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𝕮𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝕭𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖚𝖕 ✦ rookie cop!Leon S. Kennedy x Oliveira!Reader ✦ Rating: E✦ 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 You can barely hear over the pounding bass at the party as you down your second drink of the night. Just when you are going to escape to your room to lock the door and hide, you spot the hottest guy dressed as a cop, fueled by alcohol and courage you don't hesitate. You drag him back to your room, eager to help him unwind and have a little fun. In your alcohol-hazed state, you don't notice that his badge looks a bit too authentic under the dim hallway lights, or that his gun sits too heavy against his hip to be some cheap knockoff from Party City.

Leon was dispatched to shut down a rowdy frat party getting out of hand on Halloween, but he's still just a rookie. Too young and fresh-faced, with no real authority behind his barked orders. The partygoers assume he's just another college kid taking his costume to the next level, and they laugh him off. Frustrated that nobody will listen, he turns to leave and call for backup, until he gets distracted by a pretty woman in a harlequin costume, her smile bright and inviting as she reaches for his hand.

Warnings/Notes: Canon Divergence (If Leon actually became a rookie cop instead of traumatized™ AU), I love Carlos and just wanted to include him, Inaccurate Spanish probably (I'm sorry...I'm a no sabo kid who only knows broken Spanish), MDNI, Explicit Sexual Content, P in V Sex, Unprotected sex, Dirty talk, Creampie.

You're sprawled across your bed in your room, The afternoon sun is warm against your skin, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight as you stare up at the ceiling. Your phone is pressed to your ear as you try to have a conversation with your brother, while Claire rummages through your closet in the background, the hangers clattering together.

“No, Carlos, I'm telling you, this professor is absolutely insane,” you say, frustration leaking into your voice as you switch the phone to your other ear. “He assigned a twenty-page problem over the weekend. Twenty pages! Who does that?”

Before Carlos can respond, likely with some brotherly comment about how easy you have it, Claire launches herself onto your bed with zero warning. The mattress bounces violently, nearly making you drop your phone, and you let out a startled yelp as your legs flail slightly.

“Jesus Christ, Claire!” you protest, scrambling to sit up, but she just grins up at you, completely unapologetic, her eyes bright with mischief.

“Hi Carlos!” she sings out, loud enough that there's no way he didn't hear her through the receiver.

You hear your brother's laugh through the speaker, warm and familiar and tinged with a distinct kind of amusement that usually means he's enjoying your suffering. “Hey Claire! How's it going?”

Then you catch Chris's voice in the background, muffled but unmistakable, booming and cheerful. "Is that my Claire bear!? Tell her I said hi!"

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts, a gesture that runs in the family. "Chris says hi," you relay flatly, even though Claire definitely heard him perfectly well; she's practically vibrating with excitement.

"HI Chris!" Claire shouts toward your phone, then makes herself comfortable on your bed, stretching out like she owns the place. She kicks off her shoes, tucking her legs underneath her, clearly planning to stay for the long haul.

You sigh and pull the phone away from your ear for a second, giving Claire your best annoyed look. "Do you mind? I'm trying to have a conversation here."

Claire just smirks, completely unbothered by your irritation, and starts scrolling through her contacts on her phone, the visual distracting you slightly.

You shake your head and turn your attention back to the call, deciding to switch to Spanish, hoping for at least a little privacy from Claire and probably Chris's prying ears. “¿Qué tal va entrenando el nuevo?" (How's training the new rookie going?)

Carlos scoffs so hard you can practically see him rolling his eyes through the phone. “Ay, no, ni me hagas hablar. El nuevo nomás es un niño bonito, ya. Está demasiado entusiasta y me sigue a todas partes como perrito perdido. Es bien cagante.” (Oh, don't get me started. The rookie is just a pretty boy, that's all. Too enthusiastic, follows me around like a lost puppy. Annoying as hell.)

You can't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from your chest. It's so like Carlos to complain about someone eager to learn. “Ay, qué tierno. Pero si a ti te gustan los perros, Carlito. Siempre has querido uno.” (Aww, how cute. But you like dogs, Carlito. You've always wanted one.)

“Ya cállate,” (Shut up,) he grumbles, but you can hear the smile creeping into his voice despite his best efforts.

There's a pause, and you hear some shuffling on his end, like he's grabbing a coffee in the break room. "Oye, ¿tienes planes para esta noche?" (Hey, do you have any plans for tonight?)

"No, ¿por?" (No, why?) You say, rolling to the side slightly to watch Claire type away, already suspecting where this is going.

"¿Cómo que “por”? Es Halloween." (What do you mean why? It's Halloween.) Your brother says incredulously, probably rolling his eyes as you hear the rustle of a fast food wrapper in the background.

You roll your eyes back at him even though he can't see you, the gesture purely reflexive. "Ohhh, no. I'm just staying in tonight. Gonna study, maybe watch a movie."

Carlos hums, and you can tell he doesn't quite believe you but he's not going to push it. "Bueno, está bien. Nomás ten cuidado si cambias de opinión." (Well, okay. Just be careful if you change your mind.)

"Siempre lo tengo," (I always am) you say, which is a complete lie and you both know it. You are tied with the twins, Mateo and Rafael, for the Oliveira sibling most likely to find trouble, though you usually do it accidentally.

Carlos chuckles, a low, warm sound. "Sí, claro. Oye, antes de que se me olvide, mamá quiere que los dos vayamos a la casa este fin de semana." (Yeah, sure. Hey, before I forget, Mom wants both of us to come to the house this weekend.)

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. "¿Este fin de semana? Carlito, tengo un examen el—" (This weekend? Carlito, I have an exam on—)

"Ya le dije eso." (I already told her that.) he interrupts, his voice taking on that long-suffering tone he uses whenever he talks about your mother's stubbornness. "She said you can bring your books and study there. She just wants to see us. Dice que ya ni la visitas." (She says you don't visit her anymore.)

The guilt is a sharp and familiar feeling that bubbles up in your chest and settle deep in your stomach like a rock. Your mom has always been good at that, the gentle guilt trip that makes you feel like the worst daughter in the world for simply trying to get an education.

"Está bien, está bien. Iré." (Okay, okay. I'll go.) You sigh, defeated. "¿A qué hora?" (What time?)

"Como a las dos. Y también dijo que lleves a Claire, si quiere ir." (Around two. And she said to bring Claire if she wants to come.)

"Le voy a preguntar." (I'll ask her.) You pause, looking over at Claire as she perks up listening more closely now that her name has come up in the conversation. "¿Va a estar Chris?" (Is Chris going to be there?)

"Probablemente. Ya sabes cómo es, siempre aparece cuando hay comida gratis." (Probably. You know how he is, always shows up when there's free food.)

You laugh, already ready with a quip. "Como tú." (Like you.)

"Oye, yo ayudo a cocinar. " (Hey, I help cook.) Carlos protests, sounding offended. "Tú nada más llegas, tragas y ya." (You just show up and eat.)

"¡Mentira! I helped last time!" (Lie!) you shout defensively. No way you're taking that slander lying down, your brother is a lying piece of shit.

Sure, there were times when you came over and ate while your seven brothers were forced to help Mamá cook. But that was what was expected, you were the youngest and the only girl. Mamá treated you like a true princess amongst peasants.

But you could distinctly remember all the times that asshole Carlos just came over and took a nap on Mamá's floor or argued with Luis and Rafael about fútbol while you were elbow-deep in masa, actually helping.

"Sí, ayudaste a comerte tres platos de arroz con pollo." (Yeah, you helped eat three plates of chicken and rice.) He scoffed.

You're about to respond with a witty retort about his cooking skills when Claire suddenly sits up, abandoning her phone. She starts gesturing frantically at you, pointing at her watch and mouthing something you can't quite make out. Her eyes are wide and insistent, and she's practically bouncing on your mattress with pent-up energy.

You wave her off with your free hand, trying to focus on Carlos, but she's persistent, making increasingly dramatic gestures that involve a lot of pointing, flailing, and eyebrow waggling.

"Okay, okay, I gotta go," you tell Carlos, switching back to English with a resigned sigh. "Claire's having some kind of crisis or something."

Immediately, Carlos's tone shifts into full big-brother protective mode. You can practically hear him straightening up, his voice going serious. "Wait, before you go. Be careful tonight, okay? It's Halloween you know there is lots of drunk idiots out there."

"I'm not going anywhere—" you start to protest.

"I'm serious," he interrupts firmly. "No stupid decisions. No drinking too much, and if some guy tries anything—"

"Carlos," you cut him off, laughing despite yourself, warmed by his concern. "I'm fine. I promise I'll be careful. Love you, bye!"

You hang up before he can launch into a full-blown lecture about personal safety and the dangers of college parties, and toss your phone onto the pillow. You turn to Claire, who's now grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Sooooo,” she says, drawing out the word with obvious glee. “The frat is throwing a massive party tonight for Halloween, and you'll be attending with me.”

You groan, flopping back dramatically on your bed and throwing an arm over your eyes. “Claire, no. God, no. Those parties are disgusting. The guys are gross and handsy, it's always way too loud, someone always breaks something expensive, and there's inevitably vomit somewhere.”

“Exactly! That's what makes it fun!” She grabs your arm and shakes it insistently. “Come on, you never go out anymore. You're always holed up in here studying or talking to one of your brothers. Just come for a little while? Please?”

You peek at her from under your arm, taking in her pleading puppy-dog eyes and pouty lip. She knows exactly what she's doing; she's weaponized that face since you were freshmen.

“Fine,” you concede with a heavy, put-upon sigh. “But I'm staying for like five minutes, max. Maybe ten if the music doesn't suck, and the second I get bored or some drunk guy tries to grind on me, I'm locking myself in my room and you're not dragging me back out. Deal?”

Claire squeals and throws her arms around you, nearly crushing your ribcage. “Yes! Oh my god, yes! Okay, we need to figure out your costume right now. What are you thinking? Sexy cat? Sexy nurse? Sexy devil? Ooh, or sexy—”

“If you say the word 'sexy' one more time, I'm backing out of this entire thing,” you warn, but you're already smiling despite yourself, unable to resist her infectious enthusiasm.

Claire just laughs and bounces off the bed, already heading for your closet with determination in her eyes. “Okay, okay. How about... harlequin? I saw this amazing costume at the store and I think you'd look incredible in it. Red and black, kind of edgy, super cute...”

You sit up, resigned to your fate. “Fine. Lets go.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

Leon's jaw is so tight it starts to ache as he clenches his jaw muscle, he pulls the patrol car up to the curb in front of the frat house. The house is currently emitting a bassline so loud he can feel it rattling, even from inside the cruiser. The house looks like bad news waiting to happen, windows pulsating with erratic strobe lights, shadows of way too many bodies packed against the glass, the faint but distinct scent of spilled beer drifting even through the closed windows of the cruiser.

He keyes the radio, keeping his voice steady despite the knot of tension in his stomach. "Dispatch, this is unit seven-two-three. We're on scene at 588 raccoon road for the noise complaint. It's... active."

Static crackles back at him, the dispatcher sounding bored. "Copy that, seven-two-three. Keep us updated. Use discretion if it's just college kids being college kids."

