amelie!!

he has you come to his office sometimes. “need a hand with this paperwork, rookie,” he’ll grumble, not looking up from his monitor. and you’ll go, because you’re a good agent, and because you’re a masochist who craves the specific brand of pain only he can deliver. you’ll sit in the chair across from his massive desk, the same desk where he’d… well. you try not to think about that. you try not to think about a lot of things.

you’ll organize files, transcribe reports, and do the mindless administrative tasks that someone of his rank shouldn’t be touching. and the whole time, you’ll feel his presence like a physical weight. he’ll be right there, just a few feet away, the scent of his cologne and the low hum of his computer filling the space between you. but he won’t look at you. he’ll focus on his work with a single-minded intensity, his jaw set, his shoulders tense. he ignores you so thoroughly it feels like an art form. and every second of it is a fresh twist of the knife in your gut. the ache is a constant companion, a dull throb behind your ribs that reminds you that while the war might be over, you definitely didn’t win.

you’re just… there. a tool he uses when he needs to. a body he claims when the mood strikes.

and there’s valencia.

she’s the new golden girl, the rookie he’s actually training. you see them in the halls, in the training yard, in the briefing rooms. he’s with her in all the ways he used to be with you. he stands behind her at the range, his arms bracketing hers as he corrects her stance. you see him laugh at something she says, a real, genuine laugh that makes your stomach clench with a hot, ugly jealousy. he’s teaching her, mentoring her, giving her the attention and validation you’re starving for.

you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. it’s his job. you’re just a coworker. but the lie tastes like ash in your mouth.

the only time the truce is broken is at night, in the dark, behind the locked door of his apartment.

you practically live there now. it happened gradually, without a formal discussion. a toothbrush left in his bathroom. a drawer half-filled with your t-shirts and underwear. a spare key he’d tossed on the counter for you one morning with a gruff, “don’t lose it.” he never acknowledged the slow creep of your life into his space. he didn’t seem to care. or maybe, more accurately, he just didn’t bother to notice.

tonight was one of those nights. a long, grueling day of paperwork and watching him with valencia had left you feeling raw and empty. he’d taken you home, and the second the door was closed, he’d pushed you against it, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that was more about possession than affection. he’d fucked you on the kitchen counter, then in the shower, and finally, for hours in his bed, until you were both boneless and slick with sweat, the sheets a tangled mess around you. it was rough and desperate and everything you needed to forget the day.

now, in the dead of night, the silence of his apartment is absolute. the only light is the faint, blue-white glow of the city filtering through the blinds of his bedroom window. he’s asleep beside you, a dead weight of warm, solid muscle. his breathing is deep and even, a peaceful rhythm that should be comforting.

but you’re not at peace. you’re trapped in the labyrinth of your own mind.

you’re running.

the hallway is impossibly long, the walls stretching and warping like taffy. the dso headquarters is empty, a ghost ship adrift in a sea of fluorescent lighting. but you can hear him. his footsteps are heavy, measured, just ahead of you. you can’t see him, but you know he’s there.

“leon!” you call out, your voice thin and reedy.

you see him then, a flash of his dark tactical gear as he rounds a corner. you push your legs harder, your lungs burning, your worn boots slapping against the linoleum. you have to catch him. you have to.

you round the corner, skidding to a halt. he’s there, at the end of the hall, his back to you. he’s standing in front of a heavy, dark wood door. his office door.

“leon, please wait!” you plead, your voice cracking.

he doesn’t turn. he doesn’t acknowledge you. he just reaches out, his hand closing around the cold metal handle.

you try to run again, but your feet are stuck. you’re wading through invisible molasses, every step a monumental effort. you’re screaming his name now, a raw, desperate sound that doesn’t seem to make any noise.

he opens the door and steps inside.

“no, please, don’t leave me,” you whisper, the words finally escaping your throat, soft and pathetic.

the door clicks shut.

you finally break free, stumbling forward until you’re standing in front of it. his name is on the brass plaque, mocking you. leon s. kennedy. you reach for the handle, your hand trembling. you turn it.

it’s locked.

you rattle it, your desperation growing. you bang on the solid wood with your fists, the impacts jarring your bones. “leon! leon, please, open the door! don’t shut me out again!”

but there’s no answer. just silence. the crushing, absolute silence of being left behind. of being erased.

