✨Violet✨

𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

Carlos isn’t the type to obsess over specific body parts in a shallow way. He’s very aware of his own physicality and the way his presence affects the space around him. But attraction to him usually links to familiarity, touch and the way you react to him

His favourite body part of himself would probably be his hands. They’re constantly in use, checking equipment, patching people up. Most importantly, pulling you closer and guiding you. They’re rough from combat and work, yet careful whenever he touches you

There’s something reassuring about physically doing things for people he cares about, and his hands being one of the main ways he expresses affection without needing words

He’s very touch-oriented, so his hands are constantly finding you subconsciously. If there's a noticeable size difference between your hands, Carlos would absolutely pull the corniest move and compare them. Part of it is curiosity, but it’s mostly because he likes to feel your hands in his, fitting together like that

As for you, the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that Carlos is an ass man…

It’s not even subtle either. Whenever you straddle in his lap, his hands would instinctively slide lower along your back before settling against your hips or giving your ass a gentle squeeze. Half the time, he’s just waiting for the reaction afterwards, whether it’s a gasp, a glare, or your just tensing up against him

Seeing you react is a boost to his ego. The smug little grin afterwards gives away every time

Even during long hugs, if he’s feeling frisky or playful, you’ll sometimes feel his hand drift lower for a second before you call him out on it

“Carlos… behave.”

“But your tush is so cute ^_^ ”

Of course, he would never push things if you were genuinely uncomfortable. For Carlos, it’s less about objectifying you and more about appreciating every part of your body in an affectionate way— and teasing about it when he gets the chance

𝐂𝐮𝐦

I imagine the texture of Carlos’ semen to be on the slightly thicker side and more viscous than runny. The colour would be a heavy white precipitate rather than a solid colour, which you can visibly see when it’s on your skin. His precum isn’t abundant, but it is still enough for you to see a patch when his tip drools in his boxers

He loves the feeling of finishing inside of you and the look on your face as he fills you up with his release. There would be a string of cum connecting from his dick to your folds as he pulls out after from how heavy he finishes.

The first time he released all over your torso, there was so much of it that it nearly dripped down your sides. That’s when he learned he was a heavy finisher and is precautious with his cumshots. Though, he won’t be completely against it

On one occasion, when you were on top and riding him, Carlos felt his peak creep in quicker than he anticipated. And just as he came, he lifted your hips up halfway from his length. He watched in awe the way his cum started to slowly leak between you both, his dick still half inside of you. The idea of both your releases merging together was almost dizzying

Carlos is always on the move so he doesn’t have the time to cook a gourmet meal. Due to his diet of field rations and canned foods, his semen won’t be very pleasant in taste from the lack of nutrients and fructose. You can’t really complain too much since there isn’t a lot of resources for food that isn’t just for functional metabolism

𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

This isn't necessarily what most people would consider a “dirty” secret, but it is something Carlos would never openly admit to. In fact, it’s probably something you would have to discover on your own. Carlos genuinely loves being appreciated by you. While compliments always make him happy, they seem to affect him the most during intimacy when he’s falling apart or aftercare when his guard is down

Carlos spent most of his life always being valued for his usefulness and what he can do for other people. He’s always been the one protecting, helping, carrying burdens and putting others first. So hearing you tell him he’s doing a good job, especially when he’s making you feel good and trying to please you, hits far deeper (secret praise kink, perhaps?)

“You’re so good at this…”

“You feel like a dream.”

“I’m all yours, babe.”

Every single one of those comments gets permanently filed away in his brain. He’ll act casual about it in the moment, maybe throw a teasing remark to hide how flustered he is. But he’ll think about your words long after you’ve forgotten saying them

He also loves it when you compliment his body. Not in a cocky or arrogant way, but in a way that makes him feel seen. For someone who’s spent years using his body as a tool for survival, there’s something surprisingly intimate about being appreciated rather than being relied upon

It all started when you linked arms with him one day and absentmindedly squeezed his biceps. To you, it probably didn’t mean anything. To Carlos, however, it stuck. There was something unexpectedly comforting about being admired openly. It awakened a feeling he didn’t realise he was missing. From that point on, every lingering touch or look of appreciation settled deep in his chest

Additionally, if you were on top and started kissing over his bare chest and stomach while also praising how beautiful his body is, he would melt instantly and would render him speechless

Later on in your relationship, where you were familiar with each other's bodies and erogenous areas, he allowed you to finally take control and be on top. He was so overwhelmed from letting you pleasure him, he almost came in his boxers from your praises and kisses alone (because he’s not used to this). Best to say, he would definitely be down to doing it again if you were up for it

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

Carlos isn’t exactly an overly-seasoned, world-traveled stereotype people might assume from his confidence and charisma. During his mercenary years, and before meeting you, he rarely had the luxury or stability to build a relationship or indulge in his sexual life

His life revolves around dangerous assignments, unstable environments, and constantly staying alert. More often than not, his personal wants often end up taking a backseat to survival.

That said, Carlos is extremely observant, and that carries over into the bedroom with you. He pays attention quickly, picking up on how your body responds, what elicits more moans out of you, and he adjusts naturally. He also checks in when needed, making sure you’re comfortable and that nothing feels one-sided.

He’s the type to learn quickly— a skill shaped by his entire life. So even if he doesn’t have extensive experience in long-term relationships or sex, he adapts fast once he’s with someone he comfortable with

Still, the first time was still a little shaky and clumsy. He was hyper-focused on doing things right but still aware it wasn’t going to be perfect. He’s also not influenced by media or porn in any way, so a lot of it is instincts, learning in real time and listening to what his body wants rather than imitation

Over time, his confidence grows not because he becomes ‘more experienced,’ but because he’s become more comfortable. Carlos starts to rely less on overthinking and more on familiarity with each others bodies

𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Mating press: The has similar characteristics to missionary— maintaining eye contact, easy grip to your waist and stealing a quick kiss in between. But with a mating press he has better leverage and can push his dick deeper. He also love having your legs resting on his shoulders

Cowgirl: You initiated this on. Seeing you on top of him with your hands resting on his torso awoke something in him. He finds it incredibly hot how you ride him and the way you roll your hips against him

Against the wall: Not only does he get to see your face melt from pleasure up close, but he also uses his strength to pick you up and feel your body close to his while fucking you sensless. The first time you tried this, you were noticeably skeptical. Carlos only chuckled, reassuring you before lifting you with embarrassing ease. To this day, he still remembers the way you immediately clutched onto his shoulders like a lifeline

69: This one ticks the boxes for Carlos, just hear me out. He gets to feel your body on top of his, with your mouth on his cock while he eats you out from behind. Hearing both your muffled moans with your mouth full of each other. Additionally, he gets a close view of your ass so that he can easily fondle it.

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐲

I have talked about how Carlos uses humour as a coping mechanism, whether it’s to ease stress or to keep things from feeling too heavy. That doesn’t disappear in during sex, it just shifts into something more playful and private between the two of you

In a more intimate setting, he’ll still drop the little one-liners or remarks, but not to deflate or escape the moment. It’s more because he’s comfortable with you and likes seeing your reaction when you least expect it

He’s not overly dramatic or poetic. Instead, he leans into humour and cocky with offhanded commands that feel casual until they hit you out of nowhere. He also doesn’t overdo it, he’s aware of the mood and doesn’t want to break the connection

“Oh my God…”

“No divinity here, babe. Just your man’s dick inside you ;)”

He’ll absolutely get smug when you react, like he knew exactly what he was doing. But there’s also a warmth beneath it all. He’s not performing for effect, he’s just enjoying you and the moment and the ease between you

𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫

A lot of the stuff I’m about to say would be glaringly obvious, especially if you’ve seen the shirtless mod (¬‿¬). His full beard and shaggy hair already give him the naturally rugged appearance rather than a polished or carefully styled one. So it wouldn’t be surprising if that same naturalness carried across his body hair

