feel you. feel that you’re real. that you’re his.
you kiss him back.
his arms pull you closer.
“m’sorry,” he says. kisses you again. “i know i worry you so much.”
his hands slide down to your hips. he shifts you slightly on his lap, repositioning you until you’re sitting across his thigh, the thin fabric of your sleep shorts the only thing between you and his bare skin. you feel the muscle flex deliberately underneath you.
“jason—”
“please,” he murmurs against your mouth. “let me.”
quiet and earnest in a way he rarely lets himself be.
“you’re hurt,” you say.
“i know.” his hands squeeze your hips. “please, baby.”
you look at him. the cut above his brow, the bruised jaw, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that’s going to settle him tonight.
“you don’t have to do that,” you say softly. “i’m not mad at you.”
“i know.” his forehead drops to yours. “please.”
so you give in.
you start to move and his thigh flexes under you, firm and deliberate, pressing up right where you need it through the thin cotton of your shorts. your breath catches.
his hands guide your hips into a slow rhythm, jaw tight, watching your face with dark eyes. every time you roll forward his thigh meets you and the friction pulls a soft sound out of you that he swallows with his mouth.
“that’s it,” he murmurs. “just like that.”
his ribs expand with a sharp breath when you shift your weight and he winces, barely, but you catch it.
“jason—”
“don’t stop,” he grits out. “please don’t stop.”
you don’t stop.
his hands keep guiding you, unhurried, and he just watches. eyes dark and focused entirely on your face, the way your mouth falls open, the way your fingers curl into his bare shoulders careful of the bruises. this is one of his favourite things, you know. watching you come undone. he’s told you before, low and honest in the dark, that he could do this for hours. just watch you. just this.
his expression right now confirms it. something reverent underneath all that heat.
you reach down between you and palm him through his boxers and he exhales sharp, hips stuttering up.
“hey—” his voice comes out rough.
“let me,” you say, echoing him back at himself.
his jaw works. he nods.
you slip your hand past the waistband and wrap around him properly and the sound he makes is low and punched out, head dropping forward onto your shoulder.
“fuck,” he exhales against your skin.
you keep moving on his thigh. keep stroking him. the dual rhythm finding itself naturally, your hips rolling forward while your hand works, and jason is coming apart underneath you in the quietest, most desperate way. no performance. just him, stripped back, hands gripping your hips like an anchor.
“feel good?” you murmur.
“yeah,” he says, barely voice at all. “yeah, so good.”
his thigh flexes deliberately under you and you gasp and his mouth finds your jaw, your throat, pressing open kisses wherever he can reach, sloppy and uncoordinated and so unlike his usual careful self.
“close,” you breathe.
“i know.” his hand slides from your hip, down, pressing over yours where you’re working him. not taking over. just feeling. “me too. come on.”
his thigh flexes one more time, firm and precise, and you tip over with a soft broken sound, forehead dropping to his shoulder. you feel him follow seconds later, shuddering, a low groan muffled into your hair, hands gripping you through it like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
the room goes quiet.
he holds you there for a long time after. face buried in your neck, breathing slowing degree by degree.
Jason todd and some making out 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️
tags & content: established relationship, superficial injuries, kissing, making out, fluff, very minor nsfw mentions, gn reader
“There,” you beam, the corners of your eyes crinkling with a childish sort of joy as you finish smoothing the edges of the plaster over his nose. “All done.”
Jason’s eyes track you momentarily as you pull back, fingers tentatively tapping his nose to test the little plaster. Satisfied, he lets out an exhausted sigh, one you seem to feel in your own bones.
You don’t like seeing him like this; all bruised and battered after a long night with criminals, but you always looked forward to patching him up afterwards.
It was a strange, conflicting feeling.
You know if he was truly hurt, he would be with Leslie, or treating the wounds himself. These, you knew, were just superficial, easy for your inexperienced, lithe fingers to prod and poke without causing any major injuries.
Plus, looking at the plaster littered with ridiculous, cartoonish bears, you can’t help but let out a little giggle.
Jason immediately cracks one eye open, tilting his head towards you with a feigned look of irritation.
“What?” He grumbles. You know he’s tired, probably looking to catch some shut eye as soon as possible, but you can’t help yourself.
You lean your shoulder against the back of the sofa, pursing your lips in a futile attempt to hide your smile.
“Nothing,” you sing. Jason’s eyes pin you like a bug to a board for a few more seconds, letting out a huff of indignant air. He leans forward to the coffee table, despite the bruising on his ribs, reaching for his phone. The screen is spider-webbed with cracks, but it still works.
“Babe, what did you do—”
“Nothing!” You squeal, launching forward to pinch his wrists. You tug playfully, trying to get him to abandon the pursuit of his phone. “Really, it’s nothing—”
“Is my nose crooked?” He breathes, his lip quirking into a subtle little smirk. He lets you win the fight for just a second, before reaching with his other hand for the target. You yelp, sprawling forward into his lap to try and pin his arms under you.
“Your nose is fine!”
Jason lets out a defeated huff, sliding his arms out from under you. One immediately clings to the soft curve of your waist, turning you so you’re dislodged a little further onto the sofa. You twist, your hands catching his broad shoulders as your back settles against the soft cushions.
You weakly giggle, letting your fingers slide against the nape of his neck, delving into the soft, black hair there.
Jason leans fully over you like this, taking the opportunity to muzzle into the curve of your neck. Your breath hitches as he trails lazy kisses up the muscle, to your jaw, your cheek, and then the corner of your mouth.
“Seriously...” You mutter, not wanting him to replace the cuddly little plaster. His mouth presses over yours for a second before letting you speak. “There’s nothing—” Another kiss. “—on your...” Another, this one broken by you with a slight nudge. “...nose.”
Jason lets out a noise of fake irritation. His voice is low, vibrating your bones just right. “Are you still talking?”
You feel his fingers settle under the hem of your shirt, against your side, the other brushing through the locks of your hair. He leans onto his elbow, allowing him to slowly seal his lips over yours once more.
This time, you two stay there, soaking in each others warmth.
He moves first, his lips coaxing your own open, until you’re kissing him back with just as much passion. You sigh deeply against his mouth, lifting your leg to trail it slowly against his side.
His teeth give your bottom lip an impatient tug, and you part your lips further so his tongue has the room to sweep in. It’s wet, the parting and meeting of your lips between little breaths the only sound filling the drab little apartment.
Jason is heavy and warm against you, pressing right up against the front of your body.
While you’d be more than happy for him to sink his fingers into you, or for you to get him off, you can tell by the gentle, little strokes of his thumb against your hip that he’s too tired for that. That this is okay, and this is enough.
Dreamily, you rest your hands over the expanse of his back, feeling the relaxed muscles there as he minutely shifts over you.
His lips peel from yours for just a second, before he presses a gentler one over yours. His eyes flutter open alongside yours just to take you in, before he kisses you quicky for a final time, and rolls onto his side next to you.
The couch isn’t big enough for both of you, but you make it work with some aggressive wriggling. He tucks his chin over your head with a tired sigh, anchoring you right against his chest.
“It’s the plaster, isn’t it?” Jason rumbles, making you duck your chin.
“Don’t take it off,” you plead, nuzzling your forehead against his chest. “You look so cute.”
He sighs in annoyance, but you know it’s just a show.
“Fine,” he mutters, kissing the top of your head. “Whatever.”
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⤷ 𝓷𝓼𝓯𝔀. 𝟏𝟖+. clit play. p in v. multiple orgasms. 𝟸.𝟷𝓀
“mhm, i don't think s’gonna fit, baby,”
teasing. leon’s teasing. he has to be after he’s spent hours slowly working you open. making you come on his tongue and fingertips, making you drip until your cunt is soaked and puffy, all so you can take him like you want to but he just keeps teasing you and it’s torture
soft sheets stick to your sweaty back where you're laid out in the middle of your bed with your thighs spread and held down by leon’s large hands pressing into the backs of them. he looks huge towering over you, broad shoulders, rippling muscles and his big cock nestled against your aching and very empty pussy
“it will—you said so—please,” you babble mindlessly while you clench around nothing as if that will somehow prove that you’re ready for him. if you aren’t prepared by now then you simply never will be and the latter doesn’t bare thinking about when you need him to fuck you so desperately
leon’s big everywhere, it’s no secret to anyone really, but his cock had to have been crafted by some kind of god. even as he’s grinding along your core, there’s more of him not touching you at any given moment because of his size. he’s long and thick, a double whammy and more than you could have ever dreamt of
“i don’t know,” leon hums, long and drawn out whilst he tips his chin to his chest to look at the spot where your bodies meet. his fingers brush over the backs of your thighs, soothing trembling muscles in a way that only he could manage to do while he’s being so cruel, “don’t want to split you in half, sweetheart,”
you moan wantonly at the idea of it. being fucked full and broken in two on his cock. you want it—no, you need it. writhing against the sheets and begging is getting you nowhere, so you try a slightly different approach instead, “just the tip then, please,” you whimper and tickle your nails against his wrists
for the first time since he spread you wide, leon falters. a groan rumbles through his chest like thunder and his hips buck involuntarily, making his balls slap against your soft skin, “fuck—yeah, okay,” he mumbles under his breath, like you’re not supposed to hear it, and finally starts to pull his hips back
his cock slips down the center of your cunt, aided by the sheer amount of slick that’s coating your skin, and as the fat head of him slots against your hole, you suck in a harsh breath through your teeth. though, when leon still doesn’t give you what you want, you release it in a whiny, “please, please, plea—oh god,”
begs turn into sobs the second leon suddenly presses into you and stretches you around the tip of his cock. it aches in the best way possible and has your back arching away from the mattress as you fight against leon’s hands to squirm and force yourself further down his length
“not god but close enough,” leon grunts as you tighten like a vice, stuck somewhere between trying to pull him closer and push him out at the same time. he’s struggling too and you know it, the urge to sink into you is written in the furrowing of his eyebrows and his cock is twitching with anticipation
it’s not nearly enough to satisfy either of your needs though, just the tip of him was never going to be enough, but as your lips part and a beg for more sits right on the tip of your tongue, you look up at leon and see the smirk spreading across his face and you know exactly what it means straight away, “i can’t,” you pout
leon shrugs, “you can and you will, angel,” he rasps before he leans forwards slightly and spits directly onto your clit. you whine as one of his hands leaves your thigh and then moan when the calloused pad of his thumb spreads his saliva over where you’re very sensitive, “come like this, then i’ll fuck you, promise,”
electricity fizzles up your spine and shudders through your shoulders while you realise that he’s going to drag this out even longer. he’s going to make you come again and there’s nothing that you can do about it—not that you even want to try when you know that he’ll make it feel so good
your eyes pinch shut and your stomach tenses as his rough swipes turn into soft circles, going around and around your bundle of nerves, which causes your cunt to flutter around him. heat erupts in your stomach, a fire that’ll build quickly because it always does when leon’s the firestarter
“you’re just too small sweetheart, need to make sure you can definitely take me,” leon sighs condescendingly and you can feel his eyes on you, studying you, even though yours are still shut and you can’t actually prove that he's looking at you but somehow, you just know
he's good with his hands, he knows what he's doing, so the slide of his thumb over your clit is easy. all you have to do is lay there and take it, focus on the feeling that’s already beginning to coil tight and you’ll come in no time, especially if leon keeps talking filthy whilst burning holes into you
“fuck—wish you could see how tight you are, pretty little hole strugglin’ to take just the head of my cock,” leon murmurs as he ghosts his thumb down the center of your cunt. you huff over the loss of his touch but it’s back within a second and it’s devastating
his fingertip still goes in a circle but this time he’s tracing around the spot where your pussy is squeezing his cock. your delicate skin against his velvety skin, both wet and sticky with your slick and his precome as it leaks out of you. it’s filthy and it makes your head spin
you can’t help but sniffle and rake vicious lines over his wrist, the one that you can still reach and dig your nails into while he teases, and he returns the touch with a bruising hold on your thigh which makes your eyes flutter open, “ruin me, break me—please—just do anything,” you beg up at him
leon’s cock kicks and his jaw clenches, “yeah?” he grunts afterwards and then his thumb is back on your clit and rubbing harsher, uneven, circles, “fuck you full, make you bulge with my cock, mold your cunt to only take me, ruin you for everyone else?” he rambles through deep growls
“yes—fuck yes—you already have!” you wail while your thighs tremble and your clit throbs under his assault. there’s nothing nice in his movements anymore, it’s devolved into a driven need that’s dirty and abrasive and you love it even as it starts to become too much, too fast
everything in your body is screaming no as you hurtle towards another orgasm, the number of which is unknown because you lost the ability to keep count of them hours ago, but you can’t stop and you won’t stop while the ache in your stomach multiplies and your legs try to pull together, though leon won’t let them
“close, angel?” leon asks lowly and you could hear the smirk in his tone even if you couldn’t see it. you nod frantically in response, unable to use any of your words because of him, “yeah? you’re doing so good—fuck, you’re so good, letting me use you like this,” he groans, each word getting you closer
your chest begins to heave, panting in short, desperate breaths as leon’s thumb starts to swipe back and forth quickly over the tip of your twitching clit. you’re right there, teetering on the edge, ready to let bliss take ahold as your brain turns to mush. you just need one final little push and then—
“come baby, come for me,”
it’s such a simple order and yet, your body listens to it before you even have the chance to process it. the coil snaps and you choke on a sob while your entire body tenses and then shudders. your nerve endings burn in every part of your body, a white hot heat that spreads like a wildfire
somewhere distant is leon’s voice is ringing in your ears with a trickle of soft praises, “there you go, that feels better, huh?” he coos and strokes featherlight hearts—you think—into the outside of your thigh. when he let them snap shut, you don’t know, “uh huh—fuck look at you,”
around his cock your cunt has clamped down and pushed him out, leaving your hole empty again but you can’t find it in yourself to care when leon is wringing your orgasm for all that it’s worth by still brushing sporadic circles over your clit until you knock his hand away with a heavy feeling hand
“oh my god,” you whimper and then shiver through the last of the little aftershocks before you wriggle, “you promised,” you whisper, your tone laced with exhaustion while you remind him of the deal that he made and make it known that you do still want him to fuck you properly
leon chuckles as he leans over you and kisses your bottom lip just once before he pulls away. it’s sloppy and probably a little gross but it makes your cheeks flush anyway, “ready, sweet girl?” he asks and nudges his cock against your wet little hole, barely letting himself slip inside before he pulls back
“yes—please!” you blurt, much louder than you meant to but leon is far too focused on pressing into you to realise it. a silent gasp scratches your throat as he gives you back what you already had, the stretch is no longer there but your back still lazily curves away from your sheets over it
he goes slowly, excruciatingly slowly. each centimetre of his length has your jaw dropping further, while you stare up at him with big, wet eyes. every vein that’s strung around his cock drags against your fluttering walls and nothing else could ever compare to that feeling—a feeling that only leon can give you
once he’s half way in, you quickly feel full. it’s like your body simply has nowhere else for him to go because he’s already occupying every space, filling every spot and grinding against it no matter how sensitive it is. that, however, doesn’t stop your pussy from trying to pull him in
“sweeth—fuck—s’like you’re sucking me in,” leon hisses through clenched molars. his muscles are starting to tense and any composure that he had is slipping away rapidly but he’s held on for so long that you can’t blame him, even if it is his own fault, “shit—oh my god, fuck,” he groans
the last inches of his cock seem to sink into you quicker than the first ones did. whether it’s because you really are sucking him in or because he just doesn’t have the capacity to go slowly anymore, you really don’t care whilst your room gets filled with soft whimpers and deep grunts that sound like a song
that is, until leon bottoms out and nails your cervix
everything goes fuzzy. your vision, your nerves, your veins. you’re blindsided and blacking out whilst your pulse pounds against your eardrums and every colour of the rainbow bursts behind your eyes. you’re frozen, stuck in your mind while an orgasm rips through your system like a hurricane
it feels like lightning in every one of your limbs, seizing sore muscles and forcing a wrecked yelp from your lips. you've never felt anything like it and you're not sure you'll ever get close to it ever again. it's like a high that you don't want to chase
“oh—oh, are you coming, again?” leon’s asking but you can’t reply more than a stiff nod and a shove at his hip because he was right, it’s too much and you can’t take him all at once. he goes easily though, pulling out of you carefully whilst he hums a sympathetic, “good girl,”
losing all of his touch at once is horrid but you're too overstimulated for him to risk giving you anything whilst you writhe underneath him and even though you hate feeling empty in the moment, you'll thank him for it later
“too much,” you slur your words after sometime. your heart is still thumping in your chest and your eyelids are too heavy to open but it’s all made better by leon hovering over you and peppering soothing kisses to your burning cheeks, “too much,” you repeat, causing leon to hum and smile against your skin
“i know baby, i’m just far too big for you,”
thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah ily! send prompts to my ask box!
a/n i proofread this badly because i’m so exhausted so if there’s any mistakes, please ignore them, thank yew, i love you !!!! 𑣲
munch!jason who starts every act of intimacy with some form of teasing, whether it's ghosting his fingertips over your skin, whispering in your ear, or breathing heavily on your panties to see how worked up he can get you before undressing.
munch!jason who sucks light hickeys on your inner thighs first to "appreciate his meal" & will gently bite down on your flesh whenever you start moaning before he "even does anything real."
munch!jason who plucks the elastic of your panties and feigns shock at the sight of you already dripping for him, cooing that his pretty girl is "just so happy to see me!" Before giving a teasing lick over your clit.
munch!jason who always groans when he latches his lips onto you, falling into place, sucking and slurping like his life depends on making you cum.
munch!jason who drives himself crazy trying to draw out the little moans & gasps you make, hooking his arms around your thighs and moaning against you whenever you tangle your fingers in his hair.
munch!jason who tends to intertwine one of your hands with his when you start moaning his name, eyes flicking up to meet yours as he rolls his tongue over your clit, almost teasingly slow, attempting to coax out his name again.
munch!jason who loves watching your face twist in pleasure, moaning against you every few minutes to see you shudder & feel your thighs tighten around his head.
munch!jason whose hips roll against the mattress whenever you start pulling his hair, begging him to keep going, eyes fluttering as he struggles to focus on anything but your touch.
munch!jason goes crazy when he feels you start tensing up, tongue flicking your nub relentlessly, pressing his face flush against your trembling cunt, & he almost creams his boxers at the feeling of you releasing all over his face.
munch!jason who licks you clean after you cum, almost driving you to a second orgasm before pulling back to show off the juices clinging to his lips and chin, wiping them off slowly while maintaining eye contact.
munch!jason kisses you quickly. Letting you taste yourself on his lips before rolling you on top of him and whispering how he'd love it if you let him eat it again, with you on top this time.
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : go read bae's muncher tim fic fr. Nora's smut fics should be required reading.
ৎׅ ׄ synopsis ⋮ After a few weeks apart, pirate!dick is missing his favorite mermaid. Unfortunately the fishie comes to him with a new wound and a demand for food.
word cnt. 4.3k
aka ›››› “…Men give birth?” “…Why wouldn’t they?”
“Heyyy, pretty. Miss me?”
His voice cut through your sleep like a jolt of lightning, pulling you upright so abruptly that your tail thrashed in the seaweed bed beneath you. You fumbled, startled, instinctively diving deeper, slipping entirely beneath the surface before you were even fully awake from where you were ironically–waiting for him.
“Hey—it’s just me!” he called again. But down below, the sound came through distorted and distant, smothered by water and pain—your ear fins still tender, still healing from the careless fishing hook that had torn through them days ago. The ocean swallowed his voice whole, leaving only the echo of vibrations you couldn’t decipher.
Up on deck, Dick exhaled hard, a mixture of concern and exasperation fogging the cold air. The ship rocked gently beneath him, the wooden planks groaning with each slow rise and fall of the tide. Lanterns swung from their hooks, casting loose golden light through the early fog, and the wind salted the air so strongly he could taste it at the back of his tongue.
Dick scanned the water, searching for even a ripple of you.
By now—by the second hello—he should have at least seen the faintest sign of you surfacing. Normally, you’d appear with a sleepy little splash, drawn by his voice as if tethered to it. But the waves only rolled in their quiet rhythm, moonlight dying across their crests.
His chest tightened.
Dick pushed away from the railing and strode across the deck. The crew was already stirring with the dawn—a clatter of boots, a mutter of greetings, the smell of coffee someone always brewed too strongly. A few sailors saluted him as he passed, and though he smiled in return, it was a distracted, flickering thing.
He reached the side of the ship and began undoing the canvas that shielded the rope ladder, fingers moving fast despite the morning chill. The storm earlier that week had left everything damp—ropes swollen with seawater, wooden rails slick beneath his palms. Dick tossed the canvas aside and immediately started stripping down: coat first, belt next, then boots, each movement sharper than the last.
“Keep the anchor down until I return! We leave at noon.” He called out.
“CAPTAIN?!” the new crew member squeaked behind him, borderline horrified. “S-Sir—these waters are MERMAID-INFESTED!”
A low thud of footsteps. Then Raven’s voice, as dry as sand: “He knows.”
Dick barked a quiet, breathless laugh as he swung over the rail and grabbed the ladder.
Of course he knew.
The ocean down here was different—heavy with salt and mystery, thrumming with currents that weren’t entirely natural. Even from above, he could feel the water pulling at him, whispering with the strange, magnetic hum he’d grown to recognize.
Every time Dick came to this part of the sea, his pulse changed rhythm.
Not because of the glowing water or creatures that seem like they're from fairy tales, but the fairy tale that he might get a glimpse of. You.
Maybe it was the way you moved—like you were everything good about the sea made into form. Or the way you listened, with a patience deeper than any tide if it meant a reward from him.
Years on the ocean had taught him to fear things that pulled men overboard.
But you had never pulled him.
Dick always jumped in willingly.
He started down the ladder, boots dangling from one hand, cold metal scraping under his grip. The wind whipped against him, carrying the smell of brine and storms past, curling through his hair. Below him, the water churned with gentle, restless motion—dark blue, deep, alive and glowing.
It had been weeks since he last saw her.
Weeks of empty water and rough nights.
Weeks of reaching instinctively over the rail, expecting her to rise.
Weeks of that strange ache he didn’t know how to name.
He had missed her.
Missed the calm she brought him, missed the way his thoughts settled in her presence like silt sinking to the ocean floor.
Dick descended the rope ladder the way one might climb down from a dream—with careful hands and a heart already racing ahead of him. The morning was clear but restless, the moon a pale coin trembling in the sky, the waves shimmering in silver ripples that almost seemed to beckon him closer. From above, the ship creaked and hummed with its usual morning music, but to Dick, it all sounded far away, muffled beneath the pulse of anticipation in his veins.
The third foothold from the end, worn smooth by years of salt and sun, met his boot—and that was far enough.
With a breath that tasted of brine and courage, he pushed himself off the ladder and let gravity take him in one sweeping fall. The sea rose to meet him like an old friend, its arms thrown wide, as he slipped beneath its skin the world softened into blue and quiet.
