💛Asaba Harumasa💛

You’ve dealt with your fair share of speed-boosted infected; limbs windmilling, clawing and careening, all bursting energy and no finesse.

These aren’t blisterheads. They have stamina. They’re keeping up.

You twist and shoot one whose fingers are uncomfortably close to swiping the back of Leon’s shirt. The nearby white paneled wall goes bright, splotchy red.

“Intel’s getting a new one ripped if we make it out of this,” you pant, breath dry and ragged in your throat. Your lungs are burning.

“We’re making it out,” Leon tells you. Conclusive, no room for argument. He dodges left, hand once again grazing your arm to pull you with, but you’re already there, a perfect shadow.

This hall is wider, brightly lit with glass cases set in between the wall panels.

You’ve only got eyes on one thing as you run.

EXIT

It’s a final sprint.

You grit your teeth, breath loud in your ears, arms and legs pumping hard, trying to build a gap that allows for a sudden smack into the double doors, a loss of momentum and reversal of motion to slam the barrier closed.

‘Slam’ turns out to be optimistic. It’s a hydraulic close. Glacially fucking slow.

“Fuck! Force it!”

You almost bash heads with Leon, throwing your combined weight against the doors as the calamitous wall of infected catch up, arms reaching through the diminishing gap, scratching and clawing at you.

With a roar of effort, the doors finally give way under pressure and close with a crunch. An arm, hand, and various fingers fall onto the concrete.

“Bar it! Bar it!” Leon’s braced against both doors, his body a wedge, jarred by the furious thumping from the other side.

There are massive pneumatic rod locks on either side of the door. The control panel is dark.

“There’s no power!”

“You’re armed!”

Oh, right.

BANG T-SHUNK

Smoke curls from the barrel of your gun. The blasted hole in the control panel sparks weakly, fizzes, then goes dark.

Leon pushes away from the secured doors, rubbing at his ear. Your head’s ringing like a struck bell and you’d been back at arm’s length, not parallel with the barrel.

“Say something?”

“Something.”

“Yeah, can’t hear shit.”

"You only look like it.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

He’s flipping you off.

You grab it like a pinky promise, linking middle fingers, and he rolls his eyes.

“Alright. Let’s bounce,” you say.

He pulls you back. Urgent, abrupt. It bumps you against him.

“Wait.”

You’re in a greenhouse.

Rows and rows of lush, overgrown plants stretch unfamiliar leaves towards a glass-paneled sky. The walkways between rows are made of industrial metal grating, a stale funk rising from the darkness underneath.

No breeze is stirring the air. The back of your neck starts prickling; your animal brain tugging on your metaphorical hem and pointing.

The plants are rustling lightly.

Leon half-turns his head towards you, keeping his eyes on the jungle ahead.

“What’s the sitrep on the door?”

It’s still thumping against the locks, battered by the relentless undead. You glance at the panel you’d shot, burst and gutted, the wall above it blackened.

“Fucked.”

“Other doors?”

It’s just wall. Wall, and wall, and wall, smooth and inhospitable.

“Negative.”

“How long can you hold your breath?”

“I don’t think that’s the concern.”

You’re playing back the last hallway. White walls broken by glass panels, streaking by as you run. Behind every glass panel, a bright orange suit, thick like leather.

Bite-proof.

“Fuck.”

“So you tried to bypass it underground.”

“So we tried to bypass it underground,” you confirm. You watch the man nod, taking notes. He’s a leftie.

“Good thinking.”

“Yeah, well. Apparently not.”

The metal grating isn’t light. Thankfully, you and Leon aren’t weak.

The daylight sits like oil on top of water, only greasing weakly off of the reflective metal of more walkways below; descending levels disappearing into the dark.

“Oh, good. Can’t see the bottom.”

“Endless possibilities,” Leon says. “Cover me.”

The first level is an eight foot drop. Leon swings his legs into the gap, scoots forward, and eases himself down slowly, like he’s waiting for something to file a violent complaint. When nothing does, he drops onto the walkway, the metal clanging despite his rubber soles.

He shines his flashlight forward.

“Ugh.”

“What?”

“Love what they’ve done with the space.” He pockets the flashlight, reaching up to you. “It’s a charm you have to see in person.”

His hands are firm on your sides, your shirt riding up a little as he supports you down onto the platform with him. He absently fixes your rucked hem as you shine your flashlight into the gloom.

“Ugh,” you agree.

Roots.

Long, white, spidery roots hang from the ceiling in lengthy clumps and bundles, like massive, cobwebby chandeliers.

Leon’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing.

“Hey. Look.”

He steps forward, reaching into the nearest nest of gauzy filaments. He pulls his hand out, fingers curled around a narrow, dark plastic tube.

You come closer with the flashlight.

The dark color is red.

“It’s warm,” Leon adds, horribly.

The tube snakes off into the darkness below. You point your flashlight down and catch a glint off of something flat, circular, and shiny.

Leon’s separating more tubes from the leggy mass of roots. Only the one is red, but the others don’t look any less… organic.

“God. Which way do you think they run?”

He glances at you. “Three guesses.”

“Plants don’t bleed red.”

“Not typically.”

You share a resigned look, then he brushes past you, face set.

You turn to find him making quick work of the stairs down to the lower levels, hand on his gun.

You check your pistol's chamber and follow.

“A line of tanks.”

“Life support tanks, yes. Dozens.”

“Which way were the tubes running?”

“Both ways.”

“So…”

“The tanks were feeding the plants, and the plants were feeding the tanks.”

“Life support, you said. So there were … humans? Inside the tanks?”

“Yeah,” you say, looking away. “Used to be.”

There’s a thick film of slime on the tank, like growing snot. Your flashlight can’t make out anything coherent inside.

Leon shines his flashlight down the row; cylinder after cylinder, standing like a row of human-sized batteries, all mucky with slime and tickled by the trailing ends of roots from the massive bundles overhead.

Somewhere ahead, a steady dripping, echoing. You don’t appreciate the cliche.

“When was the initial outbreak?” Now that you’re on solid ground, your voice seems to suck right into the floor.

“All the lab logs and entries stop around six months ago.”

“So no one’s been down here for half a year.”

“Yeah.”

Leon shares a long look with you, mouth tight. Then, hesitant, he wipes a window through the muck on the nearest tank.

The beam of his flashlight illuminates the chamber. You can see a vague shadow suspended inside, like a bug in rough, raw amber.

He steps back, jaw tight.

“Dare I even ask?”

He shakes his head. “It’ll put you off soup.”

You shine your flashlight upwards; the root balls catch it and glow, high overhead.

“What was so wrong with good ol’ hydroponics?”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Leon says, heading off down the line of tanks.

“Twist my arm.”

“You didn't see it?”

“It was behind one of the tanks. In the dark.”

“You didn't hear it?”

“It was a little noisy at the time,” you say, annoyed.

Third tank from the last, everything goes spectacularly tits up.

Glass shatters outward, slimy and wet as it ricochets off your defensively raised arms. The body in the tank falls forward and swipes for Leon’s legs.

It’s not like the infected you’re used to, desiccated and dry as jerky.

This one is wet. This one is dissolving, skin sloughing from muscle sloughing from bone. Entrails spill from its body cavity, slippery, spreading across the hoary concrete as the disgusting thing writhes for a claim on your partner’s ankle.

Leon stumbles out of reach, gun aiming at the mucky skull. It explodes like a sixpack in a hot car and you’re shouting, ducking behind your arm again—

That’s when the other thing strikes.

Leon shouts in pain and tries to tear free. The pale, rubbery thing keeps hold of his shoulder like an overexcited dog with a rope toy.

“Leon!”

It’s too close to his head and he’s thrashing, you don’t have a clear shot. Something glints in the shadows behind his hip.

The hatchet. He’s already grabbed it.

A roar, a swing, the song of a sharp blade slicing clean through something organic.

The pale thing hits the ground with a sound like a rotting squash, the vine swinging empty into the darkness behind the tanks.

Leon falls to one knee with a grunt, the hatchet clattering onto the concrete.

“Leon! Leon,” you’re touching his back, crouching down with him. He’s breathing hard through his nose, clutching his shoulder. The fabric is darkening under his hand.

“Let me see. Leon.”