His beard and chest hair contribute heavily to that rough, masculine look he gives off. It’s not overly groomed or meticulously maintained, more natural and fitting his on-the-move lifestyle

He wouldn’t be the type to obsess over perfect grooming or appearance, especially given his background and the fact that he’s constantly in survival mode

That being said, hygiene is still important to him. He won’t be overly styled, but he does make an effort to stay clean when he gets the chance. Though during longer stretches in the field, that’s always not so easy. And you can imagine that build up sweat especially in areas that are trapped under layers of clothing like the happy trail and pubes

Speaking of, Carlos definitely leans naturally rugged when it comes to body hair. His hair around his lower abdomen and in between his legs would be darker and coarser in texture compared to the hair on his head, which adds to the rough-around-the-edge appearance. It grows pretty quick too

And if you ever play with his hair or kiss along the happy trails, he absolutely reacts. Even if he tries to play it off. You’d notice in the way his voice drops or how he gets noticeably quieter, or when he’s drowning in his own moans. He doesn’t always hide his reaction as well as he thinks he does ;)

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲

This is the epitome of everything we’re going to cover— essentially the “all roads lead to Carlos” thesis statement of the entire alphabet. There are four core ideas that frame his intimacy: touch-oriented affection, responsiveness over control, humour as comfort and vulnerability underneath confidence

Everything he does is emotionally charged and he is incredibly present in the moment. One of the main ways Carlos shows affection, both generally and in bed, is through physical touch. It’s constant and instinctive, a hand on your waist, an arm around you, or pulling you closer

He likes pulling you on his lap just to feel you close to him. He’ll lace his fingers with yours as he helps you chase your orgasm, or rests his forehead against yours when he’s on top

Humour slips in occasionally too, but not in a way that breaks the moment. It’s more of soft teasing or quiet remarks only meant for you. The kind that make you exhale a laugh through your moans against him

And when you touch him back, he noticeably softens. He loses a bit of his composure in the best way, especially when you initiate your affection— your arms wrap around his neck, or when you pull him in for a kiss mid-thrust

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟𝐟

Before meeting you, I can’t imagine Carlos spending much time thinking about masturbation. Between temporary living arrangements and dangerous assignments, it simply wasn’t something he prioritised very often. Survival was the main focus rather than pleasing himself

And even with his high cortisol levels, I don’t see him jacking off as a stress reliever either. Instead he uses humour and physical activities … in a way it’s good, less of his ‘mess’ to clean off his hand afterwards

Even after you slept together, Carlos would rather have you pleasure him with your hands rather than his own most of the time and vice versa. He wants you specifically rather than simply seeking out an outlet

Having said that, there was one incident where he even surprised himself. It was downtime and you weren’t around, but you still kept in touch through your radio. Conversations started off as normal before things started to blur and he found himself panting with his hand around his cock.

Your voice sounded just as breathless too with the wet sounds crackling through the radio. Mutual masturbation was a territory he never thought he would cross into and he knew it was out of character for him. But the absence of you and your touch was torture and hearing your voice in the height of you chasing your climax was all he could cling onto

It was a rare occurrence and something he won’t plan on doing again. But he wouldn’t deny that it was unforgettable and the tension that had been building up in his core for weeks without you around was momentarily relieved. Until the post-nut clarity started to wear off and he quickly realised he had to clean every trace of his mess before someone walked in on him

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤

Praise kink: Carlos wouldn’t openly admit to this, but praise a lot for him, especially receiving it in the moment. I’ve already mentioned this earlier, but being told he’s doing a good job or making you feel good affects him more than he lets on, even when he tries to play it off. He loves hearing your voice but hearing your appreciation to him gives him a new flutter he’s not used to

Cockwarming: Definitely not something he thought he would be into. The first time this took place was much later in your relationship, post-canon. The way I see it, you were both on the couch after a long day, bare and wrapped around each other with you straddling his lap. One thing led to another and his cock was seated inside of you. Neither of you wanted to move, too exhausted for the physical labour. It might be the psychological appeal in slowing everything down or the sensory factor of feeling your walls around him. Either way, he would probably opt for this more often

Auralism: Believe it or not, I never even knew there was a word for this. This refers to being aroused from sounds— in this case your moans, whines and other auditory stimuli from sex. This isn’t because he’s a pervert. Carlos is so used to hearing gunfire, shouting and chaos. So hearing you openly express your pleasure from his touches has a disarming affect on him. It’s why he would gently coax your hands away from your mouth to stop you from muffling yourself, he wants to hear how good he makes you feel

𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Carlos is less likely to have a private space of his own. As a mercenary, he's constantly on the move, often sleeping in barrack-style accommodations, military housing, or temporary quarters shared with other people. As a result, his living arrangements aren't always the most practical when it comes to privacy.

Your place would naturally become the preferred option. It offers privacy, comfort, and an actual bed. It might not be the softest mattress in the world, but after years of sleeping wherever he could, Carlos isn't exactly picky.

The couch would be a close second. This would happen much later in your relationship, once you’re both somewhere safe and no longer living out in temporary accommodation. It makes room for the both of you to fully focus on each other without any distractions

Sometimes it would start off with cuddling while either watching a movie together or just lounging before one of you makes the first move.

If you live together, he also enjoys moments that happen spontaneously around the house, particularly when one thing leads to another and neither of you initially planned for it. He would have more confidence and wants to experience dicking you down on different surfaces in the house

𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

We’ve already talked about physical touch being one of Carlos’ love languages. But I haven’t mentioned enough about how touch-starved he is and a soft touch from you can instantly melt him. Stroking his neck, his face, his bare chest— he would lean into it like a starved man.

And he is incredibly responsive to your gentle touches and caresses, even if he can’t help it. The more handsy you are with him, the more stimulated he gets to the point where he cannot conceal it from you anymore. You can see the way his fingers twitch or the way he shivers slightly— it’s a sight for you to behold

We've already seen how openly flirty Carlos can be in the game. Usually it’s to keep things light and show his affection. But the moment you flirt first— or if you want to take it a step further, dirty talking with him— his arousal is banking in the pit of his stomach.

You would notice the way he would go quiet and the look he gives you. And if you follow it up with a lip bite, he would close the distance between you quickly in long strides

𝐍𝐨

Okay, I don’t know if people might debate with me on this one… but I believe one of Carlos’ biggest turn offs is gunplay or weapons being used during sex. He wasn’t even aware that was something people did until it was mentioned to him

It would definitely hit a psychological boundary for him, especially because he was forced into it from a young age. For Carlos, any sort of firearms aren’t neutral objects or exciting props. They’re tied to survival, trauma, death and violence.

They represent danger, not play. Because of that, bringing them into the bedroom would feel deeply wrong and mentally disconnecting for him.

Intimacy is one of the only places where he can actually step out of the survival mindset, so anything that pulls him back into that “combat thinking” would break that sense of safety

Another thing that Carlos wouldn’t be comfortable with is heavy humiliation or degradation. Light teasing is very much in character for him— he’ll joke, push buttons a little and absolutely enjoy seeing you fall apart for him or telling you to use your words just to get a reaction out of you

“Tell me what you want… Nope. Try again.” […] “There you go… that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

But there’s a clear line for him. Anything that feels genuinely cruel or demanding would take him out of the moment. He might be playful, but he’s not someone who would want to emotionally hurt you

The closest he’d get is being slightly condescending in a teasing context— never insults meant to cut or degrade. Even if it was ‘on the table,’ he just wouldn’t enjoy crossing that line

𝐎𝐫𝐚𝐥

Receiving: Carlos is aware of how big he is, so he wouldn’t expect you to give him head if you can’t handle it. But he won’t turn it down if you offered and the card was on the table.

