Oneshots are uploaded sporadically whenever I complete one.
hello!
i'm M, or you could call me Misty (literally just came up with that lol), and i am a new fanfic writer who decided to type out her daydreams and post them on the internet in hopes other folks will enjoy them too yay
right now, i write exclusively about leon kennedy as he's my current hyperfixation, but who knows what i'll be writing in the future or if i'll still be writing at all? adhd brain go brrrrr
shoutout to my lovely loml bestie @sammimi19 for being my proofreader and n°1 supporter who motivates me to keep writing, ilysm mwah
oh and i also have an ao3 where i crosspost and a tiktok for leon edits, and i've been dabbling in nsfw audios with real (💀) leon noises that you can find in my masterlist
ps: if you're a minor and you interact with my content (i flag it mature as an added precaution) you will be blocked.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Bodyguard!Leon x First Daughter!Reader Enemies to Lovers
Chapter 3
❌18+ MDNI❌
new chapter and uploading this in a hurry im sorry if it looks weird okay ily bye
Chapters: 1, 2, 3
shoutout @sammimi19 @12soap34 @theebladestar for proofreading ✨
The sun outside is blazing hot as you come out of the pool dressing room in your floral cover up, marching into the backyard. Maya hasn't arrived yet, but you're not alone nonetheless since your newly assigned agent is waiting for you right on the shaded patio.
This is already getting old.
He lifts his gaze when you come into view, feeling his eyes trace your form briefly before turning them to the pool. He can't see your own behind your dark sunglasses, the shades helping you put on a mask of confidence. You readjust the thin fabric of your mini dress in self-consciousness, hyper aware of the sheerness that shows a glimpse of your bikini clad body.
This is the kind of feeling you never really had to worry about with the other agents, most of them at least twice your age. But with a younger man, and one you attempted to flirt with at that, you can't help but feel particularly self-aware.
“Aren't you hot in that suit?” you mutter as you walk past him to sit on a lounge chair, crisscrossing your legs.
“Resisting harsh weather is part of the job,” he answers from his spot, his stare now intently focused on the water. Maybe you're not the only one feeling awkward.
“How old are you again?” you ask suddenly in feigned nonchalance.
He chuckles softly, still not looking at you as he answers. “Twenty-seven, ma’am.”
Swallowing down the irritation that flares every time he calls you that, you observe his side profile illuminated by the bright sky. With his pretty, yet masculine features, he looks like someone you would see on a magazine cover rather than with an earpiece. It makes you all the more curious about how he ended up here, especially at his young age.
“So what agency are you under?” you raise an inquisitive brow. “You apparently specialize in BOWs… Which one handles that?”
A small smile etches onto his lips as he turns to you, finally facing you again through the barrier of your shades. “I work under your father. That's all I can say, I’m afraid.”
“Okay,” you nearly scoff. Of course his position has to be confidential and leave you in the dark. It feels so debilitating having your life managed by people who know far more about you than you ever will about them. “But have you ever done this whole bodyguard thing before?” your tone drips in barely concealed judgement.
The question seems to catch him off-guard, a slight air of insecurity flashing across his features. “No,” he answers simply.
A cocky smirk spreads on your cheeks at that, and you lay down on your reclined seat with newfound smugness. “Hm, that's what I thought.”
If he looked unsure before, now his mood has shifted into indignation. “Are you implying my performance isn't satisfactory, ma’am?”
You don't let his stern demeanor destabilize you as you place your hands behind your head in the picture of relaxation. “You hover too much,” you explain matter-of-factly. “And you stare.”
“Pardon?” he sputters, taking a half step closer with a deep frown.
“The Secret Service’s job is to protect as seamlessly as possible. Instead, you're roaming around me while I’m trying to relax by the pool.”
His eyes go comically wide—the first look of real emotion on his face for the first time since you met him. “You—” his words cut-off, clearly flustered by your pointed comment as defensiveness oozes from him. “You were asking me questions and I answered. I wasn't gonna do that from twenty feet away.”
“You were standing close before that,” you retort with a bored expression. “You know, if this is the distance you're keeping while we’re inside the literal White House, then I don't even want to know how overbearing it'll get at campus.”
Silence stretches after your words linger in the hot, humid air. He looks like he wants to say many things, but instead settles on a clipped response. “Fine,” he mutters in clear annoyance, then turns to walk away and give you space.
His brooding nearly makes you laugh. “Great. Now you're sulking.”
The man stops abruptly in his steps, turning to you with a locked jaw and icy eyes nearly reminiscent of your father’s. “With all due respect, ma’am, I don't sulk—I do my job. And in case it wasn't clear, I am forced to be here just as much as you are.”
With that, he turns again, then strides away until he stands by the wall directly under the scorching sun. He then pulls out dark sunglasses as well that he puts on without a word, before clasping his hands at his front in a rigid stance.
It’s only after seeing his blonde hair appear nearly platinum under the blistering heat that you realize the reason he may have stayed close before was to stay in the shade. A sudden sense of guilt creeps inside you, and you consider making amends by inviting him back under the large umbrella, but you feel awkward. One minute berating him and the next wanting to coddle his pouty face—it’s ridiculous.
Before you can make a decision, Maya makes an appearance into the yard, escorted by two agents. She hurries to your side with an excited squeal of your name that you return with a tight hug once you stand up.
“Oh my God, it's so freaking hot today I feel like I’m melting,” she groans as she sets her bag down—one that was undoubtedly thoroughly searched.
“Yeah, and they’re saying it’s one of the coolest summers D.C.’s ever had—it sure as hell doesn't feel like it.”
“It’s the goddamn humidity. I can't stop sweating,” she huffs as she shrugs her top and shorts, slipping out of her sandals in the process. “Thank God for pools. Come on, I can't wait anymore.”
“Alright,” you chuckle at her eagerness, then quickly slip out of your cover up.
Deep inside, you almost hope the agent by the wall appreciates the sight, but the idea is quickly overshadowed by insecurity. The mean voice in your head laughs at your wishful thinking, reminding you that he’s not fond of you and that Maya has a nicer body he’d probably prefer to look at anyway.
A sudden splash of water jolts you out of your thoughts when the brunette dives in the water without waiting, sending a wet dash right onto you.
“Come on, loser! You’re gonna get a heatstroke!”
You shake your head with a grin, then finally move to sink into the blue basin with careful steps down the ladder.
She scoffs at your slow approach. “Please tell me you're allowed to cannonball and it's not some forbidden rule to ensure maximum protection from the evils of muscle cramps?”
“Shut up,” you laugh, splashing her in return. “I’m trying not to get my hair wet.”
“Lame!” she snickers and you both laugh.
Mid giggling, your eyes land on Agent Kennedy again who is still unmoving in his corner. You’d think he’s turned into a statue if not for the sweat beading at his temples. God, you can't even imagine standing in the multiple layers of a suit under the hot sun in the middle of July—the sight of him makes you uncomfortable.
It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that he, along with other staff around the administration, are simply meant to serve you without complaint. Sure, they're here out of their own volition, but it doesn't change the fact there is an inherent unfairness to this man-made hierarchy.
You, raised in privilege by a well-off couple, and them, forced into career choices that put them in uncomfortable positions. It's one of the many reasons why your father’s presidency still tastes sour on your tongue.
By the time the sun starts setting, your palms and soles have pruned from the water. You spent most of the pool hangout chatting with Maya, occasionally playing childish games you're both too old to partake in. And the entire time, Agent Kennedy stayed perfectly still, only shifting his weight from one foot to the other intermittently.
Wrapping yourself in a towel as soon as you're out of the wet surface, you sit on the lounge chair and eye the snacks that have already been laid out for you on the table by staff.
“I’m so hungry,” Maya exclaims across from you, reaching for a croissant with her still damp hand. As she bites into the flaky pastry, she suddenly pauses mid chew when she spots something behind you that has her eyes widening. “Oh, my God, girl… Why the hell does the guy over there look like the one that talked to you at the bar?”
“Oh, you just noticed…” you mutter knowingly, embarrassment flaring in your chest.
“What do you mean? Wait, is it actually him?” she gasps loudly and you gesture for her to quiet down.
“Yes, yes! Just don't be so loud, my God… Apparently he's taking Davis’s position for a while—dad says it's necessary.”
Blinking, she frowns deeper. “I am so confused.”
“Trust me, so am I. He’s like this special agent or something? I don't know, they won't tell me shit.” Frustration seeps from your tone.
“But why was he at the bar? Was he watching you then?”
That makes you pause for a moment. You never got to talk enough to ask him about that, especially with the rude attitude he's been displaying.
“I didn't even ask… He pisses me off.”
Maya laughs, wiggling her eyebrows playfully. “Well, at least he's a sight for sore eyes.”
That makes you groan in annoyance. If only she understood how much he gets on your nerves—no amount of pretty blue eyes are worth the headache. “You wouldn't be saying that if he kept calling you ‘ma’am’ with this annoying, smug little smirk he makes.”
“I don't know,” she tilts her head in contemplation, eyeing him up and down past your shoulder. “I think it's kinda hot for a guy to call me ‘ma’am.’ Like in a ‘he knows his place’ kind of way.”
“Yeah, except I’m the one being put in my place getting babysat by a dude barely older than me.”
She chuckles again, finding amusement in your irritation, before her voice morphs into something more sympathetic. “Poor guy, though. He’s been standing there the whole time, he must be sweating like a pig.”
That once again has that same sense of guilt from earlier tug on your heartstrings, and you finally concede to your inner voice with a grunt.
“Fuck, fine.”
“What? I didn't even say anything,” Maya laughs in confusion.
You ignore her as you twist to look behind you, raising your sunglasses to rest on your crown now that you don't need them anymore. “Kennedy?” you call out in as neutral of a tone as you can muster.
You can’t make out any emotion on his poker face, though you do notice the flush of his cheeks and nose from the sun, the color making him oddly endearing despite his intimidating aura. He walks closer, stopping once he can talk to you without shouting.
“Yes?” His voice is completely detached.
Unsure of what to say, you fiddle with the twisted fringes of the towel draped on your frame like a shy teenager, all traces of smugness gone. “Um, are you hungry?”
“No,” he deadpans.
“Thirsty?”
“Neither.”
“Okay…”
Awkwardness fills the air to a painful degree, but thankfully your best friend is there to save the day as she extends a hand with batting eyelashes. “Mr. Kennedy, is it? I’m Amaya Salem, but you can call me Maya.”
“Pleasure.”
Accepting her handshake with a brief, professional one, the agent goes right back to his usual stance as soon as he can, his back as straight as a board.
Another bout of silence, and you suddenly can't handle the overwhelming discomfort anymore. You stand abruptly to your feet, gathering your things into your arms haphazardly.
“Well, um, we’re gonna go back inside,” you announce without meeting his shaded eyes. “So you can go take a break, right?”
“Affirmative.”
Maya barely holds a snicker at the scene, joining you in collecting her bag, though she does so with much less urgency than you. “See you around, Mr. Kennedy,” she giggles as you pull her away, the agent responding with a single curt nod of his impassive face.
The lock clicks open, slow, heavy footsteps resounding against floorboards as the man makes his way inside the apartment. He shuts the door and lets out a deep sigh, closing his eyes as he leans his weight against the wood.
Leon is a man of stamina. And yet, despite training in fields, fighting bioweapons, and performing tedious drills, he’s coming home utterly exhausted today. Oh, and with a ridiculous tan… All because of you.
He kicks off his shoes and loosens his tie, his mind tired yet still running a thousand miles an hour. It keeps going in loops, replaying the way you so cleverly pointed out his lack of professionalism. It makes him want to bang his head against the wall.
He’s supposed to be good at what he does. He doesn't have anything else going on in his life for him not to be. Training and working have become the center of his days, ever since he was 'offered’ the position of an agent six years ago.
And he is good. Or at least, that's what his stern superiors occasionally let slip whenever he performs particularly well on a mission. He has grown more and more confident in his skills as he got better with every year. That is until you came along with your snarky little mouth and put him in his place. God, he can't stand spoiled, rich kids, and you fit the bill for that exact type.
He opens the fridge with slumped shoulders, his eyes tracing over containers of leftovers and a row of canned soda—no alcohol in sight. He’s usually proud of himself for not keeping any in easy access, forcing himself to go outside whenever the drinking itch arises. But this time he wishes he had a bottle of beer to wind down after an afternoon under the blazing sun. He settles on a ginger ale, bringing the cool can to the sunburned apples of his cheeks with a low groan.
He already hates this assignment. Hell, he doesn't even fully understand why he was picked for it. Sure, he's one of the most experienced people with BOWs—a still very new threat that not even military personnel are familiar with. But playing babysitter for the president’s daughter? That's a recipe for a headache.
Leon is a soldier, a special agent, maybe even a spy when the time calls for it. He’s not a bodyguard, and was never trained to be one. All he ever knew about protecting assets was ensuring their safety during critical extractions. But this is no extraction, this is a full time job the president ordered him into to protect his little princess. One that is already giving him a hard time and he’s barely started.
Shrugging off his jacket and pants to throw them on the armrest of the couch, he slumps onto the cushions in nothing but his button up and boxer briefs. Then, he opens the can with a hiss-crack-pop, bringing it to his lips for a much needed refresher. Unfortunately, his tired mind is still stuck at work even when at home, something he hasn't managed to deal with despite his best efforts. Compartmentalizing is hard when lives are on the line.
‘She’s your highest priority,’ the head of state had said. It made Leon internally wince at the prospects of failing, already dreading the repercussions. The ones involving his career would be bad enough, but it's the guilt that constantly gives him nightmares, ever since that godforsaken September night that forever changed his life. He now has to safeguard you through your fall semester, maybe longer if the president calls for it, and he cannot fuck this up no matter what.
His thoughts drift to you again, recalling that outing at the bar. It had been pure coincidence finding you there, since it was the night before his first shift as Detail Lead. He went for drinks to loosen his nerves over the task he felt unprepared for, only to spot you in that mini dress, giggling at your booth without a care. He wondered how you could act so clueless with a target on your head—it was only during the meeting with the president he figured out you were left in the dark.
