leon’s #1 fan

just here for fics for leon kennedy, miguel o’hara, simon riley, könig, bts, nijisanji en & din djarin 18+

[chloesimaginationthings]

Resident evil 2 really changed Leon and Claire,,

[lilacgrayskies]

☁︎⋅ (18+) sucking off yummy smelling leon (request)

the heavy thud of the front door closing echoes through the quiet apartment, followed by a long sigh. leon is finally home. 

he doesn’t even make it past the entryway before he drops his tactical gear bag to the floor with a dull thud. he’s spent the last three days in the humid, suffocating climate of a coastal jungle mission, and it shows. 

his dark blue compression shirt was darkened with a layer of sweat and dirt. his hair was damp, clinging to his forehead and the nape of his neck. he looked absolutely wrecked, chest heaving slightly as he rests his head against the wall, eyes closing. 

 “hey,” he rasps, his voice rough from exhaustion. “don’t get too close, I smell like garbage.”

but you’re already moving toward him, like a shark drawn to blood. to anyone else, he might just look like a tired soldier needing a shower. to you, he smelled like absolute heaven.

the moment you stepped in close, the thick, heavy wave of his natural scent hits you. it was the pure, unfiltered scent of leon. sharp copper and a deep musky undertone of concentrated sweat that has soaked into his skin and clothes over days of physical exertion. it was intoxicating, making your mouth water.

before he could say anything, you wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face into the crook of his neck. leon lets out a low chuckle, his hands awkwardly hovering above your hips. “c’mon, sweetheart, I’m dirty. let me go wash off first,” he groaned.

instead of pulling away, you slide your hands up his broad chest, feeling the damp heat radiating through his shirt. your nose drags along his jawline, catching the saltiness of his skin. 

with a soft, needy whimper, you nudge his arm upward. the compression shirt was absolutely drenched under his arms, holding the absolute potent concentration of his musk. you press your nose directly into the damp fabric of his underarms, taking a massive whiff. 

leon stiffens, a low groan catching in the back of his throat. his fingers twitch, finally digging into your waist to hold you steady. “you really are obsessed with this, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave.

“you smell good,” you smiled at him cheekily.

wanting to taste him just as badly, you lean up to kiss him softly, lingering on his lips just long enough to catch his ragged breathing before descending down his body. your hands work quickly, unbuckling his heavy tactical belt and pulling down his pants.

as his thick length springs free, the scent of his heat hits you instantly. you lean in close, taking a deep, worshipful inhale of his shaft, letting the heavy scent fill your nose before dragging your tongue slowly up the underside to lick the leaking tip.

“god, I could get high off you,” you moan against his skin, parting your lips and taking his swollen head into your mouth. 

leon lets out a ragged groan, his head snapping back as his fingers tangle in your hair. he leans against the wall for support, his thighs trembling slightly as he surrenders to your touch. he supposed he could let you have your way.

unable to hold back, his hips began to move on instinct, slowly thrusting into your mouth until a sudden sharp gasp left him. “g-gonna come,” he groaned.

he shudders violently, his grip tightening in your hair as he comes all over your face and mouth. breathing heavily, you look up at him through your lashes. your face is warm and painted in his release. you couldn’t help but smile as you were surrounded by his musky scent and covered in his fresh cum.

masterlist

© lilacgrayskies on tumblr

{dividers from @/cursed-carmine}

[lolalov3s]

Fine Wine

Leon Kennedy (Re9) x Fem!reader

Summary: Hitting the big 3-0 feels like an existential crisis when society has convinced you your desirability will officially expire. Fortunately, your 51-year-old neighbor is more than happy to prove that sex appeal only gets better with age.

Content: Smut (fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie), slightly insecure reader, and so much fluff it’s actually sickening

Word count: 6.5k

Masterlist❤︎ | Read on AO3

-

“What are you doing out here?”

The scent of cedar and gunpowder hits your nostrils before a pair of polished boots comes into your line of sight, stopping inches away from your toes.

Your complete lack of awareness is exactly why embarrassment warms your cold cheeks. Too consumed by mourning your current predicament, you hadn't even caught the subtle displacement of the evening air, nor the heavy crunch of Leon's stride closing the stretch of lawn between your two houses.

You should’ve, considering you’ve always been attuned to his presence, to the low timbre of his voice—heard it across the street while he’s bent over the hood of his car, felt it vibrate through the air when he offers a polite good morning that lingers long after he’s gone.

But that same voice currently carries a note of concern as he finds you at your absolute lowest, shivering in a low-cut party dress and smudged eyeliner right on your doorstep.

Your composure slumps even lower. “I’m locked out.”

The polished leather of his boots shifts. "Locked out," he repeats, “from your own house?”

“Lost my keys,” you explain, sounding as pathetic as you feel. You can feel his gaze tracking the line of your neck, kissing the field of goosebumps blooming across your skin. Leaving the house in nothing but a slip of silk suddenly seems like the worst decision of your life.

"I see," he says. "You don’t have a spare key under one of your plants?”

Your nose wrinkles in a small, self-deprecating scrunch as you glance up at him.

“Wouldn’t that be too obvious?”

“Obvious is often better than shivering in the dark.” His eyes sweep gently over your collarbone, noticing the way the thin straps of your dress dig slightly into your skin as you hunch over. “How long have you been sitting out in the cold?”

“Long enough to lose feeling in my toes.”

He frowns at the way you’ve wrapped your arms around yourself. Fragile little thing. “Come on.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to let you freeze to death on your own porch," he says, extending a hand towards you. "And I’m certainly not going to watch you turn blue from across the street while I have a perfectly good spare room.”

You stare at his large hand, contemplating whether stepping into the lair of the neighborhood’s most eligible (and most intimidating) bachelor is actually a safer bet than hypothermia.

Is it a good idea? Probably not. But the alternative is another hour of trembling in a thin slip while the wind bites harshly at your skin.

So you reach up, and under the disguise of a curiosity on what lies beyond his walls, you let his hand engulf your smaller one. His skin is a shock of warmth against your frozen fingers, and he pulls you up with an effortless strength that makes you feel momentarily weightless.

“Just for tonight,” you mumble, trying to reclaim a shred of your dignity as you wobble on your numb feet. You pointedly ignore the sharp pain in your heels as you find your balance. “I’ll call the locksmith first thing in the morning.”

“There’s no rush.” He lets go of your hand, palm sliding from your fingers to the small of your back. “The locksmith can wait until you’ve actually had a few hours of sleep.”

“I look that bad, huh?”

“Bad isn’t the word I’d use. Tired, maybe.” He gives you a once-over, looking a little bashful. “Still unfairly pretty.”

You let out a shaky breath, your legs feeling like lead as you navigate the curb. “You’re just being a good neighbor. You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying. The dress looks good on you.”

You look down at the soft material that clings to your damp skin, feeling suddenly very exposed. “Thanks.” Unconsciously, you find yourself leaning a fraction closer to him, seeking his body heat. “But it’s doing a terrible job of keeping me alive right now.”

And unconsciously, his palm skims around the curve of your waist. “Inclined to agree, unfortunately.”

“It was aesthetics over survival, felt like a fair trade for a celebration.”

“Yeah? What was the occasion?”

You let the silence linger a little longer before slowly answering, “My birthday.”

There’s a slight, reflexive squeeze of his hand on your waist. "Today's your birthday?"

“Yesterday, technically,” you correct him, noting that the hour has long since bled past midnight. "But yes."

"Well, happy birthday."

"Mhm."

He stops just inches from his front door, turns his head to peer down at you. You notice his brows pulling together in an observant line. "Don't sound too happy about it."

You let out a long sigh, letting your weight slump against the cold wood of the doorframe. The exhaustion is finally winning. “Birthdays are depressing,” you hum, tilting your head back to meet his eyes. “Another year of expectations you didn’t meet, another reminder that the clock is ticking. Don't you find them a bit… grim?”

He looks at you for a long beat before shaking his head, a single lock of silver falling across his left eye. "No. Not really," he says, turning the heavy brass handle and pushing the door inward. "But I’ve already had fifty-one of them to get used to the idea."

“So what you’re saying is I have to wait another twenty years to finally stop feeling like the world is ending?”

He catches your gaze, his expression softening into something dangerously close to a smile. “I’m saying that by the time you hit fifty, you realize the expectations were the only thing making it grim."

"That doesn't sound encouraging," you note as the house’s heating begins to thaw your frozen skin. "Twenty years is a long time to spend being disappointed."

His lips twitch. "It's not about the wait. It's about the perspective," he explains, guiding you further into the amber warmth of the foyer. "And you’re far too young to be this cynical."

"I wouldn't call myself young anymore."

"Fifty-one minus twenty. That makes you… what? Thirty-one?"

You try not to flinch, but a small, involuntary wince escapes you at the overestimation. "Thirty, actually."

"That’s still fairly young."

You throw him a dubious look. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepen. "It’s young," he insists, kicking off his shoes. You follow suit. Then he reaches out, catches your elbow, and guides you toward the living room where a long couch waits for you in the shadows.

His space is exactly as you’d imagined, steeped in warm masculine tones of deep walnut and charcoal. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. There’s the scent of old paper, expensive tobacco, and something clean like rain-washed cedar.

You also catch a faint, woody sting of bourbon, which you expected, but as you sink into the couch, you're surprised to notice a lone glass of red wine sitting on the coffee table.

"You drink wine?" You ask. "Never pegged you as a wine kind of guy."

He reaches for a heavy throw blanket draped over the back of an armchair and drapes it over your shoulder. "What do you peg me for?”

“Straight bourbon,” you admit, huddling into the wool. “Neat. Probably a double."

“I do have my few shares of bourbon.”

“Then I rest my case.”

He tilts his head in contemplation. "I suppose I've earned that reputation."

"You've earned a lot of reputation in this neighborhood."

“Don’t think I want to hear the half of it. Would you like a glass?"

You ponder if it’s a wise move. You’d spent the last four hours drowning in cocktails that were far too sweet, and the fuzzy warmth in your chest is a precarious balance against the exhaustion. Adding a glass of wine to the mix might be the final nudge your brain needs to completely shut down.

But as you look at him, standing tall and massive against the backdrop of his endless books with the fluorescent light tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the idea of a quiet glass of wine with your hot neighbor suddenly feels much more appealing than any of the neon shots you’d endured at the bar.

"I probably shouldn't… but it is my birthday.”

“Not trying to pressure you.”

“Not pressured. I’m actually curious what kind of wine a fifty-one year old bachelor drinks.”

“So I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Take it as a hell yeah.”

He disappears into what you think is a kitchen, and your bravado disappears along with him, replaced by a sudden spike of nerves. Now that he isn't standing directly over you, the reality of the situation settles over you like a heavy blanket draped over your frame.

You’re sitting on the couch of a man who is as intimidating as he is handsome, and you’re about to spend the first hours of your thirty-year drinking expensive wine in his lair.

The rug tickles your bare feet as you nervously tuck them under your thighs, trying to make yourself as small as possible in the vastness of his cushions.

“Here,” he announces himself again, and you notice that he’s pushed the long sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, revealing forearms that are corded with muscles and mapped with a faint dusting of hair.

You try not to blatantly stare at the prominent veins tracing down to his wrists as you reach out to take the glass from him. “What is it?”

“A Stag’s Leap Cabernet Sauvignon,” he says, settling into the opposite end of the long couch. He drapes one arm over the back, turns his body toward you. “From Napa. This one’s got a bit of ripeness to it. Black cherry, maybe a touch of vanilla.”

You hum, bringing the glass a little closer.

“Gets better with age too,” he continues, eyes lifting to yours. Then with the faintest hint of a smile, “Though it'd be perfect for the occasion.”

You can’t stop the flutter in your belly.

“That’s very sweet of you.”

“It does have a touch of sweetness if you let it sit.”

“No, I mean you, Leon.” You finally gather the nerve to meet his gaze, and find yourself tracing the tiny, crystalline specks of silver that radiate from his blue orbs. “Trying to make me feel better, offering me shelter when I was half-frozen on my doorstep.”

The air in the room seems to shift the moment his name leaves your lips. His shoulders visibly drop an inch. “Yeah, well, you’d do the same.”

You would. Although, as you look at the unshakable size of him, you could never imagine a man like him sitting pathetically out in the cold, mourning a nonexistent tragedy while spiraling over a birthday. Still, you’d have opened your door for him in a heartbeat, even if he weren't half-frozen—maybe especially if he weren't.

And you’re not sure what to make of that.

It’s a thought that feels a little too dangerous to hold onto while sitting this close to him, and you find yourself suddenly, helplessly distracted by the sharp curve of his lower lip.

“Here’s to saving Neighbors in Distress, then,” you offer absentmindedly.

He reaches out for his own glass on the coffee table. Hones his eyes on you with a sincerity that feels tangible as the room falls to the quiet space between his gaze and your breath. The silver specks in his irises seem to ignite in the low light, pinning you to his cushions.

“And to aging like fine wine,” he adds.

A soft burst of laughter bubbles out of you. “That is so corny.” Then angle your head to the side. “And such an old saying.”

“I’m half a century, what did you expect?”

There’s no trace of forced humor in his voice, and that lack of irony makes his delivery even more amusing. The smile on your face lingers as a warm pulse in your cheeks. It blooms as a genuine spark of comfort in your chest, prints over the rim of your glass as you take a sip.

“Wow,” you say appreciatively. “That’s really good wine.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s also incredibly dangerous, I think I need to pace myself,” you admit, placing your glass on the coffee table. “Thirty is supposed to be the age of moderation, isn't it?”

“According to who?”

“Everyone,” you answer, a little too quickly. “Social media, podcasts, people who suddenly start playing padel and structured routines.”

“I think moderation is something people reach for when they’re trying to feel safe,” he observes, rolling the stem of his glass between his fingers. “Less risk. Fewer surprises.”

You smile faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s… reality catching up?”

His gaze shifts, catching that subtle change in you. “You don’t sound convinced.”

You shrug. “I just thought by now things would feel more... settled. Or clear.” Your fingers trace the intricate, frayed embroidery at the edge of the blanket around you. “Instead it kind of feels like I’m aging out of things without ever really being part of them in the first place.”

“Aging out of what?”

You let out a small breath, almost embarrassed to say it out loud. “Being… wanted, I guess.” A quick, self-conscious laugh follows. “Or at least effortlessly so. Like there’s a point where you stop turning heads and start blending in, and you don’t even realize when the moment of being undesirable happens.”

“You really think that’s already happened to you?”

You don’t answer right away, and that probably answers enough. His glass meets the table with a soft thud. “That’s a dangerous assumption.”

“More dangerous than the wine?”

“Much. Because it’s wrong.”

You’re not sure whether to laugh it off or deny it outright.

“Desirability isn’t about being the loudest thing in the room,” he continues. “Or the youngest. It’s not about catching everyone’s attention for five seconds.”

“Then what is it about?”

The room exhales into silence. The lone lamp spills a muted glow, its light stretching into uneven shadows that breathe along the walls while somewhere deeper in the house, a clock ticks softly as each second threads itself through the sudden quiet.

“Presence,” his voice finally settles into the stillness. “About knowing yourself well enough that when someone does notice you, they don’t forget it.”

“And you think that just… gets better?”

“I know it does.”

The certainty in his voice makes your chest tighten. You look down, suddenly aware of your bare shoulders under the blanket, the thin fabric of your dress, the way you’d felt so exposed stepping into his house.

He leans forward then, just enough to close some of the distance, the sheer presence of his broad frame grounding in a way that makes it harder to retreat into your own thoughts.

“Look at me,” he urges softly.

Hesitation flickers through your posture before you finally lift your chin. There’s a quiet warmth in his gaze, something unguarded that softens the harder edges of him that turns all his intensity into something almost unbearably kind.

“You're worried about becoming invisible, but I can tell you right now, there is not a single thing about you that is easy to look away from."

Your breath shatters in your throat as he reaches out. His hand is large, the skin calloused, but his touch is incredibly light as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Caresses your cheekbone with a thumb.

“So no,” he adds, quieter but no less certain, “I don’t think you’re becoming less desirable.”

If you weren't sure what would finally wreck you on this milestone birthday, what would be the thing to finally break the surface of your spiraling thoughts—you are now, and it’s the magnetic pull of wanting to kiss a man twenty-one years your senior.

But age is just a number, isn't it? Leon has obviously made it clear that he doesn’t view the passage of time as a problem, and looking at the way his eyes are currently tracing the shape of your mouth, you’re starting to believe him.

The gap between your ages feels like an invitation to a level of intensity you weren't prepared for at twenty-nine.

“You really think so?”

“Sweetheart, you’re the most desirable thing I’ve had the privilege of seeing in my entire life.”

You can’t believe you’ve resisted his charm for so long.

You’ve imagined similar scenarios, of course. Living right across to a man who carries himself with so much lethal grace made it entirely impossible not to.

The men you’ve dated in your twenties were mostly just boys still trying to figure themselves out. You were used to clumsy hands and rushed fumbling, to guys who barely knew how to hold a conversation.

Leon is different. Maybe it’s his age. Confidence, agility—it’s obvious he doesn't possess the frantic energy of a younger man, instead moving with an authority that commands your attention without him even having to try. As a result, countless lonely nights were spent of you lying awake wondering what it would actually feel like to have his solid weight pressing you down.

Not that you would ever dare to admit that to anyone. No, thinking it in the privacy of your own mind is already embarrassing enough.

Although the gratification of having him kissing you obliterates any sense of shame. And the way his hands are exploring every corner of your curves proves that he’s spent just as much time agonizing over the exact same thoughts.

You’re uncertain when the blanket fell off your shoulders, but you can feel the rough friction of his palms everywhere. Your arms, your knees, your thighs. You’re aware of him bunching the skirt of your dress upward until it’s gathered at your waist.

You also sense a slight desperation in his touch. A monumental inkling of need bleeding through a composure that suggests he’s been holding himself back for so long, and it is as staggering as the deceptive softness of his lips to realize the sheer force of his hunger.

It isn’t until your lips are swollen and stinging and wet from the relentless pressure of his that you finally fill your lungs with air.

And to your chagrin, he momentarily pulls away. “Maybe we should slow down.”

“Why?” you whine, a little pout hanging on your puckered lips. “Thought I was desirable.”

“You are,” he grunts. His nose grazes the high curve of your cheek. “Believe me, you are.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

He levels with your concerned gaze. “Don’t want you waking up thinking this was a mistake.”

Yeah, right. As if a few sugary cocktails could be the sole reason of a desire this potent.

Sure, there’s a sweet haze effectively numbing your usual inhibitions, but alcohol didn't carve the hollow ache in your chest every time you watched him pull into his driveway. Nor did it plant the heat that pooled in your belly whenever he caught your eye over the property line—more times than you could admit, less than what you truly craved.

In retrospect, the tension had always been there. Unconsciously. Even if you were stone-cold sober you would still be here.

The morning light couldn't possibly undo the rightness of finally having him in your vicinity.

You reach a palm towards his face. “The only mistake," you whisper, soft words against the rough scrape of his jaw, "would be making me wait another second."

He’s quiet for a moment, but your pretty eyes tip whatever restraint he’s holding onto. Has him tracing the supple skin of your breast with a newfound zeal.

“You sure?”

“Why don’t you take off my dress and find out?”

You feel his amusement radiate against your skin. “Glad your confidence is back.” Then he hooks a finger under the thin silk of your dress, slides the strap down your shoulder. “Because you are beautiful.”

The cool air hits your skin. Two sensitive peaks beg for his attention.

“So goddamn beautiful. Look at these tits.”

There’s amusement laced in your smile. “Also didn’t peg you with such an abrasive vocabulary.”

“Politeness won’t cover what I want to do to you right now.”

Soft strands of hair thread between your fingers as his mouth wraps around a nipple.

Plays with it eagerly, lapping around in circles with agonizing precision before drawing it back as if trying to make the sensitive point swell even larger in his mouth. Repeats the motion far longer than you anticipated, searing a path that sends a rush of hot blood to your core until every atom of your being is vibrating.

You’re convinced the room is spinning as he gives the same attention to your other breast, painting your areola with a slickness that is as heavy as the dampness between your thighs.

He seems to sense the change in your breathing, lets a hand travel down your hip before draping one of your legs over his lap. Bends your other knee, fingers hooking into the crook of your leg to draw you apart.

“Keep them open for me.”

You nod limply. He kisses the side of your throat.

“Undesirable,” he tuts, large hand moving to the wet patch on your panties to map the exact shape of your arousal through the silk. “Do you realize how ridiculous that is?”

You try to form a response, to make some self-deprecating excuse about the depressive weight of your birthday or the slow decay of your youth, but the air simply vanishes from your lungs. The pressure he applies over you sends an electric shockwave of sensation through your nervous system.

He watches the words die on your lips. Watches the way your hips hitch upward. Observes the shallow rhythm of your chest with every rhythmic circle he rubs into your aching little clit.

His mouth ticks up into a smile that softens the weathered lines of his devastatingly handsome face.

“Should I show you myself then?”

“Show…” The supple grain of the couch bites into your shoulder blades as your toes curl into the material. “…what?”

His fingers slip under your flimsy lace. “Exactly how desirable you are.”

“Ahh—” Your hazy mind goes into an absolute sensory overload. One second the room is a blur of amber light and red wine, the next heartbeat you are violently aware of the viscous heat of your own arousal as he gathers it on his fingertips. “Leon—”

He sweeps upward, smearing that glistening moisture across the swollen outer folds and pressing it deep into the delicate flesh of your labia, and you are acutely aware of the aching bead of your clit trapped beneath the abrasive swirl of his fingers, feeling it throb in perfect synchronization with your racing heart.

Leon feels it too. The sharp rhythm of his breathing stutters as he watches you squirm.

“Gorgeous girl.” The blunt tip of his middle finger presses against your slick opening, testing the tight ring of muscle before slowly sinking in. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“Le…on… oh!”

The addition of a second finger pulls a high keening from your throat.