He finds it incredibly hot the way you look up at him from between his legs and how your cheeks puff up as his dick fills your mouth (soon replaced by his cum). His breath will grow more ragged each passing second while he combs through your scalp with his fingers. For you, it’s satisfying because it’s not often you see him fall apart like this

And if you were to use your tongue to lap up the surface of his dick, he would have to hold back and use every fibre in effort to not grab your hair and start fucking your throat. He would never resort to doing anything that’ll make you uncomfortable though

Giving: Carlos would do anything to make sure you feel good during intimacy together, and if that includes going down on you and eating you out until you see stars, then he would gladly do it. You can see how eager he gets the moment he hears you moan after his tongue laps over your dripping slit

His large hands are firm against your hips as he guides your pelvis higher. He can’t get enough of how your legs enclose around him as he delves his tongue deeper into you. And the sound of him moaning against your core as it vibrates up your spine is something you’ll never forget.

His beard rubbing against your thighs also adds a layer of pleasure, it’s almost overwhelming— in addition to seeing how wet it gets from you when he pulls away from your sex.

𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐞

Carlos is the type to naturally adjust his pace to you rather than sticking to one style every time. He’s observant enough to notice what you’re responsive to and adapt to whatever you prefer. He also has been with you long enough to notice you get more responsive with a slow, rough pace— which is good for him since he can savour the moment

I can’t picture him being a fast lover. He spends so much of his life moving from one crisis to another that private moments like this are one of the few times he can slow down and enjoy the present

This isn’t to say he’s always slow and gentle. Carlos can absolutely be intense when the mood calls for it, especially when emotions are running high after a long period of separation or if you’re both pent up. When he is going at a faster pace, sometimes he would only drag his dick out halfway before drilling back into you— the pace is fast but still feels good enough to drive you up the wall

There would still be that underlying awareness of you. He would never completely lose himself in the moment at the expense of your comfort and he forgets your needs

The biggest difference between canon and post-canon Carlos might be how relaxed he is. During the outbreak and his mercenary years, there would always be some lingering tension beneath the surface. Post-canon, once he's finally somewhere safe, I can see him taking his time much more because he no longer feels like every peaceful moment could disappear at any second.

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞

This happens more often than Carlos likes. They’re not necessarily his preference, but they are often a reality of his lifestyle, especially when circumstances don’t allow him for much privacy or time. He has learnt to take opportunities when they present themselves rather than always waiting for the perfect moment

If he had the choice, he would go for a full-length session because he enjoys foreplay. As well as the pleasure in sex, he loves exploring new things with you, the lingering touches and the little moments in between

However, when he’s more pent up and is desperate for you, he would settle for a quickie to release the tension. In those moments, he becomes more straightforward. It’s less about teasing and prolonging the pleasure and more about making the most of limited time together

But even when the moment is rushed, Carlos is still present with you. He doesn’t mentally detach just because the timing is brief. If anything, he becomes more attentive and makes sure you are both on the same page. Sometimes, the spontaneity of it is part of the appeal, and Carlos would be lying if he said he didn’t occasionally enjoy getting swept up in the moment with you

Quickies would be something he accepts because of necessity, not something he actively seeks out. I think engaging in those fast, urgent moments of bliss makes the slower, passionate nights feel even more meaningful when he finally has the luxury for it

𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐤

Since Carlos hasn’t had too much experience in this field first hand, he wouldn’t be the one to initiate anything risky until he fully gets in the swing of things. But he is definitely open minded when it comes to approaching the subject.

You would test the waters first and start off with more common kinks like light bondage or praises. If things go well you would slowly take things up a notch with riskier dynamics. It might take a little bit of time before he would introduce something new to experiment, like a new kink or position he learnt

Carlos likes to think he’s the responsible one, but every now and then his confidence gets the better of him. He isn’t reckless enough to ignore obvious boundaries, though that’s not to say he can occasionally get caught up in the moment and become more spontaneous than intended

But he would never mention anything he knows you wouldn’t like or he thinks would hurt you. It all boils down to communication at the end. He takes calculated risks… and occasionally convinces himself a calculation was involved when it really wasn’t

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚

You would think, given his physique and military background, that Carlos could go for an absurd amount of rounds. Physically, he probably could if he really pushed himself

But realistically, I think Carlos would usually stick to around 2-3 rounds on average. Maybe more on particularly emotional or special nights, but that would be much rarer and probably more likely post-canon where the two of you would be safe and comfortable together

The reason why I don’t see the number being so high is because sex for Carlos doesn’t feel like a competition or performance-based. Constantly trying to ‘keep going’ would start to feel less personal and more exhausting than enjoyable

Instead, he seems the type to draw things out naturally with longer foreplay rather than rushing straight into things. A lot of it comes from the build-up itself and physical closeness between the two before penetration

Carlos would probably care much more about making sure you’re enjoying yourself too and feeling comfortable rather than trying to prove his stamina and ego

𝐓𝐨𝐲𝐬

Look, if we’re talking about the canon universe here, Carlos is too worried about surviving the next hour, not shopping for bedroom accessories. I really doubt he would own any toys, especially during an outbreak where he’s running through a zombie-infested city on three hours of sleep. Practically always comes first. Sex itself would be a rarity here, let alone using toys.

Post-canon, Carlos would be curious enough to try toys if they were something you were interested in. He isn’t particularly judgmental and would rather have an open conversation than immediately dismiss the idea

The first time you brought it up, Carlos stared at you for a solid five seconds before rubbing the back of his neck in thought. He looked less embarrassed and more like he was trying to process new information. He would probably treat it like he’s been briefed on new equipment.

“Okay, so what does this one do?”

“Carlos…”

“No, seriously. I’m trying to understand the operating instructions.”

You started off with something easy like a wand vibrator, a common type of sex toy that you can’t go wrong with. The first time he held the device in his hand, he turned it over and inspected the exterior like he was conducting a safety inspection. When he finally used it on you, he couldn’t help but stare in awe at how quickly you fell apart from the vibrating sensation and how your wetness coated on the outside of it.

And then you showed him a cock ring which he felt a little dubious about. You told him it was used to prolong his erection from compressing the blood vessel. He probably let you use it on him once

In the end, I don’t think toys would be the staple in your sexual relationship. After trying them and testing different ones, Carlos would probably find himself preferring a direct approach— using his hands, dick and mouth on you.

Physical touch is a huge part of how he expresses affection and intimacy, so naturally he would gravitate towards that. However, that’s not to say he’s against the idea of using toys. He sees it as an occasional addition rather than something he regularly relies on

𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫

For someone who is openly an affectionate lover, Carlos is surprisingly a tease in the bedroom. Once you’ve been together long enough and he’s confident in what makes you tick, he will draw things out, especially when he knows that it will get a reaction out of you— like a whine or you begging for him.

From time to time he would deny your orgasm, and when he does, he would throw you a devious grin that you’ve never seen in him before. The first time this took place, he was using his hands to bring you close to your climax, only to pull away just before you crest over. He still remembers the genuine surprise on your face followed by you begging him to keep going. He granted you the release you craved for in the end

He wouldn’t overdo this, he knows that would be too cruel. But when he does, it would be when the time is right, or when he knows you would least expect it.

His verbal teases won’t be as dramatic but he would do things like asking you to beg when you're desperate for his touch. Other times he would tell you to use your words in a sarcastic way with his lips curling in a small smile at the sight of you.

It is important to note that he would never do anything that would make you uncomfortable or would ruin the mood. As much as he loves to hear you fall apart, he knows his limits

𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞

This man is always running his mouth when he’s around you, so what makes you think sex would be the one time he decides to stay quiet? Yes, in a nutshell, Carlos is vocal in bed— it’s written all over him. It can go from talking you through it to throwing a string of curses as he’s about to reach his orgasm.

“You feel so good around me.”

“Look at you, already so soft for me.”

“Yeah? You like it when I touch you over here?”

“You feel— fuck— you feel incredible.”