“please…”

the soft, choked plea is what wakes you up. it’s your own voice, thick with sleep and tears.

your eyes snap open. you’re in his bed. the room is dark, the air still. he’s still beside you, his breathing unchanged. it was just a dream. a stupid, pathetic dream.

but the feelings are real. the panic, the desperation, the gut-wrenching pain of being abandoned. they’re clinging to you like a second skin. hot shame floods your system, a burning wave that starts in your chest and spreads through your entire body. you’re so stupid. so fucking stupid for letting him get to you like this. for dreaming about him, for crying over him, when you’re nothing more than a warm body for him to use when he’s lonely. you’re not exclusive. you’re not anything.

tears you didn’t even know you were crying start to slide from the corners of your eyes, tracking hot paths down your temples and into your hair. you need to get away. you can’t let him see you like this. you can’t be this pathetic, weeping girl for him again.

carefully, silently, you begin to untangle yourself from the sheets. you move with painstaking slowness, trying not to make a sound, not to disturb the sleeping giant beside you. you manage to get your legs free and are just about to slip out of the bed when his breathing pattern changes.

it’s a subtle shift, a slight hitch in the rhythm. you freeze, your heart hammering against your ribs.

he’s awake.

you stay completely still, hoping, praying that he’ll just roll over and go back to sleep. but of course, he doesn’t. the silence stretches for a long, agonizing moment. then, you feel the mattress dip as he shifts his weight.

you squeeze your eyes shut and turn onto your side, your back facing him, curling into a tight ball. you hold your breath, trying to will your tears to stop. it’s no use. a fresh wave of them spills over, and a small, quiet choked sob escapes your lips.

you feel his hand, large and warm from sleep, land gently on your side, his palm resting on the curve of your hip. the simple, non-sexual touch is so unexpected, so tender, it feels like a brand. you flinch, but you don’t pull away. you can’t. you’re paralyzed by a confusing mix of shame and a desperate, pathetic longing for that very touch.

“hey,” his voice is a low, gravelly rumble, thick with sleep. “what’s wrong?”

you just shake your head against the pillow, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

“you were cryin’ out for me,” he says. it’s not a question. it’s a statement of fact. “talk to me, kid.”

“it was nothing,” you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse and shaky. “just a bad dream. go back to sleep.”

you’re dismissing him. you know it’s a mistake the second the words leave your mouth. leon does not like to be dismissed. especially not by you. especially not in his own bed.

“bullshit,” he growls, the sleepiness gone from his voice, replaced by that familiar, stubborn edge.

before you can react, he’s moving. his arm snakes around your waist, and with a strength that is both terrifying and thrilling, he pulls you, forcing you to roll onto your back. he looms over you in the darkness, propped up on one elbow, his body caging you in. the faint city light outlines the hard lines of his face, his shoulders, his arms. even in the dimness, you can see that his expression is a thundercloud of concern and annoyance.

“don’t fuckin’ lie to me,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

you stare up at him, your vision blurry with tears. you try to turn your head away, to hide the pathetic mess you’ve become, but he’s not having it. his free hand comes up, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“i wasn’t,” you insist weakly.

his thumb moves, wiping at the wet track of a tear on your cheek. the gesture is so soft, so caring, it shatters the last of your composure. a fresh sob breaks from your lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut, more tears leaking out. you bring your hands up to your face, trying to hide, to shield yourself from his intense gaze.

“hey, hey, none of that,” he murmurs, his voice softer, laced with a confusion that is almost comical. he’s so good at fighting monsters, but he’s completely out of his depth when it comes to your tears.

he pries your hands away from your face, his large hands easily enveloping yours. he holds them down on the mattress by your head. you’re completely vulnerable, pinned beneath him, your tear-streaked face exposed.

“just tell me what the dream was about,” he says, his tone somewhere between a command and a plea.

you shake your head, sniffling. “it’s stupid.”

“i don’t care if it’s stupid. tell me.”

you take a shaky breath, the air rattling in your lungs. you stare up at the ceiling, at the way the shadows play across the white paint. you can’t look at him while you say this. it’s too humiliating.

and then you start to blabber. the words just spill out of you, a frantic, incoherent torrent of your insecurities.