Two fingers and you feel impossibly full. You can barely fathom the weight of taking his actual cock, and your walls pulsate at the thought. He groans, pulls his hand back almost to the entrance before driving his knuckles deep inside you again.

In and out, back and forth, turning your entire world into a blur of pleasure and the heady scent of him. Incredibly, unapologetically male.

The only thing consuming your mind right now, rightfully so. The pleasure-induced haze that clouds your brain parts just enough for you to breathe in his musk, to watch the absolute concentration on his face as he dedicates himself to your pleasure. At the quiet lines carved beside his eyes. The faint crease at the corner of his mouth. The hard flex of his chiseled jaw, dusted with fine hints of gray.

Maybe aging isn’t so bad after all. You’re suddenly grateful for every single year that carved him into the man who’s currently dismantling you with his bare hands.

Because you feel it. The ongoing swell of an orgasm gathering at the base of your spine. Your breath fractures into a wordless sob and Leon feels your undoing the second it begins. Helps you through it. Massages the deep, aching knot of tension inside your cunt, using the volume of your own wetness to press the base of his palm against your puffy clit.

Your mouth opens wide to gulp in air but all that comes out is a groan that shocks your bones.

Legs parted instinctively wide, it is one of the strongest orgasms you have experienced in a very long time. You’d argue it might be the strongest one ever, but the thought of cumming onto his cock seemed like the only thing that could possibly top the rank.

Your satiated limbs melt into the cushions as he kisses the sweat dripping down your hairline. “Lift your arms up for me.”

You obey wordlessly, and he starts to undress you. Slips off the once delicate lace down the length of your legs. You’re still drifting in a post-orgasmic haze, but your focus snaps back the second he peels his shirt over his head. The flex of his thick biceps and broad shoulders completely rewires your sluggish brain that you find yourself leaning forward as he makes quick work of his pants.

And then it’s genuinely hard to believe that the Leon Kennedy—intimidating, sweet Leon who lives right across your house—is sitting spread out with a raging hard-on that demands your attention.

Which, obviously, you give to him without needing to be asked. The second your fingers fully encircle and squeeze his impressive size, his head falls back against the couch, exposing the strained column of his neck.

You also give your attention to the erratic pulse at his throat. Pressing your lips against a scattering of sun-faded freckles beneath his jaw, swallowing the deep vibration of another groan.

Leon, you’ve come to realize, is not ashamed of being loud. A delightful knowledge that this formidable man is perfectly willing to let his voice gravel with each motion along his shaft. You experimentally tighten your grip and drag a thumb across the weeping slit of his cock, and feel your heart swell with giddiness the moment he comes to cradle your cheeks and groans straight into your mouth.

The power you hold over him is intoxicating. Addicting. Very, very dangerous. Whatever excuse you initially gave yourself about tonight as a symptom of being touch-deprived and horny on your birthday is rapidly dissolving. You can already see yourself easily basking in the undivided attention he's so far given you.

Granted, it is nearly impossible to worry about the long-term consequences when he’s panting directly into your open mouth, failing bid to keep his control intact.

You decide to offer him some grace, slowly loosening your grip. Let your nails graze the soft hair at his base, trace the dark trail up the firm ridge of his stomach until your hand settles on the hard plane of his chest.

He pulls back and pins your hand over his heart. “We should move to the bedroom.”

The heat of his skin is too comforting for you to even consider the effort of standing up.

“Why?”

“Condoms," he huffs. "Don't have any on me."

Your nose curls. It really is hard to worry about the long-term consequences when all you can think about is the desperate need to feel him raw. Surprising, considering safe sex is a practice you've always adhered to.

But Leon really does have a habit of pulling completely new things out of you. Effortlessly dismantles your depressed thoughts, unravels your usual guarded boundaries, and is now rewiring your entire view on intimacy.

There’s a tiny lull of silence before you gather the courage to ask, “How much can I trust you without using one?”

His heartbeat kicks under your palm, and you watch as his brows draw together before the harsh lines on his face soften. “As much as you’re willing to give.” His thumb drags over the back of your hand. “You sure ‘bout that?”

It surprises you how easy the words slip past your lips, devoid of the usual overthinking that has haunted this day so far.

For the first time in a long time, the air in your lungs feels clear.

“I want you to go without,” you confirm.

“C’mere.”

He tugs you closer and sits you right on top of his lap, back firmly flushed against his chest.

“Lift your hips a little.”

You brace your hands against his thick thighs, let him guide the blunt tip of his cock right to your slick hole. The keening sound you make vibrates in the room as gravity slowly takes over, allowing your wet muscles to swallow the first few inches of him.

It doesn’t hurt, but it isn’t any less intense. He fills you with a burning heat.

“Ah—ngh… Leon…”

“Breathe,” he drawls. You feel his lips on the crook of your neck, gooseflesh rising up when you feel the tip of his tongue. “A little more, yeah?”

Your head bobs in a nod. Lungs expanding, lungs deflating—diaphragm relaxed. You count to three and let your body melt against his chest.

It takes him a full minute, filled with soft whines that rumble in the back of your throat and little strokes coming from his hips. Your eyes are unfocused when he gives a final jerk, feeling the coarseness of his hair grind against the slope of your ass.

“Oh, fuck.”

“So fucking warm,” he grunts, pulling open your thighs wide across his lap, knees hooked over his sides with your bare feet dangling in the air. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you slur. There’s no pain to speak of but the strain of him pressing against your sensitive flesh. “Just… full.”

At least, full is the only word your overstimulated brain can offer.

No amount of previous longing could have prepared you for the way his pulse drums in tandem with your own, thudding so violently against your internal nerves. Perfectly snug inside you, as if your very anatomy is fundamentally shifting—melting, molding. Making room to seamlessly map every thick ridge of his shape until there's no space left between your bodies.

But sitting perfectly still is its own kind of torture. The throb in your cunt is spiraling into a desperate itch, and simply having him seated to the hilt is no longer enough.

Friction is what you seek, and friction is what you ask, rolling your hips in a needy grind, doing your best to wiggle against his lap just to coax out even a fraction.

"Christ." The sound he makes vibrates through your entire back, dragged out with sluggish words you have trouble making sense. "...embarrassing this old man.”

You tilt your head back in confusion, try to parse his meaning through the thick haze of pleasure.

“Won’t last long tonight," he explains, slowly rolling his hips that draws another groan. “Not even a good ten minutes.”

A giggle interrupts your keening whine. You let your head fall to the side, resting your temple against the sweaty curve of his throat.

“It’s okay... you can fuck me again in the morning.”

The breathless laugh he wheezes sounds partly wicked.

“You’re goddamn right I will. Take you in my bed.” He drags his hips backward. “The shower.” Then languidly thrusts forward. “Even the kitchen.”

He takes the full weight of your breasts in eager hands.

“Fuck you in the back of my car like rabid teenagers.”

You choke on a moan and reach behind, fingers finding the damp hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t think our bones can handle the lack of legroom.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it work.”

You feebly smile at the confidence in his voice.

Somehow, you don’t doubt him. Anyone with a conscious mind would agree that Leon is a man of absolute competence. You might not know the secret he keeps behind closed doors, or the full depth of his life, but you know the way he commands the space he occupies. And you'd expect nothing less from him when the space he's currently residing in is yours.

Physically, sure. He's sheathed impossibly deep within your cunt.

Metaphorically, too, when he’s been threading in your thoughts with a steady persistence. Lingers between looks, between breaths. Settles deep into the unspoken gaps of your everyday life, anticipating your needs long before you do by offering things without excess.

A roof over your head. A glass of wine in your hand without expectation. Heartfelt words that reach you even when you hadn’t realized you needed to hear them.

You wonder if you asked for more for the sake of your own comfort, he would give that too.

For your pleasure, at least. The stretch of him fucking you in slow ceremony is already delicious as it is, but a fierce hunger still gnaws at your neglected clit. You try to guide the hand on your right tit down to the slope of your stomach, drawing it directly toward the spot where your bodies meet.

Fortunately, Leon is more than happy to oblige.

“Right here?"

You nod silently, let your body do the talking. And talking it does in a language of erratic breaths and arching hips. Pliant to his touch, yet greedy for his fingertips. The sheer volume of slick, overheated syrup that instantly coats his skin has him inhaling sharply.

"Fucking drenched,” he grunts, feeling the rigid length of his cock disappear completely between your glistening folds. "Gonna eat this pussy next time."

Crude and abrasive. You like this version of him. So much so that your internal muscles respond before your voice can, milking him with a series of desperate clenches that has his jaw locking tight.

“Next time, sweetheart,” he promises, rubbing circles over the hard knot of your clit. “Taste how sweet this pussy is.”

That seems to do it. Your entire frame tenses, toes curling in anticipation of the sensation climbing up in your leg. Even breathing seems like a secondary concern, a distant chore your lungs are struggling to remember how to perform when you’ve succumbed so completely to the intensity.

"That’s it. You gon' give me another?”

You hiccup through a frantic chorus of “Fuckfuckfuckfuck” and wail helplessly.

“Go on. Let me feel it."

“Shit,” you heave, right before you shatter, squeezing your eyes shut.

You collapse with a satisfied smile, reveling in the ecstasy seeping deep into your bones. But that quiet hum is cut abruptly short when his hands suddenly hook under the backs of your knees, hoisting your legs up and peeling you open.

Starts fucking you for the sake of his pleasure.

You find no mercy in his rhythm, pistoning force that has your breasts bouncing with every jarring strike. Limbs shaking, bones rattling. The room shuddering with echoes of wet, heavy slaps.

It’s nothing you can’t take when you seem to be enjoying it yourself. You realize, staring down at the clotted, white fluid foaming around his cock, that you would gladly give him anything he so much as looked at. He’s already given you plenty of attention that you’ll let him take whatever he needs in the name of gratitude.

A token of appreciation, if you will. A thank you for being the perfect neighbor—the perfect man, capable of melting your resolve with kind gestures before proceeding to rearrange your guts.

Although thinking this is solely for his benefit seems foolish when he's ruining you oh-so-good. Fast and precise, hitting right where you love it, touching exactly where you're tight. 

A harsh jerk of his cock has you blubbering incoherent words, "HolyfuckLe—Leon!"

You're answered with a row of grunts, of squelching noises that increase the more he thrusts in. You feel like a carved pretzel as he pins your legs to your chest, locking you firmly in place. Drilling hard, erratic, pushing all the strength he possesses into your pliant body.

There’s a hot tension in your lower belly. The muscles slacken in your neck—throat closing in as your mouth opens in a scream that doesn't quite make it through.

The silence punched out of you is finally rewarded.

Your third orgasm is gut-wrenching when it happens. It twists your insides, wringing you dry. You’re a mess of tears and drool and Leon makes sure you aren't left completely empty. With two final strong thrusts, he pumps a flood deep into your cunt in exchange for every drop of liquid he’s drained from your pores.

Overstimulated and exhausted, you slowly let your heartbeat settle. So does Leon. His breath tickles the crook of your neck, and there’s a thick, gravelly edge in his voice as he drawls, “I should’ve pulled out.”

Not exactly regret, but an acknowledgment of his complete loss of control. Not that you particularly care.

Lifting a lazy hand, you gently stroke the corded muscle of his arm, soothing down the dusting of silvered hair.

“You don't see me complaining," you whisper, voice utterly sated.

“Yeah? Let me see you.”

The smell of sex is so pungent and sweet as he slips you off his thighs. Lays you gently on the empty space of the couch beside him. Parts your legs for the many times tonight, and marvels at the sight of his cum making its way down to your puckered hole.

He spreads your spent, swollen folds with his thumb. “Gorgeous girl.”

You offer him a tired smile.

Surprisingly, you do believe him.

In a physical sense, yes, that’s true. The way he’s imprinted himself inside your body is proof enough of exactly how fiercely he desires you. But the weight of his words carries a gravity that pulls at something far deeper than your skin. Past the pulse at your throat and the ache in your thighs, settling heavy in the hollow of your chest.

Society has a way of making you feel like you’re meant to diminish with time. Expected to survive in barren soil, pouring yourself out while trying to bloom from roots that wouldn't even bother to water you. Grown accustomed to a slow drought from an environment that convinced you were fading out of focus as the years ticked by.

The way he looks at you defies that logic. The blue in his eyes suggests time has only made your harvest sweeter.

Any insecurities you harbored evaporate under the pads of his fingers as he maps the rise of your belly. All the self-criticism and nagging fear of becoming invisible dissolve the same way he smoothly glides through the valley of your breasts.

The frantic noise of the world goes completely silent when he palms your cheek. His body is hot atop yours, and his gaze holds genuine comfort of being truly, unconditionally seen.

For the first time tonight, you discern the affection decorating his eyes.

And it’s certainly not for the last.

His smile is warm and tender as his breath kisses your lips. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Your birthday is happy indeed.

[lolalov3s]

Leon makes you squirt (for the first time)

Content: smut, p in v, fingering, squirting, alcohol consumption, hookup culture lol

Masterlist❤︎

-

There is nothing better than being fucked completely senseless.

Arguably the best remedy for a chronically overactive mind.

After five straight days of managing passive-aggressive emails and smiling through situations that tested the absolute limits of human sanity, you decided the only cure for this impending mental breakdown was a stiff drink and zero inhibitions on this lovely weekend.

Two shots of whatever was closest, and the company of a man who looked just as desperately in need of a distraction as you, if not more so.

Beautiful was what you initially pegged him as, eyes sweeping along the striking lines of an exhausted face and the stubborn swoop of hair spilling carelessly over his brow. Then you decided he was just prematurely aged. The silver threads catching at his temples and the aggressive shadow of a stubble made him look worn down by a decade of exceptionally bad sleep and even worse stress.

He looked like a man who could fuck good. Looked like he approached sex the exact same way he approached the rest of his miserable life, with unrelenting stamina and a terrifyingly methodical focus designed to dismantle whatever stood before him.

He also looked like an easy target, staring into the amber depths of his glass with a level of sad depression that practically radiated off his shoulders. All it took was you stepping directly into his line of sight, ordering another shot with a dramatic sigh, and offering him a painfully cynical comment about the state of the world (while deliberately showing off your cleavage).

The guarded set of his jaw twitched into the faintest ghost of a smirk.

You offered your name, he offered his (Leon—was it short for Leonard? Leonel?), and he leaned in when you laughed at his terrible attempt at a joke. A genuine chortled laugh because you hadn't expected a dad joke from a man who looked as brooding as he did.

You licked your lips, he followed your tongue.

Hook, line, sinker.

Which explains how you now find yourself trapped in a mating press on a mattress that probably costs more per night than your rent. A dingy, cheap motel would have been your practical choice, but you had noted the expensive gleam of the watch on his wrist within five minutes of sitting next to him. Freaking Hamilton that looked distinctly like a limited edition, judging by the brushed steel and intricate dial.

Frankly, you shouldn't be surprised he carried that much net worth. He’s handsome, weathered beautifully into his age (Late forties? Early fifties?), and clearly paid an exorbitant amount of money to survive whatever horrors are actively ruining his mental health.

What does surprise you is how you’ve underestimated the scope of his physical abilities.

Over the past blurry hour, this complete stranger has effortlessly folded you into positions that defy your understanding of your own flexibility. Knees pressed so securely beside your own ears you start to believe the fee you pay for your weekly reformer pilates class might be a scam.

Apparently what you needed to achieve this level of advanced mobility was the unrelenting dead weight of a very, very capable man. So fucking capable that you’ve genuinely lost count of how many times he’s wrung you out on these expensive sheets.

Four orgasms? Maybe five? Whatever the number is, another one is dangerously crawling up the base of your spine.

Your sanity might be beyond saving at this point. You’re sweating profusely, and the backs of your thighs are screaming in dull protest from being pinned back for god knows how long. Leon pulls out and snaps his hips again with a jarring impact that seems to grow more ruthlessly aggressive with every single grind.

He does it again and again and again until you’re basically screaming from the unavoidable crash of yet another orgasm, toes curling frantically in the suspended air while your nails bite into the heavy muscle of his arms.

This man is something else, obviously nothing akin to the standard parade of disappointing men who talked big but possessed absolutely zero game. They were a flimsy attempt to scratch the very surface of your boredom. Leon, by comparison, is clawing straight down to the bone.

There’s a slowness in his thrusts now, and you blink to find an actual smile breaking through the sweat and exhaustion on his face. The warm puff of a chuckle against your cheek tells you he isn't simply amused. He’s actually entertained.

You huff, making a valiant but entirely useless attempt to mock him, "Stop laughing."

The sweat beading along his heavy brow does absolutely nothing to detract from how devastatingly smug he looks right now. “You’re shaking so much. It’s cute.”

So much for playing the femme fatale act at the bar. He swipes a thumb across your blotchy cheek, courtesy of his rough afternoon shadow.

“You okay?”

You sigh out a harsh breath, blowing a damp strand of hair out of your eyes. “Have you," you manage to wheeze, "even cum yet?”

He shakes his head, blue eyes glinting with unapologetic amusement.

"Are you ever going to?"

His low laughter rumbles warmly in your ears. “Why, you want me to stop already?" he presses a kiss against your jaw. "Thought you were having a good time."

“I’m having a great time.”

“Then what’s with the rush?”

“Maybe we should take a break,” you whine, gasping sharply when the weight of his pelvis rocks aggressively against your lower belly. “I-I need to pee.”

He seems unfazed. Moves like you didn't utter a word to begin with. Instead, what he does is press you even further into the mattress. “Is that right?”

“Fuck—Leon—” You arch your back as he maliciously tilts his hips. “You’re not helping.”

“I actually am,” he argues.

“What—”

“Let's test a theory," he drawls, hot breath ghosting over your pulse. "Do you really think you just need to pee, or are you about to squirt?”

You go completely still for a moment. Considering your track record of thoroughly uninspired hookups and non-lasting relationships, there is absolutely no palpable evidence to suggest you are capable of doing what he’s asking.

“I’m pretty sure I need to pee,” you reason quietly. “I’m not a squirter.”

He pulls back enough to meet your eyes. “You’re telling me you’ve never done that before?”

“I have no prior experience to suggest it's even an option.”

He looks genuinely offended by your answer. “Do you want to try?”

Your head falls back to fully take him in. He really is pretty. Never mind the faint, tired wrinkles bracketing his pale blue eyes, or the harsh features of a man who has clearly seen too much and slept too little. He’s simply too devastatingly gorgeous for his own good.

Even with the fragments of scars you’ve spent the last hour subconsciously counting on his neck, his shoulder, his chest. Scars that make you wonder what kind of terrifying life he leads when he isn't in a hotel room with a stranger, fucking their brains out.

And you’re very much aware you’re one of the few he’s taken to bed.

But is he always this attentive? This generous?

Does he fuck everyone else this hard yet still find the gentle grace to cradle their face and brush the hair out of their eyes?

You instantly hate how territorial you sound. It's wildly hypocritical for someone who values the cheap thrill of a purely physical transaction just as much as he clearly does. He’s just a good lover, you decide. And if tonight is the only night you get to have this man all to yourself, then so be it.

If he thinks he can make you squirt, then who are you to deny?

“You really think I’m about to squirt?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

You frown. “What if it’s just pee?”

He kisses the wrinkled line between your brows. “Make a mess then, I don’t mind.”

Yeah, you’re going to let him absolutely ruin you tonight.

“Then make me squirt, Leon.”

He dips his head, breathing the hot air of his lungs directly into your open mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

Your pussy tightens reflexively at that, which he obviously catches. He catches on to every desperate tell your body gives him, actually. Probably the sole reason why you've already come an embarrassing number of times.

Not enough, apparently, because he’s already moving his hips in rapid rhythms—not too fast or too slow, but enough to have your eyes sliding shut, focusing on the stretch of his cock driving deep in and out of your cunt.

“Fucking beautiful,” he hums, binding your wrists together above your head. “Just lying there looking all pretty."

“H-harder,” you whine, weakly pushing your hips up to meet him.

“Yeah?” He squeezes your wrists together, leaning even more of his massive frame over you. “You like it when I go hard on you?”

Like it? You thrive on it, nodding frantically as your trembling thighs try to lock around his waist. Try is definitely the word when he’s practically flattened you beneath his crushing weight, effortlessly trapping your body. You can feel your limbs turn gooey and powerless, your stomach contrastingly hard.

“I know, baby, I know,” he rasps, ramming his hips harshly against yours. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Ngh—h—”

“That’s it, give it to me. Make a mess on me.”

The panic hits you first, quickly swallowed by an absolute wave of pure heat. Starts as a buzzing ache in your core before violently spiking into an unbearable sensation. Your belly burns, coils, rattles—and you blink your eyes open, brimming with tears. “Leon—”

He instantly reads the panicked clench of your muscles.

“Don't fight it.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Your groan is feral. “I can’t—”

“Come on, baby, you’ve got to trust me,” he croons softly. “Do you trust me?”

Surprisingly, you do, even if your only judgment on this man comes from the three hours that have passed since you sat down next to him at the bar. “Yes.”

“Good. Then let it happen.”

Your breath stutters. Your body jerks.

“Breathe through your nose.”

He plunges in with a particularly harsh thrust and you gasp. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Oh, fuck—”

“That’s it.” He closes the last inch of space between you. Foreheads touching. “Let it go.”

You try to follow his words and suck in a sharp breath. Lungs expanding, ribs flaring, and the rush of oxygen pouring into your blood sharpens every sensation to something blinding.

It’s like a switch. One moment your muscles are tensed, then a passage of whines pitches upward as your orgasm barrels through you without warning. Strong and gut-wrenching. Body hot in bliss and shame—only for two seconds. Quick as it hits, he abruptly pulls out, instantly replacing his cock with two calloused fingers.

Your mouth gapes in a silent scream. Even more so when his offhand curls around your neck. Fingers pressing against the sides of your throat, palm flat against your windpipe, but exercising barely any pressure all the while his fingers fucks your swollen, dripping cunt.

You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself getting drenched, but you’ve never experienced anything as wild as this.

