summary : trying the 'wiping your partners kiss' trend from tiktok on leon
notes : something small fluff for the heart<3
"mhmm, hi baby". leon hummed against your skin. he's bent by the couch to press his face against you while youre sat on it, tv playing infront and your pink fluffy blanket on your lap.
he then gave you a kiss on your soft cheeks, his stubble tickling you softly causing you to smile. his scent wafted around you and you cant help but feel giddy when you smell your usual body wash.
you really like it when he uses your body wash, its cute as hell for someone like him.
"shower felt good?". you asked him when he rounded the couch to finally sit beside you but before he could sit, he noticed you casually wiping the cheek that he kissed a few seconds ago.
your face remained neutral as you glance at him but inside, you want to laugh cause his face looks so offended. he's frowning and his brows are almost touching each other while he stares at you.
you just found this silly little prank on tiktok a few days ago where women or men wipe the kiss of their partners in front of them. you found it hilarious when you watched multiple videos of it and suddenly, you thought what if you'll try that on leon.
so when he took a shower earlier after coming home, you were waiting for him in the living room where you are seated right now. you were on your phone while the plays a tv series rerun and it seems like the world wants you to do it now cause as you scrolled on tiktok, you saw a video where the woman wiped the kiss from his husband.
you took that as a sign to be honest, and here you are right now, trying to remain casual.
"something wrong?". you tilted your head up to look at him.
leon narrowed his eyes on you a little causing you to really not try to laugh. he then shook his head before moving to the couch, his weight made the furniture dip gently and he threw an arm at the back of the couch as he made himself comfortable.
"is this a rerun?". leon asked as he his gaze moved to the tv while you moved closer to him and when your head hit his shoulders, an automatic kiss on your head was given.
leon frowned when he noticed your hand moving to the spot that he just kissed and seemingly wiping it away.
"is my stubble bothering you?". leon asked, brows furrowing as he looks at you.
"what?". you said as you move your head up to look at him. he still has his brows furrowed and his lips are in a frown, his eyes are looking at you like he's trying to figure something out.
goddamn, he looks so cute. you thought.
"you know i love your stubble". you told him and you reached a hand on his face to caress his stubbled cheek. "makes you the most handsome almost silver fox".
you grinned at him as you continued to caress his cheek. his frown softened and his eyes looked at you in amusement and in love, you look so soft and beautiful in his arms right now.
"i love you". you smiled causing him to lean his head down to press a very sweet kiss on your lips.
you smiled against his kiss, you absolutely love his kisses. especially when his stubble softly rubs up on your cheek.
but right now, youre doing a prank.
"lets watch the new episode rerun". you said when he finally pulled away and before returning to your comfortable position against his shoulder, you wiped away your lips.
okay, he's had enough. thats three kisses that you already wiped and he knows you love kisses so why are you doing this?
"do you not want kisses anymore?". leon asked as he moved beside you to sit up straight. muscles and body tightening up again cause he's confused and hurt.
after years of being with you, you always tell or show him that you love his kisses. youre always asking for it and you just love it when he does his sudden kisses on each part of your body. leon knew that you really love getting kissed on your cheek, his kisses on your lips makes you smile and kisses on your neck makes you relax always.
so this sudden action of you wiping his kiss is so questionable, did he do something wrong? are you mad at him?
"how can you say that?". you feigned a confused look on your face.
you noticed how he moved away from you a little, to give space to settle this, whatever youre doing cause this is not normal at all.
"youre wiping away my kisses". leon said this with all of his heart that his expression is mirroring his younger self.
his younger self that you accidentally saw in one of his file pictures. the sweet eyed baby boy. it kinda feels like youre looking at him right now that you cant help but coo inside.
your man is the cutest ever.
"i dont wipe—".
"yes, you do". leon stressed before taking your hand to press a kiss on it, to test if its not only on your face.
immediately, you took it away and wiped just to tease him more. you saw how his face contorted in hurt and being offended, you could even see the gears turning inside his head.
"i—". he opened his mouth, his eyes turning into a doe and all of the sudden you cant help it anymore.
you moved forward to hug him fiercely while saying multiple sorry's at him while he just widened his eyes when he suddenly got you flying in his arms. he felt you pressing kisses against his neck and shoulder while still saying sorry.
his face is still marred in confusion when he wrapped his big, strong arms around you and you clambered up on his lap.
"im sorry, its a prank". you mumbled against his tshirt as you laid your head on his shoulder and your hand drawing patterns against his back.
"what?". he scrunched up his brows again.
"a tiktok prank". you pouted before burying your head against his neck, to nuzzle deep in his arms and body. you dont want to ever leave from his warmth and love.
while nuzzling on leon like a cat, his mind whirred to process what you just said cause tiktok sound familiar. it took him a few minutes to register and understand everything before he squeezed your waist gently then tug you more closer to him causing you to hum.
"that fucking app is a menace". he grumbled as he moved his head on your hair, to bury his nose in your sweet scent.
tiktok, that one app that everyone seems to be addicted to these days. yeah, he's heard about it, kinda hard not to when he's always seeing you watching videos from it or telling him stuffs about what you saw.
even his coworkers and sherry has tiktok. always laughing and cant seem to focus sometimes.
"its a fun app". you giggled against his neck before pressing a kiss on his neck when you feel his hand sneaking inside your shirt to rest on your skin.
feeling your skin has always been so good for leon, it makes him relax.
"not if youre wiping away my kisses". he pinched your skin softly then kneaded it. he heard you laughing and he kissed your head.
not just one kiss, multiple kisses causing you to sigh in delight.
"dont do that again". he playfully warned and you bit his neck in response.
⤷ 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
so when he’s welcomed into yours, he’s subdued but polite, crammed between your cousins, aunts, and uncles in the living room. it’s the first you’ve seen him look truly uncomfortable.
your family clocks it immediately and they’re there, making it their mission to include him.
your uncle takes him by shoulder like they’re conspiring together as he goes around firing his stupid inside jokes, bringing him up to speed on each one, even “cooking one up special” just for him.
your grandma asks him to help her in the kitchen with the dish that’s been in the family for generations, a favorite for gatherings, insisting he wear one of her handmade aprons—a right of passage that you all had to endure when you were younger.
your cousins get a beer or two in him and shockingly manage to tap him in for flag football. and you can’t look away from him rolling in the grass, laughing, a rare smile on his face.
your mom, your aunts, your grandma give him the biggest squeezes as you leave, like they can sense that he’s not used to it—your aunts coyly cracking jokes about how they can barely fit their arms around him while your mom shoos them off.
on the drive home, you can’t help but notice his faraway expression, the quirk of his lips.
“so. what’d you think?”
and his look is nothing short of bittersweet, a long-buried grief there, so raw that you take his hand and trace your thumb over his knuckles, understanding.
he never thought he would have any of this. an orphan, married—hostage—to the will of the government, his work. yet here he is, here you are.
your mom sends him little gifts “just because” she saw them out shopping and immediately thought of him. your dad messages him funny videos that remind him of “that one time” they hung out. your nieces and nephews constantly ask if uncle leon is coming to their soccer game, their birthday party, their school play.
all filling a wound he didn’t speak about. one that used to yawn wider as each phase of his life came and went, but was now slowly knitting closed.
☁︎⋅ finding older!leon’s academy pictures (request)
the old album was tucked in the back of the closet, hidden behind confidential mission files and dusty storage boxes. you only found it because you were helping him clean.
“probably just old paperwork,” leon had mumbled, distracted in the kitchen making coffee.
but it wasn’t paperwork. it was leon.
young leon.
police academy leon.
the first picture made you stop breathing for a second. he couldn’t have been older than twenty, nineteen at the very least. his features were soft around the edges, hair a little too long and falling over his eyes. he wore a navy academy shirt that looked too serious for the boy smiling in it.
there was this ridiculous, earnest brightnest to him, the way his eyes were filled with hope and how he looked like he was ready to combat anything. like he believed he could save anyone.
it made your heart ache.
there were so many photos. dozens among dozens. some printed, some polaroids.
leon half asleep in a classroom, cheek squished into his hand. the picture had a mustache skibbled with a sharpie.
leon in uniform, trying to look intimidating and failing because there was still a certain softness in his expression.
leon holding a coffe mug almost as big as his face. the mug read “#1 dad future rookie”.
“oh my god,” you whispered to yourself. “you were a baby.”
maybe it should’ve ended there. you putting the photos away, letting them gather dust for the next few years before rediscovering them again.
but it didn’t. because ever since finding those photos, you kept…studying leon. at breakfast, across the couch, while he was reading, when he fell asleep on your chest.
the rounded softness his face once had was sharper now, carved by age and hardship. there were faint lines near his eyes. a faint scar against his cheek you liked to trace with your thumb.
but, if you looked hard enough, younger leon was still there.
in the way his lashes looked unfairly long when he blinked. in the little pout he unconsciously made when he was focused. in the sheepish smile that graced his lips when you teased him.
and his eyes. his faded blue eyes still carried pieces of the boy in those pictures.
…
leon noticed. of course he did.
one evening when he was sprawled on the couch reading reports, glasses low on his nose, you were openly staring. he set the papers down slowly.
“should I be concerned?” he cocked a brow. you didn’t answer. “sweetheart?”
you blinked. “hm?”
he leaned back, crossing his arms. “you’ve been looking at me like you’re trying to solve a murder case this past week.”
your cheeks flushed a soft pink.
leon narrowed his eyes playfully. “what’s going on?”
you sighed, a small pout forming on your face. “it’s the photos.”
his brows furrowed in confusion. “...photos?”
“the ones of you at the academy.”
leon’s ears tinged pink, a groan vibrated in his chest. “oh god.”
“no, listen! you were so adorable in those pictures!” you sat up quickly.
he made a wounded sound. “adorable?”
“yes!”
“that’s not something a man likes to hear.”
“you looked like a puppy,” you giggled. “little golden retriever…no, a german shepherd!”
he covered his face. you crawled over to straddle his lap, pulling his wrists away from his face. a laugh bubbled out of your lips.
“I’m serious,” you said, voice softer now. “I can’t stop looking at you and seeing him.”
leon’s expression changed into something gentler. your finger traced his jaw slowly.
“honestly,” you started, grinning. “if I had met you back then…”
he cocked a brow. “you would have what, hm?”
you leaned in close to whisper dramatically. “I would’ve had the biggest crush on you.”
his ears turned redder.
“and,” you added, kissing his cheek. “I would have claimed you as mine immediately.”
leon stared at you, curiosity and temptation swirling in his eyes. then, he gave the most helpless, flustered laugh. “you’re unbelievable,” he chuckled.
“I’m just being honest,” you grin.
“you would’ve liked academy me?”
“I would’ve been obsessed with academy you.”
he looked almost offended by the idea.
“I had terrible hair.”
“you have the same hair…”
he rolled his eyes at that one.
“I was reckless back then.”
“cute.”
“I made bad decisions.”
“very cute.”
“you have terrible taste,” he pinched the bridge of his nose.
you laughed so hard you nearly tipped into him. your arms wrapped around his neck as his expression softened. his hand reached up to brush your hair behind your ear.
“truthfully…” he murmured. “I’m glad we didn’t meet back then.”
your eyes widened in surprise. “why?”
a small, almost embarrassed smile graced his face. “younger me…he was reckless, thought that being brave meant being stupid,” he shook his head.
his thumb brushed against your cheek. “I would’ve been a terrible boyfriend.”
“I doubt that.”
“no,” he smiled. “I probably would’ve tried to impress you by doing something idiotic. like climbing up the side of your balcony.”
you snorted. “sounds about right.”
he laughed too. then his voice turned quiet.
“I think,” he said. “I think I had to become this version of me before I could love you right.
your heart melted. “leon…”
he touched his forehead against yours. “I’m glad we met when we did.”
you kissed him before he could say anything else. soft, slow, and tender enough to make him melt. when you pulled back, you studied him again.
that same look.
he groaned.
“you’re doing it again.”
“what?”
“that look.”
you giggled, cupping his face. “I’m seeing baby-faced leon.”
“you know,” he murmured, hands brushing up your waist. “if you keep talking about how badly you would’ve wanted younger me…”
he kissed your jaw. “...I might get jealous.”
you laughed. “of yourself?”
gently, he maneuvered you onto the couch, his body resting on top of yours. his lips travelled down your neck.
“for the record,” you whispered, almost breathless. “I would have claimed rookie leon too.”
his teeth grazed your pulse. “and who claims me now?”
summary: making out in the car with re2!leon vs re9!leon. a continuation to "reporting back" if you squint
warnings: suggestive, allusions to car sex
re2:
leon was meant to be dropping you off, that was all. you had a girls date planned, and he had a night shift.
but you had kissed him goodbye and he leaned back in immediately after you pulled away. so you entertained his puppy eyes and kissed him again. and again when his lips chased yours. and again when he asked.
now, he’d asked for "one last one" thirteen kisses ago, but neither of you were in any rush to pull apart anymore. the small pecks were now forgotten for messy, half-coordinated, rushed kisses.
leon was leaned over you, his seatbelt half tangled into his torso as he ran his hands feverishly along any part he could. he'd been trying to do this since before you left.
his teeth were clattering into yours as you kissed, followed by immediate muttered apologies and a copious amount of puppy eyes in hopes of keeping you going.
"leon." you muttered into his lips, tugging his head away from yours with the hand tangled in the back of his hair. you'd done that at least four times now, his tongue stuck so far down your mouth you questioned if he was trying to reach your throat. again.
his nose bumped yours, not withdrawing from his kisses as he apologized, "sorry."
he gave you another look with wide eyes. you sighed at the biblical level of greed, kissing him back anyways.
⊱.˚── ⋅ .✧˚❀˚✧. ⋅ ──˚.⊰
re9:
leon was no one if not greedy with his kisses.
a lot of the man you once knew was gone, in differing ways. he learned patience, to take his time, he didn't hesitate, or hold back out of fear anymore. yet, the glimmer of that rookie still shone through his insatiable hunger.
pulled into a dark, secluded parking lot–because you and him both unanimously agreed the worst part of date night was the stretch of road between your reservations and your house–with one hand fixed on the back of your neck, the other cupped around your face. the location was less about fear–the risk of getting caught was part of the thrill–and more about the fact leon wanted zero chance at interruptions today.
his lips moved against yours with purpose rather than blind urgency, the hand previously on your neck now settled on the small of your back, pushing you deeper into him. you shifted into his lap, humming when leon's face winced at the movement.
"do you need help with that?" your hand lingered right atop his belt.
leon grunted in response, "later." he titled his head towards the backseats. "join me maybe?"
note: overtly freaked out on a friday tbh, i kinda wanna write a full part to both now 'cause this was so short
calling leon by his middle name. he loves it… maybe a little too much (18+)
“leon— mmhm, fuck!”
the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoed in the room, along with your moans and his grunts. he’d been back from whatever mission he was on, a week ago. and he’d missed your pussy, and you deeply, which he was showing you enthusiastically.
“so tight f’me, baby,” he grunts, his voice low and breathless, hips pounding into you relentlessly. “missed you so— hah... so much.”
you could only wantonly moan in response with the way he had you spread under him, legs propped up on his broad and muscular shoulders, copious amounts of slick leaking from around his cock, trickling down your ass and into the bedsheet, ruining them.
you wrapped your hands around his strong forearms, digging your nails and leaving behind bloody half crescent indents, and if it was possible, it turned him on even more.
he let out a deep, throaty groan. fuck, you couldn’t get any better. “yes, baby. that’s it, mark me up.”
he moved faster now, almost at a punishing pace, eliciting a few tears out of your eyes.
“baby… scott— you’re too fast! ah… slow down,” you whine, almost crying out, nails still digging onto his forearm.
the moment his brain registers what you just said, he freezes. literally. his hips stutter mid-thrust, the rhythm faltering altogether and then, he stops. “what’d you just say?” he asks, observing your face, watching a tear roll down from your eyes to your temple.
you breathe deeply, easing your body, and loosening your grip on his forearms. “what?”
you look at him, eyes locked with his. why did he stop? you just asked him to slow down, didn’t you? “i just… wanted you to slow down… you were going too hard.”
“no, not that. what did you call me?” he asks, his voice was soft, body at ease now, not strained. just propped up above you on his forearm.
oh. you had called him by his middle name. scott. you would’ve been worried about him being displeased if it was not for his cock twitching traitorously inside you. “scott. it slipped. my bad,” you say, smiling coquettishly.
leon smiled back, almost boyishly. he reached up and gently grabbed you by the thighs, pulling back just enough to dislodge your legs from his shoulders and letting them fall back on the bed, eyes never leaving yours.
“well, don’t let me stop you,” he says softly, propping himself back on his forearms that rested besides your shoulders. you noticed his face was flushed when he leaned closer, that silly smile never leaving his face.
“leon scott kennedy, are you blushing?” you giggle in amusement.
he groans softly, burrowing his face into the curve of your neck, breathing in your scent. you giggle again, one hand coming up to play with his hair.
“did you like it when i called you scott?”
he lifts up his head, just slightly, to look back into your eyes. “…a little.” when you kept looking at him, he surrendered. “‘kay, yeah. i did. that was hot—you are hot. fuck, i missed you.”
not even a millisecond later, his lips were on yours, tasting and coaxing you open. and then, a soft thrust, which had you grip his biceps. his whole body was weighing down on you, every inch of his skin pressed against yours.
“scott,” you whimpered in his ears, voice soft and gentle, as he kept thrusting into you shallowly.