On a softer note, he praises you like a prayer and tells you how good you feel too, especially when he’s inside you— as well as coaxing you to come

I’ve also mentioned that before that he would be the type to throw a one liner. I see it happening more often post-canon when you’re both in a safer environment. The more unserious he is, the more comfortable he is and the lower his cortisol level would be since he doesn’t have to think about watching his back as much

To me, Carlos is a mix of a groaner and a moaner depending on the pace. When he’s more desperate and his on the edge, he might even slip a soft whimper but pretends it never happened

𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝

I was going to put this under motivation, but decided it needed its own space. Carlos is embarrassingly susceptible to arousal when you touch around his neck and jaw and discovered entirely by accident that he has a weakness for having his beard scratched too. First time you did it, he felt a shiver through his spine before he briefly closed his eyes and leaned into your touch without even realising

Carlos never expected something as simple as you scratching through his beard could affect him so much. It may be because that area has always been deprived of a soft touch like yours. He’s starved for physical affection and closeness. The more your fingers linger, the more he finds himself leaning into it. Sometimes, he would let out a low moan from his throat if there’s enough pressure from your fingers

And… dare I say, if you do it long enough and know exactly where his sweet spots are around his throat area, he might actually end up getting a hard on (¬‿¬)

𝐗-𝐫𝐚𝐲

My absolute favourite headcanon to cover, we’re going to get nastier (BIG DIH ENERGY). Carlos is without a doubt tall and built like a unit, and his testosterone levels would play a part in his size too

Because Carlos spends so much time in a high-stress environment, his body is often in a constant state of tension, which can affect his flaccid appearance temporarily

But when he’s finally around you, he’s more relaxed. It would still hang heavy, roughly around 5 inches and you would still be able to see a bulge in his boxers

I think he would be a grower. When he is aroused, his length can reach up to 7-8 inches, and possesses a respectable girth of around 3 inches. The head is slightly darker than the rest of his length, and twitches deliciously when he’s extra pent up

The first time you slept together, he was genuinely worried about hurting you and insisted on using lube, even though you tried to convince him that you were going to be okay. You appreciated his concern, nevertheless

His girth and length is enough for you to feel it in every crevice, especially when he thrusts in slowly. And you can feel it at the back of your throat when you’re going down on him, which took some time for you to adjust

𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

Carlos is a healthy man in his twenties with plenty of energy and the occasional fantasy. So it’s not like his sex drive isn’t there. However, his circumstances rarely allow him the time or mental space to focus on desires for very long. As a result, he doesn’t always realise how much he’s been missing until he’s finally in a position where he can have it

After meeting you and sleeping together a few times, his libido became notably higher. Not necessarily because it suddenly appears, but because he’s finally feeling safe enough to embrace it. The yearning was always there, he just never had the opportunity to explore it properly before

Even then, it isn’t always about sex that he’s seeking out— unless it’s been initiated. More often than not, Carlos reaches for you because he craves the closeness. His physical affection increases naturally, an arm around your waist, pulling you closer on the couch, resting a hand on your thigh. His yearning manifests more as a desire for connection and feeling your warmth

Carlos’ yearning goes beyond physical attraction, though he certainly finds you attractive. There’s something deeply addictive about having someone he can finally be vulnerable with

𝐙𝐳𝐳

I mentioned before that Carlos would fall asleep fast once exhaustion finally catches up to him. If he can’t settle down, he would intentionally tire himself out through physical activities just to quitter his mind enough to rest.

Physical touch also plays a huge role in lulling him, especially after stressful days or moments his where his thoughts are racing

So, of course, combining physical intimacy through… vigorous cardio workouts and the eventual adrenaline and dopamine crash afterwards would leave Carlos noticeably sleepier and more relaxed. You would notice how much quieter and heavier he gets, almost like his nervous system finally powers down for the first time all day

Carlos wouldn’t care much about the sweat or messiness afterwards either. If anything, it feels reassuring to him and proof of your passionate night and that you’re together, safe and alive

He would never immediately knock out without making sure you were alright first. Checking on you and quietly handling aftercare, those things would come naturally before he fully allows himself to relax

I can imagine him being the type to wait until you fall asleep first before finally drifting off himself, especially on quieter nights where he’s feeling more vulnerable. And if you suggest showering together, he would be down for that too (he would say yes every time)

Carlos seems like someone who would really enjoy skin-to-skin contact while sleeping, especially post-canon when physical closeness calms his nervous system down. Sleeping beside you with no barrier between you both would feel oddly grounding to him after years of sleeping in dangerous conditions

Carlos probably:

I have so many more fic ideas for Carlos, but I need the energy to write them after this bc this finished me 😭

The monster’s clutching you too tight, you're gasping for air. Your dominant arm is free, grenade in hand, even if your other arm is squashed in against your side. The fucker’s whipping you around like a litigiously unregulated county fair ride; black edges your vision and your head pounds horribly. You manage to arm the grenade with your teeth and grip it, breathless, waiting.

You need the hydra to screech again. You need the great stinking mouth open, throwing saliva and mucus past rows of needle teeth, the perfect basket in which to throw your one and only egg.

Leon’s already caught on.

A single splattering gunshot splits the air and the monster jerks, limbs flying skyward as it screams in fury; you’re helplessly along for the ride, heaved almost directly above it – and here’s your window.

You drop the grenade. It goes right down the gullet.

The explosion ruptures the monster’s body cavity in a great geyser of green and black gore. Its limbs thrash and flail, whipping high, slamming into the ground. You brace as the arm gripping you speeds for the ground, but then it swings you around and back up, your stomach lurching violently, and –

It throws you.

Your heart and lungs hitch, suspended; time runs slow as you arc high, tumbling, too high, way too high – and start falling. You see where you’re going to land and curl yourself into a ball, protecting your head and neck.

Your body blows a hole right through the lake ice, plunging into the freezing water below.

Leon’s already running.

The hydra is nothing but a tangled, limp, caved-in pile of slop, disregarded the second Leon saw you go airborne. He’s running, stripping off his jacket, ripping open the buckles on his chest rig, tearing off his tac belt, leaving a trail of weapons and ammunition and nylon webbing strewn in his wake. He reaches the bank in his street clothes, shoes skidding to a stop just before the water, breath loud in his ears and visible in the air.

The jagged crater you left in the ice is still sloshing dark, slushy water.

You haven’t come up for air.

“Fuck.”

He looks down at the scuffed grey ice pack, gauges the distance to you, and sprints.

The ice groans and cracks under his feet; he keeps moving. He closes the gap, every pounding footfall turbulence that fractures the lake ice in great echoing snaps, the whole thick sheet weakened by the violence of your intrusion. Finally, with a leap that calves the ice beneath him, Leon dives into the freezing water after you.

The shock of the cold pulls on Leon’s lungs, he has to fight against the primal instinct to gasp. His limbs are immediately leaden, but he doesn't stop moving. The flat grey daylight barely filters through the murky ice above and the water is dark with disturbed silt. He kicks towards the lakebed in search of you, his pounding heartbeat a timer counting down.

Something that looks like a branch solidifies into your arm, limp hand floating in a slack reach skyward. Leon grabs your wrist, hauling your dead weight towards himself, hooking his arms underneath your shoulders and swimming up for the gap in the ice.

He heaves in air when your heads breach the surface.

You do not.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls through gritted teeth, and manages to slide you up onto the ice pack, pushing you clear as he kicks his legs up behind himself and drags flat onto the ice beside you. He moves you onto a thick, uncracked stretch of ice and pushes you onto your back, plugging your nose and forcing air into your mouth.

You choke, spurting dirty lake water, rolling onto your side and spitting up more, coughing and heaving. You try to prop yourself up on your elbow, your throat raw and tight, nose stinging and burning. Your eyes are blurry when you open them, your ears are waterlogged. You squeeze your eyes shut and blink them clear enough to see what keeps pulling at you.

It’s Leon, wet and pale, saying something to you, his eyes intense. You squint at his mouth, trying to read his lips because your ears might as well have been left underwater for all the good they’re doing you.

Get up

We need to move

Can you “hear me? We have to go, now!”

As if to punctuate his statement, the ice below you jerks, a crack scything underneath your body like a bolt of lightning. You recoil onto your hip and Leon pulls at your arm, pulls you up, the ice creaking and popping under your shoes.

