its liah, just wanted to check in on everybody after disappearing. i am so sorry for the sudden vanishing, but life has been at an all time low recently and i really do not have the energy to continue writing.
will i be coming back?
yes! please do not think i will be gone forever, but i do want some time to myself as life has been going downhill, and it is hard for me to balance work, school, and my hobbies.
i love you guys so much, and i hope you guys are doing well ♡
( p.s i’m 19 lmfao don’t think i’m a minor reblogging this stuff )
NIVAN NIVANNN, this isn't really a request, just a silly ask but ,, (◍•ᴗ•◍) i think we all know it is probablyyy established that albert is our no. 1 pussy slapper, but what chu think about the other resident evil men?!?!? who would be no. 2 or who be the least into it... >____< personally i think chris and jake would be into it...
CUNT SMACKING.ᐟ— featuring RE MEN.
PAIRINGS: RE MEN/you.
TAGS: cunt slapping, obv, condescension, ruined orgasms, just pure horniness, daddy/master kink
A/N: no thoughts. head empty.
NSFW UNDER THE CUT!
THE SADISTS who enjoy ruining your orgasm and making you cum from nothing but his harsh cunt slapping.
ALBERT WESKER, HUNK, jake muller, karl heisenberg.
the way he laughed was absolutely menacing. “soaked already? i haven’t even made you beg for me yet,” your clit twitches from the sting and from his cruel words. another wet SMACK! echoes in your shared bedroom. your slick only made the impact more blissfully painful.
“look at that cunt. you like this, don’t you? having your pretty pussy slapped. think i can make y’cum with just me slapping it?” you shake your head, and it doesn’t matter anyways; because he’s landing another strike—once, twice—anyways.
“c’mon, slut. beg me. say please, master. don’t make me repeat it.”
THE BRAT BREAKERS who’ll put you in your place, claims to do it to “discipline” you.
ALBERT WESKER, chris redfield, jack krauser, karl heisenberg.
“how many?”
“e , eight . . ”
this is your punishment when you’re being extra stubborn, and if you dared lose count of how many strikes he’s bestowed on that puffy cunt, good luck; he won’t hesitate to start over so as long as you learn a fucking lesson.
slap!
“n, nine!” your poor cunt’s given soft, gentle rubs as comfort. “my poor angel. are you gonna do it again?” slap! “ten—! n, no i won’t! won’t do it again!” slap! “promise?” you could barely utter out an eleven, the humiliation and the pain makin’ this more pleasurable than it should. slap! “p, promise, daddy! eleve—!” slap! his laughter blends in nicely with your wails.
“you know i'd rather not do this, but you've been bad. y'know what bad girls get.”
THE SWEETHEARTS who’ll do what you ask, because, well, why the hell not?
LUIS SERRA, CARLOS OLIVEIRA, leon kennedy, piers nivans.
“you’re kinkier than i thought, darling,”
he whispered in your ear, thumb rubbing over your sensitive, reddening cunt. “didn’t think you’d love—,” SMACK! “—having your pretty, pretty pussy slapped.” you knew you wouldn’t hear the end of this after specifically requesting it, but fuck, you were dripping; transparent, sticky arousal smearing everywhere.
“should i slap her again, my love?” his eyes break away from your puffy clit and looking over you, expectant. “y, yes please,” you mutter weakly, holding on to his biceps. he can’t resist, can’t say no to his good girl.
SMACK!
your essence sticks to the pads of his calloused fingers, and he couldn’t help but let his lips curl up to a smile. “god, you’re fucking dripping.”
— in which! you could name a few facts about leon on the tippy top of your head, but, well, maaaaaaaybe there were some exceptions.
wordcount! 4.7k (what)
warning! hey so i lied, MDNI, explicit smut (first time writing c'mon give me a chance), cliché, idiots in love, childhood best friends trope, absolute teeth-rotting stuff, very and i mean very LIGHT ANGST like i swear it's just a dabble, LEON IS AN EATER (oral, f-receiving), fingering, p in v, dirty talk, heavy make-out sesh, light praise kink, light degradation kink, light condescending praise, size kink if you squint, sumn sumn leon being leon, snowballing if you squint, possessive f! reader, cockdrunk f!reader, dom! leon, pussydrunk! leon, leon whimpering, one mention of bleeding (not while fucking), bro i swear this was NOT supposed to be a smut i was js thinking w my phantom 13-inch dick okay? OKAY!
loosely inspired by: please by bts (and my thirteen-inch phantom dick)
LEON S. KENNEDY IS A MAN OF FEW WORDS. He likes to keep things simple. Minimal. Straight to the point. That’s just the kind of man he is. He likes his coffee black and his pastries with less sugar.
“Great day, welcome to Annie’s Café. What can I get you?” It was early, and the employee’s tone sounded fake—which, honestly, okay, valid—it’s the crack ass of dawn and the birds still haven’t sung to their heart’s content. No shit the employee sounded ready to clock out, even if they just arrived. Drive-thrus included.
“I’d like two iced Spanish lattes in large with a box of macarons, please,” Leon replied, politely, as if nothing could rain on his parade. He’d been feeling quite peckish, as of late, and he thinks it’s because he’s been hanging out with you too much after each grueling mission.
Now who was he fooling? Himself, obviously. Mission or not, he’s still banging on your door. Too much, unfortunately, to the point that you—begrudgingly—shoved him your spare key the next day so you could actually experience shitting in peace again, and he could just waltz in as he pleases.
“Okay, anything else?” The tired voice of the server blaring from the speaker wrenched him out of his reverie. He shook his head once, twice, then, as if remembering something, he answered, “Make that three boxes. And add that Mango Rose Tart Special, thanks.”
“Okay, please proceed to the next window to claim and have a nice day ahead. Hope to see you next time at Annie’s!” The voice from the speaker sounded tired—dripping with faux cheeriness, but nonetheless, moving to serve his ridiculous order of freshly baked boxes of macarons and a tart, with cold-brewed lattes.
Nodding to himself, mentally patting his back as a job well done, he drove towards the next window, picking up his (rather bulky) order with a dashing half-smile that made the servers thank the gods that pretty people with huge biceps exist. If that was their reward for baking at 3:00 am, they’d gladly make some more.
Jesus, he can’t wait to return to you.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
LEON S. KENNEDY DISLIKES NOISY MORNINGS. He likes to keep things quiet. Peaceful. Alone. Moping around and wagging his imaginary tail to see you—wait, what?
“Sweets! I bought sweets.” Leon nuzzled at your peacefully sleeping form after carefully putting the boxes on your dining table and shoving the lattes into your fridge. His arms automatically hooked into your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest, greedily taking your warmth for himself. He felt you moving, settling quite nicely, and making yourself comfortable in his hold.
“You’re noisy.” He heard you mumble in his chest, but he couldn’t care less. Hooking his chin at the top of your head, he breathes in your scent, inhaling the fragrance of your shampoo and your detergent, utterly content with being suffocated by—well—you.
“You act as if I care.” He hummed, taming your messy bedhead with soft pats, gently weaving his fingers through your hair as if patting an incredibly sleepy chinchilla.
Christ, he could melt just by looking at you. You looked adorable. Your naturally pouty lips jutted as your eyes remained closed, looking utterly at peace. Blissfully unaware of your effect on him. He thinks it’s unfair. How you just breathe, and he’s already at your beck and call. How the sun peeks through your windows perfectly frames your figure, making you look utterly devastating. How your hair just cascades perfectly on your shoulders, looking like messy waves that just fit.
How he thinks he wanted to be a little more than just a best friend.
“Mhm, stay.” He felt arms slowly snaking around his body, and he swore his heart rate sped up. He’s sure you heard it, too—with how your face was pressed into his chest. And he would’ve been embarrassed if he hadn’t felt you nuzzle—burying your nose in between his soft pectorals. Each puff of breath was hot, rendering his brain pathetically useless—a putty in your embrace.
“F-for breakfast?” Yeah, real smooth, Leon. What a stuttering sweet-talker you are. Proud of you, son.
“Forever.”
Then you were awake, staring at those huge cerulean eyes that reminded you of the vast seas. Gods, he was beautiful. Would it be too greedy to wish to wake up every morning with this sight? With Leon’s flushed cheeks and soft eyes that scream longing and affection?
Oh wait, maybe you’re projecting.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
LEON S. KENNEDY HATES BEING TIED DOWN. He despises commitments with passion. Almost pukes at the mere mention of it, actually. He doesn’t do all that lovey-dovey shit. He isn’t clingy—hates to be that person, in fact. He likes being alone, surrounded by his thoughts. That’s his favorite pastime, actually. He—okay, what the fuck. Who wrote this? This script is wrong. Someone is getting fired.
The air in the dining room feels light. Comfortable. The rays of the sun softly peeking through, the birds by the windows singing their hearty tune, and Leon taking care of you, just as usual. You like this routine: drinking coffee while chatting with your favorite person, just as the sun rises like a beautiful backdrop.
“Let’s make us official.”
You almost spat your coffee, heart suddenly—violently—hammering inside your ribcage, begging to be let out. You think it’s palpitations. The iced Spanish latte does its job at roughhousing your nervous system to the point that you think you’re hallucinating shit at like 7:46 am in the morning. You’re not equipped with the right knowledge for this conversation. It feels like your cells just burst.
“W-what?” You replied, with all the neurons and brain cells working overtime. They’re like three combined, so it’s not really that hard of a job when all you could think about was Katseye’s Gnarly chorus on loop. And maybe your hot-fucking-childhood-best-friend-that-acts-more-like-a-boyfriend-than-best-friend-but-you-digress.
“I mean, we’re not blind. As much as we’d like to deny it, we can’t run away from this conversation forever.” If there was hesitation in Leon’s voice, you couldn’t pinpoint it. And if his hands were mildly trembling beneath the surface of the table, you couldn’t see it. But you’d be damned if you couldn’t feel the tension rapidly resurfacing while the conversation continued.
“I can run away right now.”
“Sweets.”
“Lee.”
Leon sighed, as if he could already feel a headache coming. “I can catch you.”
“I’ll run even faster.” See, your tongue is your greatest enemy here.
“You talk too much.”
“You can shut me up.”
You knew someday that your sharp tongue would be the death of you. You got into so much trouble as a child because of it. Your aunties and uncles often get offended by your blunt words, while your little cousins seem to enjoy it. Your parents often scolded you, urging you to school your sharp tongue and witty replies, specifying it’ll bite you in the ass in the future. You didn’t give a fuck. Little you know who you were from a very young age.
You knew, and you were well-aware.
You just didn’t expect to be bitten right now.
Not that you would complain—oh god, no. You’d die happily.
“What?”
“What?”
Leon was staring at you as if he’d like to do exactly that. You don’t blame him—you’d like to do exactly that, too. You’re just… scared.
Scared to lose him.
Scared to lose the sacred friendship you built since you were in literal diapers.
Scared to mess it up so bad, you’d break up.
Scared to fuck it up, he’d end up lea—
“Whatever you’re thinking of, stop. It won’t happen.” Leon suddenly spoke up, looking at you, even if you avoided it. You hate how he knows you like the back of his hand.
Then, he sighed. Leaning closer towards you, hovering his hand over yours. He doesn’t touch, no. He waits. Patiently. “I won’t let it.” He said, barely a breath louder.
Oh, how you hate how easily he makes your resolve crumble.
You’d pity yourself if only you weren’t exactly where you want to be.
You took a deep breath, looking at his eyes after, letting your fears swirl in your irises and baring your emotions in front of him. It’s just… you weren’t used to being vulnerable, okay? Not when you’ve forced yourself into accepting whatever the fuck life throws in your way, simply choosing to laugh it off rather than to mope somewhere all day.
But this? This sudden vulnerability? This sudden confession—no, it never really was sudden. It had been subtle, yes, but you really shouldn’t have been surprised. You’ve been tiptoeing around—crossed, even—the friendship boundary roughly about a few years ago, after that incident in damned Raccoon City.
Now for the record, choosing to go with Leon to venture to that place was on you. You knew he’d be fucked up, being blacked out drunk the night prior—you would know, you were with him at the bar. You get it, the night he just wanted to forget being dumped by his asshole ex. And well, maybe you just wanted to go to RC because you were curious about his workplace, okay? Sue you for being nosy.
You just haven’t expected it to be, for lack of better terms, infested with rotting undead corpses who wanted you for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert.
That definitely wasn’t how you wanted to start your Monday.
“Leon, I…” You felt your nails digging through your palm, leaving crescent indents. It grounded you. “I want to, I really fucking do. I don’t think I have to confess when I’ve always been obvious.” Something dripped, maybe it was crimson from your hands or clear from your eyes. “I’m just scared. So fucking scared.”
You couldn’t face him, swallowed by your cowardly brain, and yet, you couldn’t stop your mouth from speaking every unsaid thought that plagued you. It has a mind of its own.
“I’m scared. What if you wake up one day and realize that I wasn’t the one you’d like to spend your future with? What if you realize that you just settled for the safest option? Because I’m not her, I will never be her—god, fuck! I wanted to be her, but fuck my life, I’m not. I could never do the things she could—I’m basically useless without you. What if I fuck this up? Fuck it up so bad, I’d lose you?”
You were spiraling. Your mind was clouded, as if the dam had been broken and every word was just falling out uncontrollably.
“I like you. No, fucking hell, that’s lackluster. I’m fucking in love with you, and I hate that my stupid brain keeps spewing nonsense and my mouth couldn’t fucking shut up and it’s exposing me!”
And finally, god, finally. Your eyes finally darted at him.
He didn’t look surprised. God, no. It’s so much worse.
He looked soft. As if something unbelievable finally happened. As if he were just waiting for those words to come out of your damn mouth.
“You’re in love with… me?” Leon uttered—no, it was barely a whisper. It was disbelief and relief, all at once. Packaged like a buy-one-get-me-free sale. His soft cerulean eyes were shining with something suspiciously akin to unshed tears. It was apparent, even if he was looking far from you, staring at his now-empty cup and leftover ice.
“Was that all you’ve heard?” While you, you were puzzled. You knew he was a little fucked up, but damn, all those ramblings and that’s all he registered?
As if finally collected his bearings, Leon looked at you, fighting that watery smile that didn’t seem to get off, no matter how hard he tried. “It was all that mattered.” He choked out, biting his lip as a tear finally dropped.
And another.
Then another.
Until it flowed freely like a beautiful waterfall.
“I couldn’t care less. Shit, I just wanted you.” Leon rasped, “Fucking hell, all I’ve ever wanted—no, needed was you.” Trembling, his hands grasped yours, engulfing them whole. He traced little shaky hearts, his fingers still absentmindedly trembling as he stared at your skin, shying away from your gaze.
“All you, Sweets. Always you.” He lifted your hand, prompting it to cup his cheek. With his eyes closed, he melted into your warmth, exhaling a stuttered breath before looking into your eyes. “Always had been, always will be.”
It was whispered.
The promise.
Barely above a whisper.
But the devotion was loud.
Too fucking loud, it echoed through your heart, silencing your stupid brain’s unnecessary provocations.
“You dumb fuck.” You croaked. Before swiftly crossing the table to suffocate in his embrace. You hugged him like he was your lifeline, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his stupefying scent.
Leon did the same, nosing your hair and pulling you to his lap. His head was filled with nothing but you, his arms wrapped in you like a warm cocoon. Peppering light kisses, while his hands fiddled with the ends of your hair, tracing feather-light patterns on your clothed skin. “Your dumb fuck, I suppose?”
“Mine.” You replied, cheekily pecking his neck, feeling the goosebumps run through his spine. “You learn fast.”
“Mhm, shut up.”
Then suddenly, his hand was on your cheek, guiding you towards his plush lips. And damn, you fucking melted, your lips moved as if you were already accustomed to his, moving in sync, like a mad rhythm waiting to be played. The kiss was tender, full of longing and secret devotion shared. It felt like whiskey, something strong, harsh yet addicting. It was heavy with regret—regret of why you haven’t done this much sooner, how you’ve lasted this long without each other’s constant touch, when you’ve realized all you needed was each other, and what’s stopping you from fully destroying the quote-unquote bounder-less boundaries you’ve been too afraid to fully cross.
And was quickly replaced by need—full hunger that aches to restore time that was lost. There was heat when he parted your mouth with his tongue, curling around yours like a waltz that seeks to devour you whole. Your throat bubbles with whines you don’t even bother suppressing, because he drank it with vigor. He kisses you like he was starved, tongue fondling with yours, curling and stroking until your head was fucked and air was a foreign concept for losers.
You felt his large hands grope your ass, snaking down to grab a hold of your thighs, manhandling you so you’re straddling him, clothed drenched cunt to clothed hard cock. It made you whimper, embarrassing sounds escaping your lips while he rolled his hips, catching your clit. Writhing in his hold, your mouth left his as you tugged his shirt, signaling that you want it gone.
He obliged with a husky chuckle, “Impatient, aren’t you? My needy baby.” Leon’s voice dropped an octave lower, swiftly pulling his shirt off to reveal his muscular build. Before your head could catch a fraction of what you were doing, your hands were already tracing his sculptured lines. Nimble hands flying from the sides of his neck, lightly circling his pebbled nipples (which made him stutter a breathless gasp), dropping lower to his chiseled abs, feeling the deep ridges and subtly grinding on his hard cock.
“F-fuck, sweets. Like what you see?”
“Very.”
Oh, maybe you shouldn’t have done that.
Because suddenly, you’re very afraid of what will happen next.
Maybe your legs would cease to work.
Maybe your voice would refuse to come out.
Maybe his cock would be wrung dry.
And maybe you’d like that.
Leon groaned in response, hauling you up with one arm while his other arm busied itself gripping the back of your scalp, under your soft hair, pulling you closer as his tongue bullied yours yet again. Your arms flew to his neck, inching yourself even closer as you felt him move—walking to what you would assume to be your bedroom.
Plopping you down on your bed, you bounced twice—twice too long for Leon, apparently, as he found himself in between your thighs, rip, rip, ripping your clothes to shreds. His hand found purchase in your bra, swiftly unhooking it with a snap. It would’ve been impressive if not for his tongue immediately lapping your pebbled nipple, calloused hand playing and massaging the other one.
“Fuck, baby,” he panted, sucking lazy kisses that would for sure bruise. “Y’taste too sweet. Shit, you really are my sweets.” Then, you felt a hazy, sharp pain, looking down to see a bite mark right before your areola—all red and new as he stares at you with hooded eyes. Cerulean eyes that seemed to deepen with each passing second, pupils all blown out and dilated as if you were the only drug he’s willing to indulge in.
Then, he switched to your other nipple, slobbering and giving it the same attention as the other one. Little zigzags as his tongue traced your areola to your hardened nipple. Fuck, it was a mess of spit and bites as he sucked wet kisses down your stomach, fiddling the strings of your sleep shorts and tugging them down with the patience of a saint—well, if the saint was being chased by a rather aggressive wolf in a two-by-two world build.
“Fuckin’ look amazing, gorgeous.” Leon huffed, kissing the side seams of your panties and lifting your thigh, placing it on his broad shoulder, his face lightly pressing your inner thighs as he scattered wet kisses—his light stubble scratching you involuntarily, arching your back with light whines.
His warm puffs of breath tickled you, moaning as your fingers travel to his scalp. “S-stop teasing m—” You stuttered, before a sharp whine catches on the back of your throat.
Fuck, it was hot. His warm tongue lapped the gusset of your drenched panties, tasting you just from the fabric. Desperate licks as he sucked, blunt nails digging through your thighs as your arousal seeps through the ruined cloth. Then, his lips found purchase on your clothed (almost transparent) clit, sucking and sucking with the scratchy—wet—fabric adding the stupefying sensations.
The room was filled with your ah-ah-ah!’s while Leon was having the time of his life in between your legs. It wasn’t until you heard a small rip-rip-rip until ypu realized that oh! you’re fucked.
Leon groaned, immediately devouring your fucking pussy. “Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart. Y’ve been keeping t’is from me?” He slurred, tracing your folds with his tongue, fucking you with zigzags that ranged from lazy to vigorous spurts of energy. He eats you out like he was starved and you were the only meal he needed to survive. He flicked his tongue on your clit, swirlin’ and sucking, then going back to your drippy hole where he collects your sweet fuckin’ sap. “Shit—haah—so fuckin’ wet for me—juuuust for me, sweets?”
“C’mon, baby. Gimme more, yeah? Fuuuuuck, y’can gimme more.” Leon rasped, greedily sucking your twitchy, engorged clit, then switching to tongue-fuck your drippy hole, curling and stroking your stretchy walls. While you? You were (s)creaming, throat scratchy with strings of curses, with drool collecting on the corner of your lips—precisely why you barely registered his thick finger entering you, stretching your poor pussy out while his tongue continued to abuse your poor clit. “P-please.”
The burn was insane—insanely fucking delicious, your head was swarming with dizzying pleasure. “F—s-shit, m-more—mhmn—a-aah!” You don't even remember what you were doing, barely even remembering your name. All you could think about was Leon, Leon, Leon.
You felt another finger, scissoring, curling inside your gummy walls. Reaching into the depths of your spongy weakness—making you scream, thrashing into his hold to the point that he has no choice but to wrap his strong arm around your abdomen to halt your involuntary actions.
And then another.
Three fingers, knuckles deep, assaulting your insides—hammering into your fucking g-spot, while his tongue continues to suck the living soul out of your poor hypersensitive nub.
“S-shit, ‘m close—fuuuuuck—‘m close!” You rasped, tugging Leon’s soft locks as your body convulsed—unravelling, coming undone. Eyes rolling back to the back of your skull until all you could see was white, and the coil on your abdomen violently snapping as liquids flew like a damn waterfall.