“it was just… you were there,” you begin, your voice small. “at the dso. and you were walking away from me. and i was trying to catch up to you, i was calling your name, but you just kept walking. and you went into your office, and you locked the door, and i couldn’t… couldn’t get to you. you just left me there.”

you pause, taking another shuddering breath. you wipe at your runny nose with the back of your free hand, a pathetic, childish gesture.

“and it’s so stupid, because it’s just a dream, but it felt so real. it felt like… it felt like how it feels now.” the last part is a whisper.

he’s silent for a long moment. you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face. you risk a quick glance at him. his expression is unreadable in the dark, but you can see the muscle in his jaw working.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he finally asks, his voice tight.

“it means that even though we’re… we’re doing this again,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the bed, at the two of you, “it feels like you’re still a million miles away. it feels like you’re still punishing me. you ignore me all day at the office, you walk right past me like i’m not even there. you’re training valencia, and you’re laughing with her, and you’re giving her all the things you used to give me. and then you bring me here, and you fuck me until i can’t see straight, and for a few hours, it’s okay. but it’s not. it’s not okay. because i know that as soon as the sun comes up, you’re going to put that wall back up, and you’re going to be a million miles away again. and i’m just—i’m so tired of chasing you.”

the confession hangs in the air between you, heavy and fragile. you’ve said too much. you’ve laid all your pathetic, broken pieces at his feet. you brace yourself for the fallout. for him to get angry, to call you crazy, to tell you to get your shit and get out.

but he doesn’t do any of that.

he just watches you, his blue eyes searching your face in the dim light. you see a flicker of something in them. regret? pain? you can’t be sure. he lets go of your hands and moves closer, his body shifting on the mattress. he doesn’t get on top of you, but he moves so he’s lying on his side, facing you, his arm bracketing your head, his body a warm, solid line against yours.

“i’m not punishing you, sweetheart,” he says, his voice a low, rough murmur near your ear.

“it feels like it,” you whisper, another tear slipping down your cheek.

he sighs, a heavy, weary sound. he reaches out, his thumb once again finding the tear track on your face, wiping it away with a gentleness that makes your heart ache.

“i know,” he says. “i’m… not good at this shit, kid. you know that.”

he’s admitting it. he’s actually admitting fault, in his own gruff, leon-kennedy way. the shock of it silences you.

“seeing you with that alex kid…” he starts, then stops, shaking his head as if angry with himself. “it fucked with my head. i saw red. and i didn’t know how to deal with it. so i shut down. it’s what i do.”

“you erased me,” you say, the words still full of hurt.

“i know,” he repeats, his voice softer, full of a self-loathing you’ve never heard from him before. “it was a dick move. i’m sorry.”

an apology. he’s actually apologizing. you don’t know what to do with it. you just stare at him, your mind reeling.

“i’m not… with valencia,” he says, as if reading your mind. “i’m training her. that’s it. it’s my job.”

“you laugh with her,” you accuse, the jealousy still a sharp sting.

a faint, humorless smile touches his lips. “she’s young like you. she says dumb shit. it’s not… like it is with you.”

he shifts closer, his forehead coming to rest against yours. his hand moves from your face to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you gently. his other arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. you can feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against your own.

“no one is like it is with you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. “you get under my skin in a way no one else does. it scares the absolute shit outta me.”

and there it is. the truth. the real reason for the silence, for the distance. it wasn’t just jealousy. it was fear. the great leon s. kennedy, the man who faced down armies of the undead without flinching, was scared of how he felt about you.

the realization is a balm on your raw, wounded soul. it doesn’t fix everything, but it’s a start. it’s more than you ever thought you’d get.

you let out a long, shuddering breath, the last of the tension finally leaving your body. you feel boneless, exhausted, but in a good way. you wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in the warm, solid expanse of his chest. you breathe him in.

he holds you tighter, his hand gently messing with your hair. you lie there for a long time, wrapped in the darkness, your bodies pressed together. it’s the most comfortable you’ve felt in weeks.

“‘m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “‘m not gonna lock you out.”

you look up at him, your eyes having adjusted to the dark. you can see his face clearly now. the hard lines are softened, the storm in his eyes has calmed. he looks tired, but he’s here. he’s with you.

“you promise?” you whisper, the word small and silly.

he leans down and kisses you. it’s not a desperate kiss from earlier. it’s deliberate, and soft, and full of all the words he can’t say. it’s a kiss that tastes like an apology, like a promise.

when he pulls back, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours.