“Run!”

It’s a bit much to ask.

You do your best, stumbling after Leon, short on breath and coughing. You’d impacted the ice with your left shoulder, the force ramming your curled arm into your ribs, hard. That side is tight and painful, and you know you’re too frozen to feel the full extent of it yet. It’s really not gonna be pretty.

Your foot catches on a rising gap in the ice and trips you; you slide and weakly scramble back to your feet. Ahead of you, Leon’s almost to the shore.

You’re almost there.

You hit the bank on your hands and knees, gasping. Your fingers, clawing into the crumbling dirt, are pale, the nail beds blue. You can barely feel the dry grit of the cold earth under your hands.

Leon grabs the collar of your jacket and yanks you to standing.

“Keep moving. Keep moving, come on.” He grabs your hand, already running, pulling you after him.

You half-register the scattered bullet clips, weaponry, and leather jacket on the bank as you run in Leon’s wake. You pass the fuckass hydra; it’s nothing but a gelatinous stinking puddle that you quickly leave behind.

The thin, brittle air razors through your lungs, freezing and metallic. The bitter wind axes at you. You can’t feel your extremities; you keep stumbling and it’s slowing you down. Leon looks back just in time to watch you actually fall, tripping in a rut, knees slamming into the ground. He runs back to you and helps you up. You’re both breathing shallow, wracked with tremors, teeth chattering and skin close to blue.

“Almost there. Come on.”

Leon’s car is half-hidden behind a broken fence and an overgrown shrub, parked haphazard on the dry, patchy grass. He hits the driver’s side door with more momentum than he meant to, pressing his thumb to the door handle; it unlocks and he yanks it open. You hear the whole car unlock, the lights flashing, and he slaps the driver’s door shut in favor of the backseat.

“Get in. Get in!”

You slip in the back passenger’s door just as he slides in on the other side, the both of you slamming the doors on the freezing wind. Leon immediately grabs the hem of his soaked shirt, peeling it over his head and dumping it over the headrests into the trunk. It lands with a wet plap.

“Wet stuff in the back,” he says, twisting over the seats to grab something out of the trunk. It’s a duffel; he grunts in frustration when his numb fingers fail at first to catch the handle but then he drags it into the backseat while you’re struggling out of your soaked jacket and shoving it over the backrests. It lands with an even wetter plorp.

You’re still wearing your chest rig; your numb, stiff fingers can’t get the fucking plastic buckles to open.

“Fuck!”

There’s a sharp snk noise; Leon shoves your hands clear and slips a folding knife under the nylon webbing of your rig. The straps pull taut and dig into your injured side, but then he’s cut clean through the belts and he’s helping untangle it from your arms. The buckles clatter against the back windshield as you throw it in the trunk. Leon uses the knife to make quick work of his shoelaces, kicking his soaked and muddy shoes into the footwell, then he leans across and holds your ankles steady, cutting your bootlaces while you peel your shirt up over your head. Your side screams at the stretch and you rasp out a cry of pain.

Your left side is already violently bruised, livid and dark against the pale blanch of your goosepimpled skin. You’re caught for a moment by the horrible picture it makes, trying to remember to breathe.

“Jesus,” Leon says in agreement. In your periphery, he’s struggling with his waterlogged skinny jeans and there’s suddenly a lot more skin above the line of his waistband; the denim sucked his boxer briefs halfway down his hips before he managed to shove the jeans to his knees and off. He throws the jeans in the back, pulls the waistband of his underwear up, and again he’s in your space undoing your useless fucking tac belt that your frozen fingers can’t open. His hands are just as cold and numb as your own, why the fuck do they work better than yours?

Wind gusts against the outside of the car, scratching the scraggly branches of the nearby shrub against the doors. You feel a draft even through the sealed door. Your teeth are clacking uncontrollably.

“Can we get the fucking heat running?” You shove your pants and boots into the trunk, smearing mud on the leather seat. Leon’s rooting through the duffel again.

“No.”

“No?”

“The keys are in my coat.”

“The fuck kind of agent are you? Hotwire the car.”

“Smart, when I can’t feel my hands,” he says, and shoves the duffel into the footwell, tearing open a passport-sized plastic package with his teeth and turning towards you on the seat. “Come here.”

He shakes out the mylar safety blanket and you realize exactly what’s going to have to happen, here. It’s a thought you’ve had triaged as a last-resort solution while stripping semi-nude in the backseat of his car; now it turns out it’s your only solution. He’s scooting to lay down across the backseat and you’re going to have to get on top of him. He’s scooting to lay down across the backseat in nothing but wet cotton boxer briefs and you’re going to have to get on top of him in nothing but a wet bra and panties, and then he’s going to close you both in under the mylar blanket to trap heat like you’re a fucking turkey in a roasting pan.

Fuck.

You clench your jaw against your chattering teeth and don’t let yourself hesitate. There’s no can or can’t here – you’re both freezing, this is life or death. So you climb up over him in the limited space available, helping to pull the mylar blanket around you and tuck it in under your shins, under his head and shoulders, sealing you together into a lumpy, creased foil bubble.

It’s not pitch black like you'd hoped. The mylar filters the grey daylight into a dim, intimate dusk. You can still see Leon’s face clearly, on your hands and knees above him; you could count his eyelashes if you could bear to look him in the eyes. You keep your head down and focus on the uncontrollable chatter of your teeth, the way your whole body is shivering unpleasantly, and not the way his knees are framing your hips. He’s too tall for the backseat.

Your disloyal stomach flutters when you feel his hand brush your darkened side.

“How are your ribs?” He presses his thumb carefully against the darkest patch, low on your ribcage, where your elbow impacted. You hiss and jerk away.

“Tenderized, Leon. Ow."

“How bad?”

“I don’t… think anything’s broken.”

“Deep breath in.”

You oblige, slow and careful, your ribs expanding over your lungs. It stings horribly, your skin feels too tight, but nothing stabs you. His hand rides the motion of your ribs, feeling for telltale hitches or jerks. It’s nothing but clinical.

“Alright,” he says, quiet. He eases his touch but doesn’t drop it away. You’re staring at your hand in the crumpled landscape of the mylar blanket over Leon’s shoulder, because everything else is his naked skin.

His hand moves from your side to your arm, fingers close to the bend in your elbow like he means to fold it.

“You gotta get down on me."

You want to laugh but your side only lets you make a pained huff through your chattering teeth.

"Nice one, icebrain. Lemme loop HR in real quick."

“The air pocket only works if one of us is warm,” he says, steamrolling the comment. And he’s right.

Fuck.

"I don't know where you think my knees are going."

You have to play some strange and painful backseat Twister, the foil blanket complicating shit by clinging to your damp skin and hair, but then you’ve puzzled yourselves together so you can drop onto him with a put-upon huff.

He hisses and pushes you back up by the shoulders.

“Fuck, how much water is in that thing?”

You both look down at your high-impact bra. Squeezed between the two of you, it's now weeping drops of frigid water down your stomach. It's also left an imprint across Leon's chest, wet enough to bead up and roll towards his armpits.

“You can’t be wearing that.”

“Leon–“

"No, this isn't an argument. That's over your heart."

Yes, but. It's also over your breasts. Preventing them from being all over Leon. All over Leon's naked skin.

"Do you trust me?"

You don't even hesitate, because that's the easy question.

"Yes."

It's a zip-front bra. His fingers touch the zipper.

"Okay?" His gaze is holding yours, strong, a promise to keep his eyes up.

It’s taking all your energy to appear calm and unaffected right now.

“Yeah. Fine."

It’s a relief, actually, the compression easing as he pulls the zipper down, releasing entirely when the sides come apart. It’s easier to breathe. He pushes the straps from your shoulders, brushes them down your arms until you can drop the soaked bra into the footwell, tucking the foil blanket back in place. His chest, still cold, feels warm against your freezing breasts.

He rubs the damp, freezing skin of your back, paying special attention to the deep impressions left by the bra seams like he can smooth them out, putty under his fingers.