You shove his hand clear, unzipping his collar and yanking it aside.

His skin is patterned with circular rows of bleeding dashes. Lots of them.

“What the fuck.”

The pale, rubbery thing lies flaccid on the floor behind Leon. At first glance, it looks like a starfish collapsed on itself.

At second glance, you start to see the teeth, fine and triangular, in diminishing rows like a shark.

Pink with blood.

“Shit. Hey.”

Leon’s still on one knee, head down. You push his hair back, leaving a bloody streak on his skin, and tip his face up. There’s sweat on his forehead.

It takes him a moment to focus on you.

“Tell me what you’re feeling.”

He grunts. His pupils are a little too big, even for the dim lighting, and they’re not reacting right when you pass your flashlight closer.

You’re trying not to panic.

“Can you get up? Can you walk?”

He lets you haul him to his feet but shoves you off when you go to duck under his arm. You don’t take offense; it’s a good sign. He’s steady enough on his own.

“Grab that,” he tells you, voice rough. He’s holding his shoulder again, pointing down at the beheaded plant. You pick it up by the little stem of vine, grab his hatchet, and follow him close, ascending fast while he calls for extraction.

You don’t wait for your debrief to finish writing.

“What did the labs say?”

“They’re still running tests.”

“What did Medical say?”

“They’re still running tests.”

“What, with a potato? Where's the sense of urgency, here?”

“At last report, Mr. Kennedy was stable,” he says, capping his pen.

“He was half delirious coming off that chopper!”

“They’ve determined he’s in no immediate danger.”

“How can they know if they’re still running fucking tests?”

You get your name in an admonishing tone. You stand up, your chair screeching against the floor.

“I wanna see him.”

“He’s in precautionary isolation.”

“I was exposed to the same bullshit he was. I wanna see him.”

“You weren't bitten.”

“What, you think he’s gonna bite me?”

Your debrief just looks back at you, calm and level, his hands folded prim over the closed folder containing your account of the whole goddamn shit-spackled mission.

“He’s in precautionary isolation,” he repeats.

Your teeth grind, a muscle in your jaw jumping.

“Are we done here?”

“Yes. You are free to go.”

Medical stops you at the door. They aren’t fooled by your purposeful stride, your bored but intent expression. They hook your arm and yank you away like it’s goddamn Looney Tunes.

“We were told you might try that.”

Fucking debrief.

So now you’re sitting at home, dialing the Medical desk every fifteen minutes, certain from the complete non-activity of the past four hours that they’ve filtered your number as spam.

Assholes.

You should go to bed. Medical’s kept you both alive thus far, through hell and high water. Leon’s in good hands. Stable. No immediate danger, they said.

You rotate your phone in your hand, over and over. Upside-down, rightside-up. Staring at nothing.

You call the labs.

Some poor idiot actually picks up.

“I-I-I can’t give you that information,” he stammers, when you demand an update on Leon. On the biting plant. On fucking anything.

“I’m his partner! I was ground zero when it happened!”

“I-I can’t verify that over the phone.”

“Then I’m coming in,” you say, prim. You hang up on more panicked stammering, tossing your phone aside on the couch.

You’ve barely made it to your feet when your phone starts ringing.

Incoming Call Leonnedy

You stub your toe on the couch in your scramble to pick up.

“Leon! Are you okay?”

Immediately you can tell he’s not.

“I need help,” he says. Croaks.

Cold sweat breaks on your skin.

“Where are you? What’s wrong?”

“I’m… I can’t…” He gasps.

You’re a whirl of activity. You’re grabbing your wallet, your keys, pulling a jacket on over your pajamas. There’s no fucking time to change.

“Leon, where are you.”

“Home.”

“What?” You stop cold in your mad dashing, gripping the phone too hard. “They sent you home like this?”

“They said I could take care of it.”

“Take care of what? They won’t tell me fucking anything, Leon–“

He groans through clenched teeth and oh boy, Medical’s gonna find out just how creative you can be when it comes to revenge. You shove your feet ungracefully into some shoes and grab for the door handle.

“The venom,” Leon’s panting in your ear, and then he gets to the zinger. “It’s an aphrodisiac.”

You feel it like lightning, a surge throughout your entire body. Your visual of his situation, based on the noises he’s making, takes a dramatic turn.

“Leon.”

“It’s been six goddamn hours,” he grits out.

“Jesus christ, can’t you just–”

“I’ve tried,” he says. “I’m just goddamn edging myself.”

“Did you call Medical? There’s gotta be something they can–”

“Fucking useless,” Leon says, confirming your hypothesis. “They told me to hire an escort.”

“What?”

“I’m not— fuck— fucking doing that.”

You thump your forehead against your front door, your grip on the doorknob tight enough to crush.

“Leon, if you… there’s no shame. They’re professio–”

“No,” he cuts in. “I don’t…” He breaks off, breath hissing through his teeth, and then fails to elaborate.

That’s alright; you’ve got a pressing question.

“Why’d you call me?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. You just have to listen to him breathe like this.

Your vivid imagination is a fucking curse.

"I trust you,” he finally tells you. “I know how this… I don’t have… I trust you.”

You’re partners.

No, you’re coworkers. What he’s asking is… can he ask this? What happens to your partnership in the aftermath? Can you go back to–

“Please,” he breathes in your ear, and tops it with your name.

You wrench the door open.

Before you hang up, he gives you the code for the garage door, and fair warning.

You’re still not prepared.

As partners, you’ve seen each other in various states of undress. Usually partial. Usually because you’re bleeding somehow. Always clinical.

This doesn’t feel like the far end of the same spectrum. This feels like a g-force journey into a different dimension.

Leon’s on his couch, head back, knees wide. Taut like a bowstring.

Completely, stark, buck-ass naked.

His shoulder looks like a bisected watermelon, his skin dewy and pink, dotted with the dark little toothmarks from the venomous plant.

His chest is heaving, his hips restless.

His cock is flushed dark, painfully engorged, thick and pulsing against his stomach. There’s a wet smear on his skin; when his cock lifts, straining, it trails a sticky little string of precum.

“Christ,” you rasp, tossing your jacket aside.

He lifts his head and his eyes can barely focus on you. He looks on the verge of passing out, but he reaches out, reaches for you. You shove a bottle of lube out of the way on the couch cushions and take his outstretched hand.

“I’m here. What do you–“

“Touch,” he pants, barely coherent. “Touch me.”

And here you are in the deep end, no time to brace, no time to breathe. You’re touching him, chamois soft skin, hot and unyielding. His hips jerk on a gasp, a groan dragging from somewhere deep within as he lets his head fall back on the couch.

The hot, swooping sensation in your stomach physically bends you, punches your breath out.

You’ve never handled a dick this hard in your entire life.

You’ve maybe never handled a dick this big in your entire life. He’s long and thick, the head flared, cerise and glistening. You pass your thumb over his slit, smearing through the precum, and his stomach tautens as he pushes up into your hand, his breath rushing out hot, hissing back in. He’s desperate.

He breathes your name. His ass keeps flexing with the helpless motion of his hips and his eyes are closed, forehead knotted.

It’s intense concentration. His world narrowed down, only as wide as the circle of your fist.

Six goddamn hours.

You tighten your grip, trail your other hand up the lightly furred inside of his thigh, teasing his balls before stacking your fists and starting to pump him in a steady rhythm that answers the flex of his body.

His hand lands on your thigh, searing, his fingertips firm on your flesh and pulling. Your knee presses tighter against his leg.

He’s just grappling for a hold on something, for an anchor. His other hand is doing the same thing to the arm of the couch. You just hope he doesn’t move his hand any further to the left on you or he’s gonna find you a little too slippery to hold onto.

Fuck, you’re only goddamn human.

You jerk him faster, his hips starting to meet you in earnest, his body rolling as he chases his disobliging release.

And why couldn’t he get there himself?

What if… what if you can’t get him there, either? You don’t know anything about the venom, they’re still running tests. Maybe this is the result. Maybe he’s just… stuck like this, heightening, exacerbating, until he, what, pops?

What a fucking epitaph that would be.

No, you’re not scripting headstones. That’s not happening.

You start to twist on the upstroke, a flick of the wrist, and Leon moans loud.