Speckles of liquid spatter across the sheets the more he drags his hand in an up-and-down motion, its squelching sound rising above the fight of your labored breathing.

He pushes his palm against your clit.

“Oh fuck! fuckfuckfuck—”

A sudden rush spills over him. Soaks the sheets beneath you in dark patches and streams down the inside of his wrist, seeping hot onto his thighs. He continues to pump his fingers while you lie there—crying openly, violently shuddering. It goes on for what feels like forever until he smoothes out his pressure around your throat, kissing the drool glistening on your lips with a disbelief chuckle.

“Should’ve met you sooner,” he laughs into your mouth, easily slipping his cock back in.

Maybe it’s the bliss completely corrupting your nervous system, or perhaps it’s the overwhelming stretch of his thick cock driving back into your overstimulated cunt. Whatever it is, you completely lose your grip on the casual nature of a one night stand, eager words spilling past your wet lips before you can even screen them.

“Can we meet again?” You pant. “Like—after tonight?”

He withdraws his hips with a smug grin.

“I would,” thrust, “very much,” thrust, “like that.”

Thrust, thrust, thrust.

You’re somewhere right on the edge of a pathetic whimper and a helpless laugh, entirely too pleasured to think straight, dangerously too giddy at the possibility of actually getting to know him. To uncover those scars in daylight, to figure out what kind of hell he had to survive to inherit those devastatingly sad yet kind eyes.

To learn his last name. To unearth his middle.

You gasp when he effortlessly flips you over, twisting his fingers in your hair and pulling it back.

Yeah, you’re going to let him absolutely ruin you tonight—and all the days that follow.

[sweet-silver-girl]

| just an older leon blurb…. my beautiful sweet man…. (fluff) ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

“Doll.”

You hear a smoky voice huff out, heavy, yet laced with a certain softness, only concerned for you. You can practically imagine the weight of his shoulders and the shake of his head, tossing a silver-lined tendril to the side of his forehead with a sigh as his booted steps stumble through the door of his apartment.

His tired silhouette fills the doorframe of the bedroom as his white pleated comforter covers the length of you. The broadness of his shoulders and shape of his biceps illuminate from the back glow of his warm, lit kitchen, painting a soft smile on your face as you sit up with open arms.

Wordlessly, your Leon crosses to your figure, enveloping you in a slump as his weight gently crashes upon you. Your fingers slip softly under the hem of his tight shirt, framing the familiarity of his body in hushed whispers against the pink of his ear.

“Missed you, lovey.”

The gravel lap of his voice swirls against your collarbone as he nuzzles his nose into your scented skin, his chapped lips ducked into the pool of your clavicle.

You let out a hum, vibrating against his pressed features as they melt against the warmth of your flesh. The smile that drags out from Leon’s core at the simplest of sounds from your lips should be damn right embarrassing, but he’s too comfortable against you to care.

[starberrymatcha]

dont want kisses anymore?

summary : trying the 'wiping your partners kiss' trend from tiktok on leon

notes : something small fluff for the heart<3

"mhmm, hi baby". leon hummed against your skin. he's bent by the couch to press his face against you while youre sat on it, tv playing infront and your pink fluffy blanket on your lap.

he then gave you a kiss on your soft cheeks, his stubble tickling you softly causing you to smile. his scent wafted around you and you cant help but feel giddy when you smell your usual body wash.

you really like it when he uses your body wash, its cute as hell for someone like him.

"shower felt good?". you asked him when he rounded the couch to finally sit beside you but before he could sit, he noticed you casually wiping the cheek that he kissed a few seconds ago.

your face remained neutral as you glance at him but inside, you want to laugh cause his face looks so offended. he's frowning and his brows are almost touching each other while he stares at you.

you just found this silly little prank on tiktok a few days ago where women or men wipe the kiss of their partners in front of them. you found it hilarious when you watched multiple videos of it and suddenly, you thought what if you'll try that on leon.

so when he took a shower earlier after coming home, you were waiting for him in the living room where you are seated right now. you were on your phone while the plays a tv series rerun and it seems like the world wants you to do it now cause as you scrolled on tiktok, you saw a video where the woman wiped the kiss from his husband.

you took that as a sign to be honest, and here you are right now, trying to remain casual.

"something wrong?". you tilted your head up to look at him.

leon narrowed his eyes on you a little causing you to really not try to laugh. he then shook his head before moving to the couch, his weight made the furniture dip gently and he threw an arm at the back of the couch as he made himself comfortable.

"is this a rerun?". leon asked as he his gaze moved to the tv while you moved closer to him and when your head hit his shoulders, an automatic kiss on your head was given.

leon frowned when he noticed your hand moving to the spot that he just kissed and seemingly wiping it away.

"is my stubble bothering you?". leon asked, brows furrowing as he looks at you.

"what?". you said as you move your head up to look at him. he still has his brows furrowed and his lips are in a frown, his eyes are looking at you like he's trying to figure something out.

goddamn, he looks so cute. you thought.

"you know i love your stubble". you told him and you reached a hand on his face to caress his stubbled cheek. "makes you the most handsome almost silver fox".

you grinned at him as you continued to caress his cheek. his frown softened and his eyes looked at you in amusement and in love, you look so soft and beautiful in his arms right now.

"i love you". you smiled causing him to lean his head down to press a very sweet kiss on your lips.

you smiled against his kiss, you absolutely love his kisses. especially when his stubble softly rubs up on your cheek.

but right now, youre doing a prank.

"lets watch the new episode rerun". you said when he finally pulled away and before returning to your comfortable position against his shoulder, you wiped away your lips.

okay, he's had enough. thats three kisses that you already wiped and he knows you love kisses so why are you doing this?

"do you not want kisses anymore?". leon asked as he moved beside you to sit up straight. muscles and body tightening up again cause he's confused and hurt.

after years of being with you, you always tell or show him that you love his kisses. youre always asking for it and you just love it when he does his sudden kisses on each part of your body. leon knew that you really love getting kissed on your cheek, his kisses on your lips makes you smile and kisses on your neck makes you relax always.

so this sudden action of you wiping his kiss is so questionable, did he do something wrong? are you mad at him?

"how can you say that?". you feigned a confused look on your face.

you noticed how he moved away from you a little, to give space to settle this, whatever youre doing cause this is not normal at all.

"youre wiping away my kisses". leon said this with all of his heart that his expression is mirroring his younger self.

his younger self that you accidentally saw in one of his file pictures. the sweet eyed baby boy. it kinda feels like youre looking at him right now that you cant help but coo inside.

your man is the cutest ever.

"i dont wipe—".

"yes, you do". leon stressed before taking your hand to press a kiss on it, to test if its not only on your face.

immediately, you took it away and wiped just to tease him more. you saw how his face contorted in hurt and being offended, you could even see the gears turning inside his head.

"i—". he opened his mouth, his eyes turning into a doe and all of the sudden you cant help it anymore.

you moved forward to hug him fiercely while saying multiple sorry's at him while he just widened his eyes when he suddenly got you flying in his arms. he felt you pressing kisses against his neck and shoulder while still saying sorry.

his face is still marred in confusion when he wrapped his big, strong arms around you and you clambered up on his lap.

"im sorry, its a prank". you mumbled against his tshirt as you laid your head on his shoulder and your hand drawing patterns against his back.

"what?". he scrunched up his brows again.

"a tiktok prank". you pouted before burying your head against his neck, to nuzzle deep in his arms and body. you dont want to ever leave from his warmth and love.

while nuzzling on leon like a cat, his mind whirred to process what you just said cause tiktok sound familiar. it took him a few minutes to register and understand everything before he squeezed your waist gently then tug you more closer to him causing you to hum.

"that fucking app is a menace". he grumbled as he moved his head on your hair, to bury his nose in your sweet scent.

tiktok, that one app that everyone seems to be addicted to these days. yeah, he's heard about it, kinda hard not to when he's always seeing you watching videos from it or telling him stuffs about what you saw.

even his coworkers and sherry has tiktok. always laughing and cant seem to focus sometimes.

"its a fun app". you giggled against his neck before pressing a kiss on his neck when you feel his hand sneaking inside your shirt to rest on your skin.

feeling your skin has always been so good for leon, it makes him relax.

"not if youre wiping away my kisses". he pinched your skin softly then kneaded it. he heard you laughing and he kissed your head.

not just one kiss, multiple kisses causing you to sigh in delight.

"dont do that again". he playfully warned and you bit his neck in response.

"brat".

[brunosbambina]

𝑴𝒚 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝑫𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚۶۟ৎ

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Leon has had to coax your voice during intimacy in your relationship, had to let you know that it’s okay to be sexual and openly communicate with him, no matter your preferences. He also made it clear that he’d never persuade you into doing things you weren’t comfortable with, and if you wanted to remain more vanilla, he’d be fine with it. So when his good girl, his princess, requested that he be a little rougher tonight, he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity, not when you’ve always been so reserved when it comes to sex. 

❥Labels & Warnings: 18+

Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Resident Evil 9 Leon, Reader insert, Reader is on the shy/reserved side, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking, Age gap relationship, References to the age gap, Use of daddy, Use of princess, Use of baby/good/dirty girl, Small mention of Leon putting a baby in you.

W.C. 2.3K AO3 Baby taglist: @depressedbearblogs <3

The sounds coming from your mouth are as vile as the gentle smacks and squelches that fill your shared bedroom with Leon. Clinging to his pillar-like body, you press your face to his, feeling the prickly scratch of his stubble against your cheek, lips, and chin. Large and rugged, his hands cup your ass with your legs hooked over the crook of his elbows. The unfamiliar position maddens Leon, driving him to handle you with a roughness he isn’t used to using on you. You’re forced to take the girth that splits you wide, the stretch more intense in this position. Your body jostles with his muscular frame, breasts pressing into his hard pecs. He’s hot against you, barely breaking a sweat while he’s carrying you and sinking into you with soft grunts. Every thrust pulls on your heart; the pleasure he delivers encompasses your mind, body, and soul. You’re like a melted candle in his big, firm arms, shaking while he’s sturdy as can be. He’s so strong; he can handle the powerful recoil from Requiem after all. 

“Too much, princess?” Leon checks in with you, the grip on your ass creating handprints.

“N-no,” you shakily respond, toes curling from their position at his lower back. “Can you do it h-harder,” you stutter, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. “Please,” you whimper out, your voice sweeter than candy as his glossy cock glides through your taut walls.

Leon’s hips stutter, only for a second before they begin smacking against you at a faster, harder pace. The request, paired with your hips trying to meet his pelvis, is downright explicit coming from you. 

“Thought you were my good girl,” he grunts, swiftly smacking your ass.

“I am,” you pathetically and eagerly moan, the sting on your cheek ringing through your skin.

Leon scoffs playfully, his bangs tickling your ear. “Good girls don’t moan like you’re moaning, and they definitely don’t try to ride their old boyfriend’s cock like this.”

Your hips pause their movements, tightening your arms around his neck and burying your face into his neck. “You’re not old.”

The way you said it in a hushed tone makes him chuckle. 

“Too old for you.”

“Just right for me,” you correct, walls clamping down on him.

“Fuck, you’re perfect for me,” Leon growls, delivering a single, harder slap over the same spot he smacked you earlier.

You squeal and dig your nails into his skin, drawing vibrant red marks over old scratches on his trapezius muscle.

“Let me look at you, baby,” he rasps.

You straighten your back so he can see your face, his thrusts slowing but still deep. Sharp and dark, his eyes lay their wonderment over your pretty features, taking in how divine you look. Your hair’s a mess, your eyes are watery, your mouth is agape; you’re in awe. 

“Mmm,” he hums, inspecting the obscene expression you wear, voice deeper than the vast ocean. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

Leon often gets lost in how pretty you are, and right now is no exception, seeing you so fucked out is ruining any self-control he has left.

“My baby girl wants it rough, hm?” Leon’s question is punctuated with a brutal slam, resuming the speed he was at.

You can tell he’s far gone as his tongue drips with lewd words like honey.

“Y-yeess,” your stutter grows into a drawn-out moan, feeling the fat end of his cock push into a sweet spot that makes your heart flip, and your eyes roll back.

Leon’s pale blues observe your lips, traversing upward to your eyes, lost in thought, as if he’s thinking whether or not he should ask what he’s about to ask.

“Want me to ruin you?”

The million-dollar question sets the atmosphere ablaze. 

You nod, tears threatening to spill past your lash line. “Ruin me, Leon.”

Hissing through gritting teeth, Leon’s last threads of restraint snap. If you want him to break you, he will, just for his princess. 

The sharp jut of his pelvis catches you off guard, and you choke on your breath. Leon’s thick tip reaches deeper than ever before, a bulge threatening to show itself in your lower belly as he grows ruthless. You never felt him be this rough before, and it’s something else compared to his usual gentle yet dominant demeanor. There have been many times he wanted to be rough with you, but you were his fragile princess who couldn’t take too much. To finally feel his force, the one he uses during training and missions, is making your entire body vibrate. 

Your hands slip down to his firm pectorals from the impact, making Leon pause to make sure you have a good grip on him.

“Make sure you hold on tight, princess,” he rumbles, kissing your cheek sweetly.

Leon lets go of your ass to wrap a hand around your wrist, pulling it over his neck, his touch soft and gentle. You secure your hands together around his neck, your arms bending around his wide shoulders as you become flush to his body, your heart pounding against the hard planes of his chest. His steely fingers slowly skim down your arm, following it down to your ribs, waist, and hips until he’s cradling your ass with both hands.

“Gonna need it,” he grumbles, squeezing your cheeks. 

Leon’s hips pull back before pushing back in, renewing the tempo. He uses your ass as leverage to hoist you onto his cock while his pelvis meets you halfway for a hard smack. The whimpers that hit his ear as he fucks you nasty drive him crazy. You’re so incredibly wet, dripping down his balls as they smack against you with appalling squelches. 

“So fuckin’ wet,” he grunts, the force of his savage drives breaking up his words.

Leon’s mouth falls open with pants, savoring your heat that’s stretched over him like a glove.

“Makin’ a mess on the floor,” he says, grunting at the end of each strike of his ravenous hips. 

Sliding through your constricting walls, his cock pulses with a need to smear your insides with his semen.

“Let me see that pretty face of yours,” he asks you again, unable to help himself as he needs to see your face unravel. 

You shift back, but only enough to be a couple of centimeters away from his face. Seeing his handsome face causes you to moan aloud. With his bangs messy against his cheeks, his eyes are intense, mimicking the expression he has when a zombie is in his gunsight. The peppery stubble across his handsome face accentuates his features, and his charming wrinkles make you want to kiss every inch of them. He’s all yours, this beast of a man that’s capable of unimaginable feats, and he’s fucking you like his life depends on it.  

“Leon,” you whine, your heart skipping several beats as your fingers dig into his muscular back.

You almost want to tell him it’s too much, because it is, too much in terms of how good he’s fucking you. By now, he’s sure you’ve made him bleed from the scratches that sting his back, shoulders, and trapezius. 

“Feels good, baby?” 

Leon’s eyes falter to your lips, watching you chew on your bottom lip as you try not to scream from the overwhelming amount of pleasure shooting through you when he bottoms out. 

“None of that.”

Leon’s authoritative tone makes you snap out of it, and you leave your poor lip alone. Breathless gasps start escaping you every time his taut balls press up into you after he bottoms out. 

“Wanna hear you, baby,” Leon hums.

As if he wasn’t already ruining you enough, Leon’s thrusts quickly evolve into rapid successions. He knocks the air out of you, your voice reducing to short, broken cries as you try to breathe normally. Clapping skin rings through the room like dynamite, inciting a frenzy within Leon. 

“Pretty little pussy swallowing daddy’s cock like a good girl,” he snarls, a scowl painting his face.

The sudden drop of ‘daddy’ makes you cum instantly. Leon lets out a fierce growl that complements your scream as he bludgeons you with blinding pleasure. Your hips jitter uncontrollably against his pelvis, your pussy trying to close in around him. Small droplets leak out of you and around his gliding cock as his girth fights your walls from closing in on him. Clutching his muscled back, your hips' involuntary roll makes Leon’s rhythm stutter. 

“God damn, baby,” he laments, watching you cum harder than ever before.

Shaking like a leaf in the ample muscle of his arms, you whimper from the aftershocks of a mind-numbing orgasm.

“Leon,” you blubber out, tears rolling down your cheeks as you hide your face from him. 

“Sweetheart,” he coos, rushing to cradle your cheek with a hand he frees from clutching your ass. “Are you okay?”

With tears glittering across your eyelashes, you look at him helplessly, nestling into his large hand. 

“Mhm.”

Leon scans your face for any pain or regret you might have after he treated you roughly for the first time. “Why the tears, hm?”

His tender tone of voice makes your pussy quiver all over again, and he feels it. You catch one of his eyebrows perking up, and his mouth growing into a lop-sided grin.

“You fuck me so good,” you utter, eyes glossy and far gone.

Leon whistles to himself, chuckling darkly as he shakes his head. You usually don’t say things like that, but you’re completely dazed and drunk off him that you don’t care.

Though his reaction wakes you from your trance, and you soon realize the weight of your words, making you recoil in his arms. 

“Uh-uh,” he scolds you for trying to hide from him after all that, returning his hand to your ass and spanking you.

You gasp, clutching to his shoulders as he steps over the little mess of droplets on the floor. Leon lays you in a sea of sheets on the bed, and he doesn’t wait until your back hits the bed before he’s driving into you again. Such explicit whines fall from your lips, and his groans turn guttural and frequent as your sensitive pussy sucks him in. While embedding his cock into you, he maneuvers you into a position he wants you in. Sliding his palms up the bed, he pulls your legs up with his arms and plants his hands beside your ribs. Your legs are stretched out like your pussy is, allowing him absolute dominion over your body. 

You go silent for a few seconds, turning your head away as his cock burrows itself inside of you at a different, more pleasurable angle. Encircling the expanse of his vast shoulders, your nails rake his skin into new scratches, and it only pushes him further into you. Tears fall past your temples as he planks his body above you, putting his delicious weight on you. Leaning into your neck, his grunts vividly hit your ear with each slam of his hips.

“My dirty girl,” he whispers in your ear, the plump of his lips pressing against the shell of it. “Wanting this old man to fuck you like he hates your guts.”

You squeal in delight from his words, the tension in your core already building as it had no time to dissipate from your last orgasm. The mattress shifts off the bed frame with every merciless blow to your body, Leon fucking you like a complete animal. He’s never done you like this before, and it’s destroyed your state of mind. Your hips begin to shrink into the mattress, wanting to get away from the stunning pleasure as it amounts to something so intense that it’s scary. Your face contorts, and your eyebrows furrow severely, your permanently open mouth gasping for air as another orgasm starts to blur your vision. You shift your gaze to his face, and the two of you maintain explicit eye contact. His fine, but aged features harden into a smoldering expression that makes your heart swoon. 

“C’mon, baby, cum on daddy’s cock,” he thunders, voice cracking through the air, feeling your pussy constrict him in repeated pulses.

Your eyelashes flutter, and the world around you pauses, and you wail out. Sobbing as Leon fucks bliss into you, your pussy chokes his cock in unyielding convulsions. The ebb and flow washes over you like nirvana, splitting you into two and putting you back together again, leaving you changed. Leon lets out a groan that is damn near a moan, his cock spasming within your blistering walls. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he roars, kissing you madly and sending a series of groans into your disjointed mouth. 

Goosebumps prick his agitated body while torrents of semen spurt from his tip and through your cervix. You moan with delight, your womb accepting his seed with utter joy. Possessively, Leon pumps in and out of you, his swollen cock throbbing in tandem with his erratic pulse. His breath stutters across your lips, stubble grazing your mouth and chin as you milk every lost drop of him like you were made for him.

As your respective heart rates calm, the two of you are lost in each other’s eyes, swimming in the shared afterglow. He’s looking down at you with reverence, his messy hair curtaining around his face, tickling you. Leaking out of you in thick globs, his cum drops down his balls and onto the bed as he stays buried in your delightful pussy. 

“Maybe I can get you to call me daddy next time,” he huffs, looking down at your body like it’s a work of art.

You sigh, panting with your breasts heaving under his gaze. “Whatever you say, daddy.”

Leon’s sharp eyes roll across your body and up to your face, and you feel him stiffen inside you.

“You keep that up, n’ I’ll put a baby in you.”

Your glossy eyes widen, and your heart rises to your throat, your pussy squeezing him.

“Leon,” you chide, your cheeks growing hot. 

Chuckling, he leans down and presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Guess you’ll be my only baby for now.”

[kedsandtubesocks]

Moonage Daydream

X-Wing Pilot!Reader x Din Djarin

summary: you’ve seen a lot during your rebellion days & now with the New Republic… but working with a mandalorian may just send you into the wildest tailspin yet

word count: 11.9k (i’m sorry)

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS ⚠️ takes place before & during the events of the film, reader has a backstory & family but no physical description, light use of gendered language, slight annoyance to friends to lovers, pining & yearning, budding romance, threats & moments of violence/threat of kidnapping, flying as a love language, reader has instances of drinking and smoking, competency kink, light voice kink, slightly jealous!reader, spicy times in the cockpit (helmet stays on), dry humping, unprotected p in v, one moment of spit, creampie, protective and soft!Din

a/n: so… hi lmao I call this my ‘let’s daydream about being in the new movie’ fic or aka my attempt at plugging us into the storyline bcs it’s what we deserve lol big thanks to my dear @babynueva for always supporting my din delulu ily bb! Also this is my first official fic of the year & knowing it’s for Din means so much - so thank you for being here ♡ [divider credit & thanks to the ever amazing @saradika-graphics]

When a mandalorian first strides into base camp on Adelphi, you think you’re seeing things.

The sun bounces off his armor drawing all eyes. It’s like his ancient armor proudly beams of its power and striking force. The mysterious Mandalorian walks with intent, a steady gait that dares anyone to cross him. You can’t help but stare at the mysterious warrior.

“Is he… imperial?” Someone whispers in the mess hall and makeshift cantina.

“Nope, he’s working with us now.” Teva answers simply.