And you saw him.
Of course you did.
You always did—no matter the storm, the darkness, or the thousand distractions of the deep, somehow you felt him enter the water the way others sensed a passing breeze. Your body startled with that endearing, shimmering flinch, your tail giving a joyous snap that turned the water bright with scales. Then you were gone in a silver streak, cutting through the sea with a grace no sailor could name and no artist could paint.
In mere heartbeats you reached him—your hands curling around his waist with instinctive certainty, your body halting its swift momentum so gently that he didn’t even rock. Dick floated there, arms drifting upward, his dark hair fanning like ink in the water. And when his eyes found yours, he smiled, soft and bright, like he always did for you.
“Richard.” you breathed, your voice rippling through the water like a melody. But then your expression faltered, filled with sudden alarm. Your favorite food source just risked its life. “You leapt from the ship?! What if I hadn’t been watching? You would have struck the rocks!”
He laughed at that—quiet and bubbling, the sound scattering into the water like pearls. With one finger, he tapped his throat, then the surface far above, a gentle reminder of his own limits beneath the waves.
“Oh!” you gasped, as though the thought had slipped your mind entirely. In an instant your touch shifted—protective, guiding—turning him upright, the long sweep of your tail steadying him as his legs instinctively wrapped around your hips. You kept one hand firm at the small of his back, the other warm at his side, your hold practiced from countless other stolen hours beneath the tides.
He braced himself—eyes scrunching, lips pursed in anticipation—and you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bright and tinkling like seashell chimes.
With a gentle kick, you carried him away from the hull of the ship, the current drifting between you like silk. The deeper water welcomed you both in slow rolls, as if bowing to the familiar pair gliding across its surface.
You swam toward your little island—your shared secret—no bigger than the captain’s cabin on his floating home. A shy ring of sand and rock, shaped like a crescent moon fallen from the sky, cradled by tide pools that shone like crystal bowls. You had shown it to him on a night not so different from this one, when he first dared to reach for you in the dark.
Now it was yours.
The place where the ships could not dock, his crew could not follow, and your people could not see.
Where Dicks’s calloused human hands could trace every shining scale along your waist without fear or hesitation. Where you could bite his fingers in retaliation, harsh enough to draw blood. Where he would just smile and ask you to lick it off.
As you carried him there—his weight cradled easily against your body, his forehead nearly resting against your temple—he felt the sea hum around you both. As if the ocean itself knew your story and was eager to see it play out once more.
The moonlight danced along your tail, lighting it in soft ribbons of silver and blue. Dick reached out, brushing his fingers over the shimmering arc of scales that disappear along your waist, the touch tender and reverent. You flushed at the gesture, warmth blooming even beneath the cold press of the water. You were going to smack him for that later, at making your body that's typically as cold as ice any other temperature.
Dick couldn’t speak here—not yet—but he hoped you could feel it: how he’d jump ten thousand times if it meant falling into your arms like this. How every plunge into the water felt like leaping into the very heart of a fairy tale.
You do feel it, but frankly you'd appreciate some fish as a snack more.
When you finally broke the surface, the small island rose around you like a secret carved from the sea itself, bathed in the pale silver of moonlight spilling across the waves.
Dick coughed, the water lodged stubbornly in his lungs, and you reached instinctively, gentle fingers brushing his back in steady, repeated pats as though the motion alone could coax the ocean from him. He leaned into your touch without a word, letting you guide him to sit on the warm sand at the edge of the tide, the two of you already slipping into the quiet rhythm you had perfected over weeks of stolen moments like this.
Even without speech, the world felt far away, a distant hum beneath the waves and stars, leaving only the steady rise and fall of his chest against your hands and the soft lapping of water around your tail.
You adjusted the angle of his body with the ease of familiarity, letting him cough over and over while your eyes shimmered faintly in the early moonlight, full of anger. This island, tiny and secret, belonged only to the two of you in these moments, a sanctuary from the roar of wind and salt and ship.
Now a little hell you could raise just for him.
“I told you not to jump when I’m not looking!” you scold, your voice carrying that musical trill unique to mer-folk scolding—the kind that sounds oddly like a harp string plucked too sharply. Your nose scrunches adorably, fins flicking in agitation like a startled school of minnows.
Dick, still coughing up seawater in undignified spurts, tries to reply, “Since when do I ever—” another cough, another spray of glittering droplets,“—listen to you?”
You smack his back with the flat of your hand, a firm and strong thwack that is light for mer-folk but harsh for humans and echoes through the patch of land. “This is why you have no mate!” you declare, as though announcing the final verdict of an ancient undersea tribunal.
Dick sputters a laugh and rubs the water from his chin. “I’m young,” he argues, trying for suave but sounding more like a drowned cat. “Give me a few more years.”
“You’ll be too old by then.” You huff, crossing your arms. “No good woman would take you.”
“Women,” he says slyly, rolling onto his side and tugging you gently up the sand with him—placing you on his legs, not quite his lap, under his knees and close enough for the tide to still kiss your tail—“are different than mermaids.” His voice lowers into that charming, mischievous note that always makes your gills flutter. Would have if it wasn’t for the next thing he said.
“They like older men.”
Your nose wrinkles again, skeptical and unimpressed. “I cannot imagine why.”
Dick lets out a tired sigh and falls back into the damp sand, the moon crowning him like some accidental sea prince. “What? Do merfolk think older men look… terrible or something?”
“No,” you answer instantly, as though the very idea is absurd. “Our kind barely ages at all—not in appearance, not the way humans do.”
He glances up at you, eyebrows raised, temporarily distracted from his still-racing pulse from that swim. “Then what’s the problem with older men?”
“It’s more painful for them to carry.” You say with a casual shrug, flicking your tail as though this is common knowledge. “Why force your mate to endure greater pain when child-rearing is already life-or-death at times?”
Dick’s head snaps off the sand so quickly he nearly knocks into you. His eyes go wide—oceans-wide—and his mouth drops open like he’s been struck by lightning from a clear sky.
You think—maybe—you see a faint pink bloom across his cheeks.
“…What,” he breathes, not as a question, but as a complete existential collapse.
You tilt your head, your sea-silk hair drifting in the breeze like kelp caught in a gentle tide. You speak cautiously, as though approaching a skittish seahorse.
“…When a mermaid and a merman love each other very much—”
“I know that,” Dick blurts, cheeks flushing a color warmer than the dawn. He hushes you with a frantic gesture, embarrassed, still coughing up the last remnants of seawater like the ocean refuses to release him fully.
Dick absolutely does not know how mer-folk do anything behind closed reefs, but he is not about to receive a mermaid version of the birds and the bees while still tasting salt.
You blink at him owlishly, baffled by his interruption—as if he is the one missing something obvious.
“Then what is it?” you ask, utterly earnest. The moon catches on your scales and they shimmer like a secret treasure. “What confuses you?”
“…Men give birth?” he finally sputters, blinking at you as though you’ve just told him the sea is actually made of soup.
“…Why wouldn’t they?” you counter immediately, brow arching with genuine curiosity.
In your expression there is no jest, no exaggeration—only the serene, unflappable certainty of someone who grew up believing this was the natural order of the universe.
Dick opens his mouth once, shuts it, opens it again. He looks like a fish you might rescue from a net—wide-eyed, stunned, and very out of his element.
“Where…” He swallows, staring at you, then at your tail, then back at you, as if the answer might appear carved in coral across your cheekbones.
“Where does the baby come out from?”
You inhale to answer—calmly, scientifically, like you’re about to give the most straightforward explanation in the world—but Dick’s hand shoots out immediately, warm and calloused, covering your mouth before a single syllable escapes.
His eyes are wide. Fearful. Regretful.
Haunted.
“Forget I asked,” he pleads, voice barely above a whisper.
You blink slowly, lips squishing slightly beneath his palm, the picture of innocent confusion—like a sea kitten scolded for the very first time.
His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, the corners tugging into a crooked, awkward smile that makes your chest ache and your instincts want to coo like you do whenever your prey starts to run. You almost do—almost let the soft, musical note escape your lips—until his gaze drifts, sharp and unwavering, to the small, fragile fin.
You had tried to hide it, braiding strands of seaweed into your hair as if the ocean itself could disguise your wound. A clever trick, perhaps, but not clever enough for Dick’s eyes. You suppose you started to underestimate him, maybe the seaweed in his brain is finally starting to become unlodged.
Wounded mer-folk, far from the shelter of their kin, were always the most vulnerable. Even the smallest tear, the tiniest puncture, could disrupt everything: balance, hearing, the delicate coordination of head and neck. Without your fins, every movement stutters; every sound above the surface becomes a muted whisper.
“What happened?” Dick's voice cuts through the soft lull of the waves, strong but tethered with concern.
Before you can answer fully, his fingers move, skilled and insistent, undoing the seaweed braid with a practiced, impatient urgency. You sigh, a soft bubble of exasperation and relief.
“A fisherman came too close to our territory. I didn’t see his hook,” you explain, your tone casual, almost careless, though your eyes follow every flicker of his reaction. “It’s alright. Some of my people already dealt with him.”
Dick’s gaze sharpens, a flicker of conflict passing through the blue storm of his eyes, but he does not protest. Any fisherman with sense—or respect for his own life—should have known those waters were off-limits. Even now, the island where you’ve made refuge lies at least a mile from the border of your waters.
His calloused fingers lift to your jaw, tilting your head gently, examining the puncture with precise care. The wound sits just behind your ear, a narrow, cruel line that drags upward through the fin, small but dangerous. The tenderness in his touch contrasts sharply with the cold knowledge of what could have happened, his thumb brushing lightly along the curve of your skin as if measuring both the damage and your resilience.
You let him, because you know him. You know that if he could not see it—if he could not inspect it, touch it, trace it with his eyes and hands—he would go mad. And you...well you'll allow it if it means you get your marinated fish.
The wound behind your ear gaped like a cruel slit in fragile silk, the cartilage torn ragged, fins shredded in jagged lines, and dark, briny blood oozed steadily, mixing with the saltwater that clung to your skin in sticky rivulets. Tiny shards of flesh that is usually bellow your scales clung to the wound, glistening and raw, pulsing with each heartbeat as if the injury itself throbbed in protest.
The tear dragged upward, slicing through tissue and leaving a thin trail of coagulated blood along the delicate curve of your neck. Every subtle movement of your head made the fin shiver violently, sending sharp, stabbing jolts of pain that radiated deep into your skull. The sight alone was enough to make stomachs turn—a vivid, relentless reminder of how dangerously close the hook had been to cutting nerves or severing veins that no mer-folk could survive losing.
But you had more important matters to deal with right now.
Such as the fish you can smell coming from his pocket.
“You… you should have told me right away—” Dick’s voice trembles, a mixture of desperation and restraint as he struggles to keep it soft, almost reverent. “I have antiseptic, bandages—I could have—”
“They would not have worked on me,” you reply gently, lifting a webbed hand to rest lightly atop the warm skin of his hand. The touch is soft, grounding, a quiet begrudging reassurance. “I am not like your kind. We have our own medicines—they were already applied to the seaweed, see?”
Dick’s gaze drops to the tangled long strands of seaweed in his hand, noting the way they shimmer with a golden-orange oil, now streaked with your dark red-purple blood. The sight sends a flicker of awe and unease through him, a silent admission of the vast, unbridgeable differences between your worlds—differences he both marvels at and quietly resents having to acknowledge.
“I…” He starts slowly, swallowing hard, eyes closing for a brief moment as if to steady his racing heart. When he speaks again, his tone is hushed, almost solemn, a careful mixture of humility and frustration. “I… apologize for taking it off.”
He keeps his hand hovering, caught in the quiet space between instinct and awe, unsure whether to withdraw or press closer, suspended in the helpless wonder of the strange, potent magic that is simply you.
“There’s no need for apologies,” you murmur softly, letting your tail flick involuntarily in the water. “Do you… think you could braid it back on for me?”
Dick hesitates, gaze dropping to the wound, uncertainty threading his voice. “I don’t… I don’t understand how it works if it’s not wrapping the wound…”
You smile, teasing and patient, like your dealing with a child. Your hands reach for a strand of hair in front of and behind your ear. “The ocean’s water at the center of our territory heals more than any medicine could. Braiding the strands across the front and back simply provides protection from infection. The medicine seeps from the seaweed into our blood instead of the water—merfolk blood is mostly oil, not water.”
Dick blinks at that, a faint, awkward smile tugging at his lips as he reaches forward, fingers steadying as he begins to braid with surprising skill. “How ironic,” he mutters.
“Yes, I do envy your kind,” you coo lightly, feeling the warmth of his hands near your sensitive scalp, “always looking so majestic even as you bleed out. Our blood… it just floats to the surface. Not very pretty I fear.”
Dick blinks again, then smiles, unfazed, continuing the braid with careful fingers.
“Your hair is like silk,” he murmurs, voice low, eyes trying not to linger too long on the faint wound along your shoulder—a wound you know he’s already trying to forget, trying to distract from with words soft as sea foam.
“As is yours,” you reply, letting a webbed hand drift upward, fingertips brushing delicately along the strands at his scalp. Even the gentlest touch could sting, could pierce—but he leans in closer without a hint of hesitation, as though your warning were the merest suggestion.
“Do you think I could take some?” you whisper, a teasing lilt to your tone. “I should be able to exchange a few pearls for this.”
“Can I have a few of your scales?” Dick replies, dripping with that newly acquired sarcasm of his—a sharp, human wit that only recently has begun to make sense to you.
Your eyes narrow, shimmering like twin moons in the dark water. “Human hair cannot be spoken of on the same level as scales.”
“Your hair then,” he hums, undeterred, tilting his head with the faintest smirk.
You ignore him, letting your gaze drift to the gentle waves lapping against the sand. “My fish,” you murmur, the word soft, reverent. Holding your open hand out, your tail flicking in the water with this being the only time you're nice and pliant. Acting all sweet like a cat asking for food.
Dick pauses, brow furrowing slightly, and with practiced hands he finishes tying off your last braid with a strand of seaweed, the salty scent clinging to his fingers. Then he reaches into the small pocket of his shirt for the familiar little bribe—the tiny trinket, the sweet incentive he always brings to coax you close.
Only it isn’t there.
His eyes widened.
A curse passes his lips, silent and sharp.
It must have fallen when you swam so fast to reach the island, carried away by the current, leaving him empty-handed—and, somehow, a little more helpless than usual.
Dick looks up at you slowly—too slowly—like a man trying to stall his own execution.
“Richard Grayson.” Your voice sharpens like a spear glinting under moonlight. “Where is my fish?”
He swallows. Hard. “You know, babe…” he begins, easing the word out as if it might slide past you unnoticed—except your brow twitches, your fins flare, and the water behind you ripples like something preparing to strike.
“Fish are friends. Not food.”
“You are a pirate.” You jab a long, curved nail at his chest—close enough that the fabric of his shirt sighs beneath the threat of it. “You eat fish for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Your people are merciless with your hunt.”
Dick lifts one brow, sea‑salt confidence returning far quicker than his sanity should allow.
“Oh? And how do you decide which fish are friends and which are prey? Your folk can talk to them. Isn’t that less humane than what I’m doing? Or…” His mouth twitches. “Mer‑mane?”
You blink. Slowly. Like a leviathan considering whether to swallow a sailor whole.
“I tell them I am going to eat them.” You say this with a solemnity usually reserved for sacred rituals. “The fish that laugh are friends. The fish that swim away are prey.”
Dick’s face contorts into something between horror, disbelief, and a betrayed fondness.
“Is this why you told me you’d eat me when we first met?”
“Yes.” You nod once, gravely. “Unfortunately, you did not run.”
“Babe, I thought you were hitting on me.”
Your eyes widen—not in innocence, but in outrage at the insult to your logic. “Hitting you? Sweetheart I had a piece of glass to your throat”
“No, no—” he runs a hand down his wet face, half drowning in your sincerity, half drowning from the actual ocean. “It means flirting.”
You tilt your head.
The tide tugs at your hair like curious fingers.
“…why would threatening to devour you be flirting?”
“Sweetheart,” he says, leaning in with a grin that should not be allowed on a man whose life depends on your mood, “you grabbed my ankle, yanked me under a wave, and told me you’d decide my fate based on how fast I swam.”
“I was hungry.”
“You kissed me an hour later.”
“I was still hungry and you tasted dreadful.”
He stares.
You stare.
The sea hushes around the two of you like it’s eavesdropping.
Then your tail flicks, sending a spray of silver droplets across his chest. “Where,” you repeat, voice dangerously soft, “is my fish, Richard Grayson?”
Dick exhales, defeated laughter slipping from him. “…I think the ocean ate it.”
You gasp—not a human gasp, but a mermaid type gasp, sharp enough to cut. “The ocean cannot eat my offering! That fish was for me!”
“Yeah,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, “and I was for you too, apparently.”
You study him for a moment, eyes narrowing with regal disdain. “Well… you will do for tonight.”
“Do what—?”
But you’re already hauling him by the collar back toward the surf, muttering something about useless pirates and clumsy humans and how he should hope he tastes better this time.
replies and reblogs are always appreciated! please lmk what you think it helps me release new work sm faster!
Anyway here's something I drew a while back instead of paying attention during lectures 🙂↕️ Don't mind if the anatomy is kinda rough, haven't drawn a human for months but the obsession is strong.
Jason Todd is for the ones who never got to experience teen love.
the ones who never got a gift “just because”, never went to parties, never got promposed to, never even skipped class because you were always the good kid.
because he didn’t get that either.
he never got football games, riding his motorcyle to school, or that messy teenage rebellion that you look back on and cringe.
none of that sweet, stupid, carefree stuff that everyone takes for granted
so you figure it out together.
he shows up to your first date nervous, trying not to act like he's not blushing so hard he's combusting, and you take his hand anyway, both of you pretending not to notice how sweaty your palms are as you try to subtly wipe them on your pants when you think he's not looking
a mission goes awry when you're infected with a fever virus...and there's only one way to cure you.
warnings: smut, fem!reader, sometime after re4!leon, sex pollen (kind of), possible dubious consent 'cause it's fuck or die but really everyone here wants to be there and consents heartily, feelings realization, confessions, desperate sex turned tender sex, dry humping, fingering, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), leon kennedy one liners, canon-typical violence, a few sneaky references to other re games/movies, fake science i made up
a/n: picture your favorite leon for this. it was just sex pollen but became lots of plot with sex pollen and mush in the second half. what can i say, i'm a lover at heart. just like leon!
--
It starts with bad intel.
The facility is supposed to be abandoned. No bio signatures on the initial recon scan, no movement from hostiles after an extended stakeout, nothing. An abandoned underground lab for an experimental arm of Umbrella, potentially full of important documents on bioweapons research.
Your mission is to gather as much information as possible, should any of the viruses created there pop up on the black market or worse.
Easy, compared to the shit you're usually assigned.
Leon agrees.
Well, you think he agrees. He treats every mission as seriously as the last. You've grown to appreciate his consistency. It makes him easy to trust, which is essential in this line of work.
He's the best partner you've ever had. Thorough, direct, and smart. He never questions your abilities and relies on you just as much as you rely on him.
And, god. He's kind. Funny, too, when he wants to be. One time on a weeklong stakeout in the middle of nowhere, Argentina, he explained to you, in detail, the plot of The Count of Monte Cristo, all because you said you'd never read it. You hadn't even known he liked to read.
He's hard to crack, though. Professional to a fault, more dedicated to the cause than anyone you've ever met. And he's handsome.
How could you not fall in love with him?
You keep your ever-growing feelings to yourself. Asking him if he feels the same isn't worth ruining your partnership, isn't worth being someone else who wants something from him that he maybe can't give. Not when you can have him this way -- at your side with your life in his hands, his in yours.
In some ways, this is more intimate than any regular relationship you've ever had.
You'd spent the chopper ride here watching him as he looked out the window, even though you knew he felt your gaze. He's always doing that, always taking in everything around him with militant attention. You wonder what he sees that most people don't. Connections, patterns, maybe even beauty. You've never asked. Whatever it is has kept him alive this long. It's kept you alive, too.
And so, the mission.
You drop from a very long hatch into dark, stale air. The ladder leaves your hands aching and your shoulders tight, but there's no time for recovery.
Training takes over. Leon leads, with you at his right flank. Flashlights on, service weapon at the ready.
"Stay sharp," he says.
Sometimes you tease him about it, his constant readiness for a threat. But you feel it this time. Something's not right here, scans be damned.
Flecks of dust and grime float through your bright beams. The corridor ends maybe 15 meters in front of you in a set of metal doors, no windows. The security pad on the left side blinks a dull red.
"Emergency power," you say.
It was in the brief as a possibility but not a guarantee. Leon approaches, and you follow, digging into one of your belt pockets for the access card some other agent had to steal last week for this purpose.
"You want to do the honors?" you ask.
Leon shakes his head. "Be my guest."
The red light blinks green with a hover of your hand, and the unlocking mechanisms creak to life. The doors open slowly with a hiss. You're greeted with a dark lobby, dull yellowish lights lining the base of the walls.
"Must be on throughout," Leon says. Sometimes these places are zoned, or some other needlessly complicated system of power distribution. "Hopefully that means doors will keep opening."
He's still tense, arms outstretched to shine his light into the new space, shoulders taut. You feel it too, a prickle at the base of your neck.
"If not, I'm sure the power systems will be super easy to find with no issues," you say lightly.
He huffs, as close to a laugh as you can hope for at the start of a mission, but it's a win.
"Ready?" he asks.
You dip your chin. He glides into the room, clearing one side as you clear the other. There aren't any signs of disturbance, but that's how it goes with these places. The closer you get to the exit, the more normal it seems -- because all of the horrible things happen behind closed doors.
And no one makes it out.
"Clear," Leon calls. You echo it.
There are two single doors that reveal a bathroom hallway and the security office, as well as a set of double doors that resemble the locked entrance, another keypad glowing red at one side. Leon finds a map of the facility in the office and spreads it on the desk.
"That locked door will take us to an elevator that goes down to the labs," he says, tracing the path with a finger under the beam of his flashlight. "Three of them, all on different levels, connected by staircases instead of the elevator shaft, only accessible by keycard and on the other side of an anti-contamination corridor."
"Isolated," you observe. "In case of an outbreak?"
"It's bare bones compared to the other Umbrella stuff we've seen. This must be really out-there shit. Less resources, less of a footprint, less of an issue when it goes wrong."
You try to commit the map to memory. Leon will undoubtedly fold it into one of his pockets, but it's hard to consult a piece of paper when you're running from a B.O.W..
"Greek," Leon mutters. "More creative than T-virus, that's for sure."
This is just like him, surprising you after countless missions as your partner.
"Do you speak Greek, Leon?"
He shrugs.
"Not really." He tightens the strap on his glove, a cue that he's frustrated. You know most of his tells by now. "I don't know the last one. Fire, maybe?"