Still, you sat next to him, talked to him, flirted, when he could have been someone very dangerous. He is dangerous. He just plays for the good guys. Or at least that's what he tells himself whenever the shame over being the government’s lapdog becomes too crushing. It’s not like he chose this path anyways. If not for the precious life of a little girl, he would have left gun-wielding ways behind for a calmer lifestyle, with lots, and lots of therapy. But he had to protect Sherry, so he’s here now.
Another sip of the ginger drink, and this time it's to cool down wayward thoughts at the memory of your little bikini. Thank God for sunglasses, because he couldn't stop his eyes from roaming over you whenever he let his mind drift. It was like your ass was a goddamn magnet, and the weather only made it worse, making him feel like the heat was frying his head just as hot as the sight of your body.
Leon is not a man who stares. He does not ogle unless in settings where his gawking is welcome. So to have to fight the sweat clinging to his skin as well as the urge to look only made him more irritated. He never even paid much attention to tabloids or articles about you before. Not that you appeared in many with your limited public appearances. But he simply never paused to form an opinion of you prior, and now that has certainly changed.
Stubborn, that one’s for sure, seemingly reckless from that bar outing, and spoiled with the way you acted earlier. Like you owned the place—owned him—telling him how to do his job when he’s nervous shitless about messing up.
He felt put on the spot when you made him out to be some kind of weirdo hovering too close. What made it worse, however, is that he was already feeling like one from the sheer way his mind short circuited at the sight of you in that cover up. Then the feeling got exponentially stronger when you shrugged it off and the sun hit your body just right. Infuriatingly enticing in swimwear—he’s adding that one too.
He has to admit, though, your later attempt at offering food and water was unexpectedly considerate. But in the end, he chalks it up to your friend convincing you to do so, since she seemed a lot more amiable than you. He just wishes you did the same from the start, it would save him the headache of handling your disagreement with his presence. He also remembers how you had mentioned Agent Davis’s demotion in disappointment. He wanted to say he never wanted to take anyone’s place, but how was going to do that in front of the man that gave the order himself?
As he sits half dressed on his sofa, condensation from the ginger ale collecting on his fingers, he suddenly realizes how ridiculous he’s being. For whatever reason, he’s letting you—a college kid, of all people—affect him enough to sour his mood and nearly hurt his feelings. Since when does he get so worked up over an off-handed comment? He was called just about every name under the sun during his training, words should not be affecting him anymore.
Sloppy, pitiful, embarrassing, disappointment… The insults of his now deceased mentor ring in his ears like echoes from the cruel past. But he never held it at heart, not even when Krauser called him a dumbass, which made him internally laugh more than anything. And then, you show up and make a single comment about him hovering, and suddenly his insecurities flare?
Bullshit. He needs to get his head in the game.
No more teasing, no more chitchat—you clearly don't like him, and he's not about to force you to. Whatever attempts he had made at being laid back and friendly clearly backfired when you kept taking them as grade A offenses. But whatever. It’s fine. He doesn't like you either anyways, so it doesn't matter.
From now on, he’ll do his job, be professional, and push through this ridiculous assignment until it's done. Then, he can go back to his lonesome missions and ruthless training and leave babysitting behind. Zombies don't make him question himself like you do.
Next chapter coming soon.
gang im uploading this on my phone mid travel please forgive any goofy formatting
guys this one is fucking wild so buckle UP! also i am so so SO excited to share the artwork i commissioned (by monychou) for this chapter, but to avoid spoilers i will post it at the end rather than the start 🫶
CW tags WILL contain spoilers (try not to read them if you're generally okay with dead dovey nsfw stuff so you avoid getting spoiled!)
As she stands there, her heart thundering in her chest, the young woman keeps blinking like she’s hoping he’s a hallucination and not the very real nightmare she thought she left behind. She has no idea how or why he came here, but she does not plan on sticking around to find out. The man is a lot more unstable than she had hoped if he’s breaking into homes now.
Her eyes dart to the door behind him, calculating how she can manage to dash past him unscathed, but it would be impossible. He’s too fast and she is far too weak with her still recovering ankle. She knows it. He knows it. And as if reading her mind, he takes a single step to the side that blocks her path further—no mercy.
“I just want to talk,” he mutters quietly, his gaze so intense she can feel it piercing her soul.
“Look,” she starts, her voice shaky as she tries to maintain her calm. “I-I won’t call anyone, but you need to leave…”
He shakes his head slowly in response, the expression on his face akin to apologetic. It reminds her of the one he gave when he whipped her. Like he’s sorry for acting out of bounds, but he can’t help himself.
“Leon,” she calls out in an attempt to sound firm. Though, with the trembling of her limbs and the watering of her eyes, she’s not sure she succeeds. “You need to go. Please.”
For a second, his eyes widen at the sound of his name and her soft plea. It sends a shiver down his spine that he barely hides, raising his hands slowly to demonstrate surrender. He just needs to make her understand his honest intentions.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Nora, I just want to talk—”
“No,” she interjects, shaking her head fervently. “I’m not talking to you. I want you to leave. Right now, Leon. Leave!”
The agent closes his eyes, his jaw tight when he whispers, “I can’t…”
It lands like a gut punch. First, more fear settles inside the woman, but then it interlaces with deep seated anger. Her hands ball into fists, her teary gaze fiery.
“What the hell do you mean, you can’t? The door is right there! Go!”
“I can't,” he snaps, his eyes suddenly opening wide. “I tried to leave this all behind, I really did... But I can’t!”
Nora takes a step back, her nerves jolting when his voice cracks. Maybe if she moves slow enough, she can reach the landline on the console behind her. Luis’s number is on speed dial, she just needs to press and hold the number two, it should take no more than a couple of seconds.
“I just keep thinking…” he continues, seemingly unaware of the distance she is trying to build. “I keep thinking about you… and your smile… and your screams, and I can't— I need y—” he cuts himself off, suddenly realizing how unhinged he must be sounding. “I just need to talk to you.”
“Why? What do you even have to say? That you're sorry? Sorry’s not gonna cut it!” She keeps arguing as she retreats, hoping to keep him busy.
“No— Yes— I mean I am sorry but it's not just that!” His tone becomes desperate, a jerky hand running through his hair. “I want to help you. I want to fix things, I want to— Call him and I’ll break his fucking neck.”
For a moment his words don't register. They're spoken with such calm assurance, she would think she heard him wrong if not for the lurching of her chest at the horrifying threat. He’s been aware of her plan the whole time, and he’s so confident she won't make it he didn't even step closer.
Leon sees the utter horror in her eyes and curses himself for not being careful with his words. They came out from near instinct.
“Shit… Look, I didn't mean—” Except he did mean it, so he bites his tongue, because he would rather be quiet than lie to the one person that saw him from his ugly insides.
Nora can't hear him anymore, the sounds coming out of his mouth sounding like a muffled mess. She can't reach the phone. She can't call Luis. Not only because he’ll stop her before she can, but also because now she fears for her friend’s precious life. She’s alone with a psychopath with no one to call, and nowhere to go. All she can do is retreat on stumbling feet, until she looks behind her… The Spaniard’s bedroom.
Without further thinking, she leaps the three steps separating her from the door. It feels like a slow motion scene from a horror film as she darts inside, with the agent already moving to catch up without missing a beat.
“Nora, wait—” Leon’s voice is interrupted by the loud slam of the door that reverberates through the walls, his hand reaching the handle at the same time as a click resounds indicating she turned the lock. “Fuck!” he hisses.
His hands begin to tremble as he tries to maintain his composure with all his might. Fucking hell, why did she have to lock the door? He tries to open it just to be certain, his nose flaring when it rattles in place but does not yield. Then his fist hovers, about to pound on the wood, when he decides to try pleading first.
“Nora, open the door, please…” he murmurs softly, his forehead resting on the hard surface dividing them.
Silence. Her lack of response only serves to make him grow more desperate. He closes his eyes and presses his palms to the lumber like he's performing a prayer, his broad shoulders slumping in despair.
“Please… I swear—I swear on everything holy—I won't hurt you again,” he sounds out the promise with a broken gasp. “I-I don't even know why I did it, I regret it every single second… Just let me make things right, please... Just open the door.”
Inside, the brunette is panicking as she looks around for anything to help keep the deranged man at bay, but there is nothing of use. Especially not with their disparity in strength. Her gaze then darts to the window, and with a nauseous feeling settling in her gut, she reaches for the glass screen.
Leon hears rustling on the other side, his hope rising as he believes she will finally let him in. But then he hears the hiss of metal sliding, and he realizes she's opening the window. Any modicum of calm leaves him that very instant.
“Nora… Nora!” he shouts, his hand slamming the wood in a loud bang. “What are you doing?!”
She flinches from the booming noise, her hands shaking as she reaches for the crank hanging off the wall. Jumping off the second floor could be lethal, or at the very least break her bones, which is a risk she's not sure she's willing to take. But perhaps she can sit on the sill and call out for help, maybe even threaten to jump if he cares enough about her life—anything to protect herself from the man she used to daydream about.
The sound of roller shutters lifting in loud, creaking noises jolts the agent into sheer panic on the other side of the door, and there is no waiting he’s willing to do anymore.
“Goddamnit!”
He doesn't stall for another second before he’s throwing his whole body at full throttle against the wooden frame, his shoulder hitting the door so loud he’s certain the neighbors have heard it. He does it again, and again, not caring for the pain radiating through his side. If anything, he goes harder with each grating creak of the shutters’ crank mechanism turning. She can't possibly be thinking about escaping from a second story window?!
Every cracking rattle of the door makes Nora’s movements jerkier in fear, the fracturing noise thrusting terror into her very core. She’s starting to think that perhaps jumping is the wiser thing to do after all. He could do anything to her, and she doesn't want to think of all the possibilities of how he could her again—probably worse this time.
When the door is splintered enough it's breaking off its hinges, Leon reels back, pure determination in his ice blues as he gives it a kick so powerful it sends the wooden frame crashing on the floor in an impossibly loud ruckus. He stands at the now open entrance, chest heaving, shoulder sore, with the look of a wild animal who has escaped its cage. He looks around, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the bright lighting of the golden hour coming through the wide open window, an orange glow blinding him momentarily before his vision clears and lands on the brunette.
She's frozen with wide eyes, in the middle of climbing out the opening with shaky limbs, a knee already on the sill and a foot on the floor in preparation to push her up. Only after a second passes that she begins to move again with renewed speed.
Not on his watch.
Leon doesn't think of a graceful way to do it. He just fists a hand in the back of her shirt fast enough he catches her long hair in his grip alongside it. Then, he yanks. Harshly enough her back thuds hard against his chest, his other arm encircling her shoulders protectively.
“What the fuck are you thinking?!” he yells before he can stop himself.
“Let me go!” Nora screams as she thrashes wildly, wincing in pain from the brutal tugging on her hair, but his hold is unyielding.
“I’m not letting you jump, are you crazy?!”
“I wasn't fucking jumping, I was calling for help!”
When her retort still doesn't convince him to let go, she suddenly opens her mouth wide, just to clamp her teeth viciously on his bicep. She bites so hard, he makes a raspy, pained noise, like the ones she had grown used to hearing while commanding him behind a screen as he jerks in surprise. That finally seems to do the trick, and he loosens his embrace, prompting her to move away just as fast.
She spins to face him, her hair disheveled and her collar pulled down her shoulder haphazardly, looking like a feral cat out of a savage fight. When he sees her in that state, the wet tracks of her tears glistening on her face and her expression of terrified anger, he suddenly feels like the biggest piece of shit on earth.
So much for not scaring her.
Leon holds the reddened spot where she left her teeth marks, his expression pained, but out of heartache more than anything. He bows his head like the sight of her hurts, guilt and shame radiating off him visibly.
“I’m sorry…” he whispers after a while, his voice barely audible.
She looks at him while seething, her entire body shaking in fear and wrath as adrenaline pumps through her veins in powerful waves. His apology feels like the biggest slap to the face after breaking into her only safe haven in a world where she has nothing else. It enrages her to no end, and suddenly the notion of calling out for help through the window is forgotten as it’s replaced by another, more powerful urge.
Her hand reels back out of instinct, before landing on his cheek in a smack so sharp it leaves her palm red and tingling. He staggers back on impact, his face swiveling to the side with a gasp. Then, he touches the burning handprint with a brush of his fingertips, in complete disbelief of what just happened.
It’s only at that moment that Nora internally panics again. She just hit him. She just hit the man that belted her while she screamed in agony, and now she's about to instantly regret it when he undoubtedly returns the favor. She flinches before he even moves, her eyes blinking rapidly in preparation for the pain.
Except he doesn't move. He just looks at her, with his big blue eyes and sandy blonde hair, still looking regrettably beautiful even as he terrorizes her.
“Do it again,” he suddenly murmurs, his voice a soft plea.
Her breathing stutters in shock, having expected anything but that from him. She doesn't move a muscle, only stares with parted lips as he looks at her in complete desperation. It's like he needs her to hit him again, and it's becoming harder and harder to resist the tempting offer.
Fuck it. If he hurts her after, then at least she would have gotten some revenge.
Another sharp smack, this time to his other cheek, forcing his face to twist to the right. He shudders, the smallest pained sound leaving his lips before repeating. “Again.”
This time, she doesn't hesitate to comply. She slaps him another time, and then another, and then another. Her palms hurt, his cheeks burn, and she slowly feels a thrill build inside her at seeing him in pain. She's starting to understand why he didn't stop for her either.
“I fucking trusted you,” she grunts, her voice broken from the tears that haven't stopped falling.
“I know,” he gasps out between two strikes, dazed.
She then pauses, her hands trembling at her sides, just to peer at his disoriented state. He looks dizzy, blinking hard as he regains his breath. If she didn't know better, she'd almost feel bad. But she does know better. She remembers. Every cruel word, every mean glare, and most importantly, every crack of leather that left her quivering.