And Leon? Yeah, he wasn’t done. Still lapping your juices as you spill it all out. Even after your high was released, his mouth was still moving, still making out with your oversensitive pussy, still greedily sucking your juices, even if you tried to pull away, running from his strong embrace. God, no. He just pulls you back even closer, burying his nose in your clit while his tongue circles your hole.
He’s determined to fuck your brains out so good, you’d stop thinking of pointless possibilities that would never fucking happen as long as he’s alive. Why would he think about other women when he’s got you splayed out for him like a fucking five-course meal, just his for taking? Why would he think about the irrelevant fucking future when his past and present were spent with you? All you, baby. All fucking you.
“Oh, fuck—Leon—!!”
Did he say that out loud? Because by the look of it, he did. Your glassy, heart eyes say it so.
“Like that, sweets? That I’m aaaaaall yours? Yeah?” Leon grunts, standing up so he could hover over you, kissing you, all spit, come, and tongue. His tongue—god, his tongue, you love his fucking tongue—coiled around yours. Fucking your mouth while his hand unbuckled his belt, tugging off his pants in a swift motion. You caught sight of his drenched boxers, spurts of wetness visible through the grey fabric. It made you whine on his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as you basked in the sensation.
“Bet you fuckin’ loved that, didn’t you, sweetheart? Loved the fact that I came untouched by eating you out, mhm?” He whispered on your lips, slightly pulling away as his lips reattached to your neck, sucking and kissing deep reds and purples once more. “Didn't even need to grind, fuck, y’r cunt’s allll I need, baby. Drives me fuckin’ insane.”
Just as quickly, you felt something hard and hot pulsing on your fluttering cunt. Blinking—willing your eyes to open, you saw his massive cock—long, pretty, veiny and fucking girthy as you swallowed dry. Shivers traveled down your spine, suddenly very fuckin’ afraid if it’ll even fit.
Leon chuckled, as if sensing your hesitation. His hand moved to cup your cheek while his other traced circles in your hips, grounding you. “It’ll fit, baby. I’ll make it fit.” His tone was soft, his thumb caressing your cheek as he wills you to look at his eyes—but damn, his words were nasty. “Gonna make sure y’r head’s full of my cock, my pretty baby. Y’like that?”
See, you would’ve responded. All sweet and high-pitchy. Instead, moans were the only thing that left your lips when you felt his cock nudge your outer lips, teasing your cunt as you felt Leon spreading your legs further, bullying your cunt until his tip finally fuckin’ entered your stretchy hole.
“F-fuhck! Mhmnn—!!” You stuttered, already feelin’ fucking full. Still too hypersensitive from your earlier release. “S’jus the t-tip?”
It made Leon puff out a breathy chuckle, moving his hips little by little, small thrusts to fit snugly inside you. “Y-yeah, baby. Still jus’ the tip. ‘m sure y’can fit more inches here, yeah?” He drawled out, his fingers tracing to what he would assume to be where his dick would fit. “J-jus’ tell me if y’need a break, ‘kay?”
Then he thrusts, parting your gummy walls, impaling you with his thick, veiny cock fully. And you did nothing but take it, enjoying every second of being fucked dumb by Leon and hearing his damn cute whines. He wasn't afraid to be vocal, oh god no. He was loud. Groaning with each mean thrust on your cunt—whining as he repeatedly pounds your g-spot, making you drool on your sheets.
“Y-yeah? L-like that, baby? Oh fuuck—” Cutting himself off with a groan, he felt you clench—squeezing his damn cock so tight, he had to will himself not to cum that fast. “Sweet girl, you're—ngh—y’r fuckin’ suffocatin’ me.”
You did nothin’ but whimper, and he did nothin’ but take you to pound town.
Leon’s stamina was more than fucking impressive; his unrelenting thrusts were constant and damn consistent, roughly loving and disrespecting you all at the same time. You felt stuffed to the brim with his thick shaft, his calloused thumb traveling to rub mean circles on your clit as you moaned for mercy. The repeated plap-plap-plap of his skin slapping yours was nasty, and his erratic ministrations of your body felt like heaven. You think you could stay like this forever.
“Yeah, b-baby? Fuuuuuuckin’ think you could stay like t’is for—nghh!—forever?” He groaned at the shell of your ear, darting his tongue to flick at the sensitive lobe. “Think ‘m doin’ somethin’ wrong, y’shouldn’t be thinkin’ at alllll.” He croons, tone deep and mocking, manhandling your thighs, folding you in half.
“Wha—Lee!! Oh fuck, Leoooooon—!!” All you could do was squeak, your voice going an octave higher—something you didn’t even know you were capable of, as he jackhammers into your cunt. Fucking you senseless and so utterly stupid, abusing your spongy g-spot with precise thrusts. And you could only retaliate by fucking up his back, scratching while your back gives out.
You swore you heard him whimper in delight.
Your five senses consist of staring at Leon’s fucked out face, smelling Leon’s heady scent, tasting your cum and Leon’s saliva still on your lips, hearing Leon’s sharp grunts and gasps—occasionally his small whimpers as he hits a rather deep spot, and—fuck—feeling Leon’s thick cock spearheading your tight cunt, feeling him twitch as his veins tickled your insides.
Yeah, you won’t be walking, alright.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
LEON S. KENNEDY IS ALL OF THOSE THINGS, BUT MAYBE THERE MIGHT BE EXCEPTIONS (YOU).
“Fuck you, Kennedy. Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou!” You groaned, the feeling of your legs still not returning after a day and a half of full bed rest.
The person charged guilty was found chuckling, eating ice cream, and faaaaaar away from where your wrath could grasp him in the neck (he’d like that). “Ouch, babe. Kennedy? Seriously? Who’s that?”
Aaaaaand then ducking, as if he could already feel the pillow heading toward his head without directly looking at it.
“Fuck you and your stupid fucking stamina and your stupid fucking words—ugh! I am never sleeping with you ever again!”
“You kiss your boyfie with that potty mouth?” He whistled, “Damn.”
“Oh, you dick!” You threw him your plushy, the same thing he gave a few years ago—all purpley and stupid. Cute, but stupid.
“Nine inches, baby. And a grower—hey! Not my child.” Leon pouted, catching the plushy with both hands, then patting in the head as if it truly had feelings.
“Fuckin’ suffocate!”
“In those thighs? Bet.”
“Asshole—!!”
“We could try that, too.”
“Urgh!” You threw your hands up, huffing, as you slumped back in your (thank god wasn’t broken) bed.
imsorryimsorryimsorryiwantmore holy fuck i don't know what i wrote and in my defense, my hands started typing shit before i even realized what i was doing okay okay. (did u enjoy it tho? teehee) rbs and comms are greatly appreciated! i work well with praise wink wink wink
𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗜𝓞 ──── the day you married leon, and the day he vowed to protect your life with his own.
﹙ 1,728 ﹚ re4!leon x fem!r | 𝑓𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 + emotional kisses marriage established relationship physical touch ﹗
💭 forgive me if none of this is traditionally accurate, i know nothing about weddings.
june 27, 2004
for anyone else, today was just another regular day. another day of waking up when the sun rises, slipping into work clothes and rushing out the door. another day of hearing the same gossip from coworkers and opening emails from a week ago.
the noise of everyday life rushing around them as they watch the clock, hoping that the day would soon end.
but for you, it was the opposite. you watched the clock out of nervousness, hearing the voices of the photographer and stylists as they rush in and out of the bridal suite.
for you, the day was filled with your stylists poking and prodding at your sides, to make sure the dress that you carefully selected, was perfect for the ceremony.
this was the moment you’d been waiting for, the one you’d dreamt about in your teenage years. a dream that both you and leon shared together, that was finally happening.
the makeup artist stood in front of you, your mother on your side as she held your hand tightly.
“talk to me, honey. how are you feeling?” she asked. you gripped her hand tighter, glancing at the clock once more.
the hand was near 12.
you took a breath, “i…i don’t know, i’m scared, but happy? i think?”
she smiled at you, her eyes crinkling at the sides.
“love is not something to be unsure of. you love him, don’t you?”
you nodded.
“so why worry, hm?” she patted your arm gently.
it wasn’t that you didn’t love leon. you loved him with all your heart and more, you knew that and he knew that. it was simply the fact that everything was happening so fast—but not in a way that you didn’t want.
“it just feels like i’m dreaming, mom, li…like none of this is real.” you spoke again, your voice wavering.
you turned your head for a moment, looking at her.
“i know it sounds stupid—“
“y/n,” her voice cut in. “i get it, i do.”
those few words gave you a sense of relief, somewhat slowing your heart rate.
today was the start of something beautiful—the start of a journey that would be filled with love, joy, and loyalty. something that wasn’t necessarily new between you and leon but on a different level.
you exhaled slowly, your left hand smoothing the bottom of your dress out.
the makeup artist finished her touch-ups, stepping back to admire you and her work.
you closed your eyes, trying your best to keep calm. you tuned out the noise around you, everyone shuffling and giving each other orders as twelve o’clock approached.
you wondered if leon felt the same thing—slightly overwhelmed but eager at the same time. you could imagine him in his crisp black suit, his hands in front of him as he waited patiently. his hair slightly falling in his face, lips pressed in a thin line.
and just as you were about to silently wish you could see him soon, your mother squeezed your hand.
“y/n, honey. it’s time.”
you opened your eyes, your bridesmaids now standing by you, all three of them smiling at you.
your veil was tucked neatly in your hair, your mother reaching around to bring it down to cover your face. she stood far off to the side now with everyone else, the corners of her lips turned up into a small smile.
you were soon ushered out of your suite, everyone getting to their places as the ceremony was about to begin. your bridesmaids lined up in front of the door, your father at your side now, his arm hooked around yours.
he was already just as emotional as you, his hands trembling as you both waited.
you didn’t say anything to him just yet because he’d already began tearing up the moment he saw you and you didn’t want to be the next to cry, not now.
not just because of him, but you know you’d make yourself tear up as well. anything that left your mouth would have been too sentimental or sappy for anyone to take, so you’d save it for the altar.
the music began for everyone that was lined up in front of you, the doors opening for them to make their entrance before yours.
you gripped your father’s arm just a little tighter as more of your wedding party made their way through the large doors.
“you ready?” your father asked quietly.
you hummed, “more than ready.”
the other music stopped, and the bridal chorus began.
your heartbeat became louder the moment you took your first few steps toward the entrance. the guests turned in their seats, watching as the doors opened once more and you walked in.
the life you had always wanted with leon seemed to be right at the end of the aisle, at the altar where he stood waiting.
everything was just beginning.
he was standing by the wedding officiant just as you imagined him. his hands clasped together neatly, his suit clean and pressed.
he watched closely as you approached the altar and the closer you got to him, the more you could see the look in his eyes.
he was enamored.
he looked at you as if you were the one thing that gave him life, the only thing that kept him breathing. you were his reason.
you took a few more steps and stepped up to the altar, handing off your bouquet before finally standing in front of him. you looked up at leon, to find him looking down at you. his eyes twinkling, tears forming at the brim of them.
his lips parted as he took a breath.
no words or scribbled vows on a wrinkled piece of paper could explain how he was feeling in that moment. he never thought he’d find himself here, standing in front of the one person who understood him the most, preparing to make a life-long commitment.
leon never thought he’d see this day, but it was here. and of all things, of all the choices he’s made in his life, he was sure this was the best one.
“hello, and welcome,” the officiant’s words sounded distant, neither you or leon could hear him. you were in your own space, tuning everyone else out.
you send leon a small smile as you both stare at each other.
“can i hold your hand?” you mouth to him, holding your freshly manicured ones out for him.
he simply nodded, his eyes never moving from yours. you took his hands in yours, rubbing the back of them, giving him some comfort.
if anything, leon was probably more nervous than you. he was never big on emotions or being too vulnerable, yet this was the most vulnerable thing he’d done.
he didn’t want to mess anything up or say the wrong thing at the wrong time. in his eyes, everything needed to be perfect. perfect for you. perfect for both for you.
he held onto your hands tightly, his fingers slightly trembling against yours.
“leon kennedy, do you take y/n l/n to be your lawfully wedded wife to live together in matrimony? will you love, honor, and cherish her in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"
leon swallowed, his feet instinctively shuffling him closer to you.
“i do.”
your eyes begin to sting.
“and do you, y/n l/n, take leon kennedy to be your lawfully wedded husband to live together in matrimony? will you love, honor, and cherish him in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”
“i do.” you say softly, swallowing the lump that’s forming in your throat. you keep leon’s hands in yours, squeezing them occasionally.
the officiant asks for the vows, and that’s when leon can’t contain himself anymore.
“y/n,” he says as his tears spill over, rolling down his cheek one by one.
“i promise to love you,” he pauses, sniffling quietly. “to support you, to protect you.”
you don’t even realize that your own tears have fallen, until you hear coos from the guests as they watch the both of you weep quietly.
“to protect you with my life,” leon continues. “to make sure you never have to look over your shoulder.”
the officiant gives a small smile at leon’s words, nodding as he reassured him that it was okay to go on.
“and to be your best friend, for all the days of my life.”
by now, your face was soaked with tears and you were sure your mascara was smudged, but it didn’t even matter. nothing else mattered after you heard those words.
“leon,” your voice was hoarse as you sobbed.
“i promise… i promise to love you, to support you, to protect you,” leon chuckles at the last part, remembering how you would always tell him that he could train you so you could learn to protect him as well.
“and to be your best friend for all the days of my life.” you finish off with more tears, trying to hold them back but failing terribly.
the officiant was handed the rings, readying for the exchange. you each placed the ring on each other’s finger, laughing as you struggle to slide it onto leon’s.
“having proclaimed your love and commitment to one another in the eyes of everyone gathered here, and by the power vested in me, i now pronounce you husband and wife.”
you look back up at leon one more time.
“you may now kiss the bride.”
and he leans in, his lips pressing against yours in a soft, chaste kiss. your hands come to hold the sides of his face as you press your body into his. everyone around erupts in cheers and applause, some of them having a few tears stream down their faces as well.
as you break apart slowly, leon holds onto your waist.
“i swear, no matter what, i’ll protect you.” he whispers.
you nod, pecking his lips. “i know.”
the officiant smiles once more, his hands behind his back.“family and friends, it is my distinct honor to present to you for the very first time: mr. and mrs. kennedy!”
the applause become louder as they watch you and leon lean in again.
something so unfairly attractive about leon kennedy eating an orange.
he's leaned against your counter like he owns it, bare hip propped against the cold marble, as he peels one. his hair is tousled and his sweatpants are riding lower and lower with each shift against the counter.
he obliviously offers you a slice once he cracks it open, not noticing the oggling or the sudden shift in atmosphere.
he slides you half when you accept–or double checks before shrugging if you decline.
he houses an orange or three. and when he's done, there's orange juice dripping from his fingers.
you shamelessly stare as he licks his lips first, before licking each finger with eye contact too deliberate to be coincidental. because of course, he's noticed that you're staring now.
you, on the other hand, certainly weren't imagining an entirely different substance running around his pretty mouth. that would be absurd.
you see him after a week of radio silence, the ring on his finger glinting under ambulance lights.
a week of no calls, no texts, not even a warning beforehand. it was easy to say that you wanted to tie him up and hit his sides, or cut his balls.
"ma’am, you cannot be here—" a poor medic tried to stop you, but you shoved him away, clearly enraged.
leon could feel it. the way the air changed and almost smelled like you in your expensive perfume. he was in trouble.
"you!" you said loudly. he turned, pretending not to hear you. even if he was in something as prestigious as the dso, leon was still scared of you. he didn’t even know why he was trying to pretend that you weren’t mad.
"leon, you look at me or i am leaving you right here." his head shot up as soon as you spoke, you were glad the threat worked beautifully. "okay, love, listen—" he tried to reason, but you weren’t having it. "no, you listen to me, mr. kennedy," you interrupted. his lips pursed shut. "who do you think you are, thinking that you could suddenly leave with no words, no plans, not even a warning in advance?!" you shouted, even the paramedics were looking at leon worriedly.
leon tried to glance at one of the people walking around, but you caught his attention immediately. "no. you are not looking anywhere else except my eyes, do you understand me?" you were clearly mad, leon was extremely aroused by your authority over him.
he gulped, "yes, ma’am."
leon had no choice but to listen despite the haze fogging his mind. he found you hot when you were angry.
─── dad’s best friend LEON KENNEDY whose lips press in a kiss right on your soft ankle— you legs, spread wide open, rest on both of his shoulders, where they sit so nicely against his burning sweaty skin. your pussy walls squeeze him tightly and squirt all over his cock, fucked rough and messy into the older man’s hotel mattress for the third time this week.
as if it’s been in dire need to be stretched out again by his greedy cock in the span of three days and it’s barely wednesday— you walk straight into his room, dizzy and drunk on his cock, plump ass still tender and tight pussy sore and hurting from the nonstop, borderline animalistic sex and fingers drenched in squirt.
leon’s guilt is eating him up from the inside; the more guilt he feels for secretly fucking his best friend’s daughter and the more it consumes his thoughts, the harder his veins pulse right down the length of his cock while he’s buried inside you. his balls brim with sticky cum, plapping against your bare ass, “ah, fuck— you take it so well, sweet girl. open your mouth for me.”
what a sick nasty pervert. he shouldn’t feel so good having you sprawled in his hotel room with his fingers pushed down your throat. but leon watches your manicured fingers shake and drawing circles, trying so hard to abstain from waking the entire building up.
he pushes them to the side, dripping spit from his mouth down your swollen clit and dragging his fingers in circles while slowing down the pace of his thrusts to help you and placing another kiss on your ankle, “there you go. feels good, angel?”
you can feel the smell of sex all around you. in between your voiceless moans and leon’s grunts, it drips sticky and heavy down the walls and oozing out of your every pore. it smells like leon, masculine, like a man who’s been busy: shamelessly filling up his best friend’s daughter with cum all day long. his cologne is faint, leathery, long gone.
you can feel it radiate slightly right under his jaw, each time his abs press on your tummy and his cock slides with ease right back inside you, tip bruising your cervix so slightly, when he puts his weight on you, emptying his balls of cum inside you.
there’s something so wildly perverted inside the blues of older.ᐟ leon kennedy’s eyes when you part your lips just barely and almost immediately as his fingers urge to shove themselves inside your pretty mouth. it feels like your very own little oral fixation; the way you so terribly crave to have every corner of your mouth stuffed and explored, throat fucked by his big hand.
you always find a way to suck on something — always chasing the comfort and staring into his eyes, puckered lips, glossy and wet around leon’s fingertips. something’s always missing. your hazy mind completely shuts down when he buries his cock inside your stretchy walls, your tongue wrapped and circling in selfishly slow circles, as if you’re licking on a sweet lollipop.
there’s something even more disgusting and so downright perverse possessing leon when you take him by surprise. you lift your hand up and press your index finger gingerly and hesitantly down his lower lip. you’ve never done this before. you’ve never even asked leon about it.
but here you are, two fingers soaked in leon’s spit — because you’ve been inside his mouth and he didn’t hesitate to let you in; his raging boner grows visibility harder when your fingers leave his mouth with a quick pop. and right when you tease him, playing with your puffy clit and shoving them up inside your cunt, teeth sinking softly down your lip. his cock twitches uncomfortably. you know this innocent turned into a needy tease turns him on.
you carelessly spread your legs wide open at the edge of his king sized bed, panties down your ankle, tits pulled out of your tank top. leon’s back stays pressed against the bedroom white wall, muscles hugged by his black t-shirt and veiny arms pressed against his sturdy chest. he watches you finger fuck yourself and push his spit up your walls to lubricate— the wetness of your cunt splashes down your legs and soaks your inner thighs. he’s tense and you’re worse.
you shake in pleasure and stare right into his eyes and you see it from the way his brows furrow and right fist clenches glued to his thigh. his other, oh, you keep masturbating and dreaming about the length of his thick fingers filling up every inch of you, taking care of your aching burn.
“wanna taste me, leon?”
he gets down on one knee, right at the edge of the bed. he wraps his hand around your forearm, pulling your fingers closer to his hungry mouth and licking them clean.
“thought you’d never ask,” leon coos and he gets up, positioning himself between your legs, stuffing his thumb, then two more fingers inside your mouth, “suck on ‘em, sweet girl.”
and you listen, hypnotized by leon’s words, in something nearing a trance-like state.
“must feel really good, huh?”
ivy’s note: ok LISTEN. i have a very similar idea about leon getting down on his knees to eat your pussy and i wanna keep the rest for that fic tee hee hee 🙂↕️ THIS IS FOR THE GIRLS WHO LOVE FINGER SUCKING !!!!!!! mwuah <3
─── being OLDER .ᐟ LEON KENNEDY’S passenger princess, who keeps him company while he drives tirelessly. you lean over the armrest, skirt pulled up and no panties, because you’ve thrown them into the footwell under your seat. leon’s navy blue pants are unzipped and pulled down his waist and his black leather belt undone.
your glossy lips, drenched in spit, lock sealed around the head of leon’s cock and the taste of sticky precum mixes with drool inside your needy mouth, so warm and sweet, perfectly fitted for him. his big hand rests down the curve of your ass, rubbing lazy circles on your skin.
you swirl the tip of your tongue around leon’s sensitive spot and his fingers squeeze into your ass tighter. you can feel the curl of a teasing smirk forming in the corners of your stuffed mouth— it’s your sign to take it slower, because you’d never want to distract your boyfriend away from the road and make him pull over and fuck you. leon doesn’t say a word, except for low grunts and tension in his jaw betraying his composure, whenever you dare to take more of his hard cock inside your mouth.
you take your time, one hand fisted lazily around the thickness of his cock to keep your busy mouth company. his veins pulse rapidly under your touch and you keep jerking him off with playful, sloppy strokes, up and down his cock to meet your jaw.
leon’s blue eyes land between your legs for a few seconds when a moan escapes muffled past your lips, right where you keep two fingers pressed around your puffy clit.
your pussy is soaked and lonely, almost dripping wet down your inner thighs and pooling and he hasn’t even touched you and yet, your cheeks burn and you feel dizzy. you feel perverted for getting soaking wet, just from being a such good girl and sucking your older boyfriend off in his car. the more pleasure seeps through your core and radiates through every inch of your body, the more your legs spread instinctively and your lids rest half open.