Discretion. Right.

Leon reaches for the console, his fingers hovering over the switch to trigger the lights and sirens. Nothing clears a street faster than the wail of a siren, It’s the universal language of "you're busted." But before he can flip the switch, Carlos's hand shoots out from the passenger seat and clamps over his wrist.

"Whoa, whoa, hold up there, rookie," Carlos says, his voice lazy and thick with sleep. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes already half-lidded. There's a smirk playing on his lips that Leon has learned to dread. "You can handle this one solo, right? Good training experience."

Leon stares at him. "Carlos, there's got to be at least a hundred people in there. Maybe two hundred. It's a full-blown rager."

"And you're a cop," Carlos interrupts, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. "You got the badge and gun. You got this. Just go in, flash the badge, tell them to shut it down. Easy peasy."

"Shouldn't we both go in? Standard procedure for crowd control—"

But Carlos is already reaching for the seat lever, tilting it back until he's practically horizontal. He pulls his cap down low over his eyes, effectively ending the conversation. "I'll be right here if you need backup. Just knock on the window. If I don't wake up, throw a rock at it." he hears Carlos mumble something in Spanish, his voice muffled by the cap over his face.

Leon freezes as he understands every word. Four years of high school Spanish, two semesters in college meant he'd been quietly comprehending about seventy percent of Carlos's muttered complaints since day one. It was annoying but Leon had kept his mouth shut, not wanting to make things more awkward than they already were. Thank you, Mrs. Benitez, he thinks.

Within thirty seconds, a soft, rhythmic snoring is emanating from the passenger seat. Leon sits there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white, trying to decide if he's more frustrated or impressed by his partner's ability to fall asleep literally anywhere at anytime. They'd been paired up for three weeks, and while Carlos was undeniably a great cop, he also had a frustrating habit of treating Leon like a glorified intern who needed to learn "the hard way."

"Unbelievable," Leon mutters under his breath, unbuckling his seatbelt with a sharp snap. He steps out and shoves the door closed harder than necessary, hoping the slam might jostle Carlos awake, It doesn't. He checks his reflection in the car window, uniform crisp, hair neat, badge polished. He looks the part as he squares his shoulders back.

The front door is propped open with a traffic cone, Leon steps over the threshold and is immediately hit by a wall of sensory overload.

The house is packed wall-to-wall with bodies, the heat radiating off the crowd suffocating. The air is thick, a toxic cocktail of cheap beer, sweat, vapor clouds from smokes, and an overwhelming amount of body spray. Music blasts from speakers hidden somewhere in the living room.

He takes a breath, puffing out his chest, and raises his voice to a shout. "Attention! This is the police! This party is over! Everyone needs to—"

A guy dressed in a yellow banana suit stumbles past him, reeking of tequila. He shoves a red solo cup into Leon's hand, sloshing warm liquid over his fingers. "Dude! Sick costume, bro! You look so legit! Did you rent that or buy it?"

"I'm not—this isn't a costume," Leon tries to explain, but the banana guy is already gone, swallowed back into the throng of dancing bodies.

Leon grimaces, sets the cup down on a nearby table that is sticky with unknown substances, and tries again. He projects his voice, using his "commanding voice". "Everyone needs to evacuate the premises! You're in violation of noise ordinances and public intoxication laws!"

A girl in a sexy nurse outfit consisting of mostly red lace and a plastic headpiece giggles and drapes herself over his shoulders, nearly spilling her drink down the front of his uniform shirt. "Oh my god, you're so hot. Can I get a pic? Hold my drink!"

"Ma'am, please, I'm an actual police officer—"

She's already pulling out her phone, posing and completely ignoring his words. Leon gently but firmly extracts himself from her grip, his frustration mounting with every second. He pushes further into the house, moving against the flow of the crowd.

"Excuse me! Police!" he tries to flag down a group of guys playing beer pong in the hallway. "I need you to end the game and clear the area."

"Dude, chill!" one of them laughs, high-fiving his partner. "It's Halloween! Live a little!"

They offer him a ping pong ball. Leon bats it away.

"Please, just turn the music down," he implores a guy standing near a massive amplifier.

The guy just grins and reaches out, patting Leon on the cheek condescendingly. "Nice try, bro. Nice gun, by the way. Very realistic."

"It's not a prop!" Leon snaps, finally losing his cool. "And if you touch me again, you'll be spending the night in a cell, 'bro'" But his voice is lost, drowned out by a sudden drop in the music that makes the crowd scream in delight.

He makes his way toward what he thinks might be the source of the music, hoping that if he can just kill the power, people might actually hear him. But the deeper he gets into the house, the more impossible the task seems. The hallway is a bottleneck of bodies, the air is getting harder to breathe, and he's starting to realize this is a losing battle.

Nobody is taking him seriously. Not one person. He’s too young, and he knows it. "Baby-faced," Carlos calls him, usually while laughing over a burger. At twenty-one, he barely looks old enough to be out of high school, let alone be a police officer. The academy had been brutal, the physical training grueling, and even after graduating at the top of his class, he still gets mistaken for a cadet half the time.

And now, surrounded by people his own age, people who should, by all rights, be respecting the uniform, he's just another partygoer. He feels the frustration boiling over in his gut, turning into something closer to resignation. He's one guy. He can't arrest two hundred people by himself.

He pulls out his radio, thumbing the talk button. "Carlos, I need backup in here. This is out of control. Nobody's listening to me." Static hisses back at him.

"Carlos? Carlos, you awake?" More static. Leon closes his eyes and counts to ten, just like they taught him in de-escalation training. When he opens them again, nothing has changed. The party is still raging, the bass is still shaking the floorboards, people are still ignoring him, and his partner is likely back in the car dreaming about donuts.

He's turning toward the door, defeated, already ready to turn and shake Carlos awake and force him to help him, when he sees her.

She's standing near the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen doorway, and even in the chaos of the party, she stands out. The harlequin costume hugs her curves in a way that makes his mouth go dry, the fabric a dizzying pattern of red and black diamonds. Her makeup is dramatic and bold, black mask, painted-on smile, dark lipstick, and she looks confident and completely in her element.

But it's not just the costume that catches his attention. It's the way she's looking at him. Most people have looked through him, or at him like he's a joke. But her? She's looking right at him. Her eyes lock onto his from across the crowded, noisy room, and for a second, the rest of the party fades away.

She smiles, and it's not the mocking, drunk giggles and grins he's been getting all night. Leon forgets what he was about to do. He forgets the radio in his hand, the noise complaint, the sleeping partner in the car. He just stands there, rooted to the sticky floorboard.

She pushes off the doorframe and starts walking toward him, cutting through the crowd like she is parting the sea, and Leon's heart does a strange, nervous little flip. ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

The bass is so loud you can feel it in your chest, each thump reverberating through your ribcage like a second heartbeat. You tip back your cup, letting the vodka-spiked punch burn down your throat, your second drink, and already the edges of the room are starting to blur in that pleasant, fuzzy way that makes everything seem just a little bit brighter, a little bit easier.

You were just about to make your escape. Five minutes have definitely passed, probably closer to twenty, and you've done your duty as Claire's friend. You've shown up, you've had a drink, you've nodded along to conversations you couldn't hear over the music. Now it's time to retreat to your room, lock the door, put on some TV, and pretend the chaos downstairs doesn't exist, but then you see him.

He's standing near the front of the room, and God, he's gorgeous. Tall and broad-shouldered, with dirty blonde hair that falls just right across his forehead, soft and cute baby-faced jawline, and these incredible blue eyes that you can see even from across the crowded space. The cop costume fits him like it was custom-made, navy blue shirt that stretches across his chest in all the right ways, tactical pants that hug his thighs, utility belt slung low on his hips with handcuffs dangling from one side.

Even from here, you can tell the costume is high-quality. Not like the cheap polyester crap most guys throw on. This looks real, detailed, almost professional. The badge on his chest catches the light, gleaming in a way that seems too authentic for Party City, not that you could actually put that together in your drunken haze anyway.

He looks frustrated, his jaw is tight, his brows furrowed, and he's trying to talk to people who keep brushing him off. You watch as someone hands him a solo cup and pats him on the back, and the expression on his face is priceless, a cute bewildered and annoyed frown on his face, his eyes shining like he might cry out of frustration.

The alcohol is warm in your veins, and suddenly the idea of hiding in your room seems a lot less appealing than talking to the hottest guy at this party, and before you can second-guess yourself, you're moving. You weave through the crowd of drunk college students in various states of costume, sexy nurses, zombies, a guy in a large spider costume, and make your way toward him.

He's turning away, reaching for something on his shoulder, a radio? Wow, he really committed to this costume, when you slide up next to him.

“Hey,” you say, pitching your voice loud enough to be heard over the music. You flash him your brightest smile, the one that always worked on your brothers' friends. “Nice costume.”

He turns to look at you, and up close he's even better. Those blue eyes are striking, framed by golden lashes, and there's a slight flush to his cheeks that makes him look younger than you first thought. Maybe your age, actually. Early twenties at most.

“Thanks...” he says, but there's something distracted in his tone. His eyes flick back to the crowd, then to you again. “Um sorry...Listen, I'm actually—”

“You look way too serious,” you interrupt, emboldened by the alcohol and the way his gaze keeps lingering on you. The harlequin costume was definitely the right choice; you can see his eyes tracking the diamonds that curve over your body. You step a little closer, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look up at him. “You should relax. Have some fun.”

His lips part like he's about to protest, and you notice they're really nice lips. Full, perfectly shaped and you wonder what they'd feel like against yours.

“I'm serious,” you say, reaching out to touch his arm. The muscle beneath the fabric of his uniform shirt is solid and very distracting, he has really nice biceps you think to yourself. “When's the last time you actually enjoyed yourself at one of these things?”

He blinks at you, and you can see the exact moment his brain seems to shut down like a windows screen. His mouth opens, closes, and then he swallows hard. You track the movement of his throat, the Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. Your eyes drift lower, catching on the cute little moles that sprinkle his neck, a constellation you want to map out with your mouth, that you would never tire of tracing. You're utterly fascinated and captivated by him.

“I... I'm not really here to enjoy myself,” he manages, but his voice is a little rough.

“Well, that's a shame,” you murmur, stepping even closer until there's barely an inch of air separating your bodies. You can smell his cologne now, something clean and masculine that smells a million times better than the stale beer and sweaty smell of the party. “Because I was hoping you might want to get out of here.”

You reach out and toy with the stiff collar of his uniform shirt, your fingers brushing against the warm skin of his neck pressing your finger to the mole hiding just under his collar. You feel him shiver, a full-body reaction he can't hide. Then you press your chest flush against his, letting him feel the softness of your curves against him. You look up at him, fluttering your lashes, putting on your best innocent act, your heart beating a mile a minute in your chest.

His eyes widen slightly, and the flush on his cheeks deepens to a very pretty pink that spreads all the way down his neck. “Are you—are you asking me to—”

“To come upstairs with me?” you finish for him, your voice dropping to a low and intimate register that he has to lean down to hear you over the thumping bass. You slide your hand down his chest, over the badge resting on his chest, letting your fingers trail down his tensing sternum to rest dangerously close to his gun belt. “Yeah. I am.”

