⇥ summary: in which the reader and namjoon become ridiculously attracted to each other over weekly late night trivia sessions
⇥ word count: 5.4k
⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, terrible trivia team names, namjoon being devastating, low-key exhibitionism, smut in a bar bathroom, oral (f receiving), sub!joon, switch!reader, everyone being nerdy af
Weekly trivia used to be so fun. Your team - The Multiple Scoregasms - used to demolish the competition with ease. You used to be able to think so clearly and answer so correctly. You used to revel in the free drinks earned with your $20 bar credit winnings.
Keywords: used to
For the last two Thursdays, not only had your team lost miserably, you seemed to have lost all recollection past your own name.
⟢ tags: smut, RE9!Leon Kennedy, bickering, bantering, tension, unspecified age gap - reader is 25-30, Leon is 51, teasing, unprotected P in V, no use of y/n, reader is female, little bit of pussy eating, one time mention of “old man”
⟢ summary: Being assigned a rookie shouldn’t be complicated. But when she puts both of their lives at risk, his patience runs thin. Leon Kennedy is supposed to stay calm, stay in control, and keep people alive. Yet with her, he finds himself breaking his own rules in ways he didn’t think possible.
a/n: holy shit guys, i don’t enjoy writing smut too much so i’m scared of posting this but here it is! reader is less cocky than I imagined in my head at first but I felt as though this fit better.
let me know if you enjoyed this ཐི♡⃟͚ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺
has only been proofread once & might get proofread & fixed again
“I told you we’d make it,” is the first thing that leaves my mouth once my lungs finally remember how to work again.
It comes out breathless and a little uneven, like I’m still trying to convince my own body that the worst part is over.
The hallway outside the facility is quiet now except for the distant crackle of something still burning somewhere behind us. My back hits the concrete wall harder than I intended and I brace my hands against it to steady myself, only realizing a second too late that they’re slick with blood and dirt.
Mine mostly, maybe some of theirs.
The sting in my palms makes me hiss under my breath.
Adrenaline is starting to ebb now, which unfortunately means every injury I ignored five minutes ago has suddenly decided to introduce itself all at once. My ribs ache when I breathe too deeply and the cut along my arm throbs with a slow, insistent pulse.
Still, we made it out, that’s the important part.. or so I try to convince myself.
I push damp hair back from my forehead and glance up and immediately wish I hadn’t.
Leon was already staring at me.
Not the calm, mildly amused look I’ve gotten used to during briefings, or the quiet focus he carries through most missions. No, this one is different.
His blue eyes are wide in a way that has nothing to do with surprise.
He was furious.
For a moment he doesn’t say anything, just stands there catching his breath, shoulders rising and falling beneath the ruined remains of his jacket. Up close he looks almost as rough as I feel, dust smeared across his face, a split along his lower lip that’s already drying dark against his skin.
One hand presses firmly against his side, he’s hurt.
The realization sits somewhere uncomfortable in my chest, but before I can say anything he finally speaks.
“Are you out of your mind?”
The question comes out low and sharp, edged with the kind of restrained anger that’s somehow worse than shouting.
Leon drags a hand down his face, clearly trying and failing to rein in whatever is building up behind his eyes.
“I told you to follow my orders,” he continues, voice tightening slightly. “You have repeatedly failed to do so.”
“If anything had happened to us in there,” he adds, each word clipped with increasing irritation, “it would’ve been your fault.”
I stare at him for a second, trying to reconcile the sheer level of outrage in his tone with the simple, undeniable fact that we are currently standing outside the building instead of buried under it.
“Oh, come on,” I say, pushing myself off the wall despite the protest from my ribs. “We made it, didn’t we?”
Leon lets out a short scoff, the sound so dry it might as well be sandpaper.
Apparently that was the wrong answer.
I watch him shift his weight slightly, his hand still pressed to his side, and for a brief moment the guilt I’d been ignoring starts to creep in around the edges.
“I told you to wait for me,” he says.
The patience in his voice is hanging by a thread now.
“And you didn’t.”
He takes a step closer, just enough that I can see the tension sitting in his shoulders.
“I don’t have time to save your ass and play babysitter,” he adds, irritation finally bleeding fully into his tone. “Do you understand that?”
The words hit harder than I expect.
For a second I’m too stunned to respond, heat rising to my face as the weight of his frustration crashes directly into my pride.
Babysitter, right.
A sting pricks suddenly behind my eyes, completely unwelcome, this was just fantastic.
The last thing I need right now is to cry in front of the man I’m supposed to be proving myself to.
I swallow hard and shove the feeling down as fast as it appeared, replacing it with something much easier to hold onto, like annoyance or anger.
“You’re not babysitting me, Leon, I—”
He pinches the bridge of his nose before I can finish, like he physically cannot listen to another word of my argument without developing a headache.
Which, judging by the way his shoulders rise and fall in a slow, controlled breath, might actually be the case.
For a moment neither of us speaks.
Then Sherry’s voice cuts through the tension from the comms.
“The helicopter’s on the way,” she calls. “Five minutes, tops.”
Leon drops his hand from his face and looks at me again.
The anger hasn’t disappeared, but it’s been forced back behind that familiar professional calm.
“You don’t listen to commands on the next mission,” he says evenly, “and you’re benched.”
My mouth opens automatically but he doesn’t give me the chance to respond.
“Are we clear?”
Before I can get a word out, he turns away and starts walking toward the landing zone.
I stare after him for a second, the frustration that’s been building in my chest finally boiling over.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
My boot connects with the concrete wall in a sharp, satisfying kick.
Pain shoots immediately through my foot, making me regret my action immediately.
“Fantastic,” I add under my breath.
First mission together and I’ve already managed to land myself firmly on Leon Kennedy’s bad side.
At this rate I’ll be lucky if he lets me within ten feet of the next operation.
The distant thump of rotor blades grows louder overhead before I can spiral any further into that thought.
The helicopter descends with the familiar roar of wind and metal, the noise instantly drilling straight through my skull.
Just what my rapidly forming headache needed.
I climb aboard without another word, strapping myself into the nearest seat.
Leon sits across from me but doesn’t look up.
Instead he turns his attention toward the open door, watching the dark landscape blur beneath us as the helicopter lifts back into the air.
For the entire flight, he never once meets my eyes.
⫘⫘⫘ ᥫ᭡ ⫘⫘⫘
By the time we make it back to the office, the adrenaline has fully worn off.
Which means everything hurts.
I make a quick stop in the bathroom to wash the worst of the blood from my hands and face, the cold water doing very little to improve my mood.
My reflection in the mirror looks about as good as I feel.
After grabbing my bag from my locker, I head toward the exit without bothering to stop anywhere else.
Unfortunately, Leon is sitting on the edge of his desk near the main office floor.
He notices me immediately.
“Hey,” he calls, straightening slightly. “Where do you think you’re going? You still have reports to—”
“Leave them on my desk.”
The words come out before he can finish.
I don’t mean to leave this way but I needed to get out as fast as I could.