"Not really, he says," you tease. "What else are you hiding, Kennedy?"
He rolls his eyes at you, but if the lights were on, you're sure you'd see some pink in his cheeks. Battle-hardened agent he may be, Leon S. Kennedy still blushes for you.
If only...
No. You swallow the pang in your chest and roll your shoulders. "Start with B1 and go down, then loop back up?"
It wouldn't be out of the question to divide and conquer, but the slimy unease dripping down your spine prevents you from suggesting it.
He grunts his agreement, eyes still on the map, frowning.
As a pair, you work so well together because of your communication. It took practice, sure, but now you know each other across a crowded room, through the heat of a fight, in the dark. You don't let things go unsaid.
Well, most things, your traitorous heart says.
"Leon," you say. "It feels off, right? We're missing something."
Blue eyes meet yours. He sighs.
"Yeah," he says. "Guess we just have to find out what."
You can't help it -- you put your hand on his bicep and squeeze just a little, holding his gaze. His fringe hangs in his eyes. In another life, you'd push it back.
"Be careful, okay?" you ask him, faces so close you can feel his breath.
Leon got shot on your second ever mission together. It was a clean wound, through and through, except for the fact that he'd already been shot in that shoulder back in Raccoon City. The bullet fucked up the already fragile joint, so he needed surgery and was benched for six weeks (he was back at your side in four).
There was nothing you could have done. It was nobody's fault. But you felt responsible for waylaying your new partner, who was one of the most well-known agents in the whole damn place, so you went to see him in the hospital to alleviate your guilt.
"They have you with anyone while I'm out?" he asked you.
They did, actually, but hadn't told you who. Leon was troubled by it.
"Well, be careful," he said, as if he didn't trust anyone else to watch your back, even then.
"Only as careful as you," you replied, pointing at his shoulder.
That was the first time you made Leon Kennedy laugh.
Now, it's something you say to each other in the field. A mantra, a reminder, a promise.
Leon gives you a small smile.
"Only as careful as you," he replies, like he always does. We keep each other safe.
You release him and busy your hand at your belt immediately, god forbid you touch him more.
He rolls his shoulders back and checks the chamber of his sidearm.
"Into the depths, huh?"
"Into the depths."
--
Level B1: MENIS
The elevator opens to a dead contamination chamber. Nothing happens as you walk through the three zones where you'd expect to be scanned, doused, and dried. Another set of metal doors opens with a hiss when you tap the keycard. The smell of death hits your nose and makes your eyes water.
There are at least 10 bodies piled on the other side, most of them in pieces.
"Fuck," you curse, sidestepping a caved-in head.
"Looks like the party started without us," Leon says quietly.
"Great," you mutter. "God, that's nasty."
There aren't any claw marks or avid stains or other tell-tale signs of B.O.W.'s you see with this caliber of violence. One look at Leon and you know he's realized the same thing. You tilt your head down the hall. He nods, following your lead deeper into the floor.
Red emergency lights pulse along the base of the walls, illuminating the blood splattered pretty much everywhere. You pass the occasional corpse, most of them so horribly disfigured it's hard to tell if they were staff or test subjects or something else.
There are so many things you want to say, but you keep them to yourself until Leon leads you to the floor's main office. You slide in but don't relax.
"They look like they were torn apart," you say as soon as the door is closed. Leon frowns at you, since you didn't clear the room first, but it's a square office. You can see all the corners from where you're standing.
"I know," he replies. "But no sign of what did it."
You sigh. "So, are you going to tell Hunnigan the location survey was wrong, or should I?"
"I think I've run out of my 'bad news' calls for the year," he says. "That one's all yours once we get topside."
"How generous of you."
Leon smirks. "I'm a giver."
The office is small and the computers are dead. There are papers scattered around, so you divide and conquer.
You find an official logbook. Mostly in-the-weeds science stuff, but you skim until you find a change in handwriting.
LOG #57:
Development continues under new staff. Blood transmission remains the only method that carries enough sample to infect a host; airborne tests were unsuccessful. Vaccine/suppressant formulas abandoned for the time being after we were told that our subject supply would be steady. B2 wants to set one of theirs against one of ours, which seems pointless because any B1 subject will win that fight. B3 is a joke, but they're insistent that it'll work.
No vaccine...that's not good news. But what were they actually testing here? Infecting people with what?
You flip more pages until you find something that makes your blood run cold.
LOG #63:
We've finally gotten a host to survive. B2 and B3 are nowhere near this. We won't be sharing. Their subjects die within hours. B3 is practically useless, anyway. What use is controlling people if they die on you in an hour? But here, we've cracked it. I managed to figure out how to get the virus to work with the host's adrenaline production, stabilizing it into a constant state of fight or flight without short-circuiting the nervous system. If this batch survives the week, we'll ask permission to start on the suppressant. Once we have that, we'll be able to control the whole herd. The future of hostile takeover is here! Now, if only they'd let us out of this fucking dungeon more often…
Holy shit. They were making viruses to infect large populations, to control them. But using what? Changing their brain chemicals, making them reliant on suppressants? Leon told you about this kind of manipulation, how it infiltrated a military unit and even made its way to the White House a few years ago. Who knows how far they got this time?
"Leon," you call, turning with the folder in your hands. "You should look at this --"
You make eye contact and fall silent. He's got his finger over his lips and his gun at the ready.
You toss the papers aside and take your place on the other side of the door.
That's when you hear it.
Groans, grunts, screams. Footsteps -- a lot of them.
He holds your gaze.
Clear the chokepoint, get into the lab rooms down the hall around the corner, make for the stairwell on the other side of the floor.
That's what you'd do, so you know it's what he's thinking, too. No confirmation needed.
The door bursts open. You duck, missing the arms reaching for your neck. It's dark in here, but you rely on muscle memory and gravity to sweep the zombie's legs out from under it and stomp on its head while you fire at the next one.
The attackers are -- well, they look mostly human. But their eyes are wild, blood running down their faces like tears, pink foam and spit dripping from their mouths.
Leon's movements are sharp and decisive. Headshot, parry, twist. Uppercut, knee sweep, headshot. He occupies the air around you like he's magnetized to your movements, always filling the space where you aren't, ceding room when you need it. After hours upon hours of mat practice between the two of you and hundreds of field opportunities to master it, you work together like a well-oiled machine.
It's exhilarating.
You're forced back from the door, but you keep firing, slicing, covering each other. It's essential that you get into the hall sooner rather than later to avoid being trapped in this room.
A zombie rips the arm off another in its attempt to get to you. That's new.
"What the fuck were they doing with this shit?" Leon grunts. He's splattered with blood now. No doubt you are too.
"That's what I was going to tell you before our party of two got crashed," you say between shots.
"They wanted to control people."
"Yeah, this sure looks like control to me!"
"We have to clear it or we'll have to fight through on our way back up."
Leon grunts his agreement. "They're not biting." His aim is true, as always. He downs two, three, four infected. "They just want to rip us apart!"
"We need to go into the hall. Cover me," you say, dodging bloody fingers and sliding through the door. "Switching weapons!"
Your assault rifle is strapped to your back. You holster your pistol and reach around for it, but something catches your jacket and pulls.
The fabric tears. For a split second, you worry your flesh will be next, but then the tug disappears. Leon grunts and he breaks the neck of whatever had you.
You keep your gaze on the approaching pack, maybe 10 or 15 strong. Leon keeps taking them down while you holster your pistol and check the new cartridge.
"Gonna need to reload in a second here," he calls. "Six left. Five. Four --"
"Ready," you shout. Leon stabs a zombie in the neck and walks behind it, using it as a wall against reaching fingers until he's at your side again. He tears his knife free and slides beside you, solid, ready.
You open fire.
That's all it takes. The hallway is soon empty and bloodier than before. All you can hear is your combined panting.
Leon lowers his gun. "Nice job," he says.
You drop yours, too. "What was this floor called again? Menace?"
"Basically," he says, slamming in a new clip. "Divine wrath or anger."
"No shit." You look down at the tear in your jacket. "God damnit, this is my favorite."
Leon checks his chamber. "I'll get you a new one," he says.
You laugh. He almost smiles, like that was his goal all along.
The rest of the floor is mostly clear. A few stragglers here and there, but they're no match for the two of you. The containment chambers seem to be where the infected gathered in the months since this facility went dark -- the walls are covered in scratch marks.
"I can't believe they didn't kill each other," Leon says with mild disgust. "Not having control of yourself like that...I wouldn't wish it on anyone."
You've read the report from Spain. He knows how it feels.
"Do you think they're aware?" you wonder aloud.
He looks so sad for a moment that you almost reach for him. "I hope not."
--
Level B2: KAMATOS
The stairwell is a mess. The door to B2 is barricaded, but you manage to get through after slamming your shoulders against it over and over.
This floor is quiet, but in a different way than upstairs. Years of field-trained instincts tell you there's nothing left alive on this floor. That, and it made a hell of a lot of noise getting the door open, and nothing popped out.
It's dustier down here, like things have been still for longer.
"What's this one mean?" you ask. "This virus."
"Extreme fatigue," Leon tells you.
"So if they controlled adrenaline levels on the first floor to make them angry, they're depriving people of sleep on this floor?"
He shrugs. "Maybe they found a way to keep the brain awake without killing it."
They did not.
The documents you find suggest the virus was a failure. The bodies you find confirm it. Hosts died from heart failure, self-inflicted wounds, a number of things, no matter what the scientists did to keep the mind from giving up. All by depriving them of sleep.
Being so tired that you see no other way out…
The horror of it all rises in your throat. You leave Leon with the corpses so you can press your forehead to the cool hallway wall.
This job asks a lot of you. Your time, your well-being. Your security, your personal relationships, your hobbies. It's overwhelming and can bury a person. The things you see, the things you do -- it gets to you. It’s easy to shove it down, to pretend like you're untouchable, but that's no way to live, either.
Sometimes you just have to feel it.
These poor people.
Leon's hand is light on your shoulder. Not patronizing, not rushing, just there. Warm, solid.
You take a deep breath, then stand up straight.
"Let's take a quick break before the last floor," Leon says.
"I'm fine."
You turn to face him, but he's already crouching, back against the wall.
He grins, a real smile this time. It makes him look younger. "Who said it was for you?"
It's like he's giving you permission to put it all down for a second. To forget where you are, why you're there, what you're doing. Leon's guard is rarely fully down, and right now he's telling you that he's got you. Rest for a second, I'll take care of us.
He's proven to you over and over that he will.
So you smile back, shaky but genuine. "Getting old, Kennedy?"
"Something like that." He looks up at you, grin softening into something fond. "Do you remember Greece?"
You slide down the wall to his level. "Do I remember Greece? Be serious. How could I forget --"
"All those stairs," Leon finishes. "Exactly."
It was last year in the height of summer. A small, sleepy cliffside town, except for the fact that a scummy billionaire moved into the monastery and started developing B.O.W.'s in the catacombs.
The town was evacuated. You were sent in to apprehend the guy and secure whatever virus he was using. It turned into three days of running up and down stone staircases away from bats with tentacles and lizards with thousands of teeth where you wouldn't expect teeth to be.
Over the course of your partnership, you've seen each other in all states, but you've never seen Leon as exhausted as he was after that mission.
"I thought I was going to have to carry you to the rendezvous point," you remind him. "You fell down so many stairs."
Leon rubs his knees as if remembering the way they smacked stone over and over.
"And you would have," he says.
He catches your gaze and holds it. He's reminding you that you're in this together. That he trusts you, something you do not take lightly. It's hard to know who you can trust in this job, even your very own employer, but he never doubts you. You never doubt him.
The familiar ache of everything you feel for him sits warm and heavy on your chest. He's the best man you've ever known.
"I would have," you say.
Leon dips his chin, his mouth curling into a smaller smile than before, but this one is just as fond.
"We should go back," you say without meaning to.
It surprises him, but he hides it well.
"That would be nice," he muses. "I don't know the last time I took a vacation."
"We could go to the beach," you continue. It's scarily easy to imagine -- Leon in swim trunks, cheeks pink from the sun. "Stay at the bottom of the stairs and not walk up a single one."
"But you liked the monastery," he reminds you. "We'd have to go back up to see the windows."
Of course he remembers how you'd looked up in awe at the stained glass, gun in your hand and blood on your face.
"I'll climb up by myself. You can relax."
Leon sighs. "Relax," he says. "I don't even know if I know how to do that."
"You're good at everything," you say. "You'll pick it up in no time."
Whatever game this is, you're having too much fun playing it. Leon doesn't lie to you, so while he might be indulging you, there's a part of him that means all of this. He has to know that you mean it, too.
He stands and offers you his hand.
"One more floor," he says. "Then we can go to Greece."
--
Level B3: PYRETOS
The hit comes out of nowhere.
Maybe you're distracted by talk of vacation, or your guard is down after the silence of B2, but you don't see it coming. One second you're rounding the corner, the next you're flying backwards through glass, back slamming against a cabinet. You land heavily on the ground, more glass and something wet raining down on you.
Leon yells your name.
You try to catch your breath, but it's stuck in your chest. He's still calling for you in between gunshots.
"Fuck," you croak, finally finding air. You roll onto your side. Glass crunches under your weight as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.
Everything hurts, but you try to shake it off and push up to standing. Leon hauls himself through the broken window. He begins to clear the room after he sees you on your feet.
"Clear. That was one ugly son of a bitch," he says. "Must have gotten down here from upstairs."
You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat.
Something isn't right.
Your skin feels tight, like you already went on vacation and got burned to a crisp. Your pulse won't slow. Deep breaths feel impossible. Strangest of all, it's almost like –
Well, your core is buzzing. You press your legs together and try not to panic.
In the early days, after Leon got shot but well before Greece, you hid an injury from him.
You took a knife to the ribs during a fight. It wasn't too deep, but it was wide and bleeding steadily. Adrenaline allowed you to get through it. You figured you could patch yourself up the next time you slowed. But Leon pushed on ahead, and you followed without saying anything.
That is, until you left a bloody handprint on a door. He stopped immediately.
"Is that yours?" he said. "Where are you hurt?"
"It's nothing," you protested. But Leon S. Kennedy does not give up easily.
"Show me," he said, pulling out bandages from his hip pouch. "When did this happen?"
"I'm not compromised," you said, even as you lifted your jacket to show him.
"I know you aren't," he said. "I want to know when you're hurt so I can make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine," you said weakly. He patched you up quickly and thoroughly.
"We're partners," he told you. "We have to help each other."
Here, now, you don’t hide from him.
"Leon," you croak. "Something's wrong. I think I --"
He's at your side in an instant, so close your breath hitches. Why are you so affected by him? Why are you so warm?
"The rip in your jacket," Leon says. "Your arm is bleeding."
"Liquid," you gasp. "It felt wet when I hit the cabinet."
The pieces come together. Shattered vials at your feet, an empty cabinet behind you. The dull red emergency lights make it hard to tell what color the puddle is, but you know it can't be good.
"They wouldn't keep a virus out in the open, would they?" you ask weakly. You're shaking now, shivering even though you don't feel cold.
"Fever," he breathes. "Pyretos. It means fever."
You've rarely seen Leon afraid. He's human, so it happens, but normally he faces things head-on without complaint.
Right now, he looks terrified. That scares you more than anything.
"Leon," you whisper. "What do we do?"
He snaps into action. He hands you a roll of bandages.
"Wrap it," he says. He presses a few buttons on his watch until it beeps. Setting a timer, no doubt. Just in case. "How do you feel? Describe it to me."
"Feverish," you say. "But not dizzy. I can think clearly."
Leon starts to dig around the lab, tearing open drawers and rifling through what he finds. The office on this floor wasn't in the same place as the other two, so any information must be in here, right?
"What else?"
You follow his lead, desperately searching for anything helpful. How do you explain the fact that your entire body is pulsing with a very specific kind of need? It scares you, feeling this out of control physically while also being in your right mind.
You land on achey. The buzzing under your skin gets worse every minute you spend looking and finding fuck all.
"There's nothing here," he says, frustrated. "Shit."
You're thinking the same thing: no vaccines. Any hope for you is in this lab.
But then -- your eye catches on a cabinet sitting on deep grooves in the floor.
"There's a door," you tell him, already heading for it. A wave of need hits you so suddenly that you have to brace yourself on the wall to catch your breath. Leon brushes by you. The slight contact has you swallowing a moan.
Jesus Christ.
He shoves the cabinet aside. Behind it is a door that opens into the lab office, as dark as the others.
You follow him in and start searching the shelves. Leon drags a table into the perfect place to effectively barricade you in.
"We don't have time to be interrupted right now," he says. He starts searching the desk.
You're sweating now. If this thing is going to turn you, Leon can't be here for it. You don't want him to see it. "Maybe you should go back to the surface --"
"I'm not leaving you," he interrupts. It's sharp, final.
"But if I turn--"
Leon whirls around. "I'm not leaving you," he says again.
Your nose stings. It's not the rational choice, but it's the Leon Kennedy choice. You can't help but be grateful for it.
He returns to the papers. Everywhere your clothing touches your skin feels heavy, almost painful. Your skin is sensitive, your throat dry, breath still fast.
You're so turned on, you think you might explode. It's all you can do to just stand there and try to keep it together.
"I found something," Leon says. He says nothing else. It's hard to see his expression in the dark without being close to him. You don't know if you can handle that right now.
"Bad news, doc?"
He swallows and begins to read.
"In an effort to bend the subject to commands, a fever is introduced via the bloodstream that increases testosterone and dopamine to near-unbearable levels of arousal. We have successfully altered the balance to allow the mind to be unaffected, making the reaction purely physical. The fever, if detected and combated within 1 hour, can be reduced by repeated bursts of oxytocin until the subject's internal temperature returns to normal. Required oxytocin levels seem to vary by subject; no pattern discernible at this time."
"What the fuck does that mean?" you pant. Your skin feels too tight. You still can't take a full breath. Control is becoming a missed opportunity. "Do I have a sex fever?"
No answer.
"Leon."
He exhales sharply.
"I think you need to be touched," he says. "To release the chemical that will help you fight this on your own."
Your responding laugh edges on hysterical.
"I do have a sex fever. So, what, you're going to hug me and hope I don't die?"
"I could," he says. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "I just don't think it'll be enough. This says bursts, and a lot of them. The best way to trigger that kind of response is --"
It clicks in your mind.
"Orgasm," you whisper. "Oh, god."
Leon closes his eyes for a second too long.
"I don't know what to do," he admits. He looks at his watch. "It's been 10 minutes. I don't know what--"
"I'm so sorry," you breathe. The gravity of your situation is like a bucket of cold water. If only it actually made you feel cold. You have to fuck your partner or die. What kind of sick joke is this? "Leon, I'm so sorry. You don't have to do anything, this is my fault --"
He tosses the file onto the table.
"I'm not going to let you die," he says with all his usual conviction. He really believes it, and it makes it easier for you to believe it, too. "Not when there's something I can do about it."
"But not like this," you croak. "This is --"
"I know."
God, you wish the lights were on. You want to see every detail of his face to discern what he's feeling. Can you ask him to do this? Will it ruin everything forever?
A tremor wracks through you. You have to brace yourself on the desk.
He yanks open drawers until he finds a thermometer. It beeps alive, somehow, and he holds it up to your forehead.
"Shit," he mutters.
"What?"
Leon flips the device to show you the screen. 103.2.
"Shit," you echo.
Your brain is going to cook in your skull sooner rather than later. You swallow frustrated tears along with your pride.
"I'm so wet," you whisper. It's the lewdest thing you've ever said to him. "I can feel it."
Leon inhales sharply, standing ever-so-still just next to you, just out of reach.
The pain radiates through you, molten lava in your veins. It's strange to be able to think so clearly. You want Leon as badly as you always do. That's bearable. But the pain. The heat. It's something else, something all-consuming.
You need him to touch you.
"Please don't make me beg," you whimper, turning towards him.
"Jesus," he mutters, filling the space you make for him. His hands find your face. You groan. The contact is like a balm, even through his gloves.
"Oh god."
You nuzzle into his palms. It's like you can feel the battle in your blood, the virus doing its best to cook you from the inside out, but Leon's touch is giving you a foothold, a reprieve.
If it wasn't so awful, you'd laugh at the idea that you're so horny you might die.
"Whatever you need, I'll do," he says. His voice is already hoarse. "But just -- you have to tell me if it's not okay. And I'll stop. We'll figure something else out."
You lean back on the desk and grab his elbows. You've touched plenty, but never like this. Never loaded with all of the unspoken things between you, never with such desperation.
"It's okay," you tell him. "Whatever it takes, it's okay. I trust you."
His thigh slides between your legs.
"Can you forgive me? If I do this?" he whispers, lips so close to yours. You lean forward on instinct, pulled to him by more than just the fire in your core.
"There's nothing to forgive," you say, and then you're kissing.
What you need is an orgasm, but this is something you've wondered about for a long time. Something you've wanted. It almost feels selfish to take it now.
But, fuck, it's good.
He's not shy. You trace the seam of his lips with your tongue. He opens for you immediately, licking into your mouth as he pulls you forward and onto his thigh.
His kisses are desperate, exposing his worry, but also tender, exposing his care. You're in good hands, hands you love.
Even through your pants, the pressure of your cunt on his thigh is enough to steal your breath.
"God," you gasp.
"Not quite," Leon says, kissing a path from your mouth down your neck. "Does that help?"
You grind down on him in reply. His palms have made their way to your hips, aiding you in your quest for pressure on your core.
It's too much. It's not enough. But still, the coil tightens. "Sorry, I just need --"
You chase it, grinding down on his thigh even harder, panting into his neck. You're close, you can feel it. You're chasing it, that snap, that reward. Leon just lets you take and take and take.
You thread your fingers through his hair, panting into his neck. When you tug just a little, he bounces his leg and you keen.
"More, please."
It only takes three more bounces before you're coming, shudders ripping through you, his name on your lips.
When you return to your body, Leon is dragging his palm up and down your back.
"Did you just--"
You're becoming very familiar with the fabric of his shoulder, his leather harness pressing into your cheek.
"Mhm," you manage.
There's a world where you're embarrassed. In that world, you asked Leon out for dinner and then up to your place after. In that world, you made out on the couch and ground down on his thigh until you came. In that world, he laughed with you, utterly charmed, and it was the beginning of something wonderful.
In this one, he gently tilts you back so he can check your temperature with the thermometer.
"Holy shit," he breathes. "102.1. It worked."
You don't feel that different, but the number doesn't lie.
Leon is panting, too. "More?"
You nod. Your cunt aches like you didn't have an orgasm at all.
He tugs off a glove with his teeth, dropping it god knows where.
"Don't know how clean my hands are," he says.
A laugh bursts out of you, but it sounds close to a sob.
Two fingers go in his mouth faster than you can open yours. He doesn't waste too much time wetting them, given how turned on you already are, but he gives them a good suck. A trail of spit hangs from his lip when he finishes.