You didn’t believe it. But apparently it’s true.

“He’s set to be an independent operative, but know he is working for and with us.” The colonel’s words then officially etch the truth in stone.

Mando comes around basecamp like a ghost. Barely staying put for you to register his presence, yet the whispers about him grow.

“I heard he took out a whole imperial squadron and a Moff too.” Dyana, your closest friend, tells you enthusiastic to catch up on all the rumors.

Then Ward calls for you, and you miss out on any other gossip Dyana and the others had.

“I’ll be heading to Coruscant this week to meet with a few higher ups and senators… I need you to do all the debriefs with Mando while I’m away.

It’s like a rancor suddenly barreled into you.

“Wait, me?” You stupidly question confused, and Ward shoots you a look, raised eyebrows and all.

“Do you think you’re not capable of handling this, ranger?”

“No, colonel.” You quickly reply, and she nods.

“Good, that’s what I thought.”

When you see her off, it must be obvious how hesitant you still are. Her sturdy hand gives your shoulder a reassuring pat.

“Don’t worry. He’s not as scary as everyone thinks he is.” Ward reassures, but it doesn’t soothe you much.

Especially when the day arrives and you find yourself waiting for him.

Just like before, the mandalorian saunters in and your focus is immediately drawn to him. But then, it gets knocked out of orbit when you find he’s not alone.

A tiny green creature waddles in beside him, childishly blinking at every sight. Why is a child with the mandalorian?

“Where’s Ward?” A rich striking voice startles you. Of course the terrifying warrior would sound this intimidating.

“Went to Coruscant for a meeting.” You reply partly stunned you’re actually talking to him.

“And you are?” But then mandalorian questions, sharp and distrustful, and it pisses you off. He’s the newcomer here, and he decides to question you?

“I’m the person you’re stuck with for your debrief and mission logs unfortunately.” Your voice whips out sharp.

He doesn’t say anything.

“What about Teva?” He counters again, and you want to scream. What’s this guy’s problem?

“Out on a mission,” your reply is sharper, bladed with annoyance.

“If you want you can personally contact Ward and explain why I’m not satisfactory enough for your debrief. I’m sure she’d love that.” Then the defiant reply escapes you faster than you can stop it.

It’s as if the whole cantina mess hall heard you because it becomes deathly silent.

The mandalorian simply stares you down with his unflinching helmet. Then the warrior turns and strides out not saying another word.

“I think you pissed him off.” Wolf snickers breaking the stillness.

A sense of dread looms as you realize you might’ve truly just gotten yourself into a mountain load of trouble.

Ward calls that night, and you knew it was coming.

“Why do you want to start a fight with the mandalorian?” She asks calmly over the comms.

“I’m not! He started it!” You can’t help but childishly counter. You even further explain how demanding and untrusting he was.

The colonel sighs.

“You have to understand… His people don’t trust easily. And for good reason. Try to be the one to play nice here.”

You want to be petty and say he needs to as well, but you can’t argue with Ward.

“Do the whole debrief drunk.” Zeb jokes about it with you the next day, and you scoff.

But by the time sunset arrives you start getting tempted to get a drink because maybe Mando isn’t showing up.

Until he does. And again he’s not alone. The strange but sweet little creature continues waddling alongside Mando.

It’s awkward as hell when he approaches your table. The tension lingers thick from yesterday prickling across your skin in the worst way.

You don’t even know if you should say anything

“Mweh?” A surprisingly soft little noise floats through the tension and you turn towards it. You blink down to find the mysterious little being staring up at you with sweet wide eyes.

With curious claws, the baby reaches for the loth cat charm dangling off your belt, the one of many trinkets your niece has given you.

Melted by the sight, you grin and scoot closer. Then you unclasp the charm for the baby to examine it more.

“You like it? It’s cute right?”

The little one agrees with a chirp sounding so endearing.

Something softly clicks. If a creature so tiny and innocent as this baby confidently travels with the mandalorian, then he couldn't be that much of an ass.

Someone sighs. Then settling back into your seat, you find the mandalorian seated across from you. The baby hops up to sit beside him. Yet his eager eyes remain happily taken with your charm.

“That imp base on Hoth had no leads.” He speaks first.

You’re stunned.

Your gut urges you to not make a big deal about this, to simply now see him as another coworker.

So you nod and casually plug in the info on your datapad.

“Hoth was a long shot, but we appreciate you going.” You even add that in.

You knew of a few pilots who served during the Hoth raid. It’s an unforgiving planet, takes a lot of guts to investigate that icy fortress.

“What’s the next order?” Mando asks firm, all business, just like Ward had told you.

You slide him a bounty chip containing info on a possible military officer who could be running a smuggling ring. The mandalorian doesn’t say anything else, simply takes the card and stands up.

“Come on, kid.” All he does is address the baby, not even sparing you a second glance.

Cute and so politely, the kid hands back your loth cat with a noise that feels like a thank you.

“You’re welcome, little cutie,” you tell him warmly.

Once the pair are out of sight, you sigh exhausted, relieved, and sprawl out on the table glad it’s over. Someone barks a laugh, and you aren’t even embarrassed about it.

You can’t wait till this is over.

It’s already been a week and a half of being grounded, doing these debriefs with Mando. You miss being in the skies. But all that hope of getting back in the clouds gets squashed.

“I need to negotiate a few more issues with Senator Organa… can you continue to do the debrief?” It isn’t much of a question but more of an order from Ward.

So you meet with Mando for the rest of the week and into the next. It’s cordial, barely speaking for more than ten minutes with each other.

You try to be friendly, make a joke about the weather, but he just silently stares at you, obviously annoyed.

And it pisses you off all over again.

But you think of the adorable little baby who eagerly tags along with the terrifying hunter. The kid sweetly waves, and you wave back. You started bringing treats after his guardian chided him for eating some of yours.

The annoyed sigh Mando gave when you brought more snacks to share was worth it.

This time you decided to bring something else along with you.

It was the first charm your sister gave you when you became a pilot. A tradition her daughter, your niece, now does with you.

“Look!” You eagerly hold up the plush creature that makes the baby’s eyes go wide.

With adorable tiny grabby hands, he reaches for it and you happily hand it over.

You grin pleased seeing how pleased the kid coos.

“What’s your name?” The sudden question from Mando surprises you.

A bit stunned, you give it to him.

He nods solemnly, repeating it. Your heart does a strange flip hearing his deep voice say your name.

“This is Grogu.” He then introduces the kid who chimes in hearing his name.

“Nice to meet you, Grogu.” You excitedly greet the kid.

Then you turn to Grogu’s guardian. This solemn but striking mandalorian now has you curious to who he is. Your mind thinks about the rumors that have spread about him.

“And you? What’s your name?” You ask politely, but immediately you can almost hear Dyana screaming at you. She’s become the new expert on Mandalorian customs.

“They’re private people,” she had told you, confirming what Ward had said. “It’s probably why not a lot of people know about him, much less his name.”

“I’m sorry, forgive me.” You stammer quickly. “You don’t have to give it.”

A moment passes, and you worry you’ve unraveled this tentative truce or whatever it is.

“Din… Din Djarin.” His full name. It’s lovely.

“Din…” you repeat it.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” And you mean that.

Mando, Din, nods, and you think it’s worth the few weeks being out of the skies.

When Din and Grogu leave you realize the kid still holds onto your plush charm.

“Come on kid, give it back.” Din urges noticing too.

“No it’s okay. He can keep it. Give it back to me next time.” You grin at the baby, and Grogu giggles pleased at the answer.

“What do you say, kid?”

Grogu chirps a sweet thanks and waddles away content with the plushie in his arms.

The next day, as promised, he brings it back. But you exchange another charm with him. This time it’s a cute cloud with a sweet face. Eager for the new trinket, Grogu ditches the plushie and you laugh.

Work then follows suit. Din explains on the intel he’s slowly gaining on the imp official.

“Taking a bit longer than expected.” Din gruffly admits.

“Don’t worry. Rodents like him know how to hide. It’s not your fault. Then again that’s probably an insult to rodents.” You’ve been trying to stay professional, channel your inner composed Colonel Ward. But the old rebel pilot comes out.

Suddenly, a chuckle follows.

Din laughed.

You swear you misheard it. But the way Grogu giggles agreeing with his protector, you know you heard correctly.

“A fair statement.” Din agrees.

And you grin back at him. A golden victorious feeling bubbles in your chest.

Watching the pair leave, you find you’re excited to see them again.

The rest of the debriefs go smoother than ever. You bring new charms for Grogu to play with, and Din seems to settle in more.

“You have a lot of those.” He even comments a bit dry when you exchange another new charm with Grogu. This time it’s a fuzzy bantha.

“Managed to gather a small collection.” You explain.

“Really… couldn’t tell.” Din deadpans.

That’s when you realized he just joked with you.

“Think you might like those two,” Zeb teases the next time he drops by the mess hall.

“It’s called being civil.” You stubbornly reply while messing with the holopad, and the Lasat warrior barks a laugh.

“Civil? Yeah sure.” He teases further.

You stay stubbornly quiet.

“Don’t worry… They’ve a pain in my ass too.” Zeb huffs, and it does soothe your annoyance.

Especially now that something is festered in you, a sort of curious itch to learn more about Din Djarin.

“I heard… he really did blow up an entire imperial base. That’s how Teva found him.” Dyana is happy to spill more gossip about him.

“He’s quiet, doesn’t talk much. So I doubt he’d say anything even if he did.” You mutter.

“Does he really keep a pet around?” Dyana presses for any new info.

The word ‘pet’ sounds harsh.

“He’s more like the kid’s guardian.” The word ‘parent’ instead wants to slip out especially after you’ve seen Din’s fatherly watch over the baby.

“Oh that’s even more interesting! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!” Dyana shrieks.

“You’ve been busy.” You half lie.

You could argue that it’s because you want to protect Din’s trust and don’t want to disturb that. But the truth is, you don’t want to share this little secret bond you’ve cultivated with him.

You however rapidly kick those thoughts away.

Ward will be back sometime this week. Your brief time with the Mandalorian would be over soon.

Except that time comes sooner than expected.

The next morning Colonel Ward arrives, an early return. Disappointment arrives just as fast. You knew this was only a temporary thing.

Trying not to feel annoyed, you now work on your x-wing. Deep under the hull, you refuel trying just to keep your mind focused here.

“Didn’t know you were a mechanic.” Suddenly, the rich voice of a certain mandalorian echoes in the hanger.

You scramble out from under the ship confused if you heard right.

But standing off to the side are indeed Din and Grogu.

“What? Thought I just did paper work and worked as an assistant?” You tease.

Din chuckles, and it sinks into the glowing sunlight coating the hanger in its glory.

“You’re looking at one of the New Republic’s best pilots!” Dyana.

She perks up emerging from the other side of the ship, and you shoot a glare her way not even knowing where she came from.

“A pilot?” Din questions, curious.

His helmet tilts towards you.

“Sometimes,” you shrug.

“And I wouldn’t say best.” You weakly laugh then glower at Dyana again. She simply beams innocently back at you.

“One day you gotta tell him about Endor. Though I’m sure you have plenty of fight stories to share too, Mando!”

You want to strangle her.

“You fought at Endor?” Din asks, helmet fully facing you and voice faintly awed.

It all makes your skin feel heated and tight.

All you can do is shrug again.

Endor seems like so long ago now. You were so much younger then. Wild and ready to sacrifice it all for the sake of protecting everything you loved. A small secret corner of your heart aches for those days of when you flew with such fire.

“Well… gotta go! Nice to finally meet you both!” Dyana nods to Din and smiles at the baby before scurrying away.

A traitor in the flesh fleeing if you ever did see one.

“So…an x-wing pilot.” Din comments, still watching you. His curious and impressed tone ignites a strange sensation in your chest that threatens to consume you.

“On good days I am.” You again shrug with a half smile.

“So what was Endor like?” He inquires, and you’re surprised he’s curious about that.

“Don’t know, never went on planet… kinda was busy flying around.”

You don’t even need to see his face to know he’s giving you a silent unamused stare. He must not think your joke is as funny as you do.

A surprised giggle does come though. Both you and Din discover Grogu effortlessly climbing up onto the wing of the ship.

“Kid.” Din chides.

“How did you get up there so fast?” You laugh amused at the sight of this tiny creature waddling on top of your x-wing.

Din sighs, truly parental.

“I take it that you fly?” You ask him yet keeping your gaze on Grogu to make sure he stays safe.

“I do.” Din answers, confident.

“Must be why he’s so curious and comfortable around ships. It’s good when kids get to experience being in the air.” You think of your niece who eagerly tries to convince you to fly her around.

“My niece is the same way.” You reveal.

Din hums a noise, acknowledging he’s listening.

“Is she the reason why you have all those charms?” He asks in a tone softer than you’ve ever heard.

“Excuse you, they are medals of honor.” You jokingly try to sound offended.

“With you I wouldn’t be surprised.” He replies deadpan, and you snicker.

“But yeah… she’s the one who gives them to me.” You explain how it was your sister who first started giving you those charms to decorate your x-wing.

They were to remind you to come home safe.

“I was ordered not to come home unless I brought the charms back safe and sound.” You repeat the same words your sister told you.

A soft breeze enters the hanger bringing in a welcoming cooling touch. But it’s then you realize how close you’re now standing next to Din. You didn’t even notice when you or him moved closer to each other.

“That’s… sweet.” His voice carries a tenderness that sneaks under your ribs and sinks in deep.

You turn and find he’s already looking at you.

Under Din’s gaze, it’s like you’re caught in a tractor beam unable to speak or move.

Dangerous thoughts have already begun clouding your mind, and they all connect back to this man. Like how you’ve noticed how broad his shoulders look, and how strong he is helping move crates around the base. What’s worse is you’ve begun wondering what this mandalorian looks like under his helm.

Grogu’s little giggle finally draws your attention away. Currently he peeks inside the cockpit through the window.

“So I take it this is your ship?” Din asks.

“No, I stole it.” You quip back.

“Sure you did.” His dry reply makes you snicker.

“It’s how I got to fight at Endor.” You jest, stealing a quick glance at Din. Of course he shakes his head unamused.

“Thought you didn’t see Endor.” He uses your dry joke back at you, and you can’t help it.

You playfully elbow him.

Another little giggle comes. Glancing back to the ship, Grogu now peers over from the wing’s edge grinning at you and Din.

“Little troublemaker, are you going to be a pilot one day?” You smile at Grogu.

“Mweh!” He squeals.

“I think that’s a yes,” you tell Din proudly.

“No.” Din answers back firmly.

“It’s okay I’ll teach you one day,” you counter sweetly, and the baby giggles more.

“No.” Din repeats again firmer.

A small cluster of pilots approach. Their laughter and conversation fill the air. Guess this moment is over.

“Still need to see Ward… shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Din is smooth about making his exit.

Quickly Grogu jumps into his arms, and you bid the duo goodbye for now.

You haven’t been in the air for long, but it feels like you’re floating now.

The moments you see the pair become like scattered stars.

Months settle in, and a routine follows. You sometimes see Din in the mess hall cantina when you return from a mission. Discussing with the colonel, all you can simply do is give your boys quick smiles.

Other times Din stops by the hanger where you linger now more than ever hoping he drops by. You and him talk about work, missions, the various planets visited.

You want to ask what got him to work for the new republic, but you don’t want to disturb whatever is growing between you and him.

“It’s budding love.” Dyana sagely declares one evening at the cantina, and Zeb agrees.

“It’s not!” You screech over a drink.

“I don’t think Mando has said more than five words to me, yet I see him talking to you so much.” Another pilot chimes in.

“He talks to Zeb the most!” You argue back. The two of them are often paired up on missions now. You try not to get annoyed by it.

“Not as much as you, kid.” Zeb rebuttals.

“Don’t think we haven’t seen the way he hangs around the hanger for you.” Sash Ketter snickers, and it only ignites the discussion once again.

You dismiss all their words as attempts trying to rile you up.

Because you don’t want to face the truth. You long for your chats with Din, even just to see him for a moment and play with Grogu.

It’s just an awful infatuation. That’s it.

Your small vacation break now approaching may be more of a blessing than you realize. It’ll hopefully give you time to clear your head.

“I’m heading home to visit family. I’ll be sure to bring back something good.” You tell Din the next time you run into him outside the cantina.

“There’s no need. Just… be safe.” Din nods.

His gentle words carry you the entire flight home.

The brief week away provides peaceful moments of relaxation. While you enjoy the time spent with your sister’s family, you long to return to Adelphi.

“So, what did you get me this time?” You ask your niece the day before you’re set to head back.

“I got you… THIS!” She proudly raises up an odd creature. You can’t even tell what it is.

“She made it herself.” Your sister whispers, and your eyes go wide.

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me we have an artist in this family now?!” You cry excitedly scooping up your niece in your arms and tickle her with glee as she squeaks excitedly.

“Actually before I go… Do you think you can help me make one too?” You ask her and your niece's eyes light up.

With eager hands she gathers all her supplies to deposit them on the table ready to craft.

“So… are you going to tell me who you’re making this for?” Your sister asks slightly suspiciously as you add little puffballs to your monster creation.

“What if I just want my charm to have a friend, huh?” You deflect.

“Yeah sure.” She’s not convinced but thankfully doesn’t press any further.

As hard as it is saying goodbye to her and your niece, you’re thankful to finally be back to your routine.

And of course, the new little charm sitting in your pocket seems to hold so much weight.

Din returns a few days after you. It’s hard trying to ignore the bubbling joy that rises watching him approach your x-wing first.

“Welcome back.” He greets and Grogu squeals adorably scurrying to you.

Eagerly you welcome his jump into your arms, and you squeeze him tight.

“I miss you too,” you tell Grogu but hope his father knows you mean him as well.

“And look, I got something for you.” You shift to hold Grogu in one arm.

Then you hold up the new charm.

“What is it supposed to be?” Din sounds confused and slightly alarmed.

“It’s a little monster,” you reply lightly insulted.

“My niece and I made these, and I knew someone who might like it.” You grin towards Grogu now.

“Bweh!” He cheers and draws the charm into his small arms so enamored with the strange monstrosity already.

“See! He likes it, that's what matters.” You huff proudly at Din.

Grogu chirps like he agrees. You laugh then catch Din’s chuckle too.

“What do you say, kid?” Din says.

Grogu however doesn’t say anything. Instead he leans up and hugs you. His sweet little arms curl against your neck.

Holding this baby so tight is like holding a little newborn star. You’re grateful for this moment and hug Grogu close, closing your eyes to fully embrace this wonderful tiny soul.

“You’re welcome, little troublemaker.” You softly tell him.

The baby then settles into your arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Worried you might have overstepped, you quickly snap your attention to Din. His helmet stays focused on you.

You wonder what his eyes look like, what color swims within his gaze.

“Glad you’re back safe.” Din’s voice sounds low, softer and a bit thick.

“Me too,” you reply, letting yourself sink into whatever it is overtaking your entire heart.

This infatuation, or whatever it’s mutated into, grows stronger. And it terrifies you.

But you’re reminded quickly there are more terrifying things to face.

The wound isn’t looking good.

You’re more pissed at yourself for getting ambushed by damn pirates. This operation was supposed to be simple, check in on the distress signal intercepted by base. But one pirate ambush later and you’re now stranded trying to stop the bleeding.

You just hope the emergency signal you sent back to camp went through. Leaning against your ship, you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.

Until something pierces your back, and a scream of pain escapes you. Electricity courses through your body knocking you to the ground.

Everything stings. You can barely concentrate, but you hear them. Gleeful disgusting laughs swirling all around. The damn pirates…

“Think of the price we’ll get for x-wing parts!” One of them muses.

“Or even for the pilot, quite a cute one.” That comment unleashes a panicked feral terror.

Get up, you have to get up. Even though every part of your body stings, screaming to stay still, you have to move.

You slowly try to sit up through the aftershocks, but then a boot comes to slowly step on your chest, pressing you down to the dirt.

“Nah uh little pilot, where do ya think you’re going.” A voice snickers.

You clench your jaw hard. This isn’t looking good.

A sudden blaster shot fires and immediately takes out a pirate with accurate precision.

“What was that?!” One of them screams.

Then a blaster shot silenced him.

“Step away from her now.” Din.

Or someone sounding like him.

The voice is deadly, terrifying, and you wonder if it even is Din.

Then the pirate towering above you with his boot still pressing on your chest suddenly gets thrown off.

Weakly you cough sitting up. While you do, you witness Din in action and realize he’s truly here.

And the way he attacks, effortlessly slicing through the pirate captain and the lackeys that try rushing him - he’s incredible.

You’ve never seen anyone fight so fluidly and powerful. You’re witnessing one of the most powerful warriors in the galaxy…

And he’s here to save you.

A small concerned whimper comes to your side and immediately you glance down. Grogu quickly waddles to your arm and flashes his wide worried eyes up to you.

“I’m okay, I promise.” He must see the wound, and you try smiling reassuringly.

He hums a small noise at you. Then he closes his eyes, laying his little claw against your elbow. Slowly a gentle warmth suddenly crawls up your shoulder.

What is he doing?

The stinging pain vanishes instantly. Reaching up to your shoulder, you find no wound.

“Mweh.” Grogu peers up at you with a small little wave.

“You really are something else, little trouble maker… thank you.” You fondly stroke his fuzzy little head, and he beams.

Din urgently yells your name and soon rushes to kneel before you. Gloved hands reach out to steady your shoulders.

“I’m fine.” You now reassure him and move to squeeze one of his hands.

An exhale escapes Din, relieved.

“I’m sorry you both had to come all the way out here. I’m sure there are better bounties to hunt.” You half tease.

“Don’t apologize.” He immediately snaps.

Grogu makes a sad noise as if chiding his father.

“Just glad you’re safe.” So Din gently adds and steadily helps you stand.

Zeb lands moments later with a mechanic to help patch up your ship. The entire time Din stays by your side, letting you lean against him for support. His guiding hand never leaves you.

You’re given the rest of the week off to recover.