“You— You ruined my life,” she hiccups a sob, clutching her disheveled hair that fell on her face. “You destroyed me, Leon… You completely broke me…”
He looks away, tears making his ice blues glossy as he can't bear to look at her. It feels like his insides are being shredded from guilt and aguish—he has never known hurt like this before and it's making it nearly impossible to breathe.
“I’m s-so sorry.” The apology spills out of him like second nature.
That's when she fully snaps. Her knuckles crack against his jaw in a punch fueled by pure wrath, making it land strongly despite her clumsy, amateur strike. He loses balance and falls to his knee with a choked cough, but she doesn't spare him for a second. Another punch, and he’s on his side on the rug, groaning pitifully.
Nora stands over him, her eyes wild as she spits out, “you don't have the right to fucking apologize!”
Leon pants, rotating to lay on his back with a heaving chest, his hair falling back to reveal a rare, uncovered look at his forehead that's constantly shadowed by his fringe. When he gazes up at her, he feels utterly ridiculous for the way his heart skips a beat. He had just started to digest the fact he's a sadist, now he's learning he’s a masochist too?
Or maybe it's just her. The way her dark locks stick out around her head in a mess, her red face filled with stern fury that feels like both damnation and salvation all at once. He knows he's trespassing the last remaining limits when he opens his mouth again, but he couldn't care less. Her punches feel holy.
“Again— d-don’t stop—”
“Fucking hell,” she scoffs in bitter mockery, and yet complies when she straddles him just to land another smack.
Punch. Slap. Slap. Punch.
He whimpers and groans. He can taste copper. But he still doesn't fight her, and it only serves to make her angrier. She hates that he doesn't try to stop her. That he's pretending to be some kind of noble martyr, welcoming the pounding pain without a single protest. She doesn't know he’s relishing in the feel of her weight on top of him.
When her hands grow sore, Nora pauses just to assess the damage on his handsome face, now all swollen. There are bruises on his brow bone, under his eye, on his nose, on his jaw—all blooming into various shades of red that will undoubtedly turn blue and purple in the upcoming days. Tears, snot, and blood make his skin glisten in the orange glow of the Spanish sun, and the sight is nearly poetic if not gruesome.
“I cared for you,” she grits out through rageful tears. “Everyday, when I’d have a shit time at work, or— or argue with my mom, or get the cold shoulder from my boyfriend, I went to you… I spent countless hours—” her voice breaks, emotion overwhelming every fiber in her. “You weren't real… But I still fucking cared for you.”
Through his daze, Leon’s mind is a jumble of feelings as it works hard to register new information, filing them in a corner of his brain under her name in bold letters. She cared for him, she has a shit job, she argues with her mom, and she has a boyfriend… She has a fucking boyf—
Her fingers suddenly wrap around his throat, short circuiting his thoughts as his hands instinctively move to grab her wrists. He has had to fight every bit of training over the past minutes not to defend himself like he was programmed to, and now with her hands around his neck, he forces himself to relax despite his instinctual panic.
“Beg me to stop,” she hisses between clenched teeth, tightening her grip.
He strains to speak, his voice already wrecked from crying. “I-I… N-Nora…”
“Beg for your life, you fucking freak! I never even got the chance to beg while I was screaming in agony! But you didn't fucking stop, did you?! Do you get off on hurting women?! On being a devil?!”
Through her yelling and the blood rush to his ears, all he can think of is the fact he deserves worse. She’s right. He’s a devil who enjoyed hurting her just like his father was one too, and no amount of regret or guilt is ever going to change the fact that he's rotten at the core. He should've never been born if it led him to land a belt on her skin, but he can find the silver lining if it brings him here, under her, receiving his due punishment.
“I said beg!” she screams in his face, and he knows it's what she wants even if he hopes she keeps going.
“Please… Nora—ngh—please stop…”
Her shoulders shake, her chest rising and falling with every angry sob. “Again!”
“Please s-stop, please…” he chokes.
Her hold on his throat loosens slightly, her hips rolling when she tries to shift her weight to relieve her sore ankle, only to suddenly freeze when she senses it. She can feel it—right under the apex of her inner thighs—a hard bulge pressing on her through the thin fabric of her leggings.
For a moment, she's not sure what to do, and neither does he as he stares at her with wide, shame-filled eyes. But then his hands tentatively reach for her hips, and they lay there, barely resting, like a silent request for her not to get up.
She swallows hard, a flurry of emotions swirling inside her, until that anger she felt before mixes with a newfound sense of cockiness. She presses on his throat hard again, grinding her hips once more just to hear him choke under her.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she spits out in vitriol. “This whole time I thought you were some kind of saint—but you're just sick… Beg again, or this time I’m not stopping.”
The threat is like music to his ears.
“Please… Please…”
“Please what?” She grinds down on his erection again just to further his humiliation.
“Please st— fuck—”
She chokes him harder, and his nails dig into her hipbones out of sheer survival no matter how much he tries to stop himself. The sting doesn't deter her, though.
She releases a hand just to slap his cheek, before going back to strangling him. “You’re not begging, Leon!”
For a moment, he catches a glint of panic in her eyes under the fury, like she really does want him to comply so she can have a reason to stop. The more he stalls, the tighter she chokes, the closer he comes to losing his life.
“Please stop… Please stop—hah—please stop.”
He repeats the plea hoarsely just to give her what she wants, wanting nothing more than to satisfy her, even at the detriment of his own wishes. Because if it was up to him, he’d gladly die right here so he never has to live with himself anymore.
Dying at the hands of his victim, so he can bring them both solace. Dying under the weight of the beautiful girl crushing his airways, so her rageful eyes can be the last thing he sees before the awaited embrace of death.
Fuck, if the thought doesn't make him leak.
Without realizing, he bucks up into her through his blurry vision, and she makes a noise akin to a moan in her surprise. That's when his brain fully stops functioning and he whines in a raspy tone. “Please… d-don’t stop.”
Nora stills on top of him, loosening her grasp just enough for him to inhale a deep breath, his lungs seeking precious oxygen.
“What did you just say?”
Leon has never felt mortification like this before. His face is bruised and bloodied, his throat burns, and yet he’s sporting a leaking erection under his jeans and he’s asking for more.
“Please don't stop,” he whimpers, his bottom lip wobbling like a crying baby. “Just… Just do it, Nora. I won’t stop you.”
She looks down at him with a cold expression, her face glacial as she leans down close enough to whisper, her breath fanning across his lips.
“Then beg me to kill you.”
He moans before he can stop himself, his hips lifting enough to jostle her body. “Fuck… Ngh— Yes, please… Kill me. Just k-kill me, please.”
He expects the painful pressure on his airways, but what he doesn't expect is the now shameless grinding on his confined cock. He doesn't know what in the actual hell is going on, but he doesn't have the mental capacity to think about it as he meets her movements with his own.
“You’re sick. You’re so fucking sick…” she murmurs before letting out a whine, and he feels like he might actually burst.
Pathetic gurgling leaves his lips as his nails dig deeper into her hips, making her hiss as she humps her wet pussy on his erection. Wet, because he can hear the faintest squelsh of her soaking cunt with every move. She's so fucking hot in her skintight leggings, if he wasn't crying already, he would out of sheer want. Another few ruts and he’ll cum, he’s certain, but his vision is starting to spot as the strangling worsens. She's giving him what he wants—she's killing him—but now it's making him too weak and lightheaded to climax, no matter how close he is to the edge.
“I’ll never fucking forgive you,” she grunts venomously between moans.
She then gives a final, jerky press on his neck, before throwing her head back with frantic motions of her pelvis that have her whining the most obscene noises through parted lips.
She’s cumming. Right on top of him. All while his consciousness fades in and out from asphyxiation, and his cock twitches in his pants. He watches with bulging, bloodshot eyes the sinfully beautiful image on top of him like he's witnessing a miracle. The sun creates a halo around her while she writhes, her tits bouncing, her thighs rippling, her shirt riding up to reveal her soft stomach that he wishes he could kiss and bite. It's infernal. It’s heavenly. It’s everything, and he's not sure anymore if it's even real.
With his face blue and a blood vessel popping in his eye, Leon is certain this is his most favorite nightmare. Because he simply can't believe this is his reality, and that the girl he beat a week ago is climaxing on his dick while he suffocates to death.
Finally, with a shuddering breath, Nora releases him once her moans subside, her thighs trembling from the force of what she knows is the strongest orgasm she’s ever had. Her hands shake as she retreats them, peering down at the blonde in a mix of satisfaction and horror when her mind clears from the fog of arousal.
He takes loud gasps, his thorax rising and falling in ragged movements as his lungs fill with much needed air. He blinks, confused and disoriented while color returns to his cheeks, very much aware of what just happened despite his daze. Suddenly, he feels ashamed about touching her once his thoughts begin to clear, like she's too holy for his filthy paws. So, he slides his hands from her sides to let them thump on either side of his head.
She takes that as a cue to stand, her sore ankle pulsing from the effort, and she bites her lip to muffle a sound when she notices the wet patch she left on his crotch. She's not even sure what the fuck just happened, but she refuses to demonstrate any shame or regret. If anyone should feel embarrassed, it's him.
Leon coughs as he attempts to sit up, wincing in pain with each forceful gust of air. His windpipe is absolutely destroyed, his face—and cock—throbbing. One from injury, and the other from unfathomable want.
When he wipes the blood on his mouth just to look up at her, he's tempted to start begging again for her touch. She looks every bit breathtaking with her stern expression, her appearance akin to something post-coital. Especially the slickness that makes her black pants cling to her cunt—if he looks closer, he can see its tempting outline.
“Just fucking leave,” she mutters with crossed arms, bringing his perverted thoughts to a screeching halt.
He nods wordlessly, blinking away any more outrageous images from his mind. When he stands on wobbly legs, he can feel his jeans straining on his slowly softening hard-on, and he hopes it’ll go away soon so he can maintain some form of dignity.
He’s about to leave in the weirdest walk of shame he’s ever had to do, when he pauses to reach into his pocket. He pulls out a crinkled piece of paper containing a scribbled number, looking down at it in a brief moment of contemplation.
“If you ever want to talk…” he murmurs awkwardly, placing the contact information on the bed with a shaky hand, unable to meet her eyes.
From her spot, Nora keeps her arms crossed and her expression unmovable. Inside, her heart is pounding with adrenaline as a mix of emotions swell inside her, with awkwardness at the forefront of them all. But she won't deal with any of it right now as she tries to keep an unfeeling façade. Even as she takes in the mess that has become of the room due to the broken door laying splintered on the floor.
Leon debates whether to lift the wooden frame to rest it on the wall out of courtesy, but then feels completely ridiculous when he’s the one who destroyed it in the first place. He shakes his head lightly, his disheveled hair falling back on his forehead, then readjusts his t-shirt with jerky movements to leave. But then, his legs come to an abrupt halt at the sight of the stubbled man in his way.
“¿Que carajo se va?”* Luis gasps from the broken doorway.
* “What the fuck is going on?”
commissioned artwork by monychou
guys... FUCKING LOOK AT THEM!!! i'm screaming rn UGH i'm seriously speechless 😭so with this one and the upcoming commissions you will notice a trend, and that is the fact i edit in bruises into the artwork (with artists' approval) because leon just so happens to look beat up all the damn time either from work or from nora 😝 i hope you guys enjoyed this crazy ride of a chapter!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
guys this one is fucking wild so buckle UP! also i am so so SO excited to share the artwork i commissioned (by monychou) for this chapter, but to avoid spoilers i will post it at the end rather than the start 🫶
CW tags WILL contain spoilers (try not to read them if you're generally okay with dead dovey nsfw stuff so you avoid getting spoiled!)
As she stands there, her heart thundering in her chest, the young woman keeps blinking like she’s hoping he’s a hallucination and not the very real nightmare she thought she left behind. She has no idea how or why he came here, but she does not plan on sticking around to find out. The man is a lot more unstable than she had hoped if he’s breaking into homes now.
Her eyes dart to the door behind him, calculating how she can manage to dash past him unscathed, but it would be impossible. He’s too fast and she is far too weak with her still recovering ankle. She knows it. He knows it. And as if reading her mind, he takes a single step to the side that blocks her path further—no mercy.
“I just want to talk,” he mutters quietly, his gaze so intense she can feel it piercing her soul.
“Look,” she starts, her voice shaky as she tries to maintain her calm. “I-I won’t call anyone, but you need to leave…”
He shakes his head slowly in response, the expression on his face akin to apologetic. It reminds her of the one he gave when he whipped her. Like he’s sorry for acting out of bounds, but he can’t help himself.
“Leon,” she calls out in an attempt to sound firm. Though, with the trembling of her limbs and the watering of her eyes, she’s not sure she succeeds. “You need to go. Please.”
For a second, his eyes widen at the sound of his name and her soft plea. It sends a shiver down his spine that he barely hides, raising his hands slowly to demonstrate surrender. He just needs to make her understand his honest intentions.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Nora, I just want to talk—”
“No,” she interjects, shaking her head fervently. “I’m not talking to you. I want you to leave. Right now, Leon. Leave!”
The agent closes his eyes, his jaw tight when he whispers, “I can’t…”
It lands like a gut punch. First, more fear settles inside the woman, but then it interlaces with deep seated anger. Her hands ball into fists, her teary gaze fiery.
“What the hell do you mean, you can’t? The door is right there! Go!”
“I can't,” he snaps, his eyes suddenly opening wide. “I tried to leave this all behind, I really did... But I can’t!”
Nora takes a step back, her nerves jolting when his voice cracks. Maybe if she moves slow enough, she can reach the landline on the console behind her. Luis’s number is on speed dial, she just needs to press and hold the number two, it should take no more than a couple of seconds.