You work at the buttons of your pants, unbuckling your tactical belt. It clangs onto the desk behind you. Leon slides his hand down under the waistband of your panties. You collapse into him with a guttural moan.
"Leon," you gasp. He holds you up, no problem, even as you go utterly boneless at just his fingers in your folds.
"You weren't kidding," he says, breathy. "You are wet."
"I'm sorry," you pant into his shoulder.
"Please don't say sorry again," he groans. "I can't take it."
"Can I say thank you?"
"That's worse," he says, sliding two fingers into you at the same time. "I just wish it wasn't like this, is all."
The absurdity of the whole thing makes it hard to keep your emotional walls high. What's the point? You're having sex with your partner to save your life in an underground Umbrella laboratory. You're way past keeping your emotions from him.
So you hear his words for what they are. For what he's not saying.
"Oh, yeah?" He curls his fingers and you groan, arching into him. "You have something you want to tell me, Kennedy?"
"Little late for that."
He presses his lips to your jaw, but you pull back so you can see his eyes. He's flushed, his pupils taking over almost all of the blue you love so dearly.
"I always want to know how you feel," you tell him. It's honest, raw, perhaps out of place when he's knuckle deep in your cunt.
"Fuck," he breathes, like eye contact is enough to undo him.
"I just want to help you," he says. "I always want to help you when you need it." He picks up the pace with his fingers. "I like being the guy who has your back."
His thumb circles your clit. It’s all you can do to hang onto his shoulders and ride it out as he keeps talking.
"I want to give you everything you've ever wanted," he says. "I miss you when you leave the room. I trust you more than anyone I've ever met."
"Oh, Leon," you gasp, grinding down onto his hand. "Me too. Me too."
He scrapes his teeth along your neck. "Yeah?"
"Yes, yes, yes --"
The orgasm washes over you. You clench around him over and over. He carefully pulls his hand from your panties and licks his fingers. Good god.
Something has shifted between you. It's still about the mission, about breaking your fever, but now it's more. It's more, because you both want it.
Leon leans in for a kiss. You meet him halfway, tasting yourself on his lips.
Beep.
"101.3," he says.
You push his hair back from his forehead. "Is that low enough?"
This time, you do feel a bit different. Maybe it's the confirmation that Leon has feelings for you, but your muscles feel more relaxed, your skin less taut. The need still burns, though.
"There's no way to say this without sounding like a creep," he says wryly. "But I think you should have a few more."
You drag your hands up and down his torso, but your gaze lands on his makeshift barricade.
"Do we think we have time?"
Even as you ask, you're toeing off your boots and shoving your pants down. Leon is quick to help you.
"If anything comes through that door," he says, fingers hooked in your underwear, "I can kill it with my eyes closed."
He hooks his hand under your thighs and helps you up onto the desk fully, sweeping everything onto the ground.
"So could you," he adds. You hum in agreement. Your hand returns to his torso, trailing it down to the front of his pants.
He's hard.
It's not entirely a surprise, but you're pleased.
"I know, I'm sorry, it's kind of fucked up --" he tries. You don't let it get very far.
"Don't you apologize," you say. "You're allowed to want, Leon. I promise you, whatever you want, you can have. You already do."
His answer to that is a kiss, not searing and heated like before, but soft and slow. Like he's memorizing you, learning every inch of your mouth just because he can.
A wave of heat rolls through you, so intense and unexpected that you have to close your eyes and grit your teeth against the pain.
Leon rubs your back and tells you to breathe, it's okay, you're going to be okay.
The heat dulls. "How long has it been?" you ask through gritted teeth, eyes still shut.
"26 minutes."
His thumbs stroke your cheeks, helping you come back to yourself.
"Are you okay to keep going?" he asks. "I'll do whatever you want."
You reach for his belt with shaking hands. Not because you don't want him, or because you're scared, but because you need him. You need him to survive. This was just as true before you got infected as it is now. And you have him.
He has you.
Leon lets you unbuckle his pants as he undoes his harness and his tactical pouches. They both fall to the ground.
You take him in hand and he hisses. His cock is warm, another layer of heat against your already burning skin. His hips jerk when you stroke him root to tip.
His fingers circle your wrist to stop you.
"Another time," he says. He kisses your chin. "Okay?"
There will be another time. Leon doesn't say things he doesn't mean, so you take it to heart. This will happen again.
It's not exactly romantic, the way you lean back on some long-dead bioterrorist's desk naked from the waist down, Leon's pants shoved down his thighs and his cock in his hand. But it's what you've got, and it's what you'll take.
You spread your legs for him. He sucks in air like a man just saved from drowning.
"Ready?" he asks. You feel his tip at your entrance and can't swallow the moan that rips from your throat in the shape of his name. He wastes no more time sinking into you in one stroke.
You come immediately, legs wrapped around his hips. You might scream, it's hard to tell. But you're so full and it finally feels right. Like you've been missing something all along and finally found it.
Leon says your name over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer.
"I wish I could see you properly," he says, voice breaking. "I wish –
His hips jerk forward even though he's bottomed out. He leans forward until he's bracing his forearms on either side of your head, brushing your nose with his. He's right. It's hard to see him fully in the red-washed office.
"You know what I look like," you tell him.
"Not like this," he shakes his head. "Not like this."
"You're doing so good," you say, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Leon, it feels so good --"
It's a strange sensation to feel your blood cooling while he's inside you, to regain control of your body just as you surrender your heart.
Leon starts to move his hips, a slow drag at first, but it quickly becomes a snap. You dig your fingers into his biceps and hold on. You can hear how wet you are as he fucks you.
The coil in your core tightens again. "Leon," you moan. "I'm gonna--"
He kisses you, hips slowing to a grind. He reaches between you with one hand to find your clit and give it some messy circles.
"Go ahead," he says against your mouth. "I can take it."
Your cunt clenches around him. Tears prick in your eyes not from overstimulation but from everything else -- the heat in your veins, the tenderness of his hold, the way he's kissing you as you fall apart, swallowing your gasps.
"So beautiful," he says. And god, it sounds like he means it. Half-dressed, sweaty and bandaged, he means it.
Leon goes back to shallow thrusts, but they're becoming more erratic.
"How many is that?"
"Four," Leon says.
"Are you..."
He nods. "I'm close."
His forehead is damp from the effort. You wipe it with the heel of your hand.
"It's okay," you tell him. "It's okay, Leon. You can --"
You tighten your legs around him to hold him inside.
His breath hitches, but he picks up the pace without argument.
The smack of your flesh fills the room. The only thing on your mind is Leon Leon Leon.
The noise he makes just before he comes inside you is a punched-out whine of your name. He stills above you entirely, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.
"So beautiful," you echo. "So beautiful, Leon."
He keeps his weight off you but presses his face into your neck as he catches his breath.
"Fuck," he says. "How do you feel?"
You need to check your temperature, but remarkably better. The heat in your veins is an expected one. You can feel sweat cooling on your skin. The incessant need in your cunt has dulled to a satiated ache.
"Still alive." You kiss him chastely, considering he's still inside you.
"Let me check -- where the hell did that thing go?"
He pulls out. You both hiss just a bit, but he finds the thermometer on the ground.
Beep.
"98.3," Leon says. "That's normal."
You feel boneless and make no move to get up from the desk. If you did, you'd surely make a mess.
"Finally, something normal about today."
Leon tucks his cock back into his briefs, buttons his pants. He drags his hands up and down your thighs.
"Can I clean you up?" he asks.
Even though you now know how he feels, know that he wants you just as much as you want him, he's done so much for you today. Your temperature is back to normal. You still need to make it back to the surface.
"You don't need to," you say. "Just...give me a clean bandage, or something --"
"Let me do this for you," he interrupts. Begs, really, already getting on his knees between your legs. "One more. Just to be safe."
The heat that builds is nothing like the wild, uncontrollable fire of before. This is all you, all Leon.
The fact that he wants his mouth on you, wants to lick his own come from your cunt.
"Okay," you breathe. You thread your fingers through his hair. He preens.
He kisses the inside of your thigh and pushes your legs wider.
Maybe you should feel exposed, but you don't. You feel wanted. You feel safe.
Leon pulls your folds open with his thumbs. He starts with long licks with the flat of his tongue along your seam, flicking your clit when he reaches the top. But your entrance quickly becomes his focus, and suddenly he's a man possessed.
He laps up his own release as it drips from you, humming when you tug on his hair. He hardly comes up for air, but you know he's paying attention to your reactions based on the way he moves his mouth. He sucks on your clit. Your hips buck, so he does it again.
"Leon," you gasp. How is it possible that you're going to come again? But you feel it, the rising tide in your core. All it takes is a glance down to find him watching you, soaking in whatever he can see in the dim light.
He keeps his mouth on you through your final orgasm. This time, a few tears leak from your eyes. Your breath evens out and your heartbeat actually slows the way you expect it to. The fever is broken, you're certain of it.
"Just to be safe," you say to the ceiling. "You just wanted to show me how good you were at that."
Leon wipes his face with the back of his hand.
"I like to be thorough," he replies. He stands, drags your underwear and pants up with him.
"Are you okay? How are the symptoms?"
"I think so." You scoot forward on the table so he can pull your clothes over your hips. "It doesn't feel like a fever anymore."
"What does it feel like?"
Your legs are a little shaky, but you stand and wrap your arms around him. You've just had sex to save your life, but you don't know if you've ever hugged Leon before.
"It feels like you," you tell him, cheek pressed to his shoulder.
Leon stills, but you can hear his heartbeat pick up. He envelops you in his embrace, lips pressed against your temple, his inhale shaky.
"I'm glad," he whispers. "I'm so fucking glad."
He's hidden his fear from you so well this whole time, but you saw the look on his face when he realized you were infected. You hug him tighter, willing the fear to leave him. You're okay. You're here, in his arms. He saved you.
"What now?" you ask. You turn in his arms. He releases you so you can reach for your tactical belt.
"We get out of here in one piece," he says. "We get you to medical."
"Fucking medical," you mutter. You shove your foot back in your discarded boot.
"I won't leave you there," Leon says. They could keep you for days, but you know he means it. "Then I'll take you home. And we'll sleep for days."
You almost forget that you don't have to keep your feelings from him. You let the joy take over your face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he says, a little sheepish. "If you want to."
"I want to," you assure him. "I want to."
You'll have to talk about this, surely. The way it changes your partnership, how to navigate field work. There is so much to learn about him. What he's like on a quiet morning at home instead of a stakeout. The noises you can pull from him in a real bedroom. His face when you tell him you love him.
The future is bright.
Leon buckles his harness. He laughs to himself, tearing you from your thoughts.
"What?"
He straightens your belt and grins crookedly, boyish and lovely.
"Are you writing this into the mission report, or am I?"
.ᐟ.ᐟ ATTENTION re4!leon, car sex, p in v, fem!reader, slapping, asphyxiation, dacryphilia, breeding, orgasm denial, mean leon if you squint (you really don’t have to squint), ‘daddy’ mention, 00’s
─ LEON knows the trouble that could arise from being caught with you in such a compromising position in the back seat of his car.
he just doesn’t give a fuck.
the windows are tinted, it’s all too dark outside and the way you flutter around his aching cock makes it hard to think about anything else. he’s too entranced to guide you; jaw slacked, piercing eyes staring down at the sloppy action under his chin. he watches as he spreads you open each thrust and is almost brought to tears every time he sees your swollen heat ache for him when he backs away. his chest rises and falls heavily at his own lazy pace, abs contracting with each breath, moonlight pouring over his damp skin.
“leon–” you muster up in a broken coo. when he told you to wear something comfortable, what you imagined was only half of what you’re being fed. it was just supposed to be a late night drive so he could tell you about his mission in spain, but his hands had other plans. it wasn’t even twenty miles until you two ducked off in what is supposed to be a closed forest preserve, hidden in an empty camp site. you feel the pressure swelling you open with each thrust, arms wrapped around his neck.
“spread your legs for me,” he disregards your call out, using a hand to carefully push one of your thighs open. the force of his push was enough to send your thigh back in its original position and with leon being so lust drunk over you, he shoved your thigh back, pushing your knee into your chest with a low, “wider.” he really misses his girl.
damp locks of blond bounce over the man's forehead before diving face first into your hair. he breathes in your scent, with his other hand wrapping its fingers around your neck. he practically shoves your head into the back of the seat as he takes you from above, one knee pressed into the seats. his movements slightly shift the car with reckless abandon, too occupied with his own pleasure to be mindful. your sweet smell fills his nose, exhaling almost feeling orgasmic as his eyes roll back simply because you’re all his.
“le–on,” you try again between thrusts, watching an intense gaze flicker towards your eyes with fluster. leon doesn’t have it in him to speak; all of the words he wants to say would be the wrong ones. instead, he pulls your head in by the neck, dropping a messy kiss on your lips. his hips ease into yours slower, the smack of your flesh making him grunt through his kiss as he twitches inside of you.
the air around him is encapsulating, wrapping him in heat. it sends electricity down his spine to see your body reaching on for air through his hand, watching your shut eyes shift under their lids. your breath isn’t completely taken, but restricted enough to be shallow. he notices the way tears brim your waterline, causing him to lick your bottom lip before trapping your kiss once more between his teeth. “come on, i’ve got ya,” he growls against your cheek, breathing in like you’re his lifesource. “you look at me and only me, got it? eyes on me." his demand comes after pulling away from your face, vision training yours.
“‘s so big, daddy.” your eyes grow wide in focus, though they try to close from the stimulation.
leon’s body nearly does a hard reset, hips stuttering as he releases an exhale filled with shake. “what did you say?” he actually has the audacity to shift his posture, straightening his back as if that would help him hear you correctly.
“you’re so big,” you try again, too lost in your own pleasure to realize that he’s talking about the new nickname. no one had ever referred to him as ‘daddy’ in all twenty seven years of his life, feeling the shiver run over the front of his body, stinging at his toes.
as if to grab intel from you using intimidation, his face grows closer to yours, gripping your neck tighter. “you know damn well what i’m talking about,” the tip of his nose brushes against yours, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. the hand that kept your thigh back guided your leg to rest over his shoulder, sweeping his free hand to your face. it grips your lax jaw before he has a change of heart, lightly tapping your cheek with the tips of his fingers as if to slap you. “say it again.”
a rush runs through his body watching you gasp, quickly biting your lip. “fill me up, daddy.”
another ‘slap’, “again.”
“please daddy.”
“fuck,” leon lowers his head, feeling his orgasm attempt to be pulled from him. he can feel how tight you are, begging for him to send you over the edge right along with him, and he doesn’t hesitate. “that’s a good girl. my fuckin’ girl.”
a nod suffices while leon rips one last kiss from you before his face hides in your bosom, hand leaving your face for his thumb to fiddle with the throbbing bud between your thighs. if he was going to fill you up, he’s gonna have to make sure his girl is getting her fix.
your hands fall from his neck only to cling to the wrist holding your neck against the seat. your hips wiggle under the touch of his thumb, cunt devouring him. and as you reach your breaking point, your whole body throbs as leon’s hips stutter, soon climax ripping from him in the back of his blacked out 2003 bmw. he shudders inside of you, jumping, filling your womb with hot ropes of white. his face begs for refuge, brows knit and jaw quivering as groans leave his mauve toned lips. his thumb loses its original rhythm, slowing down before he feels your hands in his hair.
heavy hands fall to your waist, anchoring himself. you watch his chest rise and fall, an unreadable look littered all over his face until he speaks. “you wanna cum?” he asks you bluntly, eyes shifting between yours. of course you do; you’re not spread out on his seats for nothing. so as you nod once more, he understands, but it’s not enough.
again, his fingertips slap the flesh of your cheek, his bottom lip hostage between his teeth before he speaks, “talk to me like a big girl.”
“yes.”
leon takes this moment to stare at you, smile wavering on the edge of something truly deviant. “mm mm,” he denies, kissing your forehead. “get dressed. when we get home, you're mine.”
though now you’re soft as dough. too tired to function and too turned on to wait any longer. shaking your head, leon nods, his forehead glued to yours.
“no,” you whine.
“yes,” he mocks you. “when we make it home, we can go all night if ya want, i promise. i just— shit,” he releases his final tired breath, “really missed you.” you’re just so pretty to him at this moment he couldn’t fathom seeing you in any other way. he watches the sheen on your skin glisten under the natural light pouring into the car, watching your clothed chest rise and fall.
“that is so selfish,” you hiss, pouting, hands running over his hips. “i want you now.” your body lies limp on the backseat, hearing him chuckle shamelessly, zipping up his jeans.
“my girl, my rules. you’re gonna pull that skirt down and wait till we make it home, beautiful.”
leon s. kennedy as your mission partner, and all he wants to do is kiss you but there's never any time & it's just not the right time - so he has to make do with pecking your temple or cheek.
he needs to check something? okay, but wait! he has to leave a quick and tender kiss on your cheek before running off. you've both just narrowly avoided certain death and are hiding in a corner to catch your breaths? yeah, leon's cupping the back of your head to press a swift kiss to your forehead.
the only time he's ever kissed you on the lips during a mission was after a particularly gruelling fight with too many close calls to count. that's when he decides that, screw it, an extra second to kiss you properly is worth it, so he does :)
but also, also. these small kisses aren't overly common, so when he does leave behind those small pecks on your face, it's basically like having the reclusive & slightly gruff neighbourhood cat decide that it likes you and bumping its head into your leg to show affection.
you wake him when the baby’s being fussy d. grayson
fem!reader wc ! 2.2k warnings ! fluff but suggestive, mentions of unprotected sex, dickiebird is sleepy, bad humor, some talks of parenthood jokingly idk? 🗒️ very rare dada dickie feature i lit adore him. reblog and i’ll give u a kiss 😋 now playing ! babyfather — sade 🎧
The hum of the air conditioning unit permeated the darkness of the apartment.
Snickering to yourself for the upteenth time, you hugged your baby close. You were a new parent afterall, so you had to check to make sure you were holding them correctly, peeking beneath the folds of the blanket as you shifted your weight on the mattress. What a cute baby.
That is, if a baby could be one of the many plushies your ever-doting boyfriend Dick bought you last Valentines’ weekend.
It was doll-like and small, fitting in your arms perfectly for this great scheme. With a deep inhale to compose yourself, you clicked play on the Youtube video on your phone, teasing the volume button up, up, up, every few seconds.
Next to you there was a sleeping Dick Grayson, Blüdhaven’s finest — figuratively and literally — and Gotham’s resident heartthrob. He laid on his stomach, dark hair spread out over the pillow beneath him in thick curls and a strong arm thrown overhead. His right leg hung half off the bed from where it strayed out of the comforter as his fingers twitched softly in his sleep.
The sound of an infant’s wail came from your phone’s speaker, softer, then louder and even louder again. Your boyfriend did not so much as flinch. Desperate, you clutched the swaddled plushie to your chest with one hand and nudged him with the other.
“Dick,” you called out to him. He shifted only slightly. “Baaabe…” you murmured, pushing at his shoulder. “Wake up.”
With a groggy grumble in the back of his throat, he turned on his side, facing away from you. You scoffed, pressing the volume button harder as you bounced your sweet bundle of joy against your bosom.
You heard him groan and you nudged at him with your leg under the comforter, giving a small kick to his muscled thigh. “Hm?” came muffled into the pillow.
“She keeps crying,” you sighed sadly. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”
At the sound of your voice, he turned to face you, his eyes barely opened and a sliver of shiny drool at the corner of his mouth. You almost laughed in his face. Oh, poor baby.
“Did you try feeding her?” He slurred with a yawn, loud and wide-mouthed like it hurt him to not be asleep right now. The noise made his brows furrow tightly.
“What do you think I’ve been doing while you were snoring?” You scoffed. “She just won’t sleep and I don’t know what else to do.”
“M’sorry,” he whispered, scooting closer to where you were until your shoulders pressed together. “I’ll take her.” Dick slid his hands under yours and retrieved the swaddled faux newborn, his eyelashes fluttering with exhaustion.
“You’re tired, you don’t have to.” Came your attempt at intervention, but he relented, his nose brushing the side of your cheek — his version of a kiss when he was between dreamland and reality — and he hummed, attempting to soothe the baby in his arms with a few soft rocks from side to side.
You pressed your lips together to hold your composure. No, you couldn’t laugh yet.
“Shh,” he cooed to the bundle in his arms, clutching it closer to his chest with another long yawn. “C’mon, let’s... let’s go beddy bye—”
“Don’t fall asleep,” you warned, nudging him with your shoulder. “You’ll drop her.” A weak hum was his response as his eyelashes fluttered downwards again, his head drooping ever so slightly.
“Dick.”
“M’ awake,” he inhaled deeply, shifting to pull his upper body up the slightest bit while his fingers strummed sweet little taps and absentminded traces of shapes over the swell of the swaddle where the plushie’s back was covered. “I’m awake, honest.”
A snort escaped you. “You sure about that, baby?”
“Baby....” he repeated, sweet and low. A huh sound was your response as you turned the volume down on the cries, the softest little hiccups lingering until you finally shut them off. He shook his head and murmured it again. “...baby,” but not Baby as in you, baby as in...
“Jus’ needed her Dad,” he hummed, his eyes sinking closed again. “Dada’s got you...” Your heart stuttered in your chest. You watched him rock the little bundle as sleep began to carry him away again, his shoulders slumping slowly and his head falling back against the pillow top.
You shifted closer to him, your face heating up just the slightest the longer you stared at him with the pretend baby in his arms and his face relaxed with sleep. He was so beautiful.
Carefully, you reached a hand out and brushed aside the thick curls curtaining his forehead. The corner of his lips curved upwards and you stifled a giggle.
He looked so peaceful drifting off, one of his arms secured around the swaddled plushie, both legs out of the comforter now. “Dick,” you whispered, your fingertips trailing his hairline then down his jaw, across the line of it then back up to his cheekbone. “You’re losing the covers.”
His fingers twitched against the blanket hugged to his chest and you smiled. “Hey, sleepyhead...” you teased, planting a brief peck on the corner of his lips. His feet shuffled back under the comforter, one slotted between your thighs. You felt him smile.
“Wha....time ’s it?” He slurred grogilly, eyes still closed.
“Early,” you hummed. He made a sound of acknowledgment in the back of his throat and you leaned down to kiss him properly like you always do when you wake him up. “You can go back to sleep.”
“Nuh uh.” Dopey, he smiled lazy and wide. “Kiss me more.”
“Yes huh, Sleepy Wing,” you laughed. “I just didn’t want you to wake up with cold feet—” his other hand snaked around your waist and you squealed, trying (or pretending to) wiggle away from him to no avail as he yanked you into his chest, nose burrowing into to your hair to steal kisses along your temple.
He smooshed his cheek against yours. “Ah! Quit it, you big baby—”
“Yeah, baby?” Dick teased, but the chuckle died in his throat the moment the last syllable left him. His eyes snapped open in a startle and he nearly shoved you away from him out of shock. “Baby!” he exclaimed, hoarse.