The heavy glass doors swing open and I push through them into the cool night air outside.
A bar sits just down the street from the building, its neon sign glowing like a very reasonable solution to the worst first day of my career.
And right now, it seems like the best place I could possibly be.
The placr is dim in the way most places like this are, low lights, warm amber glow reflecting off bottles lined neatly behind the counter, the quiet murmur of conversations blending with soft music that hums somewhere in the background.
It’s exactly the kind of place people go when they want to be left alone.
I slide onto one of the stools at the bar and drop my bag on the floor beside me, leaning forward slightly as the bartender approaches.
“What can I get you?”
I don’t even look at the menu.
“Something strong,” I say.
He nods like he’s heard that request a hundred times before and disappears down the counter.
A moment later a glass lands in front of me, filled with something amber and unapologetically potent. I take a sip before thinking too much about it.
It burns all the way down, disgusting but efficient.
For a few minutes I sit there in silence, staring at the faint reflection of the bar lights in the surface of the drink while my mind replays the last several hours whether I want it to or not.
First mission.
First mission with Leon Kennedy, no less.
And somehow I’d managed to do the one thing every new agent is told not to do: ignore orders.
I rest my elbows against the counter and exhale slowly.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
When I joined the academy, when I pushed through every miserable training exercise and sleepless week of exams, the idea had always been simple: help people.
That was the whole point, to be the person who runs toward the danger instead of away from it.
Not… the person who gets benched before the dust from their first mission has even settled.
I take another sip of the drink, grimacing slightly as it burns again.
Across the bar someone laughs loudly, the sound cutting briefly through my thoughts before fading back into the background.
An hour passes like that, slowly, quietly, the glass in front of me emptying and being replaced without much effort on my part.
I’m halfway through the second one when the stool beside me shifts.
A quiet scrape of metal against the floor, the faint rustle of someone settling into the seat.
I don’t look up, I don’t need to.
I would recognize his voice anywhere.
“I had a feeling I’d find you here.”
Leon’s voice carries easily over the low hum of the bar, calm and familiar in a way that immediately tightens something in my chest.
I swirl the drink lazily in my glass.
“Lucky guess.”
Beside me, the bartender reappears once more.
“Whiskey,” Leon says.
I hear the faint clink of a glass being set down a moment later.
“You’ve still got enough energy to be smart about it, huh?” he mutters after a moment.
I finally glance sideways.
“Oh, please,” I say. “Why are you here, Leon?”
Up close he looks… cleaner.
At some point he must have stopped by the office bathroom like I did. The worst of the dust is gone, his hair pushed back slightly where it’s still damp, though the split along his lower lip is still visible beneath the softer lighting of the bar.
It draws the eye more than I’d like to admit.
Leon Kennedy has always been a handsome man, there was no denying that.
But tonight, with the faint cut on his lip and the quiet weariness sitting in his posture, the effect is… distracting to say the least.
He takes a sip of his drink before answering, leaning one forearm against the bar.
“I know this was your first mission,” he says after a moment, voice quieter now. “And technically I’m supposed to be the one showing you the ropes.”
He pauses briefly, glancing down at the glass in his hand.
“Maybe I came down a little harder on you than I meant to.”
The words sound almost reluctant, like he isn’t entirely comfortable saying them.
I stare at him for a second before shaking my head and looking back down at my drink.
“Oh, save it,” I mutter. “You don’t have to pity me.”
Leon’s eyebrows knit slightly.
“I’m not—”
“I put us both in danger,” I cut in before he can finish. The words come faster now, the frustration that had been simmering quietly for the last hour finally finding its way out. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I gesture vaguely toward his ribs, a spot i’ve seen him clutch with his hands before.
“That.. happened because of me.”
The admission sits heavy in the air between us. Guilt was about to swallow me up whole, how was he sitting here and apologizing when i’m the reason we got into that mess to begin with?
For a moment Leon doesn’t say anything.
Then I feel his hand settling lightly against my thigh, all my senses spinning, the liquor in my system did nothing to help me with that.
The touch is warm through the fabric of my pants, sending shivers up my spine.
I try to focus on anything else but his hand.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
My head lifts slightly.
Leon is watching me with that same steady gaze he had in the briefing room earlier, though the anger from before has completely faded now.
“Take it easy,” he murmurs.
His thumb shifts faintly, almost absentmindedly.
“We made it out, didn’t we?”
I blink at him.
“That sounds familiar,” I say weakly.
The corner of his mouth lifts a little.
“Yeah, well,” he says, taking another sip of his drink, “I’m allowed to steal a good line when I hear one.”
Despite myself, a small laugh escapes me, I feel the tension in my shoulders loosens just a bit.
“You eaten yet?” he asks.
I shake my head, i’m not sure I could eat.
Even though the mission took the whole day I did not feel hungry, my appetite missing.
“Too busy ruining my career.”
“Relax,” he mutters. “It takes more than one bad call to do that.”
He glances sideways at me.
“Besides, if it helps… I already filed the reports.”
I freeze, my ears must be betraying me.
“You what?”
Leon shrugs slightly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Figured you had enough on your plate tonight.”
“You did my paperwork?”
“Technically,” he says, “I supervised it.”
I open my mouth but nothing comes out.
For a long moment all I can do is stare at him in disbelief as Leon finishes the last of his whiskey and sets the glass down.
“Come on,” he says, pushing himself off the stool.
“Where?”
“My place.”
The words land casually, like he’s inviting me to continue a conversation rather than proposing anything remotely significant.
“We can continue drinking there.”
“You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
He reaches into his pocket and drops a few bills onto the bar.
“You coming or what?”
A thousand different reasons to say no run through my head, reports, professional boundaries, the fact that this man was yelling at me less than three hours ago.
Despite all the red flags waving in my mind i find myself getting up and slowly walk after him.
Leon’s Porsche is parked along the curb outside the bar.
The engine hums quietly once we’re inside, the interior smelling faintly of leather and something subtle I can’t quite place.
Streetlights pass over the windshield in slow golden flashes as the city slides by outside.
Finally Leon glances over at me briefly before directing his eyes on the road again.
“You nervous?” he asks, his voice softer than before.
I stare straight ahead, too nervous to look his way but that was something he didn’t need to know. I would love to try and not embarrass myself further tonight.
“Should I be?” I say coyly.
A quiet chuckle escapes him.
“No,” he answers.
Comfortable silence settles between us for a moment again.
“For what it’s worth… the whole office thinks you’re pretty impressive.”
I look at him again, his features dimmed in the car.
Whenever we passed streetlights they would light up his face, allowing me to get a good glimpse of him once more.
His face was studded with a light beard, I wouldn’t tell him this but it suited him extraordinary well.
“Impressive?” I try to keep myself from snorting, I think today I was anything but impressive.
He nods slightly.
“It’s also not exactly a secret you’re… easy to look at,” he admits, voice dry.
My eyebrows lift, i look forward to hide the shock on my face. Was he flirting with me?