“That’s it. Come on, Leon.”

His balls are tightening, drawing up, his forehead beaded with sweat, his mouth open. He’s right on the edge.

“Look at me.”

He opens his eyes, glassy as they are. You make sure he can see you, and then you bend low.

His skin is velvety soft around the firm rounds of his balls. You fit your lips to one of the shapes, touch your tongue to it, tasting the salt of him.

He cries out, thick ropes of cum hitting his chest, his stomach, spurting and spilling down his shaft, smeared by your hand as you milk him through it, relieved.

You can’t stop your breathy laugh, almost lost under his aereous groans. He just keeps going.

“A little pent up?”

He doesn’t quip back. The situation is dire.

His dick gives one last pulse, the final beads of his release dribbling down the head of his cock. You rub it away with your thumb.

There’s a very noticeable issue.

He’s still incredibly hard.

When you meet his eyes, they’re a little clearer. He’s still sunset pink and breathing hard – messy, now, too – but he can track your face better.

“Do you feel any different?”

“Fuck. Barely.”

"What if you're stuck like this?"

“Don't say that," he says. You’re still stroking him, slow, like an afterthought. He drags his hands through his damp hair, hissing when it stretches the scabs on his chewed shoulder.

"It was venom, do you need some sort of antivenom?"

He doesn’t appear to be listening. His hands grip the back of the couch, his hips rolling, cock pushing through your sticky fist.

You grab his hips and force them down.

“Leon.”

He bucks hard against you, bratty.

"You think I know?”

“Don’t give me an attitude.”

“Don’t fuckin tease me,” he snaps, unwisely.

You move fast.

A whump, a gasp, the silence of breath caught in the shadow of a predator.

His breath fans out over your face; slow, tremulous.

“I’m doing you a favor,” you remind him, low, your face inches from his. “I could just leave.”

He’s not moving, trapped under you.

You’re straddling him, your fist tight at the base of his cock.

“What do you say?”

“Fuck.”

“Leon.”

“I love you.”

It rattles you like a gunshot, strikes you and spreads.

It takes your advantage, crumples it up, and throws it in a trash compactor. And then it lights that trash compactor on fire.

“That’s not fair,” you breathe.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and kisses you.

He’s upgraded your permissions. You kiss him back, heated, and let go of your leash.

He breaks from your mouth to gasp when you sit on his hips, his hands catching your waist and gripping.

“Shit.”

“So we’ve learned that I’m not a monk,” you say, a verbal roll of the eyes.

It’s not just a few tepid inches of water in your basement. At this point, your flood’s halfway up the damn walls.

He rocks his hips, rubbing himself against the soaked fabric of your pajama shorts. You keen and pick up the motion on your own.

God, you’re aching.

“You should have said something,” he says, breathless.

“That wasn’t on the invitation.”

“Aren’t you a saint.”

“Yeah. Because when you said ‘I trust you’, I heard ‘take advantage of my compromising situation’.”

“Fair,” he says, then pulls you down to speak in your ear, his scruff a ticklish rasp against your skin. “Fuck me.”

Well don’t you make the perfect pair. He’s hard as granite and you’re wet enough to sink a dinghy.

Taking off your clothes is too much fucking bother. You just shove the wet fabric to the side.

He doesn't watch where you’re taking his cock into your body, the hot, hard length of him sliding in tight past your pussy lips.

He’s watching your face. You don’t know it until you’ve got him in to the hilt, your mouth falling open on a sigh, your forehead smoothing out as you gyrate your hips, a delicious little circle, fully seated on his lap.

"Oh my god, Leon."

He comes.

Your name is somewhere in the long groan sieved through his clenched teeth before his mouth drops open, diced breaths tumbling free as he pulses inside of you, so deep, so hot and thick.

He’s still looking directly at you.

You watch his eyes clear just a little more; sharpening, focusing. Smoke becoming a mist.

“Can I tease you about premature ejaculation.”

“No.” He starts unbuttoning your pajama top. The fabric is wrinkled at your sides where he’d been gripping, almost hard enough to bruise.

“Why, because you’re still hard?” He is, but it’s different. You couldn’t bend steel around him anymore.

“Yeah,” he says simply, and grips your open collar, pulling you down into a kiss.

You arch your back, easing him to just the tip, bottoming him out again, cycling his affected breath through your own lungs. He runs his hands down your chest, grazing your nipples, his tongue reaching into your mouth to taste your sigh.

His hips press up into you, lifting you, a gentle swell. You ride it; start to rock your hips.

The fabric of your shirt whispers down your arms, chased by the skim of Leon’s palms. Goosebumps raise on your skin.

You brace your arms on the back of the couch, riding him faster. He trails his lips down the column of your neck, his scruff a pleasant scratch, his humid breaths printing your skin.

He runs the fan of his fingers over your nipples.

“Leon.”

“Lean back,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “Let me see you.”

You sit back on his hips, brushing your hands over the caps of his knees. He scratches lightly down the flex of your thighs as you start slapping down on him harder, dropping your head back, gasping.

“Fuck, gorgeous, just like that.”

“God, Leon.”

Your thighs are burning. He starts meeting you, hips snapping, and you look down.

It almost does you in.

Those broad shoulders, that flushed chest. Muscles rolling and bunching under his glistening skin. Hair sticking to his forehead, wet pink lips, blown eyes hooded, watching you, too.

His hands fall to your hips and he growls, fingers bunching in your pajama shorts. Feral. Like he’s going to tear them.

He hooks his arm around your back and surges up, laying you out on the sofa. You whine when he slips out of you, but he’s lifting your hips to yank your shorts and panties down, surprisingly coordinated for the way he’s wound up.

A small part of you expects them to hit the floor with a wet slap. The rest of you is reaching for Leon, impatient, empty.

He brings your knee up, hooks your leg around his hip and pushes back in, one long thrust, his breath a humid narration. You keen, head falling back against the cushions, feeling his lips at your jaw.

He digs his arms under your shoulders, his body rocking you, fluid motions pushing and pulling as he fucks you slow, deep. You grip his back, obsessed with the animal flex of his body.

You can feel every inch of him, stroking your walls. In, out, a steady tide. You arch your back, your stomach pressing to the rippling heat of his abs.

He’s still sticky. You don’t fucking care.

“Score’s two to zero,” he tells you, breath hot against your cheek. “You gonna catch up?”

“I’m not the medical concern.”

He brings your other leg up onto his hip, adjusting. Seeking.

He finds it. You groan loud, raw, and feel him smile against your neck.

“There you are.”

Your jaw hinges open, your vision glazing over as he rubs the head of his cock against the bundle of nerves inside you. He snaps his hips, jolting a gasp out of you, then goes right back to massaging your g-spot.

“You’re not real,” you pant. He nips your skin, sharp.

“River in Egypt, sweetheart.”

You dig your heels into his glutes, pressing in like spurs, urging him faster.

“Come on, cowboy– ah!”

He pushes up onto his hands, skin slapping loud as he starts pounding into you hard and fast. You were already tightening, coil building, and he’s hit your fucking warp drive.

“Fuck, fuck, like that, Leon!”

“Shit, you better hurry,” he says through gritted teeth. His hips are stuttering, rhythm starting to fall apart.

“I told you–“

His thumb circles your clit, just one rotation, and that’s it. The bastard’s got you. Screaming, even.

You come apart beneath him, your foundation shaking, walls clenching around him, wracked by seismic waves. He gasps your name, watching you climax on his dick, then slams in deep and comes with a long, stuttering groan.

The third time, it seems, is the charm.

When his phone starts ringing, you don’t hear it at first. His head is blocking your nearest ear.

“Leon.”

“Mm.”

“Your phone.”

“Mmph.”

You shift like you’re going to try to reach for it yourself, but he’s beautifully heavy on top of you, so you don’t try very hard.

You nuzzle your face into his hair and bring your arms around him instead, closing your eyes. He hums, content.

The ringtone stops, bending to your private moment.

Five seconds later, it starts up again.

“Fuck.”

You grouse when Leon shifts up, but his reach is longer than yours and he doesn’t go far.

“Huh. Medical,” he says.

“Oh,” you say, with mock optimism.

He hits answer, settling back on top of you. You run your hand up and down his back, petting him.