“let me just—mmm. fuck, don’t-” leon’s grip tightens around the steering wheel and he slows down on the highway, because you swallow more of his cock, almost sinking it down your throat. his other hand moves right onto the back of your head, controlling the pace for a few seconds; it feels so good to fuck you mouth.
“spread your legs a lil’ wider for me, sweet girl.”
the position, despite being slightly uncomfortable, doesn’t bother you. leon manages to get his hand down to your pussy and he slides two fingers up and down your folds to lube them, from your slick entrance to your swollen clit, “there we go. much better. want me to stuff my fingers inside you, angel?”
you mumble an short mhm, catching you your breath, wiping some drool off the corners of your mouth and chin. you adjust in your seat in a more comfortable position and leon buries his middle finger inside you and his index follows, coating both in layers of your oozing sweet juices.
the moment you feel your walls stretch around him, you moan, with no urge to control yourself and it makes his cock twitch painfully. you’re quick to lock your hand around leon’s wrist; you nails dig slightly in his skin the deeper he pushes and curls his fingers up to your sensitive spot.
“c’mon, use my fingers to fuck yourself,” he coaxes and you listen.
you take control of the pace, still holding onto leon’s big wrist for support. you masturbate using his fingers and he feels each time you squeeze your walls around his tighter, forcing him to bury himself inside you up to his knuckles.
you take a third long finger and stuff it inside you and feel unable to think— this entire thing feels like a dream through your hazed mind. leon’s name slides past your lips and sultry moans fill the his car entirely.
“you’re gonna make me pull over and fuck you. that look in your eyes… can’t wait any longer, huh?” he leaves you all empty and whiny when he brings your fingers to his own lips— eyes still on the road, “tell me i’m wrong, sweet girl.”
he shoves them inside his mouth, tongue licking you off his fingers, savoring the text of your pussy on his lips. the more he licks it turns into sweet nectar and he grunts lowly, because he could come just from this alone.
“y’know me so well, leon.”
you smile, leaning back in the leather passenger seat, holding onto his wrist once again and shoving his hand under your skirt. he teases you, resting the tips of his fingers at your entrance, motioning slow circles up to your clit, back and forth.
“g-gosh! stop being such tease! you’ve been driving for five hours. don’t you need a little break, hmm?”
you don’t have to tell leon twice.
while i was writing my other nasty car sex fic i was thinking. HM. maybe i could write something and connect it to the og fic. so this will have a second part. i also have a dbf!leon fic i MIGHT finish this week.
as always, interactions and reblogs are super super appreciated !! mwuah <3
Summary: You take down a monster but it has one last surprise for you – a polar plunge. Leon's forced to go in after you. Once you're free of the ice, you've got to go get warm, fast.
WC: 4.5k
CW: NSFW, minors DNI, you and Leon are partnered DSO agents, monster fight, no use of y/n, no mention of ages, reader put in peril, reader is injured, shared body heat, sex in the back of the Porsche, first time (together), unprotected p in v, creampie, synchronized orgasms, sort of aftercare (Leon is sweet and attentive), I'm so incredibly not kidding half of this is porn
Notes: MINORS DNI
The root of the problem is there are too many fucking limbs to keep track of.
The monster’s knotted, slimy arms – if you could call them such – are clawed into the ground, keeping it pulled onto the shore, and it has plenty more to swing and slam and bludgeon with, swatting at you and Leon running around like you’re nothing more than pestering flies. After an initial trial of overwhelm, you’re learning: shoot for the bends to shatter joints, hit the ground when it swings then immediately roll to avoid the follow-up slam meant to unite you with the dirt. Permanently.
There’s an additional complication.
“It’s a fucking hydra!” Leon shouts.
It’s a fucking hydra. You’re dealing with more limbs now than when it had burst out of the frozen lake and charged you, with a screech so piercing it still rings in your ears. This changes things, if you don’t want to end up popped like a sauce packet on the patchy grass bank.
“Fuck.”
You have to keep moving, but you’re not shooting at it now. You’re reassessing, heart pounding, breath loud in your ears and visible in the cold, grey air. Leon grunts as he dives clear of a slamming limb, rolling to his feet and dodging the bullwhip crack of another arm.
Your gaze locks on the grenade hanging from his belt. A plan fills in behind your singular focus.
He sees you half a second before you slam into him at full tilt, no time to slow down, but his stance is wide enough that it doesn’t knock him over.
“What–!”
You meet his eyes. You can see the next threat in your periphery; your one, his six, another slimy limb coming in hot. He’s realizing where your hand is. It all happens in the space of a heartbeat.
“Spicy meatball,” you explain, then drop him by kicking your heel into the back of his knee, folding it. Your grip on the grenade yanks it free of his belt and you hold it up over your head as the hydra’s arm, great ugly claw-hand open, misses Leon on the ground and grabs you, ripping you into the air. Leon shouts your name but it’s lost under an ear-splitting, triumphant screech.
The monster’s clutching you too tight, you're gasping for air. Your dominant arm is free, grenade in hand, even if your other arm is squashed in against your side. The fucker’s whipping you around like a litigiously unregulated county fair ride; black edges your vision and your head pounds horribly. You manage to arm the grenade with your teeth and grip it, breathless, waiting.
You need the hydra to screech again. You need the great stinking mouth open, throwing saliva and mucus past rows of needle teeth, the perfect basket in which to throw your one and only egg.
Leon’s already caught on.
A single splattering gunshot splits the air and the monster jerks, limbs flying skyward as it screams in fury; you’re helplessly along for the ride, heaved almost directly above it – and here’s your window.
You drop the grenade. It goes right down the gullet.
The explosion ruptures the monster’s body cavity in a great geyser of green and black gore. Its limbs thrash and flail, whipping high, slamming into the ground. You brace as the arm gripping you speeds for the ground, but then it swings you around and back up, your stomach lurching violently, and –
It throws you.
Your heart and lungs hitch, suspended; time runs slow as you arc high, tumbling, too high, way too high – and start falling. You see where you’re going to land and curl yourself into a ball, protecting your head and neck.
Your body blows a hole right through the lake ice, plunging into the freezing water below.
Leon’s already running.
The hydra is nothing but a tangled, limp, caved-in pile of slop, disregarded the second Leon saw you go airborne. He’s running, stripping off his jacket, ripping open the buckles on his chest rig, tearing off his tac belt, leaving a trail of weapons and ammunition and nylon webbing strewn in his wake. He reaches the bank in his street clothes, shoes skidding to a stop just before the water, breath loud in his ears and visible in the air.
The jagged crater you left in the ice is still sloshing dark, slushy water.
You haven’t come up for air.
“Fuck.”
He looks down at the scuffed grey ice pack, gauges the distance to you, and sprints.
The ice groans and cracks under his feet; he keeps moving. He closes the gap, every pounding footfall turbulence that fractures the lake ice in great echoing snaps, the whole thick sheet weakened by the violence of your intrusion. Finally, with a leap that calves the ice beneath him, Leon dives into the freezing water after you.
The shock of the cold pulls on Leon’s lungs, he has to fight against the primal instinct to gasp. His limbs are immediately leaden, but he doesn't stop moving. The flat grey daylight barely filters through the murky ice above and the water is dark with disturbed silt. He kicks towards the lakebed in search of you, his pounding heartbeat a timer counting down.
Something that looks like a branch solidifies into your arm, limp hand floating in a slack reach skyward. Leon grabs your wrist, hauling your dead weight towards himself, hooking his arms underneath your shoulders and swimming up for the gap in the ice.
He heaves in air when your heads breach the surface.
You do not.
“Don’t you dare,” he growls through gritted teeth, and manages to slide you up onto the ice pack, pushing you clear as he kicks his legs up behind himself and drags flat onto the ice beside you. He moves you onto a thick, uncracked stretch of ice and pushes you onto your back, plugging your nose and forcing air into your mouth.
You choke, spurting dirty lake water, rolling onto your side and spitting up more, coughing and heaving. You try to prop yourself up on your elbow, your throat raw and tight, nose stinging and burning. Your eyes are blurry when you open them, your ears are waterlogged. You squeeze your eyes shut and blink them clear enough to see what keeps pulling at you.
It’s Leon, wet and pale, saying something to you, his eyes intense. You squint at his mouth, trying to read his lips because your ears might as well have been left underwater for all the good they’re doing you.
Get up
We need to move
Can you “hear me? We have to go, now!”
As if to punctuate his statement, the ice below you jerks, a crack scything underneath your body like a bolt of lightning. You recoil onto your hip and Leon pulls at your arm, pulls you up, the ice creaking and popping under your shoes.
“Run!”
It’s a bit much to ask.
You do your best, stumbling after Leon, short on breath and coughing. You’d impacted the ice with your left shoulder, the force ramming your curled arm into your ribs, hard. That side is tight and painful, and you know you’re too frozen to feel the full extent of it yet. It’s really not gonna be pretty.
Your foot catches on a rising gap in the ice and trips you; you slide and weakly scramble back to your feet. Ahead of you, Leon’s almost to the shore.
You’re almost there.
You hit the bank on your hands and knees, gasping. Your fingers, clawing into the crumbling dirt, are pale, the nail beds blue. You can barely feel the dry grit of the cold earth under your hands.
Leon grabs the collar of your jacket and yanks you to standing.
“Keep moving. Keep moving, come on.” He grabs your hand, already running, pulling you after him.
You half-register the scattered bullet clips, weaponry, and leather jacket on the bank as you run in Leon’s wake. You pass the fuckass hydra; it’s nothing but a gelatinous stinking puddle that you quickly leave behind.
The thin, brittle air razors through your lungs, freezing and metallic. The bitter wind axes at you. You can’t feel your extremities; you keep stumbling and it’s slowing you down. Leon looks back just in time to watch you actually fall, tripping in a rut, knees slamming into the ground. He runs back to you and helps you up. You’re both breathing shallow, wracked with tremors, teeth chattering and skin close to blue.
“Almost there. Come on.”
Leon’s car is half-hidden behind a broken fence and an overgrown shrub, parked haphazard on the dry, patchy grass. He hits the driver’s side door with more momentum than he meant to, pressing his thumb to the door handle; it unlocks and he yanks it open. You hear the whole car unlock, the lights flashing, and he slaps the driver’s door shut in favor of the backseat.
“Get in. Get in!”
You slip in the back passenger’s door just as he slides in on the other side, the both of you slamming the doors on the freezing wind. Leon immediately grabs the hem of his soaked shirt, peeling it over his head and dumping it over the headrests into the trunk. It lands with a wet plap.
“Wet stuff in the back,” he says, twisting over the seats to grab something out of the trunk. It’s a duffel; he grunts in frustration when his numb fingers fail at first to catch the handle but then he drags it into the backseat while you’re struggling out of your soaked jacket and shoving it over the backrests. It lands with an even wetter plorp.
You’re still wearing your chest rig; your numb, stiff fingers can’t get the fucking plastic buckles to open.
“Fuck!”
There’s a sharp snk noise; Leon shoves your hands clear and slips a folding knife under the nylon webbing of your rig. The straps pull taut and dig into your injured side, but then he’s cut clean through the belts and he’s helping untangle it from your arms. The buckles clatter against the back windshield as you throw it in the trunk. Leon uses the knife to make quick work of his shoelaces, kicking his soaked and muddy shoes into the footwell, then he leans across and holds your ankles steady, cutting your bootlaces while you peel your shirt up over your head. Your side screams at the stretch and you rasp out a cry of pain.
Your left side is already violently bruised, livid and dark against the pale blanch of your goosepimpled skin. You’re caught for a moment by the horrible picture it makes, trying to remember to breathe.
“Jesus,” Leon says in agreement. In your periphery, he’s struggling with his waterlogged skinny jeans and there’s suddenly a lot more skin above the line of his waistband; the denim sucked his boxer briefs halfway down his hips before he managed to shove the jeans to his knees and off. He throws the jeans in the back, pulls the waistband of his underwear up, and again he’s in your space undoing your useless fucking tac belt that your frozen fingers can’t open. His hands are just as cold and numb as your own, why the fuck do they work better than yours?
Wind gusts against the outside of the car, scratching the scraggly branches of the nearby shrub against the doors. You feel a draft even through the sealed door. Your teeth are clacking uncontrollably.
“Can we get the fucking heat running?” You shove your pants and boots into the trunk, smearing mud on the leather seat. Leon’s rooting through the duffel again.
“No.”
“No?”
“The keys are in my coat.”
“The fuck kind of agent are you? Hotwire the car.”
“Smart, when I can’t feel my hands,” he says, and shoves the duffel into the footwell, tearing open a passport-sized plastic package with his teeth and turning towards you on the seat. “Come here.”
He shakes out the mylar safety blanket and you realize exactly what’s going to have to happen, here. It’s a thought you’ve had triaged as a last-resort solution while stripping semi-nude in the backseat of his car; now it turns out it’s your only solution. He’s scooting to lay down across the backseat and you’re going to have to get on top of him. He’s scooting to lay down across the backseat in nothing but wet cotton boxer briefs and you’re going to have to get on top of him in nothing but a wet bra and panties, and then he’s going to close you both in under the mylar blanket to trap heat like you’re a fucking turkey in a roasting pan.
Fuck.
You clench your jaw against your chattering teeth and don’t let yourself hesitate. There’s no can or can’t here – you’re both freezing, this is life or death. So you climb up over him in the limited space available, helping to pull the mylar blanket around you and tuck it in under your shins, under his head and shoulders, sealing you together into a lumpy, creased foil bubble.
It’s not pitch black like you'd hoped. The mylar filters the grey daylight into a dim, intimate dusk. You can still see Leon’s face clearly, on your hands and knees above him; you could count his eyelashes if you could bear to look him in the eyes. You keep your head down and focus on the uncontrollable chatter of your teeth, the way your whole body is shivering unpleasantly, and not the way his knees are framing your hips. He’s too tall for the backseat.
Your disloyal stomach flutters when you feel his hand brush your darkened side.
“How are your ribs?” He presses his thumb carefully against the darkest patch, low on your ribcage, where your elbow impacted. You hiss and jerk away.
“Tenderized, Leon. Ow."
“How bad?”
“I don’t… think anything’s broken.”
“Deep breath in.”
You oblige, slow and careful, your ribs expanding over your lungs. It stings horribly, your skin feels too tight, but nothing stabs you. His hand rides the motion of your ribs, feeling for telltale hitches or jerks. It’s nothing but clinical.
“Alright,” he says, quiet. He eases his touch but doesn’t drop it away. You’re staring at your hand in the crumpled landscape of the mylar blanket over Leon’s shoulder, because everything else is his naked skin.
His hand moves from your side to your arm, fingers close to the bend in your elbow like he means to fold it.
“You gotta get down on me."
You want to laugh but your side only lets you make a pained huff through your chattering teeth.
"Nice one, icebrain. Lemme loop HR in real quick."
“The air pocket only works if one of us is warm,” he says, steamrolling the comment. And he’s right.
Fuck.
"I don't know where you think my knees are going."
You have to play some strange and painful backseat Twister, the foil blanket complicating shit by clinging to your damp skin and hair, but then you’ve puzzled yourselves together so you can drop onto him with a put-upon huff.
He hisses and pushes you back up by the shoulders.
“Fuck, how much water is in that thing?”
You both look down at your high-impact bra. Squeezed between the two of you, it's now weeping drops of frigid water down your stomach. It's also left an imprint across Leon's chest, wet enough to bead up and roll towards his armpits.
“You can’t be wearing that.”
“Leon–“
"No, this isn't an argument. That's over your heart."
Yes, but. It's also over your breasts. Preventing them from being all over Leon. All over Leon's naked skin.
"Do you trust me?"
You don't even hesitate, because that's the easy question.
"Yes."
It's a zip-front bra. His fingers touch the zipper.
"Okay?" His gaze is holding yours, strong, a promise to keep his eyes up.
It’s taking all your energy to appear calm and unaffected right now.
“Yeah. Fine."
It’s a relief, actually, the compression easing as he pulls the zipper down, releasing entirely when the sides come apart. It’s easier to breathe. He pushes the straps from your shoulders, brushes them down your arms until you can drop the soaked bra into the footwell, tucking the foil blanket back in place. His chest, still cold, feels warm against your freezing breasts.
He rubs the damp, freezing skin of your back, paying special attention to the deep impressions left by the bra seams like he can smooth them out, putty under his fingers.
“Do you know you're doing that.”
He stops. You shift, shoulderblades rolling under his hands.
“I didn't tell you to stop,” you say.
“Yes ma'am.”
Your head is turned away from his, because otherwise your nose would be right against his cheek. You have to maintain at least one boundary in the smoking ruin of all the others. He keeps stroking your back; the gentle flats of his palms, the firm pads of his fingers. You’re starting to feel like putty.
Your eyelids are heavy.
“Is it bad to fall asleep?”
He pinches you hard and you jolt away from it, knocking against the seatback. Your injured side flares with pain.
“Fuck! You ass,” you gasp, poking him hard between the ribs. He jerks under you, cursing, and you brace for retaliation, but he’s gone still.
And you register why.
His face is right under yours, noses almost touching. You’re sharing breath.
And something else is different.
“…Where are your hands?”
You know where they are. He moves them from your hips up to your back again.
“Good boy.”
You don’t know what fucking possessed you. It sounded like a joke in your head, but released into the narrow space between your faces it’s far more charged than that, because of course it is. You’re hearing it now, where it’s too late to take it back. You still have a brain like a frozen chicken cutlet, fucking cold and smooth, he has to understand–
He’s breathing out hot against your mouth, pushing his hands down to the small of your back, pressing your body tighter against his, and it ignites something sharp and fervid in your belly.
“Shit,” you whisper, and kiss him.
He meets it. He kisses you back like he’s just been waiting, gathering the damp hair at your nape with one hand, blunt nails scraping the skin of your neck. His other hand goes lower, the heel of his palm digging in, fingers gripping your ass. You gasp and roll your hips, body lighting up.
“Fuck,” he says into your mouth. “Careful with your side.”
“You be careful with my side.”
“Damn.”
“Shut up.” You fist his hair and pull his head back, kissing the taut line of his neck under his ear, scraping your teeth against the skin. He’s got both hands on your ass now, sliding his fingers under the sides of your panties to gather the fabric into a thong, palming the cool skin of your bared cheeks. You hum, rolling your hips again.
“You’ve got a fixation.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, unashamed. He smooths his hands down your thighs where they’re framing his sides, his fingertips digging in. You’re sitting on his pelvis, grinding on nothing but the flat of his low abdomen, his thighs closed behind your ass, his knees pressed to the car door. You kiss his mouth, open and loose, and speak against it.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you that cold?”
“Don’t be rude.”
You stop moving, pushing up to stare down at him. “Are you serious?”
“No.” He opens his legs, shifting his hips, and you gasp when you feel him against your ass. You shift back, rubbing yourself against the hardening length of his dick, the lake-wet fabric of your underwear dragging together, no longer cold and clammy where you’re touching. His breath tumbles hot from his open mouth, hips rolling to meet you.
“Fuck, Leon.” If this is him with shrinkage, how the hell has he been packing all that into skinny jeans all these years?
He’s watching you, his eyes half-lidded, hands on your naked waist. You sit up more, tipping your head back, running your hands along his forearms as you drag your wet pussy along the firm heat of his cock.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he tells you, molten. You groan, arching.
“Jesus. Keep talking like that.”
“Yeah?” He tugs you by the arms to bring you lower, kissing your neck with an open mouth, his scruff lightly scratching your skin and making you shiver. His hands find your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples, and your breath hitches. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to touch you like this.”
You laugh, just a teasing exhale against his lips. “What, cold and injured?”
He’s pulling the fabric of your panties to one side, holding it there, out of the way. You moan when he rubs his fingers through your drenched folds, slow.
“Naked and wet,” he growls, teeth grazing your shoulder. You whimper and thread your fingers into his hair, gripping, gasping when he circles your clit. Your hips jerk erratically; he’s mouthing kisses up the side of your neck, nipping lightly, then speaking against your skin, his voice subterranean.
“What do you want?”
Holy shit. You don’t remember what it feels like to be cold, anymore. Your body’s on fire. You’ve maybe never been this turned on in your life, and all this after a fucking ice bath.
“Take yourself out," you tell him. "I wanna feel you.”
The first drag of your wet cunt along the satin heat of his naked cock has him groaning, his hips rocking helplessly. You glide on him like that, wetting his dick, feeling it jump and throb between your pussy lips. You prop yourself up on his shoulders, pressing him down into the seat, grinding your clit firm against the head of his cock with little gyrations of your hips. He’s gripping your waist, mouth open, just watching you.
“I’ve never seen you so speechless,” you tell him.
“I’ve – shit – never seen you riding me.”
“Mm. Lucky day.”
“I know.”
“Any last words?”
“What?”
You cant your hips back, reaching down to guide the glistening head of Leon’s cock to your entrance. His fingers tighten on your sides, breathing in sharp.
“Be careful,” he says.