Was this allowed?
“And you?”
Leon’s eyes flick to me and back to the road again.
I see the corner of his mouth twitch before he answers.
“I try not to get involved in office gossip.”
Which, somehow, isn’t quite the same thing as saying no.
And for reasons I can’t fully explain, that answer makes my stomach flip in a way the whiskey definitely didn’t.
ᥫ᭡
Leon’s place is quieter than I expected.
The moment the door closes behind us, the city noise fades into something distant and muffled, leaving only the soft creak of wooden floors and the low hum of a lamp somewhere in the living room.
I step inside slowly, glancing around as Leon drops his keys on a small table near the door.
The apartment feels… warm.
Not in temperature, though the faint glow of a fireplace crackling gently in the corner certainly helps, but in the way the space seems lived in without feeling cluttered. Dark wooden beams run along the ceiling, matching the polished floor beneath my feet, and the furniture leans toward the same rustic palette.
A large sofa sits in the center of the room, leather the color of dark caramel, worn just enough to suggest it’s seen plenty of evenings like this.
There are bookshelves along one wall. A couple framed photographs. A record player sitting beside a stack of vinyls.
For someone who spends most of his life chasing bioweapons across the globe, Leon Kennedy has a surprisingly peaceful living room.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he says from behind me.
I turn slightly as he moves toward the kitchen area, already reaching for a bottle sitting on the counter.
Whiskey, of course.
While he pours two glasses, I wander a few steps farther into the room, letting my fingers trail briefly along the back of the sofa as I take everything in.
It’s a nice, private and comfortable looking place.
And the thought slips into my mind before I can stop it.
Leon Kennedy isn’t exactly hard on the eyes, he must have brought home quite a few other companions here and there.
Well, whenever he wasn’t busy shooting zombies.
The kind of man people notice when he walks into a room, whether they mean to or not. The quiet confidence, the sharp blue eyes, the way time has settled into his features in a way that somehow makes him look even better than whatever version of him existed twenty years ago.
I glance toward the kitchen once more.
He’s leaning casually against the counter now, sleeves pushed slightly up his forearms as he hands me one of the glasses.
Ah yes, still very much unfairly attractive.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the drink.
The whiskey burns a little less this time, probably because my brain is busy figuring out what other things I’m currently feeling.
Leon nods toward the sofa, “sit” he says, alone that small command forces me to breathe out for a second longer than usual.
I do, sinking into the soft leather while he settles beside me a moment later, stretching one arm along the back of the couch.
For a minute we just sit there, the fire crackling softly across the room while the whiskey warms its way through my system.
Eventually I glance sideways at him, every bone in my body fighting not to stare at him.
“So,” I say slowly, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. “You going to tell me why you invited me here?”
Leon takes a sip of his drink, gaze lingering somewhere toward the fireplace like he’s considering the question.
“Thought you could use another drink,” he says, the rim of his glass hovering near his mouth as though the explanation should be obvious.
A small, treacherous part of me finds itself hoping that isn’t the only reason.
“That it?” I ask, dragging the question out just slightly as I glance sideways at him.
The corner of Leon’s mouth twitches in that subtle way of his, the sort of half-smile that never quite commits to becoming a full one.
“And maybe,” he adds after a moment, rolling the whiskey slowly in his glass, “I felt like making up for earlier.”
I lift an eyebrow at him, letting the skepticism show plainly.
“Making up for yelling at me?”
“You did almost get us killed,” he replies, far too mildly for someone who had been shouting at me in a crumbling building barely a few hours ago.
“Oh, please.”
Leon finally turns his head toward me, amusement flickering through those bright blue eyes in a way that feels almost unfair considering the situation.
“You’re taking it pretty well for someone who kicked a concrete wall earlier.”
Heat rushes to my face so quickly it’s almost embarrassing. Somehow despite the chaos, the helicopter and the noise I had convinced myself he hadn’t actually noticed that particular moment of frustration.
Apparently, I had been wrong.
“Well,” I mutter, trying to recover what little dignity remains, “that wall had it coming.”
The quiet laugh that escapes him is soft but unmistakably genuine, and for a second it throws me off balance in a way that feels strangely unfamiliar. I’ve spent the entire day watching Leon Kennedy move through danger with the steady calm of someone who has done this far too many times before, every word clipped and professional, every decision sharp and controlled.
Seeing him like this, leaning back against the couch with a glass of whiskey in his hand, the tension in his shoulders finally easing as the firelight dances across the room.
It feels like glimpsing a version of him most people probably never get to see.
The tension from earlier has softened into something quieter now, something that hums just beneath the surface of the room like the low crackle of the fire in the hearth. The anger, the frustration, the sharp edge of our argument, it has all melted into an atmosphere that feels unexpectedly easy.
Almost comfortable, dangerously comfortable, really.
Up close, the cut on his lip is even more noticeable.
The dim light from the lamp beside the couch catches the edge of it, a thin red line against skin that still carries the faint marks of the mission, scratches that will probably fade by morning.
The lingering tension in his shoulders that hasn’t quite left his posture yet.
“Does it hurt?” I ask before I can stop myself,
Leon looks at me, brows knitting slightly as if the question caught him off guard.
“The cut,” I clarify, nodding toward his mouth.
He shrugs the way people do when they’ve spent far too long pretending injuries don’t matter. “Had worse.”
Of course he has.
The casualness of the answer makes something in my chest tighten in a way I don’t entirely appreciate, and before I realize what I’m doing I’ve shifted closer on the couch, setting my glass down on the table so both hands are free.
“Let me see,” I say.
Leon looks mildly skeptical about the entire idea, though he doesn’t actually protest when my fingers lightly touch his jaw and guide his face a little closer to the lamp’s glow. For someone who had been ready to chew me out only a few hours ago, he’s surprisingly cooperative now, allowing the inspection with nothing more than a faint narrowing of his eyes.
My thumb brushes carefully along the edge of the cut.
“You clean up pretty well for someone who looked like they crawled out of a disaster zone earlier,” I murmur, more to myself than anything.
His gaze flicks to mine, sharp and quietly amused.
“You flirting with me right now?”
The question lands somewhere between disbelief and curiosity, like he hasn’t quite decided whether he should take it seriously.
“Maybe,” I reply, tilting my head slightly as I study him.
Leon watches me for a moment longer, the corner of his mouth threatening to lift despite the split lip.
“That seems like a bad idea.”
“Most good ones are.”
Besides, had he not put his hand on my thigh at the bar, or was I reading too much into that?
The warmth from the whiskey humming softly through my veins probably isn’t helping the situation, though if I’m being honest with myself the alcohol isn’t the only reason my hand lingers where it is. His hair falls slightly over his forehead now that he’s relaxed into the couch, and without really asking permission my fingers slide upward, brushing it back.
It’s softer than expected.
Leon lets out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh.
“You’re getting bold,” he says, voice low with something that might be amusement.
“Blame the whiskey.”
“That your excuse?”