“Kennedy.”

He doesn’t have his volume turned up very high. You get vague shapes of words, spoken quickly, and then Leon’s short responses, felt as much as heard, his voice thrumming through you.

“Yeah. … No. … Don’t need it. … I know. … I know. … No, I’m fine. … Sure. Bye.”

“Fucking useless,” he mutters, his phone clattering onto the coffee table. “Antivenom’s ready.”

You start giggling.

“They want me in for reassessment in the morning.”

It turns into laughter, smothered into his shoulder, and he rolls into the couch crease so he can look at you.

“What?”

“All their overtime hours,” you say. “No match for your partner’s Magical Healing Vagina.”

He laughs, a real one, his hand pulling at your hip to twist you towards him, pressing you against his body. You’re both a fucking mess, and the couch might be a write-off.

It was an emergency.

“Should get you certified,” he says. You make a skeptical noise.

“There’d be a demand.”

His arm tightens around you, minuscule. Almost imperceptible. Might’ve been completely imperceptible, if his arms weren’t so big.

“Mm. We’re sticking to best-kept-secret.”

“How selfish.”

He nuzzles your mouth with his, sharing breath.

“Yeah.”

“Hey,” you mention, to his invading tongue. He retreats and lets you speak. "Did you mean what you said, or was it just self-defense?"

"What I said?"

"Don't be obtuse.”

He brushes his lips against yours, just a snag of soft, moist skin.

"I've never lied to you," he says.

"There's a first time for everything," you say. "You're skirting the question."

He brushes your hair back, studying your face. Content to take forever, it seems.

"If it helps," you say, "I can put you back under duress."

You slide your hand to the front of his hip, laughing when he flinches away.

"Ass," he says, and rolls you onto your back again, dipping to kiss you. "Yeah. I love you."

You stroke his cheek, his stubble rasping against your fingertips. His eyes are completely clear, gaze steady looking back at you.

You don't take forever to say it. The forever you want to take is the one that opens up on the other side of it: four words, a door.

“I love you, too.”

On AO3

Y'all mind if I just give our man a bad good time real quick

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist when I post these fics 🩷

He stood at the altar, dressed in his best silver tux, thumb rubbing absent circles over the simple band of the engagement ring you had gifted him. The guests blurred together into a sea of smiling faces, but he barely registered them.

He wasn't nervous…at least, that's what he'd been telling himself.

Then the music changed.

The entire room rose to its feet.

Leon finally looked up.

And there you were.

For a moment his mind simply…stopped.

You looked impossibly beautiful—not in the distant, untouchable way magazines tried to define beauty, but in the painfully familiar way that stole the air from his lungs. It was you with the same smile that greeted him after bad days. The same eyes that always found him across crowded rooms.

Leon felt something in his chest crack open.

With every step you take the reality of what was happening is sinking into him.

This is real, you're real. So real in fact that he was marrying you.

For the first time in a long while his eyes stung, tears were quickly filling the edge of his sight before he could even know what to do.

He tried to blink the tears away.

Don't cry.

Come on Kennedy, pull yourself together.

But the thought kept echoing louder than the music.

They're really, really marrying stupid ol’ me.

His throat tightened.

Leon is not in any sense lucky—well one could surmise he was unluckily lucky---but how did his luck get this good?

How in the hells did he manage to get this right?

How did he pull all the right cards to lead to this point?

It didn't make sense.

Not to him.

He knew the plenty of mistakes he'd made. The missions that had hollowed him out. The nights he'd come home exhausted, carrying ghosts he could never quite explain.

He knew every flaw.

Every scar.

Every reason someone should've decided loving him was too difficult.

Yet there you are.

Walking toward him with the kind of smile that made it seem as though choosing him had never been a question.

His chest ached.

There had to be a mistake.

Some irrational part of him almost expected someone to interrupt the ceremony.

“Sorry, wrong groom.”

“There's been a mix-up.”

Because surely—surely this couldn't really be happening to him.

You reached the front.

Now, standing a foot away from him.

Leon gaze landed on your glimmering eyes…

And whatever composure he'd managed to hold onto completely disappeared.

“Hi there.” You smile so effortlessly like you’re merely taking a calm stroll in the park.

“H-Hi.” 

Brilliant, he stuttered.

The man who walked out a zombie infested city fucking stuttered.

Just great, months of planning and the first thing that went out of his mouth was a stuttered Hi.

A tiny laugh escaped your painted lips.

Well…at least one of yous find this amusing.

“I…” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling seventeen instead of thirty-something—great he also forgot how old he was. “You look…”

His stupid brain abandoned him.

He cleared his throat to save him some grace.

“You look pretty.”

Your smile widened.

“Just pretty?”

His face warmed instantly.

Oh you little devil. Your partner was having a brain malfunction yet here you are enjoying every bit of it.

“No, that's not—I mean…” He stopped himself, shutting his eyes for half a second, laughing at himself. Once he pulled himself together he looked at you once again. “You look absolutely stunning.”

This time it seemed you were the one being flustered.

“Thank you, you look quite dashing yourself.”

Leon laughed again, softer this time.

“I just wasn't prepared for what you could actually do to me.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I forgot how to talk.”

A few quiet chuckles rippled through the front rows.

Leon didn't even notice.

His whole world had narrowed to the person standing inches away.

“I'm delighted I could stunt The Leon Kennedy.”

Leon shook his head, amused by your statement.

“Not everyday someone can do so.” He held out his hand. “Ready to marry me, partner?”

You threaded your fingers around his. 

“I walked the aisle, would be pretty awkward if I’m not.”

Leon scoffed, “It's a bit unfair. Here I am on the verge of crying, and here you are, swagger and all.”

“Verge? Honey, I already see a tear track.”

“Damn.” He sniffled, laughing at himself. “I know.”

The officiant smiled knowingly, clearly willing to give them another minute. There'd been one too many times he’d witnessed couples clearly despise each other during their ceremony. Witnessing the exchange in front o him was a breath of fresh air.

Ugh...

It was a shitty day at the cafe, and on top of that it seemed your apartment was against you and falling apart. Everything you've managed to fix but the bathroom door was something you'd need to call a repair man for, you didn't have any money so you left it as is, you live alone anyways.

You took a breath and turned on the shower, the mist from the hot water filling your lungs. You shed your clothes and stepped inside.

A while later you stepped out to get dressed in your room--only to remember you left your clothes on the bathroom counter.

.Pierrot's Perspective.

He wanted to surprise you when you got home, he noticed your door was falling off the door frame and he wanted to help out. He noticed you left the bathroom so that's when he snuck inside, and closed himself in the bathroom to fix it.

What he was not expecting was for you to return so suddenly.

There you stood, in nothing but a towel and his gaze immediately looked down at your barley covered body.

You immediately blushed and attempted to get out, only to realize the door locked itself. You desperately tried to open it, but it was no use-- you were stuck with Pierrot. You saw him look at you with such a fierce intensity and blushed.

"Don't look at me like that.."

He then realized he was staring and looked away.

"I am sorry my dear, I wanted to do something nice for you after seeing how bad your week has been."

Your expression softened.

"It's okay Pierrot, I appreciate the effort." you said, wrapping your arms around him for a hug. Seems gravity got the best of the moment, allowing your towel to fall off to reveal your body to him on accident. You immediately try to cover yourself with your hands, blushing heavy.

And poor Pierrot just stared.

"My dear I... You look so...." he trailed off, his face turning flush and your own gaze trailed down to his pants, only to see a huge tent. You bit your lip, unsure if you wanted to cover back up or let him see you fully.

You let your hands fall to your sides, and he let out a groan of bliss. He didn't rush to touch you, he stepped carefully-- as if any wrong move would ruin the moment.

"My dear.." he spoke softly, his eyes a worshipful gaze.

"May I touch you?"

You nodded, and with a sudden movement, he kissed you. Only breaking away to trail his kisses down your neck. "Please... Let me mark you, let him know your mine."

You nodded, feeling his warm breath against your neck before he bit down. "Ah..!" you cried out, it hurt but he pulled away.