“Why?” he breathes, looking down at you like he’s afraid you’re a hallucination conjured up by his exhaustion and frustration. A siren songing him to crash against your shores.

“Because you’re the hottest guy here,” you say simply, your hand traveling back up his chest to lay right between his pecks, your thumb stroking the fabric right over his heart, feeling it race. “And you look like you need to relax.” You stand on your tiptoes and brush your lips against the soft line of his jaw. “My room's upstairs,” you say, your voice dropping into a lower sultry tone. The alcohol makes you bold; makes you reach out and tug gently on his wrist. His skin is warm under your fingers. “What do you say, officer? Want to help me unwind a little?”

He just stares at you like you've spoken a different language entirely, maybe that was his thing, you could totally break out the Spanish if that was his thing. You weren’t below using it especially if it got him to follow you upstairs. You can see the conflict playing out across his face, confusion, surprise, and lust warring with what's you don't know is his sense of duty.

His lips part, and you can see him forming the word "no." his eyes flick toward the door and you think you've lost him, but then his expression shifts. His jaw clenches slightly, and you swear you see a flash of frustration cross his face, not at you, but at something else you couldn’t see. Leon's eyes come back to you, and the conflict is still there, but there's a resignation mixed with recklessness now.

His hand turns in your grip, his fingers tangling with yours, and he lets out a breath that sounds almost defeated.

"Okay..." he says quietly, so quietly you almost don't hear him over the music. There's a helpless and innocent but entirely too excited expression on his face that makes your stomach flip, he's got this eager puppy energy that is making you go absolutely crazy.

Victory surges through your body, and you feel as if you just won the hot boy lottery as you grin and start pulling him toward the stairs, weaving through the crowd. A few people glance your way, you catch Claire's eye across the room, and she gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up that makes you want to die of embarrassment.

You guess you doth protest too much when she had to practically force you downstairs, now look at you disappearing upstairs with a guy only after twenty minutes. You owed it to her big time and if this went as well as you hoped it would, you would be buying her the largest coffee you could tomorrow.

The noise dulls as you climb the stairs, the bass fading to a manageable thump beneath your feet. Your room is at the end of the hall, and your hands are shaking slightly as you fumble with the door handle.

“Sorry, it's kind of a mess,” you say as you pull him inside, though honestly your room is probably the cleanest space in the entire frat house. Textbooks are stacked neatly on your desk, your bed is made with your favorite comforter, and the only real clutter is the pile of rejected costume options Claire had pulled from your closet earlier.

You close the door behind you, and the quiet is almost jarring. You can still hear the party, but it's more muffled now, and in here it's just the two of you and the sound of your breathing.

He's standing in the middle of your room, looking around with an almost dazed expression. The lighting is softer here, just your bedside lamp casting everything in a warm glow, and you can see more details now. The way his hair is slightly mussed, like he's been running his hands through it in frustration.

“Soooo,” you say, stepping closer. Your heart is pounding now, alcohol and pure want thrumming through your veins. “What's your name, officer?”

He looks at you, observing you.

“Leon,” he finally says. “My name is Leon.”

“Leon,” you repeat, testing his name on your tongue as you step close enough that your chest almost brushes his, and you have to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “I'm glad you came upstairs with me, Leon.”

His hands hover at his sides, like he's not sure what to do with them. “Wait—I should probably tell you something—” But you're done with talking, you've been watching his mouth for the past five minutes and you need to know what it feels like. You rise up on your toes and kiss him. For a second, he freezes, going completely still like he's forgotten how to move.

Slowly his hands come up to cup your face, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and his lips are even better than you imagined. Soft but firm, moving against yours with an urgency that makes your knees weak. You grab onto his shirt for balance, feeling warmth of his body beneath the fabric.

You kiss him harder, sliding your tongue along the seam of his lips, and he opens for you with a groan. The taste of him floods your mouth and you want more, need more. Your hands slide up to his shoulders, then into his hair, and it's just as soft as it looks. He makes another noise when you tug slightly, and you file that information away for later. When you finally pull back, you're both breathing hard. His lips are swollen and pink, his eyes dark with want, and the bulge in his pants is very, very obvious.

“Bed,” you breathe, you don't give him time to overthink it, as your hands find his belt, and you walk him backward until his legs hit the edge of your bed. One firm push and he goes down, sitting heavily on the mattress with a surprised exhale that's absolutely adorable.

“Wait—” he starts, but you're already dropping to your knees between his legs, fingers working at his belt buckle with determination.

The metal clinks as you pull it free, and his breath catches audibly. You can see the conflict written all over his face, those blue eyes wide and uncertain, his lips parted like he wants to protest but can't quite make himself form the words. His hands hover in the air, trembling slightly.

“Just relax,” you murmur, your voice low and sweet as you pop the button on his pants. The zipper follows with a soft hiss, and you tug the fabric down to reveal dark boxer briefs underneath. He's hard, the outline of his cock strains against the fabric, thick and mouth-watering, you can't help the pleased hum that escapes your throat.

“Hold on I think I made a mistake, I really shouldn't—” Leon's voice cracks slightly, his hands finally moving to catch your wrists, but his grip is gentle, hesitant, like he doesn't really want you to stop. “This isn't—I'm, I—”

You look up at him through your lashes, letting your lower lip push out in an exaggerated pout. “What's wrong? You don't want me to suck your cock?”

His face goes scarlet, bright red from his neck all the way up to his ears, and the sight is so delicious you almost moan out loud. You lean forward and press your lips against his cock through his boxers, letting your hot breath warm over the dark fabric.

“Fuck—” He whimpers, his hips jerking involuntarily off the bed. You kiss him again, slower this time, dragging your mouth along the length of him. He's thick and you can feel him twitch against your lips, your tongue darts out, wetting the fabric, and Leon makes a strangled noise that goes straight between your legs.

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. He stares down at you, chest heaving, face still flushed that gorgeous shade of red. His hands are trembling where they rest on your wrists, and you can see the exact moment he decides.

“I...” He swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “No.” he says defeated, and your grin is wicked as you lean back in. You press open-mouthed kisses along his length through the fabric, sucking gently, getting the cotton wet with your saliva. Leon's breathing is uneven as he pants, his thighs tensing under your hands.

You look up at him as you work, maintaining eye contact while you mouth at his cock. His eyes are glazed, pupils blown wide, and he looks absolutely destroyed already and you've barely done anything. It's intoxicating, the power you have over him right now.

“Please,” he breathes. You hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tug them down teasingly. His cock springs free, and God, it's even better than you imagined.

“Oh,” you breathe, wrapping your hand around the base. “You have such a pretty cock.” And you mean it. He's thick and flushed, the head already dark pink and leaking. He curves slightly upward, and the vein running along the underside is prominent. He's neatly trimmed, clearly takes care of himself, and the whole package is honestly mouthwatering.

Leon makes a choked sound at your words, his cock jumping in your hand and leaking more precum. A pearly bead forms at the tip, and you watch, fascinated, as it threatens to drip down his shaft.

You laugh softly, delighted. “You're so responsive,” you murmur against his heated skin. “It’s cute.” you tell him, stroking him slowly.

He's a mess already, face red and breathing hard, trembling under your touch. Most guys you've been with try to act all cocky and too confident for their own good, and honestly it kinda gives you the ick. But Leon? Leon is open and honest in his reactions, and it's refreshing as hell. You lean in and press a soft kiss to his tip, right where that bead of precum has formed. The taste bursts across your tongue, salty and musky and you hum in appreciation.

Leon's whole-body jerks, a broken moan falling from his lips, and his hand flies to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands but not pulling.

“Oh god,” he whimpers, and the sound makes you clench around nothing. “That feels—you're—”

You kiss him again, then drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft, following that throbbing vein from base to tip. His thighs are shaking now, muscles jumping under your free hand. You swirl your tongue around the head, dipping into the slit to gather more of that addictive taste, and Leon actually lets out a cry. His hips twitch like he wants to thrust up but he's holding himself back, trying so hard to be good and not force his cock down your throat.

“It's okay,” you tell him, pressing kisses along his length. “You can fuck my mouth; I want you to.”

And with that, you seal your lips around the head of his cock and suck. The taste of him floods your mouth as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks and working your tongue along the underside of his shaft. Spit leaks from the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin and making an absolute mess, but you don't care. You push yourself further, taking him until he hits the back of your throat. The stretch makes your eyes water, your throat constricting around him, and Leon moans and whimpers uncontrollably.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck—” Leon's babbling now, his voice high and strained. His thighs are tense under your hands, muscles jumping with every bob of your head. “That's—you're—holy shit—”

You pull back until just the tip rests between your lips, then swirl your tongue around the head. His hips buck involuntarily, driving himself deeper, and you let him, relaxing your throat to take more.

“Sorry, I'm sorry—” he gasps, but his hand tightens in your hair, contradicting the sweet way that he is apologizing.

You hum your approval and take him as deep as you can, your nose nearly brushing the hair at his base. The sound he makes is desperate, a moan mixing with a quiet sob, and you feel a rush of power knowing you're the one reducing him to this.

You pull back with a gasp, spit connecting your lips to his cock in a lewd string, then dive back down. The wet, obscene sounds fill your quiet room, combines with Leon's increasingly desperate whimpers. You work the base your hand following your mouth while the other slides up his thigh, feeling the way his muscles quiver beneath you wandering hands.

You pull off of him with a soft pop. “You're so hard,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the side of his shaft. “Does it feel good, officer?”

“Don't—” He chokes on the word, his head falling back. “Don't call me that right now, please—” But you can see the way his cock jerks at the title, the way more precum leaks from the tip. You lap it up with a flick of your spit slick tongue, and Leon's moan bounces off your bedroom walls.

Your free hand slides up his stomach, fingers scratching through the trimmed blond hair of his happy trail. The texture is coarse against your fingertips, and you feel his abs flex and jump under your touch.

He's so responsive and it is driving you absolutely crazy. You’ve given head before, but it's never felt like this. Never made your pussy throb with need, never made you feel throbbing and warm just from the taste of someone on your tongue. But Leon is different in every way from most frat guys who end up at these parties, the way he whimpers and trembles under your touch, makes you want never to let him leave your bed.

Tears well up in your eyes, partly from choking on his cock but mostly from sheer arousal. Your makeup is definitely running now, black streaks probably running through the makeup on your cheeks, but you don't care. You just want more of him.

Your other hand slides down your body, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. You're absolutely soaked, your arousal coating your inner thighs, and when your fingers find your clit you have to moan around Leon's cock.

“Jesus—” Leon's voice breaks. “Are you—are you touching yourself?”

You pull off to look up at him, your lips still brushing his tip. “Uh-huh,” you breathe, circling your clit with slick fingers. “You make me so wet, Leon.”

His cock jumps, leaking more precum, and you lap it up eagerly before taking him back into your mouth. You set a rhythm now, bobbing your head while your hand works what you can't fit, your other hand buried between your legs.