I glance at him through my lashes, letting my hand pause lightly against the side of his head.
“Do you want me to stop?”
For once Leon Kennedy, a man who always seems to have an answer ready, who moves through situations with the steady confidence of someone who has seen far too much to be surprised by anything, actually takes a second to think about it.
His eyes move over my face slowly, thoughtful rather than rushed, and I get the distinct impression that he’s weighing something far more complicated than a simple yes or no.
When he finally leans back against the couch, settling more comfortably into the cushions while my hand remains exactly where it is, the decision seems to have been made somewhere behind those pretty eyes.
“No,” he says simply.
And something about the way the word leaves his mouth quiet, unhurried, entirely sincere sends a small, unexpected warmth spreading slowly through my chest.
The fire continues to crackle across the room, casting gentle, shifting shadows along the wooden walls and across the worn leather of the couch, and somewhere in that low amber glow the atmosphere between us seems to change without either of us acknowledging it outright. Neither of us reaches for the drinks sitting forgotten on the table, as though the conversation has drifted somewhere more interesting than whiskey could possibly compete with.
Leon’s hand remains on my thigh.
It had settled there casually enough earlier, almost absentmindedly, but the longer the silence stretches the more aware I become of the quiet weight of it, of the warmth of his palm through the fabric and the slow, thoughtful way his fingers occasionally shift as if he’s debating whether to move them away or let them stay exactly where they are.
I let my own hand drift back to his arm.
At first it’s nothing more than idle curiosity, my fingers tracing lightly along the firm line of muscle beneath the sleeve of his shirt, though the motion lingers a little longer than necessary as I follow the shape of his forearm and back again. He feels solid in a way that makes perfect sense for someone with his reputation in the field, someone who has spent decades surviving situations most people wouldn’t even walk into willingly, and the thought crosses my mind that there are probably countless stories behind every scar and every line etched into his face.
“You always this bold with your partners?” he asks eventually, the words threaded with quiet amusement.
I glance up at him, my hand still resting along his arm.
“Only the ones who yell at me on the first day.”
That earns another low chuckle from him, the sound rumbling faintly through his chest as his thumb shifts slightly against my leg, the movement slow and deliberate enough that it feels less like an accident and more like a quiet decision.
“You did ignore a direct order,” he reminds me.
“And yet,” I counter, tilting my head as I meet his gaze, “you still brought me home.”
For a moment he simply studies me, the firelight catching in those bright blue eyes in a way that makes it difficult to look away. Up close like this I can see every detail far more clearly, the faint scar near his temple, the cut on his lip that had drawn my attention earlier, the soft shadow of stubble along his jaw that suggests he hadn’t bothered shaving before the mission.
It occurs to me, rather suddenly, that we are sitting far closer than two coworkers probably should.
That thought might have made me pull away earlier in the evening.
Now it only makes me curious.
I lean back slightly against the couch, letting my hand drift lower along his arm while I watch him.
“Kissing would ruin it,” I say after a moment.
Leon’s brow lifts faintly.
“Ruin what?”
“This,” I explain, gesturing vaguely between us before letting my hand settle again against his bicep. “The tension. The mystery. This whole dangerous situation we’ve accidentally created.”
He lets out a quiet breath that sounds suspiciously like laughter, I was starting to really enjoy the way that sounded.
“And the strategy is…?”
“We don’t kiss.”
“And that proves what, exactly?”
“That you’re not weak enough to give in.”
The look he gives me after that is slow and thoughtful, the corner of his mouth curving with an expression that suggests he finds the entire argument deeply entertaining.
“You’re very confident about that,” he remarks.
“Should I not be?”
Instead of answering immediately, Leon leans slightly closer.
It’s not a sudden movement, and perhaps that’s what makes it far more noticeable. One moment there is a comfortable amount of space between us, and the next his shoulder brushes lightly against mine while his gaze drifts down toward my mouth with quiet curiosity.
“I think,” he murmurs, voice softer now, “you might be underestimating how this is going to play out.”
Before I have time to respond, his head tilts just enough for his lips to brush lightly against the corner of my mouth.
And yet the warmth of it lingers long after he pulls back, leaving my thoughts momentarily scattered in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
The contact is brief, he was teasing me with not quite a kiss.
For a second I simply stare at him, trying to decide whether that counted as clever rule-following or blatant manipulation.
My eyes narrow slightly.
“That was dangerously close to cheating.”
Leon looks entirely too pleased with himself.
“You said kissing would be giving in.”
“Yes.”
“And that,” he replies calmly, leaning back against the couch cushions as if presenting evidence in a courtroom, “was not a kiss.”
I hesitate, hating the fact that he’s technically right.
“That was rule-bending.”
“That was precision.”
The smugness in his voice makes me roll my eyes, though I can feel a reluctant smile tugging at my mouth anyway.
“Well,” he adds after a moment, lifting his glass again and glancing sideways at me, “if it bothers you that much, you’re welcome to even the score.”
The challenge in his tone is subtle, but unmistakable.
For a second I simply look at him, trying to decide whether he genuinely believes I won’t accept it.
Then I lean closer.
My fingers slide along his jaw, turning his face toward mine in almost the same motion I had used earlier when examining the cut on his lip, though this time the intention is very different. I let the moment stretch just long enough to see the faint shift in his expression before brushing my own lips against the corner of his mouth in return.
The contact lasts no longer than his had, just enough.
When I pull back again, I meet his gaze with quiet satisfaction.
“There,” I murmur. “Now we’re even.”
Leon exhales softly, though there’s something slightly rougher beneath it, something that suggests the playful game we’ve started might not remain entirely harmless if we keep pushing it further.
His hand has drifted higher along my thigh during the exchange, resting more firmly against my leg than before, and I notice the movement only when his thumb traces a slow arc against the fabric.
For a moment neither of us seems particularly inclined to move away.
Instead I reach for his glass, pressing it back into his hand before lifting my own.
The faint clink when the rims meet sounds surprisingly loud in the quiet room.
“To not giving in,” I say.
Leon watches me with open amusement.
“To not giving in.”
We finish the remaining whiskey together.
The warmth settles quickly in my chest, though it has very little to do with the alcohol by the time I set the empty glass aside.
Because instead of leaning back into the couch again, I shift forward, turning slightly before swinging one leg over his lap.
The reaction is immediate.
Leon inhales sharply, his hands instinctively settling at my waist to steady me as I settle against him.
“Careful,” he mutters.
“Relax,” I reply, letting my hands slide slowly up the front of his chest.
The black shirt he’s wearing fits him almost unfairly well, the fabric stretched across his shoulders and chest in a way that makes it very easy to follow the shape of the muscle beneath it while my palms move upward.
“Thought kissing was giving in,” he remarks.
“Oh, it is,” I agree lightly.
My arms slide around his neck as I lean closer, my lips brushing the warm skin just beneath his jaw before trailing slowly along the side of his neck.
“But I never said anything about this.”
Leon exhales shakily against my shoulder, a quiet sound that carries excitement.