“i promise, baby,” he says.

and for the first time in a long time, you believe him. you close your eyes, a real, genuine smile touching your lips as you snuggle closer against his warmth, safe in the arms of the man who was both your personal storm and your only shelter.

it should hurt. often, you wonder why it doesn’t because it should. his teeth have sunk past the soft surface of your neck, pressed in deep and allowing your blood to flow from your body and yet, all you can feel is white, searing hot pleasure through to the end of every nerve in your body

but, as with most things in life, there’s a limit and leon is hurtling towards his at an alarming rate. he’s swaying—slumping even—against your back, moaning into your neck while his hips shift in uneven humps that grind his rock hard cock lazily against your ass as he gets his fill and then some

his rough noises mix with your own softer ones in the inches of space between your bodies. gentle whimpers clash with harsh groans and wobbly, high pitched cries get drowned out by animalistic grunts, filling your bedroom with a chorus of sounds that make you forever glad that you don’t share walls with your neighbours

large, greedy hands grope at your body, fingertips sliding up your waist and ribs to your chest where you become his canvas. each swipe of his thumbs over your pebbled nipples paints another part of your skin crimson and has you hissing out in euphoria while your aching cunt goes forgotten about for the time being

you’re creating a mess of your own too. slick coats the inside of your thighs, sticking them together every time they snap shut in a clench that makes your needy hole silently beg for attention. it’s a thin line that you’re dancing, barely on the right side of torture but you’ll get your own fill soon and then, it’ll all be worth it

knowing when leon is done before he does is a skill only you can possess. the signs are there and they’re easy to spot, even with cotton wool replacing your brain. he’s not swallowing anything anymore, he’s mouthing at your neck more than he’s sucking and he’s wasting more blood than he can afford to when you know that he’ll inevitably want more later

all good things must come to an end though and when one pleasure ends for you both, another—slightly different—one starts. so, there’s never any complaining when you sink your nails into leon’s thick thighs and start to writhe in his arms, because he knows what’s coming next

it takes a second for his body to catch up with his brain but the moment it does, you feel the sharp sensation of his fangs beginning to slip free from your skin. even though he’s sailed right past being drunk off of you and onto something that’ll leave him comatose later on, he’s still ever so gentle when he knows that separating from you isn’t even one of your favourite feelings

“fuckfuckfuck,” you hiss, wincing over a sensitivity that you couldn’t manage to explain to anyone else. it burns, aches, stings and fizzles the right kind of pain down your spine simultaneously when the sharpest point of his teeth withdraw, leaving you wholly empty and wanting something more

“m’sorry sweetheart,” leon slurs before he licks over the puncture wounds to lap up the last trickles of your blood. his hands squeeze tenderly at your waist, dimpling his fingertips into the softness of your stomach and then, he sags completely. with a dull thud, he flops onto his back and exposes the full extent of the mess he’s made of himself and god, he looks divine

his chest rises and falls in short pants, mimicking your own in more ways than one. his tanned skin is temporarily dyed a deep red, partially hiding the mottling blush that creeps up his neck and disappears behind the sticky mess of his chin and mouth. he’s covered in you, from the greying hairs of his stubble to the points of every single one of his teeth, everything coloured with you

against his stomach, his cock has gone deeper than red and started to purple around the leaking tip. shiny precome smears through the darker thatch of hairs that dust underneath his navel and just the sight of it makes your mouth flood, watering with the anticipation of getting your hands on him

“take a picture,” leon grunts, not bothering to finish the saying as he blinks at you through half lidded eyes that are burning an inferno behind a cool icy blue, “should see yourself,” he finishes lowly, letting his gaze trail down you body, prompting yours to do the same

you gasp at the sight. even after many occasions just like this one, never have you been in such a state. droplets of blood scatter over your thighs, some have dripped downwards towards your knees and some have gone inwards, mixing with your arousal to create a pretty pink sheen

“messy,” you whisper, flickering your eyes between your own body and his as the need to touch him overwhelms you. his cock twitches before your fingertips have grazed his skin, blurting out a thick stream of pre that makes his stomach glisten, “fuck, i-i need you,” you admit abruptly, unable to hold yourself back any longer