“So was Mando on a mission with you when my distress beacon went out?” You ask Zeb when he drops by to check on you.

He snorts, giving you a knowing side eye smirk.

“Is that what you think?” Zeb doesn’t elaborate even when you pester him.

It’s Dyana of course who reveals the truth.

“Mando was the first to rush out. Ward had to practically stop him before he flew off on his own.” Her words unravel something effortlessly in you.

How can you ignore these feelings for a mandalorian anymore?

“I think it’s romantic.” Dyana thankfully doesn’t judge you when you finally admit everything to her.

There was no time for romance during a rebellion, during a war. Even now you almost scoff at the idea. There are other things to do, other things to focus on than get lovesick over someone.

But Din dismantled all those old thoughts in you, leaving you exposed and almost greedy for someone now.

“It’s okay to want that you know… romance and companionship.” Dyana tells you already sensing your hesitation.

You know her and a cute mechanic have been dating off and on for a while. She’s always been urging you to get out more, maybe try to find someone. Guess you just had to wait for a mandalorian to show up.

But you have to put all those giggles and feelings aside.

Your time resting is done, and immediately you’re thrown back into the rush of work.

A mission and orders arrive a few days later on your datapad.

Raid strike this week, get ready

It’s not a full strike squadron, but you’re thankful Zeb is tagging along.

“Think your boyfriend might be joining us.” He teases, and your eyes narrow hard. Now you regret him being here.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You rapidly dismiss.

“Huh uh.” He rolls his eyes.

As if summoned to add to your pain, Din enters the command center. It feels like feral lizard birds were released in your stomach.

Immediately his helmet spots you. Grogu perched on his shoulder chirps upon seeing you. Trying to act relaxed, you give the boys a casual wave and bright grin.

Zeb chuckles, and you silently shush him again under your breath. You walk to meet Din halfway.

“Glad you’re doing better.” He says, faintly warm, and you nod grateful.

“Thanks to my two heroes,” you thank them both again. Grogu beams toothy when you tickle his chin.

Din doesn’t say anything.

“Guess we’re finally teaming up.” So you speak up first.

“Seems like it,” Din agrees.

This isn’t the first time he’s seen you in your pilot gear. Hell, he just rescued you last week. But for some reason, you feel more self aware than ever.

Thankfully Ward enters, drawing the room’s attention to her.

The mission is to ambush the warlord now barricaded up in his mansion. He’s apparently greatly armed and even hired a small air brigade. It’s why this strike squadron was called in. You’re curious why Din is here though.

“Without the mandalorian’s intel, we wouldn’t have this opportunity. So we will be following his lead.” She sends her focus to him.

Din simply and silently nods back.

Then he moves to the holo map and gives details about the estate. Hearing how commanding and surefire his voice resounds, the way he walks confidently and without any hesitation, he’s incredible.

But there’s no time to linger on this warrior.

It’s time to fly.

“Finally get to see you in action,” you tell Din as he walks out with you.

“Guess you will.” He replies with a hint of something playful, and it only speeds up your racing heart.

All you can do is laugh before parting ways.

“Don’t get lost in the clouds.” You teasingly yell to the mandalorian and he looks back at you from over his shoulder.

You can’t see Din’s eyes, but you hope they’re amused.

Him and Grogu now trail away from where you’re stationed, and you settle into your ship.

Your x-wing roars alive, and the familiar comms flicker in your ear. Then the call signals electrify the start to battle.

“Delphi squadron, lock in.” Teva announces on the main channel, the leader for this run. Everyone follows suit locking in their coordinates.

“Blue 9, standing by.” You chime in, readying the flight path.

“Starfighter, standing by.” Then a new voice floats through your helmet.

The tone resonates rich as a stormy ocean sending a shock through your system.

Hearing Din in your helmet does something to you so wild that you feel guilty at how fast your core clenched. You recollect yourself fast.

That’s when you notice the ship he joined in with.

A starfighter? There’s no way. Those ships don’t exist.

But again, you’re proven so wrong.

Among the gunfire and smoke, the sounds of battle, a new gleam of silver catches your attention. The Naboo N-1 fighter is a marvel.

A sleek whisper of a dream, one minute she’s a simple flicker of light then the next she’s firing directly in the trenches of the fight.

But as in awe of the ship as you are, it’s the mandalorian who leaves you breathless.

Din flies amazing. The fast maneuvering, the excellent read he makes of the battle, among his readiness to swoop in and out of tight spaces - you’ve never seen anyone fly this beautifully.

It inspires you, the type of flying that makes you want to soar higher to catch up.

So you do.

You embrace the rebel pilot you always might be and dive through the canyons chasing after one of the bandits the warlord hired.

Quickly you dispatch the enemy ship then swirl and maneuver your x-wing to return to the open sky.

“Target on your left.” Din’s voice suddenly thunders in your ear, chiming in on your personal channel.

“Got it.” You reply steady and twist fast enough to fire on the swing mid air.

“Got him, great shot!” Listening to Din’s deep fierce voice over your private channel, his voice colored in pride, you have to mute the channel to exhale.

Because a wave of arousal crawled up your spine so fast you had to bite your lip. Now you try settling yourself down again.

You pride yourself on being composed when you fly. There of course have been times when you’ve gotten emotional and maybe reacted.

Yet here this masked man completely disarms you.

It’s a fight you realize you won’t win.

The raid is successful, and the warlord gets taken in alive. That’s the win that matters.

“Great job,” Din suddenly voices back in your comms, still sounding so proud, and you melt all over again.

“You too, thanks for the support,” you answer back, just as fond, then rapidly switch over the channel.

“Captain,” you ask Teva on his personal comms.

“Before we leave, do you think I can test Mando on how he flies?”

Teva takes a moment then sighs.

“Make it quick.”

Giddy you quickly chime back onto Din’s channel.

“Wanna go for a run?” A part of you worries he won’t want to join you.

“Lead the way.” But Din quickly answers, and you pull back up to the clouds.

The planet is rather gorgeous, full of lush canyons and towering mountains. It’s a flight playground. Among the skies, twisting and twirling down through the natural landscape, you and Din soar around each other, with each.

Playful, yet delicately cautious, your x-wing revolves alongside his starfighter. Din keeps up with you every moment. Quietly the image of a dance among the clouds floats into your mind.

“Up for a race?” He suddenly asks.

“Oh, you know it.” You agree, excited. You settle into your seat, ready to take off.

But in a flash, he zooms past you.

“What the hell?!” You shriek over the comms.

Din’s husky laugh in your ear is a beautiful reward.

Returning back to Adelphi, you and him fly beside each other. Ward gives everyone the night off, and the cantina already seems to shine extra bright landing in.

Settling into your spot in the hanger, you notice Din lands his starfighter closer than ever.

Sliding off your helmet, for a moment you worry about how bad your hair looks, how messy and sweaty you must be.

But heading down the ladder, Din already walks towards you.

All your worries vanish. You don’t even care how fast you walk towards him. Here standing before Din under the low lights of the hanger, the world melts away.

“You were incredible.”

“You flew… amazing.”

Both you and Din speak at the same time, words jumbling up and getting tangled. It startles you, even his shoulders stiffen a bit.

Then you laugh.

“No, you were the incredible one.” You tell him first.

“Not compared to you,” he shakes his head.

“Glad I finally got to see one of the Rebellion’s and New Republic’s best pilots in action.” There’s a smirk in his voice, and heat burns through your veins.

Any words you want to say, he’s stolen them right from you. All you’re reduced to is a love struck fool caught in the orbit of this powerful mandalorian.

Din doesn’t say anything either. It’s like you and him can’t look away from the other standing this close.

“Hey! Ya two love birds gonna join us or what?” Zeb suddenly breaks the spell, and your blood instantly boils.

You hiss foul curses at Zeb, and he only cackles with laughter.

Embarrassed and trying to escape this moment you shake your head heading towards the exit.

“Come on, let’s go celebrate.” You manage to smile at Din hoping to dispel any comments about what Zeb said.

The mandalorian follows you into the mess hall cantina. The lively celebratory air glimmers with joyous laughter. It’s a welcoming atmosphere, and even Wolf along with a few other pilots ask Din to join them.

“Maybe in a bit,” He nods, instead staying by your side when you approach the bar.

“No pressure, but drinks on me if you want.” You offer.

“I’ll pass, but thanks.” He instead places down credits for your drink, and you thank him with a toast.

“Come on, let’s see how good of a sabacc player you are.” After taking a huge sip, you allow the alcohol to sting in the best way.

“Think you might be dissapointed,” Din chuckles.

Of course he’s a damn natural.

Everyone at the table cries in frustration when he wins the second round, and you even narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, so you’re a liar.” You joke good naturedly.

“Never said I was good or bad.” He answers and it’s rather coy, lighter than what you’ve heard from him.

“Next time Mando I want you comin’ with me off planet! We could really win big.” Someone suggests and now it’s comforting seeing how much everyone has warmed up to him, how much Din has settled in here too.

Until you realize the baby is missing and immediately turn to Din. Maybe it’s the atmosphere but you lean closer to him placing your hand against his arm.

“Wait, where’s Grogu?” You ask concerned and low.

Din leans closer to you, his helmet almost grazing your face.

“Don’t worry, he’s asleep in the barracks.” Din’s answer comes low, reassuring.

Then he reaches up to lay his hand on top of yours. It’s a reassuring hold, a soft touch that brings comfort.

You exhale relieved and don’t have time to realize what he just did until someone drags Din away to play darts.

He squeezed your hand, and you now fight against a dumb smile just thinking about it.

Even after another round of getting your ass kicked at cards, you don’t care. You glance over to Din.

A cluster of pilots surround him. You’re not surprised. He’s a marvel, someone truly remarkable. But one of the prettier pilots slides up next to Din, batting her eyelashes so dreamily up at him.

Something fierce, venomous and coated in jealousy, strikes.

Reaching to Wolf, you nudge his shoulder a few times, and he knowingly looks at you. Not saying anything, he discreetly slips you a smoke stick.

You head out of the cantina into the soft warm night and light up. The smoke in your lungs settles you down for a moment and cuts through the alcohol.

Dumb Mandalorian man making you feel this way…

Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you watch the smoke you exhale mix into the air.

“Didn’t know you smoked.” Din.

His voice melts into the night like he stepped out of the shadows themselves. As he wanders towards you, you shift to lean against the rail of the patio.

“Not often,” you truthfully answer. It’s been a long time since you lit up.

A bad habit you picked up during your rebellion days, being as young as you were around seasoned veteran pilots. It became a way to calm yourself down and stop your hands from shaking from the nerves.

You even tell him that.

“What made you join?” He asks, tentative and quiet.

A loaded question but one you feel comfortable enough to answer, especially with him.

The empire took so much from you. You’re grateful you and your sister managed to keep each other safe, look out for each other. You weren’t lying when you joked about stealing ships. Learning to steal is how you survived for a while as a kid.

Then you accidentally stole from a man named Luthen Rael, and your life changed. Whatever he saw in your eyes that day when he caught you… it kept you alive.

He’s the one who helped get your wings, got you in touch with rebellion once you could fly. Once you joined, you never saw him again.

“Never looked back since.” You tell this all to Din.

You don’t regret your choices. They’re what brought you here after all, kept you safe even during the danger.

“You did what you had to… you should be proud of the life you’ve made. Of the wars you've fought and survived.” Din sincerely commends you, and his words settle deep in your heart.

You softly thank him, appreciating the sentiment.

“And you? What brought you to the New Republic?” Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you finally decide to ask.

This time he’s sighing and moves to lean against the rail beside you. He’s pressed up right beside you.

“Benn a long way to get here as well.” He’s vague, but explains how he was, and still is a bounty hunter by trade. How that path led him to the kid. How Grogu is by Mandalorian creed his son and apprentice now.

“I couldn't keep getting involved with pirates, working for gangsters. It’s not the life I wanted anymore.”

It’s admirable seeing how valiant Din’s spirit shines, yet you hear how weary his soul must be like he carries so much guilt.

“There are wars you’ve fought too, Din. You should be proud of your victories. Even the ones you don’t think you should be.” Maybe it’s the fading alcohol and slow numbness of the smoke stick, but you want more than ever to just hold him.

You go to take another drag to stop yourself from doing anything reckless, but find your smoke stick is burnt to its final end.

“I don’t.. deserve such kind words. But thank you.” Din’s voice is thick, tangled in thorny emotions.

Yet underneath it all, he sounds softer and raw, like a man trying to find comfort in your words.

So you turn and see his striking dark T visor gaze on you.

A moment passes where it’s just you and him under the night sky, staring at each other.

“No matter what path you took, I'm glad you’re here.” You earnestly tell him.

In such a short amount of time this mandalorian has reawakened something in you and takes up such a large part of your heart.

“Me too.” Din mutters, nodding.

Another x-wing lands outside stealing your attention away as the engines break the quiet night air.

“Always been curious to how they fly.” Din suddenly comments sounding intrigued.

“You wanna see?”

He turns to you, helmet tilted incredulous and challenging.

“Come on,” so you challenge him back with a toothy grin.

Immediately Din follows behind you, footsteps quick yet terrifying agile.

The hanger sits in eerie stillness this time of night.

“Should we even be here?” Din asks low, a bit cautious.

“Didn’t take you as a ‘by the books’ guy, Mando.” You use the common name everyone calls him as a tease.

“Only when it comes to my employer.” He replies unamused.

“Trust me, we’ll be fine.” You wave him off and he continues following you further into the dark hanger.

He doesn’t know it, but this place, especially for pilots, is an infamous makeout spot. You try not to think about that too much.

There you arrive at your x-wing.

“Hop in,” you nudge him towards the ladder.

“What?” Din sounding so boyish and confused makes you laugh.

“Get in,” you urge.

Sighing defeated he climbs up the ladder to the cockpit and you follow. You look away trying not to stare at his cute ass.

“Can we even fit in this?”

“X-wings are capable of holding various types and sizes of pilots. We are not the empire, thank you very much,” you proudly declare.

The hatch opens, and Din jumps in. The dashboard and control panel light up as he takes a seat in your chair.

Your throat goes dry seeing him sit in the same pilot seat you fly in.

“Throttle, control stick,” he points out immediately.

As much room as you have, it is cramped standing up. So you curl to the side, closer to him, but keep your eyes on the control monitor.

“It’s got a good radar system.” Din comments admiring the monitor too.

You rattle on about how these are the upgraded models everyone got after the war. The original ones you used during the rebellion are classic, but the upgrades were warmly welcomed.

“Sorry, this all must sound boring.” You weakly laugh.

“It’s not. Tell me more.” He reassures.

You’re about to until you hear commotion around the hanger.

So, quickly you scramble up and around to slide into the seat -

Right between the V of Din’s legs.

You crouch low and drag him down too.

“Wh…what are you-”

“Shh…” you shush him. “Have to lie low just in case.”

“So we should leave.” Din urges urgent.

“We’re fine.” You reassure him now.

The commotion you thought you heard passes by, and silence returns.

You exhale a bit relieved, moving to sit up. Then you grin at him from over your shoulder.

“See… told you we’d be fine.”

He stays quiet.

It hits you. Maybe you upset him or crossed a line being this close. Though you aren’t fully pressed up against his chest, the position is still intimate. You’re literally between his legs.

You want to apologize, especially now that the courage fades away fast.

But all you can think about is how stunning Din is, how gorgeous he looks here in your ship.

“One day you should fly it.” You truthfully blurt out while staring at him.

“Don’t think Ward would let me.” He stiffly replies.

“I would.” You immediately counter.

“Plus you look good in here...” Then you realize what you just admitted.

So you try to recover fast.

“Knowing your skills, if you had been with us during the rebellion days, you would’ve fit in just fine. Probably would’ve even been half as good as me.” You add hastily, half joking, hoping he doesn’t linger on anything you said before.

You now glance away to check out the window. The hanger is thankfully still empty.

Then Din suddenly softly breathes your name.

You’ve never heard it sound so holy and raw that it rips you wide open. You completely shift around to glance at him in the lowly light cockpit.

“How inebriated are you?” He asks husky, thick.

“I could recite the entire radar flight plan chart we made for Endor.” You tell him completely wide awake now. Every part of you feels like a live wire completely focused on this man.

His low weak chuckle makes your stomach flip in the best way.

Din exhales, breathy and deep.

You don’t want to over step, don’t want to ruin this. So you patiently wait, hoping he makes the first move.

Feeling his arms slide around yours, tentative but curious, you’re galvanized.

Immediately you rise and twist around to fully stare down at him. Looking at Din for a moment, here in the cockpit of your ship, you want to burn this image into your memory. Want to consecrate this in a way you never may do with anyone else again.

You rest your legs on either side of his, caging him in then you settle down onto his lap.

The soft low noise Din makes is music to your ears.

He says your name, but it sounds more like a warning.

“I want this… I want you.” You tell him, finally admitting the words out loud.

Then, you grind down on his lap, straddling him, and immediately pleasure floods into your system.

Din groans, and it spurs you on instantly.

Frustrated that you’re still in your damn flight suit, you unzip the top, slide off the jacket, and exhale feeling the coolness reach your skin. Sliding your hands up to his shoulders you whisper his name.

Then you grind against the bulge in Din’s pants pressing into you, and your mind goes foggy.

But not foggy enough that you notice Din remains still.

Everything collides into you with a halting stop. What if he doesn’t want this?

“I’m… I’m so sorry.” You halt your movements and apologize composed as you can. Awkwardly you lift yourself off of him.

“No I-” Din starts, but then stops himself.

You settle back down on him but this time further back on his thighs.

“Do you… not want to do this?” You ask cautiously. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”

It’s okay if you don’t want me, is what you actually want to say. But you’re not brave enough for that, no matter how many empire ships you’ve shot down.

“No.” Din noisily exhales frustrated.

His hands go to rest on your thighs. His head falls forward, crestfallen.

“I want this, want you. Just afraid I won’t be able to stop.” He admits weak.

“You don’t have to stop… I don’t want you to.” You admit, soft and greedy, deciding not to hold back now.

Here in your ship, you think maybe he’s become your prey, trapped in your spiderweb. But then his helmet ever so slightly tilts up to you. Under the watch of his unflinching visor, you now feel like a prey caught within a hunter’s gaze.

His heavy breathing grows stronger and reignites something in you.

“Din,” You mutter his name, and he lets out a strained curse.

“I think about you… too much.” Din reveals like it’s a painful truth, as if the words hurt to say.

“I think about you all the time.” The truth leaves you effortlessly now.

“Wonder about what color your eyes are,” You decide to be the brave rebellion pilot you are.

“If you and the baby are safe, eating well,” you add, and he chuckles breathily.

“I think about how brave you are and how… lucky I am to know you,” you continue feeling molten and sentimental now.

Din says your name again, this time tender, and it almost causes you to falter.

So you lean closer to his helmet.

“I think about how handsome you are… imagine your cock inside me.” You mutter and hearing the words aloud feels too much.

But then his strong hands dig into your thighs and slide you on his lap fully, dragging you across his clothed cock.

How strong he pulled you, the fast friction draws a whine from you.

“Yeah?” He growls and leans his helmet directly against your face. The cool beskar touching your skin is heavenly.

“Yeah.” You moan, and your hips begin their rhythm again.

This time it’s not just you moving. Din finally grinds up into you, and you see stars. Your underwear sticks to your sticky core, but you don’t care.

Not when you and Din rut against each other and his hands chart a path all over you. One hand slides up to your neck, anchoring you close to him. The other moves to your back, sliding up to bunch your tank top in his grasp.

It’s too hot now, and you’re wearing too many clothes.

So you weakly draw away from his hold to reach up and yank your top off.

Then you wiggle the last bit of the jump suit off, trying to let your hips and legs be free. But it’s hard.

Din even chuckles at your struggle, and you shoot him a look, annoyed. Patiently, he helps slide the material down until it pools down your legs.

Now you’re simply in your underwear, completely bare before him.

The sensation of his gloved hands running up your stomach, across your back, reverently taking in every inch of your bare soft skin, it melts you.

“Beautiful,” Din breathes in awe.

Then one of his gloved hands crawls up to knead your breast in his grasp, pinching your nipple. Your head falls back, and your hips return to seek relief. Grinding against him without the jumpsuit, the friction is so much stronger, a delicious undercurrent making you want more.

“Din,” You sob, feeling the pleasure build fast.

“Want you inside of me,” you whimper quickly getting drunk on him.

He cusses again sharp, dragging you harder against his clothed cock.

A loss comes when his hands leave your body, but wearily your eyes open once you feel him move to his pant buckle. Eagerly you join in to help.

His cock in your hand is warm. He’s thick, delicious in size. He’s already leaking, and possessed by something raw you lean down to lightly spit on his cock. Din groans so loud you think it rattles your bones.

Stroking his cock slow, you love feeling his mess mix with your spit.

He quickly hisses your name.

“Inside now,” he urges, a desperate man. Clutching at your hips hard, he practically draws you up.

Who are you to deny your mandalorian?

He helps slide off your stick underwear, now fully bare.

Before you sink down on him, you lean closer to his helmet.

You don’t have to say anything. You simply look at him, a final reassurance to see if he wants this the way you want him.

A gloved hand curls up to your face, cradling your sweaty face, stroking your cheek. His touch is fond, and it rocks you more than anything.

He nods firm, so sure.

So you sink down on him, guiding him into you. Both you and him moan and the world implodes in the most beautiful way.

When you were younger and around the veteran pilots, they used to share tales of how they’d christen their ships. Back then, you couldn’t imagine bringing anyone into this sacred space to do that.

Now you don’t want Din to leave it.

A fervid raw desperation has you clinging to him, Din touches you so protectively, keeping you close. His hands clutch you firm, like he’s worried you could fly away from him at any moment.

Needing to be closer, you curl against his neck. You ache to kiss his skin. But the smell of gunpowder, of something beautifully musky, purely Din, floods your mind and makes your mouth water.

His pace grows sloppy, and you feel it coming too.

“Where?” He slurs urgently.