“christ, you’re going to be the death of me, love,” he grunted out, increasing his pace. “dont stop.”
it didn’t take too long for you to come apart under him, pussy clenching and fluttering around his cock as your orgasm crashed over you. soon enough, he followed with a choked grunt, emptying himself inside you, filling you up to the brim.
after you had caught your breath, you couldn’t help but giggle again. “now i know just what to say to get you blushing like a schoolgirl.”
leon huffed out a breathless laugh, looking at you with amusement. “not if i make you scream it all night long. think you can handle a second round, hmm?”
summary: leon shows up at your door at midnight, says it's a "routine check-in." you both know that's not what it is. he doesn't have the words so he just stands there in the doorway, soaked from the rain, until you step aside and let him in without making him explain himself.
warnings: 18+ nsfw, mdni! she/her, oral (f receiving), no established relationship, leon is a desperate man, soft sex, cream pie, older!reader, older man x younger woman (implied), no use of y/n, re9 leon, very soft and fluffy.
a/n: i miss him </3
the rain hammered down like it had a personal grudge against the city, turning the streets into slick mirrors that reflected the neon haze. leon stood there on the doorstep at midnight, water streaming off his jacket, plastering his shirt to the broad slabs of muscle he'd built up over years of missions that never let up. his hair clung to his forehead, and he could feel the chill seeping into his bones, but it was nothing compared to the ache that had driven him here.
'routine check-in,' leon muttered when the door opened, his voice rough from the storm and the lie he couldn't shake. you didn't call him on it—didn't need to. your eyes said you knew exactly what this was, or at least what it wasn't. leon just... stood there, his massive frame filling the doorway like some drenched stray, waiting for you to decide if you'd let him in.
you stepped aside without a word, and relief hit Leon harder than any bullet ever had. he toed off his boots in the entryway, leaving puddles on the mat, and followed you inside. the warmth of the place wrapped around him, chasing away the wet cold, but it did nothing for the tension coiling in his gut. you both ended up on the couch, you curling up on one end with a blanket draped over your lap, leon sinking into the cushions opposite, still dripping a bit despite his efforts. he rubbed a hand over his face, trying to find words that wouldn't come.
'rough night out there,' leon said finally, glancing at you sidelong. it was true, but not the whole truth. work had him locked down all day—dominant, in control, barking orders to keep the chaos at bay. but here, with you, he felt like that old wet dog again, tail between his legs, hoping for a scrap of kindness.
you shifted closer, your hand brushing his arm, and something in leon cracked. 'leon,' you said softly, no judgment, just that quiet understanding that always undid him. he turned to you, his blue eyes locking onto yours, and before he could overthink it, leon leaned in.
the kiss started slow, tentative, his lips pressing against yours with a gentleness he rarely allowed himself. you tasted like chamomile tea, cinnamon and home, something he'd been chasing for too damn long. his hand cupped the back of your neck, thumb stroking the soft skin there as he deepened it just a fraction, savouring the way you sighed into his mouth, all soft and dreamy. it wasn't rushed, wasn't the frantic release he craved after a mission—this was deliberate, like he was memorising every second.
you weren't his girlfriend. hell, you didn't have labels for whatever this was, but you were the closest thing leon had had to real connection in years; someone who saw through the agent bullshit without making him spell it out. that made this feel even more vital, like if he let go now, he'd lose the one steady thing in his life. leon pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling. 'i shouldn't keep showing up like this,' he murmured, voice low and gravelly, but his body betrayed him, shifting closer until he was half over you.
your hand on his chest didn't push him away; it just rested there, feeling the steady thump of his rotten heart. that was all the invitation leon needed. he kissed you again, slower this time, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you parted for him. a soft hum escaped you, and it shot straight to his cock, already thickening in his damp pants.
leon climbed between your legs carefully, mindful of his size—his massive shoulders bracketing your thighs, muscles flexing as he settled over you without crushing. the couch dipped under his weight, but you opened up for him, legs parting to let him nestle against your heat.
his hands roamed gently, one sliding up your side to cup your breast through your shirt, thumb circling the hardening nipple. the other braced beside your head, holding him up as he trailed kisses down your jaw, your neck, nipping lightly at the pulse point that fluttered under his lips.
'you feel so good,' leon whispered against your skin, the words rough with need. he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants, tugging them down along with your lacy underwear in one smooth motion. you lifted your hips to help, and there you were—bare, glistening, your cunt already slick and inviting.
leon groaned low in his throat, settling lower, his broad shoulders pushing your thighs wider. the scent of you hit him, sweet and arousing, making his mouth water. he kissed the inside of your thigh first, soft and reverent, working his way inward with open-mouthed presses that left wet trails on your skin. you shivered, fingers threading into his still-damp hair, and leon looked up at you, eyes dark with hunger.
'let me take care of you,' he said, voice a rumble. it wasn't a command—not here, not with you. more like a plea from the man who spent his days being unbreakable.
his tongue flicked out, tracing your folds slowly, tasting the salt and sweetness of your arousal. you gasped, hips bucking slightly, and leon pressed a hand to your abdomen to steady you, holding you open. he lapped at your cunt deliberately, flat strokes from entrance to clit, savouring every twitch and moan you gave him. circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, he sucked gently, feeling it swell under the attention. 'fuck, you taste incredible,' leon murmured against you, the vibration making you whine. his free hand gripped your thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles as he delved deeper, tongue thrusting inside you, curling to hit that sensitive, gooey spot.
you were the closest thing to peace leon had known in forever, and right now, with your thighs trembling around his head and your breaths coming in soft pants, he poured everything into making you feel it. he alternated between broad licks and focused sucks on your clit, building the pressure slow and steady, drawing out every reaction. when your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, leon groaned in approval, doubling down until your body arched, cunt clenching around nothing as you teetered on the edge.
'leon... please,' you breathed, and that was it—the sound of his name like that undid him. he sucked harder, tongue flicking relentlessly, until you shattered, flooding his mouth with your release. leon didn't stop, lapping it all up, prolonging the waves until you tugged him up, spent and glowing. he crawled back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his lips. his cock strained against his pants, aching, but this wasn't about him—not yet. it was about you, about this fragile space you'd carved out.
'stay,' you whispered, and leon nodded, collapsing beside you, pulling you into his chest like the lifeline you were.
the rain kept pounding against the windows like it was trying to drown out the world outside, but inside, everything felt hushed, intimate. leon held you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip. his cock still throbbed in his pants, hard and insistent from the taste of you lingering on his tongue, but he didn't push. not yet. instead, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin—warm, faintly floral, grounding him in a way nothing else could. 'god, i needed this,' leon murmured against you, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest. 'you have no idea what it's like out there, pretending i'm unbreakable all day.'
he shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you, his blue eyes searching your face in the dim light. water from his hair dripped onto the cushion, but he ignored it, too focused on the way your lips were still swollen from his kisses. 'at work, i'm the one calling the shots, keeping everyone alive, but here... fuck, here i just want to let go. with you.' leon's hand slid up your side, cupping your breast again, thumb brushing over the nipple until it pebbled under his touch. he leaned down, capturing it in his mouth through the thin fabric of your shirt, sucking gently while his other hand worked at his belt.
the buckle clinked open, and leon pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your skin. 'tell me you want this too. i don't want to assume—' but you nodded, your hand covering his, urging him on. that was enough. leon shoved his pants down, freeing his cock—thick, veined, the head already leaking pre-cum. he stroked himself once, twice, groaning at the relief, before positioning himself between your legs again. 'you're so wet still,' he said, voice husky as he rubbed the tip along your slit, coating himself in your arousal. 'makes me want to slide right in, feel you clench around me.'
he pushed forward slowly, inch by inch, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. his massive frame loomed over you, muscles taut as he held back, letting you adjust to his size. 'that's it, take me,' leon whispered, hips rocking gently once he was fully sheathed. the stretch was intense, your cunt gripping him like a vice, and he had to pause, forehead pressed to yours. 'feels like heaven. tight and warm.' he started moving then, shallow thrusts that built into a steady rhythm, his cock dragging against your walls with each pass.
leon's mouth found yours again, kissing you deep and messy, tongues tangling as he fucked you slower than he wanted, savoring the connection. 'i think about this all the time,' he confessed between kisses, his voice breaking on a groan when you clenched around him. 'after missions, when i'm alone in some shitty hotel, it's your face i see. your body under mine like this.' his hand gripped your thigh, hitching your leg higher around his waist to angle deeper, hitting that spot inside you that made you gasp his name, all high and needy.
'fuck, right there baby?' leon panted, picking up the pace, his hips snapping forward harder now. the couch creaked under the force, but he didn't care—nothing mattered but the slick sounds of your bodies joining, the way your nails dug into his shoulders. sweat beaded on his skin, mixing with the remnants of rain, and he chased the building pressure in his gut. 'come with me,' he urged, thumb finding your clit, circling it firmly. 'let me feel you milk my cock.' his words were rough, needy, a far cry from the controlled agent he played at work.
when you shattered again, walls fluttering around him, leon followed with a guttural moan, spilling deep inside you, hips stuttering as he rode out the waves. he collapsed forward, careful not to crush you, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as he stayed tucked inside you, keeping you nice and full on his cock. 'let me stay with you tonight,' he whispered, voice soft now, vulnerable. 'just... don't make me leave yet.'
⋆˙⟡ author’s note: you may have seen the first part of this (“from eden”) posted on @/fiolowe (my back-up blog), but that was just a rough first draft. this is the finished fic. i hope you guys enjoy it!
SSU (Special Support Unit) office, May 8th, 2006.
The afternoon sun filters through the windows. The warm golden rays graze the clinical white walls of the office. They stand tall, caging the analysts to their own little desks covered in misplaced files and unfinished reports. You can hear someone cursing at the broken tea kettle since you started working for the unit.
Your attention isn’t stuck to the broken kettle for long. You peek from your cubicle, eyes trailing over your coworkers. All of them are in their own bubble. You receive a brief, confused side glance from a disgruntled colleague next to your own cubicle, and you decide maybe it’s time to stop the people watching. You dip your head, returning to your own desk.
Your own bubble consists of a series of finished field analysis reports of cases you’ve provided intelligence support on and a small envelope invitation you haven’t dared to open. Cut and clear. Crystal clear even. Always do what the higher-ups demand of you.
These specific cases weren’t supposed to be different from the others you’ve provided help on. A decade of work in intelligence has made you an experienced agent, but only behind a headset, repeating information over and over in some field agent’s ear, hoping they succeed and return safely.
But these cases weren’t cut-and-dried. Not because of you. Or maybe, yes. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop the corner of your lips from curling into a small smile. It will soon be two years since you’ve been assisting Leon Kennedy on cases. Unlike your coworkers, you’ve learned that behind the man who only speaks in short sentences with wit a little too sharp, there is someone who is actually tolerable to be around. Or talk over communications. But you haven’t complained yet, and neither has Leon, so you count that as another win under your belt.
Plus, he makes scheduled visits to your cubicle to gather report files from you. He doesn’t need to come to you just to collect it face-to-face. You’ve offered to send it digitally. But he mumbles some excuse about being precise and leaving nothing up to chance. You don’t question it much. Not to mention, he’s developing a habit of bringing you snacks as a thank you. Last time it was a pasty from your favorite café, you mentioned once in conversation with him. You’re surprised he remembered.
Unfortunately, your faint smile sours quickly as the baby blue of the envelope catches your eye again. The golden ink sparkles and curves into a beautiful font.
We cordially invite you to our wedding—…Saturday, the twenty-second of July…—At two o’clock in the afternoon—…The rooftop gardens at Meridian Lofts…—Please RSVP with plus one by July first.
Who doesn’t love weddings? Especially a childhood friend’s wedding? You can go back home, go through your wardrobe, and spend days perfecting your outfit before sharing a beautiful day with family and friends.
The problem is a plus one. You never got the importance of plus ones. Particularly when you never had anyone special to bring. And since this is a wedding full of your childhood friends with their own spouses and partners, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. Not to mention the groom being celebrated might be an old fling. Fling is an understatement. You hope the files on your desk will somehow drown you before you have to look at that man again and admit you haven’t moved on with someone else.
“Oh, congratulations to your friend. A summer wedding is best, if you ask me.”
You almost jump at the sudden noise. You turn in your chair, almost falling in the process.
“Sorry if I scared you.” Your department head stands right next to your cubicle. She lays a hand on your desk, eyes jumping from the case files stacked upon each other to the envelope. “You know, you have enough break days to go. It’s not like I keep you all trapped in this stuffy office building. Speaking of that, redecorating is needed.”
“Of course, Marston.” You finally calm your beating heart. You spin back in your chair, facing the desk. “I know I have time. It’s just the planning and RSVP’ing. Not to mention the travel fees.”
“We save half of this country from being turned into some biological mess, and somehow we still don’t have as much free time as the field agents.” Marston clicks her tongue before pointing a finger at the case files. “Is that Kennedy giving you trouble?”
“You ask me that at least every month, Ma’am. It’s been almost two years. He’s alright to work with.”
“With how much you sing his praises in your reports, working with him is more than ‘alright’.”
“I’m just telling the truth.” You shake your head, trying to avoid her amused gaze. “Leon has never let me down.”
“That’s nice to hear and all. You two are probably the only pair I could name who actually get along as field and intelligence agents.”
You can’t help but feel a strange sense of pride at her praise—a bloom of heat in your chest that spreads through your whole body, sweetly warm. You smile as you look back at the case files on your desk.
“Don’t get too excited, you might make everyone here jealous.” Marston chuckles. “Alright, enough riffraff, back to what I came over here for. A few seniors are having some get-together in a bar along with a few agents, and before you ask, yes, alcohol is allowed, but it’s the fancy kind, as our dear coworkers put it.”
“Oh, finally!” You lean back in your chair, clasping your hands in excitement. “I was suggesting we all go out at least for once. Everyone’s so gloomy, and this will cheer a few people up.”
“Okay, busybody.” Marston hums and turns to leave. “I for one think an old bottle of Chardonnay back home alone with my wife will suit me just fine.”
“Don’t remind me of weddings.” You groan, the quiet incoming doom of humiliating social interactions hanging over you. “Plus ones are so stupid anyway.”
“Not if you chose the right one!” Marston yells over to you even through the hallway.
You drop your head on the case files. They make a soft pillow, not considering the rather macabre information stored in them. Your hands clench, finger nails digging small crescents into your palm. If you push any harder, you might draw blood.
Who even invites an ex to a wedding? Goddamn you, Adam.
You raise your head. You try to gather your thoughts as your brows furrow in faux confidence. You could go alone. A plus one isn’t demanded. It’s just implied. Rather obviously and on-the-nose with its demand.
Or you could try to find someone to drag there, hoping to make your pathetic problem interesting enough to them so they could help you out of it.
You tilt your head. Thoughts are rushing through your head at an alarming speed. Your hand finds the nearest pen, and you fidget with it, slowing the thoughts down.
The ceiling is too tall. The office lights are too bright. The buzz of your coworkers is too loud. The building seems like it’ll press in on you, caging you in.
You try to focus on one singular point to bring your thoughts away from being humiliated at some wedding for arriving alone and leaving alone. A small calming trick you learned from Leon when he stopped by once. Find an anchor, hand on, don’t let go, and breathe.
Your eyes lock onto a familiar mess of sandy blond hair, a few gray strands catching your attention. A mess on someone’s head, honestly. You’ve tried telling him to take care of himself more, but the disgruntled look he gives you after jumping through hell and back on missions makes you forgive his unkempt hair once in a while.
Leon stands out in your department’s office like a sore thumb. He’s stuck behind a few of your colleagues. They haven’t noticed him, or maybe they have, and they’re giving him trouble as they always do. Leon only needs to move a step to the right to get a whole view of the office. His icy blue eyes trail over cubicles before landing on yours. He has a small cup of coffee clutched in his hand. He moves it away from the crowd, basically covering it with his whole frame as if a single cup is worth the effort.
You guess you really rubbed off on him with your café habits.
The second you two lock is just the moment you notice you aren’t clenching your hands anymore.
You rise from your chair. You wave a hand at him to wait for you. You grab a few of your report files and head towards his way.
Leon stands locked in the spot you first noticed him in. An annoyed glance is thrown at your coworkers every time he thinks they won’t notice. You try to stifle a laugh at the sight.
“You look so rattled, Leon.” You can’t resist teasing him. “Are you lost and need my help again?”
“I can navigate this building fine. But everyone bumping into me isn’t helping.” He raises a brow at you, but you can tell the sarcasm in his tone is without its usual bite. “Glad to know you find my struggle amusing.”
“The path to my cubicle is one full of many dangers.” You say, hand on your chest, while you grab onto his sleeve to lead him out of the crowd. He follows with no complaints. “Nothing like the missions you’re used to, Leon.”
“I’ve realized.” He quips, and there’s the familiar tone of comfortable teasing you’re used to from him. “And the agent at the desk is even more terrifying than anyone I’ve ever fought. They give me a run for my money.”
You slow down in the middle of your step, looking at him with an impressed grin. A few of the people tucked away in their cubicles glance at the two of you walking past.
“Cheeky, Leon, very cheeky.” You comment, and tug him with a bit more force, and he pretends it knocks him off his balance just to humor you. “Be careful for the agent not to write you a bad report and get you fired.”
“Oh, no.” He rolls his eyes playfully. “I’d never. I need their mercy to validate my competency to the whole of the agency.”
You two finally reach your desk. You sit back down, pushing away from the desk so Leon can shuffle in, and he leans a hip on the desk. His eyes trail over the office one more time, specifically eyeing the big windows parallel to your cubicle.
Your eyes follow his own. You can figure out what he’s thinking right now—threat assessment in your own office. You know he means well, but sometimes you wish he’d take a second to stop and rest.
You raise your hand to graze to touch him, but you stop just above his own hand. He seems so hyper-focused on every possible weakness in this building. He stands over you, you’ve noticed, backing you to a corner where every direction is covered and safe for you. You’re afraid—as ridiculous as that sounds—you might push whatever fragile boundaries the two of you have built if you touch him right now. You think speaking might be the better choice.