“Such a good boy, Leon.” His face somehow gets even redder, and you grin before taking him back into your mouth.

You slip two fingers into yourself, your walls clenching around them as you imagine what Leon's cock would feel like instead. The thought makes you moan, the vibration traveling through his length, and Leon actually sobs.

“Wait, wait—” His hand tugs at your hair, not hard enough to hurt but urgent. “I'm gonna—if you keep doing that I'm gonna—”

You pull off just enough to look up at him, your lips still brushing his tip. “Gonna what?”

He's panting, his chest heaving, sweat beading at his temples. Those blue eyes are glazed with pleasure, pupils blown wide, and he looks absolutely wrecked.

“Come,” he admits, “I'm gonna come.” The confession sends a thrill through you, heat pooling low in your belly. You want that. Want to taste him, feel him lose control, know that you did this to him.

“Then come,” you say simply, before you double down, sucking harder, taking him as deep as you can while your fingers are finding your clit. The sensation of his cock heavy on your tongue and your own fingers pumping inside yourself, has you teetering on the edge. You scratch your nails through his happy trail again, a little harder this time, and Leon's whole body goes taut.

You look up at him through tear-blurred vision, and the sight of him, his face is flushed, his mouth open in a silent moan, sweat beading at his temples, above you is going to push you over the edge.

You moan around him and that all it takes for Leon to snap, his hips jerk up, driving himself into your mouth as his hand fists tight in your hair. You relax your throat and let him, working him with your tongue as he fucks into the wet heat.

“Fuck, fuck, I'm—” His warning dissolves into a strangled groan as he comes across your tongue and the back of your throat. You take him deeper, relaxing your throat as much as you can, choking on him while tears stream down your face and your fingers pump in and out of your dripping pussy.

You're making such a mess, spit and precum coating your chin, your hand between your legs absolutely drenched. You swallow around him greedily, not wanting to waste a drop, your own fingers working faster between your legs.

The taste of him, the sounds he's making, the way his cock twitches in your mouth, all coalesce into a tight ball deep in your core before it all crashes over you and you come too, moaning around his length as pleasure floods through you. Your walls clench tightly around your fingers, your whole body shaking.

Leon collapses back on your bed in a boneless heap, gasping his chest heaves up and down, his uniform shirt twisted and rumpled. You pull off slowly, licking your lips as you sit back on your heels. His cock is still half-hard, glistening and sensitive, and when you press one last kiss to the tip, Leon actually whimpers. Withdrawing your hand from between your legs, your fingers are slick and shining, and without thinking, you bring them to your mouth and suck them clean.

Leon peeks at you from under his arm, his face still flushed, his hair a mess. Staring at you like you're some kind of goddess. “Jesus christ…,” he breathes, his cock giving a small twitch of interest despite having just come. “You’re—that was—”

You grin, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. Your makeup is definitely ruined, mascara streaked down your cheeks, lipstick smeared everywhere. You probably look like a mess But from the way Leon is looking at you, you've never felt more beautiful.

You stand up, legs still a little shaky from your orgasm, and Leon watches you with dazed blue eyes as you reach for the laces of your corset. His gaze tracks every movement of your fingers as you slowly undo them, letting the garment fall away.

Your breasts spill free, nipples already hard and aching, and Leon makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Next come the shorts, shimmied down your hips along with the fishnets and soaked panties. You kick them aside, standing completely naked in front of him except for the smudged harlequin makeup and the little jester hat that's somehow still sitting upon your head.

“Fuck,” Leon breathes, his eyes roaming over every inch of exposed skin. His cock is already stirring again, hardening from where it rests against his stomach.

You crawl onto the bed, straddling his hips, and push him back against the mattress. He goes easily, his hands coming up to rest on your waist like he can't help himself.

“I want you inside me,” you murmur, leaning down to capture his lips. This kiss is different from the first, deeper, more confident, flavored with the taste of him still lingering on your tongue. Leon groans into your mouth, his hands sliding up your sides to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. You roll your hips, grinding your bare pussy against the rough fabric of his rough pants. The friction against your sensitive clit makes you gasp, breaking the kiss.

“Need this off,” you pant, tugging at his shirt.

Leon sits up enough to help you pull it over his head, and oh god, he's beautiful. Lean muscle, defined abs, a light dusting of golden hair across his chest that trails down in that perfect happy trail you'd scratched through earlier. You run your hands over his chest, feeling the way his heart pounds beneath your palm.

“Pants too,” you demand, helping strip him completely.

“This is such a high-quality costume,” you comment breathlessly, running your fingers over the uniform before you toss it aside carelessly.

“Actually—” Before he can respond you are straddling him as you grind down hard on his cock, sliding your slick folds along his length, and whatever Leon was about to say dissolves into a helpless moan. His hands fly to your hips, gripping tight enough to bruise. “That feels—you're so wet—”

You are absolutely dripping, coating his cock with your arousal as you rock against him. The head catches on your clit with each roll of your hips and you whimper at the sensation.

“You feel so good,” you breathe, bracing your hands on his chest.

Leon's looking up at you his face flushed and his lips parted. “You're incredible,” he manages. “I can't—I've never—”

You grind down harder, cutting off his words with another moan. His cock slides through your folds, getting absolutely soaked, and you can feel him throbbing against you.

“Need you inside me,” you whimper, reaching down to position his pink tip at your swollen entrance.

His eyes go wide, his grip on your hips tightening. “Wait—do you have—I don't have a condom—”

“I'm on the pill,” you say quickly, too desperate to care about the details. You need him now, need to feel him stretching you open, filling you up. “Please, Leon. I need you.”

He searches your face for a moment, before he nods, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Yeah, okay.”

You sink down slowly, taking just the tip, and you both moan at the sensation. He's thick, stretching you wide and you have to pause to adjust to his girth. Leon's hands grips your hips as he slides into you, watching your face as you adjust to his size, your breath hitches lips parting on a soft gasp. Which makes something primal stir deep in his chest.

“You're so tight,” Leon grits out, his abs flexing as he fights the urge to thrust up. You sink down another inch, then another, taking him slowly until he's fully seated inside you. The stretch feels so good, almost too much but not quite, and you feel absolutely full.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, your head falling back. You're already rolling your hips before you can fully adjust to the feeling of him being buried deep inside you. You look at him, panting and breathless from just a few rolls of your hips, and the pleading blissed out look on his face makes you want to tease him.

“I've been such a bad girl, officer,” you purr breathlessly, your lips brushing against his. “Are you going to punish me?”

Leon's whole body goes rigid. “Don't—” he warns again, but you can already feel his cock twitching inside you. You grin wickedly, running your hands down his arms where they're lying beside him. “Maybe you should use those handcuffs on me, officer. Make sure I don't try to escape.” You purr before you trail your fingers back up his arms to rest on his chest, feeling the way his muscles jump under your touch, and lean up to whisper in his ear.

“What's wrong?” you ask innocently, rolling your hips in small tight circles in his lap. “Isn't that what cops do? Detain bad girls who break the rules?”

“Jesus Christ,” Leon mutters, and then he's kissing you again, hard and demanding. Leon's hips snap upward hard, driving into you so deep you gasp.

“Fuck—don't—” he mumbles, the rhythm you had set faltering. “Don't call me that when I'm—when we're—” Leon groans interrupting himself, his hips continuing to thrust into you shallowly, each one making you gasp. You can feel his cock jumps inside you, the way he somehow gets even harder. He likes it, even if he's embarrassed to admit it.

Leon's breathing grows heavier. The control that he had been maintaining ever since you found him downstairs was slipping, you can see it in the tension of his shoulders, the way his muscles cord beneath sun-kissed skin dotted with those distinctive moles.

"Common, Officer," your voice lilts higher, sing-song and deliberately provocative. "Maybe you should—oh fuck—" Leon's hands tighten on your hips and suddenly the world is spinning. He flips you onto your back with surprising strength, your head hitting the pillow as he settles between your thighs raised on his knees. The shift in position makes his cock slide even deeper, as you gasp at the sensation.

"You think this is funny?" he pants, his voice rough and strained. "Teasing me like this?"

"A little," you admit breathlessly, then laugh when he drives into you particularly hard, his hips snapping forward with force. The laugh dissolves into a moan as pleasure sparks through you, an all-consuming fire that starts from your toes spreads up your chest to settle there and warm you from the inside.

"But you love it—oh god—you love when I call you that. Don't you?" you say breathlessly. He can't deny it, not when his cock is rock hard inside you, throbbing with need. His jaw clenches, and you can see him trying to formulate words, trying to match your teasing energy.

"Gonna—" he grits out, his voice lacking the usual cockiness that is to be expected from most guys who come to these frat parties, "—gonna fuck that attitude right out of you."

There's no real bite to his bark. The words almost uncertain, like he's testing them out, trying to play along but not quite sure how. It's endearing, actually, his inexperience with dirty talk, the way he's clearly attempting to match your energy but fumbling slightly. And it only turns you on more, knowing that he's trying, that he wants to give you what you want even if it doesn't come naturally.

"Promise, Officer?" you tease, your legs wrapping around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back.

"Fuck—" He groans, his voice slightly strangled and tense, as you feel his whole body tense. Suddenly he's pulling almost all the way out, just the tip of his cock still inside you, and then he slams back in hard enough to make you whimper. Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent marks in his skin.

" Ahhh—Yes! That feels so good," you gasp out, and the praise seems to ignite something in him. Your words spur him on like nothing else could. Leon's hands slide down to hook under your knees, and in one fluid motion he folds you completely in half, pressing your thighs back toward your chest. The new angle drives him deeper, so deep you can feel him in your stomach, and he slams into you with a force that punches the air from your lungs.

“Leon, oh god, Leon—” You're babbling now. Emboldened he sets a brutal pace, each thrust powerful and deep, his hips pounding into you hard and deep. The wet sounds of your coupling fill the room, the slick slide of his cock in your drenched pussy, the slap of skin on skin, the creaking of the bed beneath you, all mixing with your breathless moans and his desperate groans.

Each thrust is harder than the last, and you love every second of it. your hands fisting in the sheets as pleasure crashes through you in waves. You can't help the high-pitched whimpers that escape, your voice climbing higher and higher. "Ah—ah—ah—Leon—!" Each drive of his hips forces another sound from you, helpless little cries that match his rhythm perfectly.

He's breathing hard above you, his face flushed and his hair falling into his eyes the pupils blown wide with lust as he watches you writhe and moan beneath him. The shy, flustered guy from earlier is gone, replaced by a man on a single-minded mission. Sweat beads on his forehead, a drop trailing down his temple, and his arms shake slightly with the effort of holding himself up, but he doesn't slow down or ease up.

Each thrust drives you further up the bed, the headboard starting to knock against the wall. Tears spring to your eyes from the overwhelming sensation, the stretch and fullness and break neck pace. Your hands reach up desperately, fingers grasping at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer as he drives you into the mattress.