“mhmm, you’ve got me,” leon drawls and sinks back into the obscene amount of pillows against the headboard. he’s teasing, half assed and without his usual lilting tone but he still holds one of his hands out, allowing you to take it whilst you clamber—only somewhat—ungracefully into his lap

your thighs spread either side of his waist as you melt into him, pressing your chests together while you crush your lips unceremoniously against his. it’s a one sided kiss from the get go, leon has no energy left to give you and the results are sloppy, at best. your noses bump clumsily, your teeth collide with the extended tips of his and the stickiness of his lips creates a slow drag

he tastes like you, though. rich and tinted with something sweet that you moan over as he laps across your lips and tongue in a weak effort to kiss you back. he moans wantonly when you reciprocate and press your tongue against his, meeting in the middle of a filthy open mouthed kiss that can’t really be called a kiss anymore

leon’s hands smooth down your sides and to your hips, gripping with what little strength he has left to rock you downwards over his cock. your cunt glides along his length with ease, soaking him in a single—too quick—slide that makes the head of him collide with your throbbing clit

“oh god,” you yelp, breaking away from poorly attempting to kiss leon to throw your head back as your jaw hangs open, caught in a silent sob. electricity fizzles down your spine over the sudden friction to where you’ve been needing it for so long and now that you’ve got it, you have to chase it

you press upwards, planting your hands against the broad expanse of leon’s chest for leverage before you start to roll your hips, without his prompting. your humps are more even than his were, eliciting twin moans from you and him every time your pussy grinds up and down his rigid length

on the down stroke, your cunt presses against his heavy balls, kissing them and coating them in a gloss of your arousal and then when you tilt your hips upwards, the fat head of his cock nestles underneath your clit in another—sort of—wet kiss

it’s bliss. pure bliss shared equally between the push and pull of your bodies and leon’s calloused fingertips tracing the length of your spine, up and down in time with your hips. you can feel him everywhere, in front of you, behind you and beneath you and it’s beyond dizzying

the next roll of your hips is awkwardly timed with his cock bobbing upwards. his tip catches against your hole, dipping into the pool of slick that's ready to spill from you at a moment's notice but before he can sink into you, your hips correct themselves instinctively, leaving you and leon reeling in an abrupt, but shared, hiss

for a while you get stuck like that, riding him without ever letting him inside of you, no matter how many times your bodies will it to happen. it’s addictive for you both, the pleasure and the way you fit together like a two piece puzzle—like you were truly made just for each other—but, it’s not even close to being enough

“baby, please,” leon rasps, suddenly. it’s not a sound you hear often but any time that you do, it’s reedy enough to stop you in your tracks. though, coming to a complete halt seems to be the opposite of what leon was hoping for, “d-don’t, honey, fuck,” he stresses, squeezing your hips hard enough to leave little fingerprint shaped bruises that’ll stick around for days on end to be seen and kissed

your head bobs, nodding without fully realising why yet, “yeah–yeah, okay,” you agree in a gasp, still star struck by the sound he made as you shift your weight into your knees and sit up enough to wedge your hand between where your bodies meet to wrap gentle fingers around his cock

leon’s lustful eyes watch you carefully, completely enamoured with the size difference between your hand and his thick shaft. he follows your every move, unable to tear his eyes away while you jerk him off teasingly and collect a blend of your messes that make your fingers shine

slowly but surely, you guide his cock to where you’re dripping until the head of his cock slots against your entrance. the immediate stretch is delicious, causing your hips to stutter while your pussy spasms, simultaneously trying to suck him in and push his—albeit large—intrusion away

with a whimper, you lower your hips slowly, spearing yourself open around the tip of his cock with ease. once there’s no risk of him slipping out, you brace yourself on your knees and pull your hand out from between your bodies, feeling the smooth slip of your fingers against each other and as you look up at leon, you can’t help yourself

tentatively, you reach out and trace your wet fingertips along his top lip. it’s ever so slightly poutier than his bottom one and you love it enough to take your time going from one side to the other before tapping gently over his bottom lip, making him hum languidly

as his lips pucker to kiss your fingertips, you edge down on his cock. each inch of him that you take brings more pleasure than you ever thought possible. the stretch, the connection, the friction of every vein that ropes around his length dragging against your walls, it all piles up and up and up, until your body screams for more

fire prickles through your limbs and whirlwinds around the coil already winding tight in your stomach as sweat begins to bead along the divot of your spine. you suck in a breath, letting it expand your lungs until they ache while you concentrate hard on trying to take the last bit of leon’s length in one swift movement