“You know we’re completely safe here, right?” You start, completely unsure of what direction to take this conversation. Your hand finds the surface of your desk, and you start tapping in a mindless rhythm to calm yourself. “I work almost all day here, so they owe me, us, and everyone good security. You don’t have to stand on guard—”
“—I bought you coffee.”
“What?”
Well, there goes your plans for a motivational speech. Not that you were ever good at those, and he probably doesn’t even want to hear it. What do you know about what he feels after the mess that was Spain? Well, you do. You’ve written dozens of assessments about him as his superior, but that doesn’t exactly translate into closeness, even if he does bring you coffee when he visits.
“Cortado.” He says, straightening his spine and turning his back to the windows. “You mentioned last time you liked espressos, so the barista suggested adding steamed milk to it.” He offers you a warm cup.
“I thought that was for yourself.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Okay, you caught me.” You chuckle. “Thank you. Coffee is something I really need right now.”
You grab the warm coffee cup from his hands, and for a second, his fingers linger on yours. The cup isn’t as hot as you’d imagined. It’s perfectly warm, just like the temperature you told him you favored.
“Thank you.”
“You said that already.”
“Coffee warrants two thank yous.” You add and put down the cup on your desk, far away from the files. “Are you here for the reports?”
Leon doesn’t answer you as quickly as you expected him to. His gaze lingers on your desk, but now what he came for. His eyes lock onto a particular wedding invitation you wished to hide. You can almost imagine the questions and his own thought-up answers running through his head.
Leon turns his gaze to you. Suddenly, you feel bare under his gaze. You’re used to meetings and briefs where your own superiors push back at your layers, but this is somehow different. You’re not uncomfortable under his gaze. You almost squirm in your chair. It’s mostly from the fact that he can see how much this small piece of paper has soured your mood.
“Are you—”
“—invited to a wedding? Yes.” You start tapping on the desk. Again.
“I was going to ask if you were okay.” He says matter-of-factly, as if that one small question hasn’t completely turned the conversation on its head.
Leon tilts his head, his blonde strands falling over his forehead. The hair sticks to the skin. You wonder if he rushed to get here. To get to you. With your new favorite coffee order, which he just introduced you to. The thought brings you a momentary bliss before you force yourself back to earth from some ridiculous dreamland.
“I’m fine.” You click your tongue, hoping your tone doesn’t give your true feelings away. “Anyway, did you hear about the bar hangout the office is having?”
“…No.” Leon scratches at his neck, and you feel a tinge of guilt.
“Well, I’m telling you now. And I’m bringing you with me.”
“You don’t have to.” His eyes widened a bit. “I don’t know anyone well enough there.”
“Except for me.”
“Except for you.”
“Wear your best casual fit. It’s a bar, not an official meeting. I look forward to seeing you not in a suit or a button-up for once.”
Leon’s lips curl just slightly. It only lasts for a moment before it’s gone just as quickly as it came. You smile, satisfied that you, or your stupid comment about his clothes—not that you think about his clothes often—was the reason he smiled in the first place.
“Alright.” You move in your chair. “You came for the last case report, right? You know, I can just send you an electronic copy whenever you need it.”
“I know,” Leon answers, but he doesn’t give a reason for why he visits.
You don’t press it.
The Manila files are organized with a perfect system. You hand them over with a sense of pride in your chest. Leon takes them, and your fingers linger on each other again. It only takes a single second for the touch to disappear.
“You’ll be there, right?” You question, pulling one of the few threads of hope that Leon might enjoy a night out with you. “I’ll message the details to you.”
“If you don’t leave me alone with your colleagues, then maybe.”
“I’ll be glued to your side, protecting you from them. A prince needs a knight to protect them, after all.”
He rolls his eyes. But you know there’s no malice behind it.
“Then it’s a yes.”
“You just can’t say no to me.”
“Don’t push it.”
+++
Bar “rendezvous”, May 10th, 2006.
The bar is exactly as Leon had imagined it.
The dim lights crowding the walls are placed sporadically around the room. The faint yellow hue spreads around the booths, covering them in a warm glow. There are a few candles placed on the circular tables, creating an alluring presence that Leon knows all too well to look at with a tinge of skepticism.
He’s been wandering around the booths looking around. He calls it people watching, but you told him it’s slightly concerning for others to see an almost 6’0 feet man staring—no, glaring—at them. He thinks he’s been doing well; he’s only looked at both the entrance and exit a few times since he got here a few minutes later than he was supposed to.
Not to mention he’s dressed up to the perfect balance of casual and professional just because you told him to. A cream ribbed knit sweater and medium-washed gray jeans. He feels a strange and heavy weight on his heart, like an expectation on how you’ll react and what you’ll say.
Leon wonders how you look this evening as well.
The two of you have been working together for almost two years. You’ve been the primary intelligence agent guiding him since he started working for the agency, for most of that time. Communicating over comms hasn’t exactly given him an excuse to see you other than the office visits, but those are sparse at best and questionable and unnecessary from your coworkers’ view. As if you don’t welcome him every time you walk him from the department entrance to your cubicle.
He scans the bar just ahead. The counter is built of dark burgundy wood, the surface covered in glasses of all sizes. There are lamps placed on it, similar to the wall lights.
People are already seated, some at the bar, some in the booths—all of them nursing the drinks Leon hopes will be enough to get through this evening.
He’s been contemplating leaving early, knowing the people he’s supposed to spend time with won’t exactly want him there, but the thought of you made him reconsider. Leon couldn’t just leave with no warning, especially when you’re here. First, you invited him, and it would be rude to bail on you. Second, the evening might not all be for nothing if he makes sure not to leave your side.
Leon’s brought out of his thoughts as a familiar voice reaches him. It’s like an addictive cigarette—rough at the edges and wrapped in velvet. He can recognize your voice anywhere. He’s so used to you speaking in his ear—the proximity and intimacy of guiding him as if you were right next to him.
Sometimes he does wish for you to be there next to him, to not spend nights alone with mission reports. He doesn’t want your handwriting and words on those files to be the only thing he’ll get to touch that is yours.
Leon follows the sound of your voice and how the tone finds its way through the bar’s crowd. His steps—previously slow and deliberate—have turned quick and shaky now. His eyes darted around the building, looking for your figure. When his eyes land on you, his breath lodges in his throat, turning into something heavier and different. A feeling he cannot piece together.
You are seated between your colleagues. There’s one empty seat next to yours, probably reserved for one of your friends. Leon stands a few steps away from the booth, the buzzing crowd blocking his view of you. He can make out the colors of your clothes matching your complexion. Your hands articulate and move with a sense of freedom he’s never been able to replicate as you talk with the people around you. The lamps hung on the walls form a dim halo around your form, the light highlighting you from the rest of the crowd.
Leon finally breathes; the heaviness on his chest dissipates only for a second before it spreads throughout his body, weighing him down. He’s content with this—seeing you with people who cannot contain their laughs around you while you wrap your arms around them as if they’re long-time friends. Unlike him, who cannot even bring himself to even think about being touched by you without his jaw clenching and skin flushing with an uncomfortable heat.
He takes a step back, turning to leave. The moment only lasts for a second, but it feels like forever. The constant chatter of people in the booths, the clinking of cups, the crowd shuffling around the room—all of it—is drowned out.
Nothing can reach his ears. He really should have taken a drink from the bar first. A high-pitched ringing replaces the silence. The same deafness you feel after firing a shot—something that he hopes you never have to do. He’s fine with being the one with blood beneath his fingernails if you stay safe behind the comms, in your secured office. He’s fine with your voice being the last thing he—
“Leon!”
He stops, steps now full of hesitation. It only takes the familiar sound of your footsteps—which he could recognize anywhere—to make him turn your way. You’ve left the booth. Your coworkers are invested in a conversation with each other, only a few of them sparing you and Leon a glance.
“Where are you going?” You move closer to him, and Leon stiffens. “Sorry,” you raise your voice over the sound of the bar, “I tried getting your attention, but you didn’t hear me. Why didn’t you let me know you arrived?”
“You—” He tries gathering his words, but stills as his mind goes blank, “—seemed busy. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You could have sent a text.” A small pout finds itself on your lips. Leon notes the glossy sheen over them; it catches the light as your mouth moves. “I worried you were bailing on me.”
“You don’t look worried.” Leon clenches his jaw; he can smell the faint aroma of a saccharine drink on you. “You don’t need to worry. It doesn’t matter.”
Speaking of looking, he only now takes in your appearance. Dark brown fitted long-sleeve crop hugs your torso, and the gray tailored trousers hang off your hips with a belt. The slightly exposed midriff catches his eye when it shouldn’t.
“You sure have a lot of ideas about how I should feel and worry, Leon.” Your voice snaps him out of his moment of—he doesn’t even know what to call it. “But look at you—” you take a step closer, closing in on him and backing him into the closest booth’s entrance. “—you sure as hell have a lot of ideas where to look. It’s amusing to see you scramble to pretend to be professional as if you weren’t watching me.”
Leon blinks. More than he usually does. You laugh at him, and the sound makes him feel the warmth spreading from underneath his collar to his ears. He hopes the dim lighting will hide how his face might flush in a few minutes.
“What?” He breaks eye contact first, rare for him—he knows. “You look fine.”
You raise a brow. The airy confidence in your figure slowly dissipates, and you cross your arms across your chest. His shoulders tense at the sight because he definitely didn’t mean fine, he meant—
“I saved a seat for you.” Your voice comes out quieter, and the sound of it makes Leon’s spine straighten. “It’s the one right next to mine.”
So, it was for him.
“You can take any seat you want. You’re not obligated to sit next to me.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“—Oh, no,” you cut him off, the words said through gritted teeth, “I’m going to get something stronger to drink myself. Have fun, Kennedy.”
You turn around away from Leon in an instant. He catches a slight glint in your eyes, and he hates the chance that it might be tears. His hand raises to catch your wrist, but he stops himself, his hand left outstretched as you move with anger in your steps. Angry at him. You called him Kennedy and not Leon. And he deserves it all. He drops his head, knowing how ridiculous he acted and looks right now.
When he raises his gaze, he cannot find you in the crowd. Your coworkers haven’t noticed that you haven’t returned either, too busy to pay attention to anything but themselves. Only one woman from your booth raises her head, obviously watching you and Leon. He remembers her from the analytics department. She squints her eyes at him, and he feels the shame deep in his voice.
Who’s he to judge? Leon bites his tongue. He’s the one who made you cry and literally run away from him. You’ve shown him nothing but kindness, and the one time he could show you his appreciation beyond his own thoughts, he screws it up. Severely.
Leon doesn’t know how long he has stood there, but he knows he has to move and find you. His steps are instinctive, as if an invincible string is pulling him the right way. His eyes darted from one corner to another, looking for your face in the crowd. The people blur into each other, nothing, or no one, standing out.
You had mentioned getting a drink. A strong one at that. The heavy feeling from before has taken its spot on his chest, and his breath comes out harder and harder. He tries to find you amongst the people sitting on the bar-stools.
A single figure sticks out—seated alone, nursing what looks like shot glasses placed on the counter. The familiar way you tap your hand on the wooden surface makes his shoulders drop.
Leon hates that he’s the reason you’re hunched over the bar, getting drunk, and trying to calm yourself down so you can return to your booth. He knows you’ll plaster on a tight smile and press crescents into your palm.
He finds his way to you; the last few steps are softer to not agitate you further. A small hiccup leaves you. Leon’s brows furrow. He tugs at his collar, unsure how to speak to you. Your gaze is glued to the drinks in front of you.
“Shot glasses aren’t the best anchors.” He starts and mentally scolds himself the second the words leave his mouth. “It’s supposed to be something that brings you a moment of clarity.”
“Alcohol is bringing me clarity, Kennedy.”
“I doubt that.”
“Well,” you click your tongue, “it’s bringing me enough clarity to throw the glass at you.”
“You’d be right to.”
You turn your gaze away from the glasses. Leon finally lets out a breath when you look at him. Your tense face finally softens, but only a bit. You gesture to the seat next to yours, and he wastes no time taking it.
The two of you are silent for the first few minutes. Leon’s too hesitant to say the wrong thing. You don’t seem to have the energy to talk back. He hasn’t thought of how to even begin apologizing.
The bartender shoots the two of you a look, but Leon waves him down. You don’t need any more drinks tonight, and he’d rather be sober by your side tonight.
“I’m sorry.”
He’d rather blurt it out.
“You don’t need to apologize.” You clench your fist again. He can imagine the crescents. “Listen, I shouldn’t have gotten in your personal space like that. I know you don’t especially enjoy it when people do that—”
“I don’t mind when you do it.” Leon raises his hand and grazes your arm. You straighten, and he coughs. His hand doesn’t leave. “You—” he hesitantly grabs your clenched fist and loosens it, “—you look more than fine.”
You stare back at your intertwined hands. Your fingers feel like a perfect puzzle piece in his own.
“Really?” You mumble, voice weak in a way that he wants to fix right this moment.
“You look beautiful.” He says with no hesitation. “I should have said that the moment I saw you.”
“The moment you were staring at my midriff?”
“And you say that I’m the cheeky one.”
You laugh again. He lets out a sigh of relief at the sound.
“I’m sorry I made you cry.” Leon’s voice sounds so quiet that he surprises even himself.
“No,” you start, and he thinks you’re about to deflect again, “I mean, yeah— you were an ass, but I was slightly drunk—”
“Slightly?”
“Don’t start.” You tut. “But I’ve had a rough week. And I’m just in for tougher future months. I’ve been more emotional because of that. The alcohol takes the edge off for only a few hours.”
“What’s been bothering you?”
You bite your lower lip, and Leon forces himself to look away.
“You don’t want to hear about it. It’s nothing.”
“You sure have a lot of ideas on what I want.” Leon’s lips curl. “Now, who have I heard saying that?”
“Touché, Leon. Touché.”
“Tell me.” He tries to show the sincerity in his voice clearly. “I want to hear about it. Maybe I can help.”
“Can you magically spawn a date for me?”
“What?” He coughs. You want a date? A partner? For what? For the foreseeable future? As in someone to be with? “…You— you should have no problem with that.”
“Points off, Leon. You’re drastically wrong about that. I can’t find someone as a plus-one date to my friend’s wedding.” You hide your face in your hands. “I’m basically doomed. If I don’t show up with someone on my arm, my bastard of an ex will be satisfied, and I can’t have that considering he’s the groom!”
Oh.
Oh.
You meant the wedding. Leon remembers the invitation on your desk, which he saw on his visit to your office a few days ago. He can feel a strange weight lifted off his chest, and a small snort even leaves him.
“You’re laughing at me.” You widen your eyes at him and deadpan. “Leon Kennedy, you are laughing at someone clearly drunk and in distress!”
“No—” he raises his hand in defense while trying to stifle his chuckle, “—I’m not.”
“Then why did you snort!?” You groan. “I should have finished those damn shot glasses. Throwing them at you seems like a perfect idea.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“And why not? I can aim very well. Maybe not as good as you, mister, but I can hit the bullseye that is your stupid handsome face even if I’m drunk.”
“You think I’m handsome?”
Leon watches as you bite your lip again. The corner of your ears flushes just slightly. You groan again and hide your face in the crook of your arm.
“I said something stupid. Plus, I’m drunk. You’re taking advantage of poor little old me right now.”
He moves his hand from yours, gently tracing the exposed skin of your cheek peeking from your arm. “C’mon. I might have a solution to your problem.”
Leon thinks he should have taken a few drinks himself. This would have been so much easier to say if he had alcohol in his system, but he wants you to believe that he’s completely sober while bringing this up.
“So you can spawn a date in?”
“Wouldn’t I be a better candidate than a,” he trails off, his voice unsteady, “spawned in option, who you don’t even know?”
You raise your head suddenly. Leon moves to give you space. For a moment, he thinks you might refuse or plain chew him out for what he has proposed—being your plus one to a friend’s wedding, whom he doesn’t even know. A friend who, apparently, is getting married to your bastard ex. He’d try anything he knows to make sure you’re not crying alone at a bar, but this is also something he’s doing for himself. A chance of selfishness—to be by your side because you would want him there.
“You’re serious?” You ask with a tone too fragile for his liking. “You’re not saying that to just cheer me up, right? Or are you drunk?”
“You’re the drunk one, sweetheart, not me.”
“Am I hallucinating?”
“No.” Leon laughs. “I’m being serious. It’s all up to you.” Please say yes. “I’m not forcing your hand, but if you do need someone—” let it be me. “—I wouldn’t mind coming with you.”
You stare at him for a few seconds that feel like a century to him before you open your mouth. Leon expects an outright rejection, but instead, your eyes tear up.
“Sweetheart, no.” He scrambles closer to your seat, searching for a napkin. “The last thing I wanted to do was make you cry again.”
He doesn’t find a napkin and decides to use the fabric of his jumper to wipe the tears. Leon gently grabs your chin, softly moving the fabric across your wet cheek.
“You’re close.” You mumble.
Suddenly, his face feels flush again under your gaze. “Don’t cry again.”
“You weren’t lying, right? You’d come with me?”
There’s this desperation in your voice. Maybe from the alcohol in your system, or the high emotions from tonight, but Leon knows it brings no comfort to you or him to hear it.
“I’ll never lie to you again.”
“You’ve lied to me before?”
“Tonight. When I told you that, you looked just fine.”
You snort, dropping your head on Leon’s shoulder. He doesn’t move away. A faint aroma almost escapes him. Clean woods—cedar and sandalwood with muted jasmine. Your shampoo. He’s the doomed one, not you. You’re laughing, head on his shoulder. Your scent is so close. His hand is still near your cheek. He’s not sure if all of this is because you’re drunk or not. He hopes not.
“You should tell me your answer when you’re sober.”