“You’re sweet,” you tell him, bearing down with little adjustments, caging his dick in place with your fingers. The tip of him presses into your tight wet heat and Leon gasps, head thumping back against the seat. You stare at the display of his body below you; the taut stretch of his neck, the flush of his chest, the tight muscles of his stomach as he works to keep his hips still, letting you control this. You take him into you in increments, the burning stretch of him blurring into white-hot pleasure, the length of him making your thighs shake before you’re finally fully seated, the throbbing heat of him bottomed out inside of you, filling you deep. You drop forward, hands on his shoulders, panting.
“Are you okay?”
You manage a nod. “God, Leon.”
He moves his hips, just a small adjustment, experimental. You gasp, lifting to half-mast him, sliding back down. He’s so thick.
Your thighs are shaking too much and you don’t exactly have the room to adjust. You lean down, desperate.
“Fuck me.”
He doesn’t need telling twice. He grips your ass, pushing you down into every thrust of his hips, long and slow at first so you can feel every inch, grinding tight against you when he bottoms out. He uses your breath by his ear as a barometer, picking up the pace, the wet glide turning into a wet slap, and turns his head to catch your moans in his mouth.
“Think you can come like this?”
“Limited menu of options, garçon,” you pant. There’s no fucking space back here.
“Tip your hips down,” he says.
You do; he slams in deep, grinding, putting delicious pressure on your clit. You cry out.
“Fuck, like that Leon!”
He pulls your earlobe into his mouth, sucking lightly, resuming the faster slap of his hips.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, filthy, and jesus christ, he is going to get an orgasm out of you. Almost just did.
“Shit,” you gasp. “Are you close?”
“Do you want me to be?”
You clench around him and he groans, hips stuttering.
“Fuck. I am if you do that,” he gasps. You do it again and he buries deep to grind on you, like he’s warring you, fighting to set you off first.
“Fuck, I’m close, I’m close,” you whimper, bouncing on him, stalling for time. He’s got you right on the edge and you don’t wanna go over yet. “With me. Come with me.”
He curses, fucking into you hard and fast, thrusts starting to go erratic. You keep a litany of babble going in his ear, obscene, feeling him catching up, drawing tight; and then he’s bottoming out hard against you, groaning brokenly as he pulses deep inside of you, your walls convulsing as the final slap of his hips sends you tumbling over the edge with him.
When you come back down to earth, the foil blanket is askew, his leg sticking out in the passenger’s side footwell, your forearm dangling in the driver’s side footwell. You’re lying bonelessly on top of Leon, riding the heaving of his chest as you both catch your breath. He pulls the mylar down to the middle of your back and the cold air raises new goosebumps on your flushed skin.
"I think that did the trick,” he says.
You hum, your eyes closed, face pressed to the side of Leon’s neck. He runs his thumb lightly along the dewy column of your spine.
“How’s your side?”
“Stings.”
He’s still inside you, starting to slip free as he softens. He gently pulls out and your forehead creases, a grumpy noise escaping you.
“Hey,” he says, soft. You don’t lift your head, it feels like too much effort. He shifts under you and you grumble your displeasure, but he’s just resettling you so you’re not leaning your bruised side so heavily against the seatback. He cards his fingers through your hair, pulling it back from your sweaty temple.
“I’m going to sleep,” you murmur. “Try to pinch me again and see what happens.”
He laughs, just a short rumble low in his chest.
“Worked out fine the first time.”
You smile, eyes closed, and tuck your arm in under his body.
“Beginner’s luck.”
There’s a lot of shit to do. There’s kit to grab from the beach, samples to take from the hydra, clothes to dry, reports to fill out, bruises to heal, complex developments to talk through with your partner.
But right now, there’s just Leon’s heartbeat and steady breathing beneath you, his fingers combing lazily through your hair, and you’re pretty sure it’s all gonna work out okay.
On AO3
Guys quick tip don’t take survival advice from a gratuitous x reader they probably died lmao
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“she told you she celibate, she told me i can nail her shit.”
leon s. kennedy x fem!reader
cw: mdni ! smut, loud sex, kind of rough sex, riding, lowkey fwb, mating press, uhh jealousy if that counts, kissing, lots of pet names (girly, princess, i think i out sweetheart in there), NOT PROOFREAD!!
a/n: based off that one sound on tiktok bc i keep seeing edits 🥹 also high key reminds of heated rivalry “scott hunter is right next door…” LMFAO hope u enjoy!!
Leon hates these stupid work parties. Banquets that could’ve been an email, award ceremonies with medals and badges he would’ve preferred to see in the mail. It’s not like he’s antisocial, he likes to hang out with the people he works with, but a night in a stuffy suit and endless conversations is almost worse than a mission.
Don’t get him started on the plus one bullshit. He simply doesn't have time or patience for a partner, much less at these godforsaken events. He usually goes alone and regretfully suffers the teasing comments—“Oh, alone again Kennedy? No girlfriend this time?”
His only saving grace is you, another agent who he works with on his rare duo missions. You’re just about the only other single person in the entirety of the DSO—that’s what it feels like. Sometimes, you two will sit at events and roll your eyes at people showing off their partners. Then an awkward silence after of a silent agreement ‘cause you both know you’re just envious.
“Do you think we can call in sick?” Leon sighs as you both sit in your hotel room before you have to leave for an event. This ceremony thingy-bullshit is a bigger, more nationwide one that your boss sent you both to. One room, but two beds, at least. Cheapskates knew you didn’t have significant others and didn’t bother with privacy.
“I mean, prolly… but we lowkey might get flamed,” you reply. He leans against the doorway of the bathroom as he watches you do your makeup. The pretty, long dress you have on is a far cry from the tactical gear he usually pairs you with. Both looks are hot as hell, he definitely can’t deny that. He’ll just tuck that secret in his pocket for now.
“Well, hurry up. Maybe we can show up and leave as quick as possible,” he says as he checks his watch and pretends as if he didn’t just try to check you out. Not that it would be the first time.
Extremely unfortunately, you make it to the event, dreading every click of your heels against the marbled floors as you step inside. This one’s clearly expensive and fancy—that’s worse. The bar quickly becomes Leon’s victim. He lets you know he’ll get you a drink while you find them a spot at a table with an easy escape.
Well, he didn’t really expect to come back and find some guy hitting on you. He’s more curious than annoyed, but it’s there. This guy has the audacity to hit on a girl like you?
“Really? They flew you all the way out here, huh? So you’re pretty special,” this idiot smirks, thinking his blinding white teeth are gonna win you over. Leon can tell you’re irritated.
“Sure, you could say that,” you reply with pursed lips and your best disinterested voice. Your gaze shifts briefly to Leon standing behind him who looks amused. You’re only taking note of your drink that he’s holding.
“Well, special lady, would you maybe like to go to dinner with me somewhere more… private?” He lowers his tone leaning in a little, thinking he’s smooth as hell.
“Uh… no, y’know my schedule’s kinda full…” you shake your head, using that very obvious rejection tone. If he hasn’t taken the hint already, he has to take it now, right?
“Okay, no date. Maybe just uh… a night together?”
Nope. You were stupid to think a man would ever take a hint.
His tone makes it obvious what he’s asking, he wants his head under your dress. He says it like he knows you’ll say yes.
“Oh, I’m celibate, actually,” you smile tersely. He gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you.
“Really? A pretty girl like you isn’t interested in sex?” He raises an eyebrow, taking a step closer as if that’s gonna fix your supposed virginity. “I find that hard to believe, sweetheart.”
“Ah, too bad. Really sucks when not every living female wants to fuck you, huh?” You can’t help but mock, returning the raised brow. “Afraid it’s just gonna be you and your fist tonight.”
He scoffs, trying not to look as offended as he clearly feels. He finally seems to take the hint. “God, some special lady you are,” he grumbles, pushing off the chair he was leaning on and giving you a look before disappearing.
“Celibate? Really?” Leon chuckles when he finally gets to talk to you again, holding out a glass of wine for you. He knows first hand that you're just about the opposite of celibate. You’ve been out drinking together multiple times… one thing leads to another.
“Just a white lie, cant hurt,” you shrug with equal amusement. You finally sit down at your carefully scouted table right next to the exit for a quick, uninterrupted escape.
The rest of the night is as boring as you expected, but a couple more glasses of wine gets you through it. The millisecond you receive your awards—some bullshit that you don’t even think needs to be awarded—you and Leon are out of there. You’ve never been more happy to see your hotel room.
Taking your time undressing and relaxing for a while, eventually you turn in for sleep. You’re even wearing your cute silky set, all curled up under the sheets. And clutching them tightly. It’s literally freezing.
“Mmh, Leon…” you mumble, trying desperately to warm yourself up. You look over your shoulder at his bare back turned to you on the other side of the room. When did he take his shirt off? “Are you awake?”
After hearing a quiet grunt, you continue. “Are you cold? I’m freezing.”
“No. ‘S hot as hell,” he grumbles. He waits for you to say something else, and just as he’s about to offer you all his sheets, he hears shuffling from your bed. A moment later, he feels the mattress dip behind him and turns over to see you kneeling on the bed and inviting yourself in.
“Y’don’t mind if we cuddle?” You murmur, slipping under the covers. He swallows as he sees your cute pajamas with the lace and he can already tell this isn’t gonna end with just cuddling. He wordlessly opens his arms up for you, wrapping them around you when you make yourself the little spoon.
He makes sure the sheets are pulled up over your shoulders, rubbing your arms and thighs underneath to try to warm you up. “Still cold?”
Well, not really. You're very hot now, actually, but you nod your head, mumbling yes.
“Want me to warm you up another way?” Leon offers, his voice quiet and rough in that way that sends a shiver down your spine. He rubs his nose against your neck, fingers brushing up under your shirt. How are you supposed to resist?
“Yeah,” you nod against the pillow, squirming slightly as he rubs your side—ticklish little thing. You help shift your legs as he pushes your shorts and panties down.
“There you go. I got you,” he murmurs, sliding his hand back up the inside of your thigh. He kisses the side of your neck as his fingers part your soft curls to get to your pussy. You can feel him smirk against your skin when he feels how wet you are.
“Doesn’t feel very cold to me,” his warm digits spread your slick around, finding your clit with ease and gently circling it with his middle finger. You whine quietly, hands grabbing his forearm that’s around your waist.
You’re snug but not tight around his fingers, easily dipping them in your wet cunt and spreading you open. He shifts, almost draping himself over you to “keep you warm” as he fingers your needy little pussy and gets you nice and ready for him.
“Oh, Leon, right there,” you whisper into the pillow as he makes sure the heel of his hand is rubbing against your clit as he adds a third finger. Your hips lightly rock against his palm, your brows pulled into that soft crease that makes you look fucking adorable.
“Look at you, going around telling people you’re abstinent and yet you’re crawling into my arms,” Leon teases gently, curling his fingers in a slow, languid way that makes your spine straighten and your breath catch.
Just as you’re mumbling about getting close and about to cum, he takes his hand away with a kiss to your shoulder beside the strap of your top. You whine, but he turns you around in his arms with one of those dumb smirks.
“C’mon, girly, you’re on top tonight. Show me how celibate you claim you are, hm?” He taunts, bringing you with him as he rolls into his back, big hands on your soft hips.
“Ugh, how did I let you talk me into this? Didn’t we say we’d stop after last time?” You complain as you settle your hands on his bare chest, your naked hips lazily grinding against the tent in his pajama pants.
“We both know we can’t stop. ‘Sides, I barely talked to you, just tried to warm you up,” he grunts as you start dry humping him, rough hands sliding down your scarred thighs. Rubs his thumbs over the small, raised lines before giving you a light slap on the ass.
“Get going, princess. You’re slow,” he says with fake impatience, staring up at you with that cheesy smirk. You roll your eyes but start to pull down his sweats and boxers anyway.
Your hips shift restlessly with need as you grip his hard cock, giving it a couple light strokes before positioning yourself above him. With your eyes on your movements, you hold him still as you slowly sink down on him with a low, gravelly moan.
“Mmh—fuck, there you go. Hug me so nice,” he sighs with a grunt of your name as he watches you. You sit there on his cock, looking up at him expectantly. This is usually the part where he takes over again and holds you hips while he thrusts up into you.
He simply returns the look. Asshole. What happened to chivalry?
You sigh dramatically, your knees on either side of his waist as you find leverage with your hands behind you on his hard, strong thighs. You don’t usually do this part.
You suck in a breath, lifting yourself up a bit, and then back down with a soft moan. Up and down, up and down, grinding softly against him and keeping eye contact.
But it’s just not the same! Even as you keep up a nice rhythm, your soft moans getting louder and your grip getting tighter, he’s not deep enough. Not hitting the spots he usually gets.
“Leon, c’mon… it’s better when you do it,” you sigh as your hands come back to the front, tracing his abs as you do your damn best riding his cock. He simply stares, amused as his hands rub up and down your thighs.
“…Leon,” you say more firmly this time, hoping you can chastise him into fucking you. It doesn’t work, and you’re getting impatient. You groan dramatically, circling your hips as you lock your eyes on his. “Leon, just fuck me already! Fuck me hard!”
He can’t help but laugh. It gets him going to see you all frustrated, as much as he hates it when you’re anything but happy. Anyway, who’s he to deny you? His hands slides up to your hips, pausing to grope your ass before firmly planting themselves above your thighs.
“Careful what you wish for,” he murmurs before lifting you up and then pulling you back down to meet his thrust. A moan slips from both of you this time as your fingers dig into his bare chest.
“Mmh, fuck yeah Leon,” you groan, leaning back so you can see his face a bit better. Not for long, ‘cause then he pounds into you hard enough to pull out a high-pitched whine and make you throw your head back with pleasure,
“God, fuckin’ love that, don’t you? You can’t even ride me properly. Always need my help,” he grunts as his hips jump to meet yours every single time. He always scolds you in that sickly sweet voice that has your pussy dripping.
“Oh—mph! Right there—yeah, nail my shit, just like that,” you say breathlessly, your head dropping to his chest as one of your hands snakes beneath you to find your clit. A half moan-half growl slips from your lips as your back arches deliciously, teetering right on the edge.
“Jesus, cumming already? Needed it bad, did you?” He murmurs as he trails gentle, contradicting kisses compared to his rough thrusts against your shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart. Cum on my cock.”
It’s hard to hear his words over the squeaking of the bed and your own moans. Almost forgot you were in a hotel—no, you definitely did forget. That’s not what’s crossing your mind right now, though. You’re too busy crossing the finish line. Moaning his name, your fingers still on your clit as i grinds up into you to help you ride it out.
“That’s it, girly. Good girl,” Leon mumbles in your ears, rolling your hips against his pelvis. Once he’s decided you've had enough rest, he gently manhandles you onto your back, quickly pushing your legs up and squishing your knees against your tits as he gets right back to work.
His hands grip the backs of your thighs, his fingertips denting into the plush skin as he pounds into your pussy. His voice leaves him in harsh grunts and satisfied groans, his gaze fixed on his cock coming in and out of your soft cunt.
“Y-Y’know… how much it pissed me off… when that guy was flirting with you?” Leon grunts through gritted teeth, almost like he was trying to keep it back.
“Fuck… yeah?” You question through your sex haze. You guys don’t really talk about other people, or your feelings. Especially not towards each other. So to have him essentially admit that he’s jealous.
“Yeah, princess. Couldn’t believe he thought he had a chance with… you,” his words come out a little slurred—he always talks too much when he gets close. You whine softly, the jealousy woven in his voice making your insides quiver.
His hands grip tighter on your thighs, not enough to bruise but definitely no less than firm. He leans over you a bit, putting a little more of his weight on top of you as he fucks you harder. He barely manages to remember he didn’t use a condom, whining pathetically as he uses all the forces of his self restraint to pull out.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…” he whispers under his breath, one big hand pushing your thighs together as he strokes himself with the other. You make sure you’ve got a front row seat to see his brows furrowed and your name falling helplessly from his lips.
Leon moans your name, his head falling back as he finally pours his hot, sticky cum all over the backs of your thighs. Rope after rope lands on the soft flesh, making him moan a little more as he squeezes as much as he can out of the tip. You look so pretty like that, he’d take a picture if he knew you wouldn’t kill him.
“Oh god… so perfect, sweetie. Did so well,” he mumbles lazily stroking himself a little longer before letting go. He smears a bit of jizz across your skin before bringing his thumb up to your mouth, letting you lick it off.
It takes a moment to recover with his thighs feeling like they’re on fire, but eventually he pats your hip and gets up. He finds a small towel in the bathroom and runs it under warm water to come clean you up. Once you have everything you need, he puts your panties back on and double checks that you're nice and cozy as his little spoon after a very abstinent night.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The light wakes you up in the morning, streaming in through the thin curtains. You grumble, waking up and shaking Leon’s shoulder awake soon after. He kisses you and says thanks for last night, before the two of you return to your “normal friendly mission partners” routine.
Just as Leon closes the door behind you, about to head out to go home, you glance over at the sound of the persom in the next room over leaving as well.
The last thing you expected was to lock eyes with the man who tried to hit on you at the event, looking tired as hell, as if he didn’t get any sleep.
“…you didn’t sound very celibate to me.”
a/n: hi hope u enjoyed!! any notes always super duper appreciated 🙌
SUMMARY: no summary. just the tip gf x balls deep bf trope.
TAGS: implied marathon sex, dumbification, overstimulation, unprotected sex, this is all consensual, but just in case, i will tag this as dubious consent.
THIS IS MEANT FOR FANTASY ONLY.
PAIRINGS: LEON KENNEDY/you, LUIS SERRA/you, ALBERT WESKER/you, JACK KRAUSER/you, CARLOS OLIVEIRA/you, CHRIS REDFIELD/you.
A/N: consider this as an apology for being away, and will probably continue to be away after a while. T_T but i hope everyone has been doing well.
NSFW UNDER THE CUT!
LEON S. KENNEDY. ♡
you don't know how long you both have been indulging in each other—all you know is that your cunt's jus' so sensitive. but you want more. you need more. thinkin' about being empty and not being stretched full by your boyfriend's makin' your waterline glimmer with tears.
"leoooon, please—,"
leon stared at you, in awe that you were still conscious. aware. clearly, he's not fucking you properly. "please what, angel?" "fuck me—fuck me, please. need your cock. just put it in," his fingertips tease your clit, and you whine, shaking your head. "nooo—nooooo . . need your cock. please, leon,"
today, leon finds out his ovulating girlfriend can turn into a literal succubus.
"but you said your cunt's all sore, sweet girl. you were crawling away," open-mouthed kisses are bestowed on your cheek. "just the tip. just put the tip in," leon could feel his cock stir, quickly growing erect with your neediness.
"okay, baby. whatever you say," he kisses your teary eyes before hovering over you and grabbing ahold of your legs. just the tip. just the tip. just the tip. leon has to repeat to himself, lathering the leaking crown with his creampie mixed with your slick.
just the tip. just . . the tip.
your creampied pussy makes a lewd squelch as leon slowly pushes the head in. but you're both in cloud nine, eyes rolling like it's the first time you've fucked each other. "y, yes, like that!" you whimper, reaching over to your hypersensitive clit and making aimless circles.
leon begins to move, only giving your cunt shallow, slow thrusts. "fuck, angel—," he lets his head fall back, pleasure enveloping his tip. your cunt's so fucking wet and warm. your fingers pick up their pace, cunt throbbing with intense pleasure. who knew you could jus' get off from just the tip?
"faster,"
faster?
how can leon do that without shoving himself balls deep into you? "faster—pleaseplease, leon," you sobbed. "y/n—i," he bucked his hips, trying to go faster without splittin' you open with his cock. whimpers are spilling from leon's mouth, growing needier by the second, his vision continuing to blur as he eased just the tip in, as per your request.
the way you were clenching around him, creaming around his cock—it drove him crazy. how could he not fuck you? leon has to reminded himself that you want just the tip. but he's relying solely on instinct. and before he could even realize it, he's plunged himself deep by accident, and you're wide-eyed, an unanticipated orgasm taking you both by surprise.
"leon—♡!"
"y/n—i'm sorry, sorry—,"
he can't stop. he won't stop, pounding you into the mattress and making sure you feel every length of him with every ferocious thrust. he's drooling, watching you squirm. something about seeing your pussy spurt out clear fluid with every push in makes him feral, potentially unlocked a new turn on and fantasy to jerk off to.
"t, told you just the tip," you whimper, sniffling, and leon cradles your head, essentially smushing your face into his chest. "sorry. 'm sorry, sorry—i l, love your cunt." leon sobbed, his hips doing all the work for him, pummeling into you without mercy.
spit's shining on leon's built chest as you automatically kiss and lick at the area. marks in the shape of your canines are left, and leon hisses when you bite him again.
"gonna cum, y, y/n—gonna cum—cumming. 'm cumming, oh god,"
he vigorously rams his cock in your leaking pussy, hard yet hurried; it's sloppy, and leon's just desperate to fill you again. your moans are muffled by his flesh, and leon has yet to notice that he's crushing you with his chest. not that you minded, either.
with a few more unrhythmic slams of his hips, he's spilling himself in you, all of his cum just overspilling as he kept rutting into you. "hah— h, haah . . so good—so good," he babbles, spit dripping on his chin as his eyes rolled back. "leooohn—," you grunt from beneath your boyfriend.
it's only when his orgasm finally comes down that he stops moving, clarity slowly seeping into his fucked out mind. he retires from you almost immediately, now-concerned eyes soaking in the sight of you. did you pass out? "y/n," a hand caresses your rosy cheek.
"y/n, please come back to me,"
"mhh . . "
oh thank god. he knows you're just fine, but he was still worried. "are you okay?" he whispers, brushing away the stray strings of your hair. "i'm sorry, i was . . too into it," you chuckle when you feel him pepper your face with kisses.