“I just keep thinking…” he continues, seemingly unaware of the distance she is trying to build. “I keep thinking about you… and your smile… and your screams, and I can't— I need y—” he cuts himself off, suddenly realizing how unhinged he must be sounding. “I just need to talk to you.”
“Why? What do you even have to say? That you're sorry? Sorry’s not gonna cut it!” She keeps arguing as she retreats, hoping to keep him busy.
“No— Yes— I mean I am sorry but it's not just that!” His tone becomes desperate, a jerky hand running through his hair. “I want to help you. I want to fix things, I want to— Call him and I’ll break his fucking neck.”
For a moment his words don't register. They're spoken with such calm assurance, she would think she heard him wrong if not for the lurching of her chest at the horrifying threat. He’s been aware of her plan the whole time, and he’s so confident she won't make it he didn't even step closer.
Leon sees the utter horror in her eyes and curses himself for not being careful with his words. They came out from near instinct.
“Shit… Look, I didn't mean—” Except he did mean it, so he bites his tongue, because he would rather be quiet than lie to the one person that saw him from his ugly insides.
Nora can't hear him anymore, the sounds coming out of his mouth sounding like a muffled mess. She can't reach the phone. She can't call Luis. Not only because he’ll stop her before she can, but also because now she fears for her friend’s precious life. She’s alone with a psychopath with no one to call, and nowhere to go. All she can do is retreat on stumbling feet, until she looks behind her… The Spaniard’s bedroom.
Without further thinking, she leaps the three steps separating her from the door. It feels like a slow motion scene from a horror film as she darts inside, with the agent already moving to catch up without missing a beat.
“Nora, wait—” Leon’s voice is interrupted by the loud slam of the door that reverberates through the walls, his hand reaching the handle at the same time as a click resounds indicating she turned the lock. “Fuck!” he hisses.
His hands begin to tremble as he tries to maintain his composure with all his might. Fucking hell, why did she have to lock the door? He tries to open it just to be certain, his nose flaring when it rattles in place but does not yield. Then his fist hovers, about to pound on the wood, when he decides to try pleading first.
“Nora, open the door, please…” he murmurs softly, his forehead resting on the hard surface dividing them.
Silence. Her lack of response only serves to make him grow more desperate. He closes his eyes and presses his palms to the lumber like he's performing a prayer, his broad shoulders slumping in despair.
“Please… I swear—I swear on everything holy—I won't hurt you again,” he sounds out the promise with a broken gasp. “I-I don't even know why I did it, I regret it every single second… Just let me make things right, please... Just open the door.”
Inside, the brunette is panicking as she looks around for anything to help keep the deranged man at bay, but there is nothing of use. Especially not with their disparity in strength. Her gaze then darts to the window, and with a nauseous feeling settling in her gut, she reaches for the glass screen.
Leon hears rustling on the other side, his hope rising as he believes she will finally let him in. But then he hears the hiss of metal sliding, and he realizes she's opening the window. Any modicum of calm leaves him that very instant.
“Nora… Nora!” he shouts, his hand slamming the wood in a loud bang. “What are you doing?!”
She flinches from the booming noise, her hands shaking as she reaches for the crank hanging off the wall. Jumping off the second floor could be lethal, or at the very least break her bones, which is a risk she's not sure she's willing to take. But perhaps she can sit on the sill and call out for help, maybe even threaten to jump if he cares enough about her life—anything to protect herself from the man she used to daydream about.
The sound of roller shutters lifting in loud, creaking noises jolts the agent into sheer panic on the other side of the door, and there is no waiting he’s willing to do anymore.
“Goddamnit!”
He doesn't stall for another second before he’s throwing his whole body at full throttle against the wooden frame, his shoulder hitting the door so loud he’s certain the neighbors have heard it. He does it again, and again, not caring for the pain radiating through his side. If anything, he goes harder with each grating creak of the shutters’ crank mechanism turning. She can't possibly be thinking about escaping from a second story window?!
Every cracking rattle of the door makes Nora’s movements jerkier in fear, the fracturing noise thrusting terror into her very core. She’s starting to think that perhaps jumping is the wiser thing to do after all. He could do anything to her, and she doesn't want to think of all the possibilities of how he could her again—probably worse this time.
When the door is splintered enough it's breaking off its hinges, Leon reels back, pure determination in his ice blues as he gives it a kick so powerful it sends the wooden frame crashing on the floor in an impossibly loud ruckus. He stands at the now open entrance, chest heaving, shoulder sore, with the look of a wild animal who has escaped its cage. He looks around, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the bright lighting of the golden hour coming through the wide open window, an orange glow blinding him momentarily before his vision clears and lands on the brunette.
She's frozen with wide eyes, in the middle of climbing out the opening with shaky limbs, a knee already on the sill and a foot on the floor in preparation to push her up. Only after a second passes that she begins to move again with renewed speed.
Not on his watch.
Leon doesn't think of a graceful way to do it. He just fists a hand in the back of her shirt fast enough he catches her long hair in his grip alongside it. Then, he yanks. Harshly enough her back thuds hard against his chest, his other arm encircling her shoulders protectively.
“What the fuck are you thinking?!” he yells before he can stop himself.
“Let me go!” Nora screams as she thrashes wildly, wincing in pain from the brutal tugging on her hair, but his hold is unyielding.
“I’m not letting you jump, are you crazy?!”
“I wasn't fucking jumping, I was calling for help!”
When her retort still doesn't convince him to let go, she suddenly opens her mouth wide, just to clamp her teeth viciously on his bicep. She bites so hard, he makes a raspy, pained noise, like the ones she had grown used to hearing while commanding him behind a screen as he jerks in surprise. That finally seems to do the trick, and he loosens his embrace, prompting her to move away just as fast.
She spins to face him, her hair disheveled and her collar pulled down her shoulder haphazardly, looking like a feral cat out of a savage fight. When he sees her in that state, the wet tracks of her tears glistening on her face and her expression of terrified anger, he suddenly feels like the biggest piece of shit on earth.
So much for not scaring her.
Leon holds the reddened spot where she left her teeth marks, his expression pained, but out of heartache more than anything. He bows his head like the sight of her hurts, guilt and shame radiating off him visibly.
“I’m sorry…” he whispers after a while, his voice barely audible.
She looks at him while seething, her entire body shaking in fear and wrath as adrenaline pumps through her veins in powerful waves. His apology feels like the biggest slap to the face after breaking into her only safe haven in a world where she has nothing else. It enrages her to no end, and suddenly the notion of calling out for help through the window is forgotten as it’s replaced by another, more powerful urge.
Her hand reels back out of instinct, before landing on his cheek in a smack so sharp it leaves her palm red and tingling. He staggers back on impact, his face swiveling to the side with a gasp. Then, he touches the burning handprint with a brush of his fingertips, in complete disbelief of what just happened.
It’s only at that moment that Nora internally panics again. She just hit him. She just hit the man that belted her while she screamed in agony, and now she's about to instantly regret it when he undoubtedly returns the favor. She flinches before he even moves, her eyes blinking rapidly in preparation for the pain.
Except he doesn't move. He just looks at her, with his big blue eyes and sandy blonde hair, still looking regrettably beautiful even as he terrorizes her.
“Do it again,” he suddenly murmurs, his voice a soft plea.
Her breathing stutters in shock, having expected anything but that from him. She doesn't move a muscle, only stares with parted lips as he looks at her in complete desperation. It's like he needs her to hit him again, and it's becoming harder and harder to resist the tempting offer.
Fuck it. If he hurts her after, then at least she would have gotten some revenge.
Another sharp smack, this time to his other cheek, forcing his face to twist to the right. He shudders, the smallest pained sound leaving his lips before repeating. “Again.”
This time, she doesn't hesitate to comply. She slaps him another time, and then another, and then another. Her palms hurt, his cheeks burn, and she slowly feels a thrill build inside her at seeing him in pain. She's starting to understand why he didn't stop for her either.
“I fucking trusted you,” she grunts, her voice broken from the tears that haven't stopped falling.
“I know,” he gasps out between two strikes, dazed.
She then pauses, her hands trembling at her sides, just to peer at his disoriented state. He looks dizzy, blinking hard as he regains his breath. If she didn't know better, she'd almost feel bad. But she does know better. She remembers. Every cruel word, every mean glare, and most importantly, every crack of leather that left her quivering.
“You— You ruined my life,” she hiccups a sob, clutching her disheveled hair that fell on her face. “You destroyed me, Leon… You completely broke me…”
He looks away, tears making his ice blues glossy as he can't bear to look at her. It feels like his insides are being shredded from guilt and aguish—he has never known hurt like this before and it's making it nearly impossible to breathe.
“I’m s-so sorry.” The apology spills out of him like second nature.
That's when she fully snaps. Her knuckles crack against his jaw in a punch fueled by pure wrath, making it land strongly despite her clumsy, amateur strike. He loses balance and falls to his knee with a choked cough, but she doesn't spare him for a second. Another punch, and he’s on his side on the rug, groaning pitifully.
Nora stands over him, her eyes wild as she spits out, “you don't have the right to fucking apologize!”
Leon pants, rotating to lay on his back with a heaving chest, his hair falling back to reveal a rare, uncovered look at his forehead that's constantly shadowed by his fringe. When he gazes up at her, he feels utterly ridiculous for the way his heart skips a beat. He had just started to digest the fact he's a sadist, now he's learning he’s a masochist too?
Or maybe it's just her. The way her dark locks stick out around her head in a mess, her red face filled with stern fury that feels like both damnation and salvation all at once. He knows he's trespassing the last remaining limits when he opens his mouth again, but he couldn't care less. Her punches feel holy.
“Again— d-don’t stop—”
“Fucking hell,” she scoffs in bitter mockery, and yet complies when she straddles him just to land another smack.
Punch. Slap. Slap. Punch.
He whimpers and groans. He can taste copper. But he still doesn't fight her, and it only serves to make her angrier. She hates that he doesn't try to stop her. That he's pretending to be some kind of noble martyr, welcoming the pounding pain without a single protest. She doesn't know he’s relishing in the feel of her weight on top of him.
When her hands grow sore, Nora pauses just to assess the damage on his handsome face, now all swollen. There are bruises on his brow bone, under his eye, on his nose, on his jaw—all blooming into various shades of red that will undoubtedly turn blue and purple in the upcoming days. Tears, snot, and blood make his skin glisten in the orange glow of the Spanish sun, and the sight is nearly poetic if not gruesome.
“I cared for you,” she grits out through rageful tears. “Everyday, when I’d have a shit time at work, or— or argue with my mom, or get the cold shoulder from my boyfriend, I went to you… I spent countless hours—” her voice breaks, emotion overwhelming every fiber in her. “You weren't real… But I still fucking cared for you.”
Through his daze, Leon’s mind is a jumble of feelings as it works hard to register new information, filing them in a corner of his brain under her name in bold letters. She cared for him, she has a shit job, she argues with her mom, and she has a boyfriend… She has a fucking boyf—
Her fingers suddenly wrap around his throat, short circuiting his thoughts as his hands instinctively move to grab her wrists. He has had to fight every bit of training over the past minutes not to defend himself like he was programmed to, and now with her hands around his neck, he forces himself to relax despite his instinctual panic.
“Beg me to stop,” she hisses between clenched teeth, tightening her grip.
He strains to speak, his voice already wrecked from crying. “I-I… N-Nora…”
“Beg for your life, you fucking freak! I never even got the chance to beg while I was screaming in agony! But you didn't fucking stop, did you?! Do you get off on hurting women?! On being a devil?!”
Through her yelling and the blood rush to his ears, all he can think of is the fact he deserves worse. She’s right. He’s a devil who enjoyed hurting her just like his father was one too, and no amount of regret or guilt is ever going to change the fact that he's rotten at the core. He should've never been born if it led him to land a belt on her skin, but he can find the silver lining if it brings him here, under her, receiving his due punishment.
“I said beg!” she screams in his face, and he knows it's what she wants even if he hopes she keeps going.
“Please… Nora—ngh—please stop…”
Her shoulders shake, her chest rising and falling with every angry sob. “Again!”
“Please s-stop, please…” he chokes.
Her hold on his throat loosens slightly, her hips rolling when she tries to shift her weight to relieve her sore ankle, only to suddenly freeze when she senses it. She can feel it—right under the apex of her inner thighs—a hard bulge pressing on her through the thin fabric of her leggings.
For a moment, she's not sure what to do, and neither does he as he stares at her with wide, shame-filled eyes. But then his hands tentatively reach for her hips, and they lay there, barely resting, like a silent request for her not to get up.
She swallows hard, a flurry of emotions swirling inside her, until that anger she felt before mixes with a newfound sense of cockiness. She presses on his throat hard again, grinding her hips once more just to hear him choke under her.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she spits out in vitriol. “This whole time I thought you were some kind of saint—but you're just sick… Beg again, or this time I’m not stopping.”
The threat is like music to his ears.
“Please… Please…”
“Please what?” She grinds down on his erection again just to further his humiliation.
“Please st— fuck—”
She chokes him harder, and his nails dig into her hipbones out of sheer survival no matter how much he tries to stop himself. The sting doesn't deter her, though.
She releases a hand just to slap his cheek, before going back to strangling him. “You’re not begging, Leon!”
For a moment, he catches a glint of panic in her eyes under the fury, like she really does want him to comply so she can have a reason to stop. The more he stalls, the tighter she chokes, the closer he comes to losing his life.
“Please stop… Please stop—hah—please stop.”
He repeats the plea hoarsely just to give her what she wants, wanting nothing more than to satisfy her, even at the detriment of his own wishes. Because if it was up to him, he’d gladly die right here so he never has to live with himself anymore.
Dying at the hands of his victim, so he can bring them both solace. Dying under the weight of the beautiful girl crushing his airways, so her rageful eyes can be the last thing he sees before the awaited embrace of death.
Fuck, if the thought doesn't make him leak.
Without realizing, he bucks up into her through his blurry vision, and she makes a noise akin to a moan in her surprise. That's when his brain fully stops functioning and he whines in a raspy tone. “Please… d-don’t stop.”