"I'm sorry my love, I'll make it up to you.." he said, sinking onto his knees. He kisses up your thigh and takes one long lick against your cunt. His pupils morph into hearts and he doesn't waste anymore time lapping your core. He holds you spread against the wall and the backs of your knees against his shoulders. You held onto his hair, his horns-- his horns? You were too blissed out to care, holding onto them fully for support. He moaned into your cunt, his free hand palming his erection.

You came with a cry of his name, and he lapped every last drop before pulling away. Conviently, you were held against the door which dropped the moment you came down from your high. Guess it was time to get out.

And it does nothing to hide his perverted, drooling smile.

You stop, stunned.

"Pierrot... We just slept together. What are you even saying?"

✧Harlequin✧

"Tease." Harley walks past you, his toothbrush in his mouth, not even looking at you.

You stop dead in your tracks, furious.

"You only have a towel around your hips right now! Whore!"

"Say it again, babe. It goes straight to my cock." He smirks

✧Jester✧

"How dare you?" He demands, offended, "Is this you testing my patience?"

You stop, towel still wrapped around your hair, freshly out of the shower, in clean new undergarment.

"I, huh... I didn't think you would mind since we just..."

"Wearing red laced lingerie like that. I clearly remember ordering you to wear purple from now on." He rumbles, looking down on you from all his height, "Do you have anything to say to save yourself, foolish little pet?"

✧Ticket Taker✧

"Let me open that." He whispers, seeing you in difficulties.

And he unclips your bra, revealing your breast to his eyes, plenty satisfied.

"I didn't know you knew how to open a bra." You chuckle, attacking his ear with nibbles and gentle biting.

"Do you take me for an amateur, Dear one? I must know my arts to please my woman."

"Pervert." You tease.

He slaps your ass.

"For you? Always, Dear one."

✧Doctor✧

"Let me help."

And he cautiously clips your bra close in your back, seeing you in difficulties.

"Thanks, Doctor." You flush, cheeks still hot of your sinful activities ten minutes ago.

"No worries. Are you alright? Are you sore?"

"I think I am alright." You smile bashfuly, "I just have to take in that... We did it."

He kisses your shoulder gently.

"I can help with a massage. Or another... 'Inspection'." He smirks deviously, sending your heart in a frenzy.

He comes through the door, already rinsed clean and smelling of antiseptic from those showers he has to take at headquarters to make sure he doesn’t bring home a virus on his skin. It’s always scrubbed raw, pinpricks of blood rising to the surface. You kiss it better as he clings to you like a sloth to a branch. 

And he doesn’t leave your side. Not as you guide him to the bath you prepared for him when you got the message he was on his way home, his arm breaking through the cast of bubbles floating across the surface to touch your hand. Not as you put away his boots and duffel bag, the contents inside it. He wraps his limbs around your waist as you finish up the dishes from the leftovers you warmed. 

You let him, however much it slows you down, and has the potential to get on your nerves. Because he deserves it. Because he needs it. That is made apparent by the way his hands hungrily knead the flesh of your ass, your hips, feeling the slope of your waist. All desperation and greed, etched into the lines of his palms.

His requests are far and few, which is probably why you’re always so willing to comply, because you know that when he asks, it’s not based on some frivolous whim that whipped through his mind like a tornado. It’s careful, planned, the details mulled over again and again. That’s his way. It’s what makes him so good at his job. And it’s what makes him an especially talented lover. 

So no, you rarely dismiss his requests. 

Except for one. 

“Please.” 

“Leon,” you groan, rinsing the dish soap from your hands, toweling them off before turning around. His arms bracket either side of your body, fists dug into the ledge of the counter behind you. “No.” 

“Come on,” he goads, tilting his head. He never put on another shirt after his bath, now standing in the kitchen, bare torso a sight for sore eyes. You hate his job, but you don’t mind the way it carves his body into something entirely mythological. No other man looks like Leon, because no other man does what he does. A double-edge sword you’d willingly plunge into another if it meant you had him home all to yourself, not having to worry about what beast was attacking him this time around. Even if it meant those muscles expanded into a healthy pudge.

Okay, you’d miss them a little. 

“No, I’m just not comfortable with that.” 

His brows cinch together. “Not comfortable? Baby, we’ve done everything else, or do I need to remind you?” A wicked grin splashes across his face, and you swipe at him with the towel still in your hands. 

“Gross.” You dip below his arm, freeing yourself from the cage of his arms. 

“Wasn’t gross when I was fucking you on that balcony,” he mumbles to himself. 

“What was that?” You ask, flicking off the television, making sure the front door is locked and the candle blown out–the little routine you have in place to make the days feel less like they’re blurring into one glob of time when he’s gone. 

He follows you down the hallway, into the bedroom. 

Fresh sheets for a man returned from war. They call his name, his bones aching for relief, skin itching to be wrapped in a sarcophagus of cool, crisp cotton. He knows how much you hate putting on the fitted sheet. It warms his heart to know you do it for him every time. 

Still, the gesture is not enough to eclipse the true desire in his heart. 

He approaches you again, not wanting to go a moment without his flesh touching yours in one way or another. He joins you on the edge of the mattress as you face the nightstand, searching around in the drawer for lotion. His hands wrap around your middle as you apply the salve to your hands, your knees. 

“Pretty please?” He whispers in your ear, breath tickling the skin below it. 

“I’ll suffocate you, Leon.” It sounds more like a threat than a consequence. 

He scoffs, as though offended by the accusation that dying between your thighs wouldn’t be the highest honor. “You think I’d mind? Come on, baby. Please.” 

You cut your eyes at him, swaths of blonde hair framing his face like curtains, blue irises peaking through the windows between strands. 

“I got infected,” he confesses, voice as low as the lights filtering from the lamps on either side of the bed. “Could have died out there.” 

“What?” Your mouth falls agape, your gaze widening. 

“Yep. Could have died,” he repeats. “Without ever knowing what it felt like to sit under your pussy.” 

Cinching your brows, you grab one of the pillows off the bed and hit him with it. “Leon,” you gripe, drawing out the syllable. “Not funny.” You only beat him with it twice, feeling like any more swipes at his arms would be abusive toward a man apparently cured from some life-ending disease. 

The nightgown you’re wearing rides up your thighs as you lift your arms to throw the pillow at him. He takes that as an invitation, falling back on the bed and taking you with him, his hands pressed into the flesh of your legs, yanking you up to his face. Completely thrown off balance, you can’t help but become as malleable a marionette, the strings attached to your uncoordinated limbs wound tight around his fingers as he places you on his face.

And it’s heavenly. The feeling of his nose rubbing against your pussy, his tongue immediately finding your hole, licking you from seam to clit. Your hips jolt against him, and you kneel into the feeling, grinding down against this face. He groans, the vibrations slithering like live wires through your veins, icy-hot and vengeful. 

You arch your back to anchor yourself, placing shaky hands on his torso. This new angle gives you the leverage to move your hips at a metronomic pace, the rhythm slowly building alongside your pleasure. He growls against your pussy again, mumbling something completely incoherent against your lips and his fingers dig deeper into the flesh of your waist, pushing you further down onto his face as he devours your pussy like a king at dinner. 

“Need it,” you hear him whine, the words reverberating against your clit, pushing you one step closer toward the edge. It’s viscous and violent, the way you feel yourself begin to tumble, the sensation akin to losing your footing on a staircase–the anticipation of the fall, the vulnerability that races through your body when you realize you’re no longer standing on solid ground. 

You whimper his name, alerting him to your impending climax as the coil behind your abdomen tightens, clit throbbing beneath the pace, cunt clenching around the absence of his tongue. 

“Leon,” you gasp, the curve of your nails tugging into the skin of his chest, leaving behind half-moon indentations in their wake. “I’m so close.” 

“Give it to me. Come in my mouth,” he moans, and although you want nothing more than to extend your pleasure to last all night, the desperation in his voice lends you to give him exactly what he wants.  

Universe help you.