“Inside, got the implant,” you mutter half dazed, but when you feel his cock twitch inside you moan embarrassingly loud.

“Inside Din please please please.” You now beg, wanting to feel him so badly.

“Not until you come first, wanna feel you.” Din demands growling back, and it pushes you over the edge.

Your climax knocks you into another realm. You’re floating. Din follows you over not long after with the deepest groan.

His warmth fills you, even feel it leaking out, causing you to whimper so content.

Exhausted you flop against his chest loving the cool press of his armor against your bare skin. Then a part of you hisses to pull away. Until Din’s helmet gently leans to rest against your head, and his gloved fingers tenderly stroke your back keeping you in place.

“So… you ever done that before in here?” Din asks, partially joking but still curious.

You shake your head no.

“You’re the only one.” You reveal.

His hand tracing across your skin suddenly stops. Then it fully draws across you to draw you closer to him in a soft like embrace.

An aching adoration for this man cements itself into you. It’s now etched into your heart and now your ship. Maybe the two are the same.

After this night, you find him everywhere now.

Anytime he or you return back from a mission, one seeks the other out.

Din and Grogu now even rest in your quarters.

The lodging here is small, but it’s become your makeshift home. Grogu snuggles up warm among the blanket pile you’ve made for him on the extra cot. And Din sleeps beside you in your bed.

You believed it was something sacred to know a mandalorian, but you realize it’s a true honor to find one seeking rest beside you.

Bathed in the moonlight leaking into your room, you and Din stare at each other lying side by side.

You wish he could relax more, maybe take off his armor.

But remaining helmeted, you understand his creed and don’t want to push. It’s just a small piece of you being selfish and wanting to see him.

“What’s wrong?” He notices your silence.

“I wish I could make this more comfortable for you.” Is the best way you can tell him.

He chuckles.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

To even prove it he settles deeper among the pillows sliding closer to you.

“Nicer than the cot that I have on Nevarro.”

You almost laugh. He’s so endearing sometimes and doesn’t even realize it.

But you’re reminded he does have a home.

“What’s your place like on Nevarro?” You ask about it.

“It’s good, simple.” Such a boring classic Din answer.

“Maybe… one day you can see it.” That addition he makes has your heart racing.

“Yeah, I’d like that” you nod, grateful for the offer.

Slowly your eyes close on their own now.

“Brown,” until suddenly he blurts out a random color.

Wearily opening your eyes blinking at him a bit confused.

“My eyes… they’re brown.” He reveals.

A soft grateful smile warms your face as you thank him.

You fall asleep beside him, wondering about his home, what it would be like to wake up and see his beautiful brown eyes.

But those daydreams get shoved away fast.

Missions begin piling up. The empire trash is getting sneakier, working faster in the shadows. It keeps everyone busy. You barely see Din. When you do the exchanges are brief, simple glances or even short catch ups.

Ward eyes you and Din suspicious but of course aware.

Approaching Din you try avoiding the colonel’s gaze as she leaves.

That’s when you spot the ship that flew in yesterday.

“You wanted… this hunk of junk?” You dubiously stare at the razor crest. This is the beloved ship Din apparently had been searching high and low for.

“She flies better than she looks.” Din defends.

Grogu excitedly waddles up the ramp eager to be inside the old ship.

You still eye the gunship worried about how good she can protect the cargo she’ll soon be carrying.

“Might not be a x-wing, but I trust this ship with my life.” Din senses your apprehension.

You give him a soft elbow nudge that barely makes his budge. But he playfully nudges you back, and a grin tugs at your lips.

“Ugh,” Zeb groans with faux disgust seeing you and Din. You roll your eyes.

“You know, I notice with all the markings… this ship looks like it could fit in with a gold squadron.” You tell Zeb nudging your chin towards the paint.

He barks a laugh.

“Wouldn’t that be a sight. This piece of junk flying with us?” Zeb muses.

“I don’t know…I think the crest would fight right in.” You shrug, fond.

“Yeah? Think we could get Mando in a uniform?” Zeb adds and Din flat out shuts that down with a hard no.

It makes you and Zeb snicker.

Now you head in to examine the ship yourself and look around. The older metal, the antique design and layout, it really doesn’t ease your apprehension, but you trust Din.

“Your beskar boy has shit taste picking a ship like this.” Zed snorts heading up to the cockpit.

“Shut up.” You practically hiss at him.

But he leaves you and Din alone.

It’s hard to navigate this strange space lingering between you and him, as if neither you or him know how to move.

So you decide to be brave. You grab his hand and squeeze it.

“Be safe,” you nod to the mandalorian.

He quietly nods back, gathering your hand in his. He squeezes back just as firm.

You head out of the razor crest and into the bright afternoon sun. From the cockpit window you spot your boys. Din nods a farewell, and Grogu spotting you waves down from the control panel. In his grasp is your silly little monster charm.

Not moving from your spot, you keep your eyes on the ship until it fades into the jump of hyperspeed.

You don’t hear from Din for half a month.

It’s nothing new. You’re had months where missions kept you both busy. And from how displeased she was with the last mission, Ward apparently has him working on something fierce.

Then another week passes, and you’re sent on a protective mission to Chandrilla.

It takes your full attention. But the entire time your mind is on Din. Are he and Grogu safe? Is everything going okay?

“You must be in love.” The Senator you’re escorting on the mission says suddenly. Embarrassment floods you fast.

“I’m sorry?” You ask slightly confused.

He smiles at you kindly.

“You’ve been sighing, seem distant. Like a heroine kept away from a lover.”

Shit.

“I apologize. I promised I’m focused.” You reassure him, and the senator laughs.

“It’s fine, my dear,” he reassures, then leans in eagerly. “So tell me about the lucky person.”

Now here you are telling this Senator about your awful admiration for the mandalorian.

“Oh, a mandalorian.” He whispers in awe. “They’re a rare kind. He must be quite a sight.”

He is. But he’s more than that.

He’s kind and unbelievingly sharp. Strikingly powerful, and unwaveringly supportive. There’s a compassion that walks hand in hand with Din’s firm courage.

“Oh you got it bad,” the Senator laughs.

It’s unfortunately true.

How fast and quickly this mandalorian has disarmed you, but what else would you have expected from a warrior like him? Maybe you were doomed from the start to fight against feelings for such a fierce conqueror.

The thoughts of him keep you going through the mission.

Arriving at base camp, you instead find there’s already commotion.

Din has returned, but he’s not alone.

Jabba’s son, Rotta the Hutt, is with him.

At least Din and the baby are safe.

Standing off overlooking the beach, Din patiently watches Grogu play among the beach waves with the young Hutt.

“So, looks like you’ve been busy.” You say moving to his side.

“Tell me about it.” He sighs.

The rundown he gives you is surface level, getting tied up among the Hutt twins while trying to search for the infamous Commander Coin.

“Things might get hairy soon. I’m heading back to Nevarro to lie low for a while.”

His somber tone says more looms.

“Din…” you mutter cautiously.

He turns to you.

“If you’re in any danger…know that I want to help.” You urge, hoping he’ll tell you more.

“I know.” He nods, yet says nothing more.

Please, your heart begs, please let me stay by your side and fight with you.

But you know fighting against this adamant man is a losing battle. So you sigh and reach down to your belt.

The charm you have on today is your favorite, and you hand it to him.

“Remember to bring it back to me.” You can’t even look at him because your eyes suddenly feel like they could spill over a river of tears.

His gloved hand cradles your face, letting you fully look at him.

“We’ll be fine.” His voice soothes you steeled with resolution.

You nod, fighting harder against tears.

Then Din leans down. He presses his helmet against your forehead. You close your eyes and lean into the cool beskar.

With a goodbye hug to Grogu, you tell the sweet little soul to keep an eye on his dad.

This time, you don’t have the strength to watch them leave.

You throw yourself into any available mission.

Ward must sense why you’re doing this and in a punishment of sorts, she instead sticks you on filing reports.

“Mando will be fine,” Teva tries to reassure you.

You hope he will be. Days pass and you try to settle into a routine.

But then a group of Anzellans arrive in a panic. You’d been working on your ship when they landed.

Currently they rapidly relay a message to Ward. She patiently tries to listen to all of their worried voices.

“What’s going on?” You ask Wolf.

“Apparently Mando and the kid are stuck on Nal Hutta… don’t think it’s looking good.” He mutters back somber.

Absolute dread is unleashed in you.

You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re standing right before the colonel.

“Let me join the rescue strike.” You urge.

Ward turns to you, then sighs, even says your name a bit heartbroken. That says enough.

“Are we really considering not going?!” Your voice raises, shocked and upset.

“It’s not that simple.” Ward, calm and composed, tries to clarify, but just hearing that line feels like an alarm goes off in your head.

“What isn’t simple?! He’s one of us. We have to rescue them.” You argue back harder.

“There are protocols. And with the intel and alliance we’ve tried establishing with the Hutts we can’t just strike in, ranger.” Ward sharply explains, putting you in your place.

Anger burns through your veins.

“She’s right, colonel…” Teva suddenly speaks up.

“Mando is one of us.” He agrees with you.

More Delphi officers stand up.

Before Ward can even say anything, you turn on your heels and head out of the hanger zipping up your flight suit.

You don’t care if this will get you in trouble, hell even dishonorably discharged. Din needs you. Grogu needs you.

Then you hear a few others arrive in the hangar.

Ward calls out your name. This is it.

Turning towards her, you ready yourself to accept whatever punishment. Yet, you instead see your commander in her flight suit as well. Your eyes can’t help but widen.

She sighs yet gives you a half grin, understanding.

“I should sit you out on this mission.”

“I know. I’ve accepted that I’ll be doing reports for the rest of the year.” You sleepily shrug.

Her smirks grows bigger.

“Try two years,” she says heading to her ship.

You’ll happily accept that too.

The twin’s palace is heavily guarded, and it’s a true dogfight on Nal Hutta.

Then Din’s voice electrifies the coms as he reports in with Colonel Ward. Absolute relief blooms in your chest, and you feel like crying. He’s alive.

Now you fly harder and faster than you ever have. It reminds you of Endor. That final battle all you thought of was the hope right before your eyes, knowing something precious was so close and needed to be defended.

That’s what this feels like.

You manage to knock out a few droid ships, but the main focus is on the palace.

Yet Din remains inside.

And Ward gives the command to light the place up.

“Get out of there. Please.” You whisper out loud or maybe to the force itself.

Then, the stronghold goes under flames.

You and the others circle around, flying out of the line of fire from the explosion. Yet your stomach stays in knots.

“Anyone got eyes on Mando?” Wolf asks before you can.

Out from the smoke, there among the water below, you spot them. Your boys are alive.

A watery relieved laugh escapes you as you blink away the tears.

“Go pick up the trash, Zeb.” Ward jokes, and you can’t even be mad.

Knowing they’re safe is all that matters.

Vibrating with so much emotion, you land besides Zeb’s ship hoping to see them.

But Ward of course arrives first.

You instead idle by your x-wing, pretending to be checking your engines. Ward tells him the truth about the Hutts that even you didn’t know. So that’s why she finally agreed to go.

“And… we don’t leave our own behind.” Her words resound within you.

Din deflects, saying how he’s not with the New Republic.

“Sure you aren’t Mando, sure you aren’t.” She says.

“If you aren't one of us… Who do you think helped convince us to come?”

Ward’s insinuating tone shoots a shock up your spine.

You keep your gaze on your ship, refusing to even look their way. Focusing on mindlessly keeping busy, you don’t notice footsteps approaching until you move out from under the wing. There Din stands waiting.

He’s here.

Grogu cries gleefully, and your attention turns to him. You eagerly accept him into your arms hugging him tight.

“I’m so proud of you. You must have been so brave, my little ranger.” You even press a kiss to his fuzzy head, addressing him as the courageous officer he is.

The baby coos back fond, embracing you with his sweet but sturdy little arms.

While he’s still in your hold, your eyes open to find Din.

He stares unwavering at you, and your eyes water again.

“Welcome back,” you croak out.

Din nods, then, he raises up your favorite charm you gave him.

“Had to bring this back.”

With a watery laugh, you shake your head.

“Your dad is so silly,” you half whisper to Grogu who giggles, agreeing.

A sigh leaves Din but, in a few steps, he walks towards you.

Then you and Grogu are gathered into his embrace. You immediately wrap one of your arms around Din.

“Thank you… for coming for us.” Din’s voice is gentle, grateful.

“Always.” You answer back with a resounding truth.

Your job is tied here, and you might fly for the sake of the New Republic. But you believe your true wings, your heart’s flight navigation, now will always include a path for and to Din Djarin.

Currently he chats with Rotta, from what you heard might be staying here too.

Once you head into the mess hall Ward calls your name. With a patient knowing grin, she holds out the datapad with the promise of the paperwork you knew would be waiting for you.

Logging in with your chain link, a new message suddenly chimes onto the monitor from an unknown contact.

It contains a coordinates location to Nevarro along with a single message attached.

Stop by whenever, we’ll be waiting

Quickly, you start the reports happily accepting your punishment.

After all, there's a flight to Nevarro calling your name.

[mggsangel]

Sweetheart bf!Leon Kennedy

Re2 sweetheart bf!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

ⓘContent warnings +tags⋅˚₊‧ re2/rookie!Leon, ooc leon probably (especially for re4 & re9), kisses !!, not proof read ☹️

Note𝜗ৎ awweee rookie leon :) !!! i'm so sorry if this sucks i haven't written anything in ages, and barely made a dent in re2 before writing this :(

— bf!Leon Kennedy who is the sweetest boyfriend ever, and would do anything if it helped you in the slightest. If you needed a ride? He's already in his car. You're tired? He runs you a bubble bath and lays out your pyjamas, without a second thought.

— bf!Leon Kennedy who doesn't believe that money can buy love, but will still go out of his way to spend his very little rookie cop paycheck on a pretty necklace, because "pretty girls deserve pretty things."

— bf!Leon Kennedy who can't help but try to assist you with everything.

"Do you need help with that?" "No thank you, Leon." You turned him down politely for at least the fifth time that evening. "Okay," He padded past your kitchen island, dragging and pushing his heels into the hardwood floor. "Leon," You hummed teasingly. "Yes?" He tilted his head like a puppy. "You're hovering," You paused to look your boyfriend —who was far too helpful for his own good— in the eye. "again." "Just trying to help," He muttered underneath his breath.

— bf!Leon Kennedy who adores kisses. He loves to press small pecks to your cheek and nose when you're lying in bed half asleep, and loves just as much when you do the same to him. Leon loves to kiss your hands after he does something gentlemanly, for the sole purpose of making you giggle and kiss him properly on his lips.

— bf!Leon Kennedy who is giddy to do anything with you. If you want to go on a date, he's over the moon, if you want to stay in for the night, he pampers you all evening without any complaint♡

[dilfzuku]

arguing with Leon as to why sex while he’s infected is a Genius idea

𝐜𝐰. 456 words, smut (mdni), fem!reader x infected re4r!leon kennedy, swearing, agent!reader, leon likes being choked, "pretty baby", needy sex on the job?

“Please, please, please—” You clutched at Leon’s shirt, tugging it up to expose the dark lines splintering beneath the skin. Your mouth watered. His trembling hands came to your waist, holding on for dear life as you started to roll your hips while straddling his lap. 

“Fuck—don’t do that, please don’t do this.” Despite his words, his fingers dug into you, holding you against him with no means of escape, and a moan slipped past his lips. You traced the inky tendrils of the infection with feather-light strokes of your fingers, his abs flexing beneath your touch. “We don’t have time and it’s—oh fuck you’re gonna be the death of me—we don’t—it’s not safe.” 

You silenced him with a hungry kiss. Your tongue slipped into his mouth to greedily explore everywhere you could reach while a hand cupped his jaw, tilting his head into the perfect angle. Blonde strands stuck to his sweat-slick forehead and the sight of him was sinful.

“Please Leon, I need you right now,” you whispered as you pulled back, a string of spit connecting you two splitting and falling onto his chin. You wiped at it with your thumb, smearing it across his pretty face. His eyes nearly rolled back. 

“Yeah,” he panted, “yeah, of course. Get these off.” He fumbled desperately at the belt and fastenings of equipment on your pants, you doing the same for him. 

When your hand finally wrapped around his leaking cock and smeared a mix of your spit and his pre, he whined. With your pants off, he pushed your panties aside and swiped his thumb through your folds, feeling how utterly drenched you were for him. Your body shuddered. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” he mumbled under his breath, guiding you to sink onto him. 

The stinging stretch in the absence of prep melted into delicious pleasure with every inch you took in, slowly and barely controlled. His hands traveled from your hips, climbing up your torso as though he was drawing the Plaga onto you. His hips bucked up, fully burying himself inside and pulling a gasp from you. 

“Sorry pretty baby,” he murmured. You leaned down, pressing your forehead to his. You were so pretty with tears dotting your lashline and shiny, swollen lips. He couldn't get enough of you. He kissed along your jaw, nipping and licking at your skin. “So, so good.” 

You squeezed him so mind-addlingly, your every sound going straight to his cock. Hazily, one of your hands climbed to his throat and held on with the slightest pressure. Leon twitched inside of you and sank his teeth into his lower lip, hardly muffling his groan. 

“Give it to me, Leon. Infect me.”

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. i am so sorry. this seems filthy and poorly-written to me but i'm not really a smut writer so maybe it's super normal and i'm just hyper-criticizing myself. alas

© 𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐟𝐳𝐮𝐤𝐮 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. do not modify, translate, or repost my works on any platform.

[shikiyomizu]

workplace romance ─────── (re9) l. kennedy

summary . . . chief leon kennedy has a crush on the temporary receptionist of rpd. the receptionist in question is his wife, and he has made it everyone’s problem.

notes. 🎤 this just in… shikiyomizu writes another fic where leon kennedy is obsessed with his wife !! got this idea while i was driving to work today, also :( thank you guys we hit 400 followers the other day 🫶 y’all are the best

tags ──────── fluff, re9 leon kennedy x wife!reader. au, no zombie break out. takes place in raccoon city. leon’s doing everything but working. word count: 1.2k words

The receptionist of RPD was six months pregnant with her first child. Getting closer to her due date, she put in her time off. Once she got to eight months, she would be gone to prepare herself and stay out on maternity leave. That gave the station at most a month to find a temporary receptionist.

Chief Kennedy quickly found a solution. After you heard he told you about their receptionist during dinner, you offered to fill in the position while she was away. You didn’t work, the officers knew you since you’d come and visit Leon at the station on occasions.

The more experienced officers were more familiar with you and still remembered the day you both met.

Leon was late on his first day of work. Not a good look for an optimistic rookie. Then, he got thrown into traffic duty with Lieutenant Marvin Branagh, and had to write up a ticket to a girl they pulled over who was his type. He swore that someone didn’t want him to succeed as a police officer.

That’s right, you were the first person Leon ever gave a ticket to. But it made for a cute story, and the outcome was a marriage of 24 years.

When he proposed the idea, everyone quickly agreed. No officer would have to fill the position, they wouldn’t have to wait for an applicant, and they could trust you would get the job done correctly. Now what they didn’t imagine happening is the Chief of police suddenly not knowing how to behave.

The first few weeks, Leon checked up on you to make sure everything was going smoothly while you were being trained. You adjusted rather quickly. He’d stay by the desk, flirt with you for a couple minutes, and return to his office.

Then the following months, the visits became more frequent. He’d start dropping by multiple times throughout the day, and stayed longer than he was supposed to. He loved having you working at the station. He could see you and talk to you any time he wanted.

And although it was sweet, it threw off the function of the second floor where the officers really needed him to be. They took matters into their own hands and limited him to one daily visit.

That ended up backfiring as soon as the rule was implemented. They saw him heading downstairs, and made a note he was taking his daily visit. So, they minded their business and went back to working.

Hours passed, someone was on the phone to speak with him. The officer tried to ring him, but he wasn’t picking up. Unusual for him. She stood up from her desk and quickly rushed to his office, just to not see Leon there at all.

The man had the entire floor looking for him because the call was important. The bathroom, the library, the archive room, the weapons room. They were practically seething when they found him sitting behind the receptionist desk with you.

All he said was, “You said one visit, not that I had to come back.”

They didn’t blame you since you were actually getting your work done.

They were honestly debating whether or not they should enforce the whole no dating in the workplace rule again. But it didn’t make sense considering you two were married and so were Captains Chris and Jill Redfield of S.T.A.R.S.

So they found the only other solution.

The following work week, Leon got banned from the first floor.

He took it to the heart. He watched you from the second floor like some Victorian yearner until he got sent back to his office by one of his lieutenants.

He tried to sneak past them on several occasions. Sometimes it worked. Other times?

“Chief! Don’t you go down those stairs!”

Leon huffed. He was so close this time. He’d made it halfway down. He glared at the officer standing at the top of stairs. You were at the reception desk, going through mail the station received. He wanted to use the excuse that he was going to pick something up, but they’d just say they would bring it to him. He reluctantly turned around and went right back up.

He passed the sign holder by the stairs made for him that said, “Lunch is at 1PM. Shift ends at 6PM.”

It got bad enough that they assigned someone to keep an eye on him.

The new rookie that joined was so confused why they told him not to allow Chief Kennedy on the first floor under any circumstances besides lunchtime and when it was time to go. Plus, they didn’t even go into detail as to why the Chief was banned from the first floor. They said it so ominously, as if the world would end if he made it down there.

Technically, it was an easy task. His office door was always shut, no matter what. If it ever opened, the loud creaking would alert the rookie and he’d tell his superior the first floor was off limits.

Today, Leon opened his office door cautiously. His officers were overwhelmed at their desks, especially the rookie who was stuck babysitting him. Paperwork was due at the end of the week. Everyone was trying to get it done so they wouldn’t have to stay late on a Friday night.

Perfect. He slipped out unnoticed. He left the door at a crack. If he closed it now, it might catch their attention and he refused to lose this golden opportunity. He kept his body against the wall, heading in the direction of the stairs.