"i'm fine. still in one piece, baby."
you both groan when he slowly pulls out, the rest of his creampies spilling out of your gaping cunt. "i love you, leon." you mutter, weakly wrapping your arms around him. "i love you too, angel."
LUIS SERRA. ♡
"luis . . just the tip,"
you both really shouldn't have fooled around with these aphrodisiacs. it's been hours and his cock's yet to come down. luis isn't even sure if he can cum anym—
wait. did he hear that right?
"what'd you say, mami?"
it's harder to hear you when you're bent over, and especially when you're mumbling and barely coherent. "the tip—jus' the tip," you whine. "is my bebé sensitive?" he drags a finger over your slit, and you squeak, body jerking in response. your knees almost gave out. "luiiis . . jus' the tip, p, por favor . . "
you poor thing. he affectionately runs a hand over your spine, down to your ass where he kneads your curvaceous flesh. "por supuesto, amor. we can go slow. and . . just the tip," [ of course, love. ] he thought he could do it. luis can control himself, can go slow if requested—usually—but the drug that ran through his veins made that fucking impossible. swallowing a nervous lump, he prods the tip against your slit. fuck, you're so fucking wet. this wasn't fair.
with a slow push of his hips, your warmth embraces his sensitive cocktip. "oh, fuck. oh my fucking god. dios mio," luis's grip on your ass tightens, his own way of restricting himself. "sólo quiero follarte," [ i just wanna fuck you, ] he confesses, but only thrusts the tip in and nothing else.
"me estás matando aquí, bebé," [ you're killin' me here, baby. ] luis babbled on, a shiver running down spine. "are you sure you're sensitive? y, you've been—you've been always able to take it," turns out, he didn't have it in him to fulfill your request. luis could hear the obscene squelches your creamy pussy made, and his brows narrowed as he winced, almost as if he was pained from your instruction. yet, his restrained thrusts—it was more like gentle rocking, to be honest—continued, the tip pulling out with an obscene pop with every withdrawal of his hips.
he enjoyed it, of course. more than anything. but luis was a greedy, hungry man. yearning more. needing more. your pussy was just so fucking inviting, creaming all over for him with just the tip—fuck, you can't ask this from him.
"bebé—y/n, i can't—can't take it anymore. i have to. t, tengo que follarte," [ i have to fuck you. ] your eyes widened when luis slowly slides in an experimental inch. you squeal, reaching behind you with one arm, but luis just pins it on your back.
the moment he's stuffing himself completely fucking full into you, you're just sobbing, legs shaking from the mind-numbing pleasure. luis was, too, not even realizing he had just cum in you. his hips moved like clockwork, "luis! luiissss—fuck!" was all you could cry out. you squirmed, writhed, tried to crawl away from the addicting pain of pleasure, but he's tugging you right back and slamming himself into you to the hilt.
all that cum pouring out of you made it much, much easier to pound that cunt. "h, haaah—fuck! luiiss—," you sobbed, unable to stop your legs from giving out. his chest rests warmly on your back, and you feel a loving kiss pressed on your temple.
"te amo, te amo . . . " he murmured as he pummeled that pussy, making sure that the tip thwacked against your perky cervix and hitting all the right spots. your head rests nicely on the pillow, and you're so fucked out, you think you're about to pass out from all the pleasure.
the bed creaks as luis kept ramming his cock deep into you, and you squeal as another orgasm washes over your body. the nth orgasm made your eyes cross, made you see fucking stars as your legs quivered and you clutched the sheets helplessly. luis didn't see it, but he sure as hell fucking felt it as you squirt all over him and his legs. "dios—dios mio, you're making a fu, fucking mess,"
his thrusts begin to slow down, hard-on still intact, but the aphrodisiac wasn’t as strong as it was from the beginning. blinking, luis realizes he was crushing you by resting his whole weight on you. "shit, shit—y/n, i'm sorry," he shuddered when he slips out of your creampied pussy. "mierda, hace frío," [ shit, it's cold. ] is whispered to himself whilst he gently lays you on your back.
"luiiis . . " you huffed. "that's not the tip," "i know, i know. i'm sorry. but, in my defense, eso es imposible," [ that's impossible to do. ] an affectionate hand caressed your hair. "still sensitive, prinsesa?" you groggily nuzzle your face in his arms.
you only hummed. the next minute is spent in silence, as luis kept you warm and held you firmly. "next time, no more aphrodisiacs," you stir as he spoke, letting out a scoff. "what? booooo."
"wha—excuse you, señorita, why are you booing me?"
"oh, c'mon. don't lie. that was fun,"
"jesus, you are such a freak. me asustas. you need to read the bible or something,"
"wow. like it wasn't you who bought those pills!"
"oh. ehehe. right."
ALBERT WESKER. ♡
bro this gif im going to start s/creaming
you're already fucked out. already trembling from the orgasms wesker's given you, and it's all thanks to the new toys he had bought from his trip. a clit sucker and a vibrating, ridged, girthy dildo. you sobbed as wesker kept thrusting the toy in and out of you, making sure you take all of its length.
"f, fuck—! s, sir, cumming—, 'm cumming,"
there wasn't much you could do, not when a silk ribbon tied your wrists and ankles to the headboard. ( he bought those, too, by the way. ) "again? look at the mess you just made." you look over at the silicone, the base was coated in your creaminess—and it was already smearing to his already-soaked fingertips.
it was so easy for him to break you, and he hasn't even undressed himself yet.
your hips buck against the air, and the unintentional reflex just makes you grind your clit against the toy that lavished its attention on you. "fuuck—! fuckfuckfuck—, a, albert—!" you clutched onto the ribbons, eyes rolling as you felt your cunt throb with need. you were close, you could feel it in the pits of your stomach. "what was that?"
wesker clicked his tongue, clearly displeased. "you call me sir, brat. or are these toys getting into that head of yours?" you hear a few clicks, and your eyes widened when you realized that the clit sucker's set to its highest setting. "s, sir—i'm sorry! i'm sorry!"
the dildo could never compare to your sir's cock—never—but the extra sensations of the pulsations and the ridges quickly sent you to the edge, never missing where you were most sensitive, always grazing that spongy nub that made your mouth fall agape. "don't w, wanna cum anymore—too much," you whimpered.
"aw," he cooed, a small smile appearing on his lips; barely noticeable. "that's really too bad, pup." he taunts, giving you a slow, but hard thrust. you squealed, clutching on to your ribbons.
"you're not in charge here,"
your cries are music to his ears, and his eyes gaze over to your squirting cunt in amusement. even though you're trembling and drooling, he's yet to withdraw the toys from you.
"are you?" "n, no, sir!" he's tight-lipped and has yet to move an inch. "n, no, sir! i'm n, not in chaaaarge—y, you are!" "hm," good enough. much to your relief, both are turned off, and you're granted a few seconds of relief.
your body relaxes on the soft bed, chest rising as you pant. “colour?” wesker asks, a rough palm caressing your shaking thighs. “g, green,” you mutter. “good. ‘m not done yet,”
wesker retires from the bed, taking his sweet time in undressing himself. it was quite the sight, though; seeing him undo his tie, unbuckle his pants. his boxers had a wet spot from his leaking tip. “you’ve been a good pup, darling.”
the bed sinks with his added weight, and you watch him leave kisses on your inner thighs, stroking his cock with a spare hand as he lathered his pre all over his monstrous girth. fuck . . could you take that? you don’t think y’have it in you. but you didn’t want to stop. y’wanted him . .
“s, sir,”
you call, and wesker’s eyes tilt up. now that he was much closer, y’could see how blown out his pupils were. “yes, my love?” he asked as he positions himself, grabbing ahold of your thighs as he slaps his fat cock atop your mons.
“c, can you put just the tip i, in—?”
wesker acts as if he didn’t hear a word you just said, rubbing his length all over your slit—continuing to lubricate his shaft with your juices. you gasped when the tip slowly sinks in, and you finally get your answer when he slammed the rest of his girth into you. you screamed, back arching as your eyes crossed.
“why should i?”
he begins to rut into you, pummeling your sensitive cunt with mean thrusts. “tell me, pet. why should i?” you couldn’t utter out a proper response, not when your brain was turning to fucking mush as he pounded you. “speak up, slut.” the added nickname’s making you clench around him, and wesker only scoffed at your lack of coherence.
“gone stupid? from me just putting—hnngg—it in?”
with the position he had you in, it was impossible for the tip to not kiss your cervix, impossible for you to not scream for him as he mercilessly plowed that cunt. "s, sir—h, haaah . . ! fuck—!" your overstimulated pussy's fucking throbbing. a squeal's torn from you as his palm collides with your puffy clit with a smack! the sting's makin' your eyes fucking water, and you could feel your legs tremble again.
"will you tell me what to do again, pet?"
"n, no, sir!"
wesker grinned, rewarding your sore clit with a kind caress of his thumb. "good pet. that's—," he groaned. fuuuck, wesker shudders at the feeling of your cunt spasming around his girth. "—more like it. gonna—gonna fuck you how i want to," his words are emphasized with harsh thrusts, to drill that idea in your pretty fucking head.
"where i want to,"
"u, uh-huh!"
"when i want to,"
"u-uhnnn—y, yes s, siiiir . . ♡ !"
seeing how disheveled and how much of a drooling mess you were, were you even remembering what he was saying? probably not. but don't worry, he's more than willing to remind you where you belonged. he could no longer hold back his noises, but he wasn't even interested in trying, anyway.
the way he sounded—feral, almost beast-like, even—you'd be lying if you said it didn't incite more arousal from you. wesker ensured you felt all of him, hips moving without thought as he mercilessly slammed into that tight fit. unfortunately for you, he was more monster than he was human.
you were fucking tightening up around him—still adjusting from the sudden switch from silicone to flesh—and how could wesker ever resist ramming and bullying that pussy with his fat cock? the way he could see how he split you open, shuddering when his tip's right against your cervix—oh, you were such a sweet, sweet pet.
his cock throbbed with the ache of a release. you made it difficult for him to control himself. "fuck—'m gonna fill you up," he hissed. "think y'deserve a creampie from me, sweet girl?" smack! the collision of his palm on your cunt brings you back to reality for a brief moment. "i'm—i'm talking to you," he snarled, an you nod mindlessly. "s, sorrryyyy . . . y, yes sir! yesyesyesyes—please!"
you continue to beg him, plead for his cum whilst he busied himself with rearranging your fucking insides. it's all you could do amidst your fucked out state. don't you worry. wesker was more than satisfied with your expressions.
burying himself to the hilt, you let out a scream as an orgasm is forced from you again, fingertips affectionately rubbing on your clit. wesker can't decide where to look—if he should watch that pussy quiver as you squirted or your face that's contorting as your irises disappear behind your lids.
"yeaaaaah, just like that. look at you—fuck, you're such a slut,"
his hips stutter as spurts of thick, warm semen floods your womb and walls. wesker groaned, shivers pricking his skin. your cunt milked him so good; and not like he'll tell you, but he's fucking obsessed. obsessed with how you're so obedient fo him, how your cunt clenched around him as you quivered from overstimulation.
"tsk, you're leaking. tighten up, slut. don't spill any more," you only oblige him—it's all you could do in your fucked-out state. a groan echoes in the room as he slowly slips out from you. from where wesker knelt, he had the perfect fucking view of your gaping cunt, trying her absolute best to keep it all in as he asked. you squeaked when he caresses your puffy clit affectionately. "shh, shh . . i know," he cooed, the other hand undoing your restraints. you didn't have the strength to keep your eyes open.
the tension slowly rolls off your muscles as he sets your legs down slowly. "you did well, my love," you could feel him bestow kisses on your face. eyes, nose, lips—they were all showered in loving kisses. your wrists are set free as he undid the ribbons on your sore wrists, his lips ghosting over the red marks over your skin, too. "missed you, albert," you mumbled, eyes slowly opening. "i missed you too, my love," there's a faint smile on his face—meant to be witnessed by you only.
"you know we're not yet done, right?"
JACK KRAUSER. ♡
krauser really has lots of pent-up frustration and sexual frustration. blessed with inhumane stamina, it's really no surprise that he can last multiple rounds. 'specially when all of it just piles up on him, mmmm—god, he loves nothing more than taking it out on you and using you for fucking hours.
but krauser is mean. cruel. you want just the tip? that's really—
"too fucking bad, baby,"
that request is fucking impossible, because he's got you folded and locked in a full nelson hold. did you expect that he'd just not bury himself deep in your pretty cunt? your eyes widened as you watched his cock slowly stretched you out again. your cunt was too sensitive.
his balls only throbbed, eyes rolling as your pleas fall to deafened ears. your groans echo in the room as he pushes another inch or two into you. fuck, you need to breathe—
krauser laughed breathily in your ear. "what was that?" you couldn't muster a single word—it was all just pathetic squeaks. "just the tip, you say?" he'd purr, pushing in as slow as he can so your pulsating walls can feel every single inch stretching you. ruining you.
"c, can't—,"
"can't what? can't speak?"
he completely slams into you with a loud plap! you're speechless and fucking stupefied—but, frankly, what else is there to say? "urgg—feel that?" this fucking asshole just had to start gyrating his hips. you could feel the tip poke 'nd prod against that cervix, and fuck, you're trembling.
"c'moooon, sweets. y'better be awake,"
sticky drool's drippin' from those pretty lips as he began to pound you like he hated you. him doing all the work was not a problem, not at all. krauser could easily manhandle you, and he made sure that you knew. he was bouncing you on his cock like you weighed nothing and fuck—you couldn't even think of anything to say aside from his name and ah's! and oh's!
it didn't help his cock was a mix of both veiny and fucking gargantuan—you're convinced your cervix's all bruised because his tip kept hitting 'nd hitting all of your spots. "love your cunt—fuck, you like this? huh? bet you do. look at your cunt's reflection. messy fucking slut," he groaned, ramming into you vigorously. it's like he hasn't even broken a sweat.
"k, krauseeeer—," you sobbed, absolutely broken and cockdrunk. "yeah? 'm here," he pants, eyes threatening to roll back. but he had to watch you in the mirror, had to watch you crumble and go fucking stupid just from his cock. "what does my baby want, h, huh? want me to go faster?" before you had the chance to respond, he's fucking pummeling into you faster than you could even blink; you're fucking dizzy and barely lucid, but that's okay. no need to think, krauser's got you. ♡
"'m c, cummingggggg—cumming. j, jaaaaack—♡!"
"my fucking goooood—fuuuuuuck . . look at this squirting cunt,"
clear liquid's spurtin' out of that stretched pussy, coating him and yourself as he forces an orgasm outta you. you're so fucking hot, fuck. krauser's never ever ever letting you go. "you love my cock, babe?" if it wasn't for how both his large hands held your head, you would have nodded. "u, uh-huh! love—l, love your cock—♡!" "attaaa girl. i love your cunt so, so fucking much—♡,"
krauser doesn't even realize he's drooling himself—completely immersed in the pleasure. he could stay buried in you for fucking eternity. "fuck—wanna breed you. lemme breed—lemme breed you. need to knock you up," he babbled on, focused on jus' chasing his release. and with the pace of how he fucked you—it wouldn't take long.
and you?
you're fucking spritzing all over him everytime his tip grazes against that spongy nub in your dripping pussy. why'd you even ask him to not put it all in? clearly, you loved this. but don't worry. for once, he'll humour you. "y'wanted just the tip, right?" "h, hnnngg—♡," good enough of an answer for him. you're brought back to reality briefly when his movements halt. confused, you only watched your obscene reflections whilst he shifted his hips. "j, jack, what're you—?!" your eyes widened when you feel his tip slowly bury into the tight barrier of flesh in your cervix.
krauser whimpered. fuuuuuuck, you were sucking him in so good. he can't even pull out. "baby—baby, oh god. fuck, fuck. i'm fucking—cumming. 'm cumming—oh my gooooood," it didn't take any more thrusts for him to start filling your womb up with fertile, sticky cum.
you whined as your cunt's flooded with his seed, and you couldn't do anythin' except for clawing on his built forearms as he held you in place. "urgg—yeah . . . just like that . . fuuuck, i love your pussy baby," you couldn't utter a word. you felt so fucking full. krauser finally releases your head, but still held your body close as he settles on the edge of the bed. you practically collapse on his muscular frame when he finally sits, and that's okay. ♡ krauser made sure he held you tight, wrapping large arms around your body and leaning into you so he could kiss your face.
"tongue out, babe. lemme . . "
you oblige mindlessly, sticking your pretty tongue out for him. krauser's scarred lips wrap around your wet muscle, groaning as he sucked on it. didn't take long 'til he was devouring your spit-stained mouth as you cockwarmed him.
"mmmm. ♡."
CHRIS REDFIELD. ♡
this gif is so? um.
chris usually loves to prep you. loves to spend his time devouring your pussy and having his lips wrapped around that sensitive clit.
but you've got work in an hour, and time isn't a luxury you both have. "chris, j, just the tip, okay?" you say, raisin' your hips as you bent over the dining table; weight propped up on your soft palms. of course you can't say no to him, especially when the outline of his erected cock on his grey boxers is all you've been seeing this morning. but you're just a girl. you have needs and wants.
"just the tip?"
chris asks, pressing his clothed chest against your back. you feel his stubble against your cheek as he pressed open-mouthed kisses on your skin. "i don't . . i don't think i can do it, princess," he whined as his hips push forward. you couldn't utter another word as the leaking head stretches your cunt out.
you shuddered, lips quivering as you clutched on to whatever surface you were bent over on. "y, you caaaan—a, aaah, fuck—you have to . . ” you whined. but chris was greedy. hungry.
he’s not sure where he gets the courage to pull out, but he does. the tip slides out from you with a lewd, almost muted, pop! and you’re both unsatisfied, left yearning with feeling the other completely; but it makes do. it has to. tonight, he can have you for as long as he wanted.
“y/n, p, please—,” he pleads, still fuckin’ you with just the tip. chris can feel just how wet you are, hear how that cunt squelched as bucked his hips. “n, nooo—chris, i’ll—i’ll be late,” “don’t go,” his canines graze your skin, and you squealed when he pushes an inch in. your cunt’s pulsating—trying to accommodate his fat cock without prep. “don’t go—y’don’t h, have to go. please stay,” “ch, chris, i—hnnn!” the rest is completely slammed into you, and your eyes cross. chris takes advantage of your agape mouth, kissing you and letting his tongue glissade over yours.
chris starts to pound that cunt, and muffled cries were swallowed by his lips. you can’t really lie, this felt waaaay better than just the tip. the way the tip bulges out from your lower tummy, the way the pink crown keeps kissing that sensitive cervix, it can’t compare. ever.
“mhhhf,” you groan against his lips, and chris playfully bites down on your lower brim. it was hard to take in air when every thrust into you knocked the air outta your lungs. chris parts from you as he held your hips with those big hands of his.
his pace quickens, ramming into you mercilessly. you're both whimpering, voices blending together in melodious sin; whatever thoughts you had before—gone. not when chris had the skill to turn your brain to mush. "goddd—fuck, y/n. y, y'feel so goooood . . " chris sobbed. if only you could see his face. brows scrunched as he struggled to keep his eyes open; only you could bring these facial expressions to this big, beefy man's face.
you squealed when a hand snakes under your skirt, fingertips rubbing against your neglected clit. "oh fuck!" you mewled, unable to keep your cries to a low. "feel good, princess?" chris purred whilst fucking you into oblivion. "u, uh-huh—♡!" fuuuuck, his balls are fucking throbbing.
"d, don't go . . jus' stay. be my pretty little wife. i can t, take care of you,"
he babbled on, rutting into you, stuffing you full with that veiny cock. chris wants nothing more than to fucking breed you, fill your womb with his cum. "'m g, gonna fucking cum," he pants, chest heaving. but he doesn't stop pummeling that cunt—goes faster, actually. chasing his release and eager to give you yours. the table's creaking, and everything on it shook with every thrust. upstairs neighbour behaviour.
you screamed when he lightly pinches that sensitive bud, and you're seeing stars; mouth agape and back completely arched as he coaxes an orgasm from you. your legs trembled, and chris bit on his lip. "fuuuuck, baby. you're so hot—love you, i love you," "chriiiis, fuckfuckfuckfuuuuck. love youuuuuu . . ♡,"
your lips crash together again, sloppily kissing each other as chris fucks you through your high. he grunts, wrapping his lips 'round your tongue, tasting you. with another slam of his hips, you moan against his mouth when he's completely buried deep in you; thick ropes of cum flooding your creamy, spasming cunt. he can't move any more, can't think anymore. he pulls away from you, because he's sure he'll forget how to breathe.
"oooooh, fuuuck—♡,"
spit's trickling down his stubbled chin, and chris is quiet for a moment; sent to cloud nine and completely fucked out. it takes a minute or two for him to recover, and he tilts your head to the side so he could briefly kiss you while he slid out of your cunt. you both groan, and chris kneads your ass, watching his cum slowly leak from your gaping pussy.
"heheh . . gonna call in sick?"
well, you couldn't feel your legs, so. yes.
CARLOS OLIVEIRA. ♡
carlos watched you writhe whilst you came undone from his tongue. your fingers were tugging on his already disheveled, raven tresses. it's your fifth orgasm—he thinks, if he's counting right; and he'd gladly give you more. his wet kisses trail up your tummy, chest, lips, and you liked how your taste lingered on his tongue.
"carlooos,"
"yes, meu bebê?"
carlos gets a realization tonight.