“Do you know you're doing that.”

He stops. You shift, shoulderblades rolling under his hands.

“I didn't tell you to stop,” you say.

“Yes ma'am.”

Your head is turned away from his, because otherwise your nose would be right against his cheek. You have to maintain at least one boundary in the smoking ruin of all the others. He keeps stroking your back; the gentle flats of his palms, the firm pads of his fingers. You’re starting to feel like putty.

Your eyelids are heavy.

“Is it bad to fall asleep?”

He pinches you hard and you jolt away from it, knocking against the seatback. Your injured side flares with pain.

“Fuck! You ass,” you gasp, poking him hard between the ribs. He jerks under you, cursing, and you brace for retaliation, but he’s gone still.

And you register why.

His face is right under yours, noses almost touching. You’re sharing breath.

And something else is different.

“…Where are your hands?”

You know where they are. He moves them from your hips up to your back again.

“Good boy.”

You don’t know what fucking possessed you. It sounded like a joke in your head, but released into the narrow space between your faces it’s far more charged than that, because of course it is. You’re hearing it now, where it’s too late to take it back. You still have a brain like a frozen chicken cutlet, fucking cold and smooth, he has to understand–

He’s breathing out hot against your mouth, pushing his hands down to the small of your back, pressing your body tighter against his, and it ignites something sharp and fervid in your belly.

“Shit,” you whisper, and kiss him.

He meets it. He kisses you back like he’s just been waiting, gathering the damp hair at your nape with one hand, blunt nails scraping the skin of your neck. His other hand goes lower, the heel of his palm digging in, fingers gripping your ass. You gasp and roll your hips, body lighting up.

“Fuck,” he says into your mouth. “Careful with your side.”

“You be careful with my side.”

“Damn.”

“Shut up.” You fist his hair and pull his head back, kissing the taut line of his neck under his ear, scraping your teeth against the skin. He’s got both hands on your ass now, sliding his fingers under the sides of your panties to gather the fabric into a thong, palming the cool skin of your bared cheeks. You hum, rolling your hips again.

“You’ve got a fixation.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, unashamed. He smooths his hands down your thighs where they’re framing his sides, his fingertips digging in. You’re sitting on his pelvis, grinding on nothing but the flat of his low abdomen, his thighs closed behind your ass, his knees pressed to the car door. You kiss his mouth, open and loose, and speak against it.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you that cold?”

“Don’t be rude.”

You stop moving, pushing up to stare down at him. “Are you serious?”

“No.” He opens his legs, shifting his hips, and you gasp when you feel him against your ass. You shift back, rubbing yourself against the hardening length of his dick, the lake-wet fabric of your underwear dragging together, no longer cold and clammy where you’re touching. His breath tumbles hot from his open mouth, hips rolling to meet you.

“Fuck, Leon.” If this is him with shrinkage, how the hell has he been packing all that into skinny jeans all these years?

He’s watching you, his eyes half-lidded, hands on your naked waist. You sit up more, tipping your head back, running your hands along his forearms as you drag your wet pussy along the firm heat of his cock.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he tells you, molten. You groan, arching.

“Jesus. Keep talking like that.”

“Yeah?” He tugs you by the arms to bring you lower, kissing your neck with an open mouth, his scruff lightly scratching your skin and making you shiver. His hands find your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples, and your breath hitches. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to touch you like this.”

You laugh, just a teasing exhale against his lips. “What, cold and injured?”

He’s pulling the fabric of your panties to one side, holding it there, out of the way. You moan when he rubs his fingers through your drenched folds, slow.

“Naked and wet,” he growls, teeth grazing your shoulder. You whimper and thread your fingers into his hair, gripping, gasping when he circles your clit. Your hips jerk erratically; he’s mouthing kisses up the side of your neck, nipping lightly, then speaking against your skin, his voice subterranean.

“What do you want?”

Holy shit. You don’t remember what it feels like to be cold, anymore. Your body’s on fire. You’ve maybe never been this turned on in your life, and all this after a fucking ice bath.

“Take yourself out," you tell him. "I wanna feel you.”

The first drag of your wet cunt along the satin heat of his naked cock has him groaning, his hips rocking helplessly. You glide on him like that, wetting his dick, feeling it jump and throb between your pussy lips. You prop yourself up on his shoulders, pressing him down into the seat, grinding your clit firm against the head of his cock with little gyrations of your hips. He’s gripping your waist, mouth open, just watching you.

“I’ve never seen you so speechless,” you tell him.

“I’ve – shit – never seen you riding me.”

“Mm. Lucky day.”

“I know.”

“Any last words?”

“What?”

You cant your hips back, reaching down to guide the glistening head of Leon’s cock to your entrance. His fingers tighten on your sides, breathing in sharp.

“Be careful,” he says.

“You’re sweet,” you tell him, bearing down with little adjustments, caging his dick in place with your fingers. The tip of him presses into your tight wet heat and Leon gasps, head thumping back against the seat. You stare at the display of his body below you; the taut stretch of his neck, the flush of his chest, the tight muscles of his stomach as he works to keep his hips still, letting you control this. You take him into you in increments, the burning stretch of him blurring into white-hot pleasure, the length of him making your thighs shake before you’re finally fully seated, the throbbing heat of him bottomed out inside of you, filling you deep. You drop forward, hands on his shoulders, panting.

“Are you okay?”

You manage a nod. “God, Leon.”

He moves his hips, just a small adjustment, experimental. You gasp, lifting to half-mast him, sliding back down. He’s so thick.

Your thighs are shaking too much and you don’t exactly have the room to adjust. You lean down, desperate.

“Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need telling twice. He grips your ass, pushing you down into every thrust of his hips, long and slow at first so you can feel every inch, grinding tight against you when he bottoms out. He uses your breath by his ear as a barometer, picking up the pace, the wet glide turning into a wet slap, and turns his head to catch your moans in his mouth.

“Think you can come like this?”

“Limited menu of options, garçon,” you pant. There’s no fucking space back here.

“Tip your hips down,” he says.

You do; he slams in deep, grinding, putting delicious pressure on your clit. You cry out.

“Fuck, like that Leon!”

He pulls your earlobe into his mouth, sucking lightly, resuming the faster slap of his hips.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, filthy, and jesus christ, he is going to get an orgasm out of you. Almost just did.

“Shit,” you gasp. “Are you close?”

“Do you want me to be?”

You clench around him and he groans, hips stuttering.

“Fuck. I am if you do that,” he gasps. You do it again and he buries deep to grind on you, like he’s warring you, fighting to set you off first.

“Fuck, I’m close, I’m close,” you whimper, bouncing on him, stalling for time. He’s got you right on the edge and you don’t wanna go over yet. “With me. Come with me.”

He curses, fucking into you hard and fast, thrusts starting to go erratic. You keep a litany of babble going in his ear, obscene, feeling him catching up, drawing tight; and then he’s bottoming out hard against you, groaning brokenly as he pulses deep inside of you, your walls convulsing as the final slap of his hips sends you tumbling over the edge with him.

When you come back down to earth, the foil blanket is askew, his leg sticking out in the passenger’s side footwell, your forearm dangling in the driver’s side footwell. You’re lying bonelessly on top of Leon, riding the heaving of his chest as you both catch your breath. He pulls the mylar down to the middle of your back and the cold air raises new goosebumps on your flushed skin.

"I think that did the trick,” he says.

You hum, your eyes closed, face pressed to the side of Leon’s neck. He runs his thumb lightly along the dewy column of your spine.

“How’s your side?”

“Stings.”

He’s still inside you, starting to slip free as he softens. He gently pulls out and your forehead creases, a grumpy noise escaping you.

“Hey,” he says, soft. You don’t lift your head, it feels like too much effort. He shifts under you and you grumble your displeasure, but he’s just resettling you so you’re not leaning your bruised side so heavily against the seatback. He cards his fingers through your hair, pulling it back from your sweaty temple.