Leon leans forward, folding you tighter, and his mouth finds your breasts. He kisses the soft swell of them before his lips close around one peaked nipple. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud, then he sucks, hard, drawing it between his teeth. Your back arches and he releases your nipple with a wet pop, only to lavish the same attention on the other breast. His teeth graze the tender flesh, biting as you cry out, and leaving dark red marks all over the curve of your breast.

“Fu—fuckfuck—You're so pretty,” he pants, his voice rough. His words send heat flooding through you, and you clench around him again. Leon hips stutter as he buries his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he moans, his arms slide around you, pulling you closer, crushing you against his chest even as he continues to thrust into you. His hips snap forward particularly hard and you cry out.

“You feel so good,” he groans, his grip on your knees tightening. Your hands slide up into his hair, tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling and gripping tight as you pull his face closer to yours.

“Look at me, Leon.” you demand. He lifts his head, and the eye contact is intense. Those blue eyes are dark with lust, glazed over with pleasure and unshed tears, and you pull him down into a kiss. Your mouths crash together messily, his tongue sliding against yours as his cock continues to fill you over and over.

When he finally pulls back to breathe, you chase him, pressing kisses to his neck, kissing, sucking, teeth scraping over those moles. He’s so beautiful like this, completely lost in pleasure, and you want to memorize every detail. You bite down on the junction of his neck and shoulder, then soothe it with your tongue before moving to another spot, Hickies blooming across his throat like petals.

Leon's hand suddenly fists in your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as he pulls you to angle your face toward his again.

"Leon," you breathe against his mouth. His hand slides from behind your knee to grip your thigh, holding you open as he pounds into you with renewed vigor. The change has you crying out into his mouth, your whole-body trembling.

“I'm close,” you whimper against his lips. “Leon, I'm so close—”

“Me too,” he admits, his voice strained. He buries his face back in your neck, his moans getting higher and more desperate. “I can't—I'm gonna—”

“Do it,” you encourage, your walls starting to flutter around him. “Please, Leon. Want to feel you come inside me.”

Leon's whole body goes taut, every muscle locked and trembling, his hips slam forward one last time, burying himself as deep as physically possible, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix as he empties himself. You feel him throb and twitch inside you, hot thick ropes of cum flooding your pussy, painting your walls white. It triggers your own orgasm like a chain reaction, and you come with a sharp cry, your back arching off the bed as pleasure races through your blood like liquid fire.

Your thighs quiver where they're still folded up by your chest, your entire body hypersensitive and singing with pleasure. Leon's weight presses you into the mattress, as you both come down from that high peak. Finally, he lifts his head, those blue eyes hazy and satisfied. He slowly straightens up, still buried inside you, and lets your legs gently unfold from their bent position, settling on the mattress beside his thighs. Leon leans back further, his gaze traveling down your body with obvious appreciation, your flushed skin, your marked breasts, Where you're still connected. Then his hand presses flat against your lower belly holding you down gently but firmly as he slowly pulls out.

You both watch as his cock slides free, twitching and glistening with both of your combined release. The moment he's fully withdrawn, his cum starts to leak out of you, thick and white as it drips from your swollen throbbing pussy.

"Fuck," Leon breathes, transfixed by the sight.

You grab his wrist with one hand, feeling his pulse jump beneath your fingers. Your other hand travels down your body, past your navel, between your thighs. Your fingers slide through the mess there, his cum mixed with your own wetness, slick and warm. You gather some on your fingertips, watching as you pull your hand away and a string of combined release connects your fingers to your pussy, stretching thin before breaking.

Leon's eyes are locked on your hand as you bring those glistening fingers up to your mouth. You maintain eye contact as your tongue darts out, licking the cum from your fingertips.

"Jesus Christ—" Leon groans, his head falling back, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard, his cock twitching visibly. You can't help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest, delighted and a little smug at his reaction. The sound makes him look back down at you, and he leans down his hand sliding up your sternum to cup your jaw. His mouth captures yours in a deep kiss. He can taste himself on your tongue and he doesn't care, if anything it makes him kiss you harder, his tongue sliding wetly against yours.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing heavily again, as he collapses gently on top of you, careful not to put his full weight on you, holding you close. Your fingers card through his hair gently now, and you can feel his heart racing against your chest.

“Holy shit,” Leon mumbles into your neck.

You laugh breathlessly, the sound turning into a content sigh. “Yeah. Holy shit.”

The music downstairs that had turned into white noise as you fucked was cut off abruptly. The sudden silence is jarring, and then you hear it, people yelling, feet scrambling, the unmistakable sound of a party dispersing in a panic.

“COP! COPS ARE HERE!”

Your blood runs cold and Leon who had been admiring and kissing the red bruises across your breast stops, his head snapping up from where he had been resting, his eyes going wide with panic. “Shit—”

“POLICÍA! Everyone out, now!” The voice booms from downstairs, a very familiar gruff voice barking orders.

Oh no. Oh no no nononono—

“Everyone out! Party's over! Let's go, move it!” The same voice says as you hear people groaning and scattering, boots and heels scratching and thumping against the floorboards to vacate the premise. Your blood runs cold as you debate trying to escape yourself even though this was your room and your frat house. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no—” you mumble under your breath, and Leon looks up at you with his brow furrowed.

That's Carlos, your brother Carlos.

“Get up, get up!” you hiss, scrambling out from under Leon. He jumps up naked, his full body now on display, which would have been hot if you weren't currently panicking about being caught with your pants down, quite literally, by your brother. You grab his clothes from where they're scattered across your floor, his uniform shirt, his pants, his belt and shove them into his arms.

“Closet! Now!” you whisper urgently, pushing him toward it.

“Wait, I should just—” Leon starts, but you're already shoving him inside.

“No! My brother will literally kill you! Get in!” You whisper yell shoving him towards your closet frantically.

Leon's face goes pale as he almost trips over the rug in your room. “Your what?”

“My brother Carlos! Get in the closet, now!” you hiss, shoving his uniform shirt into his arms and practically dragging him across the room. “Now, Leon, please!”

He stumbles after you, still mostly naked, clutching his clothes as you yank open your closet door and push him inside.

“Don't make a sound,” you whisper urgently, and slam the door shut just as you hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, Carlos's voice getting closer as he barks orders at fleeing partygoers.

You have maybe five seconds. You look down at yourself, completely naked, covered in sweat, makeup smeared everywhere, and you can literally feel cum dripping down your inner thighs.

The doorknob rattles, then stops.

"What the fuck? Why is this door locked?!" Carlos's voice comes through the door. "Oye, I know your in there! Open the door!" You hear him curse and grumble under his breath about the door.

Rattle rattle rattle. The doorknob is turning violently now, and there's more banging. Fuck.

You grab the first t-shirt you can find, one of Carlos's old RPD academy shirts that you stole years ago and yank it over your head. and a pair of sleep shorts that you shimmy into, not bothering with underwear because there's no time. You're just running your fingers through your completely fucked-out hair when your door flies open the hinges snapped clean.

"What the FUCK, Carlos?!" you snap, your heart still racing and your temper rising as your older brother acts like an idiot, breaking doors he probably won’t fix.

"Well, you weren't answering! Why didn't you open the door?" He yells back.

"Have you thought maybe I was RESTING MY EYES, you dick?!" you shout back exasperatedly.

Carlos stands in the doorway, radio crackling on his shoulder. His dark eyes sweep the room with the practiced efficiency of someone who's done this a thousand times, and you try very hard to look casual and not like you were just getting railed by a guy thirty seconds ago. Your hair is a mess, your makeup is smeared all over your face, and you're pretty sure you're still flushed from sex.

"Mhm. Right," he says slowly, his eyes narrowing.

"Resting your eyes," Carlos repeats, not believing a word.

"Yes. Resting. My. Eyes." You say innocently running your fingers through your hair, trying to appear casual as the silence between you stretch’s out leaving a gaping hole in the conversation.

You clear your throat crossing your arms as you sway in place and try and look everywhere but his face. “Any way, Carlitoooo, What's up?” you say, trying for casual and landing somewhere around 'extremely suspicious.' And ‘up to no good’.

Carlos's eyes narrow. “What's up? There's a massive party downstairs that we got called to shut down, and I find you up here locked in your room not answering me and looking like—” He gestures at you. “What the hell happened to your face, you look like a mapache.” (Raccoon.)

“Halloween makeup,” you say quickly, wiping at your cheeks. “It's supposed to look like this.”

“Uh-huh.” He doesn't look convinced. His gaze travels around your room, taking in the rumpled bed, the discarded harlequin costume on the floor. He steps into the room, and you resist the urge to step back. “I thought I told you to stay out of trouble,” he says slowly, suspicion dripping from every word.

“I am out of trouble!” you protest. “I was just relaxing in my room. See? Totally innocent.”

“Yeah, right,” Carlos mutters, his gaze tracks over you, your mussed hair, your flushed cheeks, the way your t-shirt is inside out. “Sure, looks like you were relaxing.” He says sarcastically but he's not looking at you anymore. He's looking around your room, his cop instincts clearly on high alert. Your heart is pounding so hard you're sure he can hear it. Please don't look in the closet, please don't look in the closet!

You force a laugh. “Okay fine! I did go to the party but only for a minute! Claire was very insistent but I was just—” Carlos isn't listening, his attention has caught on something on the floor near your bed. Your stomach drops as you watch Carlos's gaze land on a badge by your bed.

"No no no—" you breathe, already moving to intercept him, but Carlos is already bending down. His hand closes around the object and you watch, frozen in horror, as he straightens up slowly. The badge catches the lamplight. Leon's badge. The one that must have fallen from his uniform when you'd frantically stripped him earlier, too desperate and drunk to care where his clothes landed.

Carlos turns it over in his hand, studying it with an expression that makes your blood run cold. You watch his jaw clench, the muscle jumping beneath his skin. The silence stretches out, thick and suffocating.

"You—," he says quietly, and that tone, that dangerous, too-calm tone that you know from years of being his little sister, makes your stomach drop even further. This is worse than yelling. So much worse.

"Carlito—" you start, your voice coming out small and guilty.

"Where is he?" Carlos asks, still in that terrifyingly quiet voice. His dark eyes lift from the badge to scan your room, taking in the rumpled sheets, your inside-out t-shirt, the general chaos of post-sex disorder.

"Where's who—" you try weakly.

"Don't." He holds up the badge, and the gesture is sharp enough to make you flinch. "Where. Is. He."

You open your mouth, close it, your mind racing for some explanation that doesn't involve admitting what you both already know happened here. But before you can formulate anything remotely coherent, Carlos is moving past you toward the closet.

"Carlos, wait! No—" you start, trying to block him, but he just gently moves you aside with one arm. The ease with which he does it only emphasizes how futile your resistance is.

"Carlos, please, just listen—" you try again desperately, but it's too late. Carlos yanks the closet door open with enough force that it bangs against the wall.

Leon is standing there in just his boxers; his uniform clutched against his chest like some kind of shield. He's staring down at the floor like he's trying to will himself into disappearing, maybe hoping if he doesn't make eye contact this will all turn out to be a nightmare he can wake up from. His face is bright red, not just his cheeks but his whole face, the flush spreading down his neck and across his chest. His normally neat hair is a complete disaster, sticking up in every direction from where your fingers had been buried in it. And there visible in the lamplight, are the very obvious scratch marks running down his neck and chest, angry red lines from your nails. Purple hickies bloom across his throat and collarbone, marking him thoroughly.