"want more. 'jus wanna feel you,"
he spoils you a little too much.
your cunt was still twitching with need. you'd do anything to satiate your hunger, anything to relieve that arousal pooling in your tummy. even though he's spent the last few minutes coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you.
but he loved seeing you like this. desperate. needy. like he was the only person you needed. you knew just how to get his gears going without trying. "hmm? but you just came, meu bebê. my beard's still wet," he teased, lips latching on your neck and tracing your skin with sharp canines. you held on to his built biceps, and carlos brings your knuckles to his lips. "j, jus' the tip. please. i want more," "i know, i know, bebê. shh . . "
he can never resist you. especially when you were begging him so prettily. didn't take long for him to prod his tip against your needy hole. you both gasp when the tip slowly sinks in, slowly stretches that wet pussy apart. your nails dig into his skin, and carlos bit his lip. "fuuuck, y/n. your pussy—," fucking warm 'nd tight. clenching on him like you needed him.
carlos didn't mind being bossed around by you, especially by you. he'd do anything you'd ask before you could even blink, but he just has to remind you who's in charge.
you gasped when he slowly sheathes an inch or two into your tight cunt. "carlos, w, what're you—?!" he makes sure to slide in nice and slow, so you'll feel every inch of him splitting him open. and also so he can savour that surprised look in your face.
especially when he harshly shoves the rest of his cock in your leaking pussy, god. you'll kill him. "y, you're so unfair, princesa. so cruel t'me," he cooed, not even giving you the time to process a thought as he began to pound you with ungodly stamina.
"you think i don't have needs too? think i don't need to fuck this cunt and to fuck you 'til you're cockdrunk and overstimulated?" nasty mouth, nastier thrusts. your eyes crossed, body jouncing with every slam forward of his hips.
"c, carlos—h,hnnngg!"
he grins. "yeaaaah, that's right, baby. scream my name." you were so sensitive already, flesh walls spasming around his veiny girth, but fuck, you were oozing so much milky essence, it smeared all over his balls. he leans in so your lips could crash together, and carlos grunts against your mouth as you instinctively wrap you legs around him. of course he had to pick up his pace. why wouldn't he? he was such a good boyfriend to you, paying attention to all your needs.
you whine when he parts from you, but he has to, or else he'd lose his balance. he needed to focus on fucking you, tire his pretty bebê out. he bites his lip when you run your palms all over his built chest and abdomen.
"fuckfuckfuck—carlos—♡!"
a hand wraps around your breast, kneading your tits and running his fingers over your erect nipple. whatever thought you had, he quickly fucked it out from that pretty mind of yours. whatever. not like you needed to think when he could do that for you. well, try.
"y/n—♡ godddd, minha linda garota," [ my pretty girl, ] he babbles on, absolutely hypnotized. god, what were you doing to him? carlos kept pummeling that cunt, bed creaking obnoxiously in the process but it seemed that neither of you cared.
more marks littered his skin, ranging from bites to scratches, and they were definitely going to be sore later, but that's okay, a little pain didn't hurt no one. spit trickles down on carlos's stubbled chin, and you lift yourself up a little jus' so you could lick it up.
"y/n—♡! f, fuck! você é tão porra de suja, m, merda!" [ you're so fucking filthy, shit! ] hooking his arms around your thighs and lifting it up to his shoulders, you squealed when he begins to fuck you faster. harder. sounds of skin slapping growing louder as he rammed you without mercy.
a spare thumb began to trace aimless circles on your clit, and you screamed as an orgasm was ripped from your poor oversensitive cunt. "c, carlos—♡! oh fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuuuuck!" you clutched onto the pillows, sheets, fucking anything. you sobbed, and carlos gently flicks his middle finger against that puffy clit—you squealed as you squirt in small fountains.
"you're sensitive, aren't you, bebê? eu te quebrei, princesa?" [ did i break you, princess? ]
and oh, the way you only responded in fucked out mewls, how fucking precious. now that you've coated his girth in your squirt, it was much easier for him to move in 'n out. you could hear jus' how wet he made you, how that soaking cunt squelched with every thrust. you were such a slut for your boyfriend, and rightfully so.
he stops being cocky when his orgasm nears, grunts turning into high-pitched whimpers as he fucked you into the mattress. carlos tried to keep his monstrous, merciless pace, but fuck, he was so close. the closer he was to filling your cunt up and flooding your walls, the sloppier his hips got, probably from fatigue.
but you were such an angel, his god-sent angel, movin' your hips as you tried to meet his thrusts halfway. carlos could cum at the fucking sight of you trying to fuck yourself against him.
"oh god—♡! oh god, fuck, fuuuuck. vou gozar. vou te engravidar. ai meu deus." [ gonna cum. 'm gonna get you pregnant, oh my god. ] carlos sobbed, and after a few more push of his hips, he's crying out as ribbons of thick cum filled that cunt.
he rides his high out with a few more mindless thrusts, combing a spare hand through his hair. he's in fucking heaven, jesus christ. it's you that brings him back to reality, rubbing his forearm and eventually interlacing your fingers with his.
"oh my god, baby. are you okay?" he caressed your face, and you tiredly smile at him. "never better," you kissed his palm, and carlos tucks away the stray hairs on your face. "you sure? you okay? does anything hurt?" "no, i'm fine. well, a little sore and sensitive, but it's okay. i like it," a grin tugged on his lips, and he shook his head. "you're such a freak, baby. it's okay, i love you," a kiss is pressed on your forehead, nose, and then lips.
you shuddered when he pulls out, and his cum slowly leaks from your used, gaping hole. "i love you . . " you mutter, scooting over to the side so carlos can have the space beside you. he sighs in relief when he finally lays down, absolutely spent. "c'mere," carlos sleepily grunts, pulling you to his arms. you took it upon yourself to cover both your bare, sweaty bodies with the blanket.
"did i tire you out yet?" "hmm . . no, not really," you jeered, and carlos chuckled. "well, i certainly tired myself out," you both laugh, and it didn't take long 'til you both dozed off.
end.
A/N: thank you so much for reading! more to cum. ;)
also, regarding carlos's fics, i will repair them soon and change his bilingual dialogue from spanish to portuguese. i'd like to apologize for mistaking him as hispanic!
Forehead pressed to your shoulder like he’s ashamed but also can’t fucking stop.
“L-Leon,” you whisper, gently. “You… you already came, baby.”
His fingers dig into your thighs.
You hear him breathe in through his nose like he’s trying to calm down. He’s not calm.
“I—I know. I know, I just…”
He cuts off. Shivers.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing.
All he knows is you’re warm, wet, wrapped around him, and he can’t think.
“Just a little longer,” he mumbles.
“Don’t wanna pull out yet.”
He’s not even looking at you.
He’s staring down at where his cock is still buried in you, lips parted, eyes glassy like he’s stoned on you.
Not even blinking.
“Fuck…”
“You’re still so warm…”
“Still squeezing me…”
He moans. Soft. Desperate.
And he grinds in deeper.
His rhythm is off.
He keeps twitching inside you.
Like his body’s fighting itself — overstimulated but desperate to stay connected.
His hips do this slow roll, and you whimper. Your cunt flutters.
That’s it. That’s what breaks him.
He whines — fucking whines — and sinks all the way in, body collapsing.
“Oh f-fuck—d-don’t do that—can’t—can’t take it—”
You reach up and stroke his hair.
He’s soaked. Shaking. Breathing hard.
“Leon. Look at me.”
He does.
Eyes wet. Lips trembling. Completely gone.
“You’re so good,” he says, voice wrecked.
“So good. Can’t stop thinking about how you feel.”
“Woke up hard, went to sleep hard, couldn’t even breathe today without remembering this—you—”
“I feel fucking high.”
He kisses you.
Messy. Sloppy. Tongue too desperate.
His body is still moving. Still chasing another orgasm he doesn’t even have the stamina for.
“I-I think I came too fast,” he whispers into your mouth.
“Didn’t get to memorize it. The way you—shit—fuck—I need it again—just once—just…”
And then he cums again.
Just from your walls fluttering around him.
Barely even thrusting.
He groans against your mouth and spills into you again with a pathetic little gasp.
“Shitshitshit—’m sorry—can’t help it—y-you’re too good, you’re too—”
After that, he goes limp.
But doesn’t pull out.
Just lays on top of you. Face pressed between your tits. Arms wrapped around your waist like a child.
He’s silent for a long time.
Still inside. Still twitching.
Still catching his breath.
Then:
“If you leave me… I’m gonna die.”
You laugh.
“Jesus, Leon.”
“I’m serious. Don’t even joke about getting up.”
CHRIS REDFIELD ༄.°
You're not sure which round this is.
Your brain won’t do numbers anymore.
Your legs have stopped working.
Your skin feels raw. Oversensitive. Like you’ve been stripped to the nerve.
And Chris is still fucking you.
Not with thrusts.
Not with rhythm.
Just this slow, desperate, mindless grind.
Slippery. Sticky. Filthy.
The weight of his body pressing yours down, sweat dripping off his jaw onto your collarbone, the stretch of him never-ending.
He came inside you—
Once.
Twice.
Maybe three times?
You don’t know.
You can still feel it leaking out.
You can feel his cock still thick, still twitching, still rubbing into that same bruised, swollen spot with every drag of his hips.
He won’t speak.
Not properly.
Just:
“Ngh… fuck—mmf—just… warm—warm, you’re s’fucking warm—don’t—don’t stop—don’t push me out—”
His voice sounds wrecked.
Like he’s been crying or screaming for hours.
He might have.
You might have.
Neither of you knows anymore.
You try to say his name, but it comes out as a wet gasp. Your mouth won’t close. You feel his hand slide under your neck, just holding, and his other hand grabs at your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
“You’re still there…” he slurs into your shoulder. “Still tight—still inside—still mine—mine mine mine—”
You think you blacked out for a second.
When you come back to, your thighs are shaking and his hips are still moving.
Not even thrusting — just rubbing, mindlessly rutting, cock pushing slow and messy into overstimulated, slick-soaked heat.
You hear a wet sound and realize it’s him. Crying.
Just a little.
Breathing all fucked up. Drool on your chest. Words choked and broken and ruined.
words: 4.7k
warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI. SMUT. DUBCON. SEX POLLEN (both reader and leon infected). ANGST. HURT/COMFORT.
synopsis: coming across a strange plant in an old lab greenhouse has dire consequences... for the most part.
You’ve seen a lot of labs in your life, but this one is the strangest yet. Mostly because the usual horrors that come with bioterrorist organisations are nowhere to be found.
Deep underground, the air is stiff and sulfurous, both of your guns poised and ready — but nobody has come to stop you this time. No guards, no military. Not even zombies or creatures designed to destroy. It’s just you, Leon, and the steady, synchronised clicks of your boots on the metal walkway as you head towards what looks to be a greenhouse.
“You think they were expecting us and took off?” you question, gaze gliding over the slabs of muscle at his back. You’ve worked with Leon for a long time and have never seen him without those hunched shoulders and steely apprehension. He’s a weapon himself, honed from years of fighting in the shadows.
He stops, blue-grey eyes scanning over the fogged glass panes, where leaves curl towards you like beckoning fingers. There’s nothing out of the ordinary within, lights turned off like maybe the place was, in fact, abandoned. It’s a first: usually, you’d be knee-deep in bloodshed by now.
“Maybe they wanted to take their green fingers above ground,” he remarks dryly, though his posture doesn’t relax even a little. Like him, you don’t dare lower your guard, just in case.
You find a computer on the desk, screen black. “Power’s out here, too.”
Like everywhere else in the facility. It can’t be right. Bioweapon engineers don’t just disappear, not without leaving a trail of blood behind them.
Leon sighs and reiterates your findings to Sherry through his ear piece. Keen to be rid of this wasted adrenaline, you shove the door leading to the greenhouse open, standing on the arched, vine-peppered threshold to examine the plants within. Many of the leaves are wilted, colourless.
“Almost as dead as my houseplants,” you quip.
Leon wedges himself in front of you, a protective arm providing a barrier between you and the overgrown path. “Careful. We have no idea what these assholes were growing before they jumped ship.”
Ten years ago, when you first joined the DSO, you might have allowed such a show of protection. Now, you don’t need it, and shove past him with a sidelong glower. He might be your superior, but you don't need a knight in shining armour. “I’m not your rookie anymore, Kennedy.”
He grits his teeth. “And how you love to remind me.”
“I shouldn’t have to,” you snap. It isn’t that you dislike him, really. He’s just got an exhausting chip on his shoulder, and he walks around with a haughty sense of responsibility, like it’s his job to keep the entire world safe. You wish he’d go easier on himself — and stop treating you like you’re incompetent when he trained you himself to be an exceptional agent. Perhaps you’re sensitive, because you’ve faced gender bias your entire life. Misogynists who laugh at the idea of you working as a federal agent. Senior officers who would sooner put you on coffee duty than acknowledge your skills.
Maybe Leon isn’t like that, but sometimes, you aren’t so sure he trusts anybody to do the job other than himself, man or woman.
You only take a few more steps into the greenhouse before the change in the air gives you pause. A heady sweetness wraps around you here, and you think you’re going crazy when you see flecks of red floating like dust motes in the air, so tiny they might be missed by anyone not paying attention. You tip your chin, finding the source: a pink, lotus-like flower pulsing overhead, hanging by a vine that seems to have curled itself across every ceiling corner. It would be pretty if it wasn’t the only living thing in here, its petals swollen and puffy around a long stigma that seems to surveil your every move.
“The hell is that?” Leon’s question rumbles low in his throat.
“The last survivor?” It’s strange: the more you admire it, the stronger the urge to touch it becomes. You can’t from down here, but it doesn’t stop you from rising to your tiptoes—
The flower sighs out another gust of those strange spores, the pollen falling onto your skin with a sting, like a shower dialled too high.
“Shit,” Leon mutters. You turn to find his dirty blonde hair dusted with the same red flakes.
In an instant, he’s yanking you out of the greenhouse, bolting the door shut behind you. “Sherry, we might have a problem. A flower just… spat at us.”
You snort at the absurdity of it. You’ve seen bioweapons in all their forms, but never have they begun with a few pretty petals. Still, you shake the pollen from your hair, using your water to clean yourself off before allowing Leon to do the same while he hums in response to whatever Sherry is telling him.
“She has no reason to believe it’s dangerous,” is his final verdict. “Still, better safe than sorry. We’ll take a few samples, and Sherry’s finding a place for us to quarantine until we know what we’re dealing with.”
“Great. I just hope you don’t have hay fever,” you taunt, peering through the glass to get a final look at the welcoming flower. Though you’re not in the least afraid, a steady thrum begins inside you, matching the glowing pulse of the flower’s pink light. As you walk away, a painful clench twists your stomach.
Probably just hunger, you convince yourself — but even your inner voice wavers when an itch claws through your skin minutes later.
By the time a stoic set of DSO agents have taken your samples and escorted you to a safe house for the night, you’re burning up. So is he, clammy and rosy-cheeked as he paces the lacklustre living room-slash-kitchen-slash-bedroom. You sit shakily on the couch, watching your fingers curl into your palms with an eerie sense of detachment. Your limbs don’t quite feel like your own, all sensations pushed aside to make room for the incessant fire in your belly. You feel like somebody has locked a furnace inside you, sweat beading in your hairline and sickness rearranging your organs.
“So, how long until we know if we’re gonna die?” you question weakly.
“We’re not going to die,” Leon asserts, scraping his hair back. It’s still damp from the shower, like yours, and even that feels like a coiled snake at the nape of your neck, leaving you shifting on the couch. “Viruses don’t tend to spread via pollination.”
“You don’t know that. There may be a whole swarm of zombie bees out there.”
You’re used to him huffing at you, used to sort-of-friendly taunts that sometimes hold a bite, but this exasperation billows through the room with disarming intensity. He’s pissed off.
He stops, rolling his neck as his eyes squeeze shut. In pain, too, just like you. You shift on the couch, unable to find a comfortable position, only for your breath to catch when your core rubs against the upholstery. That friction sends a bolt of something both pleasurable and agonising through you, right down to your toes.
“Fuck,” you hiss.
“What? What’s wrong?” His voice warps into something deeper and more honeyed than you’ve ever heard before, plucking through you like taut strings. You lean back on the couch just to feel the chafe against your cargoes again, biting your lip and curling your fingers into the cushions.
“Nothing,” you whisper distractedly. Really, you mean everything. Your heart is pounding, skin burning, and to top it all off, you can feel your panties soaking through with an arousal you can’t explain, made worse by every minute movement — both yours and his.
Even as he resumes pacing across the room, you feel him brushing your skin back and forth, back and forth, and your nipples stand to attention. You’ve always enjoyed looking at him and his chiseled features, but you’re professional enough to pretend he doesn’t affect you. Whatever was in that pollen has weakened your resolve, and it’s like watching reality peel itself open, leaving the world hazy but for him, the one thing still in focus. His cheekbones look sharper, nose straighter, lips plumper. His blue eyes pierce right through you, and fuck, fuck, the way his waist moves as he walks makes you want to touch yourself.
“Can you stop that?” you ask, because your hand is on your thigh, inches away from providing yourself with relief. There’s nowhere short of the bathroom you can go to fix this problem, and you know he’d listen with that razor-sharp concern. He’s already taken your temperature twice, though both your shirts are drenched with obvious fever. You’re past science, past examinations, symptoms written all over you.
Except that throb between your legs. That, you’re trying desperately to hide.
He ignores you, still pacing. When he gets closer, casting a breeze that teases your raw skin once more, you snap: “Leon! You’re not going to walk this one off!”
His jaw sets with a visible quiver. He retreats to the sink with a curse, peering out through the envelope-sized window. Your focus traces the slope of his spine, the broad width of his shoulders, the narrow cinch of his waist.
His ass, not as prominent as the rest of him, but thick enough you want to sink your teeth into it all the same.
“You need to sit down,” you demand, angling away from him so you won’t keep ogling. Your fingers are trembling, and you’re scared to stand up lest all that arousal has already dampened the couch. God, if he saw it, he’d never take you seriously again.
“No, I don’t.”
His posture sinks lower, head bowed, breaths heavy. You wonder if he feels it too, but then think that would be ridiculous. The fever is just making you horny, body likely trying to distract you with thoughts you’d been repressing for so long.
Only it hurts — to look at him, and to look away from him; to feel him inches away, and to have him all the way across the room.
You dig the back of your skull into the top cushions in a desperate attempt to chase the thoughts away. Your throat is dry, a sugary yet bitter taste on your tongue. The pain doesn’t stop, but with one less sense to worry about, you can let yourself drift into the fog encasing your body for just a while, sleep crawling towards you.
With it, dreams of him.
His name is a thick coating on your tongue when you wake. You don’t know how long it’s been, a shrill ringing in your ears and the light too bright for your stinging eyes.
And him, hovering over you, brows pinched with a worry you’ve never seen on him, not even when your lives were at stake.
A mangled whine forces itself out of your throat, all of you seeped in uncomfortable wetness. You don’t know where the sweat ends and your arousal begins. Your tongue sweeps over your teeth — and it hurts. Everything hurts.
A cup is tipped to your lips, but the cold glass isn’t what you want, and you shove it away as a shiver wracks through you. “How long… was I…?”
“Couple hours.” He refuses to surrender, forcing the water into your mouth. It slides down your throat, and all you can think is how much you wish it was his seed, like it had been in the dream. Thick and creamy and just this side of salty. He’d had his fingers fisted in your hair, eyes shut in ecstasy, and—
“Oh, god. Was I… Did I…?” Your hand is between your legs, you realise. You’d been touching yourself. In front of your superior.
“It’s okay.”
“No, no—”
“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” he repeats, nudging you back when you try to rise off the couch. “I’m… I’m having the same symptoms. You’re okay, yeah?”
His throat bobs on a grimace, the only chink in his armour even now. He’s so much stronger than you. Maybe he had a right to that superiority complex after all.
“What… What do you mean?” It’s a silly question, you find when he steps away, because the evidence is written in the thick outline of his cock, nestled against the seam of his tactical pants.
“Sherry said…” He swallows again; this time, it looks painful. “Sherry said the pollen isn’t a virus, but it is…” He pinches the bridge of his nose, turning away from you. “Fuck. This is…”
“Spit it out, Kennedy."
“The substance is some kind of aphrodisiac.”
“Like… oysters?”
He snorts. “Not quite. It was designed to force breeding. They must have been using it on whatever lived in that lab before we got there.”
Your head spins, the words not making sense. Breeding is all that echoes, over and over again, more images from your dream coming back to you. Leon balls-deep inside you, pounding rough and hard until your stomach was bulging as he whispered praise in your ears. You, stretched and full and screaming.
Your hollow stomach clenches again, cushion bunching in your tense fingers. “When will it go away?” He rubs a hand over his jaw, and the sound of the bristle has you whimpering again. “Leon.”
He grits his teeth, pressing his palms into the wall. When it isn’t enough, he slams them again twice. Thrice.
You wish you were caged in by those rippling biceps and veiny forearms.
“I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely. “I should have known better than to let you step foot in that greenhouse.”
“Just answer the question.”
His shoulders slump in defeat, the first proof that this might be unfixable. Unsurvivable. “It doesn’t go away. Not unless we make it.”
Make it. “You mean, together?”
He nods, glancing at you over his shoulder. His eyes are more silver than blue, lips twisted bitterly. “Sherry is looking into an antidote, but it could take weeks. We can’t survive that long, not with a fever like this. We’ll keep getting sicker.”
“We can’t just… do it ourselves?”
“I tried already. In the bathroom. Couldn’t.”
Fuck. Your eyes drag back to his cock, imagining his fist wrapped around it. Like the flower, like your insides, it seems to pulse to a silent rhythm.
“This is significantly worse than hay fever,” you decide.