“I’m going to sleep,” you murmur. “Try to pinch me again and see what happens.”

He laughs, just a short rumble low in his chest.

“Worked out fine the first time.”

You smile, eyes closed, and tuck your arm in under his body.

“Beginner’s luck.”

There’s a lot of shit to do. There’s kit to grab from the beach, samples to take from the hydra, clothes to dry, reports to fill out, bruises to heal, complex developments to talk through with your partner.

But right now, there’s just Leon’s heartbeat and steady breathing beneath you, his fingers combing lazily through your hair, and you’re pretty sure it’s all gonna work out okay.

On AO3

Guys quick tip don’t take survival advice from a gratuitous x reader they probably died lmao

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Leon Kennedy fucking hated his job sometimes. To some extent, he always has. It’s unforgiving, thankless work he does, and he feels like he’s on the precipice of officially being too old for this shit.

He was especially irked over his current predicament. He and a newer agent had been deployed to the Arklay Mountains, the very region that had drawn him to Raccoon City nearly thirty years ago. The DSO had caught wind of suspicious activity, strange energy readings, and surveillance footage pointing to someone poking their head into Umbrellas' past. Naturally, they had sent the resident Raccoon City expert to investigate.

He had found evidence of an underground lab—one Umbrella had long ago left abandoned. He’s searching for something, anything, that will provide insight into what could warrant someone rummaging through abandoned research that was decades old.

The old linoleum flooring squeaks under the rubber of his sole as Leon rummages through yellowing papers.

“Find anything?” Your voice calls out from the next room. Leon glances your way, a small smile tugging at his lips. You’re a pretty young thing, and competent enough at your job that Leon, for once, hadn't minded much when they’d assigned you as his partner. Through the years, he’s grown hesitant about having to work with others; he always has a habit of getting too attached, only to lose them in the end. Leon can’t stomach the thought of losing you. The mere thought is enough to make him queasy.

“Not yet,” he calls back. The lights flicker ominously, and Leon hovers a hand over his pistol, dropping the papers as he cautiously examines the room. There’s a sour sweetness in the air, his nose crinkling at the smell as he moves deeper into the lab. The walls are cracked and crumbling as he examines the space. Vines have begun to sprawl over the rubble, thick and covered in thorns. Leon pauses, examining the plants. It shouldn’t be too out of the ordinary, after all, this place was long ago abandoned and far away enough from the missile strike that perhaps whatever radiation or destruction took the city didn’t fully reach this far in the mountain. Still, Leon thinks he’s seen these vines before. His flashlight follows the thickest vine; perhaps it’s just a trick of the light, but it almost looks like it’s pulsating, breathing even. The beam of his light slowly ascends upwards, the vines twisting and vibrating with life.

In the corner of the room, there is a flower. It’s fleshy and pink and dripping. Leon cringes at the sight, tilting his head as he examines it. His gut is screaming at him to run, and he’s learned before that plants in Umbrella labs tend to be bad news. He takes a cautious step backwards, his boot squeaking against the floor. The flower growls, shuddering as the petals bunch up, pulsating.

“That can’t be good,” Leon huffs. He raises his pistol to fire when the flower lets out a wheeze, gas slowly pouring out into the room. Leon can’t escape it, can’t hold his breath. It’s hot and heavy against him and seeps into every orifice.

As the perfumey gas lingers in the air, Leon coughs, the sickly sweet scent invading his nose and burning his nasal cavity. It smelled like musk and rose and chemicals, and the second he registered the smell, he could feel something in him heat up. It starts as a spark in the pit of his stomach, one that causes him to hunch over with a groan. The spark then sinks lower and lower, and it feels like his center of gravity is off as the heat takes hold of his groin. A bead of sweat forms on his brow as the spark grows hotter. He stumbles back into the light, coughing and wheezing.

Leon sees you through the glass window, and you finally notice him, hunched over and sputtering. You're quick to sprint over, banging on the glass as your muffled voice calls to him. You try the door, which is conveniently jammed. He raises a gloved hand, a placating gesture as he tries to stand up straight. A hiss leaves his mouth as the movement plucks a string within him, his insides coiling in tightness as he makes his way to the door. Leon isn’t stupid; he has an educated guess on whatever the gas he just inhaled was, lord only knows that was probably the least fucked up of all the Umbrella experiments he’s learned of through the years.

Leoon has to slam his shoulder into the wood to get it to budge. He stumbles out with a cough, and you're there to catch him. His massive body slumps against yours as he tries to steady himself, the blood from his head rushing south as he grunts at the feeling.

“Oh my god, Leon, are you okay?” you ask, concern in your tone. Leon knows he must look like shit, but he can’t help but give a thumbs up.

“Feel like a million bucks,” he rasped, using your shoulder as he wearily stands straight. His eyes meet yours, and he feels his face flush and his mind grow heady as he looks at you. For a brief moment, he allows himself the selfish desire of admiring your beauty, a desire he’s had since you joined the D.S.O.

He tries to squash down that thought. He’s grown good at ignoring his wants over the years.

“Jesus, you’re burning up,” you gasp, leading him away from the lab. “Let’s find a place where you can sit down and rest for a second.”

Leon lets you take the lead as he limps alongside you. His core feels like it’s on fire, and every movement he makes only stokes the flames inside him. He has to bite his tongue to avoid whimpering, feeling lightheaded. You lead him down to an old break room, securing the old metal door behind you as you help lower Leon onto a ripped plush chair.

“What the hell happened?” You demand.

“Some plant had taken over the lab, released some gas,” Leon groaned. He watches as the color slowly drains from your face.

“A plant–what did it look like?”

“I don’t know, lots of thick vines with thorns, a gross pink flower at the top,” he shrugs, face scrunching up with a hiss as the movement sets off a wave of overwhelming sensation over him.

“Oh God,” you mutter, pulling out the files you had discovered, rummaging through them frantically.

“What? What did you find?” Leon asks, looking up at you. He can smell you from here; he’s never noticed how sweet you smell.

“Well…” your voice trails off.

“Just rip the band-aid off and tell me the bad news, kid,” Leon huffed, feeling the heat wash over him in a nauseating manner. It was like his entire insides were on fire, twisting and turning within him. He was losing the ability to think clearly, and it took more and more energy not just to salivate at the thought of ripping your clothes off.

“Um, well–” you hesitated, shuffling the papers in your hand as you gulped and nervously glanced up at him. His eyes narrow at you as you try to steady your nervous breathing.

“It’s not just a bioweapon,” you start. “It looks like they were researching and testing behavioral override responses—removing inhibition, forcing biological drive into—” Your voice stutters at the last sentence, as if you were embarrassed. Cute.

Leon lets out a long breath, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Yeah–” he cuts in. “I get the gist.” He rubs a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat. “Great, does it mention if it's temporary?” Leon sighs.

“It can be,” you all but whisper.

“You’re killing me here, kid,” Leon groans. The heat is becoming unbearable, and he can feel the perspiration on the back of his neck, rolling down his back.

“It says if the subject follows through with the act of intercourse, the aphrodisiac will wear off and the subject will return to normal once achieving climax…” You trail off again, and Leon thinks you’ll be the death of him.

“If the act is not followed through with, the subject will soon suffer cardiac arrest due to lack of release, according to nine out of ten test trials.”

Perfect, well, isn’t that just great? Damn near thirty years of his life dedicated to fighting bioterrorism, and he’s going to die from not getting his rocks off. Pathetic.

“Of all the traps they could’ve left behind…Just put a bullet in my head, why don’t ya?” he groans, his head falling back as he pants softly. His mouth feels dry, and his clothing feels tighter than normal. Silence falls over the room, and Leon closes his eyes as he tries to think of how to fix this, how to calm down. It’s not the first time he’s been infected with something, but regardless, you should get out before he snaps.

“I could help,” he hears you say.

Well, that was unexpected. Leon raises his head, long strands of hair sticking to his damp forehead.

“What?” is all he manages to say.