The evidence of what you've done couldn't be more obvious if you'd written 'I just had sex' across his skin in permanent marker.

"Hey," Carlos says, his voice dropping even lower, dangerously calm in a way that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "How was the party?"

Leon's throat bobs as he swallows hard. His knuckles are white where he's gripping his uniform. "...It was fine, sir," he manages, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Fine," Carlos repeats flatly.

"Yes, sir." Leon mumbles the words to the floor, still refusing to look up. He looks like a guilty dog caught chewing on his owners’ shoes. If he had a tail, you're pretty sure it would be tucked firmly between his legs right now.

You can see a muscle ticking in Carlos's jaw, the telltale sign that his blood pressure is rising. The vein in his temple starts to pulse visibly. His hands clench into fists at his sides, the badge still clutched in one of them, and you can practically see him counting to ten in his head, trying to maintain that iron clad control.

"Carlito, listen—" you start, stepping between them with your hands raised placatingly.

"You," Carlos points at you without looking away from Leon, his finger stabbing the air, "stay out of this."

"Carlos, wait—" You step forward anyway, switching to Spanish without thinking, the way you always do when you're panicking. "No es su culpa, es mía. Yo lo arrastré aquí arriba, él ni siquiera—" (It's not his fault, it's mine. I dragged him up here, he didn't even—)

"¿Sabías que era policía?" (Did you know he was a cop?) Carlos interrupts, his eyes snapping to you with laser focus. There's something in his expression you can't quite read, disbelief, maybe, or hope that this is all some terrible misunderstanding.

You freeze, the words dying in your throat. "¿Qué?" (What?)

"El rookie. Mi compañero." Carlos gestures first to himself, then to Leon in a sharp, stabbing point. "¿Sabías que sí es policía de verdad?" (The rookie. My partner. Did you know he's an actual cop?) He speaks slowly, enunciating each word carefully so you'll understand, and somehow that makes it worse.

The words hit you like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head. The room seems to tilt slightly as the full implications crash over you. You turn slowly to look at Leon, who's still staring at the floor with that guilty, miserable expression.

"Wait," you say, your voice coming out strangled as you switch back to English. Your brain is struggling to process this information. "You're... the rookie that Carlos is training? You're actually a cop? Like, a real cop?"

Leon finally looks up, and the guilt written across his face confirms everything. Those blue eyes are full of apology and shame.

"I tried to tell you," he says quietly, his voice rough. "But you just... kept kissing me."

"Oh my god." Your hands fly to your face, covering your burning cheeks. The memories come flooding back, him trying to say something, you cutting him off with your mouth, too drunk and horny to listen. "Oh my god, I just—I just fucked an actual police officer who was here to shut down the party—"

"Are you KIDDING me?!" Carlos roars, and there it is, the yelling you'd been expecting from the start, probably audible throughout the entire house.

"I mean—I didn't know!" you protest, your face burning with embarrassment so intense you think you might actually combust. Your hands are still covering your face, as if that might somehow make this less mortifying. "¡Pensé que era un disfraz de Halloween!" You gesture wildly at Leon, your movements frantic and uncoordinated. "¡Míralo, tiene veintiún años! ¡Pensé que era estudiante!" (I thought it was a Halloween costume! Look, he's twenty-one! I thought he was a student!)

"¡Sí es policía!" Carlos says flatly, his voice dropping back to that dangerous calm. "Mi compañero." (He IS a cop. My partner.) He makes a vague gesture with his free hand that somehow encompasses the entire disastrous situation.

Your face burns hotter. You're pretty sure you've never been this embarrassed in your entire life, and that's saying something. "No sabía," (I didn't know,) you say weakly, knowing how pathetic it sounds even as the words leave your mouth.

Carlos stares at you like you've grown a second head. "¿No sabías?" (You didn't know?) His voice climbs in volume and pitch. "The badge! The gun! Hellooo!" He gestures wildly, his hand coming dangerously close to smacking you in the face.

"I was drunk! I wasn't paying attention to details!" you yell back, smacking his arm away from you harshly. Carlos smacks your arm back in retaliation, the gesture comes automatic to him after years of childish fights with his sister. Even in a situation like this, he can't help himself, you're siblings, after all, and some habits die hard.

"Clearly!" Carlos runs both hands over his face, dragging them down slowly. When he drops them, he looks like he's aged ten years in the past minute. There are lines around his eyes you've never noticed before, and his expression is one of profound exhaustion.

"Okay, in my defense," you start, your voice getting higher and more frantic, "he's really hot and he seemed really into it and I didn't—I mean I thought—oh god, this is so embarrassing—"

"Okay! EW!?" Carlos's face contorts in disgust. "Shut up! I don't want to hear about—" He makes a cutting gesture with his hand. "Just STOP."

He turns back to Leon, deliberately not looking at him in the eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere over the rookie's shoulder. "Rookie. Get dressed. We're leaving." His voice is clipped, professional, the tone he uses when he's trying very hard not to lose his shit. "You've got exactly two minutes before I drag you out of here in your underwear."

"Yes, sir," Leon says quickly, already fumbling with his pants, nearly dropping them in his haste.

The full weight of what you've just done crashes over you as you look at Leon, really look at him. The marks you left on his skin, the way he can barely meet anyone's eyes, the trembling in his hands as he tries to get dressed. "Oh my god. Oh my GOD." You cover your face with your hands again, your voice muffled. "I dragged a cop away from his job to—oh my god, I'm going to jail. I'm going to jail for obstruction of justice or—or—solicitation or—"

"You're not going to jail," Carlos sighs, and he actually sounds tired now instead of angry.

"I'm sorry—" Leon mumbles, his voice small and guilty and apologetic as he struggles with his shirt buttons. His fingers are shaking too badly to get them through the holes.

"I corrupted an officer! I—" You're spiraling now, pacing back and forth across your small room, your hands gesturing wildly. "Carlos, I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I swear I didn't know, if I had known I never would have—I mean, not that he's not attractive, he's very attractive, but I wouldn't have—oh god, does this mean I'm going to have a record? Will this affect your career? Oh my god, what if you get in trouble because of me—"

"I know! I KNOW—I believe you, Jesus, stop pacing, you know I hate that." Carlos says, and he actually sounds tired now instead of angry. He's watching you freak out with the resigned expression of someone who's seen you do this exact thing many, many times before. "You're giving me a headache."

Suddenly the door bursts open and Claire rushes in, breathless and wild-eyed. "I'm sorry, I tried to stop him before he—" She stops dead in the doorway, her mouth falling open as she takes in the scene.

Claire's eyes are wide as saucers as she processes everything: you in your inside-out t-shirt and sleep shorts, clearly disheveled and still flushed, your hair a disaster; Leon standing in the closet in his boxers looking like he wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole, his chest covered in scratch marks and hickies; and Carlos looking like he's contemplating early retirement and possibly homicide, the badge still clutched in his white-knuckled fist.

"Oh," Claire says slowly, a grin starting to spread across her face despite the palpable tension in the room. "Oh wow."

"Claire, not now—" you start desperately.

"Is that a cop?" Claire points at Leon, her grin widening.

"Yes!"

"Did you fuck a real cop?" Her voice is climbing with barely suppressed glee.

"I DIDN'T KNOW HE WAS A COP!" Your voice cracks on the last word, going up a full octave.

Carlos pinches the bridge of his nose hard enough that it has to hurt. "Dios mío, dame paciencia," (My God, give me patience,) he mutters under his breath.

"This is..." Claire starts, then stops, that grin spreading even wider across her face despite the obvious tension crackling through the air. "Actually, this is incredible. I need all the details later. Every single detail. Don't leave anything out."

"Claire!" you screech.

"What? I'm just saying, you picked a literal cop! Like what are the odds? That's actually impressive—"

"OUT," Carlos says flatly, his voice dropping into that dangerous register that makes even drunk frat boys shut up and listen. It's his cop voice, the one that brooks absolutely no argument. He points at the door with the kind of authority that comes from years of dealing with bullshit on the streets. "Now."

Claire holds up her hands in surrender, backing toward the door, but she's still grinning like the Cheshire cat. You can hear her laughing as she heads down the hallway, and then her voice drifts back. "Oh my god, wait till I tell Chris—"

"CLAIRE!" you and Carlos yell at the same time, your voices overlapping in perfect sibling harmony born from years of shared exasperation. Her laughter echoes as it fades down the stairs, and you can hear her voice getting farther away.

Carlos turns back to Leon, who's managed to get his pants on and is fumbling with his shirt, his fingers still shaking slightly as he tries to button it. He keeps missing the holes, his coordination shot to hell. The scratch marks you left down his chest are clearly visible in the gaps between buttons, angry red lines that stand out starkly against his pale skin.

"Rookie," Carlos says, his voice still that dangerous calm that's somehow worse than yelling. "Two minutes. Meet me downstairs. And for the love of God, make yourself presentable." His eyes flick briefly to the marks on Leon's neck, and his jaw clenches even tighter.

"Yes, sir," Leon says quietly, still not meeting Carlos's eyes. He's staring at his shirt buttons like they're the most fascinating thing in the world. His face is still bright red, the flush spreading down his neck and disappearing under his collar.

Carlos looks at you one more time, shaking his head with an expression that's equal parts disappointment and resignation and something that might be reluctant understanding. It's the look he's given you a thousand times before, when you got caught sneaking out at sixteen, when you crashed his car at seventeen, when you called him drunk from a party at eighteen. The look that says 'I love you but why do you do this to me?'

Then he walks out, and you catch him muttering in Spanish under his breath as he goes. You can make out "mi hermanita" (my little sister) and "el pinche rookie" (the damn rookie) and what sounds like several creative curse words you're pretty sure you've never heard him use before, combinations that would make your grandmother cross herself. The door closes behind him, and suddenly it's just you and Leon. You can hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, can hear the distant sounds of the party dispersing downstairs, people still scrambling to leave.

“I'm so sorry,” you both say at exactly the same time.

Leon looks up, surprised, his hands freezing on his half-buttoned shirt. “Why are you apologizing? I'm the one who—”

“I literally dragged you up here!” you interrupt, your hands flying to your hair and tugging at the tangled strands. “You were trying to do your job and I just—I seduced you! Oh my god, I seduced a police officer on duty.”

“I could have said no,” Leon says quickly, finally stepping fully out of the closet as he continues buttoning his shirt with shaking fingers. “I should have said no, but...” He trails off, his face flushing even deeper. “You were very... persuasive.”

You cover your face with your hands, groaning. “This is so embarrassing. oh my god, I can never look Carlos in the eye again.”

“I know,” Leon says miserably. He's pulling on his boots now, his movements jerky and rushed, nearly losing his balance and having to catch himself on your dresser. “I'm probably getting fired for this—”

“Don't say that!” You drop your hands, looking at him with genuine concern and guilt churning in your stomach. “It's my fault, I'll tell Carlos that, I'll explain everything—”

“No,” Leon says firmly, standing up and buckling his belt. All his equipment clinks as he adjusts it, the very real handcuffs and gun that was definitely not from Party City. “You're not taking the blame for this. I'm an adult. I made my own choices.”