“And your smart fucking mouth isn’t helping,” he retorts.
You should be disgusted by his tone, but it only uproots your desire in greedy hands. Your voice is low when you ask, “How many people at the DSO know about this?”
“Why the hell does that matter?”
“I didn’t work hard for ten damn years to lose all my credibility, all my dignity, because of some weird sex pollen that makes me want to fuck my boss!”
“Not exactly ideal for me either, sweetheart.” The word drips like caramel laced with arsenic, sweet and poisonous in equal measure.
“It’s not the same and you know it.” You throw yourself off the couch, finding your knees quick to buckle. Leon grabs your waist to keep you from falling, heavy palms scorching your skin like a branded poker. It takes everything in you not to fall into him, find the release you so desperately crave, and resisting it sends more agony through every corner of you. Muscles, organs, bones, blood. A million atoms exploding inside you. You can’t imagine enduring this another hour, let alone weeks.
His fingers tremble as they rise to your jaw, pupils blown like eclipsed twin moons. His breath holds the same sickly sourness as yours, tugging you in, making you moan, and your walls clench around nothing. You heave out a grunt of pain around all that emptiness, which isn’t empty at all, but all serrated edges and needling shadows.
“Nobody but Sherry knows what’s happening to us,” he admits. “Nobody will, okay? I’ll make sure of it.”
“This can’t be real.” You massage your sticky temples, pulling away from him. Without really knowing what you’re doing, you go to the sink, stick your head under the cold water as though it might douse your flames. It doesn’t, the trickle only reminding you of how blistered your skin feels. Your thighs clench, ass in the air.
At your back, Leon curses again. “You can’t… stand like that.”
“Fuck off.”
He says your name on something akin to a whimper, and you whip around to see his hand hovering just shy of his erection. Like you, he’s trying so hard not to give in.
But it doesn’t sound like there’s another option.
“What are we going to do?” you question.
He shakes his head. “I need another shower.”
“Leon—”
The door slams between you, and your eyes smart with sudden tears — of frustration, hopelessness, need. You spend the next five minutes trying to find a position that doesn’t hurt, but your clothes scrape your skin and your hair sticks to your neck and you are so, so empty.
And then his groans drift over the sound of the running water. From your new spot on a rug on the floor, you squirm, stomach swelling with something so tender it steals your breath. Every time you think the pain can’t get worse, it does, cresting to a new level until it’s all you can think about.
“Fuck,” Leon’s grunting. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Your hands tiptoe beneath the waistband of your trousers of their own volition, circling your clit as tears meld with your sweat into the carpet. You can hear the agony in every throaty sound he makes, and it hurts you just as much.
And then he starts saying your name. It’s barely audible, or would be if the world around you hadn’t risen to an unknowable crescendo in every possible way.
“Leon, please,” you whisper in response, going harder, faster — but your fingers slip with how wet you are, and you can’t satisfy the gaping hole inside you. A sob of despair pierces through the room, and it takes you a moment to realise it belongs to you.
Almost in unison, you hear his fist slam the shower door and know he feels it, too.
You want to go to him. Help him, end this torment for both of you. But even now, panic ricochets through you at the thought. If people found out, and they would, you’d forever be the agent who fucked her way to the top. You’d be an object to them. They wouldn’t see your hard work, just the fact you opened your legs for your superior.
You’re lying like that, hand limp between your thighs, minutes later, when Leon staggers out of the bathroom with water dripping over him. He’s made the effort to put his clothes back on, which means he’s still trying to resist, just like you. Only, the shaky breaths the two of you let out as he observes you on the carpet are frail, brittle.
“It hurts so bad,” you confess.
“I know.”
“What if it doesn’t stop?”
“I could ask Sherry to… I don’t know, get you something. A toy.”
A vehement snort falls from you, until you realise he isn’t joking. In fact, he’s looking at you with more care than should be allowed in a moment like this. Like he’d sit there, ignoring his own needs to tend to yours.
Your resolve wavers. You want him. Enough not to care what people would say. Enough that no toy would be enough.
“Why haven’t you tried to fuck me yet?”
“Don’t,” he warns.
“Just answer me. Why?”
“Because you deserve a hell of a lot better than that. Because you’ve made it clear you don’t want it, and I will never, ever force you, even if it fucking kills us both. Because you’re my responsibility, and I will find a way to take care of this that doesn’t involve hurting you even more than you already are.”
You drag your glassy eyes to the ceiling. “None of those reasons included the fact that you don’t want to.”
Nothing, just the shuffle of his boots as he returns to the sink.
“Leon.”
He tugs at his hair. You understand now why he wanted you to change position before, his own ass punctuated by his stance. From below, you can appreciate his thighs, his calves, a man built from a strength nobody should ever need to survive in this world — but he did, and fuck, you found that sexy long before this affliction took hold.
“Do you want to?” you prod.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I wanted to,” you blurt. “Before. I mean, I would never have acted on it…”
“You’re delirious.”
“Fuck you, Kennedy. I’m being honest,” you snap.
His gulp is audible. Slowly, he turns, taking unsteady steps towards you. Even the rustle of the carpet against the rubber soles of his boots has you biting the inside of your cheek until you taste blood.
He kneels beside you, swipes the matted hair from your eyes. You shudder, his touch leaving embers in its wake. More tears, dampening your cheeks, running into the carpet.
“Of course I wanted to,” he says. “Even if you are a stubborn-as-hell pain in my ass.”
Your scoff is mirthless, hips bucking as your core clenches again. “Then do it. Please. I want you to make this go away.”
“I can’t. Not like this.”
“Please.” Your voice quivers and cracks. “Please, just fuck me. We both want it. Need it. I need it.” You place his hand on your breast, rippling with every laborious breath. Your nipples harden, pleading with his uncertain fingers. “Leon—”
He squeezes, causing a shrill gasp as your back arches. It’s like a lightning bolt, and it sears away the pain for just a moment.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m fucking sure. Get inside me. Now. Please.”
A growl rolls from him, and then he’s pulling down his pants and yours, so desperate to obey that they’re left at the hinges of your knees, restricting your movements, but not enough for either of you to care. All you can focus on is how badly your pussy weeps for him, how much you need to be full.
You claw through his hair, down his back, anywhere you can reach as he spreads your folds and stretches you out with his fingers. He didn’t need to. You’re ready. Have been for hours.
“You’re drenched,” he croons, breathless and nudging his cock against your thigh. It’s hot and satiny, already leaking with the same frenzied arousal. Still he finds time to gather your slick, watching it drip down to his knuckles with devastating fascination before sucking it away with puckered lips and fluttering lids.
“Now,” you beg. You can’t be teased, can’t even be touched, not until his cock is inside you.
“You’re so ready for me. So warm and wet and gorgeous,” he’s saying as he lines himself up. “She's so pretty. I couldn’t stop imagining how pretty she’d look, crying for me like this.”
You dig your fingernails into his back, urging him down, and then the world stills as finally your walls have something to mould themselves around. He’s slow, watching your expression even as his own strains with equal parts relief and pain. “Tell me if I hurt you. You have to tell me—”
“You won’t. You can’t.” The only thing that hurts is being empty, and you’re not now. When another sob racks you, it sends your hips jolting, and his breath catches.
“Fuck, sweetheart. Gonna take care of you now. Gonna make it go away.”
You bury your face into his neck as he inches deeper, the two of you a tangled, slippery mess of rasps and desperation.
“Worried I’m gonna come too soon,” he admits.
“You won't. Play with my clit and I'll get there,” you beg.
He does, and your toes curl in long-awaited ecstasy. He inhales your moans like they’re oxygen in a suffocating space, sliding back to plunge into you again. He goes deeper this time, grip burrowing into your ass cheeks until you’re certain you’ll have bruises for weeks. Good. With your hazy fever, you’re afraid you might forget otherwise, and all the pain was worth it for the bliss you feel now. You’re made of liquid flames, less human and more animal, baring your teeth in silent command for more, more, more.
Leon tilts your hips as he increases his pace, one arm wedged between you so he can maintain his rhythm on your clit. Goosebumps rise on your skin, your legs wrapping tightly around him until you’re moving as one languid, primal creature, all claws and teeth as your pussy devours his cock.
“This good? Think you can come like this?” he’s asking.
You’re too fucked out to reply, mouth agape, eyes closed, intoxicated by the smell of sweat and slick and hormones enveloping the two of you.
“Baby, need you to talk to me. Tell me you’re okay.”
“'M okay. So good,” you whisper. “Don’t stop. Go harder.”
He pistons into you then, bottoming out with every thrust until he’s passing over your G-spot and splitting you all the way open. You grab anything you can find with sharp nails and sharper teeth: hair, flesh, lips. It’s the first time in hours that agony has lightened to a gentle gnawing and you never want this to stop. You’re dripping all over the carpet, his balls slapping against you and pussy walls squelching, and his fingers are slipping through your folds with so much glorious ease, so much care, even now.
“I need to be on top,” you say, and he lets you roll him onto his back so you can writhe all over his cock, hitting corners he couldn‘t reach before.
Leon lifts your straddled hips before slamming them back down, over and over, and you’re scared you won’t be able to hold yourself upright for much longer.
“You’re so perfect. Want to live in this warm cunt for the rest of my life.”
“Want you to fill me up,” you reply. “Come inside me. Want to feel you come inside me.”
“So close, sweetheart.” You can tell it’s true, vein throbbing in his flushed neck and features growing taut. He purses his lips, lets out another primitive growl as he uses his free hand to squeeze your tits. “What were you dreaming about before, hm?”
“You. I was — fuck." You almost fall off, and he’s there, righting you, supporting you, keeping you steady. “Your cock was in my mouth. Fingers in my hair. Tasted so good.”
“I was imagining this,” he admits. “Watching my stubborn little sweetheart fuck my cock until she can barely stay upright.” A grunt, and then his cock is swelling, spilling, your walls clenching around him as he chases every spark. His seed pools between you with your own arousal, coating your folds so that every chafe over his pelvis has you quivering. And there, with his fingers going harder on your clit, you find your own release swathes you like spring sunlight, a glowing, breathing thing wrapping you in its arms.
“That’s right. Fuck it out,” he’s muttering, almost incoherent as he aids your every rut.
It seems to last forever, this hot, heavenly electricity, you convulsing with frenzied abandon, him watching until, minutes later, you slump against his chest with him still locked between your legs.
There’s nothing to say for a long time. You wait, tentatively, for the symptoms, the agony, to return, but it doesn’t. There’s just him and his heartbeat and a new exhaustion that leaves you boneless.
“You okay?” Leon rasps finally.
You can only hum, breath riffling through the hairs on his chest.
He twists his fingers through your hair, leaving your scalp tingling. “Doesn’t hurt anymore?”
“No. You?”
“No.” A kiss is placed on your head, so tender it knocks the breath from you. “We should clean up, sweetheart. We made a hell of a mess.”
“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t go.” You’re scared that when he slides out of you, the pain will come back.
So he doesn’t, wrapping his arms around you and listening to your breaths even out. “Not going anywhere," is the last thing you hear before you fall asleep.
Summary: Sex pollen galore, but listen: you and Leon both work at the DSO and you hate each other kicking my feet, giggling
Masterlist
Notes: Thank you guys so so much for 5- *checks notes* 600?! How did that happen so fast? I swear I started writing right away.
word count: 4.5k
Warnings: nsfw, sex pollen, non-con if you squint, age gap, younger reader, semi-public sex (sorry Sherry), oral m!receiving, bratty reader, slight daddy kink, orgasm denial at the verge of death, subby Leon?, Leon So much cum Kennedy receiving the blowjob of his life and seeing god holy shit what even is this
K was the eleventh letter of the alphabet. You knew because you had been counting down ever since you had started working with the DSO. K like Kennedy.
“Kennedy, you’re with the junior.” Of course. Every single time you got paired up with fucking Kennedy.
“The junior has a name,” you murmured, shaking your head, shooting a look at the senior agent.
He looked pissed. Like being teamed up with you was the worst thing that could have ever happened to him.
You had no idea what you had done to deserve this level of hatred but ever since you had walked through the doors of the DSO, it burned bright like a fire in him, apparently. He couldn’t even stand looking at you most days. Like now, grinding his teeth, avoiding your gaze at all costs.
You and me both, old man, you thought.
At first you had tried to be friendly with him. He was kind of your superior after all. Not directly, but all junior agents answered to the more experienced ones, especially if they were a founding member.
But lo and behold it became clear that he thought you were less than capable. At first you thought he was nothing but a misogynistic asshole. But then you realised he wasn’t like that with the other female agents. Only you. It seemed personal. Like he thought specifically you had no idea what you were doing, which pissed you off even more.
It hurt a little, if you were being honest. Leon Kennedy was well regarded by everyone. You wanted him to think highly of you, too.
And you weren't a rookie by any means. Actually you were the most competent agent in your field, but something about working on a mission with Agent Kennedy made you feel like you didn't even know how to do the basics. Probably because he never let you do anything on your own and was always there to take the load off your shoulders. As if you were a damsel in distress. You hated it.
It was dangerous as well. You were supposed to cover for him too. But he never let you. You had tried plenty of times.
The mission at hand was retrieving some biochemically altered plants from an underground Umbrella facility. Ones that were suspected to spread airborne pathogens, infecting whoever was unlucky enough to breathe them in.
“Let’s go then,” Kennedy growled, pushing out of his chair, already walking off to the armory without so much as looking at you. You involuntarily sank deeper into your seat. Something about Kennedy made you feel smaller than you actually were, younger too, less experienced. Incompetent.
You drew in a determined breath and followed him down the hallway.
This was the mission to change that. You were going to show him how capable you were, once and for all. And finally Leon Kennedy would tell you that you were doing a good job.
After a whole bunch of briefings because of the high risk of contamination on your mission, you and Kennedy were in the field, Sherry Birkin on your earpiece.
“Sherry, we're in the warehouse.” Kennedy murmured, walking in ahead of you as if you weren’t even there. Why didn‘t he just go on these missions alone? He was so shit with other people, and especially you.
Your determination to prove yourself to him had disappeared as soon as he had once again, come between you and your first target, eliminating it for you. It was an unarmed janitor. As if he could make it any more clear that he thought you had absolutely no idea what you were doing.
Kennedy didn't only walk in ahead of you, no. He held the door open for you as well, as if he suddenly remembered the liability he was constantly dragging around.
“I can open doors myself, you know,” you hissed.
“You’re slow. You need to keep up or you’ll get yourself killed.”
“If you didn't run ahead like that all the time, I wouldn’t have to.” You asshole, you wanted to add but you remembered he was your superior after all. Not your direct one, but still.
“Check the boxes,” Sherry said over your earpiece. “I need to know the serial number to find the one we’re looking for.”
You nodded, grabbing one of them immediately. Too slow, you were going to show him 'too slow'.
Kennedy did a double take. "Don't touch that."
“She said check the boxes. Do you need a hearing aid?“ you hissed, getting out your knife and slipping it under the lid.
“She said she needs the serial number,” he retorted, rushing to your side, his hands closing around yours, halting your movements. You ignored the way your heartbeat kicked up at his touch. Kennedy always made you nervous whenever he was near, that was nothing new.
“If you had listened during the briefings you would know that they printed false serial numbers on the outside to lead us astray,” you spat, struggling against him.
It was pointless. The man was pure muscle, his grip like a vice. But you tried anyway because you were full of rage. He wouldn’t let you do anything. Not even what you were being paid to do. Not even checking a god damn label.
Because of your little tussle with Kennedy your knife got wedged deeper into the box than you intended.
“Let go,” you hissed through gritted teeth.
“You let go, junior,” Kennedy growled in return.
“Whatever you do,” Sherry’s voice sounded over your earpiece. “Do not puncture the—”
Kennedy pushed down on your wrist too hard and you yowled, your hand slipping off the hilt. “You’re breaking my wrist, asshole.”
Without you to counter his movement, Kennedy pried the lid open in one swift motion, a cloud of greenish yellow pollen erupting from the box, coating his entire face. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“—plastic inside. As far as we know, they’re probably trying to contain some sort of highly infectious microspores.”
Under all the pollen you still saw a muscle tick in Kennedy’s jaw. He wiped the dust off his face. “I said don‘t touch it.”
"Sorry," you stammered, cheeks hot, realising you had called a senior agent an asshole to his face. You wanted to disappear off the face of the earth.
Kennedy sneezed. “Sherry, what if we did? And got the plant shit all over our face?” He sneezed again.
“Wash it off with water immediately and check inside the box for the serial number. I‘ll try and find out what it is,” she replied. “But be careful not to get any more of that stuff on you.”
Leon sneezed a third time and fumbled for his canteen, unscrewing the top and dousing himself with water. He shook his head like a dog, droplets flying everywhere.
“I seriously hope for you this isn’t poisonous,” he hissed, taking a sip of water for good measure.
You held up a hand. “If you had just let me do what I needed to do, you wouldn’t be covered in chemically fucked up plant right now,” you snapped, slipping on a pair of gloves and lifting the front of your compression shirt over your nose and mouth, before approaching the box. You had enough of him babysitting you. This was ridiculous.
“Excuse me, what?” He whipped around. “I’m a senior agent, you should listen to me and not think you know better all the time. Look where that got us both.”
You carefully lifted the lid, dodging another whiff of pollen escaping, scanning the plastic inside for the serial number.
He blamed you for this. If you ever had a chance of Kennedy respecting you, there it went. And with his standing in the DSO, you would never be able to get a foot on the ground in the organisation. You’d better update your CV asap. They would absolutely sack you for this.
You closed the lid as soon as you found it, sealing it shut with duct tape to be safe. “Sherry, the serial number is AV-4/B.” You slipped off your gloves and tossed them to the side.
“Alright,” she said. “Are you both contaminated or just Leon?”
“Just Agent Kennedy,” you replied. You would also call him Leon like every other person in the DSO but he insisted on keeping you on a last name basis. So you never dared.
“I’m fine, Sherry,” Kennedy cut in, splashing some more water on his face and rubbing it onto the back of his neck too. You didn’t miss the way he propped himself up against the wall with his hands. “Besides, we have to keep going.”
“Leon, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Sherry said. “We have no idea what this might do to you. It’s too dangerous.”
Agent Kennedy was breathing heavily and you looked him up and down. He didn’t seem changed, but you agreed with Sherry. You stepped closer to him, feeling his forehead.
He flinched like the touch pained him. “Don’t touch me.”
“Holy shit,” you breathed. “Sherry, he’s burning up.”
“Get him somewhere you’re both safe. I’ll try and figure out what he was infected with.”
Kennedy shook his head, little droplets still slipping from his hair.
“You heard her,” you said, grabbing his shoulder, but he shrugged you off.
“I said don’t touch me, junior” he hissed.
You scanned your surroundings for a safe place where you could hunker down until you got the all-clear from your dispatcher.
“In here,” you said, opening the door to the nearest shipping container, trying to push Agent Kennedy inside.
He whimpered at your touch. The invincible agent Kennedy whimpered. This was bad.
“Oh shit,” you hissed, barring the door from the inside.
“No, no, no,” Leon protested. “Don’t lock yourself in here with me.”
You huffed. “Shut up, Leon.” Another inappropriate way of speaking to a senior agent, and first name basis as well. But you were done for anyway. “I’m not a damsel in distress, I know what I’m doing.”
He winced, lowering himself down to sit against the wall. “I never said you didn’t.”
You whipped around to face him. “You didn’t have to, you’re always on my ass, no matter what I do.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, ridding himself of his weapons and harness, tossing them to the side. “Can you blame me? It's a good ass.”
You did a double take. Kennedy was seriously unwell. He coughed, clearly trying to cover up what he had just said.
You crouched down beside him and he flinched again.
“Don’t come so close,” he panted. “I can smell you.”
“What do you mean, you can smell me? I don’t stink, I showered before we went out on this mission,” you said, offended.
Leon’s brow knitted together in helplessness and he leaned his head against the wall. “I’m serious, back off.”
“No way,” you insisted, fumbling for the canteen on your belt, screwing the top off and offering it to him.
He eagerly grabbed it, drinking the water inside, some of it spilling down his prominent Adam's apple as he did.
Despite him being old enough to be your father—and an absolute asshole to be around—you couldn’t deny that Leon Kennedy was an exceptionally handsome man. Hot even.
Right now, literally. He was sweating so much, wet patches had formed all the way down the back of his tactical shirt.
“Take it off,” you ordered, as you began to unlace his boots.
He shook his head, lips pressed together, like he was fighting something invisible inside his own body.
You slipped off both his boots, tossing them to the side, grabbing where his shirt was tucked into his tactical pants. “I said, take it off, Leon. Don’t be so stubborn.”
He struggled against you, trying to get a hold of your hands, but you managed to pull his shirt out of his pants at least, grazing his crotch when he tried to stop you.
“Holy shit,” you breathed.
You had just touched your superior's dick.
Not your direct superior, but that didn’t matter. Because you also hadn’t touched his flaccid dick. No, no. Leon Kennedy was rock hard beneath those tactical pants.
“I’m sorry,” he whined, squirming, desperately trying to get comfortable.
You stared at him. “So when you said you could smell me you meant—”
“Don’t say it,” he pleaded, swallowing hard, his throat bobbing. He looked like he was in agony.
“My vagina,” you concluded.
Leon bit back a moan and you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “It’s the plant,” he whispered.
“So it’s what? Some kind of super potent viagra?” you said, still tugging at his shirt.
“Stop, what are you doing?” He tried to push away your hand but as soon as your skin touched his, a groan slipped past his lips and he clasped his hands behind his back.
“Leon, I know you’re incapable of listening to me in any situation, but this is serious. You’re burning up and I don’t care that you have a boner right now,” you hissed. “You were infected with some kind of chemically altered shit. Take your fucking shirt off.”