“I’m not going to let you die, not when the remedy is so easy.” Easy, right? It wasn’t like this was his perverted dream come true. He’d rather have taken you the way you deserved to be taken. It had always been his hypothetical plan to wine and dine you all the way to his house, where he’d throw you on his silken sheets and have you gripping his comforter and screaming his name while he showed you how a real man treats a lady.

You take a step towards him, cautious at first, a hand outstretched as you reach for his shoulder. His hand caught your wrist, holding it gently as he let out an uneasy exhale.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice thick as he tries to swallow his excitement.

“I’m sure,” you whisper softly.

His heart skips a beat at your softly spoken confirmation. “Sit on my lap,” he orders. He tries to make his voice steady and strong, but it comes out as more of a whimper. Nonetheless, you obey, shedding your jacket as you slowly slide onto his lap. He hums in the back of his throat, hips bucking up at the sensation of weight against him. The mere pressure of your body alone is already making his head spin.

His mouth is on yours in an instant, his large hand cups the side of your face as he all but melts against your warm lips. He thinks you taste like sugar as his other hand slides up the curves of your body, starting from your waist to the underside of your breasts. You lean into the kiss, relaxing as his fingers slowly slide back down as they worm their way under your shirt. Your skin is soft and warm, and touching your flesh sends tiny electric shocks through his fingertips. Leon lets himself be greedy as his hands tug your shirt upwards, grunting as you pull away from the kiss to work the shirt over your head.

“Loose this too,” he mutters, tugging at the band of your bra. You just smile at his quiet neediness and toss it over your head as well, leaving your torso bare for him. Leon exhales in pleasure as he tries to savor the sight of you.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his hand roaming from the softness of your stomach up to the swell of your breast, pinching at your nipple as you squirm on his lap. The slight friction feels delicious, and Leon can’t help but grin like a wolf. He leans forward and takes a bud in his mouth, tongue swirling around it as he places a hand on the small of your back, keeping you pressed against him as he toys with your breasts. You moan and writhe slightly, the friction picking up as you grind against him.

“Leon,” you sigh, your fingers entangled in his hair as you tug on his strands, nails scraping against his scalp. Leon hums in satisfaction and pulls away with a wet pop from your breast, the stubble on his chin scraping at your clavicle as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck.

“I’ve wanted this for a while,” he admits into your skin, undoing the buckle of your tactical belt, discarding it on the floor. He pops the top button of your pants open and taps your thighs.

“Take them off,” he grunts, working off his own belt and unzipping his pants. He tugs down his boxers just enough to free his cock, immediately fisting the enlarged length, precum dribbling from the tip as he watches you longingly as you strip the remainder of your clothes off. He pumps himself, feeling the heat scorch his insides as he pants softly, hips bucking upwards to meet his hand.

“Come on and ride me, gorgeous,” he groans. Par the drug-induced haze and life-threatening time crunch he’s under, Leon thinks he’s died and gone to heaven as you straddle him and slowly sink your tight, warm pussy down on his cock, impaling yourself with a moan as you slowly take him all.

“Fuck–” Leon chokes out, feeling himself lose all sense of sanity as you begin to bounce. Your hips rock against his as you drag yourself up and down on him. It’s warm and wet, and he wishes he could savor the feeling of your slick folds gripping him tight, sucking him deeper into your cavern. But Leon is a selfish man, and he needs more. A few more teasing bucks from you, and Leon has had enough. He grips your waist and looks up at you with blurry vision as his hips buck upwards, a cry leaving your lips as he fills you up. Again, his cock slides out only to buck back into you with vigor, setting a punishing pace as he feels himself get lost in you.

“Such a good girl for me,” he rasps, watching with a blissed-out expression as you moan and writhe on his cock. It’s the most beautiful sight, watching you unfold, and Leon hopes in the back of his mind you’ll let him do this again. Your trembling, he can feel your pussy spasm around him as short little gasps leave your mouth.

“Please,” you whine, and Leon has to give you what you need as well. His thumb presses against your lip in a silent demand, and you obey without hesitation, parting your lips and sucking on the thick digit eagerly. Leon grunts in approval, pulling it from your mouth and pressing the slick finger against your swollen clit, rubbing it with fervor as he watches you come undone against him. He can feel the slickness coat his dick as you arch your back, eyes rolled into the back of your head. He’s proud of you, really. He just isn’t finished with you yet.

A quick smack to the ass has you yelping as his pace slows down.

“Up,” he orders, his voice coming out strangled. “I want you on all fours.” He sucks in a breath as you slide off of him, mouth salivating as he catches sight of your pussy all covered in slick. He’ll have to discover what you taste like later.

He eyes you hungrily as you kneel on a dusty couch, lowering yourself as he commanded you to. His body feels like it will burst into flames as he pushes himself from the chair, his cock throbbing as he kneels behind you. He can practically hear your heart racing as he presses you down, shifting your weight onto your elbows as you prop your ass in the air for him.

He licks his lips, his hand trailing up your spine as he notches the tip of his cock at your abused entrance. The feeling of this alone has you squirming in desire. “So needy for me,” he slurs, filling you up with a single thrust. You cry out, and Leon can’t help but shudder at the sound of your sinful-sounding moans. The way you're thrusting against his cock has him wondering if you got a whiff of the aphrodisiac, or maybe you're just drunk off his cock. Either way, he’s more than glad to give you what you want and more than happy to take what he needs. His muscular body dwarves you as he leans over you, rutting into your wet heat. His bicep wraps around your throat, two fingers worm their way into the inside of your mouth, hooking onto your cheek as you all but drool around him.

“This pussy’s fucking mine,” he rasps, his breath hot against your ear, hips thrusting faster as the heat spurred him on. He can feel his groin grow tighter, and the fire is ablaze inside him. “Can’t believe I waited – ah fuck – this long to try it.”  

You're all but a babbling mess underneath him. Whining and twitching against his thick cock. Leon thinks it’s cute, the way you come undone so easily around him. Your pussy clenches around him just right, and he can finally feel the knot of heat inside him snap. His hips stutter, his arms tightening around you as he fills you up. A low guttural groan leaves his lips as he finally stills inside you. His cock twitches, the final remnants of his seed leaking from him as he slowly pulls out from you. His cock, finally softening, and the heat that raged as an inferno inside him has subsided.

Leon was fine. Well, he was actually much better than fine; he felt better than he had in a long time. He slowly moves off of you, gritting his teeth as he slides down next to you on the couch. You sink against the cushions, too tired to care about the filth. You weakly turn your head to the side, eyes heavy from exhaustion, as you smile at him.

“Think it’s out of your system?” you ask. Leon exhales a chuckle, his lips forming a smirk.

“If that didn’t get it out of my system, I don’t know what else would. If you’re concerned for my well-being, we could always go again,” he suggests. Now it’s your turn to chuckle.

“Ask me again tomorrow, any more right now, and I might break,” she says.

“Tomorrow? My, aren’t you presumptuous?” he teased. He leans over and kisses the side of your temple.

“Maybe someplace more romantic than a haunted lab?” He suggests. “Unless you're into that.”

You roll your eyes at him and smile. “Oh, Agent Kennedy, are you going to take me on a date?”

“And so much more,” he promises.

After he helps you back into your clothes, the two of you make your way to the surface, where the sun has started to set, casting rays of orange and violet across the desolate Arklay Mountains. Leon glances over at you as you bark your coordinates into the radio, ordering the extraction team to hurry up. Even after everything that had happened, you still sounded composed and in control.

For a long time, Leon had convinced himself that wanting things was dangerous. Every time he'd let himself care, the universe had found a way to rip it away from him. It was easier not to hope. Easier not to ask for more.

You finish your transmission and look over at him.

"What?" you ask, catching him staring.

Leon just smiles, “You’re cute when you're bossy.”

You snort a laugh, shoving his shoulder slightly. “And you’re a pervert.”

Leon laughs along, trailing beside you as the evening sun sets. Maybe wanting things wasn't such a bad idea after all.