“fuck, you’re s’tight,” leon keens once he’s fully seated inside of you and feeling every clench and shift of your warm cunt around him as you take a moment to get used to the feeling because it never–ever–seems to lessen, regardless of how many times he fills you up

“uh huh,” you whine eventually, with your eyes pinched shut. he’s so deep inside of you, throbbing with the brush of his slit against your cervix and as you give an experimental roll of your hips, it pushes him even deeper. which, apparently, short circuits leon’s brain

“move–need you t’move,” he grunts, bucking his hips up frantically. he does it with so much force that you slide up his cock and then bounce back down, creating a single slap of skin on skin that echoes around the room in tandem with your wrecked moan

your back arches while your hands walk over his torso, settling over rippling muscles low on his stomach as you begin to pick your hips up and drop them back down. the air in your lungs gets punched out on every bounce, as if it had to be expelled to accommodate the sheer size of him

gradually, you build a pace. taking your time to indulge in the feeling of leon underneath you, surrendering to you if only for a while, which isn’t something that’s normal when you’re in bed. so, when it does happen, you take every little sensation in, committing it all to your memory

bounce after bounce, you start to rise off of his cock a little more before you slump back down in an even rhythm. you’re using him like a toy, fucking yourself with his cock and taking him in his entirety over and over and over again

leon moans raggedly, harsher and louder as everything builds, bringing his stomach muscles to tense underneath your nails, “can—shit—can feel how wet you are,” he groans out in between his noises, sounding just as exhausted as he looks

“yeah?” you pant, tipping your head to the side as his fingers tickle sluggishly over your thighs. truthfully, you know that he can feel it because you can feel and hear it too. amid every other noise, there’s the sloppy sound of your cunt being used for all it's worth, “s’all for you,”

another moan rips out of leon’s chest, making a smile pull at the corners of your lips as you sit back. your spine straightens, plunging his cock into your pussy at a new angle. he nails your cervix, a dull, bruising pounding and that’s where you need to be

your stomach twists in a delightful pain while your hips slow ever so slightly to a grind that keeps the head of his cock slipping over the sensitive spot deep inside of your body. the pleasure burns and you give into it immediately, allowing your back to arch in the opposite direction

“there, right fucking there, keep going’ y’gonna make me come,” leon rambles wildly over the tiny change in position. his fingertips dig into your thighs, gripping and dragging his blunt nails over your skin

an elated giggle bubbles out of your chest, “already, big guy?” you tease, although you’re probably just as close as he is but you’ll never not take the opportunity to tease, especially when he’s blood drunk and hanging on your every word

before leon can reply, you gain momentum again. you’re going in for the kill, leaning back and pressing your hands into his thighs, letting your own nails bite into his skin so that the words that died on the tip of his tongue turn into sharp hisses

the blood in your veins turns molten, thrumming and whooshing in your ears and leon picks up on it straight away—like he always does. you watch as his fangs bare instinctively and his tongue darts along his bottom lip because of his insatiable hunger

“peckish?” you ask innocently and leon nods quickly, “think you’ve had enough,” you pout with faux sympathy and to your delight, leon gasps and jerks his hips up pathetically, jostling you in his lap

“no,” he answers sharply, swallowing thickly as his eyes trail to your neck and then down to the mess still staining your chest, “got more for me, you always have more for me,” he almost begs and well, he’s not wrong

his gaze lingers on your chest, on the art that he created over your swaying tits. the blood has started to dry but your hands still dart away from his thighs and drift slowly up your body, trailing over your waist and up to your nipples to swipe through the drips

your thighs tremble, bearing the brunt of the relentless pace that your hips move and roll in, while your fingers start to play with your nipples. the first tweak makes your cunt clench like a vice, the second zaps lightening down to your stiff clit and the third throws you closer to your orgasm

“could bleed me dry, i’d let you,” you admit candidly, letting words stream from your mouth before they register in your brain, “feels so—ohmygod—fucking good when you make me bleed,” you whine as tears start to sting at your waterlines

leon’s too far gone to answer, lost somewhere between sex and hunger but his impulses take over and force one of his hands up your thigh. your clit throbs in anticipation and when you next slide down his cock, his thumb skims over you, setting your body alight

you cry out, wailing with tears streaming down your cheeks as it feels like he’s touching exposed nerves. your entire body shakes and your hips fall out of rhythm but it doesn’t matter, you’re too close to unravelling to care