“I want to go home.” You admit. “I hate this bar. I suggested another, but they all demanded this one. But these two seats are fine. I like them.” You raise your head from his shoulder. The conviction in your voice is admirable, if not a little silly.
“Why do these two specific chairs survive your wrath?”
“Because we’re sitting here.” You say it like it’s an obvious fact. “Duh.”
“Duh.”
“Stop parroting me, Kennedy. It’s rude.” You raise a finger at him.
“Come, you wanted to go home. I’m not letting you go alone.” Leon stands up, offering you a hand to grab on to.
“How gentlemanly. If only I knew I’d have a knight in shining armor to sweep me off my feet.” You sit up in the chair, but almost trip over your own feet due to the alcohol.
Leon’s quick to catch you. He steadies you on your feet, making sure you regain your balance.
“Two left feet, it seems.” He quips. “Are you sure you’re ready to walk? How much did you even drink? I didn’t know you were a lightweight.”
“Write that down for the wedding as a note. I can’t say no to a pretty fruity drink.” You start trailing off, chattering to Leon about Cosmopolitans and Margaritas. “Oh, I also love it when they have those cute little straws. I saw a straw shaped like a heart once.”
Leon leads you to the coat racks. You gesture to the tailored overcoat on the far end. Leon leans you against the wall while he grabs your coat. His hand grazes your shoulders and back as he helps you put it on. You shiver under his touch, and he has to restrain himself from lingering.
“We should at least tell your colleagues you’re leaving.” He offers.
“I told them I was going with you.” You say as if your words didn’t flip the entire conversation on its head. “Didn’t know it would end like this, though. New rule of thumb: if your handsome coworker accidentally makes you cry, he gives you a pity date.”
“It’s not a pity date.” Leon grabs the collar of your coat gently, making sure the fabric is snug around you. “And I don’t want to make you cry ever again. And, I didn’t offer the date because of that. I offered it because I wanted to. I still do. Get back to me about it tomorrow when you’re not about to throw shot glasses at me.”
You’re looking up at him with a different glint in your eyes now. Leon thinks it almost looks like a sparkle. He deems that it suits you well.
“I’m making sure you get home safely.”
“Going to walk me home?”
“Yes. Knight in shining armor, remember?”
You two-step out of the bar. The icy air bites at Leon’s cheeks. He sees you flush because of the night breeze. He offers his arm. You raise your hand and loop it around his arm. You shuffle closer to him. He hopes that at least some of his warmth comforts you.
“I don’t remember telling you my address, Leon.” You giggle, but there’s a slight tone of challenge in your voice.
“It was in your employee file,” Leon answers while his free hand scratches at his neck. “Marston gave it to me.”
You two walk down the busy road in tandem. It feels as if the moving crowd is just background noise. Leon hears none of the buzzing people. For once, the outside world is not a threat. At least for now.
“Of course she did.” You grumble before laying your head on Leon’s shoulder again.
+++
Somewhere in Washington, D.C., May 19th, 2006
A red-brick stone flat building stands moderately tall. Ivy creeps up its facade; it consists of four stories, like it’s been claiming the building for decades. Maybe longer than Leon can imagine.
There’s a strange feeling of intimidation pressing down on his chest. The street outside is sparse of passers-by, considering the rain. Lucky for him, Leon is kept warm inside his car. He shifts in the leather seat. An expensive seat.
His eyes wander around the visible block. There’s a couple, one’s clutching a dog in their hands, collar forgotten. The other—from the apartment’s entrance—is beckoning their partner to rush in the door. There’s a melodic sense of normalcy to them. The feeling from before becomes heavier.
Leon shifts his gaze away from them. He grabs his phone, checking the time for the fifth time this minute.
9:47 AM. You said you’d be ready around the 45-minute mark, but he showed up at 9:30 just to be sure. He had forgotten how long those few minutes can stretch into forever. Twelve minutes, for him specifically, is too long to be spending without seeing you walk out of that door. He thinks maybe you’re planning on rescheduling this wedding outfit shopping day. Leon wouldn’t complain. It is raining.
He knows you hate the rain. Especially when it gets your clothes wet and shoes dirty. You told him that one time when he visited your office. You were hunched over in your chair, wet wipes in hand, as you complained about your ‘poor loafers.’
At least he’s got an excuse to take you wherever you want now. He double-checks the passenger seat again—the seat belt is secured, the glove box is empty if you want to put something in it, and the car has been cleaned just a few days ago.
Leon checks the time again. His phone screen lights up, flashing 9:50 in front of him. Only three minutes. He leans on the head restraint with a nervous sigh.
Movement catches his attention from the corner of his eye. He hears a string of curses from a figure in front of your apartment’s entrance before he realizes the person is you. You’re struggling with closing the door while balancing an umbrella and clutching a bag with its sling.
Leon exits from his car.
You turn at the sound. “Oh, Leon!” Your previous demeanor changes in an instant, and it makes him hesitant in his steps. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait. It’s been such a hectic morning.”
“No, I just arrived.” Leon offers to grab the umbrella from your hand. He opens it, tipping it mostly towards you. “Twenty minutes is nothing.”
“You’ve been here for almost half an hour already?!” You snap your gaze away from the closed door and stare at him with your mouth agape.
“Close your mouth, sweetheart.” He breaks eye contact with you first.
“You should have at least texted to let me know.” You snort. “I can’t believe I kept you waiting in the rain.”
You and Leon move towards his car, the umbrella still tipped towards you. A few rain droplets fall on his hair and coat, before hitting his face. He scrunches his nose, and you notice. You stop, grabbing his hand where it grips the umbrella with unnecessary strength. His knuckles whiten as you tilt the umbrella back to his side.
“I can’t have you getting sick.” You swallow the heavy feeling down, now aware of the proximity. “I need my plus one in perfect shape, not with a runny nose.”
“I don’t get sick,” Leon answers. “And I don’t plan on leaving you alone to fend for yourself at that wedding.”
He gestures to the passenger seat door. You offer to grab the umbrella, but he shakes his head. You raise a brow in amusement as he opens the door.
“How gentlemanly.”
“I’ve been receiving a lot of praise from you.” The corners of his lips curl in that effortlessly handsome way you’ve got used to seeing. “Is this favoritism? Thought that wasn’t allowed in your department, especially because you’re technically my superior.”
“It’s deserved, but don’t let it get to your head, Kennedy.” You look up at him from your eyelashes now, the view of him towering over you from the drizzle outside, while you’re seated inside, makes your body flush. “You’re not afraid of HR, are you?”
“No, but they’d probably come after me for kidnapping you or something from the bar last week.”
“You did usher me, drunk and distressed, away from them.” You raise a brow, the playful sarcasm seeping into your voice. “What will the people say? What a scandal. Enough for office gossip for the next few months.”
“I’d better get in the car, or I think you’re keeping me talking out here to actually get me sick.” Leon closes the door with a smile.
You settle into your seat, leaning towards the driver’s spot. Your eyes follow him as he strides in a few steps from the side of the car to his seat. He opens the door and gets in, handing you the umbrella to put in its sleeve.
“I’d imagine you being sick is probably the only time you’d let yourself have a break day.” You quip, turning to face him.
He looks behind the car, one hand on the passenger seat and the other on the steering wheel. “I get enough rest.”
“I worry.” The words leave your mouth before you can even rephrase them. “Sometimes, I mean.”
Leon stays quiet as he reverses the car. You try to figure out what thoughts are swirling behind his eyes. They are dim with a light you haven’t seen before. Not entirely a bad surprise. It only now dawns on you what kind of situation you’re in. How special and rare it is.
You’ve never seen Leon outside the office. Conversations between you two about the normal things, such as the weather and shopping, were sparse. And now here you are—talking about getting sick, as if you’ll see a red-nosed Leon nursing herbal tea.
Or something even more ridiculously tasting of normalcy—a luxury you both have been robbed of because of the job, you making that said tea.
“I know you do.” Leon finally speaks. “I’ve always come back in one piece, haven’t I?”
“Barely.”
“I’ve got you there to keep my head on a swivel. You never let me get cocky.” He says over the engine’s hum.
“You’re already too cocky.” Your voice came out soft, directed at the windshield instead of him.
You glance at the CD case in his center console. Alice in Chains. Dirt.
“Didn’t peg you for a grunge.”
Leon’s lips curl into something softer than a smirk. “Yeah?” He keeps his eyes on the road, but his hand leaves the wheel for just a second—long enough to brush his fingers against yours on the center console. “What did you peg me for?”
“Show tunes.”
He snorts. “You’re thinking of someone else.”
“I’m really not.”
He glances at you—quick, warm, something unguarded in his expression, a rare sight. “Lucky me, then.”
The rain patters against the windshield in a steady rhythm. He focuses on the road ahead, navigating the wet streets with the kind of precision he brings to everything. You watch the city blur past, the nervous energy from the morning slowly settling into something else.
Twenty minutes later, Leon pulls into the parking garage of a boutique in Georgetown. The transition is almost jarring—from the intimacy of the car to the fluorescent brightness of the structure.
This is real now.
The font above the boutique’s entrance loops beautifully in cursive as it reads Sage & Stone. Velvet cream curtains cover the large windows, lacy bows scrunching the fabric at the edges. Only a few mannequins can be seen from outside—all of them wearing something viscose and charmeuse.
“I didn’t even know there was a boutique here.” Leon’s the first one to break the silence.
You turn your gaze back to him. “It’s a gem, truly. Not a lot of people know about it. Good for us, though.” A smirk appears on your lips, and Leon’s shoulders fall at the sight. “We’ll be the most eye-catching pair there.”
You’re already out of the car while Leon is slowly catching up. He’s still thinking about the word pair. The reality of the situation finally sets in. You two are walking into a boutique he’s never seen, about to buy clothes for an event he didn’t think he’d get a chance to visit with you.
The large glass doors open at the push of his hand. He gestures for you to go in first, and you tilt your head slightly at him, a playful smile playing on your lips. He tries to picture that in his mind forever.
“You sound like you’ve already thought about what we’re going to wear.” Leon stays a step behind you, his eyes wandering around the building. “I do have tuxedos back at home.”
“Ah, yes.” You keep your attention on the few mannequins standing next to the hangers. There are silk dresses along with velvet suits with embroidery around the room. “Your boring black and white suits. The dress code is semi-formal, cocktail attire. Have a little fun, Leon.”
Leon raises a single brow at your words, but a smile plays at his lips anyway. He follows your gaze to the hangers, wondering what you have in mind.
“I’m starting to feel a bit intimidated.”
“You should.” You nod your head at him. “I will not let you out of this building until we find you a perfect suit.”
“And you, as well. Or this will be just unfair.”
“You’ll get to see me in silk, Leon.” You throw him a faint wink over your shoulder, and he feels his heartbeat quicken. “Don’t worry your little head over it.”
A sales associate approaches, sensing your purpose. You take charge immediately—pointing to the forest green patterned pieces, the silk charmeuse, the tailored jackets. Leon watches you move through the racks with such certainty, such confidence, that he realizes—you know exactly what you want. And you know what you want for him, too.
You pull a sage green blazer from a hanger, turning to Leon. “This. Try this.”
Leon takes it without argument. Your fingers brush as the fabric exchanges hands. His hand moves more slowly, trying to lengthen the moment. Your eyes find his, a silent question in them. The moment slowly dissipates as you gesture to the changing room.
“Go on.” You instruct, already three steps ahead. “You try on the suit while I find those cream trousers I saw from the window. It’ll bring out your complexion.”
“You’ve already planned all of this out, huh?” Leon stands in front of the changing room, one hand already parting the curtains and the other gently holding the blazer.
“What makes you say that?” You tilt your head at him, feigning confusion.
“I was thinking we’d start with your outfit first.”
“Oh, for god’s sake.” You murmur, fingers trailing his blazer’s fabric as you take one step closer to him. “For once, let someone else treat you. I’ll pick something out, and you tell me what you think. But first, I want to see your outfit.”
“Alright, alright.” Leon manages, watching you move away from him.
The sales associate returns, the cream trousers in their hands. You pick it up, hand grazing the intricate embroidery.
That’s probably expensive, he thinks.
“I hope you know I plan on treating you today, not the other way around,” Leon says, eyes on anything but you.
“I get paid more than you.” You call over your shoulder. “Being your superior and all. So indulge me, please.”
Oh, he’d indulge in you. But he wanted to start this morning off with you having time to dress up, have fun, and finally get the worry of the wedding off your shoulders.
“I’m still paying for your outfit.”
“Then I’ll pay for your blazer and trousers.” You turn, sticking out your tongue at him.
“Mature.” Leon laughs as he takes the trousers from you. He wonders how many times he can get away with his fingers brushing against yours.
He steps into the dressing room. You lose sight of him and fall into a state of impatience not even a second later. You could take a seat and wait for him to come out. Or you could try to find an outfit for yourself. Truth be told, you’d been imagining how he would look dressed up more than you have kept yourself in mind.
“You truly have a special style.” Leon’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.
“Are you done already?” You get up from your seat, wondering how the time passes so quickly.
He steps out. The blazer is tailored, fitted through the shoulders, structured but elegant. The cream trousers are well-fitted, hitting at the ankle with a clean break. The sage green and cream complement his complexion in a way you haven’t seen in any other piece of his clothes. You swallow, trying to compose yourself.
Leon smooths down the blazer. He looks as if he feels out of place. It only lasts for a second before he pushes the foreign feeling down and settles into the outfit.
“Cat got your tongue?” He quips, his hands pulling at his collar.
“Don’t get too cocky again.” You take a step near him, hands moving to his collar to fix it. “Or as you said, I’ll have to humble you.”
You move the fabric a bit loose. You can feel the unsteady rise of his chest right below your hands. Not only that, but you wonder if he can feel the quickened beat of your heart, too.
“Thank you.” Leon’s voice comes out carefully. “Your choice is,” he tries to find the right words, “just right.”
“Not ‘just fine’?”
“Never ‘just fine’.”
You take a step back, only now realizing how close you two were. Leon coughs, hand grazing his chin before falling to grip the blazer again.
“What about you?” He questions, eyes trailing over the many hangers around the room. “You must have planned something for yourself.”
“I am ever so thorough.” You nod your head at him before gesturing to the closest clothes rack to your right.
A forest green patterned suit hangs from it. It stands out from the other pieces of clothing with its damask embroidery. The color matches his, but only your green is richer and deeper. It contracts his blazer more than it matches it. He can imagine how eye-catching you will be, and he’ll be right by your side.
“Try it on.” His hand finds your arm.
“I—” you look from the suit to him, “I already know what it’s like. It’s not a big deal. I know this is all over the top. You didn’t even need to tag along. I appreciate it, and I don’t want to bother you further by watching me try it on—well, not while trying it on. You’ll see me after I’ve finished putting it on—”
“You’re spiraling, sweetheart.” Leon’s hold on your arm becomes even firmer. It serves to ground you.
You let out a sigh.
“I can be picky about outfits, you know.”
“But you like this one.” He smiles at you, and you feel your body flush. “I want to see it, come on.”
“Alright.” You finally relent.
“I’ll hand off the blazer and trousers after changing. By that time you’ll be done, and I’m sure you’ll look—”
“‘Just fine’?”
“—Beautiful.”
Your eyes widen. His hand on your arm feels hotter through the fabric of your clothes. For a moment, it feels like you’ve forgotten how to breathe. You cough, and Leon moves to clear the way to the changing rooms.
The sales associate returns. They hand you the suit with a faint smile before they rush off to gather bags for the purchase.
This is going far better than you imagined. The usual tension you see in Leon’s shoulders seems to disappear and is replaced with something casual. Almost domestic. You don’t want to fool yourself into thinking that this is more than it is, but you can’t help but cling to the image of him in this state.
You disappear from Leon’s line of sight as you pull back the curtain. A few minutes pass. He’s been pacing back and forth—sometimes catching onto your voice carrying through the curtain, and other times talking to the sales associate about charging his card for your suit as well, along with his, which is already in a far too fancy bag with a bow. Sage & Stone is written in golden cursive font across the bag’s ivory color.
Leon hears the curtain move and snaps his head in your direction. You step out of the changing room hesitantly. There’s a different demeanor to you now, one of nervousness. As if you’re wondering a bit too much about how you look when he wishes he could tell you over and over again how you look otherworldly.
“So,” you start, voice a bit unsteady, “what do you think?”
You stand in front of the ivory curtain. The color of your suit is deep green with baroque-like details woven into the fabric. The trousers are long and elegant, hitting perfectly at the shoe. The pattern catches the light. The silhouette is confident.
“It looks perfect.” He takes a step closer to you, and your spine straightens by instinct. “You look perfect.”
You step closer, searching his face for honesty. Leon doesn’t flinch. He holds your gaze steady.
“You’re sure?” Your voice comes out small.
“I’ve never been surer of anything.”
The words land differently than he probably intended. You both feel it. The sales associate reappears with the ivory bags, golden cursive gleaming, and the moment breaks.
“We’ll take both,” Leon says before you can protest. His card is already out.
Twenty minutes later, you’re walking out of Sage & Stone with matching bags—sage and forest green coordinated without planning. Leon carries both, and you don’t argue this time. Outside, the rain has stopped, and Georgetown glitters.
You’re thinking about the wedding. About walking in together. About how Leon looked at you in that suit, like you were the only person in the world.
“Thank you,” you say quietly. “For today.”
Leon turns the key. The engine hums to life.
“Anytime, sweetheart.”
And he means the entirety of it.
+++
Rooftop gardens at Meridian Lofts, July 22nd.
Weddings, from your perspective, can truly be a step into something chaotic and otherworldly at the same time.
You and Leon arrived only two days ago. A hotel was already waiting for you two as the bride and groom were much too happy to know you were coming—and not alone at that. You can only imagine the look on their faces when hearing of your totally real and not fake plus one. You could almost make out a surprise scoff from one of the bridesmaids, quickly hushed by the bride, Bailey.