Nora stills on top of him, loosening her grasp just enough for him to inhale a deep breath, his lungs seeking precious oxygen.
“What did you just say?”
Leon has never felt mortification like this before. His face is bruised and bloodied, his throat burns, and yet he’s sporting a leaking erection under his jeans and he’s asking for more.
“Please don't stop,” he whimpers, his bottom lip wobbling like a crying baby. “Just… Just do it, Nora. I won’t stop you.”
She looks down at him with a cold expression, her face glacial as she leans down close enough to whisper, her breath fanning across his lips.
“Then beg me to kill you.”
He moans before he can stop himself, his hips lifting enough to jostle her body. “Fuck… Ngh— Yes, please… Kill me. Just k-kill me, please.”
He expects the painful pressure on his airways, but what he doesn't expect is the now shameless grinding on his confined cock. He doesn't know what in the actual hell is going on, but he doesn't have the mental capacity to think about it as he meets her movements with his own.
“You’re sick. You’re so fucking sick…” she murmurs before letting out a whine, and he feels like he might actually burst.
Pathetic gurgling leaves his lips as his nails dig deeper into her hips, making her hiss as she humps her wet pussy on his erection. Wet, because he can hear the faintest squelsh of her soaking cunt with every move. She's so fucking hot in her skintight leggings, if he wasn't crying already, he would out of sheer want. Another few ruts and he’ll cum, he’s certain, but his vision is starting to spot as the strangling worsens. She's giving him what he wants—she's killing him—but now it's making him too weak and lightheaded to climax, no matter how close he is to the edge.
“I’ll never fucking forgive you,” she grunts venomously between moans.
She then gives a final, jerky press on his neck, before throwing her head back with frantic motions of her pelvis that have her whining the most obscene noises through parted lips.
She’s cumming. Right on top of him. All while his consciousness fades in and out from asphyxiation, and his cock twitches in his pants. He watches with bulging, bloodshot eyes the sinfully beautiful image on top of him like he's witnessing a miracle. The sun creates a halo around her while she writhes, her tits bouncing, her thighs rippling, her shirt riding up to reveal her soft stomach that he wishes he could kiss and bite. It's infernal. It’s heavenly. It’s everything, and he's not sure anymore if it's even real.
With his face blue and a blood vessel popping in his eye, Leon is certain this is his most favorite nightmare. Because he simply can't believe this is his reality, and that the girl he beat a week ago is climaxing on his dick while he suffocates to death.
Finally, with a shuddering breath, Nora releases him once her moans subside, her thighs trembling from the force of what she knows is the strongest orgasm she’s ever had. Her hands shake as she retreats them, peering down at the blonde in a mix of satisfaction and horror when her mind clears from the fog of arousal.
He takes loud gasps, his thorax rising and falling in ragged movements as his lungs fill with much needed air. He blinks, confused and disoriented while color returns to his cheeks, very much aware of what just happened despite his daze. Suddenly, he feels ashamed about touching her once his thoughts begin to clear, like she's too holy for his filthy paws. So, he slides his hands from her sides to let them thump on either side of his head.
She takes that as a cue to stand, her sore ankle pulsing from the effort, and she bites her lip to muffle a sound when she notices the wet patch she left on his crotch. She's not even sure what the fuck just happened, but she refuses to demonstrate any shame or regret. If anyone should feel embarrassed, it's him.
Leon coughs as he attempts to sit up, wincing in pain with each forceful gust of air. His windpipe is absolutely destroyed, his face—and cock—throbbing. One from injury, and the other from unfathomable want.
When he wipes the blood on his mouth just to look up at her, he's tempted to start begging again for her touch. She looks every bit breathtaking with her stern expression, her appearance akin to something post-coital. Especially the slickness that makes her black pants cling to her cunt—if he looks closer, he can see its tempting outline.
“Just fucking leave,” she mutters with crossed arms, bringing his perverted thoughts to a screeching halt.
He nods wordlessly, blinking away any more outrageous images from his mind. When he stands on wobbly legs, he can feel his jeans straining on his slowly softening hard-on, and he hopes it’ll go away soon so he can maintain some form of dignity.
He’s about to leave in the weirdest walk of shame he’s ever had to do, when he pauses to reach into his pocket. He pulls out a crinkled piece of paper containing a scribbled number, looking down at it in a brief moment of contemplation.
“If you ever want to talk…” he murmurs awkwardly, placing the contact information on the bed with a shaky hand, unable to meet her eyes.
From her spot, Nora keeps her arms crossed and her expression unmovable. Inside, her heart is pounding with adrenaline as a mix of emotions swell inside her, with awkwardness at the forefront of them all. But she won't deal with any of it right now as she tries to keep an unfeeling façade. Even as she takes in the mess that has become of the room due to the broken door laying splintered on the floor.
Leon debates whether to lift the wooden frame to rest it on the wall out of courtesy, but then feels completely ridiculous when he’s the one who destroyed it in the first place. He shakes his head lightly, his disheveled hair falling back on his forehead, then readjusts his t-shirt with jerky movements to leave. But then, his legs come to an abrupt halt at the sight of the stubbled man in his way.
“¿Que carajo está pasando?"* Luis gasps from the broken doorway.
* “What the fuck is going on?”
commissioned artwork by monychou
guys... FUCKING LOOK AT THEM!!! i'm screaming rn UGH i'm seriously speechless 😭so with this one and the upcoming commissions you will notice a trend, and that is the fact i edit in bruises into the artwork (with artists' approval) because leon just so happens to look beat up all the damn time either from work or from nora 😝 i hope you guys enjoyed this crazy ride of a chapter!
Pairing: RE9Stepdad!Leon Kennedy x StepDaughter!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Deciding to live with your mother and your stepdad after graduation might not be the best idea given your relationship with her, but it sure beats taking on debt to pay rent when you don't even have a job yet. Thankfully, you're able to find refuge and friendship in her husband, Leon, and it's not long before you're both wanting more.
Warnings: NOT underage reader, reader is over 21, mentions of food restriction, judgment around food from family member, bad mother/daughter relationship, somnophilia, dub-con, body dysmorphia
Word Count: 4.3k
based on this request (got a little carried away with this one, soz)
“Hey there,” he says with all the formality and reservation of a man who hasn’t been living with your mother for the past four years, the two of you coexisting in the same house on many disjointed occasions: three months at a time every summer, two weeks at Christmas, little stops along the way here and there for Thanksgiving dinners and long weekends.
“Hi,” you say, the two of you doing an awkward dance around the kitchen island, once accidentally bumping into each other when you both reached for the handle of the fridge door at the same time, knuckles brushing.
You immediately remove your hand, and he clears his throat, stepping back, gesturing for you to go ahead. “You first.”
“Mmm, thanks,” you say flatly, opening the refrigerator, a flash of cool air hitting your sweat-drenched body. Your mother insisted that, if you were going to move back in after graduation, you’d have to do at least an hour on the stationary bike every day, and lose that ‘freshman fifteen’ you apparently gained three years ago, as though you haven’t lost that (and more) since. She’s a tyrant around food and weight, always has been, and every time you come back home, whether it’s for a whole summer or just a few day’s break, she digs her nails into you, eager to have another subject to control. But if it’s between cardio or going into debt to pay for rent before you even have a job, the choice is easy.
“You back for good?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” You ask, shooting your eyes past the open door, stacked with nonfat milk (wow, she’s back to drinking dairy), a watery almond alternative (maybe not), sugar free ketchup, and low-sodium soy sauce. His eyes immediately widen, his lips parting to spit out an apology punctuated by a correction.
“No, no,” he starts, waving his hands in dismissal. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” He shrugs. “We don’t get to have you around all that much. It’ll be nice to have you back in the house, that’s all.”
Leon’s a big guy. Even in his late forties, he’s still a behemoth of a man. You wonder how he’s feeding all those muscles underneath the long-sleeved quarter-zips he wears for work, knowing he’s definitely not meeting his protein goals from the tofu and 95-percent lean ground turkey your mother seasons with salt, if that.
When you don’t answer, silently enjoying the coolness of the open fridge on your scorched skin, Leon continues.
“Happy to be home?”
“Always am.” Sarcasm seeps from your cutting tongue.
Is he going to refute that statement? Bring up the times he’s heard you crying after your mother makes a nasty comment about the number sewn into your denim shorts, or seen the tears that build in your eyes when she pinches the molecule of flesh on your waist. You’ve grown a lot since both of those unfortunate occasions, learning how to accept her for who she is, sit through the humiliation and torment, and let it roll off your back.
“Are you hungry?”
“Not for anything in this fridge.”
There’s nothing like sea moss sludge and probiotic coconut yogurt to wet your appetite.
He chuckles, wrapping his lithe fingers around the handle, shutting the door. You close the other, waiting for him to explain.
“Come on,” he says with a wave of his hand. “I’ll take you to lunch. What are you feeling?”
“No, that’s alright,” you say with a flat, dismissive smile, wanting nothing but to shower beneath a stream of teeth-chattering-ly cold water, and to sit and rot in your bedroom for the rest of the day. Maybe fill out a few job applications. Or not. “I need to shower anyway.”
“Go on and shower,” he says. “I can wait. Plus, you’ve got to catch me up on everything going on in your life. It’s been too long.”
You cinch your brows, knowing he and your mother were just at your graduation ceremony not even a month ago. There’s a photo on your phone to prove it, you standing in your regalia, caught between your mother and Leon, their arms around you. And he was the one who helped you move out of your apartment, taking a whole day off work to load your things into a storage unit, promising he’d be the one to help you move them wherever you go next.
“And I’m really hungry,” he adds, a smirk growing at the corner of his mouth.
Cutting your eyes to the fridge, you gesture to the plethora of inedible alternatives behind the shut doors. “Not hungry enough for vegan bacon?”
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound straight from his chest. “Fuck no.”
Fifth of May
“Have you seen my–oh, hi,” you say when you realize it was Leon, not your mother, you heard walking around down the hall. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, low on his hip, and black t-shirt that does nothing to hide the details of his physique. You have to remind yourself to close your lips, falling agape at the sight.
“Hey.” He’s unloading the duffel bag he takes with him whenever he leaves for work assignments, setting what looks like a gun in a leather holster into the drawer of his nightstand. “What’s up?”
“Have you seen my dress?” You repeat, describing the latest addition to your closet, the piece you bought especially for this date tonight, and we’re chomping at the bit to wear. Hell, you even purchased a pair of shoes to match, and knew exactly which earrings to pair with it. It had been hanging in your closet since Hunter announced he would be returning to your hometown before starting an internship in the city, and wanted to take you out to dinner.
Leon grimaces, the corners of his mouth lowering into a frown as you stomp into your mother’s bedroom, the cloying scent of her gardenia perfume missing from the space. “I think your mother has it.”
You want to give her the benefit of the doubt, crossing your fingers that it’s stuffed in a dry cleaning bag, or hanging in her closet among the other articles she’s planning on taking to the alteration lady she has on call.
“Where is it?”
“She wore it out.”
“What? Where?”
He shrugs. “Girl’s night.”
First of all, the woman is nearing fifty, she doesn’t need to be wearing a mini dress out to dinner with her friends. Second of all, what the actual fuck?
“What the fuck?” You verbalize, a second away from ripping out your own hair. “I told her I was going to wear that tonight on my date. He’ll be here in–” You check the time on your phone, numbers taunting you alongside a message that says he’s just about to leave the house to come pick you up. “Fifteen minutes.”
“You’re going on a date.” It’s less of a question and more of a statement he mumbles to himself.
“Yeah. And I wanted to wear that dress. Are you sure she had it on?”
He steps aside, gesturing to your mothers gargantuan walk-in closet. “You can double-check but I’m pretty sure she was wearing it when she left.”
You walk around the closet, Leon stepping past the door frame, just lingering with his arms limp by his sides as you stomped around, manically shifting through the racks of clothing that line the room. Growing frustrated hanger by hanger, you groan, meeting your body in the reflection of a standing mirror in the corner of the closet. You’re in nothing but a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top, the wavy glass (along with your mother’s voice in your head) distorting the image of your body.
“I’m so fucking fat,” you spit, tugging at the white cotton clining to your form. “Nothing looks good on me, and my hair’s a mess. And he’s gonna be here in ten minutes.”
And you’re sweating. And your make-up’s beginning to peel around your hair line. And your perfume’s wearing off. And the dress you were supposed to wear–that you had your heart and mind set on wearing–is ten miles away on the body of a woman who was apparently put on this earth to have a daughter just to make her life miserable.
“Hey, hey, woah,” Leon coos, approaching you with his hands out like he’s trying to calm a skittish horse. “You’re bea–you look great, stop that.” They settle on the flesh of your upper arm, palms light on your skin, steadying you. “I don’t want to hear you say those kinds of things about yourself, okay? And look, I know for a fact that you could wear a potato sack and still look…beautiful.”
Something in his eyes tells you he means it.
“How was your date?”
Leon’s still awake, sitting on one of the barstools tucked around the edge of the kitchen island, hunched over a crystal low ball, filled with a shot of whiskey from the half-empty bottle beside it. His eyes are glassy, his speech slightly slurred, and although he never quite stands up straight, his posture is severely slacking, shoulders falling forward.
“Fine,” you respond, setting your clutch down on the marble. “He hasn’t changed since high school. Like, at all,” you say with a breathy laugh. Across from you, Leon chuckles, so light and low a sound, you almost miss it. You’re glad you don’t.
“Was he a gentleman?”
“If gentlemen talk about themselves and their ‘crazy’ exes the whole date and ‘forget’ to bring their wallets, then yeah, sure.”
He scoffs, rolling his eyes.
“Why are you still up anyway?”
It’s nearing two in the morning, the sky finally an inky black, the pale light of the crescent moon hung among the stars seeping through the windows, curtains drawn to let it flood the pane.
“Can’t sleep, kid,” is all he gives you.