“m’gonna come—i need to,” you blurt, focusing on the feeling that you’re racing towards and somewhere in the back of your mind, you think your desperation must be contagious because suddenly, leon’s hips are bucking up to meet yours

the clash of your skin against his is loud but the hammering of his cock into your puffy cunt is heaven. his thrusts are full, pulling his length all the way out of you before plunging in back in to nail your cervix hard enough to bruise it, surely

his moans turn animalistic again, driven by a need to feel you coming around him and he knows you’re almost there. you’re tightening around him in spasms, your clit is twitching under the unrelenting swipe of his thumb and the tears pouring down your cheeks is always a good sign

you’re right there, a live wire in his hold and you can’t stop the pressure that’s building in your stomach, “it’s—i’m gonna—leon,” you shout and sob and then, with one last devastating thrust and a sickening pinch to your clit, everything snaps, all at once

distantly, you hear yourself choke on a breath while your body goes rigid, tensing until it hurts and effectively trapping leon’s cock inside of your pussy. your eyes snap shut, bursting into nothing but white as your heartbeat is felt in every single part of your body

leon’s coming too—you think. a familiar warmth spreads throughout your stomach, filling you up in thick, gushing, waves but leon is silent, succumbing to an orgasm that causes his body to go loose and limbless underneath you

“oh fuck,” you whimper, your tone wobbling, when your peak starts to cease and the aftermath begins to creep in. your body sags, collapsing forwards onto leon's chest while you shiver through the overstimulation that's threatening to grasp you

together, your chests heave. in and out at the same time while the thought of catching your breath feels impossible. exhaustion laces your blood and keeps your eyes closed as leon becomes your mattress and his strong arms wrapping around you becomes your blanket

tickling and tracing is too much, too soon for your body to handle so instead, he rubs gentle circles down your back. you groan under the tension of his fingers and you’re sure you’re drooling on his chest but if you are, he doesn’t say anything about it

his cock starts to soften inside of your pulsing cunt, sending a shudder through both of your bodies as a spill of his come leaks out of your hole and drips down over his balls, adding just another layer of stickiness to the pre-existing mess between you and him

you're floating in your favourite headspace, swimming between the exertion of sex, the effects of leon feeding from you and the dull aching from your puncture wounds. it keeps you pliant in his muscular arms and it's a long time before you're present again

eventually, your own little dreamworld gets interrupted by the prick of leon's fangs along the top of your shoulder, prompting you to automatically expose your neck to him as you huff a light hearted,

“greedy”

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more giggles pass your lips as you recall the situation in your mind. leon is older than you by a fair amount and truthfully, you’re shocked that it’s taken as long as it has done for him to be mistaken for your father, “he felt real bad after though, huh,” you snicker

leon leans against the counter opposite you, folding his arms over his broad chest, “yeah well, you didn’t exactly help—answering the way you did,” he scolds, frowning at you with the softest eyes you’ve ever seen

“i don’t know what you me—”

“you said yes,” leon cuts your bold face lie off with a snap that doesn’t really have any heat behind it as he shakes his head slowly and then raises his eyebrow over the smile that’s pulling the corners of your lips upwards

“well,” you hum, coy and dragged out, “i mean, was i wrong?” you ask before you shrug your shoulders and suck your bottom lip between your teeth, leaving leon looking wholly unimpressed

“don’t start,” he warns and pushes off of the counter he’s leaning against to saunter slowly in your direction. his body pushes between your thighs, forcing you to make room for him as his hands plant onto the counter on either side of your body

he leans in slowly, kissing you quick and fleeting three times while your hands smooth against his face. greying, prickly hairs scratch against your palms and the underside of your fingers, tickling in a sharp kind of way as you drag your nails up and down his jaw

after a moment, leon turns his head and kisses your palm before hanging his head, allowing your fingertips to stroke through the—also greying—hairs at the nape of his neck, “my old man,” you tease lightly and grin whilst he's not looking

leon resigns to your teasing almost immediately, sighing and shaking his head for a second time as he commits to you getting it all out of your system. you tease him all the time and he never minds, especially not when you’re giggling and smiling whilst you do it