But that was days ago. Now you’re in the present—the wedding venue, situated on a grandiose rooftop garden just outside of DC, is new but just as extravagant, and you feel the atmosphere change. There’s something akin to electricity in the air.
You’ve pulled at the collar of your suit at least five times in the last minute—a habit you’ve mirrored from Leon, considering he’s been doing it since this morning. Your arm looped around his feels stiff. You aren’t sure if you should loosen your grip or tighten it instead.
“Hey,” you snap your head up at the sound of Leon’s voice. “You don’t need to be nervous.” His free hand lands on your looped arm. “I’ve got you. I made you a promise, didn’t I?”
Your arm, even through the fabric, feels hot underneath his touch. You try to swallow your hesitance down, giving Leon a timid smile.
“I know,” you let out a stiff sigh. “It’s just,” you tug at his sleeve, trying to anchor yourself, “real now. I didn’t expect the venue to feel so big, nor the attention that will be on both of us to be suffocating.”
Your eyes dart around the venue. There are a few caterers rushing around the property. You see guests already in deep conversation, laughing at whatever the other said with a natural confidence—as if this is a simple get-together. You could have sworn one of them looked your way, too. The fairy lights are intertwined with the ivy wrapping around the poles leading to the glass ceiling above. Which, in any case, would be a beautiful sight, but today they are unfortunately too bright for your liking. You shuffle closer to the man beside you.
“No one is looking at us right now. They’re too engrossed with themselves to even care about us.” Leon frees his arm from your hold, and for a moment, you miss the contact, but it’s only gone for a moment before he places his hand on the small of your back. “Even if they do stare, I’m sure it’s because we, mostly you, look damn good.”
“You sound so optimistic. And charming.”
“You think that’s rare for me?”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” you lick at your drying lips, “I’m glad at least one of us sees some sense in all of this. I don’t enjoy the eyes on me. Or us.”
Leon’s eyes don’t leave your frame—not that they have this entire evening. His hand on your back sets your nerves on fire. Unlike the surrounding atmosphere, the touch doesn’t push too much on your already overstimulated senses. You lean into it, and in response, his fingers trace mindless shapes onto your clothed skin.
“Out of all people I know, you are the one who can control any situation, no matter the variables.”
“Well, Leon,” you click your tongue, “that’s when you’re throwing yourself headfirst into danger, so I do have to take charge then. Right now, though,” you take one more look around the venue, “I feel as if I’m the field agent pushed into a sea of sharks. Very well-dressed sharks with judgmental glares. Just you wait, they haven’t spotted us yet, but when they do, we’ll be ripped to shreds just to satisfy their curiosity.”
“You’re free to use me as bait for the sharks then.”
“Ever the gentleman, Kennedy,” you quip. “Keep it up, and I might call on you as a fake date in the future too.”
“I’ve never denied you, have I?”
“Cheeky,” the corners of your lips curl, and the sight spurs him on. “Someone’s getting confident, and here I was thinking you’d spend all night pulling at your collar.”
“The tie is too tight.”
“Sure. Totally not because you’re just as nervous as me. Admit it, we’re both fish out of water here.” You turn to face him. “Want me to loosen the tie a bit? Not for it to lose its charm, don’t worry.”
“Thought we were with sharks. The metaphor is getting confusing.” Leon pulls at his collar again, and you huff at the sight. He lets out a small laugh before leaning towards you. “Just don’t choke me with it.”
“The evening hasn’t even ended, and you’re already talking about choking.” Your fingers loop through the tie, the stiff fabric loosening at your pull. You can feel Leon’s skin under your hands heat up, a faint flush of pink rising from his neck. “Flustered?”
“And you say I’m the cheeky one—”
“Oh, look at you two!”
A voice you’re unfortunately familiar with breaks the fragile peace around you and Leon. Your hands go stiff around his tie, unsure of what to do.
A sage green dress, silk hugging every corner of her body. Small heels, ivory in their color, with perfect skin, the off-white contrasts against.
“You must be one of the bridesmaids,” Leon begins the conversation first, much to your relief. His hands find yours, intertwining your fingers with his before slowly moving them down to his side. “Morgan, was it? We heard you on the phone while my—”
“—date was speaking with the bride? Yes, that was me in the background. It’s been so long”. Morgan now turns her gaze onto you; her voice has a sing-song tone to it, effortlessly light. “When was the last time we saw each other?”
“Graduation.” You bite the inside of your cheek. “I think.”
“It’s been years, and it took Adam to get married for you to finally show.” Morgan tilts her head your way, her eyes darting between you and Leon as if she’s been handed a puzzle she can’t solve. “You even show up with a date on your arm. One that’s easy on the eyes, too.” She sends Leon a subtle wink. “Didn’t expect that, you know, with how closed off you’ve been.”
You really need a drink right now to either get drunk or throw it at her; you’re not sure yet. She’s dissecting you underneath her gaze, you’re sure of it. Her eyes roam over your figure with a raised brow before landing on Leon, as if the two of you together is surprising to her. As if you don’t deserve to be by his side.
Her eyes don’t leave his frame. It causes a heavy feeling to push down onto your lungs. You aren’t surprised that someone would notice him. You’re both grown adults, for god’s sake—in your late twenties too. The sight of someone being interested in him shouldn’t make your heart tighten like this.
What pulls at your nerves the worst is the fact that she’s being obviously dismissive of you, but it’s not as if you could blame her for not taking her eye off of Leon. It’s not as if the two of you are actually together. He’s just doing you a favor. The idea of being just a favor in his eyes might be the worst thought to cross your mind.
“The only unexpected thing here is that I got lucky enough to be their plus one.” Leon cuts in before you can even figure out what to say. You turn your gaze to him, eyes widened with pleasant surprise. “I couldn’t let go of a perfect chance now, could I?”
Morgan purses her lips. “No, I suppose not.”
“I’m sure you’d like to continue this…” Leon tuts before he trails off, “conversation with my partner, but I’m afraid I’ll have to steal them away to enjoy the rest of the wedding.”
Leon leads you away, your intertwined hands guiding you towards him. You stare at his back as the two of you walk between the tables. A few caterers and guests pass, but Leon finds a private corner for you two to stop to take a breath. You settle by his side, your hand pulling at your sleeves. You’re sure he can see how nervous you are. A single conversation and you’re already waiting for the night to end.
“Need a drink?” Leon offers, already holding a glass half full of wine, which you’re sure costs a fortune.
“I don’t think there’s enough alcohol in this place to make me survive the entire night.” You take the glass in your hand, twirling it around. You hesitate to drink. “Listen, I’m sorry—”
“—Don’t.” Leon lays a hand on your shoulder. “Whatever you think you have to apologize for, you don’t have to. She was being rude, and I did what I wanted and should have done.”
“You mean sweet-talk her into giving it up? I’ve never seen someone actually beat Morgan at her own game.” Your lips form into a tense smile. “Thank you, though. I probably would have stood there without saying anything back.”
“I’m sure you have it in you to put people in their place. But tonight, you don’t have to worry about that. For once, let me take care of you.”
You wish to believe him. To put your hand in his so he can lead you away from all of this. You want to drown the chatter of guests and the buzzing of the fairy lights above you so you can only feel his pulse under your fingertips. You can see the couples take their plus ones, hand in hand, as they leave their tables, moving to the dance floor from the corner of your eye.
You do want him to take care of you, as ridiculous as it might sound. But you hate the thought of him always forcing himself into that role, that responsibility when he’s already done more than enough for you. You bite down on your lip. Leon’s eyes trail to your lips before they fall back to your eyes. Your heartbeat quickens.
“You probably should enjoy the venue. I’m fine here.” You bring the wineglass to your lips, though the taste does not reach you. “I can’t force you to be glued to my side all night. There are more drinks than anyone can count and even more overzealous socialites eyeing you, so you’ll find no trouble settling in.”
The words come out of your mouth as if they’re coated with bile. You mentally scold yourself for sounding so affected—someone could say you were jealous, too.
Ridiculous.
You try to think of something else.
“You think I’m here for somebody else other than you?” Leon’s hand on your shoulder rises, nearing the exposed skin of your neck.
Your body moves on its own in response to the touch—you tilt your head back slightly, giving him just enough space to graze your skin peeking out of your collar. His fingertips brush against your pulse point—just below your jawline.
“You know me better than that,” his voice is laced with genuine confusion—as if he’s actually hurt by the fact you tried pushing him away, “don’t you?”
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“You’re trying to get me riled up.”
You let go of the wineglass, placing it on the nearest table. Instead, your fingers grip the edge of the surface. You take a step back instinctively, your back hitting the stand.
Leon takes this chance to move closer. Just enough that his leg presses between yours—thigh against the inside of your knee, then higher. Just enough for the other guests not to even realize what’s happening.
You can feel the warmth of him through the fabric of his trousers. Through yours.
You don’t move away.
His breath is caught once. Like he didn’t expect you to stay.
“Am I?”
There’s a familiar sense of sincerity in Leon’s voice. The same one you’re used to hearing through your headpiece from the multiple times he’s apologized and promised to come back in one piece from the dangerous missions the organization keeps wrapping the two of you in. You’ve never doubted him; you’ve just been scared of the outside forces at play. As silly as it sounds in your head, viruses, guns, and two-faced friends are on the same level for you tonight.
You lay your hand on top of his—which still rests on your shoulder—giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Remember the anchor trick I taught you?”
You tilt your head towards him. “I’m fine, Leon. Well, moderately fine. No thanks to you, by the way.”
“The way you have my hand in a death grip says otherwise. And you’re welcome, by the way.”
You think your lips. Your hold on his hand weakens until you let go completely. Leon frowns at the loss of contact. You try to remove that reaction from your mind.
“Just humor me.”
He grazes his pinky against your hand, as if he’s afraid of initiating the hold again, but still offering it anyway.
“What could I even focus on here?” You huff. “The music is too loud, the guests are chattering on and on, and I can’t even look towards the bride and groom.”
You cross your hands across your chest. Maybe you’re acting immature, your mind is running in circles, and you’re not sure how to calm it down.
“I remember you mentioning the groom was a bastard that night at the bar. Your ex, too.”
“I was drunk.” Your eyes trail over to the bride and groom. You haven’t seen Adam or Bailey in years, not since graduation. They look so happy, holding hands as they waltz around the venue. “And it wasn’t as bad as I made it sound. We broke it off because of well… my job.”
You take your eyes off the happy couple. “You know better than me how demanding this profession can be. Being emotionally distant is a requirement. Not ideal for relationships, though.”
“I don’t think you’re distant at all. Well, I can’t speak for what happened between you and him,” you note how his tone changes when he refers to Adam, “but you’re one of the kindest people I know.”
“High praise coming from you, Kennedy.” You shift on your feet, eyes now locked onto the ground.
“It’s the truth. I don’t mind reminding you of it. I have to keep you on your toes just like you do the same for me.” A playful smirk plays on his lips, and the sight of it even forms a small smile on yours as well. “Now, about that anchor trick…”
“You’re not going to give it up, are you?”
Leon grabs your hand. The sudden contact makes your heart skip a beat. Nevertheless, you follow his lead. He steps near the dance floor. A slow waltz is playing in the background. Some guests have paired up, dancing together.
“Oh, absolutely not!” You tug his hand back.
“Trust me.” Leon waits for you to take a step towards him—a yes for whatever he’s planning.
You let out a small sigh and let him take the lead again. “What are you trying to do?”
He slowly enters the dance floor. His hand hesitantly lands on your waist, while the other cradles yours with a softness you’re getting used to from him.
“Focus on me tonight,” he whispers near your ear, as if those words haven’t lit your skin aflame, “no one else. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.”
You can feel his breath near the skin of your neck. His voice is like a siren’s call to your ears. You already cannot focus on anything else but him. The sounds from the venue—music, chatter, glasses clinking—are snuffed out as you can only recognize the feel of his heartbeat underneath your palm. Your other hand grips his; he returns the firm hold.
“Just like that.”
The music shifts. Suddenly, it’s beating in your ears in tandem with your heartbeat. Your hand above his chest pushes down on the surface. You can almost feel his skin underneath the smooth fabric of the blazer. Your fingertips graze over the complex embroidery to distract yourself from looking him in the eyes. You’re sure he’s enjoying the sight in front of him. You bite the inside of your cheek, the heat spreading to your face, becoming too much.
The other dancers dance close in proximity to you. That fact doesn’t bother you at all. You don’t even feel their steps or the movement of their dresses and suits. Leon leads you through the forming crowd with elegant finesse. He sways on his heel, and you follow his step, whirling on your own.
You’re in the middle of the dance floor now. The fairy lights above shine upon the two of you. The glow around Leon forms like a halo as the small bits of luminescence seep through his sandy hair, like sunlight between tree leaves.
Your eyes have been trying to focus on anything but his expression. You can imagine the grin playing on his lips at your flustered state. You can even make out how the corner of his lips curls in the corner of your eye.
The music speeds up by a beat. Every couple dancing translates the change into their movements. You move closer to Leon at the melodious tempo. Your chests are grazing at every step now. Looking up only for a moment, you spot the frenzied and equally tender feel in his stare. His pupils are dilated, and there’s an effortless smile on his face, which grows even more when he catches your gaze.
“You’re not shying away, are you?”
“No,” you push back, “obviously not.”
“Of course, I apologize for even suggesting it.”
“You should be.”
As the tempo of the music rises even more, you step back on your heel to lead him yourself. Leon’s eyes widen, surprised by the sudden pull. He doesn’t—more like cannot—take his eyes off of you, not caring about how intense his gaze must be. Your skin glistens underneath the lights. The hand above his chest tenses just a bit, and he moves even closer to chase the touch.
“At least you’re keeping your eyes on me now.” He tilts his head near your ear, and the sound of his voice comes out lower than he intended.
“Is that a sense of disappointment I hear?” You shift your gaze, the surface of your cheek grazing his own, “I had no choice, you’re rather demanding.”
The music starts slowing to a stop. The tempo beats quieter, and the couples around the dance floor shuffle back to their tables as laughs and the buzz of conversation fill the air. The atmosphere seems to bring back your senses; the shining lights above, the smell of champagne in the air, the steps of the guests, and the most important one of all—the beating of Leon’s heartbeat underneath your palm.
Neither of you moves. Someone laughs across the room. Ice clinks in a glass. Leon’s hand is still on your back.
“We should probably go back to our table.” You offer, taking the first step to remove your intertwined hands from his.
Leon instinctively leans after the fleeting touch, but after a paralyzing second, steps back. A cough leaves him. “Of course.”
The main course arrived before either of you could find something to say. Morgan was detailing her renovation nightmare to someone across the table. Someone else was refilling wineglasses. Normal wedding noise. The kind of noise that should have been comforting.
Leon’s hand wasn't on your back anymore. It rested on the table, close enough that your fingers could have touched it if either of you had moved. Neither of you did, and that made the knot in your stomach worsen.
In the middle of all of this, you begin to mirror each other’s movements—fork in hand, mindless picking at the dish in front of you because none of you has the appetite for it anymore.
You cut into your salmon with more precision than you’re used to. When you looked up, Leon was doing the same thing to his steak—almost surgical in his movements. Old habit, you note. You wonder if he knew he was doing it.
Leon reaches for his champagne glass. You watch his fingers wrap around it—the same fingers that had been on your back minutes ago. He didn’t look at you, but you couldn’t stop looking at him.
You haven’t mentioned a single word about the dance, nor has Leon. You can’t tell if the unfamiliar feeling in your stomach is relief or disappointment, but you are certain that it is unbearable.
Not only that, but you force yourself to gather every piece of courage in your body, remembering how Leon asked you to focus on him as your anchor. You move your free hand down to your left—to where he’s seated. You lay your hand on the edge of your seat, parallel to his own. If you move your hand just a bit to the left, your skin might graze his.
For a few minutes, you two sit in a silence akin to limbo. Your hands sit next to each other—close in proximity, but the dance has left you so uncertain that the distance feels like a chasm.
The table is loud. Someone's telling a story. Someone’s laughing. The couple next to you is debating the open bar. All of this still doesn’t distract you from the idea of brushing your pinky across Leon’s hand, just to at least check in with him.
A woman dressed in a dusty pink dress sits opposite you and Leon. Her hair is pinned up, framing the faint wrinkles that form on her face like rivers—you think she’s from Adam’s side of the family with how she keeps glancing at you and Leon.
“So, how do you two know each other?” The same woman across the table—you regret that you don’t remember her name—is looking between you and Leon with a curiosity you know means trouble. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course. I’m a relative of Adam’s. I heard about you from him, dear. He talks a lot about you.”
Leon’s jaw tightens, and for a second, as the woman gestures to you. He hasn’t even properly met this Adam—a man who’s barely a footnote in the framework of who you are, a man who left you just because he couldn’t handle the toll of the job on you. Everyone keeps mentioning him, especially around you.
“Work,” you said. “We work together. We’ve been colleagues for two years.”
“Just work?” The woman smiles, the curl of her lips innocent. “You two seem… a little too close for just work. Not everyone brings a coworker as a plus one. Well, I suppose a lot can happen in two years.”
She’s unaware of the fragile string pulling your composure together. You don’t glance at Leon to gauge his emotion, because you know you will not like the sight. Leon picks up his wineglass without drinking it, only moving it around between his fingers.
“Just work,” he says.
You grip your fork tighter. The woman looks between you two before deciding to point her rather too curious questions at someone else. A breath gets clogged down as you try to swallow down the heavy feeling in your heart.
The clinking of a fork against a champagne glass silences the room.
A man stands tall near the altar. He straightens his suit as his eyes nervously dart around the crowd, before landing on the bride. Leon can see the small tears forming in the man’s gaze. The bride—Bailey—beams at the man, her hand raising to wave and mouthing a small ‘hi dad,’ as a response.