“Dangerous logic.”
“Are you complaining?”
“I’m considering it.”
His hands tighten slightly at my waist when I shift against him, though the faint laugh that follows makes it clear the complaint isn’t entirely serious.
“Something about reckless behavior,” he adds.
“That sounds all too familiar again”
For a moment he simply lets me continue, though the tension building in his shoulders suggests his patience is wearing thinner with every second.
Eventually his arms slide more securely around my waist.
Then he stands up and i’m suddenly hauled in the air.
The movement lifts me effortlessly off the couch before I fully realize what he’s doing, and instinctively my arms tighten around his shoulders while he carries me toward the hallway.
I continue pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to his neck, eager to get a reaction out of him.
“Breaking already?” I tease.
Leon glances down at me with a look that is equal parts amused and dangerously focused.
“You’re the one who said kissing would be giving in,” he reminds me.
His bedroom door opens with a quiet push of his shoulder.
“We’re still holding that line.”
For now.
He moves through the doorway without slowing, and by the time we cross the threshold into his bedroom I barely register more than fragments of the space around us, the dim light of a bedside lamp, the dark wood of the bedframe, a low dresser along the wall with a few scattered items that suggest the same quiet order the rest of his apartment carried.
It feels warm in here, quieter somehow than the living room, though that may just be the way my attention has narrowed entirely to the man currently carrying me across the floor.
Leon sets me down on the edge of the bed with a steadiness that suggests he’s done this before, though the growing dent in his pants tells me he’s enjoying the situation far more than he’s willing to admit.
The mattress dips slightly as I shift back just enough to lean on my hands, looking up at him while he kneels between my knees.
His thumbs brush the hem of my shirt as though testing whether I’ll protest, and when I don’t he lifts the fabric slowly upward, exposing the warm skin of my stomach beneath the soft light of the room.
His touch is deliberate in a way that makes my breath catch before I even realize it’s happening.
“You talk a lot of rules,” he murmurs, fingertips tracing lightly along my side as the shirt continues to rise. “Not sure you’re very good at following them.”
“Funny,” I counter, though the words come out softer than intended as his hands glide higher along my ribs. “I was thinking the same about you.”
Leon’s gaze flicks briefly to mine before drifting lower again, and the moment he leans down I feel the warm brush of his mouth against the side of my neck.
The contact sends a shiver straight down my spine.
He doesn’t rush it. The slow press of his lips against my skin feels almost exploratory, like he’s discovering the exact reaction he hoped for as his hand moves along my waist again, fingers splaying lightly against the curve of my back.
“Careful,” I murmur, though my hands have already found their way to his belt.
“Thought you liked dangerous situations,” he replies against my neck.
“Professional hazard.”
My fingers slide lower, reaching the button of his pants while his own hands drift downward along my hips. For a second we’re simply working in quiet tandem, the small metallic click of buttons loosening filling the otherwise quiet room.
When Leon reaches for the hem of his shirt as if to pull it over his head, I catch his wrist before he can.
He pauses, glancing down at me with mild curiosity.
“What?” he asks.
“You should keep it on.”
Leon raises an eyebrow.
“That so?”
“It looks very, very good on you.”
The comment seems to catch him off guard for exactly half a second before the amusement returns to his expression, that familiar crooked smile tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re telling me not to take my shirt off,” he repeats slowly, as though confirming he heard correctly.
“Correct.”
“First time I’ve heard that one.”
“Well,” I say lightly, letting my fingers slide beneath the fabric instead, “I can’t help it, the tight shirt accentuates your arms so well.”
His breath shifts slightly when my hands move across the warm skin beneath the shirt, tracing the solid lines of muscle along his stomach while the fabric remains draped across his shoulders.
Leon lets out a low chuckle, though there’s something rougher beneath the sound now as his hands return to my waist, pulling me a little closer toward him on the mattress.
My palms move slowly along his torso, exploring the warmth of him beneath the shirt while he watches me.
His mouth returns to my neck then, the contact warmer this time, lingering just long enough to make it difficult to focus on anything else while his hands slide along my hips again.
Eventually Leon straightens again, his gaze meeting mine with something darker flickering behind the familiar humor.
“Still think kissing would ruin the tension?” he asks.
I tilt my head slightly, considering the question while my fingers remain curled loosely in the fabric of his shirt.
“Ask me again in a minute.”
Leon lets out a quiet laugh at that, though the sound fades quickly when he suddenly slides one arm around my waist and shifts his weight forward, guiding me farther back onto the bed.
The mattress dips beneath us as he leans over me, his other hand bracing lightly beside my shoulder.
“Careful,” I murmur again, though the word carries far less conviction this time.
“You keep saying that,” he replies, his voice low near my ear.
“And you keep ignoring it.”
His smile deepens slightly at the accusation, and for a moment he simply studies my face like he’s deciding exactly how far he intends to push this particular game tonight.
Leon takes my pants off fully now, his hands are everywhere at once and I struggle to keep my breathing even as his lips find the inside of my thighs.
“these,” he taps his fingers on my underwear, dangerously close to my clit, “need to go.”
I lift my hips almost immediately so he can take them off fast.
If I seemed too needy I didn’t care anymore, I wanted him badly.
His lips found my wet, slick folds almost immediately, kissing and licking until I was a writhing mess.
Moans escaped from my lips, all the restraint from before now fully gone.
My hands find their way to his soft hair, tugging lightly, he seems to be enjoying himself as well because I can hear him humming against me.
“Leon” i gasp and tug him upwards, unfortunately I was about to lose at my own game but I didn’t care much.
When he finally appears above me i pull him down by his neck and crash my lips against his, the sensation of finally feeling his lips on mine made my head spin with more need.
He groans into my mouth as I push myself closer to him.
I move my hips upward, frantically in search of some kind of friction.
His cock was hard between my legs, rubbing and pressing where i needed him the most.
“Oh god, Leon please, I need— I need you—“
“Shh, let me take care of you tonight baby, been waiting forever to do this”
His voice gave me goosebumps, making me shiver slightly under him.
By now he had taken off his underwear as well and positioned himself at my entrance, dragging his big cock slowly up and down my folds.
I looked down, the sight of it making me more anxious with each passing second.
This was obviously not my first time having sex but it surely was my first time having sex with someone who had this big of a cock.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with you gorgeous.”
Leon kisses me more softly now, his need for affection visible.
As he entered me slowly I could feel myself getting stretched out, a gasp leaving me.
My fingers gripped his shoulders tightly, the sensation leaving my mouth open.
Leon lets out a small laugh as he watches me take all of him, one of his arms was propped up next to my head and the other one was stroking my cheek softly.
“You can take it baby, i know you can” he is whispering into my ear now, the sensation of everything together pushing me so close to the edge I almost come before he’s fully inside of me.
He was going to be the end of me.
Once he was completely inside of me I could breathe again.
I nodded my head to signal that it was okay to move now, the pain subsided fast and was replaced by pleasure instead.