“what was your weapon of choice during world war two?” you ask, still scratching gently against his neck when he tilts his head up to fix you with a deadpan stare, “oh yeah, you’re right—silly question—definitely the guns,” you agree mockingly as well as nodding your head for good measure

with rolling eyes, leon puts his head down again and just grunts, low and rough, in response. for all that it’s worth, you adore leon just as he is, with his greying hairs and thin smile lines, certainly with his calloused hands that he’s worked hard for many years to get. he’s perfect to you but still, you’ll always tease and he'll always let you

“did you have to write on wax tablets in school? is that why your handwriting is so awful?” you giggle, eyeing the scattered notes that he leaves you before he goes away on an assignment. they're stuck all over the door to your fridge with location magnets from the many places he’s been to over the years

“uh huh,” he answers with sarcasm lacing through his tone because even he can admit to having awful handwriting. he once wrote a grocery list and then when you got to the store, neither of you could read a single thing from it—which is why the lists are your responsibility now

for a second, you fall into a comfortable silence while you conjure up something else to tease him with. he knows something is coming, you’re still giggling so you’ve clearly not flushed your system of your current form of entertainment

“you know what, you’re so lucky henry the eighth didn’t know about you,” you say suddenly with an obscene amount of—faux—seriousness that makes it really hard for you not to laugh over your own stupidity, “he would’ve had to behead you,”

leon’s head snaps up and confusion is written all over his face, “yeah, why’s that?” he asks, feeding into your teasing, even if it is just because he’s genuinely curious as to where you could possibly be going with it

you sigh deeply and pause for dramatic effect, bringing your hands back to his jaw and stubble, “you’re just too girl dad coded, you couldn’t have ever given him a son,” you explain, feeling laughter bubbling up within you, “and for that, he would’ve beheaded you, which is a shame, your head is very handsome,”

a frown pulls at leon’s eyebrows and then just as quickly as it arrived, it leaves, smoothing the creases out that formed on his forehead. he chuckles afterwards, low and breathy, gruff in that special way that older men do—it’s attractive and you love it

“fucking hell,” he mutters, though he’s smiling and watching you laugh more than he is. whilst you do that, he stands up straight, takes his hands off of the counter and relocates them to your waist, where he squeezes just enough to make your squirm, “are you done?” he asks, still sounding amused

in an attempt to get him off, you wriggle and try to knock his hands away but alas, he’s much stronger than you are—even in his old age, “yes! i’m done, m’done!” you yelp and hold your hands up either side of your head, surrendering

your laughing gets temporarily muffled by a solitary kiss. leon hums against your lips, pretending to be annoyed, regardless of the fact that you know he definitely isn’t, before he steps back and crosses his arms over his chest again while he waits for your incessant giggling to end

eventually, it does slow to a stop but by that time, tears are clinging to your lashes and your ribs ache. panting breaths escape past your lips, preventing you from speaking immediately. so, instead, you just blink at leon’s stoic self

“c’mon, we’ve still got groceries to put away,” he says once your breathing evens out. he steps towards you again, hands out and ready to grab you off of the countertop. except, he freezes when your fingers loop around his wrists to stop him

you gasp, “waitwaitwait—what pen did you use to sign the declaration of independence? did abraham lincoln really wear a big top hat? was the great depression really that depressing and—and was your childhood best friend a dinos—”

for a second time, leon cuts you off. this time he does it with a crushing kiss that silences your rambling upon impact. your spine goes rigid as he presses into you, growling as he slots your bottom lip between his own and grazes teeth over your sensitive skin

“you’re done,” he decides, once and for all, with his lips still against yours to keep you quiet. but, before you even have the chance to fail an attempt at replying, he leans over you and—with ease—hoists you up over his shoulder in one swift move

your hands dig into his lower back as you twist and flail, not really trying to get out of his hold but rather trying to see where he’s taking you as he’s strides out of the kitchen, but to no avail, “where are you taking me—what about the groceries?” you shriek when he rounds the corner and heads towards the stairs

“we’re going to find out if you can keep up with this old man,” leon drawls and you can quite literally hear the smirk on his face while he reaches up, slaps your ass and finishes lowly with, “maybe we’ll even find out if i’m just as girl dad coded as you seem to think i am,”

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah ily! send prompts to my ask box!