“I’ve practiced this toast almost dozens of times, I think,” the crowd seeps into a small chorus of laughs.
The man smiles, and the tired wrinkles around his face form a peaceful and somber expression. “Though nothing could prepare me for this very moment. My daughter is getting married, and I’m very lucky to see the sight by her side. Peace and tranquility are a privilege, but my little girl has got the chance in the form of a loving partner and a beautiful ceremony full of family and friends.” The man looks back at the crowd, a few guests exclaim in delight, and a few even whistle with their hands waving. “I thank you all for being here, sharing this wonderful day with us.”
Leon was twenty-one again, a dead man’s voice telling him to run.
“This day, like the many to come in the future, is the most precious thing we have in our short lives.” The man tries to keep his voice steady, but the breaks between words make it harder to hide the one happy tear that falls down his cheek.
This tone, this talk of peace and tranquility alongside a family, makes Leon grip the champagne glass tighter in his hand. The scent of the liquid mixes with the smell of the crowd—sweat, perfume, and cologne sticking to the air.
“To true love, lasting commitment, a chance at peace.”
Leon’s breathing stills mid-sip.
“Are you feeling alright?” Your voice seeps into his mind, breaking him out of his thoughts only for a moment.
He doesn’t want you to see him like this. Not when he’s gripping the glass so hard he’s afraid it’ll break. Not when he promised to be your anchor at this event—not the other way around. Carrying his burdens is the last thing he wants to push on you. How will he ever keep his promises of helping those he cares for if he can’t even sit through a single toast without it making his throat close and making it difficult to breathe?
“I’m fine,” his voice comes out weak. “I just need air.”
“Do you need me to come with you?” You put down the fork gripped in your hands; instead, your nails now dig into your palm. “You don’t look good. You’re a bit pale.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Okay,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean anything by it…”
Somehow, the notion that it didn’t mean anything makes this situation feel even heavier than it should be.
Leon stands up. You snap your gaze back to him. There are beads of sweat running down Leon’s temples. His brows are furrowed, and his mouth pressed into a thin line. It only takes a single second for him to leave the table, stunning you, glued to your chair, and unable to muster up any words to call out to him.
He won’t look back. He can’t. Not when he’ll see the hurt expression etched upon your face because of his words. Another failure because of his cowardice. He cannot bear the sight of you seated alone, confused and lost.
Leon quickens his step.
He moves through the forming crowd as the guests clap and praise the man’s toast. Everyone looks so calm and satisfied, safe between the dome the garden loft forms around them; the flush flowers and fairy lights weave a false narrative of safety.
The hallway is too long, and the walls are too tall, as they cage in on Leon. The lights from above are too bright. Before, the buzzing atmosphere of the loft venue was a welcome sight, but now—it’s a noose around his neck.
The toast. The father’s voice. Peace—he’d never—his chest—fucking breathe.
Leon leans on the cold wall at the end of the hallway. The guests are far behind him. He hopes you didn’t follow him. He hears a few steps and the chatter of a few people leading down the hallway. The bathroom door is ajar just a few steps ahead. He straightens his spine, shuffling his unsteady gait near the entrance.
He opens the door, and the atmosphere of the wedding is already drowned out as he steps inside. The room is a cynical white color. The air feels cold, caged between the walls. The marble sinks align across the wall. He locks the door behind him.
He braces against one of them—the surface so cold it bites at his skin. Not only that, but he welcomes the cold, thinking it’ll ground him. The mirror in front of him stares him down like a threat. He doesn’t dare look up fully. Even from the corner of his eye, he can see his pale face reflected on the surface.
Leon doesn’t recognize the man staring back at him—the bags under his eyes heavier than ever, sweat clinging to his forehead; the few strands of hair framing his face have already turned gray.
He can’t bear the sight. His grip around the sink becomes firmer. The cold barely keeps his clouded mind grounded on the marble surface instead of the memories of blood underneath his fingernails.
The air becomes heavier. The cold is overwhelming now, seeping into his fingertips and making his fingers numb. It reminds him of rain mixing into the blood. Cold and metallic, stuck in the grooves of his hand.
Leon lets go of the sink, knocking off a soap dispenser on the counter. Instead, he starts clawing at his collar. The collar of his suit feels too tight, like it’s trying to strangle him. The blazer’s fabric is taut around his torso, making it even harder to breathe with every unsteady rise of his chest. He pulls at his collar. It’s not a delicate pull—the fabric snags at his sensitive skin—not like before. His breathing is too fast, too shallow—like he’s chasing after it. He paces around the bathroom, the room getting smaller and smaller with every single step.
“Don’t make my mistake…run…got it?”
“Understood.”
That’s all he’s ever done—run.
He never stays. Maybe that’s why he’ll always have to claw at every futile chance at that godforsaken chance at peace. A lie, he’s sure of it. Or he’d have it in his hold by now. He’d still be at that table, seated next to you. Leon wouldn’t take the glass in his hands. He wouldn’t imagine the blood caked into his skin when he looks at the champagne. Instead, he’d find the courage to slip his hand into yours, finally holding onto his own anchor.
“It's on you now. Just go…”
The buzzing in his ears drowned everything out. He runs his fingers through his hair. The fluorescent light of the bathroom is starkly different from the fairy lights outside. The locked door makes sure no one—especially you—will enter to see him like this. He can’t humiliate himself or you. He’s the one supposed to help, to carry whatever burden you’re met with—not the one who runs at the first sight of what scares him.
Leon stops pacing. He looks back at the mirror. A heavy frown is etched on his face. His chest rises with every unsteady breath. He doesn’t even want to imagine the same look forming on your face, left at that table all alone.
He steps away. His back hits the wall behind him. The brisk surface seeps its numbing touch through his dress shirt, into his spine. He presses harder, hoping the cold will ground him. Though it doesn’t.
His knees buckle. They give out before he can stop them. He slides down the wall, the fabric of his trousers catching against the tile, and lands on the floor with a hollow thud. The sound echoes off the marble. Too loud. Everything is too loud.
Leon presses his palms flat against the cool floor. The tile is smooth, veined with gray, and probably expensive. He thinks about that—about noticing the tile pattern while his chest is caving in—and a broken sound almost leaves his throat—not a laugh—something worse.
His hands are shaking. He watches them. These hands have held a gun steady under fire. They’ve saved lives and taken them. And now they can’t stop trembling because an old man made a toast about peace.
His head tilts back, hitting the wall. The impact is dull. He doesn’t feel it. He straightens his spine against the surface, trying to steady himself, trying to find something solid to hold onto, but there’s nothing. The room is spinning, and the lights are too bright. He closes his eyes.
Leon’s eyes open. The ceiling is white. Sterile. He’s not in Raccoon City. He’s in a wedding venue bathroom. He’s twenty-nine years old. Not only that, he’s supposed to be someone’s fake date.
He’s supposed to be fine. He won’t look in the mirror again, because he’s not fine.
A knock breaks him out of his caged mind. Three knocks precisely. The touch is soft against the bathroom door. They don’t try to push the door open, as if the person behind it knows what is happening in the room. As if they’re not demanding anything.
“Leon?” Your voice, muffled through the door.
Leon can’t answer. His throat won’t work. It’s like the words get stuck as he tries to spit them out. Mouth opens, lips part, but nothing. He hates the silence. And he hates the fact that you might think he’s ignoring you even more.
“It’s me.” Another knock. “Can I come in? Please?”
Of course, it’s you, who else would follow him through the hell of his own making?
His palms settle on the cold tile one more time as he supports himself to get up. His knees still feel weak from before. He still can’t say no to you, nor a yes. But he musters up enough strength in his legs to move closer to the door. The lock clicks. He opens the door. For a moment, he hesitates, looking at you—the shame too much in his heart. But he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off of you.
Your suit is a bit disheveled. The fabric has lost its smoothness, now crinkled as if you had been running. Your chest rises along with your breath, leaving your lips. The furrowed brows and clenched hands.
He expects you to panic, for you to ask what’s got into hum which he won’t answer because he cannot put how the rope wrung tightly around his neck feels into words.
Leon steps back, giving you space to enter. Your steps are slower and much calmer, the total opposite of his. The crease between your brows slowly starts softening. Your hands unclench. He can see the crescents forming from where your nails had been digging into. But the concern in your eyes does not dissipate. They linger.
You close the door behind you, the quick click of the lock catching Leon’s attention. He avoids eye contact, preferring to keep his eyes on his shoes—which you chose out for him—instead, hoping the smooth leather will somehow distract him. Your gaze feels so heavy on him. The simmering shame starts to feel ridiculous. He begins to feel impatient, desperate for you to say something to quell the ongoing storm of thoughts in his head.
You glance around the bathroom. The knocked-over soap dispenser catches your attention. Leon can see how your eyes zero in on the fallen bottle. His jaw tightens, teeth grating and making the tension feel even more unbearable.
“Listen, before you ask what happened,” he begins, spewing words in an effort to convince himself as much as he needs to convince you that everything is fine, and that you don’t need to bother yourself with whatever all of this even is, “I’m fine. Peachy even.”
You blink at him. There’s a strange look in your eyes he can’t pinpoint. It’s not pitying—thank god for that. But other than that, he feels oddly exposed. Which is worse? If it were pity, you’d be right to feel that way—he is pitiful. But now—the look in your eyes—it seems as if you aren’t mad. There’s a calmness in them, as if you’re just relieved to see him again.
“You didn’t bring a glass to throw at me, did you?” He remembers the night you two spent at the bar. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
“No, I—” you scratch at your neck, “—didn’t bring anything to throw at you. Obviously.” You glance around the room one more time. “Comfy place you’ve found,” you turn your gaze back to him, “your breathing is shallow.”
The concern in your voice makes his chest tighten. Sweat forms on his palms. He tugs at his blazer, trying to take his mind off how his body is reacting to your observations. He’s not surprised you figured him out just by standing there for a few moments. You know his every tell—the strain in his voice, his clenched hands, stupid one-liners and all. Sometimes, he wonders what it would be like if he didn’t have someone who knew him like the back of their hand. Every time he imagines it, he’s surprisingly met with a dissatisfied knot in his chest.
“Are you going to take my pulse next?”
“Maybe,” you quip. “Come here for a second.” He raises a brow as you move back near the bathroom walls. You sigh, leaning down to untie the small heeled shoe you’ve been wearing all day. “These have been killing me.”
Your hands tangle in the laces. Leon moves instinctively. He leans down on one knee, fingers already trying to untie the laces himself. For a split second, your fingers brush his. Something akin to a bolt of lightning flies up from his fingertips to his spine.
“There you go,” he coughs.
“Thank you,” you sit on the cold bathroom floor and tap on the surface next to you, looking at Leon expectantly.
“You shouldn’t be touching the floor,” Leon’s lips curl as he leans closer to you, “who knows what’s been on it?”
You tut, rolling your eyes. He’s taken the spot next to you. The brisk tile has lost its bite now—not as cold as before. He lays his hand close to yours, almost touching. Just like before at the table. Though this time, he wonders if he’ll have the courage to move his hand closer.
“Your breathing is a bit calmer,” you note.
“It is?” There’s genuine surprise in Leon’s voice. He hadn’t noticed how the heavy weight in his heart had slowly dissipated, instead replaced with an airiness he’s come to associate with you. “I… hadn’t noticed.”
He’d been mirroring your own breathing. How your chest rose with every controlled inhale and exhale, as if you were creating a path just for him to follow.
“I did,” you raise your hand, bumping his arm. He chuckles at the touch. “That’s why you need me around. I keep you on your toes.”
“I don’t think I can be kept on my toes if you keep stepping on them while dancing.”
“I did not!”
“You did. I had to sweep you off your feet.”
The air in the room starts to change, settling into something lighter. The walls don’t feel suffocating anymore; the feeling of being stuck in a cage is gone along with them. The sounds from outside—guests mingling, the hurried steps of the caterers, the melodic tune spreading through the venue—it all returns. Slowly and gradually. It doesn’t grate on Leon’s ears. Surprisingly, all of it turns into subtle background noise.
“We should probably leave the bathroom,” you whisper, tilting your head towards him, “or someone might question what we are doing sitting on the floor.”
Leon snorts. “They can mind their own business.”
“It’s a bathroom, Leon. That’s what they’re trying to do.”
He gets up first, rather effortlessly, you note. Turning, he offers you his hand. You glance down at it, the thought of holding his hand against light fire upon your skin, even though you’ve held it many times before. You swallow and take his hand. He pulls you up, and you almost trip on your shoes, which were placed right next to your feet.
“Two left feet.”
“Shut it,” you groan, and he laughs in response.
“Need help with the shoes?”
“I can tie them on my own, thank you very much.” You send him a glare from underneath your eyelashes.
“It’s just you needed my help getting them off, so I just assumed…” he trails off, waving his hand as if he doesn’t have a smirk etched on his face.
“Be thankful I already put them on, or I would have thrown them at you.”
“You have a habit of threatening me with throwing things.”
“And I’ll deliver if we don’t get out of here soon!” Your hands find his back, pushing him near the door.
He unlocks it, stepping out of the bathroom. You follow right behind, eyes wandering around the venue to check if anyone saw you two exit together.
“And you thought I was paranoid,” Leon moves in front of you with a small smile on his lips.
“Do you want us to be stopped by some overzealous guest looking for gossip, asking us why we just came out of a bathroom together?” Leon’s eyes widen. You blink at him for a few seconds before his lips form into a small ‘oh’.
“Thought so.”
You grab his wrist without thinking. For a moment, you wonder if he’ll pull away. Your grip on him tightens instinctively. Leon’s arm freezes in your hold; you’d probably not even be able to clutch onto him like this if he didn’t want to allow it. He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he leans into the touch. You two share a small knowing look. For all the times you’ve led him through missions with your voice in his ear, this moment is no different.
Your hand slides down from his wrist to his hand. You intertwine your fingers with his. Tilting your head, you gesture to the arched gateway near the west wall. It leads away from the main floor of the venue. The wooden archway is painted an ivory white with even pale roses encircling it. The gate is ajar, waiting for someone to enter.
“Where are you taking me?” Leon asks as he steps in tandem with you.
“I can’t tell you yet.” You look over your shoulder, sending him a subtle wink. “It’s a surprise.”
You push open the gate. Leon looks past your figure, taking in the path in front of you. The floor has been sculpted to mimic cobblestone, steps take a myriad of shapes, and something Leon notes looks oddly like a heart. It is a wedding, after all.
The conservatory emerges from the darkness like something out of a dream—ornate wrought iron painted cream, geometric panels of glass catching the string lights strung through the framework. It's not fully enclosed; the sides are open to the night air, but the structure surrounds you anyway.
The willow trees frame it perfectly, their long branches creating curtains of green that sway gently. Through the glass, the reception below looks distant—the warm glow of the party bleeding upward through the panes, distorted and softened. The sound doesn’t reach you here. It's muffled, almost underwater.
Leon stops in the center of the conservatory. The metal framework casts geometric shadows across his face—sharp angles and soft curves all at once.
He’s still breaking. You can see it in the way his shoulders aren’t quite holding their usual tension, the way his breathing is still too shallow. You want to reach behind you, hold not only his hands but him wholly. Bring him down from whatever thoughts have him paralyzed.
The glass walls around you are old and elegant, catching the light in ways that make everything feel suspended in time.
You two stop in front of an old willow tree. The trunk is thick, gnarled, pale gray bark cracked with age. The branches droop so low they nearly touch the ground, creating a curtain of green so dense it’s almost a room of its own. The leaves are long and narrow, the color of new spring even in July—a soft, pale green that catches light like nothing else. They move in the slightest breeze, creating this constant, gentle rustling.
It’s hypnotic—the way the leaves almost touch the two of you, their shadow in the way of your gaze as you try to make out every line in Leon’s face as his own gaze is stuck on the willow tree. With every rise of his head, the curve of his lips, the lines slowly form into a maze you could get lost in.
What hurts is that you can see the pain etched into those lines. The dark circles now form a contrast against the ivory white of his suit and the deep green of his blazer. His chest rises unsteadily. The tie around his neck is loose, tilted to the side as if he had tried to get it off as he was in the bathroom, alone with torturous memories holding the fabric around his neck like a noose.
Your thumb softly grazes his palm. You draw mindless shapes into his skin. His intertwined fingers tighten their hold on you. You respond by taking a step closer to him. Leon snaps his gaze away from the willow back to you. There’s a different spark to them now—a small glimmer of something you want to pull back the layers of and figure out what he truly feels.
You lead him to a bench beneath the willow. The branches droop around you both like curtains. Leon sits. You sit beside him.
Leon’s walls are down. He’s too exhausted to hold them up. The panic has left him hollowed out and raw. You don’t push. You cannot. Not yet. You won’t allow yourself to do so. You just exist next to him. The cool air helps. He can breathe again—the unsteady beat of his heart starts to slow down.
“Talk to me,” you say softly.
And because you’re in this glasshouse, removed from the world, with only the willow branches and the string lights and each other—Leon finally does.
“I'm sorry,” he says finally, voice rough.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know.” He runs a hand through his hair. It falls back across his forehead. “I want to.”
“You're brilliant.” He pauses. He’s not looking at you. Instead, he’s looking at his hands. “Braver than anyone I know.”
“That’s not—”
“Let me.” His voice cracks, just slightly. “Please.”
You close your mouth.
“I promised you that I’d be by your side this evening. At the bar, you were crying, and I couldn’t stand it. I had to do something.”
“You did do something, Leon. I would have been coming here alone if you hadn’t offered to come with me.”
“Yes, I did offer, and I broke that promise an hour into the ceremony. I left you alone at that table just because I couldn’t control my emotions. The least I could do is not bail on you.”
“You didn’t bail on me. I understand why you left, Leon. I just— it hurt to see you like that, but I’d never judge you for it.”