“The baby— she—” he shakily propped himself up on his elbows, eyes squinted half shut from the heaviness of sleep. When the swaddled plushie slid down his chest, he caught it in a delirious panic. When he looked down and realized what he was holding, he looked back at you, then to the plushie again.
It was quiet for several moments, and his brows knitted in half-asleep confusion. “Surprise?” You nudged his thigh with your foot. “Richard Grayson, you are the father.”
He ran a slow and deliberate palm across his face, then exhaled long and heavy. “I’m not awake enough for this.”
You burst out laughing. “Oh, my poor baby—”
“No, nope, mm-mm.” He shook his head firmly. “Not another b-word in this house.” All the while, he scooped up the swaddled plushie and carefully set it down on the other side of the bed.
With a grasp of his bicep, you pulled him back down next to you. His head hit the pillow with a soft thud, his thick curls fanning out. “Wow, I’m suing for child support—”
“Enough,” he groaned, faux frustration overpowered by a warm laugh tickling the palm you had cradling his face, moving his hair away from his forehead and bringing it back. “I really thought we had a baby. It was jarring. But kinda... kinda nice.”
Your fingers ceased. “You want a baby with me, D?”
There was a slight twitch in his shoulders as they tensed then relaxed again. “I mean... do you wanna have a baby with me?”
With a scoff, you shoved his arm. “Say it again, you didn’t sound unconvincing enough the first time.” He whined in protest only to pull you closer to him, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.
“...I’ve thought about it,” he murmured, barely audible.
“What?” You turned your head with a swift lean back to catch any sort of glimpse of his face. The pounding of your heart swelled in your ears. “Dick, I was just teasing you—”
“But, do you?” He tilted his head to look up at you. You swallowed. “I mean, really.” His hand found yours where it lazed drooped against his shoulder and he brought it to rest against the side of his face.
You closed your eyes momentarily in thought. “Maybe,” you whispered, eyes searching his face as your thumb traced the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, maybe I do.”
He laughed, hearty and warm. “Yeah?” His arms banded around your waist as he rolled over onto you, dwarfing you with the bulk of his body. Your legs opened to make room for his hips between your thighs while you laughed— a sweet sound he stole from you with a kiss that was soft and wanton, like you’d been married for half a decade already and this was just the Monday after a reenacted honeymoon.
“I could give you one right now,” he said, the words melded together against your lips. He tasted like toothpaste with a side of cookies before bed and all the flavors of missing you. “Or just for practice—”
“Funny. I hope comedy pays well when the triplets come.” You chided as your fingers sifted through his hair.
You sighed, his palm grasping hold of one of your thighs to lift it up and there your ankle went, hooked over his hipbone. “Dick—” your lips chased him and he ground you into the mattress further, clothed pelvis flush against yours while you whined for relief.
“That’s usually the tool required, yeah,” his grin was wolfish against your skin. His lips travelled down the bottom side of your jaw, then down the line of your neck, down it went and your fingers seized his hair harder when the prick of a canine had you keening.
“Asshole.”
“Baby,” he moaned, hips involuntarily bucking forward, harder than he intended but when you’re Nightwing and trained in the art of overpowering, there’s not much you can do to curb your strength. So you were pushed further up the bed and onto your phone, which you didn’t mind until it shoved at your shoulder blade.
“Dick—” you called out.
“Someone’s eager... been calling out for it what, three times now?”
“No, Dick Dastardly, my phone—” you arched upwards, twisting your body a little to the side to try and grab you phone. He moved your hand away and slid one large arm under your hips, lifting you with ease. You grabbed the phone and with his other hand he immediately snatched it away.
“Hey!” you complained.
He kissed you again, a little harder this time and you moaned into his mouth, barely hearing the soft impact of your phone being tossed somewhere on the bed. His hands went to your hips with a soft squeeze and you could feel the length of him hardened against your inner thigh.
“I love you,” he rasped out against your mouth. You exhaled a breathy whimper and his eyes glazed over with need. But just ust as you were about to say it back—
There came the familiar wailing of an infant on a perfect loop, piercing the quiet of your shared bedroom with hiccups and needy sobs. Both yours and Dick’s heads shot to the direction of your phone where it lay face down, the light of the screen peeking from the space between it and the sheets.
He looked to you incredulously and you shrugged with a shake of your head. “Nope, this is all you.”
He huffed like he’d been slapped. “Jesus christ,” he reached for the phone with one arm as he stayed hovered over you, the over planted firmly under you to keep you flush against him.
“Baby wants her dada, it can’t be helped,” you snickered into the palm of your hand. “Afterall, it’s good practice.” You felt his grip on you tighten a fraction, and he glanced over at you from the corner of his eye.
Once he’d fought and won against the virtual infant — and by winning, it meant he shut your phone off completely and chucked it onto the nightstand — he dived onto you like a beast on the prowl.
“Let’s have a baby,” Dick said in the middle of grinding against your thigh, your eyelashes fluttering from the heat of his body on yours. “You know, some practice.”
“Oh my God,” you howled with laughter at the way his face had even flushed at his own admission. “You’re insane.”
“Why?” he nipped at your bottom lip playfully. “Doesn’t baby need her dada?” You shoved at his shoulders with a fit of giggles that made him hang his head low, forehead pressed against your sternum in shame.
“I love you,” you whispered and he nodded, smitten, pressing soft kisses into your skin. “Yeah,” he chuckled breathlessly. “Don’t ever let me have cookies before bed again.”
CW: 18+ (mdni), virgin reader, college roommate au, retired fuckboy!leon, vendetta trio (chris, leon & rebecca), talks about virginity/relationship/trauma (car accident), fluff/angst/smut, a lot of kissing, dick piercing, oral job (afab receiving), pussy slapping, thigh jobs, aftercare.
Words: 7.4k
A/N: special thanks to my wife @roseglazedlens for beta reading and helping me with the banners <3 muah muah
Without a doubt, college is such a drag. It’s a wonder you haven’t given up on yourself already, with all the assignments piling up, submissions one after another, professors breathing down your neck, dealing with crappy groupmates and customers from your part-time job. But here you are, almost three years deep into your degree, with no turning back now.
You sighed, feeling the strain in your fingers from typing away all day. The pressure was real with an assignment due in just a few days. You tried to unwind with a book and music, but the impending thought of reading through another paragraph might just make your head explode.
It’s been known that college can get pretty lonely at times. Sure, you've got friends here and there, but they're all caught up in their own stuff, on top of all that, their partners. This is when you wish you had one yourself. You've had your fair share of relationships or flings in the past, but it never really went beyond first base – blame it on your commitment issues and insecurities.
Virginity is a funny thing, isn't it? Some people don't really give it much thought, while others, like yourself, see it as a significant part of who they are. To you, it's more than just a physical state – it's about vulnerability, about letting someone in and truly being seen. Maybe that's why your relationships never seem to last long. You realise now that you settled for them, not for yourself. You were caught up in the idea of a relationship rather than being honest with yourself about what you truly wanted and needed.
Heading into college, you finally found yourself crushing on someone – your roommate, Leon Kennedy. Your first meeting was awkward, to say the least. It started with your classmate-turned-friend, Rebecca Chambers, asking if you wanted to live with her and two of her friends since they had an extra room. Without hesitation, you agreed – after all, why not? Splitting the rent between four people and having a bigger apartment than your current one sounded like a win-win. But when you finally met her two friends, it felt like you stumbled upon an adorable squirrel with her two guard dogs.
You could definitely say that Leon and his other friend, Chris Redfield, were pretty protective of her, but Rebecca reassured them that she trusted you and thought you were a lovely person – bless her heart. From that day on, the tension slowly dissipated, and all of you learned how to live with each other, quirks and all. If there was ever a disagreement, Chris would call for a 'family meeting' to sort things out.
You've grown close to both Chris and Rebecca, but with Leon, it's different. He's close, yet there's still a sense of distance.
—
Exhibit A:
The huge, comfortable couch in the living room was decorated with a mismatched assortment of decorative pillows, giving the area a homely, well-worn feel. The walls were covered in posters of bands, and a shelf next to it held a tidy collection of DVDs. Game controllers, remote controls, and empty food wrappers were frequently strewn all over the coffee table – no matter how many times Rebecca told Chris and Leon to clean them up. The room had the ideal ambience for movie evenings thanks to the floor lamp's warm glow and the fairy lights.
You noticed that Leon would always have your favourite snacks on hand, without you even needing to ask. But then again, he made sure to get snacks for everyone else too. You never once mentioned your favourite snacks to him – you guess he might have overheard you talking to Rebecca in the dining area while he was playing video games with Chris in the living room that one time.
"Here," Leon said, passing you the brightly wrapped package after doling out snacks to the others.
“Thanks,” you said, taking them from Leon. “How did you know these are my favourites?”
He shrugged casually. “Maybe I'm just good at picking up on things.”
"But I've never told you," you pointed out, genuinely curious.
Leon hesitated for a moment, his gaze meeting yours. "I've got my ways of finding out,” he replied cryptically before turning away to grab a drink.
You raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced by his response. “Oh, well, thanks again.”
"Oh my god! It's been so long since I've eaten those," Rebecca, who was cuddled up next to you, exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she gazed at your snacks. You chuckled at her enthusiasm.
"You want some?" you offered, opening the snack package.
"Yes, please!" she eagerly replied.
If you had turned back, you would have noticed Leon's ears turning a faint shade of red, but you were too focused on sharing the snacks with Rebecca to notice his reaction.
Exhibit B:
Amidst the chaos of exam week, you and Chris had taken over the living room for a study session. Notes, textbooks, and Post-it notes were strewn everywhere, creating a cluttered workspace. Rebecca had wisely chosen to isolate herself in her room, knowing that if she joined you two, it would devolve into gossip rather than studying. As for Leon, he preferred the solitude of studying alone.
By 2 am, Chris had already succumbed to exhaustion, snoring away on the couch. Meanwhile, you were hunched over your notes on the floor, frustration building as you re-read the material for what felt like the hundredth time. A headache was starting to form, exacerbated by the late hour and Chris' snoring.
Lost in your work, you didn't notice Leon's quiet approach until he set a hot mug of green tea on the coffee table beside you. "Take a break," he said casually, before moving over to Chris and gently nudging him awake, signaling that it was time for him to call it a night.
"Hey, wake up," Leon whispered.
Chris grunted in response, rolling over to his side and snoring loudly. Leon couldn't help but roll his eyes and deliver a – gentle – punch to Chris's arm, hoping it would be enough to jolt him awake.
"Ouch! Damn, Leon, that hurts," Chris groaned, rubbing his arm where Leon had punched him.
Leon, unapologetic, raised an eyebrow at Chris. "Maybe if you didn't snore like a freight train, I wouldn't have to resort to violence."
Chris, still rubbing his arm, shot you a playful glare. "Well, if someone didn't study so quietly, maybe I wouldn't need to fill the room with my soothing snores."
"Don't look at me, I'm just trying to study peacefully," you retorted, raising your hand in mock surrender while cradling the mug in your other.
"Yeah, right. Your snores are like lullabies, Chris. I almost fell asleep while making my late-night snack,” Leon said with a slight smirk.
Chris mockingly gasped. "You wound me, Leon. My snores are an art form."
You chuckled. "Well, gentlemen, whether it's an art form or a lullaby, it's time for the masterpiece to take a break. Chris, go get some beauty sleep." Chris nodded.
"You too, don't stay up too late," Leon said to you, shooting a glance in your direction before grabbing Chris by his shirt.
"I'm up, I'm up," Chris protested, his voice muffled as Leon playfully put him in a headlock and guided him towards his room.
You couldn't help but chuckle at their antics, taking another sip of your tea as you watched them disappear down the hallway.
—
You found yourself in a dilemma. Leon had always been just a friend, but lately, you couldn't shake off the growing attraction you felt towards him. It wasn't just his physical appearance that drew you in, although his blue eyes, his piercings and the little details about him were certainly captivating. It was the way he was always there for you, that’s what friends are for, right?
You discovered that you couldn't stop thinking about him, day or night. His presence seemed to linger in your mind, occupying your thoughts even when you were supposed to be focusing on something else. You couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his video game strategies or the way he would absentmindedly run his hand through his hair when he was deep in thought. And those moles scattered across his skin, you found yourself itching to trace your fingers over them, to memorise every little detail of him.
But despite your growing feelings, you were hesitant to act on them. You cherished the ‘friendship’ you shared with Leon and you were afraid of risking it by admitting your true feelings. So for now, you kept your emotions buried deep within, hoping that they would eventually fade away – but they didn’t.
—
Leon had been sceptical when Rebecca first introduced you to him and Chris. He thought you might have ulterior motives, using her to get closer to him for his body. After all, he had a reputation as a fuckboy, although he considered himself a retired one now. That's why both him and Chris were so protective of her; he didn't want to drag Rebecca into his messy past again.
However, Leon was genuinely surprised when he discovered that you didn't know much about his past. While you were aware of his existence, you weren't deeply immersed in campus drama, preferring to spend your time online with other interests. You treated him like any other person, and he found himself grateful for that. In the past, he had been the worst version of himself, indulging in alcohol, weed, and sex, using his body to get whatever he wanted. But hey, in this economy, whatever works.
He had grown accustomed to people using him, whether it was for physical gratification or emotional support. It was the darkest chapter of his history, and his once-close friendship with Chris and Rebecca had deteriorated to the point where they were practically strangers, but that was six months ago. Now they were back to being three peas in a pod, their bond stronger than ever.
Then came that one fateful night – that one awful night – when he had drunk too much and made the reckless decision to drive home while intoxicated from a party. What great friends he had.
As Leon stirred awake in the hospital room, the rhythmic beeping of machines punctured the air, accompanied by the clinical scent of antiseptic. His gaze fell upon Rebecca, slumbering peacefully in a chair beside his bed, though the fatigue evident in the bags beneath her eyes spoke of restless nights spent by his side. Summoning what little strength he could muster, he attempted to rouse her with a feeble movement of his finger.
Suddenly, Chris burst into the room, bearing two cups of coffee in hand. The sight of Leon awake nearly caused him to fumble the cups, hastily setting them down on a nearby table before rushing to his friend's bedside with evident concern. Rebecca, startled by Chris's sudden entrance and booming voice, blinked awake in a daze.
“Leon, you’re awake!” Rebecca's smile lit up the room as she clasped Leon's uninjured hand in hers.
Leon attempted to speak, but his dry throat betrayed him. Swift to notice, Chris quickly retrieved a water bottle and a straw for Leon. While Rebecca, with practised ease adjusted the bed to a more comfortable position, allowing Leon to sit up slightly. As soon as the straw touched his lips, Leon didn't hesitate to take a much-needed sip, the cool water soothing his parched throat.
Once he had quenched his thirst, Leon managed a weak smile of gratitude, his gaze shifting between Chris and Rebecca. "Thanks, guys," he murmured hoarsely, his voice still rough from disuse.
"Was anyone else hurt?” he asked anxiously, recalling the events of the previous night with a sense of dread. He knew he had made a terrible mistake by driving under the influence, and he dreaded the thought of anyone else being harmed because of his actions.
Chris exchanged a glance with Rebecca before answering, his expression sombre. "It was just you, Leon," he replied gently, placing a comforting hand on Leon's shoulder. "You're lucky, man. Could've been a lot worse."
Rebecca nodded in agreement, her worry evident in her eyes. "We're just glad you're okay," she added softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.
For once in his life, he let his tears flow freely, openly crying in front of them. There were many reasons for his tears, but two stood out: their unwavering support despite his past behaviour and the stark realisation of how close he came to losing everything. It felt like a wake-up call, a sign that he needed to change his ways.
As both Chris and Rebecca leaned in for an embrace, he felt the warmth of their love enveloping him. That moment marked a new beginning for them. They took turns caring for him, offering support and encouragement every step of the way. And with their help, he began to see a therapist to address his trauma and work through his issues, determined to become a better version of himself.
He knew he wasn't perfect, but he was steadily making progress.
—
You were like a breath of fresh air, bringing a sense of normalcy to Leon's life outside his close circle of friends. The more he observed you, the more smitten he became. He found himself falling hard for you, enchanted by the melody of your voice and the way your smile lit up the room. Even when you laughed at his silly jokes while Chris and Rebecca remained unimpressed, it only deepened his infatuation. From your quick wit to your undeniable charm, he felt like a lovesick puppy in your presence.
Many moments with you left a lasting impression on Leon. One night, he had fallen asleep on the couch, and you had just returned from a night shift. Spotting Leon asleep, you crept, careful not to disturb him. You gently placed your belongings on the dining table before quietly slipping into his room to retrieve a blanket.
You returned with the blanket and draped them over him, ensuring he stayed warm throughout the night. As you crouched down beside him, you couldn't resist the urge to tuck a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, smiling softly at the peaceful expression on his sleeping face.
As you quietly left the room and retreated to your own, Leon being the light sleeper he was, felt a rush of emotions flooding through him. His heart raced as he became aware of your proximity, even in his slumber. The gentle touch of your hand and the warmth of your presence lingered in his mind, leaving him feeling strangely comforted yet unsettled all at once. It was a moment he couldn't shake, stirring something within him that he couldn't quite put into words.
These mixed emotions were still present during another memorable moment, when you, Chris, Rebecca, and Leon gathered for a pizza dinner. Chris, in his usual generous fashion, ordered a variety – cheese, pepperoni, and BBQ pizzas. The living room transformed into a makeshift dining area as you all settled in to watch a movie while enjoying the feast. Despite the lively atmosphere, Leon found himself quietly observing you, the feelings from the previous night still lingering in his mind, adding a layer of depth to the otherwise ordinary gathering.
Whatever, he shook his thoughts away.
As the pizza boxes opened, Leon grabbed a slice of the BBQ pizza, only to discover a surplus of onions. His displeasure was evident and despite his efforts to discreetly pick off the offending toppings, the struggle did not go unnoticed by you.
Your laughter bubbled up as you observed Leon's onion-removing antics. "Not a fan of onions, huh?" you teased.
"Nah, I don’t like the extra crunch," Leon replied, continuing to pick them off.
You extended your plate towards him. "Just give them to me; I like onions," you offered with a smile.
"Really? Thanks," Leon responded, handing you the onion-laden slices.
"You need to stop being such a picky eater, Leon," Chris chimed in between bites of his pizza.
Leon shook his head defiantly. "Nope, not happening," he retorted, earning a round of laughter from the group.
Rebecca joined in, adding with a playful grin, "Hey, at least now we know who the real onion lover is around here!"
After your laughter died down, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at Leon – you loved onions, but little did they know that you had a particular disdain for red onions.
Despite all this, Leon couldn't shake the memories that haunted him. Beneath the surface of his laidback demeanour lay a vulnerability he had yet to reveal to anyone outside his close circle of friends.
It was a sunny morning as you and Leon walked side by side to class, chatting idly about your schedules. But then your conversation was abruptly interrupted by the screech of tyres from behind, a sharp, piercing sound that seemed to echo through Leon's bones.
Without warning, Leon's steps faltered, his body freezing in place as his breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened with fear, his muscles tensing as if preparing for impact.
You sensed the shift in his demeanour immediately, instincts kicking in as you turned to face him, concern etched across your features. "Leon?" you called softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "Are you okay?"
"Don't," he said sharply, his voice tinged with a mixture of desperation and frustration. "Please, just... don't touch me."
You froze, your heart sinking at the rejection. You had never seen Leon react like this before, and the realisation only fueled your determination to help him.
"Okay," you said softly, pulling your hand back. "I won't touch you. But I'm here, Leon. You're not alone."
Leon's breaths came in short, ragged gasps, his gaze fixed on the ground as he struggled to regain control of his racing thoughts.
Thinking quickly, you searched for another way to reach him. You remembered the breathing exercises you learned from the internet, the rhythmic pattern designed to calm the mind in moments of distress.
"Leon," you said gently, your voice a steady anchor in the storm of his panic. "Listen to me. We're going to try something, okay? Just focus on my voice."
Leon nodded hesitantly, his gaze flickering up to meet yours.
"Close your eyes," you instructed, your own voice calm and measured. "Now, take a deep breath in through your nose... and out through your mouth. Good. Now, let's do it again. In... and out."
Together, both of you repeated the breathing exercises; Leon's tense muscles gradually relaxing with each steady breath. You kept your voice low and soothing, guiding him through the process with gentle encouragement.
The chaotic noise of the campus faded into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of your shared breaths. And with each passing moment, Leon felt the grip of panic loosening its hold, replaced by a sense of calm and clarity.
"Thank you," Leon whispered as he finally opened his eyes, his voice hoarse with overwhelming emotions.
"Anytime.” You smiled softly at him.
—
You were attractive, considerate, attentive, but sometimes sarcastic — all the more reason to love you. So imagine his surprise when, during one of your deep conversations, you dropped the bombshell: "I'm still a virgin."
Leon's reaction was immediate. "Wait, what?" His eyes widened in disbelief, and he nearly choked on the iced tea Rebecca had made for everyone.
You couldn't help but smirk at his reaction, finding his surprise somewhat amusing. "Yeah, I know, right?" you replied casually, trying to downplay the moment. "Just never felt the rush, I guess."
Leon's expression softened, his initial shock giving way to an understanding. "Well, that's... unexpected," he admitted, his voice laced with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "But hey, it's your choice, and there's nothing wrong with that."
"Yeah," you said, taking a sip of the iced tea. You couldn't help but grimace as the sweetness hit your taste buds; Rebecca had gone a bit overboard with the sugar again. “I guess, I just have a hard time trusting people to truly see me, you get it?” you said, revealing a vulnerability that Leon hadn't seen before.
“Just the idea of letting someone see a vulnerable side of you and then, things fall apart, and that person is not in your life anymore... it's terrifying."
Leon nodded thoughtfully, the flicker of a reassuring smile appearing on his lips. "I get it," he responded softly, his eyes reflecting understanding.
"It's hard to open up when you've been hurt before. But not everyone is the same, you know? And sometimes, taking that risk can lead to something beautiful."
"Yeah, but I’m not ready to take that risk," you pondered, your voice tinged with uncertainty.
Leon leaned forward, his expression gentle. "That's okay," he said. "It's all about timing, and when you're ready, you'll know. Until then, just focus on being true to yourself." If the old Leon heard this, he would cringe in disgust at how poetic he has become.
“Aw, look at you, Mr. Wise man,” you teased, playfully punching his shoulder.
“Hey, I have experience, okay,” he chuckled, offering a playful wink. "Life's full of surprises, and you never know when the right person might come along." Leon thought to himself, hoping silently that he could be that person for you.
To be your person — it was a dream he cherished deeply. He already felt privileged enough to see you with your dishevelled hair every morning, to enjoy the breakfasts you made, to hear you humming to yourself as you cleaned the apartment, and to witness all the little quirks that made you... you.