Then pushing yourself out of your trance you dragged your gaze away from him, trying to calm your thoughts, or at least pretending to do so.

honestly, it had only been two months since you started dating him, and the two of you had agreed to take things slow. He had figured out pretty early on that you were rather shy, so he'd simply told you, "We'll go at your pace." And for that alone, you were endlessly grateful to him.

and yet there were already so many dirty-not-so-shy things flooded your mind—thoughts you couldn't quite bring yourself to say out loud, so here you were, 'admiring' your man from afar, as if he is still just a 'crush', though he wasn't, he was something precious now— he was yours, and that single word still melted across your tongue like honey every time you thought it.

anyways... now as you see him completely covered in sweat as he worked through another set, those quiet, strained little grunts escaped him with each curl— which, to your complete embarrassment, sounded far too much like music to your ears.

meanwhile, he curled twenty-kilogram dumbbells as though they weighed absolutely nothing, making the whole thing even more unfair to witness.

as you stare at his straining biceps— veins mapping rivers beneath his taut skin, muscles flexing with every shift of his weight, you could not help but imagine what it would feel like to bite them, to feel them pressed against your finger tips, to feel that power wrapped around your neck, while he pins you down as he pounds into you, relentlessly.

Christ. You didn't want to think like this, and yet here you were, imagining exactly that— and soon heat crept up your neck, flushing your skin.

You shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of the dampness pooling between your thighs, your underwear clinging where you were already slick and aching.

But could anyone really blame you? For thinking like that? First of all he was yours, second who wouldn't admire that kind of view— standing right in front of them?

Jeez. now, you weren't focused on yourself, or your workout, or whatever the hell you were supposed to be doing. Your attention was entirely on him. This hulking man barely seemed to struggle through his sets, making each rep look effortless.

He looked like a Greek god who had casually stepped down from his heavenly abode just to work out at the same gym as everyone else.

and just as soon as his eyes met yours, he sent a sneaky wink your way, and you looked away instantly, legs pumping faster on the treadmill as if you could outrun your own pulse. But the thoughts had already wrapped themselves around your veins, coiling tight, begging you to stop pretending you didn't want exactly what they were offering.

Caught in hecking 4k.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He could not hear your thoughts could he?

Well you want him to hear everything swirling inside you, but.... maybe just not ... so soon?

by the way those words just jinxed-- something: you will know, what--soon enough.

also thats not possible, telepathy, you think to yourself and run faster onto the treadmill below.

Leon and you always worked out here every evening for an hour. It had become your little routine together.

He'd disappear into the locker room for a few minutes before coming back out wearing that black compression shirt— the one that looked like it was holding on for dear life just to keep those pecs together.

Oh fuck. Just to feel them. Once. Or... you trailed off, mid-thought. perv. fucking perv. that's what you were.

Leon usually caught you immediately, after changing in his gym clothes, and a slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he always leaned down just enough for only you to hear, as you swallowed thickly, your gaze stuck on his chest, "Like them?" he chuckled, and you let out the tiniest squeak imaginable before immediately turning your face away from him, your cheeks burning so fiercely they could've rivaled the gym's heating system, while Leon's quiet chuckled deeply, as you said "no." Before moving away from him.

this was kind of a ritual now, for him, to tease you, endlessly— you won't say you didn't like it though.

as the memory fades, and you stare at your man, from across the room, he pass you a quick smile and soon, almost without warning, Leon set his dumbbells back onto the rack before walking straight toward you.

Your heartbeat instantly betrayed you. You hurriedly jabbed the stop button on the treadmill, the belt gradually slowing until it came to a halt beneath your feet, then stepping off, you fanned yourself with your towel that rested above the handle of the machine, though at this point you couldn't tell if you were trying to dry the sweat clinging to your skin or cool the warmth steadily spreading through your stomach.

Leon strutted towards you stopped directly in front of your face and meeting your eyes with a sheepish grin, your ears turning completely red, as he kept his unwavering blue irises on you, and his one eyebrow lifted, "Babe..." he drawled, a teasing smile already tugging at his lips. "How long are you gonna keep staring at me?"

Your brain quite literally short-circuited, and you tore your gaze away from him as quickly as you could, clearing your throat before mumbling, "I wasn't staring." You placed particular emphasis on the last word, hoping he'd get the message. Unfortunately, only you knew you didn't mean a single bit of it.

"No?"

"Absolutely not." You responded.

Leon smirked as if he could right through you, then he hummed softly as he leaned down, gently backing you up until your lower back met the cool frame of the treadmill, the chill seeping through your shirt. A smug little smirk tugged at his lips as he took full advantage of the unusually empty gym. His fingertips brushed lightly across your cheek before he murmured, "You've been admiring me through the mirror for the last ten minutes."

"I was... looking behind you." You corrected trying to squirm away from him, but he doesnt let you instead he, puts his head on your shoulder, and let out a quiet chuckle which rumbled through your entire frame, "There was a wall behind me, babe."

caught again. god damn, his instincts.

You refused to meet his eyes, licking your lips as you desperately searched for anything that would change the subject. "Someone might get the wrong idea about what we're doing," you murmured, but your body and your voice was shaking at the closeness of his proximity. Then a slow teasing grin spread across Leon's face. "Then they're more than welcome to."

You rolled your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how flustered he'd made you. Your heart was already racing, warmth blooming across your cheeks as you gently shoved at his chest, for a second he doesn't move.

"This gym is empty," he pointed out again.

"I uh - ah- you are so annoying!" You say pouting pushing him away again, hitting on his chest.

He laughed softly at your pathetic attempt to "hurt" him, and this time, he let himself be pushed away with surprising ease. Taking a step back, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his joggers, still watching you with that infuriatingly smug smile that said he'd won anyway.

The moment he moved away, the air somehow felt colder without him, and you hated that it he moved away, "Well, anyway..." he murmured, tilting his head ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Did you like the view atleast?"

"Gosh", your face exploded with heat and with an embarrassed huff, you grabbed the front of his compression shirt and tugged him along before he could tease you any further. "C'mere."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise as you practically dragged him toward the quiet hallway beside the common washrooms, and his hands flew out of his pocket as he tried to maintain his balance, "Babe?" he laughed, his eyes crinkling with each syllable, "Where are we—"

Before he could finish, you stopped directly into the dim hallway and cupped his face with both hands, and, before your courage could abandon you, you pressed a quick, flustered kiss to his lips and instantly a soft, surprised sound escaped him as his arms instinctively slipped around your waist, drawing you just a fraction closer.

Your heartbeat immediately quickened, pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it. the kiss lasted barely a second before you pulled away from him, and just as quickly, your cheeks burning brighter than ever as you stared anywhere but at his eyes. "There, now shut up."

Leon simply stared at you, completely ignoring your muttered, 'now, shut up.' Instead he whispered, "wow" then he, let out quiet soft whistle, "and two seconds ago, you were worried someone might see us."

You lifted your chin, trying your best to look smug despite the warmth creeping into your face. "I can be bold."

He bent forward until he was nearly doubled over, laughing so hard he had to brace himself, rolling your eyes, you reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, and he shook his head leaning into your touch, "hm." Then he straightened up and slowly stepped closer to you until there was barely any space left between you and him, "I like this side of you, more than anything."

Your confidence began to evaporate almost immediately, and before you could reply, he merely shrugged, as if he'd said nothing out of the ordinary, then achingly slow, his fingers found yours, gently intertwining them with an effortless familiarity.

"Right now..." he says, his gaze lingering on your flushed face. "...This sweaty, this flustered..." He paused just long enough to watch your expression crumble before a teasing smile touched his lips. "You look tasty enough to eat."

You swatted his broad bicep with playful indignation, trying to hide the way your stomach fluttered all over again. His laughter only grew louder, warm and unrestrained. "But..." he continued, leaning in until his forehead rested gently against yours, and a teasing smile curved his lips as he closed his eyes briefly. "You should know," he crooned softly, amusement dancing in his voice, "if you keep surprising me like that..."

You swallowed thickly trying to drink every drop of your emotions, "yeah?"

"I'm going to have a very hard time letting you walk away with just one kiss."

Your eyes flew wide just as he suddenly pulled you into a quick embrace. "Leon!" you shrieked, your voice breaking into startled laughter as your arms instinctively wrapped around him.

He laughed warmly, pressing one soft kiss to your forehead instead, "Relax," he said, smiling at your flustered expression. "We've still got another twenty minutes of our workout."

You groaned, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder, the heat of exertion still radiating between you. His voice dropped, low and intimate against your ear. "When we get home," he breathed, sliding his palms lower until they found the dip of your spine, "can we kiss one more time?"