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to make himself look somewhat presentable, but it's a completely lost cause. His hair is still thoroughly messed up from your fingers, sticking up in about five different directions.

“This is my fault I knew better…I’m sorry, I really did try to tell you,” he says softly, finally meeting your eyes. His expression is guilty but also tinged with a fond look.

You think back through the alcohol-hazed memories of the party. Him saying “I'm not really here to enjoy myself” and “I'm actually—” before you'd kissed him. Him trying to explain “I should probably tell you something—” before you'd dragged him upstairs.

“Oh my god, you did,” you breathe, the realization hitting you like a truck. “I just kept... interrupting you. With my mouth.”

“Yeah.” A small, slightly hysterical laugh escapes him. “You're very good at that...”

Despite everything, the embarrassment, the mortification, the fact that your brother just caught you, you feel your lips twitch into an involuntary smile. “I can't believe I called you 'officer' while we were—” You cut yourself off, your face burning even hotter than before. “Oh god, I kept doing it too. Multiple times.”

Leon's face goes bright red, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Please don't remind me. Every time Carlos calls me 'rookie' I'm going to think about—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head.

“I'm so sorry—”

“Stop apologizing,” he says, and then he's crossing the room to you in three long strides. His hands come up to cup your face gently, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, wiping away some of the harlequin makeup even further. “For what it's worth? That was... amazing. Incredible. Best night of my life, actually, even if I'm probably about to get the lecture of my life from your brother.”

You lean into his touch, your hands coming up to rest on his wrists. You stare at each other for a moment, the absurdity of the situation hitting you both at the same time, and then you both start laughing.

“This is insane,” you say between giggles, your shoulders shaking.

“Completely,” Leon agrees, and then he's kissing you again. It's soft and sweet and tinged with desperation because you both know he has to leave, that Carlos is waiting downstairs probably getting more pissed off by the second.

When he pulls back, you're both breathing a little harder. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, and you can see the conflict in his eyes, wanting to stay versus knowing he has to go. His radio crackles to life, making you both jump.

“Rookie! if you're not down here in thirty seconds, I'm coming back up there,” Carlos's voice comes through, sounding extremely annoyed and also slightly threatening. “And I'm bringing the employee handbook with me so we can review the section on professional conduct.”

Leon sighs and reaches for his radio, pressing the button. “Copy that, sir. On my way down now.” He clips the radio back to his shoulder and looks at you one more time. His hand comes up again, thumb brushing over your bottom lip to clean up some of the smudged lipstick.

“Can I...” He hesitates, looking suddenly uncertain. “Can I see you again? When I'm not, you know, on duty and supposed to be working?”

Your heart does a little flip in your chest. “You want to see me again? After all this?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I do,” Leon says, a huff of disbelief escaping him. He runs a hand through his already-messy hair. “It would be the stupidest mistake of my life if I didn’t.”

Leon's smile is genuine and a little bit shy. You can't help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Yeah, I'd really like that.”

“Good.” He steps back into your space, just for a second, and steals one more quick kiss. It’s brief, chaste compared to what you were doing earlier.

You scramble for your dresser, your heart racing. Your fingers fumble for a pen and a bright pink sticky note in the drawer. You scribble your number down, the digits messy and frantic in your haste, the ink slightly smudging at the edges. Then you press your lips firmly to the corner of the paper, leaving a perfect, lip print right next to your name.

You rush over to him, closing the distance in two steps, and grab hold of his belt loops. You tug him closer, pulling him flush against you until you can feel the heat radiating off his body.

“Here,” you breathe as you slide the note into the front pocket of his pants. Your hand lingers in the warmth near his hip, your fingers exploring the heavy fabric. Your knuckles graze the fly, brushing deliberately against the outline of his cock, and you feel him twitch against your hand, a reflex he can’t control.

He goes bright red, his breath hitches audibly in his throat, his eyes widening as he looks down at you with that same look on his face hat’s been driving you crazy all night.

“Don't keep me waiting, Leon,” you whisper, leaning up to press a kiss to the line of his jaw.

“I won't,” he chokes out, his voice strangled. “I promise.”

He looks at you for one long second, memorizing your face, and then he reluctantly steps back and heads for the door. He pauses with his hand on the handle, looking back at you over his shoulder. “By the way? You look really cute in that harlequin costume.” And then he's gone, slipping out into the hallway. You listen to the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall, the heavy thud of his boots on the stairs fading together with the last stragglers leaving the party.

You stand there touching your lips, trying to process everything that just happened in the last hour. You groan and flop back on your bed, staring at the ceiling.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

Downstairs, Leon finds Carlos waiting by the patrol car, arms crossed over his chest, his expression carefully unreadable, that blank look that reminds Leon of the quiet before a thunderstorm. The street is mostly clear now, just a few stragglers stumbling away into the night, holding each other up as they weave down the sidewalk. The last of the partygoers are dispersing, some calling taxi, others walking in groups toward the dorms. The bass from inside the house has finally stopped, leaving an almost eerie quiet in its wake.

"Sir, I—" Leon starts as he approaches, but his voice cracks slightly, betraying just how nervous he is. He clears his throat, trying again. "I can explain—"

Carlos holds up one hand, cutting him off with the gesture alone. "Get in the car, rookie."

"Yes, sir." Leon's response is automatic, ingrained from months of training. He moves around to the driver's side, his legs feeling slightly unsteady.

They both climb in, Leon sliding behind the wheel again. He fumbles with the keys for a moment before getting them into the ignition, his hands still shaking from adrenaline and mortification and the lingering aftereffects of what he'd just done. He starts the engine, the familiar rumble somewhat comforting, and pulls away from the curb carefully. He's hyperaware of every movement he makes, every turn of the wheel, desperate not to give Carlos any more reasons to be disappointed in him tonight.

They head back toward the station, the streets mostly empty at this hour. The silence in the car is deafening, broken only by the occasional crackle of the radio and the sound of the engine. Leon can feel Carlos's eyes on him periodically, assessing him, and it's taking everything in him not to squirm in his seat like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Except instead of cookies, it was Carlos's sister. His baby sister. Who Leon had just thoroughly fucked in her bedroom while Carlos was downstairs breaking up the party.

The silence stretches on, Leon counts them in his head, each one feeling like an eternity. His mind is racing, trying to formulate some kind of explanation, some way to make this better. Five minutes of complete silence pass before Carlos finally speaks.

"My sister," he says flatly.

"I know, sir." Leon's voice comes out small.

"My little sister."

"I know, sir." Leon's hands tighten on the steering wheel until his knuckles turn bone white, he can feel the leather creaking under his grip.

Carlos is quiet for a long moment, and Leon risks a glance over. His partner is staring out the windshield, jaw clenched so tight Leon can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. The streetlights pass over his face in intervals, illuminating the hard set of his features.

"I..." Leon swallows hard, his throat clicking. He can feel his face burning again, the flush creeping down his neck. "She was very determined, sir." The words come out before he can stop them, and he immediately wants to take them back because they sound like he's making excuses, like he's blaming her when this is all his fault.

"Yeah," Carlos mutters, and there's something almost resigned in his tone. "She gets that from our mom." Leon isn't sure if he was supposed to hear that last part, it's said so quietly, almost to himself. They drive in silence for another minute, passing through an intersection. A few late-night pedestrians cross in front of them. Leon keeps his eyes fixed on the road, not daring to look over again.

Finally, Carlos sighs, long and heavy and world-weary, like he's aged ten years in the past hour.

"Did you at least use protection?" he asks, and he sounds so tired, like this is just one more thing on a very long list of things he has to deal with tonight.

Leon's face goes absolutely scarlet. He considers lying but Carlos would see right through it in a heartbeat, the man's a detective for a reason.

"Sir—" he starts weakly.

"Rookie..." There's a warning in Carlos's voice now.

"...No, sir." The admission comes out barely above a whisper.

Carlos drops his head into his hands with a groan, his elbows bracing on his knees. "Jesus Christ." He drags his hands down his face slowly. "I'm going to have to have a conversation with her about that too, aren't I? The safe sex talk. With my baby sister." He cuts himself off to make an exaggerated gagging sound.

"I'm really, really sorry, sir," Leon says miserably, and he means it with every fiber of his being. "If I could go back and make different choices—"

"Would you?" Carlos interrupts, looking over at him sharply. His dark eyes are piercing, searching Leon's face for something.

Leon opens his mouth to say yes, of course he would, but the word dies on his tongue. He thinks about your smile, the way it had lit up your whole face when you'd looked at him, your laugh, how you'd kissed him and touched him, like you couldn't get enough, like you needed him as much as he'd needed you. The way you'd felt wrapped around him, the sounds you'd made, the way you'd said his name.

"I..." He trails off, unable to finish the sentence. Unable to lie.

Carlos stares at him for a long moment, and Leon can practically see the gears turning in his head, processing this new information. His expression shifts through several emotions too quickly for Leon to track, surprise, and finally resignation.

"You like her," Carlos says finally. It's not a question, it's a statement of fact.

"Yes, sir. I really do." The words come out steady, honest. "I know the timing is terrible and the circumstances are worse, but... yeah. I like her. A lot."

"And she clearly likes you, apparently." Carlos makes a vague gesture with one hand, encompassing everything that happened upstairs. "Enough to drag you away from your job and—yeah."

He continues to stare at Leon, and Leon forces himself to meet his eyes. He owes Carlos that much at least, to face him head-on.

Carlos turns back to face forward, watching the streetlights pass by through the windshield. The orange glow illuminates his profile, and Leon can see him working through something, coming to some kind of decision.

"You hurt her, rookie," Carlos says quietly, "and I don't care how good you are at your job or how much potential the Captain thinks you have. I will make you disappear. They'll never find your body. Understood?"

"Understood, sir." Leon says sincerely. "I wouldn't—I won't. I promise."

"And if you ever, ever abandon your post to hook up with anyone again, my sister or otherwise," Carlos continues, his voice taking on that authoritative hard tone, "I will personally make sure you're on parking duty for the next ten years. You'll be writing tickets for expired meters until you retire."

"Yes, sir. It won't happen again, sir." Leon's hands are still tight on the wheel, but some of the tension is starting to ease from his shoulders.

"Good." Carlos pauses, then adds with a slight smirk, "Also, you have — y’know all over you. Might want to grab a turtleneck from the trunk before we get back to the station.”

Leon's hand flies to his neck automatically, fingers finding the tender spots where you'd definitely left your mark. Multiple marks. He can feel the raised skin, the slight sting when he presses. "Oh god."

"Yeah." Carlos finally cracks a small smile, just a tiny upturn of his lips. "The guys are going to have a field day with this."