He tilts his head back, taking his eyes off his hands. Instead, he moves them to run his fingers through his hair. You notice the few gray hairs reflect the string lights’ gleam, and the small scars running down his skin like rivers.
You shuffle closer to him, half afraid he’ll move back away from you, but he stays. Your knee brushes against his thigh. Then presses.
Leon’s breath catches. His hand finds your knee. He doesn’t pull it closer, nor does he push you away. His hand just rests there—warm through the fabric of your trousers.
“You’re not—” he stops as he swallows down the breath that was caught in his throat, “you’re not leaving.”
It’s not a question. He words it as if he’s genuinely surprised you haven’t got up and left.
“No,” you say. “I’m not.”
“I’ve been a fool this entire night. And not only the night, but the last few months as well,” his hold on your knee tightens. “I thought you would call me after the bat, finally sober, and tell me that you wouldn’t want me as your date. Even if it was all for show and fake.”
“I woke up the next day with a horrible hangover,” you place your hand on top of his, “but I still remembered our conversation at the bar. You wiped my tears and then walked me home. Basically carried me—I’m a handful when drunk, I’ve realized.”
“I didn’t mind wiping your tears. I’m a fucking idiot for dancing around all of this. I didn’t even thank you for letting me come with you.”
“Leon, there is no one else who has wiped my drunk tears while offering a shoulder for me to cry on other than you. Who else would I have chosen?”
“I’m glad it was me.”
“It couldn’t have been anyone other than you.”
“No, you don’t get it,” he stammers, his brows now furrowed, “you’re kind. In ways I don’t know how to be. You notice things, and you care. You brighten up that horrible office and every mission we are in.”
You blink, unsure of what to say. Your heart feels as if it is in your throat. You want to remember every word that he says, to store it in your mind and never let it escape your thoughts.
Leon’s voice is hoarse—heavy in a way that makes it seem he’s trying to say every single thing that he’s been holding back for god knows how long.
“The peace you give me,” he continues, “it only works if I’m not thinking of anything else. You have that effect on people. I lose my mind when you talk—in a way I can’t describe. When it’s you talking in my ear through the comms, the gun doesn’t feel as heavy in my hand as it always does. When I’m with you, I don't feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. That's never happened before. Not once.”
He tilts his head back, eyes now locked onto the willow tree. It feels as if he’s looking for a way to explain his own feelings to himself. You wonder when the last time he had a chance like this to just talk was.
Leon’s jaw tightens, but not in pain. You can see how the softness forms around his furrowed brows, the lines of his face slowly easing back to their usual form.
“That’s the problem,” he says. “You’re here. And I don’t know what to do with that.”
“You don’t have to figure it out tonight.”
He lets out a breath. It shudders on the way out.
“Okay,” he says quietly.
You sit together under the willow. The string lights flicker above. The music from inside is muffled, distant. His hand is in yours. Neither of you moves to leave.
Suddenly, a bloom of light in the sky, past the glass of the conservatory catches your gaze, along with a striking sound. Fireworks. Leon snaps his eyes to the source of the sound, his shoulders tensing. You tighten your grip on his hand.
“It’s fireworks from the ceremony. Guess the wedding is nearing its end.”
After a long moment, he speaks again.
“We should probably go back.”
“Probably.”
Finally, you squeeze his hand and rise. He follows. When you walk back toward the reception, his hand finds yours without the unsteady shake of his hold, as if he now believes that you won’t disappear from his grasp if he lets go.
+++
10:14 PM, The Langdon Hotel.
The reception wound down around eleven. You said your goodbyes—brief, vague, nothing that would invite follow-up questions. Leon’s hand stayed on the small of your back the whole time.
The car ride to the hotel was quiet, the words from the conservatory still simmering in both of your minds. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It felt as if a layer of secrecy was finally removed. You could breathe freely, without worrying about whether Leon was getting tired of you. It all seems so silly now.
If only you could see yourself the way he sees you.
Even now, as the elevator slowly takes you two to your booked room, the soft silence persists. The metal doors open. Leon’s palm grazes your back—you’ve grown to expect his touch there, akin to second nature. He lets you step out first, though his eyes quickly scan the hallway before following you to the room.
Some habits never die.
The key card beeped as the door lock clicked open.
“They only booked one room,” you said as you stepped into the entrance. “Hope that’s okay. You know, with there being one bed and all.”
Leon let the door click shut behind him. In the low light of the room, you could see him almost smile.
“It’s fine.”
“More than fine?”
“More than fine.”
The words light up a flame in your body. You try to focus on something else in the room.
The room is exactly what you’d expect from a wedding block booking—tasteful, impersonal, expensive in a way that doesn’t try to show off. Cream walls, cream bedding, cream curtains drawn back to reveal a window full of city lights. The bed is large, maybe too large for two people who have been walking an impossible line and pretending all weekend. A single armchair sits in the corner, upholstered in something that looks like velvet but probably isn’t. The bedside lamps cast warm amber light across the pillows.
The city hums through the glass—distant traffic, a siren somewhere, the low thrum of D.C. at night. It's the only sound other than your heart beating uncontrollably in your chest.
Neither of you has moved toward the bed yet. Neither of you has even undressed yet, which is another problem you didn’t think through. Your cheeks feel hot at the touch when thinking about seeing Leon in anything other than a suit right now.
You look over your shoulder. You can see Leon’s eyes in the dim light. His deep green blazer is thrown over the armchair. Your eyes follow the exposed skin of his arms, where it meets the rolled-up sleeves of his button-up. There’s a small glint in his eyes as he tugs at his tie. His brows are furrowed; obviously, his entire attention is on that tie he can’t get off properly. You can’t help but snort at the sight.
“Laughing at me, aren’t you?” Leon doesn’t look up from his tie.
“Totally.” You step closer to him. His body straightens in response, hands now stopping their movement. “You can’t be left alone. Especially without me.”
“Who’d deal with my ties if not you?”
“Don’t get smart with me. I can choke you with it.”
“Thought we left the talk of choking at the venue.”
“That entity conversation was you, not me. Just… let me help.”
Your hands reach his tie. The velvet fabric is soft to the touch. The ivory color of it contrasts with the light hue of his button-up. His arms fall slowly. They graze your waist through your blazer, before landing on your hips. Your lips part slightly. You try to keep your eyes on the tie. Your fingers shake slightly as you untie the fabric. The velvet slides off his neck smoothly.
His hands are still on your hips. You swallow down the breath caught in your throat and manage to speak up.
“Are you going to return the favor, or not?” You finally catch his gaze, and the air is knocked out of your chest.
His stare doesn’t waver. His pupils are wide, dark, drinking you in like he's trying to memorize every detail at once. His lips part slightly—not to speak, just to breathe. You can see him getting lost in it. In you. Like he doesn’t know how to look away and doesn't want to learn.
You’re left speechless. You can’t muster up anything to say. Your knees feel weak, too, unable to control yourself under his gaze.
“I think you’re shying away.” He finally speaks. His voice is heavy and quiet at the same time, as if his words are only meant for your ears.
“Me?” You scoff, but the words are missing their usual bite. “Talk for yourself, Kennedy.”
His hands leave your hips, moving upwards. Your lips thin at the loss of touch. You hope your disappointment isn’t too obvious. Though, before you can regain your composure, his hands graze your collar, just where your exposed neck shows.
“You’re doing it again.” You point out, your eyes now locked onto his.
“Doing what?” Leon asks, but you can sense the slight amusement in his rather shaky voice.
“That thing. When you try to feel my pulse of all things.”
The corners of his lips curl into a subtle smirk. “I’m not only trying to feel your pulse.”
“Oh,” you stutter out, “well, you’re honest about that.”
His touch stops under your jawline. You can feel how his fingertips graze where your pulse point is. His touch feels warm on your skin. You could get lost in the sensation.
“I could stop,” he says, his fingertips leaving the skin of your jaw, “I only need your word.”
“I didn’t tell you to stop.”
You can see how Leon’s composure finally starts cracking fully. His eyes are still dark. Still on you. His breathing is unsteady, and so is yours, but he doesn’t look away. The touch returns to your jaw—his thumb grazing your skin, as if he’s making sure you’re real.
His fingers drag down from your neck to your collar. You notice yourself leaning towards his touch instinctively. He starts undoing your button-up. Your breath gets lodged in your throat. You can feel how light the air is, the weight under your legs slowly disappearing.
“You asked me to return the favor.” Leon’s fingers go lower and lower, grazing the exposed skin of your chest. “Your heart is beating fast.”
He says, as if your heart isn’t ready to jump out of your rib cage. He’s finished with the button-up. The fabric hangs off your figure loosely. Your chest is even more exposed now than ever. You look at Leon expectantly.
You can’t wait any longer. Acting like you two haven’t been walking an almost invisible line blurred between being colleagues and something more is getting you two deeper in denial. You can’t only satisfy yourself with stolen glances and touch on your neck. You’ll allow yourself to be greedy once, and he—selfish.
You gather every piece of strength in your body and raise your hands. They trail from the thin fabric of his button-up to the exposed skin of his neck. You feel his heartbeat under your palm. It’s beating just as fast as yours. The collar is unbuttoned, making it easier for you to cup the edge of his jawline in your hands. He tilts his head towards you, chasing your touch.
“Needy,” you quip.
“For you, maybe.”
“Only maybe?”
Your fingers linger; his cheeks are now in your palms. You can feel how warm they are to the touch.
Fuck. You’re doomed. You’ll never get this sight out of your mind.
“Can I kiss you?” You blurt out.
You’re surprised by your own words, closing your mouth just as fast as the sound escaped your lips. You fear Leon might pull away, but he stays.
“Yes,” his voice comes out desperate, needy in a way you’ve never heard it, as if he’s been waiting for this moment for a long time—just as you have, “please.”
You don’t waste a second. You pull him in, and he follows your lead. It’s soft at first, tentative. Like he’s asking permission, he already knows the answer to. His lips are warm, slightly chapped, and you feel the hesitation in him—the last wall crumbling.
Your stomach flips, the way your skin lights aflame under Leon’s touch. Your hands are still cupping his face. He, on the other hand, is letting his own touch trail freely across your body. Your blazer is almost off your figure, leaving your chest and arms exposed. His hand slides from your hip to your jaw. He cups your face like you’re something fragile. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you.
The kiss deepens. Hungry now, but not desperate. His tongue brushes your lower lip, and you open for him without thinking. Your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. The strands are soft, a little damp from the night air, and he makes a sound — low and quiet—that you feel more than hear.
Your heart is pumping. Palpitating. You can feel it in your throat, your temples, your fingertips.
He pulls back just enough to breathe. His forehead rests against yours. His eyes are still closed.
“Is this okay?” he whispers.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Fuck. More than okay.”
He kisses you again, slower and more languid this time. Like you have all night. As if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
Your hands slide from his neck to his shoulders. The fabric of his dress shirt is soft from wear, the top buttons already undone, and you can feel the heat of his skin bleeding through. His hand presses into your lower back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left.
His heartbeat is fast against your chest. Or maybe that’s yours. You can’t tell anymore.
When you finally break apart—really break apart, not just pause—you’re both breathing hard. His cheeks are flushed. His lips are red. He’s looking at you as if you’re the only being that matters to him right now, as if there’s nothing like you on this earth.
Like he’s never seen anything like you before.
Your stomach is still buzzing. Your knees feel weak. But he’s holding you up without even realizing it.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get this,” he admits.
You don’t answer with words. You just pull him back in. You wrap your arms around him. Your head rests on his chest, right above his heart. You can feel the unsteady beat of it. You’re not sure you can handle anything more tonight other than all of this.
“We should—” you start, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence.
Leon pulls back just enough to look at you. His cheeks are still flushed. “Right. Bed.”
You snort, “You could have phrased that differently.”
He blinks at you. Then, despite everything—despite the bathroom floor and the garden and the weight of the last hour—he laughs. You wish to bottle up that sound to hear it forever.
“Noted,” he says. “Next time.”
The promise of a next time makes your stomach flip.
You nod. “Next time.”
He takes your hand. Not your fingers—your whole hand, palm to palm, like he’s anchoring himself to you. He leads you across the room. The city lights flicker through the window. The bed is large, cream-colored, and the sheets are cool when you sit on the edge.
He reaches over and turns off the lamp. The room settles into darkness—not total, not with the city lights illuminating the shape of his silhouette.
You lie down. He lies down beside you. His arm finds its way around your waist, and you shift until your head is on his chest. His heartbeat is steady under your ear—slower and calmer now.
“You’re crushing my arm.”
You lift your head just enough to glare at him. “I am not.”
You drop your head back down with deliberate weight. He grunts.
You don’t know what will happen tomorrow. What this means for work, for the partnership, for the careful walls you both built. But right now, in this room, with his heartbeat under your ear and his fingers loose around yours—
It’s enough.
⋆˙⟡ author’s note: i want to give a big thank you to my two mutuals—jo and ari. i couldn’t have gathered the motivation needed for this fic without them cheering me on. i appreciate you two so much. consider my first-ever long-fic dedicated to you guys!
⋆˙⟡ tag list: @coffeelovingreader @yuunarii-arii @kalimari-kal @princeintheshadow @cherryseascns (some mutuals are tagged, others are from the blogs who requested to be added while i posted the first part on @/fiolowe).
In his small apartment, a mini-gym sits for when he can't make it into a physical gym. Sometimes you even find yourself begging him to stay home with you, which doesn't take much to convince him. He won't lie and say it isn't encouraging to watch you drool over him.
A tension bar snug in his bedroom door frame, a bundle of dumbells that you couldn't dream of picking up, and a rolled up mat that he rarely used. It wasn't much, but he keeps you entertained.
The way his abs crunched with each pull-up, the soft grunts and sighs with each curl up. You could watch the sweat bead down his torso, follow his v-lined hips down to his gray sweatpants that didn't leave much to your imagination.
"What are you looking at, pretty girl?" He asks, the smug expression on his face when he catches your eyes on him.
Your gaze hot on him, Leon even feels himself showing off for his audience. You're easy to please, so watching him do anything was basically foreplay. Sometimes, if you're really lucky, he even asks for your help. Placing you on his lap to straddle him, you're basically a weight for his core exercises. Holding your eyes the whole time he's pressed into you.
You try your best to help him, but you just can't fight the urge to grind against his growing erection. Even his breath is getting heavier the longer you're on him, and eventually working out is just an excuse to fuck you on the living room floor.
Leon's locked you in a kiss on his final sit-up, his legs moving under him so you're easier to position on your back. He lifts you up, pushing up into you with his dick. "Mm..ah…Leon.." He's smiling to himself as he's lowering you back and playing with the hemline of your shorts while he pins you into another kiss.
"Thought..you were too busy working out.." You mutter when he breaks the kiss to pull off any fabric keeping him from you. Your lips blushed in a pout, wet and glistening in the lamp light. "This is my workout, baby." He grins before lining up his cock to you, pushing in so easily. You take him so well, it's like you'd been doing your own training just to fit him perfectly.
"Ohh..fuck, babe…" He groans, letting out a deep breath.
Leon's favorite feeling is bottoming out inside you, when his girth finally settles inside your pussy. The walls tightening and relaxing around him, it was enough to ruin him instantly. His arms almost give out, elbows shaking and his eyelids fluttering. He made a mental note to work on his stamina, you were far too tempting for him.
He only starts moving when you give him the 'ok', your hand sweetly reaching out for him. Smiling as you daze out on his dick, his steady thrusts into you. Leaning back to watch himself fuck you, and watch you unravel beneath him.
His hands grab onto your hips, giving himself more hold as he speeds up his pace. You watch his eyebrows knit, the sweat now forming on his forehead, and the ways his muscles flexed the harder he pounded in.
Leon's rambling under her breath, "So..good..you're so fucking good for me..huh? Fuck…" His voice trembles, his hips stuttering before he's collapsing back on top of you. Holding around your waist and basically burying himself in your chest. The wet slap of his skin meeting yours.
You can't stop yourself from cumming, nails digging into the carpet as if they were your bedsheets. Your shirt riding up, face flushed, and eyes locked onto your handsome Leon.
It isn't much longer till he's finishing off onto your stomach. His fist jerking at his shaft for a few pumps, his breathing heavy as he's watching you under him.
Leon's weak when it comes to you watching him, he'd do just about anything to keep you entertained.
comment. i dreamed of this drabble, ive been going through it for a few days so i havent had much energy to get this down but i literally couldnt stop thinking of this. i want leon to use my body as an at home weight set where he fucking throws me around the house guys im being held captive in my own brain anyways thank you for reading love u bye
what about a fic where rookie leon has a crush on y/n, and everyonee at the station knows but her? hed leave notes in her locker, hed stay later after hours just to walk her to her car, or wake up really early to get breakfast for her
┆ - ۫ ׅ I wanna kiss your neck and make you purple all over
Leon is so hopelessly in love with you, and it's so obvious to everybody but you.
𝓛EON KENNEDY :: rookie cop leon
⸝⸝ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfluff fic - 𝓛eon Kennedy x fem!reader
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnow playing - Pink Bubblegum by Lavi Kou
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻
╰┈➤ ｡ content & warning(s) : no smut! Angst mixed with fluff, hopelessly in love!leon, this takes place in RE2, oblivious!reader, Leon bad with confessions, yearning!leon, no y/n, just [name].
word count: 913
summary / synopsis : You recently started working as a secretary at the Raccon police department, catching the attention of a new rookie, Leon, who fell in love with you at a single glimpse of your face and tries to find ways to earn your attention.
It was fairly obvious that Leon had an extensive crush on you. Everybody knew about it! everybody but you, unfortunately. He was your secret admirer, love at first sight, yet you simply thought he was just being a total sweetheart to you. You need help? Leon is always there to help you. You need a drink of water? Leon has an extra water bottle for you
Leon was also so horrible at talking to you, always stuttering over his words; you didn't notice how the other cops teased him relentlessly whenever Leon was an utter mess in front of you. You'd remember the times when he would stay late with you and walk you to your car.