“Obviously. But why can’t you sleep?”
He looks up at you, maintaining eye contact as he gulps his drink down in one hungry sip, mouth sealing the crystal lip of the glass, not so much as wincing as the liquor goes down.
“Work.”
Either he’s telling you the truth, which he very well might be based on what few details he’s given you surrounding what it is he does to afford a German car and a house in one of the wealthiest suburbs on the continent.
Or.
He could be speaking in a code only the two of you can decipher. ‘Work’ doesn’t mean getting shot at while trying to save the world. ‘Work’ means dealing with a neurotic loon with a personality disorder and a compulsive need to make a judgmental comment every five seconds or she just might combust into flames.
“Work,” you repeat with an understanding nod. “Sounds rough.”
Third of June
Leon takes a seat next to you on the tile ledge, rolling up his pant legs until the denim material is folded neatly below his knees. He practically groans as he lowers his feet into the pool, cerulean rippling around his calves, the cold water a salve to his aching joints.
The two of you sit beside each other for a while, just listening to the chirp of crickets, the ripples your legs make in the water as you kick them back and forth beneath the surface, the sound of children playing two houses over.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you finally say, referring to the way Leon stood up for you at the dinner table, correcting your mother when she said you should work on losing another five pounds before you start going on job interviews. You were willing to roll your eyes and agree just to shut her up, but apparently, Leon wasn’t.
Do you ever get tired of being so critical?
It was the first time you had ever heard him snap back at her in front of you, though you had heard their arguments in the past, always hidden and muffled behind closed doors.
“Yeah, I know.” He leans back on his palms, eyes steady in front of him, looking out at the pool, the rest of the backyard surrounding it. Then, nothing. Neither of you speak again, returning to comfortable silence.
You take the time to study the fine lines on his forehead, and the corners of his eyes, and it makes you wonder whether your mother has ever dragged Leon to her one of her bi-monthly botox appointments, trying to convince him to get a jab or two to smooth them.
He has a straight nose, with just the slightest bump at the bridge, so stately and masculine yet somehow strangely beautiful, the perfect fit for the rest of his face. Smooth, plump lips, framed by a sprinkling of patchy facial hair, sandy in some places, salty in others.
You used to think poorly of Leon. Not because he’s a bad person, or isn’t intelligent, or unambitious. He’s none of those things, and you knew that upon meeting him for the first time, hearing him talk about his job, his dream of becoming a police officer before the world needed more from him and took it.
No, you didn’t think less of him because he was inherently ill-created, but because he (allegedly) fell in love with your mother and married her. She’s decidedly a horrible person, and you know even Leon, though he fucks her in their shared bed and wears a ring on his left hand, honoring the vows he made to her, can see that. So why her?
You’ve never asked, and you doubt you ever will, part of you knowing how rude it would be to ask a person why they put up with their partner, another part of you not wanting to hear him say that he loves her.
Glancing back up at the house, your eyes hone in on the windows to their bedroom, the curtains closed except for a tiny inch in the middle that lends a strip of light to be seen between them until it’s snuffed into darkness. You figure she’s already popped an ambien and is on her way toward full-on sedation.
“I’m gonna swim,” you say, yanking off the ratty, old t-shirt you’re wearing over your bikini. Leon looks once, if only for a second, though that’s all it takes for your cheeks to burn under his gaze on your nearly-naked body. “Wanna join?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “You go ahead.”
With a shrug, you sink into the pool, dunking your head under the surface to wash away the disappointment singing your cheeks. After a few laps back and forth across the length of the basin, you swim back to where you and Leon were sitting, only to find the patch of tile empty and a light on in the pool house. Though the blinds are all shut, you watch as a gray shadow walks behind them, settling into the sofa, reaching for the lamp beside it, before it goes black.
He sleeps there sometimes, you’ve noticed.
Mid-June
“Is she going somewhere?” You ask, pointing to your mother’s coordinated luggage set, packed and standing like soldiers by the front door. A floppy sun hat rests on one of the suitcases, her purse on another, a passport tucked inside it.
“Girl’s trip.”
You nod, humming. “How long?”
“A week and a half.”
Twenty-First of June
“Wanna watch a movie?”
There’s a beer in his hand, the neck sweating, a droplet falling onto the web between his thumb and pointer finger. He looks over at you as he wraps his lips around the amber mouth, tossing the bottle back along with his neck to take a swig.
The two of you have been enjoying having a weekend without the storm cloud that is your mother hovering around. For breakfast this morning, Leon even made pancakes, fluffy and sweetened with peanut butter chips, not to mention completely sopping with full-sugar syrup and whipped cream. And the man can mix up a mean hot chocolate.
Steaming ceramic mug warm in your hand, you settle onto the sofa, curling up against the arm rest, tucking your feet beneath you. Leon’s on the opposite side, already reaching for the remote on the coffee table, bringing the television to life with a press of a rubber-capped button.
“Whatcha in the mood for?” He asks, throwing back the last puddle of beer before discarding the bottle onto the table, sans coaster, in an act of silent rebellion.
“Doesn’t matter,” you respond, following suit in placing your mug next to the empty beer. Chocolate and cream still sweet on your tongue, you lick your bottom lip. “I’ll probably fall asleep half-way through anyway.” It’s a talent of yours, being able to doze off during any piece of media, captivating or not.
Leon chuckles, readjusting his hips on the sofa so he’s one inch closer to your feet, his hand resting on the square of cushion between you, pink caressing the upholstery. “You do like to do that, don’t you?”
The two of you continue to spout off movie titles, debating back and forth over which one sounds the most appealing, though Leon does mention that you’ve already shown your hand, not having much skin in the game if you’re just going to snore the whole time.
“Just pick one, then,” you say, rolling your eyes.
So he does, choosing a random title neither of you paused to read the description of, and as the opening credits roll, you feel your eyelids grow heavy. Blinking hard, your mind grows cloudy, fog eclipsing any rational thought, and you scoot over, laying your cheek on Leon’s shoulder. He tenses beneath intimacy of it all, but yet, not only a moment later, he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around your waist, bringing you closer into him.
He smells like the beer dried down on his lower lip, like sugar crystals and heady spice as you sneak an inhale of his t-shirt, nuzzling into its soft cotton.
“You watching?” He asks, already knowing the answer, though your kitten purrs confirm that you’re not.
“Leon?” You ask, voice hoarse, mind foggy with sleep or lack thereof. Your eyes cut to the digital clock below the television, its neon green letters reading a couple minutes after one in the morning. You turn back to the man who was just spooning you, his knuckles between your thighs, forearm flush to your ass. “What are you doing?”
Were you cuddling? You blink back to lucidity, reflecting on the happenings of the night before you supposedly fell asleep.
Yeah, you were. You asked him to hold you.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” he says, stupefied, his hand now hovering over the curve of your waist, fingers wet and wrinkled with your arousal, glistening under the low light filtering from the lamp in the corner. It casts the living room in an orangesicle glow. “I’m so, so sorry.”
There’s an ache between your legs, your hole both sore and desperate for whatever was inside you to return, and you can feel a familiar dampness spreading across the crotch of your panties. It’s not difficult to put two and two together, especially since, when your eyes fall to his lap, you see a strain against the fleece of his sweatpants, the outline of his cock as it twitches.
“Were you touching me?”
He sits up straight, completely removing himself from your back to sit on the cushion beside you, a hand coming up to cup his mouth, not even removing it to speak. “I couldn’t–we fell asleep, you were asleep and I couldn’t–I shouldn’t have, God, I’m so sorry.” His hand falls, and you see his bottom lip start to tremble. “Don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. God, what have I done?” His face is wracked with remorse, the skin between his eyes creasing, the lines deepening as his brows continue to furrow. The whites of his eyes are glassy, black pupils eclipsing blue irises beneath the darkness of the living room. Purple crescents beneath his eyes betray his exhaustion–the kind that cuts to the bone.
There’s no time for you to think about your next move, the moral gravity of it, how it could completely alter the course of your life, and Leon’s. All you can hear is the pounding of your heart in your ear, the thump of its rhythm in your chest, the need between your legs, and the pit of desire deepening in your stomach.
With shaky hands, you grab the hem of your pajama shorts, along with the band of your panties, and lift your hips into a bridge to pull them down your thighs, discarding both articles to the floor. Leaning back against the pillow behind your head, bolstered by the arm rest, back flush to the sofa cushion, you part your legs.
Pussy now exposed, weeping for him, you glance between your knees at Leon. His shoulders shudder at the sight, his hand once again cupped over his mouth as he mumbles something inaudible. He swallows hard, eyes affixed to your cunt. They flicker up to your face, meeting your gaze if only for a moment before falling back between your thighs.
“You were touching me, weren’t you?”
“Yes. I was.”
Before he has the chance to apologize again, you cut him off with another question. “How?”
His eyes narrow. “How?” He repeats, his voice almost at a whisper, sounding uncertain whether he wants you to confirm it or not.
“How were you touching me?”
He parts his lips to speak, closing them to swallow. “I–”
“Show me.” You open your legs wider, as wide as the back of the couch will let you. “Please.”
Leon closes his eyes, not moving the way you so politely asked him to, so you pull up on your elbow, other hand grabbing his forearm. The touch prompts him to open his eyes once more to watch how you manually drag his hand to your cunt. Taking your direction, he presses the heel of his palm onto your clit, moving it side to side to gather a frictious rhythm that conjures a tight ball of tension in your stomach.
“That feels good, Leon,” you saw sweetly, a tiny moan leaving your throat. “But that’s not what you were doing.”
“You’re right.”
It’s the first time he’s responded to you without looking as if he wants to whip himself with one of the belts hanging in his closet.
Leon sucks in a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling an inch with it, and he removes his hand from your clit, straightening his ring and middle fingers to tease your seam with the pads of them.
You gasp when he pushes them inside, adding a third on the way in, stretching your hole as he keeps them in a straight line, plunging in and out.
“Like this?”
Nodding, you screw your eyes shut until you can watch a constellation of stars sweep across the backs of your lids. His name falls out of your mouth in a near screech as he continues to slide across the button at your front wall, his thumb now dragging your clit from side to side.
You feel his presence draw closer, his body coming to hover over yours, the hand that’s not making work of your pussy, grabbing the lip of the sofa to keep himself above you and to leverage more strength. He continues the attack, fingers crooking at the knuckles to deepen your pleasure. It’s not long before you’ve met the height of your pleasure, gushing all over his hand. Huffing and heaving, and in desperate need of more, you reach down between your legs to grab his forearm, locking his hand in position, digits still soaking inside you.
“More, Leon,” you cry out. “Again. Fuck me again.”
With a growl best likened to that of an angry bison, Leon once again starts to pound at your pussy with his fingers as he bows down, spreading your lips with his other hand to begin licking at your clit. The drum of his tongue flat and heavy on the bud, he devours you, manically swiping the tip of his tongue across it, side to side. Your hands find his long curtains of dark blonde hair, tugging at the strands and then using them to push his face deeper onto you.
You yell out his name, the cry in harmony with the wet, gushing sound of his ministrations between your legs. “God, you feel so good inside me. Keep fucking me with your fingers, Daddy.”
“Oh, shit–fuck–I’m gonna come if you keep–” Leon lets out a pained groan through gritted teeth, removing both his mouth and fingers from your cunt, throwing himself back against the couch, his hand gripping the arm rest until his knuckles drain of color. “Give me a minute.” His other hand is on your knee, just caressing it while he takes in a few calming inhales. “Let me catch my breath.”
Instantly sobered, you can’t help but giggle at the scene as you come down from your high. Leon–big, boulderous Leon–getting so flustered, so close to his own climax just from fingering you, hearing a few of your moans...hearing you call him ‘Daddy’. Maybe it’s hot more than it is amusing, but you laugh anyway.
Hellooo girlyyy, i just wanted to hop in and say i loooooveeee your works bwahahaha, it's not often i come across a rather darker Leon fic writer and honestly I'm eating up all the Leon stuff you're putting out cause they're yummy girl dinner🤤,
and also i was wondering if you're accepting requests or asks or maybe ideas of some sort cause I've been having some ideas that i really wanna share with a writer but i felt like this one's might be slightly darker than the usual Leon fics and that maybe not a lot of people will get it ykk,
but yeah that's all, i hope you're having a great time and I'm looking forward for the next chapters of more Nora and Leon🤭
hello anon!!! thank you so much for your message 💝💘
i'm really happy to hear you liked my darker content 🫶 i think i have a decent mix of sweet and evil in my works, and i'm happy to please fans of both sides 🥰
and i don't do requests because i have a really hard time writing something i'm not completely into, but i always welcome ideas and suggestions in my inbox, even if don't always answer them or use them. i keep them all like precious gifts from lovely readers 🫶
i see that you're a hofah reader too hehe i think you will like tomorrow's chapter if you like dark content and that is all i'm going to say 😝
thanks to everyone who has showed interest in this fic! i hope you guys enjoy this chapter! 🩵💙
shout out @sammimi19 and @theebladestar for proofreading ✨
Chapters: 1, 2 TBA
cw: sexual tension
“Have you ever received a pat down before?”
“Yes…”
“Good. So you know how this goes.”
With her hands once again cuffed behind her back after her short-lived freedom, the young woman stands still as Leon approaches to begin the frisking. For a moment, he debates whether this is a good idea considering… Well, everything. But this is protocol, and he wouldn't want an even nastier surprise in case she's carrying something dangerous.
With her body facing the cruiser, he comes to stand behind her with a sigh. “Alright, spread out,” he nudges her legs with his foot to make her widen her step. She obliges without a word.
So far, so good.
“Do you have anything on your person that I need to know about before I conduct this search?”
She shakes her ‘no’ in response, and he’s tempted to make her speak it out loud, but in the end he lets it go. As long as she behaves and lets him get his job done.
“Okay, just stand still.”