Of course, Leon was a gentleman, he started with painfully slow and long thrusts making me ache for more almost instantly.
I could tell he was trying not to hurt me.
Hearing him groan sent shivers all over my body, it sounded like music to my ears.
Sweat had formed on bis forehead, droplets running down his temple all the way down to his jaw.
His brows were furrowed together tightly as his thrusts picked up pace, the moment sight to behold.
Leon looked incredibly handsome right now.
My hands grabbed his face and pulled him down towards me once more for a kiss, his tongue entered my mouth and I moaned loudly into his mouth.
I don’t think I could handle this any longer and by the looks of it he was close too.
“Leon,” I whispered as I looked into his eyes.
“I’m think i’m going to—“
He interrupted me with a kiss and his hips thrusted into me faster than before, making me dig my nails in his biceps in pleasure.
Before long I could feel my release slip away from my grip, stars exploded behind my eyes as I cried out.
“Look at me baby, let me look into your eyes as I finish inside of you.”
Leon followed right after me, I could feel his cock pulse as he finished, emptying himself deep inside of me.
He rested his forehead on my collarbone as he tried to slow down his breathing, his sweat dripping on my skin.
My breathing calmed slowly, my hands scratching his back in a caressing and comforting manner.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you.” he says out of nowhere, making me chuckle at him.
“Don’t worry, I promise that hasn’t been on my mind for a while now. But there is something else..”
I trail off, he props himself up to look at me, leaving a small kiss on my lips and forehead.
“What is it?” he asks, drawing circles with his finger on my stomach, making my heart flutter even more.
“How long will it take for you to be ready for round two, old man?”
“Why you little sore loser…”
That makes him laugh outright, his hands rushing to tickle my sides, making me giggle as well.
It turns out he did not need very long to charge up for round two.
⟢ tags: smut, RE9!Leon Kennedy, bickering, bantering, tension, unspecified age gap - reader is 25-30, Leon is 51, teasing, kind of unprotected P in V, no use of y/n, reader is female
⟢ summary:
Being assigned a rookie shouldn’t be complicated. But she’s nothing like anyone he’s worked with before. She is stubborn, fearless, and constantly testing his patience. Leon Kennedy is supposed to stay calm, stay in control, and keep people alive. Yet with her, he finds himself breaking his own rules in ways he didn’t think possible.
Leon is used to surviving the worst, but she might just be the one thing he can’t protect himself from. And maybe… he doesn’t want to.
Your unsuccessful search to find your so-called friends on a night out leads to a successful one-night stand with an older man who’s giving you every reason to go home with him. Only you don’t make it past his car.
ao3 - wc: 4,285
tags: Leon Kennedy/Reader, car sex, unspecified age gap, older!Leon (whichever suits your fancy but re9), porn with some plot, smut, one shot, semi-public sex, woman on top, smoking, creampie, cisfem reader, no use of y/n, Leon is an eater
You sigh as you circled the city block for the second time in a row, trying not to brush shoulders with the other bar crawlers populating the sidewalk as you look at your phone, wishing you’d worn something warmer. Your ears are filled with the quick clicking of your heels and the distant sounds of lively crowds and bass beats escaping through the doors of each bar you pass, somehow none of them being the one your friends claim they’re at. You’re absolutely on the right street, and you’re getting increasingly annoyed at their drunken attempts to guide you there through text, and your own navigation abilities aren’t their best at two drinks in, regardless of how the cold has sobered you. You pull off against a building to stand out of the way and put your phone in your purse, and see your pack of cigarettes half-smashed in the bottom. Why the hell not. Maybe a minute to yourself will put you in a better mood.
You hold one in your mouth as you rummage through your bag for a lighter. Which helps your sour mood less and less with each unsuccessful second.
You duck into the alley next to you, knowing it was well-lit and where someone must be smoking. And your assumption was correct; your first stroke of luck tonight.
He was leaning against the wall, a darkened figure in his boots and leather, grown-out hair covering his expression. There was definitely a voice in your head saying stranger danger, but you were well within someone-will-hear-me-if-I-scream distance from the street, and this wasn’t exactly a shady alley, more of a shortcut to the other side of the block. So you approached.
“Excuse me, do you have a light?”
He looked up like he was surprised at being approached, but nodded his head and searched his jacket pockets, finding it second try. He flipped it open and lit it for you, holding out his gloved hand for you to light it over. A zippo, very classy, you thought.
He was older than you, you could tell for certain. The deep lines in his brow and the salt and pepper in his short facial hair gave away his age, and gave away some years of hard living too, but he really didn’t look half bad. His hair was a touch lighter than it looked from afar, ash blond instead of brown, which somewhat softened his overall appearance. But it’d be hard to look anything less than handsome with bone structure like that.
Not that you were staring. You nursed your cigarette against the wall adjacent to him, settling into a silence that was only a tiny bit awkward, slight enough to ignore as you watched each exhale turn to fog in the cold air. But still, you wanted to talk to him. It was nice to have your mind on something other than your night thus far.
So you broke the silence to tell him your name, not quite looking at him when you did, but you could feel his attention turn to you. “Leon,” he offered in return.
“Leon,” your tried it out for size, “that’s a nice name.”
“Thanks, it was a gift from my mother.”
You chuckled at that. Okay, so he’s not a total creep, he’s making nice and normal jokes. This is good.
“So, what brings you out tonight, Leon?”
“I… guess I kind of got stood up.”
“Oh,” you said, a little surprised, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be,” he replied. “Just a lesson I needed to learn again, I guess.”
You nodded like you understood more than you did, but it seemed like a topic you shouldn’t get too much into with a man you just met, and the silence lingered a bit more than you wish it had this time. He put his cigarette out against the wall and pulled out his pack, trading the filter for another that he lit to continue talking. “And what brings a nice girl like you here with me?”
You couldn’t help a small smile creeping out at the corner of your lips at the flattery. “I don’t really like my friends,” you said sarcastically, rolling your head against the wall to look at him. “I had to take a phonecall and they went to another bar, and I haven’t been able to find them.”
He asked where you were trying to go, and learned that it’s a 15 minute walk away. You liked your friends even less now.
He offered to walk you, but at this point you’d rather walk back to your car and sit until you’re sober than rejoin them just to fuss them out and spend the night drinking with people who clearly didn’t like you all that much. You’d known them for a few months now, but no matter how often they invited you out, you never felt like they truly wanted you in their years-established friend group. And when you thought about it, you didn’t have much in common with them. It felt like they invited you out for their entertainment more than anything.
You explained this to him in more surface-level terms and thanked him for his offer anyways. And you did appreciate it. You could probably walk in the shadiest places and be treated with the utmost respect with a man like him by your side. He could probably look pretty scary if he was mad. And probably pretty hot. You were always a sucker for male RBF.
You made small talk, not really learning much about eachother in the process, but the conversation flowed easily until his second cigarette was burned through.
“Is this the part where I buy you a drink?” he asked.