You were making copies of forms. While the printer did the task for you, you swiveled your chair to the computer again to check on an email. Just as you were doing that, there came your husband rushing down the stairs. Leon made it to the bottom step and walked across the lobby towards the reception desk.

Oh great. What was he planning now? Your hand hovered over the phone, ready to call one of the lieutenants. But you didn’t since your husband wasn’t staring directly at you, rather the staircase on your right. He dug his hand in the pocket of his pants and pulled out a slip of paper.

Leon carefully slid it across the counter, and continued walking without looking at you.

The paper was folded in half. You raised a brow. He was probably asking you to meet him in the filing room again. You grabbed the paper and opened it.

“What the…” You muttered.

Do you like me?

Two options. One box said yes, and the other box said yes. You furrowed your brows.

You looked to your right. Leon was leaning against the stair railing. He drew a heart in the air with his pointer fingers and then winked at you. Your eyes followed as he went up to the second floor.

Reminder: File a complaint.

You clicked your pen. Underneath the two boxes, you drew a third one. Right beside it you wrote, “No”, and checked it.

“Is he here?” You glanced up. The rookie was out of air after running down a flight of stairs. Poor boy was carrying the fate of the world on his shoulders and he refused to let it end. That or he thought he might get fired for not keeping Chief Kennedy in check.

“Honey, don’t worry. He’s upstairs. Besides, the only place he’s getting in trouble is at home.” You said. That helped ease his worries a bit. You folded the slip of paper again and held it out to the rookie, “Do me a favor. Can you give this to him when you see him?”

[devnmon]

a gun is a girl's best friend.

leon kennedy x f!reader

sum: leon's cleaning his gun in the kitchen, and you can't help but be mesmerized by it and him. tags/warnings: gun play (no gun in v, unloaded), leon's a tease, dry humping against requiem (and a little on leon's thigh), nipple play, brat taming (?), daddy kink, praise (a little bit), pwp a/n: [anyone ever wanna fuck something that you physically cant? cause me too.] i zont wanna hear shieettt about this leon being ooc. go complain to someone who cares. anyways i've been writing this for a couple weeks now and finally finished it. i hope my real ones out there find this and enjoy it. mwah, love u freaks <3 wc: 4.4k

Requiem.

Leon’s custom revolver. Issued by the DSO.

A hefty thing, if one were to pick the weapon up without the aid of meticulously trained arms and hands. It might slip from another’s grasp if they weren’t attuned to its magnitude.

He’d designed parts of it himself, scaling every part to size in his sketchbook. The division was more than happy to put in the request.

From bullets specially made down to the millimeter, to the case it came in, the holster, even the grip fashioned with an eagle wing, requiem was the perfect heavy-duty revolver for Leon Kennedy.

He’s sat at the kitchen table, a multitude of cleaning tools and parts scattered about. Steady hands of the aged man work to no end at polishing each part of the gun. By now there is no edge, surface, or curve of the smooth silver surface that has not been shined by Leon’s hands. A delicate process, undoing each mechanism perfectly so to be laid out for proper cleaning.

It is something similar to watching a potter craft with clay, observing his silent movements from across the room. Only soft sounds of his breathing are to be heard, that and the occasional clink of requiem’s hardened metal parts.

He’s only in a t-shirt and sweats, but he’s never looked more domestic, even when the activity he’s taken up isn’t anything like the others you do at home. Loving Leon has brought many a strange thing washing up onto your shore.

Many a night without him, weeks away from you at a time, only to come home and crash in your arms were nothing compared to the image of him under a single lamp light, hyper-focused on detailing the weapon in soft clothes. As if he should be doing something more… homely like laundry or the dishes in an outfit like that. Threads weaved within hems stretch around his biceps and fall loosely by his waist, same for the cotton that rounds his thighs and flutters down his calves by the catching air of an open window. As large as they are—and half covered by sleeves—they flex every so often, veins bulging along with soft movement.

Though he’s wary to leave smudges on the sleek metal, somehow his fingertips leave it void with every swipe of the cloth. He’s intricate with each piece, detailing until there’s no stain left, then carefully placing it back in its place for reassembly.

You haven’t seen him use it, since the policy that came with the sleek weapon only permits its use on those tough-as-nail missions. Though that doesn’t stop Leon from making sure requiem is in pristine shape as if it were fresh off the production line. Requiem is merely one of other firearms he keeps on the premises- since Raccoon City, he can never have too many.

He’s had you learn as well, for your own safety, and for his peace of mind when he’s thousands of miles away or on a different continent entirely. Shooting range, strength training at the gym- he’s toughened you up for whatever may occur. You’ve learned everything you know about guns from Leon: how to hold it properly, shoot well, keeping your breath steady, the whole nine yards. It was easy when you had a good teacher, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from watching his biceps flex and the veins bulge when he’s practicing.

Leon is painfully beautiful, and it’s distracted you on more than one occasion.

He’d said, “Pay attention,” right before, attempting with all your might to do so, but that was proving easier said than done. When he’s wearing a regular t-shirt and soft pants and you’re imagining this is how he looks like in the field, up against the most grotesque bioweapons known to man.

Zoning out on how his gloved hands wrap around the gun’s grip, only blinking back into consciousness after he’d emptied the magazine. It didn’t take a genius, he knew you’d been distracted, so when he handed you the gun and asked you to show him what he’d just done, you folded in less than a minute.

Leon was always more than happy to help you out, adjusting your grip and getting close behind you to make sure your shoulders were in the right spot. Soft hands relaxed your form while simultaneously setting you on fire.

From then to now, you never grew tired of watching him and his guns.

Leon habitually details requiem after a mission, sat at the kitchen table until it’s shining. This time was no different, the last couple hours of evening time used to give the weapon a proper cleaning. He’s so focused in on the task, and yet he’s able to pick up the sound of you coming down the stairs.

You’ve stopped right at the edge of the room, watching him for much too long. Those strands of dark hair, his focused eyes, furrowed brows… he looks so pretty… while he’s cleaning his most lethal weapon.

Some part of you wishes you worked with him just to see Leon use the gun. It probably has one hell of a kickback for anyone else besides him. The gun looks intimating just by itself, but in use, it goes without question that one shot could kill you instantly.

Not unlike any other gun in the world, but this one was special.

You should be more startled by the thing, knowing Leon’s skills with it. He’s told you not to be afraid, and your familiarity with one has definitely made that concern less. Still… it’s deadly. Especially in the hands of the one it had been made for.

A flit of your tongue over your lips as he starts clicking the pieces back into place, then a step closer to watch his hands move methodically.

The floor creaks.

He doesn’t look up, instead speaking into the dimly lit room.

“Come sit by me, you must be tired of standing over there watching.”

A smile fights its way onto your lips when you step into the room. The moment you’re in the light is when his eyes shoot up from the gun, still clicking pieces back together.

Leon’s blues are colored like the daytime sky- soft and pretty, yet they possess such power to fill a single glance with a rush of adrenaline.

One corner of his mouth pulls upwards when you finally let that smile break out around him, taking one of the chairs out to sit down next to him.

“Didn’t wanna disturb you while you were cleaning your gun. You seemed so focused and I didn’t want to break that.”

His eyebrows lift, light in his eyes twinkling as it catches in their reflection.

“You could never disturb me, baby.”

You know this, and still the desire to let him have alone time without you is what makes your relationship work.

“I know…” you trail off, watching him go back to fitting all the pieces of his revolver together. His hands, rugged as they come, seem to know the weapon inside and out, similarly to how they know you.

Grip in one hand like the weapon weighs nothing, Leon continues to rebuild the gun with each part.

Curiosity strikes, and there’s ideas swimming in your head before you can even think about one thing.

“Is um… is your gun heavy? It looks heavy.”

“Yeah, it’s got a good weight to it. But it’s not heavy when I hold it.”

Of course it’s not heavy for him… with those arms? It must be a piece of cake.

“Right, on account of it being custom made?”

“Uh huh.”

A gun that large should be intimidating to even see in person. Even if he’s never used it with you around, you should be scared of what it can do. It’s not a surprise most things that should frighten you aren’t as daunting when Leon is present.

Just like how exhilaration fills your lungs when you look at the long barrel of the gun, how its bullets are specially made- how it all is- for his use. Its ridges and width are all you can focus on as Leon’s hands move over them, clicking into place with the rest of the pieces. Its look in his hand, like it weighs nothing at all… and on top of all that, how dangerous it must be. Why else would the DSO make him a custom weapon other than to be more efficient at killing things?

“It’s pretty.”

“What is?”

“Your gun… I mean, it suits you. You… look good with it.”

Shy he might judge you, you look away and fidget with your hands instead.

“Do I?”

“Mhm…” you mutter under your breath.

“Well, I’d hope so.” he replies, chuckling a bit.

“You probably look super hot in the field with it. Too bad I could never see that.”

“Do you even know how dangerous it is?”

“It’s a gun, of course I do, Leon.”

“No,” he halts his movement, and you can hear when he does, “You don’t. Not with this one.”

Your mind is playing back all the weapons training he’s given you, instructing how to not be afraid of it when you were starting out.

“What?”

“Look at me.”

Turning to meet his gaze feels as if it takes ten thousand years at the level of timidness you omit.

“Hold out your hands.”

“What?” you ask again, confused this time.

“Just do it.”

“But, you just cleaned it.“

“I can wipe it down.”

His voice is stern, so you don’t prod further before holding your hands out. As expected, he places the revolver in your palms, cold metal a stark difference to the warmth your body possesses.

Promptly after, your arms falter a bit with its weight. A type of weapon that would give anyone an arm ache if they weren’t muscled like Leon.

“It’s heavier than I thought.”

“Uh huh, more dangerous too.”

“Leon…”

“I’m serious. It’s not a toy. Touch it. Feel how real it is.”

Upon his command, your fingertips run over the polished titanium barrel, wondering how frequently he uses it on missions. How it probably gets covered in blood with no effort at all. Its warmth after a shot rings out. The gunpowder’s smoke trail.

God, it’s the perfect weapon for him.

Once again, you should be more frightened.

You should be.

But you aren’t.

Your thumb runs over the indentations along the bottom delicately as if it were an art piece.

“I know it’s not a toy, Leon… I’m just not scared. Especially when you’re holding it.”

He sighs, looking towards you with softer eyes.

“You’ve never seen me in the field with it, so you wouldn’t know.”

“Know what?”

“The number of things I’ve killed with it… I’ve lost count.”

The image comes to you instantly of him in one of his jackets, paired with the same navy blue compression tops, pointing the gun at some deformed lab experiment and lining up its head in the crosshairs right before he pulls the trigger. How adrenaline courses through his veins and the strength of his muscles braking any recoil it gives.

“Wish I could’ve seen how you looked while doing so.” you mutter under your breath, placing it back on the table in front of him.

“Oh yeah?”

Leon raises his eyebrows in surprise, picking it up for your viewing pleasure. He’d never deny his girl a show… without being a tease first.

“Mhm… you probably looked really good.”

“You sure? Cause I can get covered in blood really fast out in the field and, well, I don’t know if you’d want to see that.”

He’s playfully examining the gun while you watch, satisfied with your full attention on him.

Such a burden, beauty.

Popping out the empty cylinder, he spins it with his thumb and closes it back up. He knows you’re staring at his hands… or maybe you’re staring at the gun?

Seeing requiem in his hands made your heart race a bit faster. It’s easier to imagine how effortlessly he can work the gun on his missions, looking as if it weighs the same as his other pistols. But you know it doesn’t.

He shifts the whole chair towards you, so he’s facing you from the front, thighs spread how they always are when he’s comfortably sitting. Shifting the gun to one hand, he points it towards the ceiling like he does on missions and looks towards you.

“What, got nothing to say now?”

“I’m just observing…”

“Why don’t you observe a little closer then?”

He pats his thigh, inviting you into his lap with bright eyes and an eager stare, bicep bulging as he holds the gun upright.

An anticipation dripping with need grew under your skin, rounding your eyes and pupils with hunger.

Lifted from the chair before you can even think, your stride brings you to Leon swiftly.

Swinging your legs over his, the scent of his musk surrounds you immediately. His warm thighs are a welcome seat, free hand going to your waist as soon as you’re fully in his lap.

“There. That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Mhm.”

Leon’s features up close have your heart beating faster by the time you realize his eyes are on you, and that they’ve been on you this whole time.

“You wanted to examine my gun, hm?”

When he moves it in front of you, he cups the barrel in his other hand and presents it to you for your observing pleasure.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it?” Leon begins.

“Hm?”

“To observe?”

“Could see just fine before…”

A failed attempt at concealing how flustered you had become from Leon patting his lap a moment ago.

“Are you suggesting you aren’t enjoying my lap?”

“No! N-no, not at all.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Leon…”

“Shh. You wanted to know how I look with it in the field, Right?”

You nod wordlessly.

“Then be a good girl and observe.”

His words disarm you, and suddenly you’re looking towards him with the willingness to obey his every word. Iced irises study your expression, how yours become rounded and focused on him as he is you.

A smirk pulls at one corner of his mouth again, watching your eyes trail down to the gun in his hands.

“There’s no other gun like this in the world. I’m the only one who’s got such a… beautiful weapon.”

You swallow thickly, back of your throat running dry from the way he speaks.

“Look at her… she’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

Leon shows off the gun in one of his hands, turning it from side to side as it shines in the light.

“Mhm…”

He chuckles, “Don’t worry, baby. You’d never come in second place.”

His eyes drift between you and the gun, noticing how you’re not staring at him with the gun, you’re staring at the gun in his hand.

Time to test a theory.

“You haven’t spoken more than a single full sentence since you sat down, you sure you’re okay, baby?” he taunts.

“I’m just enjoying the view…”

“You’re brushing the question off, honey. Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinkin’, hm?”

He brings the gun down in front of you, so your eyes focus back on him.

“Told you.”

“No, no… I don’t accept that answer.“

“Leon.” you whine.

“What’s so difficult, huh? You like seeing me with the gun? Maybe I should clean it more often so you can watch.”

One of your hands moves towards the barrel, wrapping your hand around it slowly.”

“‘S cold.” you speak again, barely above a whisper.

“Uh huh.”

“It’s not loaded, is it?”

Leon shakes his head, but you knew that already. He watches as you swallow again, exhaling a breath…and thus his theory confirmed.

Still in his grip, you lift the barrel up to your face for a closer look, then press a kiss to its muzzle.

Fuck, that made his cock throb.

Leon’s never been turned on by guns before, but seeing you like this not only proved him right about you, but it’s doing something disgusting to him that lights him up like a live wire.

Fingertips glide down the length of the gun’s barrel, and he swears he can feel it on his cock. Those teasing touches of yours, feather light that always force him to thrust upward for more friction than you’re giving him.

“‘S pretty… ‘s so pretty…” you mutter.

This is doing him in way more than he’s thought possible.

“Oh yeah?”

His depraved thoughts take over as he moves it closer to your face, your hand still wrapped around it. A small gasp leaves your lips as he presses the cool metal into your skin, dragging it slowly down your neck. There’s no danger of the gun going off, and yet it’s exhilirating with his firm hand under yours.

“That mind of yours is so dirty it couldn’t let you tell you how much you love my gun, huh?”

“Mhmm…”

Trailing down your neck, he runs it along the hem of your shirt, noting how your breath hitches when you inhale.

“How ‘bout you take that shirt off, and we can really see how much you love this gun.”

Leon already knows you do, the way you ogle at it in his hands says enough. It also goes to show with the hardness of your nipples peeking through your shirt. Grazing the muzzle over the hardened peaks of your chest makes you whine, pressing your lips together.

“C’mon gorgeous.”

Leon’s gruff voice makes your lips part when you exhale, hands going to the hem of your shirt to pull it upwards.

Your tits bounce prettily when they fall from your shirt, a sight his eyes focus on immediately upon your movement.

“There they are. Pretty girls.”

Your shirt gets tossed to the side and Leon’s eyes burn hot against your skin. He doesn’t touch you, at least not with his hands. Instead he places his free hand on your waist and moves you to one of his thighs, flexing it as soon as your weight is rested there. Your breath hitches when he does so, having to steady yourself from slipping off.

His next move is sliding the cold metal tip of his gun down your neck and through the valley of your breasts, chuckling when he notes the shiver that leaves your lips.

"You're way too turned on because of this." he taunts, swiping the muzzle under the soft flesh before bringing it up over one of your nipples. He takes great pride in the way you seem to keen even more for his touch, when it isn't even him that's touching you.

"Seriously... are you that needy?"

"C-can't I just like your gun?" you almost whisper from the fact that you're frozen in place by all this.

"Hm, no... not without me doing something about it."

"Fuck..."

Leon trails it over your areola and the rest of your soft skin there, blues of his eyes tentatively watching the unforgiving responses your body gives him. It's such entertainment for him.

A moment later he's dragging the barrel down your stomach, cool titanium causing more goosebumps to arise over the expanses of your skin. Your head falls forward to watch, but he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

"Ah ah," he begins, "Eyes on me."

"Leon... please..." you whine, and his eyebrows raise, chuckling to himself. He says nothing further, lucky you weren't wearing any shorts under that t-shirt of yours just to see your panties.

Just the cold metal of the gun brings you much more pleasure than you thought was possible, and you clench around nothing as you exhale another shaky breath. Your hips rut forward in the slightest, pulling another smirk from the older man underneath you.

"Couldn't just tell me you found my gun hot, baby. I would've understood." Leon's using that taunting teasing voice he always has on when he wants to push your buttons about something.

"Didn't think you'd know... what I meant... but- oh..."

You're cut off in surprise at the press of the muzzle into your lower stomach, right above the hem of your panties. All you're thinking about is the sound of the gun going off, how loud it's got to be and the imminent danger you'd be in if he'd actually loaded the cylinder.

The risk of life and death in that very moment only seems to exhilarate you even more.

Leon teases you once more when he almost slips the tip of the gun under the waistband of your underwear, but lets it go before it even touches that area of your skin.

"Oh, I knew. From the second I saw you eyeing my gun."

The vibration of his voice spins in your mind, making your clit throb. Another rut of your hips upward to meet some sort of satisfying friction he was so thoroughly denying you of without his touch.

"Bet you'd fuck this gun if it would fit inside you, huh?"

"Mhmmmh..."

You're whimpering again, little short breaths leaving you as your hips move again, attempting to pick up the pace.

"Oh, that's a yes. Too bad you can't though..."

You try to speed up, but Leon's got you right where he wants you, and there's no escape now. His hand on your waist steadies you, flexing his thigh again and driving you insane.

"Stop movin' your hips, doll. Gotta- fuck."

Before he knew what was happening, your hand reached down to grip at his crotch, very proud of getting him hard over all this.

"Brat. Don't you listen?"

"Mmm... sometimes."

"Better. Or else."

Leon is quick to pull your hand off his growing bulge and interlink your fingers.

"Hmph..."

His eyes rake down your body, right down to the wet spot making itself very noticeable on your panties.

"You're all worked up..." He says, dragging the tip of the gun down the front of your panties and not stopping until it's placed right over that spot.

Not only is it growing cold, but even colder now with the gun pressing into it.

"Oh-"

"Yeah? Like that?"

"Mhm... yes, daddy."

He was wondering when that name would slip from your lips. You seemed so turned on already the moment he got you in his lap, but hearing it now just made his cock throb again. You hesitate grinding your hips upward again, but knowing Leon, he'd have a firm punishment in his mind just for disobeying him again.

"Bein' such a good girl for me."

"Always a good girl for you, daddy. My handsome daddy... Look so good with your gun."

"You look pretty with it like this, baby."

He swallows thickly, adam's apple bobbing when he does so.

"Wanna feel you, daddy. Inside..."

"Oh yeah?"

"Please..." you whine again.

"Gonna soak my thigh first, huh? Bet a needy girl like you could get off just from rubbing yourself against it."

Your eyebrows furrow, needy indeed when all you want is for him to take his cock out and shove it inside you.

"What's that look for? You were so eager about it before. Do it for me, gorgeous. For daddy?"

You nod, never wanting to disappoint him. Especially when he calls himself that name. Your pussy burns with want at the smug expression that plants itself on his face.

"Say it."

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl. Now show me."

Your hips start slowly, the friction of his sweatpants enough to get you going as you realize the wet spot that's leaked through the cotton of your panties is making the gun's metal even colder. Leon holds the revolver steady against you, making sure it doesn't go anywhere.

The curved corners do wonders for bringing just the right amount of friction against your clit when it bumps up against it. Eyes fluttering closed, your arms wrap around Leon's shoulders and neck, holding on for dear life while your hips rut against the gun.

His free hand goes up to your boobs that bounce lightly with every time you thrust yourself forward, pinching one of your nipples with his fingers. He leans down to kiss your neck with the other, making his way down to the soft flesh of the other that's not being tweaked with his hand.

Leon's tongue rolls out, flitting against your other hard nipple and biting it lightly. That gains him one of the prettiest moans he's heard from you as your hips pick up the pace steadily.

"That's my girl. Keep going. Tell me when you're close."

His stubble scratches against your soft skin when he leans over to lick the one in his hand, making sure to give both attention so you're overflowing with pleasure all from him.

"Leon..."

Doing all this has only made your pussy wetter, and thus the spot on your panties bigger. It's all his fault, but you've gotten yourself into this mess, so you can't place the blame solely on him.

A jolt of pleasure courses through you when you find the perfect angle and your grinding becomes so messy and depraved within a second because of it. The cold metal, Leon's mouth on you, how his thigh muscles flex every so often just to make you moan... it was all too much and not enough.

"Fuck, daddy..."

Leon's lips are swollen and pink when he pulls off your tits eventually, blue eyes glazed over and filled with pleasure.

"Just like that..."

Leon's gaze falls to your panties, huffing a breath of enjoyment when he spots how messy his girl's made herself.

"So perfect like this... all messy, all mine."

"Sh-shit, I'm gettin' close..." you gasped out.

He presses his lips against your neck, stubble scratching as well but it only amplified everything else happening.

"Gonna cum for daddy?"

"Yes... yes, daddy... gonna cum for you.."