The question lingered between you, hanging in the quiet air. He looked every bit the gentleman— though, at the same time, he reminded you of a patient puppy, silently asking for something and waiting to see if he'd be allowed to have it. And if the answer was no... he'd simply accept it.

His hands pressed gently, guiding you to arch into him, and you responded instinctively, your back curving, breath hitching, and you felt way too responsive, beneath his touch, and for a hot second you wanted him to take you right here, slowly your shyness dissolved entirely under his touch.

you simply nodded, cheek still pressed to the damp fabric of his shirt, and aderaline took over you body, "maybe... we can do something far more than a kiss?" you whispered, your throat swelling instantly as you finally let your heart speak, then he sighed and grunted your name, into your skin, and kissed your neck, whispering something, crude, which almost felt like a promise, from him, to ruin you completely.

then after the workout, when you two finally stumbled through the front door, you spent the entire evening doing another type of cardio—sweat-slicked bodies and breathless moans, while burning something far more than mere calories.

“That’s pretty bold.” You teased, reaching out to tangle your fingers in his hair. He was needy and spoiled, not shy to ask for what he wanted. He whimpered, puppy ears flat on his head.

“Please? I’ll be a good boy if you let me. I’ll make you feel so good, make you cum and everything.” He babbled, leaning in to brush his nose against your clothed pussy. You tugged on his hair to pull him away, but he gripped your thighs.

“I’m begging you. I wanna make you feel good, taste you.” You felt his warm, wet tongue run up the crotch of your panties, making it hard to keep him waiting much longer.

“I don’t know … Have you been a good puppy lately?” You asked, failing to pull him out from between your thighs. He huffed dramatically, pressing messy kisses up your thigh.

“I have.” Leon’s words were muffled against your skin, pausing at your stomach. “Extra good if you let me go down on you.” He smiled something pesky, his tail wagging behind him. He was rather easily excited after all.

“I’ll hold you to that. If you’ll keep on being good.” You bargained, watching his cheeks turn even pinker. It was adorable how easy you could fluster him, as if he wasn’t the one begging.

“Yes ma’am!” He nodded eagerly, puppy ears floppy on his head as he did so. “Promise, I’ll be so good.” He was quick to hook his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and tug them down, wanting them out of his way as soon as possible. You lifted your hips for him, letting him toss them aside once they slipped past your ankles.

“Mm, owner. Your pussy is so pretty.” Leon ducked back between your legs, spreading your folds open with his thumbs. He was in awe of your wet cunt, excited and ready for his mouth. “You’re s’ wet.” He pressed an open mouth kiss to your inner thigh, leaving his fingers to rub between your folds. He was (trying to be) gentle, teasing at your clit as he mouthed at your inner thighs. “Cuz of me?” He asked, about to explode with sheer excitement.

“Y-Yeah. It’s because of you.” You nodded, squirming your hips against his hand. You felt yourself pulse under his touch, and surely he felt it as well. His tail was swishing behind him even faster, peppering his kisses up until they reached the center of your thighs.

“Ah .. good.” He licked a wet stripe from your entrance to your mound, his saliva warm and practically drenching your folds. You were expecting it to be all tongue and spit, feeling him lavish soft kisses up to your clit next.

“Easy, Leon.” Your fingers were back in his hair, tangling them in blonde locks. He was never one for patience, or the concept of “slow.” He ignored your warning, sloppily making out with your pussy. It had you whining, tugging on his hair the moment he sucked your clit into his mouth. He moaned against your pussy, looking up at you with the prettiest blue eyes. You could’ve came on his face right there at the sight. He looked at you with sheer admiration, filling the room with such naughty sounds.

“Tastes even better,” He pulled off with a wet shlick, running his tongue between your folds like he was lapping up a water bowl. “Than I imagined.” He nuzzled back in, his tail a blur as he gripped your thighs. You didn’t have time to reprimand him for talking rather than eating, but he went back in even more aggressively than before.

“Puppy, slower.” You mewled, your hips bucking up against his face. He lavished your clit with attention from his tongue, giving saliva slick kisses and wet suckles. It was too much to take all at once. “Fuck, Leon,” You whimpered, pushing his head right where you wanted him to stay. He took the hint, squeezing the fat of your thighs even tighter when he felt them shaking. You felt the pleasure building, eyes fluttering closed as you felt his tongue tease your entrance.

“Keep going. You’re being such a good boy.” Your trembling fingers stroked his hair, panting as you were on the edge. The words good boy were like a trigger for him, his eager suckles growing even more intense. The praise seemed to spur him on, just enough to get you where you needed to be.

“Oh, Oh, Cumming, Leon!” You moaned, your thighs instinctively tried closing around his face, but he held them wide open to keep up his ministrations. The wet gush of your arousal was the best thing he’d ever tasted, leaving him to lap up every last drop of your slick. “No more, Puppy, I, It’s too much..” You pulled him off your pussy, much to his dismay. He whined, but obliged anyways.

“Good?” Leon tilted his head, sitting up on the bed between your legs. He was so desperate for your approval, it was almost pathetic.

“Very good.” You nodded, letting your head lean back into the pillows. Out of breath, you were panting when he jumped to lay right beside you. It made the springs creak, and he was wrapping his arms around your stomach.

• the dilemma though? — Leon was fucking panicking because he could swear on his R.P.D uniform he wanted this day — the date, he meant, to be absolutely perfect: because for him 'first impression is the last' and also the main reason was, what if he did something unknowingly which makes you see him differently, so no he wasn't going to risk it. Not a fucking chance.

• for a date he won't really ask what you had like to do on the date — simply because he didn't want to seem dumb by asking you what you wanted. No. He wanted to make sure he did it all by himself, even if it came out imperfectly. After all, he'd known you for over a year now, and having every little habit of yours, every hobby, every tiny preference you had was quietly engraved itself into his memory, and it was enough for him to plan a perfect day — not because he was stalking you, God, no but because he paid attention to you.

• So he came up with what he believed was the perfect day, not a day centered around him, but one centered around you, a day you would genuinely enjoy.

• First, he'd take you to that little bookstore you always wandered into whenever you passed by, the one where you'd spend far too long reading the backs of books before deciding which one to buy. After that, he'd take you to your favorite café — the same one he'd seen you walking out of more times than he could count, always with the same cup in your hands and that peaceful little smile on your face. Then, as evening settled in, he'd drive you to the quiet riverside, the one place he knew you loved because you'd once told him how calming it felt to sit there and simply watch the water drift by.

• And also because he wanted everything to be just right, he'd already prepared sandwiches the night before, carefully packed away in a cooler in the trunk of his car. He figured the two of you could eat by the river while the sun dipped below the horizon. He knew it wasn't extravagant nothing 'wow' or 'over exaggerated thing', but still he had wanted to make sure, he would be true to himself and to you too, by letting you see his true self, which he rarely showed to others, so there were no expensive reservations or grand gestures but he wished, you had see how much your — happiness — matter to him, how much you matter to him, and even if you don't see it — or could not — he had just be happy that you decided to spend the day with him.

• After finishing up the planning for the entire day, he wouldn't sleep all night before the date. Then again... how could he? When it was something he had wanted from his entire soul? So pathetically he had spend entire night awake, and will only sleep for an hour before the date until his alarm rings, waking him up and this time? He wont snooze it.

• Leon would be an absolute nerve-wrecked potato on the day of the date. He'd spend an embarrassing amount of time choosing his outfit — not that he'd ever admit he was spending such an unhealthy amount of time on it. Still, the pile of discarded clothes scattered across his bed would tell an entirely different story. Eventually, he'd settle on something date-appropriate, something casual yet nice: baggy wide-leg jeans with his favorite belt, a plain white T-shirt, and an oversized hoodie —which he usually never wore, but somehow it pulled the whole outfit together. He'd even spray on cologne, something he almost never bothered with, style his hair a little differently than usual, and shave the stubble from his face, staring at himself in the mirror for far longer than he'd ever care to admit, wondering if maybe, just maybe, you'd feel the same too.

• Leon on your first date would arrive thirty minutes earlier — first because he is impatient to meet you — second he doesnt want to make you wait and it genuinely bothers him, thinking you had stay there thinking he would not come, so no he had rather wait then let you wait.