Like the way you always insisted on starting your day with a cup of hot warm water because of its health benefits. Or how you had a habit of tapping your fingers on any surface whenever you were anxious. The way you collect little trinkets and gift them to others because they reminded you of them, or how you could never resist stopping to take pictures of the sky when it looked especially pretty. The way you scrunch your nose when you laugh, and how you always double-knot your shoelaces because "you can't be too careful,” even though they somehow always come undone, so he has to tie them for you again — cue to Rebecca and Chris giggling quietly at the back.
“Yeah, who knows?” you replied with a smile, stopping him from his daydreaming state.
Leon looked into your eyes, a gentle warmth spreading through his chest. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you at that moment. Your smiles softened, and a comfortable silence settled between you. Time felt like it slowed down as you both gazed at each other, the unspoken words and hidden shared feelings hanging in the air.
However, the moment was cut short when cock-block Chris slid the balcony doors open, surprising you guys.
"Hey, sorry to interrupt," Chris said, his voice breaking the momentary silence. "But I thought you might want to join us for board games. Rebecca's been bugging me to drag you both inside.”
You chuckled at Chris's interruption. "Sure, sounds like fun," you replied, shooting a playful glance at Leon.
Leon grinned in response, a twinkle in his eye as he nodded in agreement. "Let's go then," he said, rising from his seat and motioning for you to follow.
“Can’t wait to beat you in Monopoly,” you added with a mischievous grin, earning a playful scoff from Leon.
“Dream on,” Leon replied with a playful smirk, grabbing both his and your drink before heading back inside.
“Hey, we know Rebecca is the master of Monopoly,” Chris chimed in.
"Yeah, you’re right, she always bankrupts us within the first hour," you agreed with a laugh.
"Alright, let's see if we can finally overthrow the reigning champion," Leon said with determination, leading the way back inside.
—
You should have been spending your weekend with friends, but alas, the call of assignments beckoned you to spend the week in your room. Your fingers moved on autopilot as you typed away on your laptop, nearing the end of your essay. All that remained were the conclusion and the references.
This was the second time you had to redo this assignment. Your professor, Dr. Wesker, critiqued it during the tutorial, and it fell short of his expectations, so you had to incorporate the points you had missed. You made a mental note to give him three stars in the end-of-semester review – that being generous — and to punch Chris because he said Wesker’s class was easy. No, it was not; Wesker made sure to run the class like the Navy.
As the evening turned into night, you fueled your essay-writing spree with a touch of spite. The anticipation of going to the new jazz bar in your area with your friends was the added motivation. Empty instant coffee cans littered your desk, proving your determination. In the apartment, it was just you and Leon; Chris was visiting his sister, Claire, while Rebecca was out on a date with Billy. Helping Rebecca get ready had only made you more jealous of her evening out. Ever the sweetheart, she noticed you were down and promised to bring back treats for you as a reward.
The apartment felt unusually quiet, with only the hum of your laptop and the distant sounds of city life filtering through the windows. The silence was a stark reminder of the fun you were missing out on. Yet, there was a strange comfort in knowing Leon was just in the other room, a silent presence that somehow made the tedious task of essay writing a bit more bearable.
However, the universe was not on your side as your old laptop finally decided to give up on you. Despite all your efforts — charging, troubleshooting, and pleading — it refused to turn back on. "No, no, no, no!" you exclaimed, punctuating each word with a frustrated slam of your hand against the desk. Scratch that, Dr. Wesker is getting only one star and a long paragraph in the comment section.
Hearing the commotion from Leon’s bedroom, he paused his game and rushed into your room. "What happened?!" he asked, concern etched on his face.
You looked at him with tears streaming down your face. "My laptop won't open," you said.
His face softened as he approached you. "I'm assuming you've tried everything," he remarked.
"Yes!" you exclaimed, frustration evident in your voice.
"Okay, okay, calm down," Leon reassured you, his tone soothing. "What did you use to do your assignment on?" he inquired, rolling your chair closer to him and kneeling down in front of you.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. "Google Docs," you replied.
He nodded reassuringly. "Okay, they have an auto-save feature, so your work is still there. In the meantime, you can use mine." Leon wiped away your tears with his thumb. "I know a guy who can fix your laptop, so you don't have to worry."
Leon's comforting touch eased your tension slightly. "Thanks," you said, your voice wavering with emotion. "I'm sorry for lashing out. It's just….it’s been a stressful week."
He offered you a sympathetic smile. "No need to apologise," he said softly. "We all have our moments.”
"You're too good for me," you whispered, your gratitude evident in your eyes.
Leon's sympathetic expression softened further as he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "Hey, don't say that," he replied earnestly. "You're amazing, and anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend. And if you ever need someone to talk to or help you through tough times, I'm here for you, always.”
“I could say the same thing about you,” you said softly as you wiped the remaining tears away.
There was a moment of silence, filled only by the sound of the gentle hum of the air conditioner and the soft rhythm of your breathing. Then, you hesitated before speaking again.
"Leon... there's something I've been meaning to tell you," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know we're friends, but... lately, I've been feeling something more. I can't shake this feeling that there's something between us, something deeper?"
Leon's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he didn't interrupt as you continued.
"I understand if you don't feel the same way," you said, the words tumbling out in a rush as you fidget with your fingers, feeling vulnerable and exposed. "I just needed to get it off my chest."
For a moment, there was only silence as Leon processed your words. Then, he reached out and gently took your hand in his, stopping you from fidgeting. On the inside, he was literally jumping up and down and screaming internally. His heart raced with excitement and joy, but he kept his composure, squeezing your hand gently to convey his feelings.
“I... I've been feeling the same way," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with emotion. "I didn't know if you felt the same, but… I've been wanting to tell you how I feel for a while now." His hands felt warm against your cold ones, a reassuring touch that sent a shiver down your spine.
"But are you sure you want to be with someone like me? I’m a bit damaged,” he confessed, his voice carrying a hint of insecurity. As you shared a tender gaze, his vulnerability spilled out.
"At the same time… I want to be with you. You keep me grounded, and every day I feel like I'm becoming a better version of myself because of you. But I don’t want to burden you with my baggage."
Your heart swelled with affection as you reached out to cup his face, gently wiping away the traces of doubt etched there. "Leon, I see you, all of you, and I wouldn't have it any other way.”
“Being damaged doesn’t make you any less worthy of love and happiness. We all have our scars and struggles. What matters is that you’re taking steps to heal, to become the best version of yourself. And I want to be there for you, every step of the way.”
At that moment, Leon knew he couldn't let his fears hold him back any longer.
Leon’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours. The world seemed to stand still as he closed the gap between you, capturing your lips in a passionate heartfelt kiss. His hands moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear to be apart.
The kiss was intense, filled with all the emotions he couldn’t put into words— the love, the gratitude, the desire. His lips moved against yours with fervent need, and as you responded, you could feel the weight of his insecurities lifting, replaced by the warmth of your mutual affection.
Breaking the kiss, Leon scooped you up from your chair with ease, his arms strong and secure around you. He carried you to your bed and gently laid you down, his gaze never leaving yours. The tenderness in his eyes spoke volumes as he caressed your face.
"You mean everything to me, and I want to be the one you can always rely on." He leaned in for another kiss, sealing his promise with the warmth of his embrace. “Just how I can rely on you.”
When Leon's words settled in, you felt a rush of emotion swell in your chest. You reached up, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble beneath your touch and moving down to his neck where his moles were. The tenderness in his eyes was almost overwhelming, and you could see the sincerity behind every word he had spoken.
Leon let out a gasp as your fingers continued their gentle exploration, the touch feeling soft and human against his skin. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone touched him so tenderly. Letting out a sigh of contentment, he buried his face against your neck, inhaling your familiar scent—the comforting mix of laundry detergent and coffee, so wonderfully homey.
“God, you don’t know how much you've softened me.” He chuckled softly, his lips trailing kisses along your neck.
You couldn't help but tease him, a playful glint in your eyes. "Oh, is that so?" you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips. "Big, tough Leon going all soft on me?"
He lifted his head, meeting your gaze with a grin. "Yeah, you have that effect on me," he admitted. "Never thought I'd be saying that."
You laughed softly, your fingers brushing through his hair. "Well, I kind of like this softer side of you," you teased, your eyes sparkling. "Makes me feel special."
"You are special," Leon whispered, his expression turning serious. "More than you know."
“Leon…I’m ready,” you said, your voice steady but your heart racing.
“Ready for what, sweetheart?” he asked, the endearment rolling off his tongue naturally. He liked how it felt, unlike the generic terms, ‘Babe’ and ‘Baby’ he had used for his past flings when he didn’t bother to remember their names.
“Ready… for you to take my virginity.”
Leon’s eyes widened slightly before he softened, his expression filled with tenderness. "Oh… you're so precious. Not now, okay? I want to take you out on a date first."
“But—”
“No buts,” he interrupted gently. “I can make you feel good without taking it…do you trust me?”
“I do,” you replied, feeling a rush of warmth.
“Then just relax," he said softly. "I’m here, and I’ll gladly help you release your stress.”
Without another word, Leon closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a passionate, desperate kiss — a culmination of months of longing and pent-up desire. All your worries and stress melted away as you sought solace in each other’s embrace.
As the kiss deepened, Leon’s hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer with a strong need to please you. The hunger and longing that had built up over the months drove you both, igniting a fire that burned with an intensity neither of you had ever felt before.
Leon’s fingers deftly found the hem of your sweater, slowly lifting it up and over your head. As your bare skin met the cool air, a wave of shyness washed over you. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself.
Leon paused, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and gentle reassurance. He reached out, his hands gently removing yours from your chest. “Don’t hide from me,” he whispered, his voice soft but firm. “You’re beautiful, and I want to see all of you.” He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, and you felt your body relax under his touch, trusting him completely.
“Leon…”
With a reassuring smile, Leon stepped back slightly and grasped the hem of his own shirt. In one smooth motion, he pulled it over his head, revealing the defined lines of his chest, the faint scars that marked his skin, and the tantalising happy trail leading down from his naval.
“See? Nothing to be shy about.” Leon had come so far, enduring countless battles, to reach this moment of vulnerability and softness with you.
You nodded, your cheeks flushing at the sight of his happy trail peeking through his sweatpants. His lips, slightly swollen from your shared kisses, only added to the heat coursing through you. The mere thought of kissing him had you feeling an ache between your legs — maybe those cringy scenes in films about virgin sex aren’t so fake after all. As you squeezed your thighs together unconsciously, he chuckled softly and gently pulled them apart.
"You okay there?" he teased, his voice laced with amusement.
You laughed nervously, trying to mask your embarrassment. "Yeah, just... overwhelmed, I guess."
Leon's chuckle deepened. "I'd say that's a good sign," he teased, his fingers tracing a soothing pattern on your thigh. "But let's take it slow, okay?"
Leon's fingers trailed along the curve of your thigh, a gentle caress that sent shivers down your spine. "Have you ever... touched yourself before?" he asked softly.
Your breath caught in your throat at his question, the sensation of his touch combined with the intimacy of his inquiry making your heart race. "Um, well... yeah," you replied hesitantly, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks.
Leon's touch became even more tender, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin as he leaned in closer. "Tell me about it," he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. "I want to know everything."
“I... I just use my fingers,” you confessed, feeling a little embarrassed by the simplicity of your answer. You found yourself rambling about the prices of sex toys and how impractical they seemed, but Leon's attention was elsewhere as he trailed his fingers down to your clothed heat.
With unabashed hunger, he traced his fingertips over the fabric shielding your wetness, sending shivers through you. He moved lower, his mouth finding your inner thighs, licking and biting gently, his breath hot against your skin.
As you continued to ramble with hitched breaths, Leon nodded along, occasionally responding with a thoughtful "hmm" here and there. His lips pressed against your clothed mound and his tongue piercing tracing circles over the fabric. Each teasing lick and swirling motion sent shivers coursing through your body.
“Leon, fuck,” you moaned, bucking your hips toward his face.
His lips curled into a wicked smirk as he slid down your underwear, revealing your glistening folds. His tongue darted out, flicking against your swollen clit while his hands moved to your hips, holding you in place.
Leon savoured the taste of your arousal, relishing how you quivered beneath him, desperate for more. His lips closed around your clit, sucking gently while his tongue worked in skilled motions. As your moans filled the room, he intensified his assault, his tongue delving deeper and applying more pressure.
“You’re mine,” he murmured against your slick folds, his voice filled with possessiveness. “My special sweetheart.” With a playful yet firm touch, he lightly slapped your clit, eliciting a gasp from you.
Your breath hitched at Leon's possessive words and instinctively, wrapped your legs around his head, pulling him closer and squeezing them together in response. The sensation of his tongue and lips working so intimately against you, combined with the pressure of your thighs around him, heightened the intensity of your pleasure.
“Leon!” you babbled his name like a prayer as he worked his tongue on you. Each flick and swirl of his tongue made you tremble, the overwhelming sensation almost too much to bear. Your hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white, as you surrendered to him.
Lost in the intensity of the moment, Leon started to grind himself against the mattress. His sweatpants strained against his growing erection. He could feel the dampness of his pre-cum soaking through the fabric, each grind intensifying the need coursing through him. His cock strained painfully against the confines of his pants, desperate for release as he focused on bringing you to the edge of ecstasy.
Your breathing grew ragged, and you could feel the tightening coil of release building within you. Instinctively, your hands flew to his head, gripping his hair tightly as you arched your back, your body seeking more of his touch. The sharp tug made Leon grunt, a deep, guttural sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh.
Despite the pain, he refused to relent, his determination evident in the way he continued to devour you. His hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place as his tongue and lips worked with relentless precision, pushing you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy, refusing to let you go.
Finally, with a shuddering gasp, you surrendered to the overwhelming waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal bliss. Leon held you through it all, refusing to let you go until you were utterly undone beneath him, lost in the euphoria of the moment.
As you lay there, panting and trembling, Leon parted from your cunt, his chin and lips glistening with your release. He smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes, before tenderly kissing your clit. "You taste so sweet," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I could devour you all night."
Your cheeks heated up due to his remarks, a turbulent rush of feelings that filled your senses with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. Under the intensity of his gaze, you quivered, feeling another desire surge through you again.
Leon leaned back, his eyes never leaving yours as he spat on your cunt, the warm liquid mixing with your own arousal. He clumsily peeled off his sweatpants, revealing his hard, straining cock. He positioned himself between your legs, pushing your thighs together to create a tight, plush space.
With a low groan, Leon began to stroke himself between your thighs, the friction against your slick skin sending jolts of pleasure through him. Each thrust caused his piercing to occasionally bump against your clit, sending thrilling shocks through your body and making you gasp with the unexpected sensation.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, his eyes fixated on the scandalous sight before him — the view of his reddened and swollen tip emerging from the clutch of your thighs.
You were certain Leon would leave bruises on your thighs from the way he was gripping them. “I’m gonna... gonna—shit,” Leon whimpered, quickening his pace. His thrusts became urgent and forceful, driven by an insatiable hunger for release. The air was filled with the sound of your moans and the slap of skin against skin. He leaned over you, shifting into a mating press with your legs squished to your chest and his balls slapping against your ass.
With a few more thrusts, Leon succumbed to the pleasure, his body tensing as he spilt himself between your thighs and stomach. Waves of ecstasy washed over him, and he continued to move, riding out his orgasm with a mix of intense relief and satisfaction. His body trembled with aftershocks and his breathing erratic as he slowly descended from the high.
As Leon collapsed beside you, panting and spent, he realised that you hadn't come for the second time. He then shifted his position, propping himself up on one elbow as he glanced down at your flushed form. Seeing the need still evident in your eyes, he gently brushed his fingers over your slick folds, seeking out your swollen clit.
"Let me take care of you again," he cooed as he began to rub gentle circles over your sensitive bud. With each stroke, he felt your body respond, the tension building once more as you whimpered and writhed beneath his touch.
Leon focused entirely on bringing you to the peak of pleasure, his movements deliberate and precise as he pushed you closer to the edge. Your moans grew louder, and your hips bucked against his hand, signalling how near you were to release. With a shuddering gasp, you finally reached your climax. Leon’s grip was steady as you trembled beneath him, lost in the overwhelming euphoria.
He pressed a loving kiss to your forehead before slipping out of bed. "I'll be right back," he whispered, leaving the room momentarily to grab a warm, damp towel. Returning swiftly, he carefully wiped away the sweat and traces of cum from your skin.
Once he finished, he picked up your discarded sweater from the floor and slipped it over your shoulders, ensuring you were comfortable. You nestled into its warmth as Leon retrieved his own sweatpants and pulled them on.
Returning to your side, he asked softly, "Feeling better?"
You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips as you snuggled closer to him. "Yeah, much better. Thanks for taking care of me."
He smiled back, his eyes filled with affection, and gently massaged the nape of your neck. "How was the aftercare? It's my first time doing it."
You chuckled softly. "Honestly, I can't say much about it since I don't have any experience either."
Leon laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Guess we're both new at this. Maybe I should include 'aftercare specialist' on my résumé."
You grinned, your eyes twinkling with amusement. "Yeah, but only if I get to be your reference."
He smirked, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Deal."
Pics are from pinterest and edited by: @roseglazedlens
re4r!Leon Kennedy x f!reader
summary: after six years of silence, you stumble into a ghost from your past at a crowded bar; only to find the boy you once knew replaced by someone hardened, haunted, and barely holding himself together.
wc: 11.5k (whoops)
content warning: SMUT MDNI!, porn w plot, brief use of y/n, alcohol consumption, swearing, kinda mean leon (at the beginning), fingering (f receiving), unprotected p in v, rough sex, aftercare, angst at the end, happyish ending
note: my first work! i apologize for the length i got far too carried away but i hope you enjoy! This is the first thing I've ever written for leon so if it's not as true to his character i will try to work on that. i'm very new to posting on this platform so if there's any issues please bear with me lol
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The local dive bar was crawling with people. It was a Friday night, dead of summer, everyone eager to start the weekend off right. Including you. It was a long, exhausting work week, and all you wanted was a night out with your close work friends and indulge in a drink. You’d lost count of the drinks somewhere between just one and definitely too many. All you knew was that the music was vibing well tonight and the alcohol coursed through your veins. You were dancing in the middle of the bar, bumping and grinding against your friends as they all laughed and sang terribly along with the music. Your head felt featherlight as you kept dancing, clearly feeling all the good effects the drinks had to offer. You lifted your cup and downed whatever was left of your drink, tossing the cup into the nearest trashcan. You looked over to one of your friends who wasn't the most fucked up, and leaned into her ear and slurred that you were going to get another drink. Your friend gave you a look, as to say are you sure you need another one? But you just shrugged it off. You deserved to get wasted tonight.
You sauntered your way across to the bar, hips swaying in your tight black mini skirt, along with a skin tight black tank top that definitely left nothing to the imagination. Your hair was curled loosely and laid gently across your back. Your eyes beelined to the bar, not aware of all the lingering stares from various men eyeing your ass or trying to get your attention. You also didn't register another familiar pair of eyes clocking you approaching him at the bar.
Leon was slumped in the barstool, like he usually was every weekend. Head hung low, eyes dark and brows in a permanent furrow on his face. He cradled a glass of whiskey, neat, also unsure of what number he was on now. Although he wasn't drinking in celebration. He was drinking to forget.
It had been a month since Spain, a month since he endured that treacherous mission and saved the President's daughter from whatever fucked up cult she found herself entangled with. As rewarding as it was to complete his mission, it never made up for the amount of trauma Leon would endure afterwards. Constant nightmares as soon as he had gotten home, memories of the Plaga coursing through his veins and almost causing him to fail his only mission, keep Ashley Graham safe. The only thing that would subside the nightmares and triggering thoughts was getting blackout drunk every night. That way he couldn't think straight, could forget about not only Spain, but everything that had led up to this moment in the past six years.
So here he was, downing yet another glass of whiskey to lull him to that so-called "safe space". He wanted to blend into the shadows of this bar and drink himself to death. The last thing he wanted was for someone to approach him. And as he sluggishly lifted his head to order another drink from the bartender, he couldn't help but feel his breath hitch as he saw you approach the bar.
He felt like he was transported back to his college days, about to graduate from the police academy, eager to save the world as he watched you put two supporting hands on the bar. They had known each other since high school, friends for years that coincidentally ended up going to the same college. Back when all Leon had to worry about was upcoming exams and whether or not you could tell that he was in love with you. He could feel his chest swell at the memories of debating whether he should upright tell you, those late nights they would spend together in each other's dorms studying when all he really could do was stare into your beautiful eyes. But that was six years ago. He wasn't that same enthusiastic, go getter boy that believed in the best in the world anymore, and he hated being reminded of that. Hated being reminded of what his life could've been, a police officer that just wanted to make the world a better place. He quickly turned his head back down to stare into his empty glass, hoping he could curl up enough to make sure you didn’t notice him.
You stumbled up to the bar, hands coming up to stabilize yourself so you didn't face plant into the hardwood of the counter. You got onto your tip toes so you could lean into the bartender's ear to shout your drink order over the loud chatter and music. Double vodka cranberry slurred out of your mouth and the bartender gave you a thumbs up. You settled back down, looking across the room to your friends absentmindedly dancing together. You turned your head the other way, towards the bartender, and watched with somewhat blurry eyes the other people trying to order drinks. Just then, you noticed someone sitting down at the end of the bar, shoulders hunched over and blond, shaggy hair hanging over their face. A full drink was slid over to their direction, a hand coming up to instinctively grab it before it slid onto the floor. At that point their head lifted to welcome the drink into their mouth, and you finally caught a glimpse of this familiar someone.
Holy shit, you thought to yourself, as none other than Leon Kennedy was at the end of the bar. The last time you had seen him was just before everything that happened at Raccoon City. You remembered how excited he was to have gotten a position at RPD, but after that fateful night you didn't know what had happened. You thought the worst, he was killed on duty trying to save the city. But it wasn't until a couple of weeks ago that you had heard through someone that he was the guy that rescued the President's daughter in Spain. You were more than relieved to hear that he was still alive, but what was more confusing was why you hadn't heard from Leon in the past six years. You thought that they were relatively close, but perhaps not.
If you weren't so hammered right now, you would've been able to read Leon's body language and realized that he was not in the mood to chat tonight. But the vodka was working overtime, and the man you thought was dead for the past six years was in the same bar as you right now. The bartender slid over your drink, and you picked it up before sauntering your way over to him. You approached Leon, head still hung low, eyes fixated on the brown liquor before him. You rested your elbow on the counter, leaning down to try and get a good look at him.
"As I live and breathe," you spoke a little too loud, trying to get your voice across the loud music and chatter, "Leon Kennedy? Is that you?"
Leon's grip tightens around the glass, knuckles almost white as he exhales a slow, agitated breath out his nose. He kept his head down, eyes closing tightly as the last thing he wanted to happen tonight came true. His free hand taps against the counter of the bar in an impatient rhythm, as if he was counting down the seconds until this encounter was over.