With that, Leon’s hands come to rest at her head, pressing down on her scalp from her crown to her nape. She stiffens, but still says nothing, so he continues with pinching her collar with a pincer grasp to check for any hidden items.
Next are the shoulders, arms, and back, and with every touch separated only by the fabric of her hoodie, her breathing goes steadily ragged. He doesn't like admitting it to himself, but knowing she must be getting worked up from the clinical touch alone does things to him.
Pushing away the unwanted thoughts, he sets aside the phone with the cracked and crumpled tissue he found in her pockets—no illegal possessions. Then, he crouches, before immediately regretting it when he finds himself at eye level with her pretty ass in her tight jeans. Since when does frisking get to him like this?
Nonetheless, he forces his intentions to remain professional when his palms rest on her thigh, encircling the limb at the top, and gliding down until he reaches her calf. He repeats the motion on her other leg, before finally daring to touch her hips.
“I’ll check your back pockets,” he mutters, then sweeps his hands over her fleshy backside. That’s when she suddenly jerks with an uncontrollable whimper.
“S-sorry!” she immediately apologizes, and Leon has to hold back a laugh.
Truly, this situation gets more ridiculous by the second, and he’s too tired to be angry anymore. He stands when he finds her back pockets empty, resisting the urge to give her ass a squeeze like a creep, before asking her to turn and face him.
Except, as she does so, she can't bear to look him in the eye apparently. All bravado seems to have gone out the window the moment he proceeded with an actual arrest. Typical.
“Open your mouth,” he murmurs more huskily than intended.
She finally meets his gaze as she obeys, and he feels his heart stutter at the oddly erotic sight. He clears his throat, peering into her mouth with renewed focus. “Lift your tongue.” And she does.
Once he's verified she's not holding anything between her teeth, he nods and gestures for her to close her jaw. If he spent another second looking inside the wet cavity he might be tempted to take her up on that sweet proposal.
Leon hones in his entire concentration to stop his mind from being a total pervert. Especially now that he must resume the pat down of the only two areas left: her chest, and her groin. Fantastic.
He starts with her torso, gliding his knuckles under her breasts in the professional motion he was taught to use. Then, he hears her audibly gulp when he presses intently on her sternum, his firm touch nestling right in the middle of her covered cleavage. Now he wishes she wasn't wearing the damn hoodie.
Focus, Kennedy.
With the awareness that he's getting ahead of himself, he makes the process of sweeping the front of her jeans so fast he misses most of it. But he can't risk doing something stupid, especially when he makes the mistake of gazing at her face and he finds her staring longingly at his lips, like she's hypnotized.
If he wasn't the wiser, he might be tempted to confront her about it. Maybe grab her jaw to force her gaze into his eyes, then he could lean closer just to call her a creep. And while he's at it, maybe even take her up on her crazy offer of spitting in her mouth if she’s so into it anyway...
Leon sighs in exasperation as he steps back, but this time it's directed at himself rather than at her. Here he is getting horny over some homeless girl with a cop fetish like some depraved idiot, as if she's not a walking red flag. This is what happens when he doesn't get laid often enough.
“Uh… Are we done?” she asks quietly, and that's when he realizes he’s just been standing in silence for the past ten seconds.
Instead of answering her question, he opens the car door and ushers her inside with one hand on her upper arm and the other on her head, giving her a needless shove.
“Get in,” he mutters coldly. “And I don't wanna hear a word out of you on the way. If you talk, I’m ordering you a psych eval. Are we clear?”
She nods as she sits on the hard plastic seat, and this time he can't resist being petty. He leans in, buckling her with his face a bit too close to hers than necessary.
“Use your words,” he whispers in a low tone that makes a shiver visibly run down her spine.
“Y-yes… Yes, Officer.”
She nearly trembles under his looming form, sending his ego flaring from the sheer effect he seemingly has on her. Finally satisfied with her answer, he makes a curt nod then closes the door with a loud thud that reverberates through the empty garage.
The car ride is quiet, the girl keeping her promise of not talking as Leon drives with shattered focus. He tries to concentrate on the road, but he can't help but feel her eyes on him in the rearview mirror, observing him intently. It's unnerving.
When they come to a stop at a red light on a quasi empty street, he finally cracks. “Will you stop staring at me?”
Her eyes widen as they meet his on the reflective surface, a look of embarrassment on her face as she tries to come up with an excuse.
“Sorry! I didn't— You’re just— Nevermind…” she ducks her face in shame.
“I’m just what?” he huffs, unwilling to let her slip.
She hesitates for a moment before murmuring under her breath. “You're just really handsome…”
For a second, Leon goes perfectly still, before he gasps out a sharp laugh, then shakes his head in exasperation. He doesn't want to admit the way his heart fluttered for a split moment at the compliment.
It’s not the first time he's been told he looks good, but her words still affect him more than they should.
“Yeah, well, enough ogling…” he mutters as nonchalantly as he can.
She goes quiet again, looking down at her lap as she uncomfortably shifts with her bound wrists. It’s not the most pleasant of car rides, that is certain. After a moment, she finally speaks again, her tone shy despite her earlier boldness.
“Um… Can I ask a question?”
He exhales, already bracing himself. “What?”
“You, um… You rejected my offer… Is it because I’m… ugly?”
The man frowns, eyeing her through the mirror with a tense jaw. “In case you didn't know, when you harass someone, your attractiveness doesn't matter—it’s still harassment.”
Her bottom lip juts out in the most serious case of a kicked puppy look he’s ever seen, and for a moment, he wonders if this is truly the same girl who crawled on her knees begging for his dick moments ago.
“Just say I’m ugly, I already know I am,” she grumbles.
He scoffs, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he tries to keep his temper in check.
“Are you fishing for compliments? Because you’re being awfully obvious.”
“I’m not!”
“Then quit talking nonsense! You know you're not ugly at all.”
That seems to shut her up, her eyes widening in surprise, as if the statement is news to her. When she's about to say something, however, he clicks his tongue. “No more talking. And no more staring either. Just… Behave, for God’s sake.”
The rest of the ride is silent until they reach the precinct and Leon drives into the sally port. Without a word, he turns off the engine and exits the vehicle, opening her door to get her out. So far, so good.
An officer waits for them by the garage door, a greying moustache on his upper lip. His hands are resting on his hips with a grin on his face once the blonde comes to a stand before him, the latter’s grasp wrapped firmly on the girl’s upper arm.
“Who do we got here, Kennedy? Who’s our new friend?” the older man drawls playfully.
Leon huffs out a small chuckle, shaking his head as the gate slides open with a loud, electric buzz. He pulls her along, throwing a muttered comment to the other man.
“Didn't know you were working tonight, Prescott.”
“And miss this? No way.”
The younger man doesn't acknowledge the trailing eyes of the officer on the girl’s figure. Prescott has always been quite a bit of an asshole, and he’d rather avoid him as he takes her in. He’s not sure why he cares, but he would prefer to keep the yoi g woman’s offenses undisclosed from that kind of man. Unfortunately, the older officer is right on their tail, showing no signs of disinterest.
Once thoroughly searched and all her belongings removed, from her cracked phone to her dirty shoes, the girl is accompanied by a female officer to change into a bright orange jumpsuit. She looks utterly unimpressed by the color by the time she’s brought into booking.
Leon, who was writing his report in the meantime, straightens up when she comes into view, something inside him tightening at the sight of her in prison clothes.
A policewoman sitting behind the counter, sighs as she types on her keyboard, her voice bored and monotone when she speaks. “Alright. Name and date of birth.”
The young woman hesitates, her eyes flickering to her arresting officer for a second, before finally giving out her identity with slumped shoulders. He frowns at her demeanor, her name sounding as unfamiliar as any. But he files it in his mind with curiosity, before lingering on her young age—barely twenty-one and already causing herself trouble.
“Charges?” the other officer quirks an eyebrow at Leon.
“Disorderly conduct and interference with police duties.” He exhales through his nose, his jaw tight. With Prescott still standing nearby, the blonde feels the need to keep the details for the written report.
A basic medical and mental exam later, and the girl is ready to spend the night in a cell, accompanied by the same female officer who searched her, Jones.
Unsurprisingly, she was found with high levels of THC in her system, but Leon still finds her actions abnormal. Weed doesn't make you beg for a stranger’s dick, or at least he doesn't think so.
He pretends not to feel her eyes on him as she and the officer pass by, en route to be locked up. It’s only when her escort ushers her to walk faster that he finally looks up to watch her retreating back.
He moves before even realizing, walking swiftly until he reaches the two women.
“Hey,” he calls out once he stands before them, giving his colleague a tight-lipped smile before turning his attention to the younger woman. He’s not even sure what he came to say, but as she looks up at him expectantly, he simply wings it. “Just be careful… Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
Leon expects her to be disappointed with his lackluster preaching, but he’s surprised to see her smile—really smile—for the first time since they met.
“Thank you, officer,” she sighs dreamily.
Officer Jones rolls her eyes—it’s not the first time an inmate has fallen for Kennedy’s pretty blues, but there's no time to waste when there’s a schedule to follow.
“Alright, Juliet, why don't you walk a little faster? We have a job to do here.”
With a teasing look towards Leon, she drags the young woman ahead, the cell ward’s gate shutting behind them with an echoey slam.
The blonde’s head thuds on his pillow with a muffled thump. It's been a long shift—one he’s sure he won't forget for a long time. It all plays again in his mind, from the moment his eyes first landed on her uncanny expression, to seeing her escorted away in her orange jumpsuit. It makes his chest ache despite himself.
He doesn't know why he feels particularly empathetic over a woman that harassed him, but he can't help it. She was… cute. Even with her weird shenanigans. He still would rather not deal with her again, and internally prays that by the time he returns to the station she would have been bailed out. But he still spends longer than necessary thinking of her and her blown pupils.
Fuck, that frisk session got to him good.
He sighs as he turns to his side with a groan, hugging a pillow against his chest in contemplation. He has so many questions about the girl, but he forced himself earlier not to look through her file and head home instead. Because he knew the second he would open that can of worms, he would go on a spree of information diving to find out everything he can about her. No, he needed to go home to sleep—which is what he is trying and failing to do now.
He just keeps wondering what drives a young person to act that way? He could have been some creep who would take advantage of her, someone like Eric Prescott… The thought of the man makes him uneasy. He never truly caught him doing anything nefarious, but he doesn't trust him, and he would rather he stayed away from the girl.
There he goes worrying about her for no reason again. Maybe he’s more depraved than he thought if he cares this much after a single unhinged encounter. But then again, it's not everyday a pretty stranger crawls to suck you off. He can't help but imagine how good it would have been if he let her. She did say she can deepthroat.
He squeezes his eyes shut when he feels the urge to reach into his boxers, a half erection making its presence known. He can't jerk off to her—that would only be incredibly perverse, but what would say about him stroking it over his detainee? He's not that kind of man… He refuses to be.
The smell of coffee permeates the air as Leon strides into the precinct for another evening shift. Today, he’s spending most of it at the station to complete tedious paperwork and reports. So, he stretches his neck as he walks to the open plan office to make his way to his desk, greeting colleagues on his way with curt nods.
He’s not letting his thoughts get the best of him today. Not after the tormented sleep he suffered through where he had to fight himself and his own standards of morality. He is not a bad cop.
As if the universe heard his thoughts, he suddenly bumps into none other than Prescott whose eyes light up at the sight of him.
“Kennedy! Looks like our shifts are synching up again, huh?”
“Looks like they are,” he responds with a tight smile.
The moustached man looks him over for a moment, gaze glinting when he steps closer. “You know I talked to Jones earlier and we shared a good laugh… The pretty thing you brought in last night? Apparently she kept asking after you when Jones took her for the meeting with the judge.”
Leon tenses, the mention of the girl immediately putting him on alert. She must still be held in if no one got her out yet, and that causes him begrudging concern. But he can't show that to the asshole before him, so he forces a casual laugh, turning to pick up files from his desk.
“Oh, yeah? She must've gotten bored.”
“Right, bored…” the other laughs, his eyes filled with suspicion under his mirth. “Hey, you don't know her, do you?”
The blonde’s head snaps in his direction before he can stop himself. “Why?” he asks defensively.
“Oh, nothing... Just curious. She likes ya—it had me wondering.”
“If every detainee that asked for me to let them go liked me, I’d have a whole fanclub by now.”
“Well, you are Mr. Popular, aren't ya? Ladies—and some gents—seem to like you.”
Leon chuckles dryly, discomfort barely concealed on his features. “Whatever you say, P. You’re the boss.”
The grin on Prescott’s face makes the young man want to punch him. He exhales through his nose in an effort to recollect himself before waving the folders he has in hand with a tight smile.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me—lots of reports for me today.”
With that, he walks towards the printer, tension weighing heavy on his shoulders. He already had to suffer through a night of blue balls, and now this asshole is getting up his business. He hopes to busy himself and leave the other’s bullshit behind.
Later that evening, Leon is assisting with the booking of an arrestee, still completing the never ending tasks at the station. He’s in the middle of walking up to a colleague when a familiar cuffed figure passes by, escorted by Jones once again.
He stutters in his steps, then forces himself to not trip like an idiot as he deliberately slows his walk. From the corner of his eye, he sees her being taken to the line of phones on the wall and wonders why she is only waiting for now to make a call, after an entire day in the cell.
She doesn't notice him, too engrossed with pressing the number pad, her handcuffed wrists jingling with every move. It makes him sigh in relief that she appears oblivious to his presence, but then his curiosity peaks…
He hands the officer he intended to speak to paperwork he needed, then excuses himself pretending that his phone is buzzing in his pocket. He knows it’s ridiculous, and he knows he’s behaving like a fool over a crazy woman who probably gets arrested every week, but he can't help it—he needs to listen in on her conversation.
Pretending to quietly talk on his cell while facing away from the girl in orange, he feels utterly stupid as he puts on the despicable act, but it works when he hears her speak.