• Though he would be so nervous he would restlessly glance at watch on his wrist for like the hundredth time, counting each second until you appear in front of him.

• And the minute you walk toward him, the poor blond-haired rookie would completely forget how to breathe. And the only thing that would go through his mind would be — She is beautiful — not simply beautiful, but like how it feel seeing the moon on a mystical night, you know how it feels right?

• oh lord dont start on seeing you all dolled up and so different than usual, looking somehow even more breathtaking than you already did, will make his heart do something entirely unfamiliar to him. More than that, it made him feel something he didn't even have an answer for yet but somehow he still knew the name to, it was love. And the minute you closed the distance between the two of you with a few quick steps and smiled, "Hey, rookie," he had absolutely, fuckingsolutely — was that even a word? No? That's fine, anyway — he would melt into an actual puddle right there inside his own body. "...Uh... I... you look absolutely beautiful today. No—I don't mean you don't usually—" He squeezed his eyes shut, already convinced he'd ruined his chance, and you couldn't help but giggle at it, noticing how genuinely nervous he was. Then you smiled a little wider and said softly, "Rookie, don't be nervous... and thank you. You don't look bad yourself." And somehow, that simple reassurance from you becomes everything to him. "Yeah." He had murmur tilt his head like a whipped golden retriever for their master.

• Leon on your first date, would instinctively open every door you walk through, his car, cafe, book-store, he had pull out the chair for you first then only settle on his, once you settle on yours, not because he is trying to impress you — because genuinely that's how he is.

• Leon, on your first date, would listen far more than he talked. He'd quietly observe every little thing about you — how expressive your hands became whenever you got excited, how your eyes lit up the moment you spoke about something you genuinely loved, and how your smile somehow reached your eyes without you even noticing. He'd be completely content just watching you exist.

• Then, somewhere in the middle of your rambling, you'd pause and glance at him nervously. "Am I boring you?" you'd ask. Leon would simply shake his head before answering with complete sincerity, "I love listening to you talk." The words would turn you absolutely crimson. They came so naturally from him that, for a second, you'd wonder if you had heard him correctly. Seeing your reaction, he'd rub the back of his neck with a small, almost bashful smile before quietly adding, "I mean it." And he would. Every single word. The way you blushed only made something warm settle inside his chest, so instead of teasing you, he'd let the moment linger, because, to Leon, and in reality too, you deserved to feel special every single day.

• He had pay for everything on your first date, (or every date to come), he had be offended if you even think he had let you pay.

• Leon would be so attentive and genuinely caring all day long , and actually he would seem excited to spend each second with you.

• Then, at last, on the final stop of your date, Leon felt a pang of dismay settle over his entire body — a quiet dread that had nothing to do with danger and everything to do with not wanting the day to end. Still, despite that ache, he was grateful — that he had spent the entire day with you.

• As the two of you settled by the riverside, the picnic basket resting beside the blanket, you both sat quietly, watching the sun begin its slow descent across the water. And after a comfortable silence, you smile softly and murmur, "It's so beautiful, isn't it?" And Leon turn towards you; instead of the view, and his lips curving into the faintest smile, as he noticed the orange and midnight hues catching in your hair, and at the moment he wanted to ruffle your hair, and hold you super close until all you could feel his breath and breath, he shakes his head at his own thoughts, "Yeah," he replied quietly, he paused for a second and breathed, "Very beautiful." Though his words were meant for you more than the scenery.

• When your gaze finally lifted to meet his, you found him already looking at you, and heat rushed through your entire body, and instinctively your eyes dropped to his hand, resting painfully close to yours, so taking a deep breath and gathering every ounce of courage you had, you slowly reached over and wrapped your fingers around the back of his hand. Then, with your heart pounding wildly against your ribs, and mindlessly you shifted your weight a little closer to him, but leon didn't or would not move instantly. Instead his entire body would stiffen for the briefest moment, his breath catching almost imperceptibly, but he never pulled his hand away, instead he find himself leaning into you.

• Without thinking, Leon's gaze drifted down to your lips before slowly returning to your eyes again, by then night took over completely and in the pale glow of the moonlight, you could see the faint flush spreading across his entire face, while the tips of his ears turning a deep shade of red under your gaze, you smile at this ridiculous man, who was supposed to be a cop, he is but like, hardened demeanor and yet, he looked like a lost puppy, and his blue eyes? however they, held a different story altogether, shimmering with quiet longing as they searched yours, and even then, he was still painfully shy, because the last thing he ever wanted was to make you uncomfortable. So he swallowed hard, thinking if you say no for what he was about to ask, that would be okay, what matters is he tried, and finally he works up the courage while his throat bobbing visibly before he spoke. "Can I..." His voice almost failed him, as the words came out were broken at the edges, "Can I kiss you?" As soon as he said it he immediately began to ramble, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I mean — only if you're comfortable. You don't have to. I just... I thought..." You smiled widely and before he could finish, instead of answering him with words, you closed the distance between you both, and your lips met his softly, beneath the glowing moonlight, which filtered through your lashes and settled upon you both.

• For a heartbeat, Leon seemed too stunned to react. Then he smiled against your mouth and his hands rose almost hesitantly, cradling your face as though you were something impossibly precious, while your own arms slipped around his neck, pulling him just a little closer to you. The kiss was so slow and tender, filled with every unspoken feeling neither of you had been brave enough to say aloud. When you both finally pulled away, both of you were left breathless.

• then Leon smiled again and rested his forehead against yours, and he felt his cheeks were still burning as he struggled to catch his breath and each exhale coming out as a sharp wheeze. And you couldn't help, but laugh softly because how absurd all of it felt, absurd but still peaceful. "Was that answer enough?" You cooed , and his blush somehow deepened as you said it, "...Yeah it definitely was," he mumbled sheepishly, making you laugh again.

• Instead of saying anything else, he leaned in again and pressed the gentlest kiss against your cheek before pulling back and relaxing back and lying onto the blanket with a contented sigh.

• You smiled to yourself before following his lead, lying beside him beneath the open sky, then together, you counted the stars scattered across the darkness, the quiet stretching comfortably between you. After a while, you instinctively rolled onto his side, turning toward him, and Leon mirrored the movement without a word, and the two of you simply stayed there, gazing at each other beneath the moonlight, while neither of you feeling the need to fill the silence, instead your gaze said everything you both wanted.

• An hour later, Leon would drove you to home, and the car was filled with comfortable silence while neither of you spoke, but you knew the feelings were there and after what felt like an eternity, the car finally came to a stop outside your place, but you didnt hurry to get out, neither he asked you to do so, because himself he didnt want you to go, eventually, you smiled, turning towards him and squeezed his hand one last time, before planting a soft kiss onto his lips, leaving the blonde rookie completely speechless, while Leon all could manage was a low squeak at your sudden movement, thought the sound was way too low pitched that you almost didnt hear — thank to god for that, you didnt hear him, and then after a moment you turned and stepped out of his car, and threw him a gentle smile and waving your hand, and he does the same finally you walked towards your place, and Leon waited there until you reached your front door safely before finally pulling away from your drive-way.

• He drove home after dropping you off, with a ridiculous smile that he couldn't seem to wipe off his face, replaying that first kiss over and over again, already certain it would remain his favorite memory for a very long time — perhaps even forever.

• When he finally reached his place and walked inside his apartment, locking the door behind him, his face was flushed. He knew he would not sleep tonight. Instead, the minute he stepped into his living room, he pulled out his phone and opened your chat thread. His thumb hovered there for a moment before he finally texted you, "Today really... was everything. Thank you for agreeing to do it with me." Maybe if you had said there could be a next time... he thought, it would be everything, then without letting another thought restlessly wander in his head, He hit the send button, and then your reply popped up instantly. "We would do it again, and soon." He smiled at it then, another reply popped up, "Thank you. I enjoyed it too, and goodnight, Rookie.", he was about to type something but three dots to your texts popped up, "Don't stay up too late thinking about me." He laughed, already knowing he was doomed. "I will try," he replied. You didn't answer anymore, but he clutched the phone to his chest and walked over to his couch before settling onto it, his eyes fixed on the ceiling until sleep finally enveloped him, and in his deep sleep, all he muttered was your name while your face flooded his entire dreams.