"Christ," he muttered to himself, voice rough from the lack of talking and slight burn of the whiskey down his throat. His icy blue eyes slowly make their way to look up at you, and he almost forgot why he was so upset.
You were even more beautiful than he remembered. Older now obviously, but all of your features had found their place to compliment yourself. Your hair was longer, cheeks slimmer, breasts fuller and your tiny black skirt hugged curves that weren't there six years ago. But you still had those bright eyes, still just as much fire and joy behind them. That's what brought him down to earth. As far as Leon could tell, you were still the same girl that he knew you to be. And you would be terrified to know that he was completely different. His eyes linger back up to yours, dark and unamused, the left side of his mouth twitches almost as if he tried to smirk, but came out more like a warning.
“Yeah, it‘s me.” His tone is flat, dismissive. He lifts his drink up to his mouth, glass clinking against his teeth as he takes another slow sip, trying to draw out the feeling of the burn down his throat. He takes another look at you as he lowers his glass, down at the drink you’re holding, then back up to your face, eyes hesitating a second too long at your tank top that hugged just tight enough around the swell of your breasts. He didn’t mean to stare too long, but he was drunk enough for his eyes to wander before focusing back at you.
“What do you want, y/n?” He said your name like it sliced his tongue, stinging over the feeling of who they used to mean to each other. “I’m not in the mood for a fucking reunion.”
You should’ve taken that as a warning and let him be, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. He looked good. A little rough around the edges it looked, and definitely way too many late nights as you noticed the dark circles under his eyes, but his features were much more defined than they used to be. He lost all of the baby fat he once had, jawline sharper and cheeks hollowed out, his striking blue eyes laced with something darker that he didn’t have before. You glanced down at his drink, more so at the huge bicep straining over the grip he had on the glass.
You took a sip from your drink, barely registering the harsh taste of vodka on your tongue. You lean in just a tad closer, “Shit, didn’t realize you had a stick up your ass or something,” you laughed, your eyes grazing over the black compression t-shirt he was wearing, all his muscles perfectly accentuated, “it’s been awhile, no? Like, six years now?”
You could hear Leon scoff, and definitely not in a good way. He barely looked at you, and when he did, his gaze was sharp. Almost as if it pained him to see you here. You pulled out a stool beside him, as much as he would’ve rather you not, and sat down. You placed your drink down on the bar and propped your elbow up to rest your chin on your palm. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol talking, or if it had been far too long since you had gotten laid, but the smell of Leon’s cologne and the whiskey that came off of his breath had you going crazy.
He still had not said anything to you, so you tried to bring something up to talk about. You remembered his latest mission in Spain, and your eyes lit up.
"Celebrating tonight? After saving the President's daughter? That had to have been interesting."
Leon's jaw clenched and his grip seemed to grow impossibly tighter on his glass at the mention of Spain. As if he had been trying all night to forget about that had gone down the drain. He looks over at you, noticing how much closer you had gotten and the way your eyelashes batted gently as you spoke. A hint of something sweet, like salted caramel, wafted into his nose instead of the stale bar air. He was getting pissed off. He didn't want to talk, and he was getting frustrated that you weren't getting the hint.
"Celebrating? Yeah. Real fucking party." His voice was a low growl, laced with something dangerous. "You wanna hear about it? Fine. It was a total shit show. People died. and I got to play hero as the whole goddamn city turned into a fucking graveyard." He watched as your eyes widened, still attentively looking at his own.
“Fuck, Leon, I didn’t know-”
"No, you don't fucking know," He cut in, leaning in just enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, the sharp edge of his cologne mixing with the whiskey on his breath, "I'm not here to reminisce. I'm here to drink. So unless you're gonna buy me another round y/n, get the fuck out of my face."
His eyes dropped down to your lips for just a split second, pink and plush from your lipgloss, slightly parted as you listened to him speak. Just as quick as it left, something soft flickers in his gaze. The woman he was once in love with was standing right in front of him, and you’re looking at him like how you used to; like he's not a total mess. He grinds his teeth, and knocks his head back to finish off the rest of his whiskey. "Or don't. I don't give a shit."
Leon's tone was just enough to snap you back to reality for a second. Sounds like whatever he had been up to the past six years was not treating him well. You knew he was angry, but as you watched his eyes, how dark they had gotten after mentioning his mission, you could sense he was hurting. Like he's longing for what he's lost over the years.
You don't say anything when you signal the bartender down, and order two more drinks for the both of them. You looked over at Leon again and smiled,
“Can I stay then?”
Leon almost rolls his eyes as he grunts, neither saying yes or no to your invitation. You took that as a yes, and settled into the barstool further. The bartender slid the drinks their way, and you grabbed yours and clinked the glass against Leon's before lifting it up to your lips.
"Here's to drinking our problems away, right?" You teased, giving him a wink and throwing your head back to fuel the liquid courage.
"Fucking hell..." Leon said under his breath, watching as you clinked your glass against his. Watching your neck extend as you drink causes him to shudder. He can't help but have his eyes wander again, the way your legs are crossed in the stool, skirt riding up far more than he's comfortable with. He has to tear his eyes away to his glass before he acts on something he shouldn't. You placed your drink back on the counter, and watched as Leon traced his finger over the rim of his glass, tongue licking his bottom lip unknowingly. You remembered that was a habit he had when he wanted to say something but wouldn't let himself.
You leaned in closer, one of your hands slowly snaking itself to the one Leon was using to toy with his glass, just gently hovering over it.
"You know," you dragged, words just slightly slurred and eyes lolling across Leon's face, "you're still just as handsome as I remember you."
Before you can react Leon's hand grips tightly around your wrist, just enough to make you gasp and yanks you closer, noses just inches away from each other. You can smell the whiskey off his breath, you look up at Leon's blown out pupils that are already burning holes into your face. His voice is low and rough when he speaks,
"Stop this game, y/n. You think I don't know what you're doing? Think I don't see the way you're looking at me?" His thumb presses into your pulse, feeling it drum against him. You swallowed a lump down your throat, not daring to break eye contact.
"I see the way you're looking at me too, Leon. My eyes aren't on my tits." A playful smile creeps up your face, wriggling your wrist free to glide a hand up Leon's forearm. Leon retracts his arm like your hand is on fire, and pulls it down into your lap. His hand stays pressed firmly against your thigh as he moves his lips to the shell of your ear, just ghosting over the skin.
"You don't know me anymore. I'm not the boy you remember, y/n." He pushed himself off of you, and leaned back over to his drink. Another second longer against you and he would've given in. Would've forced his lips onto yours and kissed you like it was his last day on earth. But he can't do that to you. Can't have you believe that he's someone he even recognizes anymore.
But just as quickly as Leon pushed away from you, you lean back over to him, hooking a finger onto the collar of his shirt and pressing your lips flush against Leon's ear.
"You seem to be forgetting something, Leon. I'm not the same person from six years ago either." You smiled against him, teeth grazing over his ear. You pulled back to look at his face. If he wanted to be rough with you, you could handle that.
"You've got this, hard front you're portraying," you began, letting go of Leon's collar to wave your hand gesturing to him, your free hand grabbing your drink, "mad at the world that you were the one to get caught up in its shit." You finish off your drink, clinking the glass down onto the counter.
“That’s not-”
"Do you want me to feel sorry for you? Is that it?" You’re leaned over the bar again, fingers tapping against the counter. "I can do that, if you'd like me to," you purred, your other arm coming to rest on Leon's shoulder, "but I think what you really want is for someone to take your nightmares away."
"You don't know what the fuck I want." Leon's voice is a razor blade, a bitter laugh claws against his throat. His hand wraps around the wrist hanging over his shoulder, not shoving it away, but gaining control. He leans into you, forehead almost touching, his breath hot and uneven against your face.
"I don't need your sympathy, y/n. I need-" He stops himself before he can say it. He realized that maybe he does need someone to help him forget. The whiskey was only doing so much, and for the time that you had been talking to him, all he'd been thinking about was how it would feel to kiss you. To slide his tongue into your mouth, to press his chest against yours.
Your hand intertwines with his, your head nudging just slightly to test the water. Your nose brushed against his and you felt Leon's breath shake. As standoffish as he was trying to come off right now, what you could really see was the hesitation. He kept stopping himself from doing what he truly wanted to.
"What, Leon? What do you need?" You whispered, your free hand coming to rest at the back of Leon's neck, fingers playing with his nape. You could see the contemplation behind his eyes, darting between your eyes and lips. Before you can ask him again, his lips crash against yours. It's rough and unsteady, teeth clashing and lips bruising. You melted into his touch, hands coming to cup the sides of Leon's face as you pulled him in closer.
Leon puts a hand in your hair, pulling it gently to tilt your head to kiss you deeper. Your lips part gently to gasp, which Leon takes advantage of to slide his tongue into your mouth. He can taste the vodka and cranberry juice against your tongue, he slides his free hand up to your throat to place gentle pressure, enough to make you moan into the kiss. For a minute, the thoughts in Leon's head go silent. All he can think about is you.
It doesn't stop him from pulling away just as quickly, though. His chest heaving as his wild eyes roam your face, the furrow in his brow just slightly loosening. the grip around your neck pulses, feeling your heartbeat racing against his palm.
"You wanna take my nightmares away? Show me that you can handle what's left of me."
Your lips pout slightly at the loss of Leon's touch, your eyes wild and roaming. You started to notice stares from other people in the bar now paying too much attention to the two of you. The way Leon's hand is gripped around your throat could be taken as something more malicious than it actually was. You turned to look over at your friends at the other end of the bar, still dancing and completely unaware of the situation. What harm could be done if you went home with him?
You got up from the barstool, your hands sliding up Leon's shoulders, a chaste kiss planted to the side of his neck. You could feel his neck strain at the feeling.
"People are watching, Leon," you whispered, your eyes pointing towards the exit, "you got somewhere we can continue this?" You could feel the adrenaline starting to flood through your veins, the heat between your legs making itself more known by the second. Without waiting, you made your way towards the exit of the bar, feet stumbling just a tad from the alcohol. You glanced over your shoulder to see Leon take his last sip of whiskey before throwing himself out of the barstool.
Leon couldn't have given less of a fuck if people were watching the two of you. Let them, he thought, let them watch how easily I can make you melt. He throws a wad of cash onto the bar counter and beelines his way to catch up to you. His blood boils as he watches you sway out of the bar, hips moving from side to side, your skirt riding up to just above the swell of your ass. He can already feel himself stiffening from just looking at you. It doesn't take him long to catch up behind you, pushing the door open to lead the both of you outside.
"My place is just a block away, unless you've changed your mind," He growls as he leans down to your ear, his hand coming down to press firmly on your hip. The cool air feels like nothing to the two of you from the way the heat of this tension radiates off of their skin. You placed a hand on top of his, looking up to meet his ice blue eyes.
"Lead the way, baby," you whispered, leaning in to kiss him passionately, your tongue swiping Leon's bottom lip. He groans into the kiss, using all of his strength not to just take you right now on the brick wall of the bar. He resists, pulls his lips away and leads you to his apartment.
Up ahead, a skyscraper is now in your line of vision. You almost got dizzy trying to look at the very top covered by the clouds. Leon pressed a couple of buttons and you heard the doors unlock with a click, where then Leon ushered you inside and walked towards the elevator. They enter the elevator, and Leon presses the button that leads up to the penthouse. You let out a breathy laugh, crossed your arms and leaned against the wall of the elevator.
"Penthouse, huh? President pay you handsomely after saving his daughter?" You could see Leon's shoulders tense, he slowly turned around to face you. He stalked toward you, an arm coming to cage you in between him and the elevator wall.
"Yeah. Government pays well for silence," he muttered, tone coming off more painful than he'd prefer. You looked over at the mirror on the other side of the wall, watching the way Leon's back muscles twitch under his shirt.
"Not as scrawny anymore either," you hummed, hands reaching up to feel up his biceps to his shoulder blades, "bet they whipped you into shape after Raccoon City, huh? Lucky me." A lustful smile crept onto your face, flashing your pearly white teeth. Leon's body presses harder into yours, pushing you deeper against the elevator wall. His other hand comes to grip your jaw, tilting it to have your gaze on his face.
"Lucky you?" His voice is a dark, dangerous purr, lips just gently brushing against yours as he spoke, "Sweetheart, you have no idea what you just got yourself into." The elevator dings just as Leon puts a firm grip on your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin as he lifts. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, arms resting on his shoulders and leaned down to plant another sloppy kiss.
Leon walks backwards into the foyer of his apartment, the darkness of the living room engulfing them the further he went inside. Your hips ground into Leon's waist, your hands trailing up to rake through his hair. A low groan vibrated out of Leon's lips, eyes wiring shut and brows in a tighter furrow than before. It feels like he's walking for forever until you get tossed onto a couch, eyes flying open to Leon looming over you.
You took a quick glance at your surroundings. Everything about the penthouse is dark. The walls, furniture, even whatever lights on are dimmed low. The floor to ceiling windows are wide open, beautiful views of the city and night sky surrounds them. You noticed how pristine the place is. No pictures of friends or family, except for a singular picture of a blonde little girl in the corner of the room. Empty whiskey bottles are littered around the coffee table and kitchen island. You wondered if Leon ever actually spends any time here, if it actually feels like a home.
Before you can ask any questions, you feel Leon's presence quickly closing in on you. He's propped up on top of you, hands a mind of their own. They’re on your thighs, hips, waist, chest, neck, and finally tugging at your hair. His lips come down to kiss along your neck, sucking hard enough to definitely leave marks in the morning.
You moaned, your eyes fluttering closed and your lips parted slightly. Leon's hands left your hair, his right hand coming down to play with the hem of your tank top before yanking it high enough to expose your lacy bra. He pulls himself off your neck to look at your chest.
"You're just fucking asking for it aren't you?" He gives you no time to answer as his hand gropes your chest over the bra, calloused fingers pinching at your nipple. A breathy gasp leaves your mouth, locking eyes with Leon as he continues to stimulate you. The friction between the fabric is becoming too much, you pull his hand away to pull your tank top and bra over your head in one swoop. A lazy grin forms over Leon's face, eyes trailing down to your now exposed breasts.
"Cutting to the chase are we?" He purred, both hands now reaching to grab at you. You let out a tsk, hands quick to grab Leon's wrists.
"Your turn." You looked at his too clothed torso, eyes practically burning through his shirt. Leon sits up, breaking free from your grasp.
"So needy, not even a please?" Leon pulls the shirt over his head, throwing it on the floor next to him. His chest glows from the light out the windows, collarbones hollow, ab muscles tightening with each breath. What you didn't expect to see was a long scar going diagonally across his right pec. Something, or someone, had done that to him. You tried to rise from the couch, fingers extended to try and reach his stomach, but he stopped you. With enough force he pushed you back down onto the cushions.
"Enough of that," he said, hands coming to rest on your knees, spreading them apart before him, "you don't get to touch me without my permission now." A whine escaped your lips, eyes never breaking contact with his. He reaches for your skirt, your hips lift off the couch at the same moment he goes to tug it off of you. All that's left is a matching lacy black thong, already soaking wet.
Leon pushes your knees all the way apart, hands slowly creeping their way down your thighs, one stopping right at your pelvic bone while the other feels your mound over the underwear. Leon groans at the wet spot, the fact that you’re already so turned on for him makes him feral.
"Already so wet for me," he slowly rubs circles with his index and middle finger on your clothed clit, hips bucking up in reaction. He picks up the pace, other hand pressing firmer on your hip to stop from squirming. Your chest is heaving, one of your hands grasping at your breast to increase the stimulation.
"Fuck, Leon, been so long since someone's made me feel good like this," you moaned, "you do know how to make a woman cum, right? Or did they not teach you that in the military?" A laugh escapes your lips but is just as quickly morphed into a high gasp as your panties are ripped off of you, and two fingers are forcefully inserted deep in your core.
Leon wastes no time in pumping his fingers in and out of you, eyes transfixed on the way his fingers disappear inside of you. He can feel the way your walls are already tightening around him, causing the strain in his jeans even more unbearable. Your body writhes under his touch, your hands begging to wrap around his shoulders and claw your nails into his back.
"Leon..." you moaned, eyes pleading and lip pouting, "...need to touch you, please." You exhaled, breaths erratic as you felt that familiar knot in your stomach tightening.
"So you do know your manners," Leon purred, the pace of his fingers only getting faster, "you wanna touch me? Will that make you feel better?" A sloppy nod is your response, voice occupied with whines and moans.
“Use your words baby.”
“Y-yes! Please, Leon, let me touch you.”
"Good girl," a smile crept onto his face, pearly teeth catching the light. That gave you enough to lunge your arms around him, pulling your chest flush against his. Leon met you halfway with a kiss, never wavering in the motion of his fingers. He used his thumb to rub deep circles over your clit, causing a moan to vibrate against Leon's lips. That gave him the opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth, deepening the kiss much more passionately.
You can feel yourself getting closer and closer, your hips grinding against Leon's fingers to reach that one sensitive spot. A third finger slips inside, the stretch burning your entrance in the best possible way. Your hands rake down his back, crescents indenting his back from your fingernails.
"You getting close? You gonna cum all over my fingers?" He teased, all three fingers curling right up inside of you, pace quickening at the reaction of your body.
"F-fuck, I'm so close," you whimpered, hips bucking and back arched off of the couch. The knot is taught in your belly, and with a few more strokes of his fingers and the deep circles over your clit, the knot snapped.
The orgasm flooded over your body, thighs shaking around Leon's hand, walls clenching tightly around his fingers. He continued to pump to ride out your high, until your back relaxed onto the couch and breaths evened.
You watched through lidded eyes as Leon pulled his fingers out of you, the digits soaked in your slick and glistening in the moonlight. Before you could realize what he was doing, the fingers prodded at your lips and you welcomed them into your mouth, tasting yourself on your tongue.
You sucked on his fingers, tongue swirling around them to swallow every last bit. Leon’s eyes were glued to your mouth, lips parted in awe and eyes full of lust.
“Fuck sweetheart, just like that,” he encouraged, taking the moment to register the beauty laid before him. Your hair was tousled over your shoulders, cascading down your chest and framing your breasts. Deep purple splotches were already beginning to form down your neck and chest, nipples pebbled from the brisk air of the apartment.
Leon’s mind was racing. You were so beautiful, so obedient to him, and that almost scared him. You didn’t know the extent to what he had been through in the last six years, you barely even knew who he was at all now. And he had convinced you to follow him back up to his apartment to let him bruise you? Let him ravage you? He felt sick. He felt like he was spoiling the last good thing left on this earth. He shook his head, cleared his throat and pulled his fingers out of your mouth.
“Turn around.”
You paused for a split second as you watched Leon’s hand exit your mouth and move to his belt buckle. You quickly flipped yourself around on the couch, hands and knees scrambling to prop yourself up. Your thighs still trembled from the orgasm that ripped through you not too long ago, your entrance aching at the emptiness. You could hear the clinking of Leon’s belt being unbuckled, jeans being unzipped and the soft thud of them hitting the floor next to you.
Leon’s large hands came to grip at your hips, hiking them higher up causing your face to smush against the couch cushions. One hand left your hip and you heard him hiss, sucking a breath through gritted teeth. It was your turn to gasp as you felt the tip of Leon’s aching cock swipe through your folds, coating the head with your slick. He lined up at your entrance, and wasted no time in fully pushing himself inside, bottoming out.
You yelped into the couch cushion, the hard smack of Leon’s hips against your ass is enough to make it sting. His cock hooks into that perfect spot, slamming it down again and again.
“God! Leon!” You whimpered, thankful now for his fingers stretching you out to prepare for what was about to come. You reached your hand in between your thighs to rub tight circles over your clit, matching the rhythm of the thrusts hitting your sensitive spot. Leon’s hands grip down hard on your hips, fingers pressing deep into your skin to keep him grounded. As if he needed to be touching you everywhere, he leaned down to press his chest against your back, grunts now purring in your ear.
“Fuck-” His voice is a growl, his lips brushing your ear as he feels you tighten around his cock, your walls fluttering as you once again get closer to that release. “So fucking pretty with my cock inside you.”
All that can be heard in the penthouse was the crack of his hips, balls slapping against your cunt as Leon quickened the pace even more. Moans just slipped out of your mouth involuntarily, forgetting the dominant front you had been putting up all night. He was making you feel delirious, eyes clouding with pleasure, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.
“Don’t stop baby, it’s right there, don’t stop…” You babbled, back arching into his chest the closer you got to another orgasm. Leon’s hand slid around your throat, not choking, but holding, claiming. His thrusts slow, just enough to tease, and you can feel a smirk press into your temple.
“You’re all mine, y/n. Say you’re mine, or I’ll stop.” His hips rolled against yours, his cock dragged against that soft spot inside of you, breath hot on your face.
“Yours! I-I’m all yours, Leon!” You cried out, hips backing into his to try and regain the stamina, orgasm fighting to flood all over you. You craned your head back to try and look at him, eyes watering and saliva dripping down your chin, eyes begging for more. “I belong to you Leon, please, belong to only you.”
With that, Leon’s body shudders, and his hips pick up their speed again, pounding deeper than before. You cry out in pleasure, hand fumbling at your clit to add intensity to that familiar knot tightening in your core.
“That’s it- take it,” Leon snarls, taking his hand off of your neck to replace it with his whole arm, stabilizing your head better the deeper he rammed inside of you. His bicep pulsed in front of you, and without thinking you buried your face into it, teeth sinking down into the hard flesh.
A guttural groan tore from Leon’s throat as the pain mixed with the pleasure, his cock throbbing inside of you. He unleashed a whole other wave of energy, cock rammed its way into your core, hard enough to almost split you in half. With every thrust that reached your sensitive spot, your teeth sunk deeper into his bicep to muffle the screams.
“Fuck! Yes, Leon!” You muffled into his arm, tears streaming down your face as the walls of your cunt constrict around Leon’s cock.
“Cum on my cock, baby, wanna feel you fucking soak me,” He groans, his hips never letting up on the pace, one hand still firmly gripped on your hip. With a few more thrusts, and your fingers pressing into your clit, the knot snapped. Your orgasm crashed into you, your entire body vibrating as the pleasure made its course.
your high. But he wasn’t done yet. The silence between them is thick, all that can be heard are the ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city below them. Leon’s fingers twitch against your hip, loosening slightly. Just enough to let you breathe, but not enough to let you go. His lips press against the back of your shoulder, his teeth grazing the skin just hard enough to make you shiver. Every sense on your body is heightened, nerves shot and overstimulated.
“Fuck.” Leon exhales, almost like the sound of a chuckle. His hands slide up your waist, fingers splaying over your ribs like he’s mapping you, mesmerizing you. “You’re gonna be the death of me, y/n.”
You whimper as you feel him pull out, his cock still throbbing and red hot. “I think it’s gonna be the other way around, Leon. You haven’t even cum yet.”