He finally caved, letting you slip his shirt over his head. You drew in a sharp breath. Leon Kennedy shirtless was a sight to see. Taut skin stretching over chiselled abs, beefy pectorals, perfect for propping yourself up on while you were riding him.
You touched your chest, feeling for your heartbeat and breathing. Were you contaminated too?
Oh. No, you were just horny for a man old enough to be your father.
Leon’s nose crinkled and he turned his head away from you. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?” you asked.
“Getting wet, I can smell it.”
You rubbed your forehead. This was going to make for one awkward as hell debrief. “I hope we don’t have to write a report on this,” you murmured and pressed your earpiece, calling for Sherry. No one answered.
You took out your knife and cut off a piece of your shirt, exposing a sliver of your belly.
“What are you doing?” Leon rasped.
“Relax,” you shushed him, folding the fabric carefully and wetting it with water from your canteen. You scooted closer to Leon, dabbing his forehead with your makeshift cloth. His eyes fluttered shut. "I hate to break it to you, but you're in no state right now. You're going to have to let me take over."
“You hate me,” he huffed.
“You hated me first,” you countered, flipping the cloth over so the new, cool side was pressed against his forehead.
“I don’t though,” he rasped. “I think you’re one of the best agents we have.”
You shook your head. “You’re delirious. We’ll talk about that when you’re less animalistic.”
He chuckled and you joined in.
A hand shot forward, grabbing your wrist. “Stop that.”
“What?”
“Laughing. Smiling, everything.” He writhed, palming his cock with his other hand, desperately trying to get comfortable.
Your breath hitched in your throat. It was the plant, you reminded yourself. This wasn’t really him.
“Anytime you laugh in a meeting it’s torture for me,” he whispered.
“Is that why you never talk to me?” you breathed, continuing to dab his forehead, the fact that his hand was still clamped around your wrist not escaping you.
He gave a shy nod.
“So when you say you don’t hate me…” you went on.
“The second you set foot in the DSO headquarters I knew you were going to be my downfall,” he rasped.
You paused, watching the way he was leaning into your touch involuntarily, like he couldn’t help himself. “Did you request to be partnered up with me? Is that why I’m on missions with you every single time?”
He nodded again and you leaned closer to him. “I needed to ensure your safety myself. I don’t trust anyone else with it.”
You bit back another comment about how you didn’t need anyone to take care of you. You had a feeling your capacity of knocking a grown man out cold had nothing to do with his instinct to protect you.
“Leon, if this is some kind of enhanced viagra, I can help you.”
He shook his head, his jaw working. “I would never ask that of you.”
“I’m offering. And in a way this is … necessary,” you whispered. “But if you’d rather do it yourself, I can look the other way and make sure you’re okay while you do it.”
"Fuck no, that’s way worse," he grunted, a rosy blush creeping up on his cheeks. "I'm not gonna let you watch me jack off."
“Alright, it’s settled then,” you said, hands moving down to the buttons of his tactical pants, undoing them one by one. Your mouth watered with anticipation.
You would be lying if you said you had never imagined what Leon S. Kennedy looked like naked. Or what he would be like in bed. Matter of fact, the second you had seen him, walking into the DSO on your very first day you thought he was the most attractive man you had ever set eyes on. The fact that he was so much older, making it all the more forbidden and enticing.
Leon’s hand shot forward again in an attempt to keep your hands from doing what they were doing. “Don’t. This is so unprofessional,” he pleaded and you felt him twitch beneath your palm. He was hanging by a thread.
You sighed. “Yes, it is. Very much so. But do you not want me to?”
He bit his lower lip and his restraint finally snapped. His hands fell down to his sides and he let himself sink lower against the wall, giving in.
Your hands became shaky when you pushed his pants off his hips. What would this be like at the office?
Avoiding each other at all costs? Not looking when the other person spoke? So business as usual.
His cock sprang free and you gasped. It was the most beautiful cock you had ever seen: thick, long and just as veiny as Leon's forearms.
"Oh fuck," you breathed. How was he the one under the spell of those damn plants when you could feel yourself grow wetter by the second?
Leon whimpered again, covering his eyes with his arm. Right. Heightened sense of smell.
You closed your hand around his base, squeezing him. That was already enough to draw a breathy moan out of him.
The great Leon S. Kennedy. Putty in your hands.
You gently spread the pre-cum that had gathered on the tip with your thumb, giving him a tentative pump.
“Oh fuck,” Leon groaned. “I’m so sensitive. It’s not usually like that.”
A grin tugged at your lips. Was he now? No time like the present to take a little revenge for all those times he had made you feel like a child during your missions. It was too easy.
You leaned down, gently running your full lips along the underside of his cock, as you slowly pumped him, gripping him tightly.
His breath hitched and his head shot up, staring at you with half-lidded eyes, brows drawn together. “You don’t have to do that, you can just ah—”
You shut him up with an open mouthed kiss to the tip of his cock and a hand slipped into your hair.
“I always exceed expectations, Agent Kennedy,” you whispered, breath fanning over his most sensitive body part. “If you ever let me do what I’m being paid to do on our missions, you would know that already.”
Leon whimpered and you licked up his entire length in one broad stroke. His hips bucked and the grip on your scalp tightened.
“Please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” he whined and you chuckled, looking up at him.
“Oh, I will make it harder,” you promised, closing your lips around his tip, hollowing your cheeks.
Leon growled, drawing in a sharp breath.
You hummed in response, swirling your tongue around his tip, continuing to work him with your hand, as you french-kissed his cock.
“Oh fuck, that feels so good,” Leon breathed, his cock twitching in your mouth. You released him with a lewd popping sound, looking at him with lustful eyes.
He stared at you, mesmerised, his other hand coming down to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your lower lip, all wet and glistening with your saliva and his pre-cum.
You grinned. “Do you want it sloppy or neat?”
He chuckled, dipping his thumb into your mouth for you to suck on. “Has anyone ever said neat?”
You shook your head. “Never happened.”
Leon grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed you back down on his cock, thrusting his hips up. You eagerly took him deeper into your mouth, saliva running down the sides, gathering at the base of his cock.
“Fuck yes, just like that,” he groaned, hitting the back of your throat. You gagged, but that only meant more saliva to lubricate for a softer glide.
“I’ve been thinking about this in meetings all the fucking time,” he confessed, moaning loudly. “That’s why I couldn’t look at you. Because I kept thinking about what you’d look like choking on my cock.”
A moan racked through you at his confession, sending vibrations through his entire body, making him draw in a sharp breath. You came back up to catch your breath.
“What else were you thinking about?” you asked, puffy lips spreading your saliva all over his length. “Because when I first saw you, I thought about how I wanted you to bend me over your desk and fuck me.”
Leon groaned. “Don’t say that. I’m old enough to be your father.”
You shot him a fiendish grin. “Daddy.”
You sank down on him again.
“Holy shit,” Leon panted, squirming underneath you, cock twitching. You swallowed around him, raking your fingernails over his abs.
“I’m gonna cum,” he moaned, his breathing coming ragged, his fingers in your hair tightening, pulling at it ever so slightly.
Tongue pressed to the underside of his cock, you moved up, sucking him into a vacuum for the grand finale, spit leaking past your lips.
"Oh fuck, just like that." He gritted his teeth, moments from losing it. "Don't st—"
You pulled your mouth off him.
Leon's eyes flew open and he let out most pathetic sound you had ever heard. His hips bucked, cock thrusting up at—nothing.
You chuckled. "You didn't think I'd let you cum that easily, did you?"
He whimpered, brows knitting together. "What are you doing?"
You shook your head. "This whole time, you make me feel like I'm a good for nothing rookie and now you think I'm just gonna suck you off like nothing happened?"
He swallowed, trying to catch his breath. "This is serious, I could die from this."
A smirk tugged at your lips. This was too good.
You shrugged. "See, if I were in your situation, I would ask nicely."
"Junior..."
You clicked your tongue, scoldingly wagging your finger in front of his face.
He let out a laboured breath, fists clenching at his sides. Oh, he hated this. For a moment, you almost backed down.
But you were going to have to look for a new job anyway, so fuck it.
"Say 'please'," you purred, sticking out your tongue, almost close enough to reach, close enough to run over his length, tracing every vein.
"This is very unprofessional," he whined, eyes never leaving you. "We are supposed to work together to ensure mission success."
You raised an eyebrow at him. "Unprofessional? Leon, you have your dick in my face." You licked his tip and he let out another broken moan. He was at the very edge of sanity. "Besides, I feel like it's not me who needs a lesson in cooperating with my assigned mission partner."
He thrust his hips upward again, desperately pushing himself against your face. You leaned back.
"Say it." You leaned in closer, watching his muscles ripple underneath his skin, a sheen glint of sweat coating his entire chest. "Fucking beg for it, Leon."
"Please, okay? Please make me cum, I'm fucking begging you, I can't take this anymore," Leon whined. "Please let me cum in your mouth."
You closed your lips around him, making eye contact as you did. Leon looked like he was about to die. Because of the plant or because of you was hard to tell.
Hollowing your cheeks, you picked up right where you had left off, sucking, licking, lapping up every bit of precum and restraint he had left in him. Every single muscle in his body was taut like a bowstring, ready to snap at any moment.
His lips fell open and he let out a strangled moan, cock twitching inside your mouth. Your hand moved down to cup his balls, tight and ready to release all he had into you and you pushed down on his length, swallowing around him.
He cried out, grabbing the back of your head and pushed himself impossibly deeper into your throat, making your eyes water.
"Oh fuck," he panted and you tried to relax your throat, failing, gagging on his cock.
Leon came with a moan loud enough to echo through the entire shipping container and you desperately tried to come back up for air, thick ropes of white coating your tongue, some of it spilling out the corners of your mouth.
This was sloppy as hell. Cum dripped all over his tactical pants and down your chin as you kept sucking him through his orgasm.
“Fuck, you look so beautiful like that,” Leon breathed, cock twitching, giving you one last bit of cum to lap up. Your eyes fluttered shut at the salty taste. Why did he taste so good?
Despite the state of you, you licked him clean and pressed a parting kiss to his now softened tip. You sat up, both your breaths coming out ragged. Cum trickled down the collar of your compression shirt and tears were beginning to dry on your cheeks.
Oh, this debrief was going to be hell for everyone involved.
Leon’s chest was heaving, as he came down from his high and—his infection.
"I don't know what to say," he panted, staring straight ahead.
"Me neither," you replied, shyly backing away, sinking down against the wall next to him, wiping your mouth and chin with your sleeve. Fuck it. This was a whole mess anyway. And you weren't talking about the shirt.
“I..." Leon started, pausing. "Good job, agent."
You chuckled dryly. What the hell were you thinking? Playing with him like that in a life or death situation? This was bad. What had gotten into you? You could drag your ass straight to HR after this, cum stained shirt and everything.
"I feel like I owe you dinner,” Leon murmured, wrinkling his forehead.
Your eyebrows shot up. “Thanks, but I just ate,” you whispered, mechanically.
You and Kennedy looked at each other from the corner of your eyes, waiting for each other's reaction.
“Agents? Agents are you there?” Sherry’s voice over your earpieces made you both jump. Leon frantically pulled up his pants. “Leon? Are you okay?”
“Sherry,” you rasped. “Please tell me you didn’t hear any of that.”
“Nobody heard a thing,” she replied, voice a little shaky.
Leon grabbed his earpiece. “What do you mean nobody? Sherry, who else is there?”
𖦹˙— summary: interrupting his work and riding his thigh…
°. 🐚 ⋆ 𐔌 word count: ꒱ ~1.8k
⋆. 𐙚 ̊ warnings: sort of bad and rushed writing | maybe a bit victor focused… | maybe a little ooc
‧˚꒰🐾 18+ MDNI ˚. ᵎᵎ thigh riding, light degrading, hint of power play (i think?), faint hand stuff, vague choking at a point
₊ ⊹ pairings: victor gideon + (fem) reader
there was always a lingering scent of old books and some sort of cherry air freshener in victor’s private office. maybe he had tried cleaning some time earlier, the window was actually somewhat open for once.
that wasn’t the main concern though.
the main concern was with way you had disrupted his quiet working time to be all pressed against him. he didn’t necessarily mind too much, he could easily multitask, but the issue was the way you had suddenly claimed his lap as your space now. it was like dealing with an oversized house cat with separation issues. he had only left you alone for an hour.
victor did his best to keep his focus on his work. the lights were half dimmed for once and his visor was set aside on top of the stack of books nearby. he was a bit more relaxed than usual too. it was nice, peaceful even!
well… peaceful if he ignored you. he’s done that pretty well for the past few minutes actually.
actually; he just didn’t mind it. he was pretty good at ignoring the way you whined against his shoulder when he didn’t pay attention to you or when you’d purposely mess with his clothes to try and get his attention.
his left hand was slowly tracing over your lumbar vertebrae, mapping out the rest of your spine in his head while he pretended to focus on the work on his screen. it wasn’t very interesting in full honesty. it was just the results of some bloodwork and paperwork he needed to fill out. he did technically have an actual job after all.
“…victor,” you eventually murmur, head rested against his shoulder and turned to look up at him. he didn’t respond, which only prompted you to repeat his name again a bit louder and with a small whine attached to it.
victor only moved his left down to one of your hips, looking over at you from the corner of his eye before back at his screen.
“you created this situation,” he stated, tone sounding almost disinterested; but he was very interested. he’s just gotten better at hiding it when he needed to. “…so, naturally, you figure out the solution,” he finally said after a few long seconds of silence. his tone sounded much more matter of fact this time around.
well, it certainly wasn’t a lie.
you had came into his office, tried to get his attention by taking your pants off and whatnot. it failed… badly. he hadn’t even spared you anything more than a glance! you had eventually moved to claim your space on his thigh and bother him up close… all to no avail.
“can’t you even just touch me?” you eventually speak up from your spot, both of your hands moving up to tug at his coat a bit.
“doctor gideon, please?” his title slips out in a whisper as your hands slide up his chest to trace the implant scar that rested over where his sternum was.
victor sighed, eyes closing for a brief second before he looked down at you. he scoffed, left hand sliding up to rub your waist lightly.
“you came and wanted to act like a cheap whore. that was your own action, now it’s your own consequence,” he chided, gaze fond despite his words.
he eventually sighed a bit heavily, both hands now resting on your hips. they weren’t guiding, weren’t forcibly moving… just resting there. it was the most teasing gesture right now. it definitely didn’t help that the tone he used on you had a direct impact on the warmth that felt like it laid deep in your pelvis. maybe it was a trick of the mind, or maybe it was a trick of the uterus. either way; you were affected.
“is your brain there for decoration or does it actually function?” victor voiced, hands tightening just a fraction. his hold wasn’t tight or possessive, just firm and like you could feel the tips of his fingers pressing against your bone. if you focused enough, it felt almost like he was rubbing along the curve of your iliac crest and memorizing the specific shape of your pelvic girdle slowly. it was a bit of a creepy thought—but rather endearing, considering how victor was. his tone felt degrading, but in such a gentle way that it felt like it was filled with love. or just whatever emotion he could feel that was close to love. you weren’t entirely sure exactly how he processed emotions; like actual people do or by how they’re displayed in textbooks.
you were not prepared for when he pressed his clothed thigh up into you. it drew out a surprised gasp, hands immediately grabbing whatever part of him was closest (which, thankfully, was the top of his coat in this case).
“really— it seems like your brain isn’t working right. do i really need to run another scan on you… or does it just malfunction because you’re turned on and reduced down to your instincts?” victor spoke freely, his hands guiding your hips slowly to start moving against his thigh. it was at least some form of attention.
“do i seriously have to do everything for you?” he sighed out, shaking his head softly as if this was some sort of hard task for him. his height attributed to some of his strength, so this genuinely wasn’t anything to difficult for him. he’s made it pretty clear that any weight you had was not much of an issue for him. he always brushed it off as being some form of extra effect from the nemesis-γ parasite in him. the added strength was nice anyways… all it did was make it easier to manhandle you however and whenever he pleased.
a surprised gasp was forcibly dragged out of you when the friction that came from him making you forcibly grind against his clothed thigh. the drag of the fabric from his pants pressed into the soaked fabric of your undergarments. it traveled right dow through your veins, making everything feel more heated than it had been.
your head pressed into his shoulder, feeling a bit fuzzy for a brief second.
victor just laughed, tongue flicking out just past his teeth. it felt so mocking, but also his gaze felt like it held so much adoration. it was such a weird mix, but it made everything feel much more intimate. you weren’t even aware of the soft moans slipping from you until he stopped moving you.
you turned your head to half-heartedly glare at him, mouth hanging just a fraction in what would’ve been a moan.
“what? if you want something, you’re going to have to put in some work,” he talked down at you, voice bordering on false disappointment. he could do all the work and control the pace and such for you… but it was rather entertaining to watch you.
“you’re being mean,” you eventually mumble, arms moving to wrap around his neck in some sort of faux shield as you press your head into the smoother part of his neck.
that drew a genuine chuckle from his lips, chest vibrating faintly as the sound spilled out.
“i’m being mean? i was giving you what you want,” he teased, hands patting your hips lightly.
there was a faint silence that lingered for a long second before you even tried to move. you could feel the blood vessels in your cheeks widening, the faint heat slightly pressing into his skin. it was oddly satisfying for victor. his skin was pretty cool most the time.. so when he got heat from you blushing or just your general body heat, it made him feel nice inside — feel nice somewhere beneath the parasite. it could almost make him feel humanish again sometimes. the thought made him remember before he mutated; when he had still been human. it was something he missed some days. he felt like he couldn’t properly connect with you as well anymore because he, by definition, was a sort of ‘monster’ … and that thought did sting.
victor was pulled out from his thoughts as his head tilted down to watch the slow drag of your hips along his thigh. he inhaled deeply as he watched you for a moment. his hands rubbed at your hips before one slowly moved to rest on top of your lower abdomen. his other hand stayed over your hip, fingertips pressing hard enough just to graze over where your iliac crest rested again. it was a nice feeling for him, grounding in a weird sense.
you felt so good… slightly out of it but good regardless. was it really your fault to be this turned on when his thigh was just so nicely filled out? it didn’t help with the way he pressed his thigh up a bit to press into you more.
his hand that had been resting on your hip slid up to rest over the thoracic region of your spine, thumb rubbing against your skin lightly before sliding up to rest on the back of your neck. his fingers were loosely placed at the sides of your neck; not exactly trying to choke you out… just a faint reminder of how big his hands truly were.
you weren’t even fully aware that you leaned into his hand a bit more until his thumb rubbed over the skin under your jaw.
a slightly strangled moan came out as a surprise from you — not fully expecting victor’s fingers to have moved around to press down against your larynx very gently. despite his size, he was always surprisingly gentle… most the time at least. the slightly scratchy feeling lingering as you rolled your hips against his thigh. the fabric of your panties were dragging perfectly, painfully over the muscle of his thigh and up into you. it only made the ache build up.. but it was so nice still.
“oh, fuck…” you uttered, eyes falling shut easily. the noises you made were just ones that spilled out into the space between you and victor easily.
it was clear he was letting you set the pace for the moment. even if it was dragging down your patience for him. in times like these, the need for victor made everything else feel smaller. it was hard to focus when your head felt filled with him.
it really wasn’t quite fair that he was as big as he was. his hands always felt giant against you, especially in times like this. sure, his hands felt cold… but it was a good type of cold that was almost refreshing against your skin. it was almost enough to make you forget the way his thigh felt like it took up the entirety of the space between your own.
it was definitely going to be a long while before victor got back to his work.
( -` 💋 ´- ) i hope this was decent at the very least !! this took me way longer than i expected for it to because… i genuinely didn’t know what to do with it anymore. this is so bad, i’m gonna die actually. this has been sitting in my drafts for over a month because i refuse to look at it, i hate it but it’s okay… i can redeem myself, i promise… anyways happy pride month 🥳🥳
his large warm hands suddenly clamp down on your hips, stilling your rocking completely. you’re on top, taking every thick inch of him, and he doesn’t let you move. he just wants you to sit there, filled to the brim with him, while his gaze drinks you in. his thumbs draw slow, lazy circles on the supple skin of your hips, a stark contrast to the unyielding fullness of him deep inside you.
a minute ago he was pounding into you, the rhythmic slap of your bodies echoing in the room as he chased your orgasm, his cock repeatedly bruising your cervix. but now, he just wants to pause. to feel. he can feel that spongy little knot of nerves deep inside you that the head of his cock is nudging, a promise of the pleasure he can give you even in stillness. he just wants to admire the beautiful woman he somehow managed to get on top of him, the one he could finally call his.
the age gap between you two is always enough to turn heads whenever you’re out doing things together, you in your mid-twenties and him pushing fifty, but god, it only turns you on more. you’ve always loved older men. guys your own age felt like fumbling boys; they could never satisfy you, never in the way leon has. he’s one of a kind, and you fully intend on keeping him forever. it might sound silly to anyone else, but you’ve never been more serious about anything in your life.
his voice, a low and gravelly rumble, pulls you out of your thoughts. “fuck, baby, i could stay buried in you all day, with no complaints.” his hands slide from your hips, moving up your stomach to cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your already hard nipples. “she was made just for daddy, huh?”
you let out a soft, breathy sigh at the feeling, leaning into his touch. “mhm, just for you. nobody else.”
a slow, impossibly smug smirk spreads across his face. he loves when you’re little miss possessive right back.
“music to my ears, sweetheart.”
𝓫efore 𝔂ou 𝓰o . . . i need to experience this one day 🤞🏼 omfg.