"Great," Leon mutters, already dreading the inevitable ribbing he's going to get. He can already hear the jokes, the comments, the endless teasing. They pull into the station parking garage, the fluorescent lights harsh after the relative darkness of the drive. The familiar concrete walls and painted lines should be comforting, but Leon just feels a sense of impending doom. Carlos is right, the second anyone sees these marks, it's over. His reputation as the serious, by-the-book rookie is going to be completely shot. As they get out of the car, Carlos claps him on the shoulder, the gesture somehow reassuring despite everything.

"Welcome to the family, rookie," he says, and there's something almost fond in his tone now, underneath the exasperation and the lingering frustration. Like despite everything he's not actually that upset about this development.

Leon's eyes go wide, his head snapping around to look at Carlos. "Sir?"

"Yeah. There's no escaping now." Carlos grins, and it's slightly evil, the expression of an older brother who's just realized he has new ammunition. "Hope you're ready for Sunday dinner. My mom's going to want to meet you officially now. Can't have some random guy sleeping with my sister without meeting mama."

"I—what?" Leon's voice comes out strangled. “Sir, I don't think—"

"Too late, Kennedy. You made your bed." Carlos's grin widens. "Now lay in it." He waves a hand. "Hope you like tamales." Leon stands there in the parking garage, still in his wrinkled uniform and realizes that his life just got infinitely more complicated.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊

･ﾟ 🎀 𝒮𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝓈𝓉♡𝓇𝓎 🎀 ﾟ･

: Carlos's Perspective

The radio crackles to life, breaking the silence in the idling patrol car.

"Unit seven-two-three, this is dispatch. You still in the vehicle, Oliveira?" Elliot's voice comes through, slightly staticky but clear enough.

Carlos doesn't stir from where he's slumped in the passenger seat, head tilted back against the headrest, arms crossed over his chest. His breathing is slow and even, not quite snoring, but definitely out cold.

"Unit seven-two-three, come in," Elliot tries again, sounding slightly more insistent.

Still nothing. Carlos shifts slightly in his sleep, his head rolling to the side, but his eyes stay firmly shut.

"Carlos, I know you're in there, man. Don't make me send someone to check on you."

The radio goes quiet for a moment, then Elliot's voice returns, louder this time, almost shouting through the speaker. "OLIVEIRA! Wake your ass up!"

"¡Qué!" Carlos jerks awake with a start, his hand automatically going to his weapon before his brain catches up and he realizes it's just the radio. "What...Elliot, what the hell, man?"

"There you are," Elliot sounds amused now. "Thought you'd fallen into a coma or something. You still in the car?"

Carlos rubs his eyes, trying to orient himself. "Yeah, I'm—" He stops, blinking as his vision clears and he actually looks around. He'd parked beside the house, and now that he's actually paying attention, actually seeing it instead of just closing his eyes for what was supposed to be a quick rest...

The house is lit up like a damn carnival. Every window glows with colored lights, orange and purple, classic Halloween. He can see silhouettes moving past the windows, way too many people crammed into what's clearly not a small space but definitely not big enough for this kind of crowd. The bass from the music is audible even through the closed car windows, a steady thump-thump-thump that he can feel in his chest.

And there, on the front lawn, slightly crooked but unmistakable even in the dark: Greek letters. ΑΔΠ.

Alpha Delta Pi.

"Mierda," Carlos mutters, sitting up straighter. His eyes narrow as he stares at the house, pieces clicking into place in his still-sleep-foggy brain.

This is your house. Your sorority house. The one you share with Claire and a dozen other girls. The house you'd specifically told him would be quiet tonight because "I'm not doing anything for Halloween, Carlito." Clearly your sorority had other plans...you little liar.

"Carlos? You there?" Elliot's voice crackles through again.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here," Carlos says, still staring at the house with a growing sense of annoyance. He'd believed you, actually believed you when you'd said you were staying in, he thought you were probably watching movies with Claire, definitely not throwing or attending any massive parties that would require police intervention.

"Finally. Jesus, Carlos, I've been trying to reach you for ten minutes. Where's your rookie?" Elliot asks. "He was supposed to check in."

Carlos checks his watch. Shit. The rookie's been in there for almost an hour. What the hell has the rookie been doing in there for an hour? How hard is it to break up a party and clear people out?

Unless...Carlos's mind starts running through possibilities, none of them good. Maybe the rookie ran into trouble. Maybe some drunk frat guy decided to get aggressive. Maybe there are way more people in there than it looked like from the outside and Leon got overwhelmed trying to manage the crowd. Maybe he's in there trying to handle some kind of situation and needs backup but his radio got damaged or worse.

"I gotta go check on my partner," Carlos says into the radio, already reaching for the door handle. "Rookie went in to shut down a party and he's been gone too long."

"Want me to send backup?"

"Nah, I got it. Probably just taking him a while to clear everyone out. I'll call if I need anything."

"Copy that. Stay safe."

Carlos pushes open the car door and steps out into the cool night air. The music is definitely louder out here, and he can hear voices now too, laughter, shouting, the general chaos of a college party in full swing.

He starts toward the house, there are still quite a few people on the front porch and lawn, red cups in hand, some of them in elaborate costumes. A girl dressed as a sexy cat nearly stumbles into him, giggling as her friend pulls her away. A group of guys in matching superhero costumes are doing shots on the porch steps.

He reaches the front door and doesn't bother knocking. The music is too loud for anyone to hear it anyway. He pushes it open and steps inside, and the wall of sound and heat hits him immediately. The house is packed, bodies everywhere, the air thick with sweat and cheap beer and too much cologne.

Carlos takes a deep breath, plants his feet and reaches deep in his chest. "POLICÍA! Everyone out, now!"

The effect is immediate, the music cuts off mid-beat like a record scratch, someone yanking the plug or hitting stop on the speakers. For a moment there's complete silence and everyone is frozen in place like a paused movie, then chaos erupts.

"COP! COPS ARE HERE!"

"Shit shit shit—"

"Go go go!"

People scatter like cockroaches when the light turns on. They're running for every exit, front door, back door, windows, anywhere they can escape. Solo cups hit the floor, alcohol splashing across hardwood. Someone knocks over a table in their haste to get out.

"Everyone out! Party's over! Let's go, move it!" Carlos bellows, stepping aside to let the flood of panicked college students stream past him. He spots a few familiar faces, kids he's busted before at other parties.

They pour out of the house in waves, some still clutching their drinks, others abandoning everything in their rush to escape. Carlos doesn't try to stop them, he's not here to arrest anyone, just break up the party, find his rookie, who is apparently somewhere in this mess, and finally most important make sure his sister was okay, maybe lecture her a little.

"Let's go, people! Nothing to see here!" He moves further into the house, his boots crunching on spilled chips and god knows what else. The living room is a disaster zone, furniture pushed against the walls, decorations hanging from every surface, a fog machine still pumping out mist in the corner.

Where the hell is the rookie?

Carlos makes his way through the now-empty house, checking rooms as he goes. Kitchen, empty except for a truly impressive amount of alcohol lined up on the counters. He counts at least four handles of vodka, three cases of beer, and more wine bottles than he cares to count. The bathroom, he pushes the door open, takes one look at the state of it, and immediately closes it again. He doesn't even want to know what happened in there.

He heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time. His hand trails along the bannister, which is sticky with something he's trying not to identify. The second floor is quieter, most of the party having been contained to the first floor. The music and voices from downstairs are muffled up here, creating an almost eerie contrast.

He starts checking bedrooms, pushing doors open without knocking, kicking couples out of rooms if they didn't live there. Empty. Empty. Locked, probably someone passed out inside. He makes a mental note to come back to that one if he doesn't find Leon soon.

He pauses in the hallway, trying to remember which room is yours. It's been a while since he's been up here, you usually meet him outside or downstairs when he picks you up for lunches, not wanting him to see the inevitable mess of your room. But he's pretty sure it's... that one. The door at the end of the hall with the fairy lights strung around the frame, the ones you'd insisted on putting up freshman year when he'd helped you move in.

He remembers that day clearly. The whole Oliveira clan had shown up to help, him, your mother, your six other siblings. Dante and the twins had spent more time flirting with your sorority sisters than actually moving boxes, and Carlos had eventually dragged Dante out by his collar, while you'd laughed so hard you'd snorted.

Carlos approaches your door, and that's when he notices it. The doorknob is locked, why would your door be locked? Unless you're in there and you don't want to be disturbed...

Carlos's jaw clenches. If you're in there with some guy, if you brought someone back to your room he's going to....He tries the doorknob again, rattling it harder. Still locked.

He can hear movement inside, the sound of scrambling, something hitting the floor, definitely someone in there.

"What the fuck? Why is this door locked?!" His voice comes out louder than he intended, frustration bleeding through. "Oye, I know you're in there! Open the door!"

Carlos curses under his breath, a string of Spanish expletives that would make his mother wash his mouth out with soap. He rattles the doorknob again, more violently this time, his patience wearing thin.

"Open this door right now, or I swear to God—"

The doorknob continues to refuse to open, and Carlos's frustration spikes. He's tired, he's annoyed, he still hasn't found his rookie, and now his little sister is locked in her room doing God knows what with God knows who, and.....Fuck it.

Carlos takes a step back, plants his foot, and kicks the door right next to the lock. The wood splinters with a satisfying crack, the lock mechanism breaking free from the frame. The door swings open hard enough to bang against the wall, the hinges protesting but holding.

You're standing in the middle of the room, and Carlos takes in the scene with instincts that have been honed by the police force over the years.

You're wearing one of his old RPD academy shirts, the one you'd stolen years ago and never given back despite his repeated requests. It's inside-out, he can see the tag sticking out at the neck, and it's clearly just been thrown on in a hurry. Your hair is a complete disaster, tangled and messy, there is smudged makeup all over your face, and there, on your neck, just visible above the collar of the shirt, is the unmistakable mark of a hickey.

"What the FUCK, Carlos?!" you snap, your eyes wide and your voice sharp with a combination of shock and anger. "You broke my door!"

"Well, you weren't answering! Why didn't you open the door?" He yells back, his voice rising to match yours. The vein in his temple is starting to pulse, and he can feel his blood pressure climbing.

"Have you thought maybe I was RESTING MY EYES, you dick?!" You gesture wildly at your bed, which is clearly rumpled, sheets twisted and pillows askew. Resting your eyes, Right.....Did his sister think he was stupid. ...actually wait don't answer that—

✦┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ 𝖆 𝖓 𝖔 𝖙𝖊 ✦┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✦

….you don’t understand, I’m so happy with how this came out! I have the biggest crush on re2 Leon, he's so cute! I hope you don't mind that I included Carlos, I love that big shaggy dog alot! lol I immediately started planning a continuation for this because I neeeeed to write that family dinner where Leon gets grilled by seven protective older brothers lol Side note Did you know Carlos has six brothers! Tonio and Pedro are the only ones who are named so I took the liberty to name the rest, and yes Luis is from re4 and Dante is from DMC. (Here's the whole line up in order of age: Antonio, Pedro, Carlos, Luis, Dante, and finally the youngest of the boys, Rafael and Mateo, the twins. The Oliveira siblings most likely to find trouble...on purpose.)

✦✧✦ 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 ✦ see you in the next life ✦✧✦ This post was brought to you by BUNI ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

𐔌՞ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯

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