You looked back towards the street, thinking about it. You definitely weren’t going back with your friends now, and you weren’t quite sober enough to drive home, so you’d have to call a cab whether you had another or not. He’s been nothing but a gentleman so far. He doesn’t litter. And you’re really interested in knowing what’s under that leather jacket. So you agreed.
You followed him back out onto the street, trusting in his choice of bar. “There’s a little place upstairs at this hotel, I think you’ll like it.”
And wow, you did. You had to take an elevator up, so you were wonderfully far removed from the cold unforgiving air outside, and the bar’s ambience was as cozy as its temperature. The whole floor was a dimly lit lounge, with the bar placed in the middle and floor to ceiling windows all around, giving you a panoramic view of the skyline twinkling as far as you can see. And since the seating was ample, although there was a healthy number of people there, it felt like you were in your own little space on the velvet couch you settled into. It had been a while since someone had taken you somewhere so nice. You were glad he was paying, and you were suddenly grateful you chose fashion over function when you got ready tonight.
And you were not let down by his physique. You think you went a little slack-jawed when he took his jacket off and tossed it on the arm of the couch. You’ve never seen a man make a sweater look tailored purely by how obvious his muscle tone is underneath it. When he pushed up his sleeves to look at the menu, you nearly bit your fist. You picked up your own menu to at least stop staring.
He asked you what you wanted and you went with the first thing that seemed to fit your taste, and took in the city view while he went to the bar to order, thanking god you had a minute to think about your next move in peace, because your night had taken an unexpected turn. What was supposed to a night of bouncing between dive bars with your shitty friends has turned into being at an upscale speakeasy with a stranger who also happens to be the hottest man who’s ever so much as looked at you. He also happens to easily be the oldest man you’ve been out with, but you couldn’t possibly care less when he looks like that. You sent your bestie your location with a text that said “wish me luck” and put your phone on silent.
Time seemed to fly after Leon returned with your drinks. He was easy to talk to, and good at making conversation even though there were plenty of things he didn’t want to share about himself, which is fair. His vague “military-adjacent” career explained that along with the great shape he was in. He subtly made it known that dating was basically out of the question for his lifestyle, which was honestly fine by you. It was a breath of fresh air to be out with a man for the first time and not feel like you’re being interviewed for the role of their wife, or having to turn into their therapist, which has been the bulk of your recent dating experience with men your own age.
And he was quite worldly. You weren’t at a point in your career where you could travel to all the places you’d like to go someday, and he’s been all around the globe, offering you little bits of advice on where to go and where to avoid at all costs that you hope you remember to write down tomorrow. You felt a little uninteresting in comparison, but he seemed genuinely engaged in your anecdotes, telling him about the concerts you’ve been to, your adventures working in the arts and how it brought you to the boring office job you have now, and all the things you want to experience next. None of which happen to involve a man, and none of which made him insecure in the slightest. You were having the best date of your life, and it was totally by accident, with the kind of man you never thought you’d go for but was making you want to jump his bones from respectfulness alone.
So much so that when he took your empty glasses to trade them for another round, you shifted to sit closer to the center of the sofa to be closer to him. Between the alcohol-induced confidence, how badly you wanted this to go somewhere tonight, and the clock ticking towards midnight, you were being much braver than your usual self. And when he returned, he sat closer, too, with his body facing towards you and an arm ever so slightly around you where it lay on the backrest.
“I hope you’re not trying to liquor me up,” you said playfully as you took your drink from him.
His eyes went a little bit wide as he drank his. “No, no, that’s not what I’m trying to do.”
You laughed coyly at his earnest reaction. “That’s alright. I just thought I’d tell you that you don’t have to.”
“Oh,” he said almost as a question. “I won’t lie, I figured your friends must be really unpleasant if you came here with me.”
He must be absolutely clueless to how good he looks, and you had to stop yourself from fully laughing at him for it. “No, really,” he continued. “Maybe when I was your age, but I don’t know why you’re here with the man in front of you.”
“Well, I don’t normally go for men in alleyways, but you were being so polite and looked so good, it was an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“I’m glad my charm hasn’t faded entirely,” he said lowly, and moved his hand to gently pet your hair. He was looking at your lips, but he wasn’t moving an inch further. So you shifted to sit even closer, your knees now able to touch, and put down the remnants of your drink. You looked at his lips and squeezed your thighs together, noticing just how turned on you’d become, and then looked back in his eyes expectantly until he finally closed the distance.
It was too soft and restrained to be full on making out, but it was close enough. With each pressing of your lips he’d pull away after as if he was pulling back on the reins with great effort. He tasted like bourbon and smoke and salt, and you could smell the cologne on his clothes, leading you to hold his sweater in the gentlest fist to get him just a tiny bit closer. You looked down between kisses and looked at the bulge in his pants and the belt buckle you were dying to pull off.
“Is this the part where you take me home?”
He looked into your eyes like if there was any less of a lustful cloud over him, he’d tear you in two. “Yeah,” he breathed out. “Please.”
He stood up quickly to put his jacket on and take out his wallet, throwing cash on the table and offering you his hand. You took it and followed him back to the elevator where his arm moved down, first to your waist and then your hip and up your jacket, just enough to breach the hem of your shirt and feel your skin underneath, and you let yourself be pulled tightly against his side. In the reflection of the chrome walls, you could see that his eyes were impatiently fixed upon the floor numbers descending until they opened on the ground and he was pulling you hastily out the door and into the streets.
It was thrilling, letting him rush you towards an unknown location while the first bits of snow began to fall around you, trying to keep up with him in your heels while you were kept warm by your closeness. You hurried across the street and into a parking garage until he was holding open the passenger side door of his car and rushing to turn over the ignition. As soon as he did, he hit your seat warmer on and crashed his lips into yours. Nothing about him was holding back now.
Finally your hands were able to explore to their content, unzipping his jacket and grabbing him underneath it, feeling how warm and how firm every muscle was, from his sides to his chest and shoulders, until the heat was coming through the air vents and he shrugged it off of himself. All the while you traded spit in open-mouth kisses, neither of you wasting time to apologize when your teeth gnashes against eachother, because you really didn’t care.
Your own coat had come off at some point and he had one hand travelling up your thigh closer and closer to your crotch, and the other holding tight to the skin under your shirt, travelling up to run his thumb across the front of your bra, not yet daring to take either off. You grabbed at this belt to give him the hint, but he broke away from your mouth, both of you breathing hard.
“You sure you want to do this here?”
You nodded fast and only got halfway through the word “yes” before he’d pulled you completely over the center console and into his lap, pressing you down to grind against him while he fumbled with the controls to push his seat back and give you more room. When you grabbed at his belt again, he pushed his hips up and ripped it off himself, giving you a head start on unzipping his jeans and pulling him out.
And oh god were you almost scared at his size. He was more than average length, but he was thick, and it had been so long for you that you were actually a little concerned about it fitting. At least you were already in his lap and weren’t able to attempt to take him in your mouth, as much as you’d love to, because you were sure you’d lose your voice tomorrow if he fucked your face like you wanted him to. How small your hand looked on it only exaggerated it.