“Yeah, about that.”
Leon gives you no time to react as he’s flipping you around, back against the couch and his body caging on top of you. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, his voice a low, dangerous purr,
“Round two.”
His mouth crashes onto you before you can respond, his kiss bruising and demanding. His hands roam all over your body like he’s starving for you, he grabs a handful of your breast and squeezes the soft flesh.
“Oh good,” you moan, “I’ve been dying to look at your pretty face while you fuck me.” Your hands cup the sides of Leon’s face as you kiss him deeper, your hips coming up the grind against rock hard member. Leon groaned into the kiss, his own hips grinding back letting his cock slide between your slick, swollen folds.
“Yeah? You wanna watch me as I pound into you? What a dirty girl.” He pulled his face back to meet his gaze to yours, eyes dark and possessive. You stared back at him with half lidded eyes, exhaustion slowly beginning to take over you with the alcohol wearing off.
You just smiled, hands leaving his face to rest on his shoulders. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his hips flush to your core, begging to fill that empty void between your legs. Leon wastes no time and recognizes what you’re doing, he lines himself up and buries himself into you in one rough thrust.
“Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart,” he groaned, a hand reaching to grab ahold of your jaw. His grip is firm on your face, keeping it still and locked on his gaze. Your jaw slacks open, saliva dripping down your chin and onto his hand. He pounds into you, his cock repeatedly hitting that sensitive spot over and over again. His gaze burns into you, watching you as your back arches off of the couch, legs tightening around his waist to push him deeper inside.
“Oh Leon-” you whine, nails raking down his back, feeling every muscle tensing in his body. His pace is ruthless, hips snapping rapidly against you, the grip on your jaw tight enough to ache.
His possessiveness should scare you, but all you can do is writhe under his touch, walls clamping down around his cock. Your hand flies back down to your clit, rubbing tight circles around yourself as the intensity in your core builds up for the third time that night.
You watch as Leon’s gaze trails down to where you connect, where your hand sloppily teases at your clit. He grunts, slapping your hand away from your mound and replaces it with his own, thumb pressing down hard where your fingers once were. Your hips buck in reaction, rolling against his hand to create further friction. Leon lets out a breathy chuckle,
“Pussy’s all mine, love the way it’s fucking milking me,” he leans down to kiss you, tongue spreading your lips apart forcing his way in, “you’re gonna cum for me one more time, yes?”
“Mm- yes, one more, please-” You said, voice raw from whines and moans.
“You’re so close, I can feel you. Cum on my cock and then I’m gonna fill you right up it’ll be coming out of you for days.”
Your hands dig into Leon’s back, indenting the skin as he rams deeper into you, your stomach tightening with a third orgasm. The feeling is too much for you, your senses overstimulated and your body begins to shake.
“Oh f-fuck Leon!” You scream, eyes wiring shut and head thrown back on the couch cushion as the final knot snaps. Your body locks tight, feeling the pleasure consume you as Leon continues to pound into you, never slowing down the pace.
At the peak of your high, you feel a gush of liquid soak between your legs, you pull your head up to look down at where you’re connected. Your face goes red hot with embarrassment as you realize that you had squirted all over Leon. You don’t dare to meet his gaze as your head slams back down onto the couch eyes rolling into the back of your skull,
“Shit- sorry, I-I’ve never done that before…” You whisper, hands coming up to cover your face. Leon never slows the pace, but he leans down and tears your hands away to make you look at him.
“Don’t be sorry, it was fucking hot.” He smiles, coming down to plant a kiss on your lips. It was softer than before, lips pressing gently against your own almost as if to reassure you. Your body began to relax, legs loosening around his waist, arms now just resting around his neck. You looked over at Leon’s arm, a deep red bite mark left over on his bicep.
Leon’s thrusts became more sporadic, breathing uneven, you could tell he was nearing the end. You went to caress his face, holding his cheeks so you could stare into his icy blue eyes, looking just a little lighter than earlier in the night.
“You close, baby? Gonna use my pussy to get yourself off?” Leon’s body shudders, brows knitting together and lips parted ever so slightly.
“Fuck-” He groans, cock swelling inside of you, balls drawing up tight the closer he got to his release.
“Let me help,” You whisper, and with whatever energy you had left you lifted your hips slightly, letting him plow deeper inside. You clench around him tight, ready for him to fill you up.
“You want it? You want me to cum for you?” His hips thrust faster and more shallow as he chases his release, your walls almost too tight for how sensitive his cock is.
“Please, Leon, fill me up until it’s dripping out of me.”
The sound of almost a whimper escapes Leon’s lips, and with a final bruising thrust he buries himself inside you, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. You can feel the hot ropes spurting inside of you, feeling impossibly full as he completely drained himself. He lets out a raw, desperate groan, his body trembling as he marks the inside of your walls.
Leon collapsed on top of you, the weight crushing your chest but also giving a sort of comforting pressure. You can feel his heart stammering against your chest, his sweat coated skin sticking to yours and his breaths fanning across your face. All that could be heard were the deep breaths the two of you were trying to regain, and the silence wasn’t tense. It was comfortable, and you could sense that Leon was beginning to accept that welcoming quiet.
Your foreheads are pressed together, your eyes fluttering open to see Leon’s wired shut, eyebrows still knotted together. Your hands come to gently hold his cheeks, one lifting to brush the hair that had messily fallen in front of his face. You placed a gentle kiss at the furrow of his brow, on the tip of his nose, and then his lips. He kissed back, strong at first, but then you could feel his muscles relax and melt further into the kiss. You pulled away, and brushed your thumb across his cheek.
“You okay?”
Leon’s eyes opened, scanning your features. Your tear stained cheeks, mascara smudged under your eyes, cheeks flushed pink and lipgloss that had been kissed away quite a while ago. He thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid his eyes on. And you were looking at him like how you used to. Like that optimistic twenty one year old who was still madly in love with you, who still felt like he had a purpose in life. That’s what scared him, that you weren’t aware of who he had become and you still trusted him. After he had used your body for pleasure, it definitely went far too rough than you were comfortable with, and you’re still here. Not running. He blinked a couple of times to register what you had just said, and nodded lazily.
“I should be asking you that, sweetheart,” he muttered, his thumb coming up to brush against your bottom lip, “I’m fine. Better, actually.”
“Good.” You smile, placing a kiss on his thumb. You look over across the apartment, the night sky dark without the bright lights of the city illuminating it. You glance over at a nearby clock, reading far too late to want to catch a cab at that hour.
“I hope this isn’t the part where you kick me out of your apartment,” you awkwardly chuckle, not meeting Leon’s gaze, “because honestly, I don’t think I’ll even be able to get off this couch if I wanted to.” You slowly look back at him and his brows are furrowed again, but not in that cold, dismissive way. It was more concerning, like how you could even be questioning that he would throw you out after everything? He shakes his head quickly, the hand at your bottom lip coming to fully caress the side of your face.
“What? No, I-I wouldn’t leave you like that. You’re staying.” His eyes widened slightly, like the thought of you leaving at a moment like this actually bothered him. His shoulders slumped a little, the exhaustion creeping its way through his body. You nodded, your eyes fixed on his so he could fully take in that you weren’t going to leave.
“Okay, I’ll stay.” You nudged your head against his as your arms came to embrace him. It was soft, genuine, and comforting. Not just for Leon, but for you too. What the two of you had done was intense and barbaric, and even though you had loved every second of it, you knew you needed this moment to come back down to earth.
You could feel Leon’s breath shuddering above you, his body tensing as if he’s not used to this type of comfort. Not used to somebody holding him without a sort of expectation. Your hand reached up to cradle the back of his head, gentle strokes through his hair. You turned your head slightly to place a soft kiss onto his temple.
“I’ll stay as long as you need me to, Leon,” you whispered, “I meant it when I said I can help you. You don’t have to talk about it, but you’ve gone through some tough shit. Might help to talk to someone who will listen.” You spoke carefully, not wanting to say the wrong thing or get him upset.
You knew that was a difficult thing to ask him, hell, it’s been six years since you’ve last seen each other. You’re practically strangers now. But there was a past, there was a time where the two of you could speak so openly to each other, you hoped that there was still a part of him that remembered that.
You continued to stroke his hair, and looked over his shoulder at the apartment around you. This place wasn’t home to him. It was somewhere to crash in between missions with the lack of personal decorations, except for that singular picture of the little girl. The bottles of whiskey littering the place left a bitter taste in your mouth, realizing that the only thing that could “ease” the pain was the alcohol. You wanted to be able to take that pain away from him, wanted to hold him close like this and tell him that everything would be fine.
You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, breathing getting a little erratic as his mind started to spin. He thought he wanted a distraction, something rough and meaningless to drown out the thoughts and forget the pain. But then you held him, fingers gliding through his hair, your gentle, genuine words.
Something inside him cracks. He remembers before Raccoon City, remembers the amount of joy you brought into his life. How he could come to you to talk about anything. His heart ached at the memories, he didn’t deserve to spill his trauma onto you after all this time, he didn’t want to burden you more than he had already done tonight. But your words were so soft, your lips against his temple so comforting. Years of building those impossibly tall walls felt like they were beginning to crumble.
His hand slid up your back, fingers trembling as they splayed over your spine, pulling you closer. His head nestled into the crook of your neck, hiding his face as he could feel it getting hot. His voice is a rasp, like he’s afraid to speak too loud or the moment will shatter.
“You don’t get it, y/n. I don’t deserve this,” his breath shakes against your collarbone, “I-I did what I could in Raccoon City, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t save everyone, I couldn’t save-” His voice cracks, and he stops himself. He lifted his head to look at you, and you instantly raised your hands to cradle his face. His eyes were red and glassy, breath stuttering as he whispered,
“I survived that day. And everyday since then, I wish I hadn’t.”
You can feel your own eyes start to get well up, but you swallow it away. You have to stay strong for him, be the one to bring him back. You push yourself up on the couch, sitting Leon up and settling yourself in his lap. You grab ahold of Leon’s face again, a little firmer to make sure he’s looking right at you.
“Stop thinking you’re a lost cause, Leon, because you’re not,” you said with a firm tone, not meaning to scold him, but to try and reason with him. “The guilt is eating you away, and it may not feel like it, but you do deserve this. You deserve to feel better.”
Leon lets out a deep, shaky breath, hands resting at your hips, fingers digging into the flesh gently.
“You should run now before it's too late,” he mumbled, “I’m just gonna drag you down.”
“Don’t say shit like that.” Your voice couldn’t help but break, it killed you to hear him talk about himself so lowly and watch the defeated expression on his face. Your arms wrap around his neck, face leaning in to press light kisses onto his cheeks. “You tell me to run, and it only makes me want to stay even more. I’m not gonna give up on you Leon, you hear me?” You notice his gaze shifted, eyes looking at the picture of the little girl. His face hardened, trying to contain the emotions beyond the surface.
“Who is she?” You said ever so softly. You felt his muscles tense at the question, surprised you even noticed the picture. His fingers press into your hips deeper, trailing his gaze back to your eyes.
“Her name’s Sherry,” He rasped, looking down at your hips where his hands are holding, “she was twelve when I found her in Raccoon City. Twelve, y/n.”
“And you couldn’t..?”
“N-no, I did get her out. We were both taken under the government. But no kid should ever go through what she had to. That I couldn’t save.” Leon’s head drops to your shoulder, breath fanning over you as he tries to calm himself down.
“We can stop-”
“-And I still hear the screams,” he begins, voice cracking, “I hear them in my dreams. I see the blood, the fire, and I can’t fucking escape it.” His shoulders begin to shake, and you wrap your arms around them tight. You hold him as silent sobs rake through him, brushing your hand up and down his spine.
“Oh, Leon,” you whispered, softly shushing as you felt his hands slide up your waist and pull you closer against him, “you’re okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
You let him hold you for as long as he needed, rubbing soothing circles over his back to help calm his breathing. You could feel a tear of your own roll down your cheek, letting yourself feel everything he had been dealing with on his own for all of these years. You were unbelievably proud of the amount he shared with you, you knew this wasn’t easy for him and you were just grateful that he was able to trust you.
Leon’s shoulders stopped shaking, and his breathing returned to a steady rhythm. When you felt like he had calmed down enough, and you felt composed enough, you pulled away from the embrace, arms resting on Leon’s shoulders. His head hung low, not meeting your gaze, but you noticed his flush face and tear streaked cheeks nonetheless. You brought a hand to gently lift his chin, his blue eyes; once dark and icy now slowly melting into a sky blue meeting yours.
“Thank you for talking to me, Leon,” You began, voice steady and comforting, “you don’t have to go through this alone anymore. But I’m gonna need you to trust me.” Your thumb circles his shoulder, watching as his brows twitch at your words. He’s crying for help, even if he doesn’t realize it. The liquor bottles scattered all over the place, his under eyes dark, the self deprecating talk. He’s needed a shoulder to cry on for years.
“If this is gonna work, you’re gonna have to put your guard down, and let me in. You’ve already done a great job, Leon.” It wasn’t stern, wasn’t demanding, but enough to put your point across. He scoffed, head leaning into the touch of your hand,
“Don’t know if crying like a baby is considered a good job.” You sighed, the hand on his shoulder coming to wipe the tears off of his cheeks.
“Letting yourself cry about it is a great start. You’re allowing yourself to feel that pain. To own it.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” You confirm, giving him a confident look to make him believe your words. You give him another tight embrace, rubbing soft circles on his back, feeling the scratches from your nails earlier. You could feel the sweat sticking to your skin, the smell of sex and whiskey on his body. His hair was sticking up in various places from your fingers running through it, while yours clung to your forehead and the sides of your face. You needed a shower. Bad.
The night had been exciting enough, but now all you wanted to do was take care of Leon. It was time to wind down. You slowly let go of Leon and stood from the couch, your hand still holding one of his.
“Where’s your bathroom, honey? Can I help you clean up?” Leon shuddered at your words, fingers tightened around your hand, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His gaze drops down to your entwined hands, your thumb brushing over his knuckles.
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” his voice is hoarse, uneven, “second door on the left.”
You nod gently, and guide him off of the couch and towards the bathroom. He follows slowly behind, intensely watching you find your way. The alcohol is fading away, the adrenaline, and all you can feel is exhaustion. Your body aches, and your mind is flooded with all different sorts of emotions. The severity of Leon’s condition was a lot worse than you had thought, and you wouldn’t lie and say it didn’t scare you. But he had been going through this alone, didn't have anyone to speak through his feelings with, he was carrying this burden all on his own. He didn’t have to do that anymore.
The bathroom was dark, the only light coming from the city outside the shower window. The tile is cold on your feet, and you switch on the light and stark white illuminated the room. Both of you squint at the harsh light, eyes slowly adjusting from the contrast of the dimly lit living room.
You let go of Leon’s hand and move to the shower to run the water, getting it hot enough to handle on your skin. You turn around to face him and he’s resting against the sink, head slumped, gaze on the floor. Now you can clearly see him. The scar on the right side of his chest is a lot more noticeable, long and jagged. You now notice smaller, more faded scars littering his torso ranging from thin and long to thick and rugged.
“Job’s not been very kind to me,” Leon muttered, now looking dead on at you. You meet his gaze, cheeks getting slightly warm from being caught staring. You just give a weak smile, and walk towards him.
“I didn’t mean to stare.”
“It’s fine.”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “let me take care of you.” You rest your hands on his shoulders, giving them comforting rubs. Leon just nods weakly, and you slide your hands to hold his as you guide him into the shower.
The room is filled with steam as you let him step in first, standing under the water to wash away the initial sweat on his body. His hands grip on yours a little tighter as the water hits his back, the heat stinging against the fresh scratches. You tighten your grip back for just a second, enough to ground him, before letting go and reaching for the soap.
“Let me know if anything hurts.” You lather the soap in between your hands, the scent of something clean and citrusy cutting through the humid air of the bathroom. You start with his shoulders, your fingers working the soap into his skin. You carefully move across his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, the ridges of his scars. There’s no ounce of pity in your movements, just care. You stand behind him to work on his back, and you place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck.
“You’re not alone in this, Leon,” your hands move down to his arms, scrubbing over the red bite mark on his bicep, “Anything you tell me won’t scare me away. I’m here for you.” You step around to face him, putting down the soap to grab the bottle of shampoo. His eyes are already looking at you when you look up, blue irises tired. He doesn’t say anything, but from the way he’s looking you know he’s listening. He always listened. You put some shampoo in your hands and lather them together before reaching up to spread it through his hair.
Just as Leon’s clean, you go to grab the soap and begin to clean yourself when he gently grabs your wrist. He takes the soap from you, and guides you to stand under the water.
“Your turn.”
You chuckle, remembering from earlier, and let Leon take care of you. He lathers the soap against your body, the valley between your breasts, down your thighs, and across your back. His fingers are firm over your muscles, working out the knots already beginning to form. You flutter your eyes shut as you feel his fingers massage shampoo and conditioner through your hair, taking in the moment.
Just as quickly as it began you hear the shower shut off, and Leon grabs your hand to guide you out of the shower. You drip on the bathroom floor before Leon wraps a towel around you, then wraps one over himself. You dry off in a comfortable silence, absorbing all the water off of your skin and shaking the towel through your hair so it stops dripping.
You wrap the towel around yourself before taking a step out of the bathroom, “Where can I find some pyjamas, hun? Your room?”
Leon’s towel is wrapped very loosely around his waist, damp hair sticking out from all angles as he nods his head.
“My room’s down there,” he rasps as he points towards the end of the hall, “but you don’t have to-”
“I know. I want to.” You take a step closer to him, acknowledging him. You grab one of his hands, and brush your thumb over the outside of it. He squeezes it back gently, and the two of you head to his bedroom.
Leon’s room was what you had expected. Dark walls and furniture, king sized bed with black, plush sheets. More floor to ceiling windows to the right but with a balcony that overlooked the city. To your left you found his closet, and made your way over there. There wasn’t much clothing, mostly work clothes and athletic wear, but you were able to find some grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. You also picked up a pair of briefs for underneath the sweats.
You emerge from the closet, finding Leon standing awkwardly in the middle of the room looking like a lost puppy. You couldn’t understand how he could look so uncomfortable in his own home. You laid his clothes on the bed, and walked up to him carefully not to scare him.
“Can I put these clothes on you?” A slight nod from Leon was the consent you needed to peel away the towel from his hips, dropping it to the floor next to him. You carefully threaded his legs through the briefs and sweats, and pulled the shirt over his head, brushing his hair back into place with your fingers.
“Thank you, y/n.” He whispered, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. You cover it with your own, giving him a warm smile.
“Don’t mention it,” you reach on your tip toes to place a soft kiss on his lips, quick and sweet. You turn back to the closet, in search of something to wear yourself. You sifted through the closet, and landed on an old RPD hoodie. It was oversized for you, but it would work for the night. You threw it over your head, pulling your damp hair from the hood and letting it rest on your shoulders.
You walked back into the bedroom, your hands stuffed in the pockets, “I hope it’s okay if I wear this, probably more comfortable than sleeping in a mini skirt.”
Leon’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, eyes scanning your body, reading the old, faded letters of ‘RACCOON CITY POLICE’ on the front of the hoodie.
“It’s fine,” his gaze drops to the floor, his fingers twitching at his sides, “looks better on you than it ever did on me.”
“I very much doubt that,” you scoff, a sheepish smile forming over your face. Leon pats the bed beside him, voice softening.
“Come here.”
You waste no time sitting next to him, and he pulls you in close. His arm wraps around your shoulders, fingers tracing absent circles on your arm. You rest your hand on his chest, feeling the soft patter of his heart. The city casts long shadows over the room, lights flickering outside the windows.
“I’ve never had anyone stay here before.” Leon whispers in a confession, chin resting on the top of your head. Your head nestles into his chest, taking in the clean smell of his clothes and skin. No scent of whiskey lingers anymore, no vices to hide his true self.
“Thanks for letting me be the first,” you whisper back, kissing the base of his neck. He just holds you closer, a heavy sigh escapes his lips. You let him hold you for as long as he needs to. It feels too normal, cuddled up to Leon like this, in his clothes, smelling like his shampoo. Like it’s always meant to be this way.
You turn your head to look out the window, the city lights still glittering in the night sky. You get up from the bed and walk towards the window, arms crossed over your chest.
“I’ts a pretty view,” you said mostly to yourself, looking down at the still busy streets even at this hour.
“Beautiful.”
Leon’s voice was hoarse in your ear as you felt him come up behind you, chest pressed against your back and head resting on your shoulder. But he wasn’t looking out the window, he was looking down at you. A wide, goofy smile spread across your face as you tilted your head to rest against his. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you in close.
“Peaceful, huh? Quiet can be good at times,” you mumbled, relaxing into his touch. You could feel his heart pattering again, as if he’s fighting the urge to enjoy the silence. The calm. You turn to face him, arms wrapping around his waist, “I’m proud of you, Leon. Proud of you for opening up to me. That’s a big step.”
“I don’t deserve your pride.”
You sigh, and instead of arguing, you stand on your tip toes to give him a passionate, but caring kiss. Nothing further, just enough to ease his nerves. You pull away, but stay on your tip toes, faces inches apart.
“Too bad. Pride’s just pouring out of me, baby.” For the first time that night, and maybe for the first time in a while, Leon genuinely laughs. He rests his forehead against yours, and pulls you into a tight embrace.
“Alright then.”
You stay like that for a minute, until a yawn escapes your lips. You pull back and rub your eyes with your hand.
“Bed?” Leon inquires.
“Please.” He chuckles, and places his hand on the small of your back to guide you to bed.
You slide under the covers, cool on your skin, but is quickly replaced by the warmth of Leon’s chest. You curl into his side, head resting on his chest, fingers tracing patterns over his heart. One of Leon’s hands slides into your damp hair, nails scratching against your scalp. You hum in content, eyes getting heavy with sleep. With the gentle rhythm of Leon’s breathing, the scratches on your scalp, and the plush bedsheets, it doesn’t take long for you to fall fast asleep.
Leon stays awake a while longer, just watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you sleep peacefully.
He thinks about earlier in the night, how much he tried to push you away at the bar, how many warnings he gave that you completely ignored. And he couldn’t be more grateful that you did. He doesn’t wince as he remembers your time together in college, actually reminiscing about how young and carefree the two of you were. He realizes that the love he had for you so long ago never went away, and all it took was for you to drunkenly stumble into him at that shitty dive bar.
For the first time in years, Leon sleeps through the night.
i love vampire leon, it’s an amazing concept and everything, but i’ve also been thinking about vampire reader, turned by a bio weapon or the spreading of a specific virus during a mission, and now leon is stuck between duty ( eliminate the threat ) and personal responsibility ( keep reader safe despite all ) . . . . . thinking thinking thinking
thinking about leon half asleep on the couch with his reading glasses sliding down his nose and one hand absently rubbing circles into your ankle just because some part of him needs to know you're still there