You were practically vibrating above him, and Leon looking up at you with his pupils blown wide and dark only made it worse.

You're completely done for when your eyes glance at him for a moment just to see his lips parted, breathing heavily as if he's the one about to cum.

The orgasm ricochets through your entire body, your hips stuttering against the cold metal of the gun and hitting your throbbing clit in the best way possible. He bounces his leg, drawing your orgasm out for longer if he could help it, and you whine, moaning his name.

"Atta girl... did so good, baby."

Your voice feels weak when you try to speak again, lifting your head with a dazed look in your eye.

"Gonna fuck me now, daddy?"

Leon drinks the sight of you in, placing the gun behind you on the table.

"Well, what my good girl wants, she gets."

[cosmicasteroid]

Husband (18+)

Leon kennedy, who gets off to the idea of being your husband.

Cw: smut mdni, fem reader, cowgirl, Leon has a praise kink and a husband (?) kink if that's a thing, also a breeding kink, whipped Leon, unprotected sex, creampie, Leon is a tit man, can be any version of him, but I imagined vendetta Leon when writing

He isn't sure why it gets him so worked up, nothing in your relationship had changed, the only difference is you were now husband and wife instead of boyfriend and girlfriend.

It could be a day after your wedding or 50 years, but if you look at him, call him your husband, his shoulders relax, and his eyes soften as he mumbles out a "yeah?"

But the place it really gets him is the bedroom.

-

The sound of skin on skin and your moans fill the room as you ride Leon.

Leon's slumped against the headboard, his hands on your hips helping guide you, as he sucks and bites your at your tits.

"Fuck, Leon," you whine, your pace not stopping, "it's too much."

"Yeah?" Leon grunts, "your pretty little cunt tells me otherwise, nice and tight for your husband."

You let out a gasp as you feel Leon's hand smack your ass, "My beautiful wife." He groans, his mouth going back to your tits.

"God I'm going to cum," you groan, head dropping to his shoulder.

"Are you?" Leon says, his hand going down to your clit, his lips moving from your tits to your lips as he slowly begins to kiss you.

"Mhm," you moan against his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kiss him.

"Want me to come inside?"

"Yes, please fill me up!" Your back arching, as your climax approaches.

"You want your husband to fill you up? Breed this pretty little pussy?" Leon grunts, his own climax approaching as he rubs you clit faster

"Yes! Please, leon!" You whine, your hips moving faster as you chase your climax.

"Fuck." Leon groans as he feels you cum, your walls fluttering around him, his own climax following, spilling into you.

"Gorgeous," Leon mumbles, pulling out and helping you lay down on the bed. Leon looks down at your pussy his cum seeping out of you.

He slowly pushes it back into your seeping hole, "gotta keep it in, hun."

"Think you got another round in you?" Leon looks back to you his pupils dilated and cock already starting to harden, "Need to make sure it takes."

-

I was going to go through a few different positions where he continued to call himself your husband during sex but this is all I could manage for now 😭 This is my second written smut so sorry if it's not good

This is based on one of my headcannons from this post

Leon Masterlist

[dollyivy]

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

[gtgbabie0]

💭 thinking about waking up next to re9!Leon who’s a little needy ᝰ.ᐟ 18+ it’s gets a little slutty at the end my bad

The bedroom is cool, quiet, save for your soft breaths and the faint chittering of birds outside— it’s peaceful, and Leon, being the first to wake as always, lies there to simply bask in it. He’s pressed right up behind you, one arm tucked under your pillow and the other draped around your waist, his hand tucked under your sleep-shirt because this man lives for skin-on-skin contact.

He’s so in-tune with your body, he could feel you start to wake even before those eyes of yours begin to flutter open, and he takes that as an invitation to snuggle in closer, pressing a smiley-kiss to your shoulder as you begin to stir.

“There she is… sleeping beauty,” He hums affectionately from behind you, his voice all rough with sleep, chest rumbling against your back, dragging you to the land of the living.

“Mfm… s’too early,” your sleepy murmur gets a chuckle from him, the sound muffled into your skin.

“It’s almost twelve pm, baby.”

You whine in disagreement, “But it’s a Sunday and we’ve got nothing to do.”

He shushes you, hand slides from under your shirt to caress the curve of your hip soothingly as his mouth moves across your shoulder carefully in feather-light pecks.

“M’not saying you gotta get up yet, baby. Come on, turn around, let me see you.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you shuffle, turning around to look up at him— all sleep soft and warm, the early-afternoon sun catching in your eyes. He reaches his hand out, his fingertips grazing across your face, pushing your tussled hair back so he can get a good, long look at you, and he smiles, rare and private, only for your eyes.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he whispers quietly, leaning in to brush a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You hum, curling your arms around his broad shoulders to keep him close as he peppers open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your jaw, his nose bumping against your cheek. “Good morning, handsome,” you reply lazily, his stubble tickling your soft skin, purposely rubbing the rough hairs against the side of your face just to hear you laugh.

“Thought you were gonna go to the gym today?” you ask almost teasingly, slipping your fingers through his hair.

He groans into your neck at the reminder, his body melting in your arms, seeking your warmth out like a sunbathing cat, “That was the plan, yeah… then I woke up, and you were all soft and warm, clinging to me nd’I couldn’t leave you like that.”

It’s almost the exact same excuse he had used yesterday, but you weren’t going to complain, not when he’s all over you and pinning you against the soft mattress, bare-chested and spoiling you with kisses.

“Unless you want me to leave, hmm?— scared I’ll let myself go, baby?” He chuckles, running his knuckles along your cheek as your hands run down his chest, fingers catching the coarse hairs that pepper his skin.

“You’re ridiculous. Obviously, I want you here.” You murmur, tilting your head to kiss him properly, deeply, his lips slotting against yours perfectly.

“Oh, obviously, is it? ” he echoes smugly, grinning against your mouth as he pushes your shirt up to your collarbones, “This is better than lifting weights anyway,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck and over the swell of your breasts— your breath catching at the feeling.

“Well, that’s not much of a competition.”

Your fingers run through his hair and he makes a low gravelly noise, leaning into your hands. “You’re right, it’s not even close— god you’re so fucking warm.” He sighs, looking up at you through his lashes with a faint grin, blue eyes glinting—he was definitely scheming.

“Gonna let me love on you a little before we get up, yeah?” He smiles against your sternum, his voice all tender yet rough with want because god you look and feel amazing like this. “Make you come on my tongue first, then fuck you, nice and slow— make breakfast after?”

“Mm, Jesus… Leon…” his name falls from your lips, broken and whiny, desperate, and he coos in response, a hushed ‘I know baby’ before capturing your nipple into his wet mouth— his tongue flicking over the hardened peak as his hand cups your other boob.

He shifts against you, slotting himself snug between your legs. You wrap your thighs around him, a whimper catching in your throat when he grinds his hard-on against your clothed pussy, arching into him for more, wetness already collecting in your panties.

“I’ll handle it… you just relax f’me, baby.” He promises, kissing his way down your tummy whilst his fingers pinch at your nipples— his free hand tugging your panties down.

Lazy Sundays were the closest thing to heaven.

જ⁀➴ Resident Evil Masterlist જ⁀➴ General Masterlist

[saturncollides]

(pussy) drunk

Imagine having drunk sloppy sex with Vendetta! Leon. You wouldn't be sure if he's slurring his words because of the alcohol or to him being pussy drunk.

warnings: Leon is drunk so??? is that considered non-con even if he consented it? riding, not proofread.

There was something intoxicating about riding Leon. Maybe it was because he carried himself like nothing ever fazed him, or the fact he always seemed too composed to let anyone see beneath the surface. But in the dark of your room, when the city sleeps beyond the windows and moonlight spills softly through the curtains, he always unravels beneath your touch. It’s you who makes the emotionally constipated man come undone.

The way you ride him makes his heels dig deeper into the mattress. Each roll of your hips drives him a little closer to the edge. Your movements are unhurried and slow; you drag your hips in a way it feels like time can bend itself just for the two of you.

Leon’s dark locks are damp from the sweat of your lovemaking, sticking to his forehead as his breath turns ragged, each breath catching unevenly in his chest. His hands wrap around your waist like he’s holding on for dear life, fingers pressing hard enough to leave crescent shaped bruises by morning, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when Leon is unraveling beneath you so beautifully. 

The tremor running through him is impossible to miss now, the sharp little shudders that ripple through his body no matter how hard he tries to suppress them. His jaw is clenched, breathing ragged, every ounce of that careful composure cracking apart piece by piece in your hands. And maybe that’s what makes your chest ache so fiercely; the fact that the man who always seemed untouchable is trembling because of you.

It was driving him crazy, how deep you were taking him, how the warmth of pussy hugged his cock. Pussy so good he couldn’t think straight. 

Every single time your hips rose just to sink slowly over and over again, the lewd sounds coming from where you met his hips, how your juices were dripping down your thighs making a mess of the sheets. It was messing with his head. 

The alcohol had long since settled warm beneath his skin, leaving him dazed in a way you’d never seen before. Every flicker of pleasure found its way into his expression before he could hide it. 

“Doin’ okay, baby?” You whisper almost hissing from how good his cock felt inside you, barely holding back a moan as you sink into his twitching cock again, and again while touching your boops, lightly playing with your nipples.

His unfocused blue eyes were glassy when they met yours, and his lips parted as though he couldn’t quite remember how to breathe properly anymore. Leon never knew he could be in so much pain being inside you that it felt like pleasure, the blood rushing to cock and the pressure of your walls felt like heaven and hell all together.

“Don’t,” Words slurred from the alcohol “Don’t stop. Please. Fuck you’re so hot.” 

You can’t help but clench around him when he begs like that, and you know he feels it by the way he moaned quietly, his hips unconsciously snapping up to meet yours in a sloppy way. 

The pressure in your low abdomen tightens and you know you're close, your hips move involuntarily chasing more of the feeling, wanting to be even closer to him as possible.  You feel his clumsy thumb lightly press on your clit, doing quick circles with it to help you reach your peak. The feeling was overwhelming, and you let out a strangled whine.

In the haziness of the moment, you barely notice the mess on your thighs or how Leon’s head is tipping back onto the headboard, too dizzy to do anything else.

You let yourself collapse against his chest, your ear finding the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat as though it belonged there. Leon can do little more than pull you closer, still inside you afraid of ending the intimate moment. His arms tighten around you with something almost desperate. 

Soft, slurred murmurs fall from his lips, quiet thank yous and sweet nothings. 

Leon had never believed in saints or salvation, but he thought he could spend a lifetime on his knees thanking whatever merciful god had looked upon a man as damned as him and still chosen to place you in his arms.

MASTERLIST

[feralbuni666]

Request for Leon taking care of drunk reader while she has absolutely no filter 🫠

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

"Easy there," Leon said, his voice warm with amusement as he guided you through the front door. His hand was on your lower back, steadying you when you stumbled over the front step. Your vision tilted, spinning In a kaleidoscope of colors as you blindly reached out to Leon's arm to keep upright, except you missed and got a handful of his chest instead.

"Oops," you giggled, not removing your hand. Your fingers squeezing experimentally.

"Honk Honk," you said, giggling to yourself.

Leon’s eye widened and he scoffed in disbelief.

"I think they're bigger than mine," you announced, still groping his pecs like you were testing the ripeness of fruit at the grocery store.

"They are not," he said fighting back laughter. You kept your hands exactly where they were, looking up at him with exaggerated innocence. He raised one eyebrow; his expression amused.

"Can I help you?" he asked leaning into your hands with a crooked smirk on his lips.

"No," you said brightly a smile on your face, giving his chest another appreciative squeeze. "Can I help you, sir? These look heavy."

He couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of him. You laughed with him before you melted into his arms, pressing your face against his neck and inhaling deeply. 

"Mmm, you smell so good.” Before you pulled back slightly resting your chin on his chest to look into his eyes. You studied his face with a theatrically confused look on your face. “Y’know, you look Like... like...Like my husband. Who I love. Did you know I have the hottest husband in the whole world?"

"You might've mentioned it," he said, trying to hide his smile as he kicked the door shut behind you. "About fifteen times on the drive home."

"Only fifteen?" You frowned, genuinely concerned. "That's not enough. You're so—" You poked his chest emphatically with each word. "Fucking. Hot. Leon."

He caught your hand before you could poke him again, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Let's get you some water, Okay?"

But you had other ideas. Your free hand slid down his torso, and you looked up at him through your lashes. "Or... we could skip the water and get wet in other ways."

"Water first," he said firmly ignoring your lewd suggestion, though his eyes had darkened slightly. He guided you toward the kitchen, keeping one arm around you because you kept veering off course and stumbling over nothing. When you rounded the corner and almost knocked your wedding pictures off the wall, he had enough and bent down, scooping you up to throw you over his shoulder, one hand coming down on your ass with a sharp smack that made you yelp.

"Leon!" you squealed, but you were grinning and laughing as he carried you toward the kitchen. Your hands immediately mischievously slid down his firm back to grab his ass in return, squeezing a handful shamelessly.

"Mrs. Kennedy," Leon said, his voice strained with barely contained laughter. "Please keep your hands to yourself."

"No," you said simply, squeezing again for emphasis. He shook his head before he reached back behind him to gather both of your wrists to hold them captive, he was still grinning as he carried you toward the kitchen. You pouted the whole way there, then immediately perked up when he deposited you onto the counter, standing in-between your legs. "Ooh, I like this." You said wrapping your legs around his waist before he could step away, pulling him close. "No! Stay." you immediately lunged forward, trying to steal a kiss.

"I need to get you water," he said, but he didn't move after that, his hands settling on your thighs.

"Don't care." You cupped his face in both hands, studying him. "Your eyes are so pretty and I love your face." You traced his bottom lip with your thumb. "Everything about you is pretty. How did I get so lucky?"

His expression softened, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead. "I'm the lucky one."

"Don't you know the saying that the wife is always right," you insisted, tightening your legs around him. "You're stuck with me now. Forever. You married me. No takebacks."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he murmured, reaching past you to grab a glass from the cabinet. You took advantage of his proximity to kiss his neck, your hands sliding under his shirt.

Leon caught you by the shoulders, holding you at arm's length. "Water first."

"Kiss first," you counter offered, trying to lean around his hands.

"Water," he repeated not coming down from his initial starting offer, he drove a hard bargain and you couldn't talk him down. You pouted dramatically as he stepped over to the sink, swinging your legs and watching him. Your eyes never left him as he filled the glass, tracking every movement like a cat watching a bird out the window. You made another grab for him wrapping around him like a koala, nipping at his neck as he tried to fill the glass.

"Baby," he said, his voice strained as he filled the glass with water. "You need to drink water."

"I need to drink you," you said, then dissolved into giggles at your own terrible line. "Get it? Because you're a tall glass of—"

"I got it," he said, laughing despite himself. He pressed the glass into your hand. "Drink."

"You're trying to waterboard me," you whined, but you took a sip anyway, never breaking eye contact. The moment you swallowed, you set the glass down and reached for him again. "There. Water. Now kiss."

"More water," he said, fighting back a smile as he pushed the glass back toward you. You took another exaggerated sip, then another, then drained half the glass in one go. "Happy?"

"With you? Always," he said sweetly and you almost melted into a puddle on the counter, he stepped between your legs letting you wrap them around his waist.

You immediately cupped his face, pulling him close. "I love you so much," you breathed, suddenly serious despite the alcohol buzzing through your system. " You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and you're so good to me. Even when I'm being silly."

His expression softened completely, and he leaned his forehead against yours. "You're always a little silly. That's why I love you." he said softly, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.

"Don't be so sweet to me," you said, your voice wobbling, overwhelmed by the alcohol and emotions. "I'll cry."

"Can't help it," he said, kissing the tip of your nose. You pulled him into a messy and enthusiastic kiss, he could taste the sweetness of the coconut and milk and sour tang of pineapple from the Piña colada’s you'd been drinking. He kissed you back just as thoroughly, one hand tangling in your hair while the other gripped your hip.

When you finally broke apart, both of your chests were heaving, breathing hard. You grinned at him, feeling floaty and warm and so, so in love with the man Infront of you, taking such good care of you even though you were making it your mission to make it as difficult as possible. "Take me to bed?"

"To sleep," he clarified stubbornly, though his voice was a little rough after the kiss.

"Sure," you agreed easily, knowing you'd try to change his mind the second you got there. "Whatever you say, handsome."

He shook his head fondly and scooped you up, carrying you toward the bedroom while you peppered his jaw and neck with kisses, your hands never quite managing to stay to yourself. 

The mattress bounced as you flopped onto it, sprawling out like a starfish before you started making sheet angels in the dark navy bed sheets. Leon stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at you with an exasperated but completely smitten look, he couldn’t even try and hide it.

"Don't move," he said sternly pointing to you like you were a unruly dog, before heading to the bathroom.

"Can't promise anything," you called after him, already rolling onto your side and nearly tumbling off the bed. You caught yourself at the last second, giggling. Your dress was rucked up and bunched around your waist, your whole ass out as you rolled over and mashed your face directly into his pillow, letting a drawn-out moan at his scent. Breathing in the notes of the honey and vanilla of the new detergent you just bought, mixed with his own woodsy shampoo that was still lingering on the fabric. 

He returned with a makeup wipe, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His hand reached up and gently pulled your dress back into place where it had ridden up, his palm coming to rest on your hip, his thumb tracing along your curves.

"Come on, sit up for me," he said softly, his other hand sliding to your back to help you.

You pushed yourself upright with his help, swaying slightly, and when you saw the makeup wipe in his hand your whole face lit up.

"You remembered!" you said, your words slurring together in your excitement. "You're the best husband ever. I hate waking up with crusty makeup. It's so gross and my face feels all—" You made a disgusted noise, scrunching up your nose.

"I know," Leon said, his expression fond. "That's why I'm doing this."

"You're perfect," you sighed, crawling toward him on your hands and knees, aiming to look seductive and enticing but coming off more like Bambi as you overshoot and bumped into his chest. "Oops." You said laughing as you melted into his chest and he took all of your weight holding you up as he went to clean your face.

"Yeah, oops," he said, his arm coming around your waist to hold you up, while bringing the wipe to your face with the other.

The cool, damp cloth touched your cheek, and you immediately started complaining as he wiped your lips off. "Mmhhhnn!"

"Hold still," Leon said, his voice patient as he cupped the back of your head to keep you in place trying to be even more gentle then before. "You'll thank me in the morning."

"I won't," you insisted, even though you knew he was right, squirming as he wiped away your mascara and eyeshadow. "This is cruel and unusual punishment."

"Mm-hmm." He tilted your chin up, carefully cleaning around your eyes. "So cruel. Taking care of my drunk wife." You tried to protest again but he was already moving to your other eye, his touch gentle despite your fussing. When he finally pulled the wipe away, now thoroughly covered in foundation and mascara. Once he was done you puckered your lips expectantly, eyes still closed.

When nothing happened, you cracked one eye open to find him watching you with barely suppressed amusement. Then his hands came up to squish your cheeks together, making your lips pucker even more before he leaned in and gave you the tiniest quickest peck, releasing you.

"That's it?" you demanded sadly. "That's all I get?"

"That's all you get until you're in bed," he said, standing and moving to the dresser. He pulled out one of his old t-shirts, your favorite one to sleep in. You made grabby hands at it, but when he tried to help you out of your dress, you went completely limp. "Can't move. Too drunk. Guess I have to sleep like this."

"Nice try." He maneuvered your arms out of the sleeves despite your best efforts to be as unhelpful as possible, flopping around like a fish out of water. When he finally got the dress off and tried to put the shirt on you, you suddenly had the energy to twist away.

"Wait, I changed my mind. I want the blue one."

"This is the blue one."

"The other blue one."

"You're wearing this one," Leon said firmly, catching you around the waist and wrestling the shirt over your head. You emerged from the neck hole with your hair sticking up in every direction, and he smoothed it down with a fond shake of his head.

The second you were dressed; you threw yourself backward onto the mattress, like a Victorian lady with a fainting spell. You flung one arm over your eyes; the back of your other hand pressed to your forehead.

"My husband doesn't love me anymore. He's so mean. He forces me to drink water and wear shirts to bed. And he won't ravish me like I know he wants to."

Leon couldn't help but laugh, if there was one thing his wife was when she was drunk, it was honest.

"Sooo tragic," you continued, your voice dripping with drama. "Death from no Snu-Snu."

You peeked out from under your arm to watch as he pulled his own shirt off to get ready for bed, and the entire act you had put on crumbled instantly. Your eyes went wide, tracking the movement of fabric up his torso, over his shoulders. You attempted a whistle, what came out was more of a pathetic swoosh of air with no substance. You tried again, pursing your lips with intense concentration. This time nothing came out at all, you looked like you were trying to blow out candles on an invisible birthday cake, your cheeks puffing out uselessly.

"Are you done?" Leon asked in amusement as he watched your increasingly desperate attempts. You tried one final time, producing what one might call a raspberry, and that was apparently his limit. He grabbed the edge of the blanket and yanked, rolling you up in it like a burrito before you could even protest. You let out a muffled "Hey!" as he climbed in behind you and pulled you flush against his bare chest, wrapping both of you in the cocoon of blankets.

"Just go to sleep, baby." he murmured against your hair, his arm curled around your waist.

You wanted to say how much you loved him or how the joke was on him because this was exactly where you wanted to be, but the words were stuck in your throat as your eyelids grew heavy with sleep. The room was soft and fuzzy around the edges of your vision, and his heartbeat was lulling you to sleep, you were so comfortable, so safe, so...

A soft snore escaped you as you finally closed your eyes, tucked safely in Leon’s arms. Leon pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his own eyes drifting closed, a soft smile still on his lips.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹ reader:

Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoyed anon! I wasn’t sure if you wanted something a little spicy but it turned out more sweet! This might be the last little blurb while I’m locked in and finishing my WIP request fic I’ve been working on for a while, I'm finally editing it…and I’m literally so close…Hopefully, I finish it by tomorrow....