If he was insecure about his looks earlier, he wasn’t insecure about this, because he knew exactly what thoughts were making your movements slow down. He pulled you in by the nape of your neck and kissed you before saying, “don’t worry, I’ll start slow,” and that was all the reassurance you needed.
You fervently tore his sweater over his head and threw it in the backseat and he did the same with yours, your hand only leaving his cock when it absolutely had to, and he started working on your bottoms, only bothering to take them off of one leg so you could move freely and he could pull them down enough to grab and spread your ass in his big hands.
And now that he was as naked as possible given the circumstance, he did not disappoint in the slightest. You could see every muscle flex distinctly as he shifted beneath you, moving you further up in his lap until his fingers could find their way in between your folds.
You held onto his shoulder for purchase as he worked them in, first with one, periodically pulling it out to rub your clit before plunging in again. “Shit, you’re tight,” he said through his teeth, “even tight on my fingers. You really gonna let me ruin this tight cunt of yours?”
Words could not describe what that did to you. He was taking care to get you ready, and it’d been so long since you’ve been fucked into oblivion, and at this point you’d beg for it from him if he asked.
He pulled his fingers out of you and took them into his mouth, furrowing his brows closed and moaning at the taste of you. “I wanna eat you out so bad,” he said, and reclined his seat as horizontal as it could go, “wanna spend hours making you cum. Get up here.”
You have no idea how you were able to contort your body to sit on his face, but you did. You put your arms behind you on the dash so you wouldn’t fall back on the horn, using the little leverage you had to grind down on him as he held your hips even tighter to his face.
You were trying to keep your moans to a reasonable level but it was a failed effort. When he wasn’t sucking on your clit, his nose still pressed against it while he buried his tongue inside you, the stubble of his facial hair adding an extra layer of friction between your thighs. Reaching up, he blindly unclasped your bra and took your breasts in his hands, thumbing your nipples and squeezing them just enough to barely hurt. The sheer amount of sensation sent shocks throughout your body until you were saying his name as he lapped up your cum like a madman dying of thirst.
When you’d just begun to catch your breath, he let you bring your hips back to his throbbing dick, leaving a wet spot on him as he pulled you into your filthiest kiss yet. When you pulled away from his mouth, it was only to find enough focus to return the favor and reach down to line him up with you. He let out a shaky breath as you lowered yourself slightly, just enough to take in the tip, and then back down to fit more of him inside each time.
“That’s it baby girl, you can take me. Take your time.”
And you did until you were finally able to fully sit on him, feeling every inch as full as you were. With him all the way inside you kissed him again, grinding down in a way that maybe only felt good for you, but let you fully adjust while he pressed against the deepest parts of you.
He grabbed your hips and lifted them up just a little, then guided them all the way back down, nice and slow, your foreheads resting against eachother.
“That feel good?”
“Mmhmm,” was all you managed to whimper out.
“You ready for me to fuck you now?”
“Yes, god, yes.”
He wasted no time to thrust into you sharply. You gasped. Then he did it again. And again. And again. With each pause between the hard force of his cock leaving you an absolutely desperate mess. Only when your hands were scrambling across his body and all you could say was “please, please, Leon please,” did he finally let himself fuck you with all the force he’d holding back.
He had one arm holding you close across your back and the other on the back of your thigh keeping your legs apart as he drilled into you hard and fast, your mouth open slack against his neck. You focused on breathing and just taking the punishing pace he was dishing out to you, while he whispered filthy things into your hair, like, “your cunt is so goddamned good,” “I can’t believe you’re letting me wreck you like this,” “couldn’t even wait to get home, had to have it right here in public, didn’t you?” “You’re taking it so well baby, such a pretty pussy, you gonna let me cum inside? Yeah? Gonna let me fill you ‘til you leak?”
He moved his hand from your thigh to your clit and that was all it took to make you cry out again. His other hand grabbed you by the nape of your neck. “Look at me, look at me when you cum.” And it was game over.
His face twisted into a snarl as he teetered on the edge, and if that was the face you’d first met tonight, you would have run screaming in the other direction. But here in his car with him fucking you absolutely dumb until the windows fogged up and his suspension shook, his otherwise scary expression made you scream his name and cum even harder around him than before, his orgasm following with a mangled shout. He threw his head back as his thrusts lost their rhythm and his grip on you tightened, and you saw a bead of sweat glisten down his neck at the same moment you felt his cum spill outside of your walls.
You sat there huffing, glued together, teeth buzzing and borderline lightheaded as you came down from it. When he looked forward again you watched his eyes trace their way from where your bodies connected all the way up to your undoubtedly fucked-out face. He grinned devilishly when his eyes met yours, and you sighed out a single laugh, smiling until he finally pulled out. You moaned again from the loss and the feeling of so much cum spilling out of you and onto his lap. Good thing he had leather seats.
He rubbed your legs soothingly until you looked for your discarded clothes, and he reached into the backseat to find them and hand them to you, finding his own and offering it to you to wipe off with. You got yourself halfway-decent again, putting your top on and combing your hands quickly through your hair, trying to fix yourself at least somewhat, because it was more than safe to assume you looked at least half as ravaged as you had been.
He adjusted his seat back to half sit so there was still room for you in his lap. “Hey,” he started, replacing your hand in your hair with his own, running his fingers through it softly. “That was incredible.”
You took a minute to look at him, taking him in. His hair was tousled and pushed out of his face, a light sheen of sweat painting his entire form, the flush on his chest revealing scars you hadn’t noticed before. You ran a hand up his torso, appreciating his body and the warmth emanating from it once more before you’d have to climb off his lap and into the passenger seat. “Yeah, it really was.”
He brought you in for one last kiss before he let you switch seats and fully dress yourself, no choice but to sit in your soaking underwear and feel how sore your pussy would be tomorrow. For now, you thanked god for the soothing powers of heated seats, and blushed as you imagined him cleaning them tomorrow.
The drive to your place was quiet but comfortable, with the radio playing low and his hand on your thigh. He pulled into your driveway just after 2am. Before you got out he asked for your number, but said he couldn’t give you his. Something about only having a work phone, “but if you need me to take you back to your car tomorrow I will, or if you need me to uh, take you to the pharmacy, I’ll pay.”
You smiled and assured him it was alright, you wouldn’t have let him cum inside if it wasn’t safe, but he was welcome to call you on a pay phone or whatever it was he used instead of his cell anytime. He waited in the driveway until you were safely inside where you promptly kicked your heels off and passed out.
You woke up at noon with a persistent headache, a million texts and a hundred missed calls, none of which from an unknown number. When you found the energy to leave your house, you discovered a little brown gift bag by your door. You opened it to see a plan B and a notecard:
Next time I’ll take you out to dinner first. -Leon
areudirty
stormborns
janainaart
yousharknotpass
vaporwave
dailybridgerton
2087