But when you ask? He immediately gets flustered and stutters over his words, making the same excuse about how it wasn't safe for a young lady to walk in the parking lot alone, where creeps could be lurking. Yet of course, you believed his poor excuse every single time.
You would notice small notes in your locker. One time, you even saw a bouquet near your locker with a neat note on the side. The handwriting looked suspiciously similar to Leon's handwriting, but you brushed it off every time.
You wouldn't notice how he would stare at you with those wide, curious eyes of his, how he would be eager as a puppy to get you lunch or breakfast whenever you said you didn't have the time to get some. You mistook him for being kind to you, as he was to everybody else.
But Leon would always linger around you, always staring at you with loving eyes, even if his superior is scolding him. When you walk past them and offer a small smile to Leon, his heart would stop, and he would replay that moment so many times in his head.
It was like one of those corny rom-com movies, and of course, EVERYBODY noticed it. Leon would drop everything for you. One time you didn't show up to the department, he got so worried about you that he considered using his sick time to go see you.
Leon would literally go to work sick just to see your sweet face, to see you fret over him whenever he coughed or sneezed; he loved seeing you worry over him over the simplest things like a cold. Everybody called him a hopeless romantic, always rolling their eyes whenever they saw you two together.
One night, when you were finishing up at your desk, stacking some documents away as you turned off your computer, you heard someone awkwardly clearing their throat, catching your attention immediately as you looked up to see Leon standing there, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his expression somewhere between determined and nervous.
" Hey, uh... c-can I ask you something? " he started, stepping close to your desk where you were. His voice was quieter than usual, as if he was worried about being overheard or something. You slowly put the papers you were holding down on the wooden surface, trying to catch his lowered gaze.
" Yeah, what's up? " you mused, looking at Leon as he nervously chuckled, " I was wondering if... maybe you'd want to get dinner with me? m-maybe sometime? " He shifted on his feet, cheeks flushed as he avoided your gaze. You paused at his words as you considered them for a moment.
" Like.. work-related? " you asked, your head tilted to the side as he quickly looked up and shook his head, " n-no! no.. uh- I was thinking just us.. I know a few good spots.. just, you know, the two of us... " Leon nervously corrected. He was getting more awkward by the minute.
" Are you trying to ask me out on a date, Leon? " you gently asked, your words made him go flustered, his blue eyes uncertain yet hopeful. " I- no?- well.. ye-yeah.. I was wondering if you would.. like to go on a date with me.. I- I get it if you're too busy!.. but I thought I'd ask.. " Leon nervously ranted, letting out a sigh as he looked down, ashamed to even look at you.
You thought it was cute, an odd way to ask someone out on a date. Leon looked like a nervous puppy in that moment; the poor guy couldn't even look you in the eye, his gaze focused down on the floor as if he wanted it to swallow him whole right now, and he was fidgeting with anything his fingers grabbed onto.
" ..sure, I'd like to go out on a date with you. " You smiled softly. Your words shocked him, but he quickly recovered with a few quick nods, excited that you agreed to go on a date with him. All of that previous nervousness drifted away in his body, replaced with excitement.
" r-really? I mean.. okay! y-yeah.. Can I pick you up after work? " Leon quickly offered with a timid smile, his eyes locking onto yours for just a moment longer than usual before he quickly looked away, afraid that you would say no, " yeah! I wouldn't mind that. " You chuckled, picking up the papers on your desk as you neatly sorted them out.
" okay- okay.. after work then.. I-I'll see you!.. " Leon tried his best to sound confident as he nodded, walking away from your desk as he stumbled into a wall, earning a soft laugh from you before he quickly rushed away, not wanting to embarrass himself any further.
Leon Kennedy x f!reader
cw nsfw but it's marked, not proofread
sleeps with socks on. he runs naturally very hot but there's something really comforting about it to him.
when he's away on some mission somewhere, he'll either wear your wedding ring around his neck on a chain (if he feels it'll be lowkey enough of a mission to do it).
otherwise, he puts it in the pocket of his pants and will sow a thread through it, connecting it to him. (there was one time he was known to sow it into his glove but that was too uncomfortable).
I believe leon likes to busy himself with house work. it allows him to a) take care of himself/his home, b) not think about the things he would if he was sat doing nothing, and c) not feel completely bad about leaving you sometimes for months at a time.
speaking of, when he has to leave for day-to-day work he doesn't like to wake you, often pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead
if it's longer and more dangerous, he'll wake you up as he himself is getting up. he knows you like being around him, even if for half an hour as he gets ready or eats (even if it is 4 in the morning).
he would love to carry a picture of you with him, but he can't bring himself to potentially endanger you lest someone find it, so he carves your initials onto all of his guns or knives. anything he thinks he won't lose you can count on having your initials.
he doesn't like to have any pictures of you on his phone either. any trace of you he has on him or a device easily hackable will keep him up at night so he has a digital camera that goes with him everywhere.
he often falls asleep on the couch. if you're in the shower or hanging around somewhere, he has no qualms about knocking out watching some trashy show
however, if you yourself go to bed without waking him, he'll get so disappointed and grumble about it as he slinks into bed, moping under the covers as he slumps on top of you
I imagine that Leon is actually a pretty shy person. don't get me wrong he's got a one liner for everything and exudes confidence in the right space, but when he's at home? he's shy.
when you tell him he did a good job on something, most of the time he'll wink or put on a shitty accent while saying 'any time, ma'am' but sometimes he'll blush and stammer out a 'thanks, baby' and shuffle away quickly.
speaking of pet names, I think he's a big fan. particularly of silly ones like 'baby honey' or 'sugar' but as he gets older I think he tends to call you 'baby' or just a nickname
he's not big on pda, but he does really like leading you around with a hand on back
he also likes holding your hand. he does it mostly because he's always slightly nervous when he's out and needs to have a physical reminder that you're there and you're not going anywhere.
he must carry all of the shopping bags, as well. one arm for the shopping, one arm for you to latch onto.
he prefers to drive whenever you're in the car. he likes the control
hand is always on your thigh or dangling in your lap, hands intertwined.
he loves to make playlists of both of your favourite songs. he'll play that sort of 80s rock he likes and then your favourites and not complain one bit.
nsfw
his back is shot (I mean look at his posture) so during sex he likes to switch positions a lot
his favourite is probably you on top, chest to chest. he likes the way he's able to switch control of the pace between you and him while having you so close.
it's also allows him to dig his head into your shoulder, suck on your tits or look you in the eye. he likes the options
as he gets older, sex is usually just in bed, but sometimes he'll eat you out on the couch or in the kitchen
when he's younger, however, his whole house (which extends to his car) is his oyster
he likes to cockwarm with you but only when he's tired. if he thinks about it too much he starts to get all shy which then turns into slightly uncomfortable
that tends to happen regardless, but he usually falls asleep or retires you both to bed (not conjoined so intimately) before that point.
big munch. it helps him turn off his mind.
Leon is really just a big lover who sometimes struggles knowing exactly how to love.
cw; virgin reader AND virgin leon, piv sex, fingering, leon is larger than average sizes, loss of virginity, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, plot if you squint, general relationship fluff, rookie leon one liners, he’s whipped. happy leon au where the outbreak never happens!
summary . . .⋆｡‧˚♡
leon has a pretty big problem that prevents him from being properly intimate with you. you prepare the perfect night with your boyfriend leon to help him out in a very special way. leon is very surprised.
2k words
Your 8 month anniversary isn’t a groundbreaking milestone in your relationship with Leon Kennedy, but to you it means everything. Your heart pounds as you wait around for him to get off work, choosing to obsessively make sure everything around his dingy Raccoon City apartment was perfect.
Making the bed, lighting candles, even putting on an embarrassingly thin lingerie set that you’d bought just for him. Your magazines said it was the only way to go for your first time. In the middle of your preparations, the mounted phone blared its familiar ring. Leon always called before leaving the station, just to let you know he’s on the way. He said it was just to check in with you, his coworkers usually just called him whipped.
You tried not to sound nervous, but Leon couldn’t stop himself from investigating.
“What’s up? You sound weird.” You weren’t ready to spoil the surprise, “N-Nothing! Just watching this show, so I’m a little distracted. You took another step into the kitchen, gripping the corded phone tight, just hoping that he’d believe you.
“Baby, are you sure?” He asks, all gentle like usual. “I’m sure, Leon. I’ll see you soon.” You couldn’t help but smile at how concerned he seemed. Surely he’d be racing home by now, not believing a word you say, only to be met with a bigger surprise.
You and Leon were going on 8 months of dating, never once being intimate.
Not that it was your choice, there was just a bigger problem. Leon had a bigger problem. He was bashful about it at first when you’d given him a blowjob on his birthday, the pair of you both inexperienced virgins.
Even when you just simply held his length in your palm, you found yourself getting intimidated by the size of the task. You tolerated the jaw pain for days after in total silence.
Whether it be your nerves or Leon’s, you sat at 8 months doing almost everything but penetration.
The sound of the doorknob turning broke you out of your thoughts, you hit the kitchen light in a panic. Standing on the tile in nothing but your mesh bra and whisper of panties. In your mind, you were supposed to be somewhere sexy like the bed or waiting for him at the door, not the kitchen.
”I’m home-“ He called into the dark apartment, stopping in his tracks.
Where were you?
He gripped the handle on the gun at his hip, taking a step into the doorway. Closing the front door behind him cautiously, he called out. “Babe?” You couldn’t hide, knowing he wasn’t the one to scare.
“Here..! I’m in here..”
A sigh of relief came from him, “Why’re all the lights off? It’s past 9-“ You sat crouched, holding onto the countertops for a bit of stability. The entryway light ticked on, his sneakers hit the ground. Your heart couldn’t take it, this wasn’t the way you wanted it to be. “You’re hiding from me?” Leon peeked his head into the dark kitchen, searching for you. Smiling when he spotted the top of your head, “There you are.”
“C’mere-“ He took a step closer, around the counter, but the dark couldn’t completely hide you.
A shocked look spread on his face, the light turned on to fully expose you. No choice but to stand up, you could now see the growing blush on his face. “I wanted to surprise you..” You whisper, almost wanting to hide. ”It’s…It’s a good surprise..” He anxiously pushed back his fringe, unsure what to even do with his own hands.
“I thought that..maybe tonight we could try something?”
“Try…what?” He straightens up, a rookie cadet awaiting orders. His hands drift to his pockets trying to make the growing bulge in his jeans less noticeable.
“Well…you know…” You manage to get out, meeting his eyes finally. Pleading for him to take a hint by looking at your current outfit.
Leon knew what you meant, but it didn’t make him any less nervous. “So you wanna try..?” You nod, and Leon felt like he could’ve died.
He stepped closer, you took his lead. It was easy to fit in his arms. Suddenly, everything else melted away. Looking up at him, realizing nothing had to be ‘perfect’. As long as you were with Leon, everything would be fine. His strong grip on you, he picks you up to meet him at eye level. Your legs wrapping around his waist, the thin sliver of your underwear was the only barrier between your pussy and his erection.
”I’ll be so gentle.” A kiss, “I promise, it’ll feel so good.”
Another, only this time deeper. One hand supported you, the other travelled up to unhook your bra before discarding it. His hand fell back down to support you, pulling you in closer. Grinding up into you with every step he took towards the bedroom. “You look so good for me..I can’t believe it..” Passing the threshold of the room, Leon moans into another kiss, only breaking it to place you on the bed. His shirt is quickly tossed into the void of his room.
You hold his eyes as he lowers onto his knees. Your legs hang off the side of the bed, clasped together if you had something to hide. His first kiss on your knee to entice you to relax, then on your thigh, each one placed further up till you were spread wide in front of him. Mesmerized by his actions, you didn’t even notice that your underwear were somehow discarded in the process.
Your elbows support you, unable to keep your eyes off your gorgeous boyfriend as he teased at your sensitive core with his thumb. One swipe had you crying out, collapsing back onto the flannel sheets, completely unaware that you could be so sensitive from so little touch. “Leon, oh my god..!” He circled your clit, trying out everything with his front row seat. You writhed, moving away as your back arched.
Leon took it as an invitation onto his own bed, following you up and putting himself between your twitching thighs.
Focused solely on you, one thick digit traced down your folds. “You’re excited?” He pulled back his index finger, coated in your slick. A teasing smile on his face as he licked it clean, sucking the pad of his thumb for any remnants. “You taste so good, honey.” His fingers return to you, playing at your entrance before slowly applying pressure.
Even his fingers were thick, stretching you with every slow thrust. “Ohh fuck, you’re so tight..” The twinge of pain was disguised by the gentle rubbing on your clit, his hand applying pressure to your mound while his thumb gave you more attention.
“Dripping on my bed, my god..” You squirmed under him, his fingers moving faster. “You’re gonna make me cum, Leon!” You warn, arching into his now relentless fingering. Your chest rising and falling rapidly, panting, crying out to him. Gripping his sheets, feeling the strength leave you the closer your climax came..
Until it all stopped.
“H-Huh?” Dazed, you look up. “Why’d you quit..?”
Leon was rising up to sit on his heels, undoing the button on his jeans, watching you.
You’d totally forgotten the whole point of this. “I thought that I’d help you before, s-some of the guys said..” He paused, “Well, never mind the guys..” Leon leans over you, the weight in the mattress shifting. From his bedside drawer he pulls a bright colored wrapper. Your head angled uncomfortably to watch him work it open with his teeth.
Leon sits back with the rubber between his dampened fingers, his jeans zipper wide open to expose the tent in his boxers. “I can’t wait..” Leon looks to you with desperation, watching you sit up shakily to meet him. “Help me, baby?” He pleads, your hands moving to the waistband of his underwear.
Springing free, you felt the familiar sense of intimidation. Were you really ready for this?
His shaft was thick, veins pulsing on the side. His tip blushed pink, crying pre for you. Leon sighs when you take it in your hand, blonde eyelashes fluttering from the feeling. Taking the condom in your other hand, you catch his beautiful blue eyes.
Biting your lip, you try to weigh your options. Leon was a good man, he always took care of you. This was both of your first times, and it wasn’t like you weren’t on the pill.
“We shouldn’t..use the condom..”
You say it quietly, but he still catches it. Jaw almost dropping before he catches it. Leon swore he’d never been so hard.
In an instant he was on you, kissing your neck as his hips bucked. “Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking hot.” He breathes into you, fumbling around to line his leaking cock up with you. “Oh my god, I can’t believe this ‘s happenin’, you’re so perfect, I love you so much.” Praise and worship spilled from his lips as he humped his girth against your needy pussy. Feeling all of his heat, wanting more, your arms hung around his neck.
”Please, Leon, please fuck me..” You say, weak to the feeling of him hitting your clit with every thrust up. It was all he needed to hear, finding your entrance once again and pressing in.
Feeling split in half is one way to describe it.
Leon tried to focus on going slow,but with his tip getting sucked in by you it was hard to keep his cool. He was really putting all of his effort into not cumming immediately after his tip submerged. Your pussy throbbing around him, walls clenching then relaxing to try and adjust. Your nails only dug deeper into his back, the burn from each scratch brought him back down to earth. Meeting your teary eyes, he almost felt bad.
“Takin’ me so good, baby..You’re doin’ so good..” He grunts out, still slowly moving deeper and deeper. “Slow down, Lee..” You beg, but he only shushes you. “I-I’m almost half in, you feel so…so good..” He’s gripping the sheets by your head, stopping to catch his breath as you sucked him in. His length jutting inside you, only an inch from the base. Your walls tighten again, the tears that prickled your eyes fall as you gasp from the sensation.
”Shit—!” Leon panics, honestly forgetting his position in concern for his sweet girl.
“You okay? I-I’m sorry, I didn’t..” He pushes back blonde from his eyes, the hair obstructing him from properly looking at you. Even if it hurt, you didn’t care. Your arms around him pull him in for another kiss. His concern drifting away, instead choosing to relax into you. Hardly even noticing the last inch finding its home inside you.
Only after he pulls off your lips does he register the feeling of being totally in you. His jeans now sagged to his mid thigh, propping himself up into a more comfortable position and allowing himself to get a good look at you.
Stretched over him, he leaned back to spread you open with just his thumb. “I wish you could look at this, you- you’re so beautiful.” His face burned, the sheer pervertedness of the situation finally setting in for him.
Without a warning, Leon started moving. Hips slowly retract, then snapping back in deeper just to get your reaction. When you cry out his name, reaching for him, Leon could feel his own greed rise up. You couldn’t dilute yourself with anyone but him. Each thrust selfish against you, getting more intense the longer he went. Your moans, cries, it was all he wanted forever. Being in you raw definitely encouraged the feeling, but god did he love you.
“You don’t know how good you feel, seriously..” He pants, voice cracking as his speed increased faster. Seeing you come undone under him was addicting.”Fuck, oh my god…” His movement stutters, losing control over his ability to keep himself from cumming. His hands gripped at your hips, fingers pressing in harder when your hands grasped his wrists.
“Leonnn—“ You whine, which breaks him.
No time, he panics, his body jerking forward as he spills inside you. Pulling you in closer by your hips, holding you in place as you rode out your well deserved peak. A cocky smile spread on his sweet face, “Soo..”
You hardly noticed him speaking while trying to catch your breath, only looking at him after his hand laid soft on your lower stomach. Still inside you, not making any moves to pull out.
“I fit perfectly, yeah?”
comment; i told you guys it was gonna get freakyyy so now youve got 2k words freaky. Probably couldve done more but i really wanted to share this with you all today ^q^ i wanted to take his virginity so this was born thank you for reading ok love you bye <3
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