“Hey, it’s me,” she begins once the person on the other end is patched through. “Oh, Aaron? Um, is Max around? …Okay, well, it's like six already and I’ve been waiting all day to call. Can you wake him up?” A moment passes where the girl rolls her eyes, her foot tapping impatiently on the floor tile.
Leon, in his corner, is turned slightly just to take a discreet look at her. She looks awfully annoyed about the conversation, and it makes him frown. Though, he can't help but trail his eyes down her figure, lingering briefly on her ass. Why does she look good in prison clothes? But most importantly, since when did he turn into such a fucking perv? He’s no better than Prescott at this point.
After a while of waiting, the oblivious young woman smiles as she responds, but it looks strained. “Max! Hi! …Yeah, yeah, I know I said that but I didn't mean it, okay? I was wrong, Maxy, I miss you…” Her voice takes an overly sweet tone, but her face contorts into a frustrated expression. “Look, I’m gonna make it up to you if you come pick me up. It'll be just how you like...”
The blonde’s eyebrows shoot up in cartoonish fashion, his blue eyes darting around as he listens more closely. Who the hell is this Max? She’s clearly buttering him up to come get her.
“I knew you miss me too! Okay, so, um, I don't know if Aaron told you where this call is being patched from, but, uh… I’m kind of in jail, and I kind of need you to bail me out… Fucking hell, Max, with all the times I helped you out this is the least you can do!” she grunts, frustration breaking through her act. She then inhales deeply to regain her composure. “Okay, okay, you’re right… I’m sorry, Maxy, I promise not to leave like that again, I was so stupid.”
As he listens, Leon thinks that whoever she’s talking to has to be a serious dumbass to think her apology is genuine. But the fact she's still calling him for help has his jaw twitching. It's obvious she's offering favors in return for him bailing her out.
The girl’s face floods with sudden relief at hearing her desired response, and she puts on a teasing smile. “You won't regret it, baby, we’ll have so much fun, trust me… Just get here fast, okay?”
The conversation ends soon after, and Leon quickly moves away not to be spotted. He feels a bit bad about listening in, but it's not like her call isn't being recorded by the station anyways. Still, now he's left filled with curiosity—and frustration—about who this Max guy is and why the young woman seemed so reluctant to call him. He doesn't like this one bit.
Leon is zoned out as he absentmindedly stares at his desk’s wooden grain with his arms crossed. He’s been acting off the entire day, his thoughts whirring over that weird girl that seemingly took over his mind with her pretty eyes and crazy antics. He simply finds the whole situation so bizarre, and he hates how it fills him with both discomfort and begrudging interest.
He knows she said she remembers him from some previous encounter where she asked for road directions, but he can't for the life of him recall it. Especially considering the sheer number of people he deals with every day on his shifts. But, as much as he hates to admit it, the fact he allegedly left enough of a lasting impression on her that she remembered his name and then pursued him that parking garage boosts his ego. The entire encounter with her does, no matter how insane.
“Looks like your little fan is getting bailed out right now,” Prescott suddenly shows up, his signature shit-eating smirk plastered on his face. “Too bad, I was hoping she'd keep us company a bit longer.”
Leon does his best to hide his interest, faking a yawn of boredom as he stretches in his seat. “Oh, yeah? Good for her. I wish someone could bail me out of paperwork.”
The older man chuckles, shaking his head. “Shifts at the precinct are the worst. I’d rather be out there catching misbehaving little shits.”
The blonde internally scoffs. Only a weirdo would get excited about making arrests, but he’s used to colleagues saying unsavory things—it comes with his line of work.
Growing restless from Prescott’s presence and already concocting a plan in mind, he stands with deliberate unhurriedness, then puts on his phoniest apologetic smile. “Nature's call. Be back in a minute, P.”
He doesn't wait for the other’s answer as he strides away with a determined step.
He wants to find out who this Max guy is, and he has a feeling he won't like him.
Next chapter coming soon.
guys he's such a loser he's down bad already lmaooo
also d.c doesn't have a bail system but we're making shit up gang so please suspend your disbelief with me mwah
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
thanks to everyone who has shown interest in this fic! i hope you guys enjoy this chapter! 🩵💙
shout out @sammimi19 and @theebladestar for proofreading ✨
Chapters: 1, 2 TBA
cw: sexual tension
“Have you ever received a pat down before?”
“Yes…”
“Good. So you know how this goes.”
With her hands once again cuffed behind her back after her short-lived freedom, the young woman stands still as Leon approaches to begin the frisking. For a moment, he debates whether this is a good idea considering… Well, everything. But this is protocol, and he wouldn't want an even nastier surprise in case she's carrying something dangerous.
With her body facing the cruiser, he comes to stand behind her with a sigh. “Alright, spread out,” he nudges her legs with his foot to make her widen her step. She obliges without a word.
So far, so good.
“Do you have anything on your person that I need to know about before I conduct this search?”
She shakes her ‘no’ in response, and he’s tempted to make her speak it out loud, but in the end he lets it go. As long as she behaves and lets him get his job done.
“Okay, just stand still.”
With that, Leon’s hands come to rest at her head, pressing down on her scalp from her crown to her nape. She stiffens, but still says nothing, so he continues with pinching her collar with a pincer grasp to check for any hidden items.
Next are the shoulders, arms, and back, and with every touch separated only by the fabric of her hoodie, her breathing goes steadily ragged. He doesn't like admitting it to himself, but knowing she must be getting worked up from the clinical touch alone does things to him.
Pushing away the unwanted thoughts, he sets aside the phone with the cracked and crumpled tissue he found in her pockets—no illegal possessions. Then, he crouches, before immediately regretting it when he finds himself at eye level with her pretty ass in her tight jeans. Since when does frisking get to him like this?
Nonetheless, he forces his intentions to remain professional when his palms rest on her thigh, encircling the limb at the top, and gliding down until he reaches her calf. He repeats the motion on her other leg, before finally daring to touch her hips.
“I’ll check your back pockets,” he mutters, then sweeps his hands over her fleshy backside. That’s when she suddenly jerks with an uncontrollable whimper.
“S-sorry!” she immediately apologizes, and Leon has to hold back a laugh.
Truly, this situation gets more ridiculous by the second, and he’s too tired to be angry anymore. He stands when he finds her back pockets empty, resisting the urge to give her ass a squeeze like a creep, before asking her to turn and face him.
Except, as she does so, she can't bear to look him in the eye apparently. All bravado seems to have gone out the window the moment he proceeded with an actual arrest. Typical.
“Open your mouth,” he murmurs more huskily than intended.
She finally meets his gaze as she obeys, and he feels his heart stutter at the oddly erotic sight. He clears his throat, peering into her mouth with renewed focus. “Lift your tongue.” And she does.
Once he's verified she's not holding anything between her teeth, he nods and gestures for her to close her jaw. If he spent another second looking inside the wet cavity he might be tempted to take her up on that sweet proposal.
Leon hones in his entire concentration to stop his mind from being a total pervert. Especially now that he must resume the pat down of the only two areas left: her chest, and her groin. Fantastic.
He starts with her torso, gliding his knuckles under her breasts in the professional motion he was taught to use. Then, he hears her audibly gulp when he presses intently on her sternum, his firm touch nestling right in the middle of her covered cleavage. Now he wishes she wasn't wearing the damn hoodie.
Focus, Kennedy.
With the awareness that he's getting ahead of himself, he makes the process of sweeping the front of her jeans so fast he misses most of it. But he can't risk doing something stupid, especially when he makes the mistake of gazing at her face and he finds her staring longingly at his lips, like she's hypnotized.
If he wasn't the wiser, he might be tempted to confront her about it. Maybe grab her jaw to force her gaze into his eyes, then he could lean closer just to call her a creep. And while he's at it, maybe even take her up on her crazy offer of spitting in her mouth if she’s so into it anyway...
Leon sighs in exasperation as he steps back, but this time it's directed at himself rather than at her. Here he is getting horny over some homeless girl with a cop fetish like some depraved idiot, as if she's not a walking red flag. This is what happens when he doesn't get laid often enough.
“Uh… Are we done?” she asks quietly, and that's when he realizes he’s just been standing in silence for the past ten seconds.
Instead of answering her question, he opens the car door and ushers her inside with one hand on her upper arm and the other on her head, giving her a needless shove.
“Get in,” he mutters coldly. “And I don't wanna hear a word out of you on the way. If you talk, I’m ordering you a psych eval. Are we clear?”
She nods as she sits on the hard plastic seat, and this time he can't resist being petty. He leans in, buckling her with his face a bit too close to hers than necessary.
“Use your words,” he whispers in a low tone that makes a shiver visibly run down her spine.
“Y-yes… Yes, Officer.”
She nearly trembles under his looming form, sending his ego flaring from the sheer effect he seemingly has on her. Finally satisfied with her answer, he makes a curt nod then closes the door with a loud thud that reverberates through the empty garage.
The car ride is quiet, the girl keeping her promise of not talking as Leon drives with shattered focus. He tries to concentrate on the road, but he can't help but feel her eyes on him in the rearview mirror, observing him intently. It's unnerving.
When they come to a stop at a red light on a quasi empty street, he finally cracks. “Will you stop staring at me?”
Her eyes widen as they meet his on the reflective surface, a look of embarrassment on her face as she tries to come up with an excuse.
“Sorry! I didn't— You’re just— Nevermind…” she ducks her face in shame.
“I’m just what?” he huffs, unwilling to let her slip.
She hesitates for a moment before murmuring under her breath. “You're just really handsome…”
For a second, Leon goes perfectly still, before he gasps out a sharp laugh, then shakes his head in exasperation. He doesn't want to admit the way his heart fluttered for a split moment at the compliment.
It’s not the first time he's been told he looks good, but her words still affect him more than they should.
“Yeah, well, enough ogling…” he mutters as nonchalantly as he can.
She goes quiet again, looking down at her lap as she uncomfortably shifts with her bound wrists. It’s not the most pleasant of car rides, that is certain. After a moment, she finally speaks again, her tone shy despite her earlier boldness.
“Um… Can I ask a question?”
He exhales, already bracing himself. “What?”
“You, um… You rejected my offer… Is it because I’m… ugly?”
The man frowns, eyeing her through the mirror with a tense jaw. “In case you didn't know, when you harass someone, your attractiveness doesn't matter—it’s still harassment.”
Her bottom lip juts out in the most serious case of a kicked puppy look he’s ever seen, and for a moment, he wonders if this is truly the same girl who crawled on her knees begging for his dick moments ago.
“Just say I’m ugly, I already know I am,” she grumbles.
He scoffs, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he tries to keep his temper in check.
“Are you fishing for compliments? Because you’re being awfully obvious.”
“I’m not!”
“Then quit talking nonsense! You know you're not ugly at all.”
That seems to shut her up, her eyes widening in surprise, as if the statement is news to her. When she's about to say something, however, he clicks his tongue. “No more talking. And no more staring either. Just… Behave, for God’s sake.”
The rest of the ride is silent until they reach the precinct and Leon drives into the sally port. Without a word, he turns off the engine and exits the vehicle, opening her door to get her out. So far, so good.
An officer waits for them by the garage door, a greying moustache on his upper lip. His hands are resting on his hips with a grin on his face once the blonde comes to a stand before him, the latter’s grasp wrapped firmly on the girl’s upper arm.
“What do we got here, Kennedy? Who’s our new friend?” the older man drawls playfully.
Leon huffs out a small chuckle, shaking his head as the gate slides open with a loud, electric buzz. He pulls her along, throwing a muttered comment to the other man.
“Didn't know you were working tonight, Prescott.”
“And miss this? No way.”
The younger man doesn't acknowledge the trailing eyes of the officer on the girl’s figure. Prescott has always been quite a bit of an asshole, and he’d rather avoid him as he takes her in. He’s not sure why he cares, but he would prefer to keep the yoi g woman’s offenses undisclosed from that kind of man. Unfortunately, the older officer is right on their tail, showing no signs of disinterest.
Once thoroughly searched and all her belongings removed, from her cracked phone to her dirty shoes, the girl is accompanied by a female officer to change into a bright orange jumpsuit. She looks utterly unimpressed by the color by the time she’s brought into booking.
Leon, who was writing his report in the meantime, straightens up when she comes into view, something inside him tightening at the sight of her in prison clothes.
A policewoman sitting behind the counter, sighs as she types on her keyboard, her voice bored and monotone when she speaks. “Alright. Name and date of birth.”
The young woman hesitates, her eyes flickering to her arresting officer for a second, before finally giving out her identity with slumped shoulders. He frowns at her demeanor, her name sounding as unfamiliar as any. But he files it in his mind with curiosity, before lingering on her young age—barely twenty-one and already causing herself trouble.
“Charges?” the other officer quirks an eyebrow at Leon.
“Disorderly conduct and interference with police duties.” He exhales through his nose, his jaw tight. With Prescott still standing nearby, the blonde feels the need to keep the details for the written report.
A basic medical and mental exam later, and the girl is ready to spend the night in a cell, accompanied by the same female officer who searched her, Jones.
Unsurprisingly, she was found with high levels of THC in her system, but Leon still finds her actions abnormal. Weed doesn't make you beg for a stranger’s dick, or at least he doesn't think so.
He pretends not to feel her eyes on him as she and the officer pass by, en route to be locked up. It’s only when her escort ushers her to walk faster that he finally looks up to watch her retreating back.
He moves before even realizing, walking swiftly until he reaches the two women.
“Hey,” he calls out once he stands before them, giving his colleague a tight-lipped smile before turning his attention to the younger woman. He’s not even sure what he came to say, but as she looks up at him expectantly, he simply wings it. “Just be careful… Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
Leon expects her to be disappointed with his lackluster preaching, but he’s surprised to see her smile—really smile—for the first time since they met.
“Thank you, officer,” she sighs dreamily.
Officer Jones rolls her eyes—it’s not the first time an inmate has fallen for Kennedy’s pretty blues, but there's no time to waste when there’s a schedule to follow.
“Alright, Juliet, why don't you walk a little faster? We have a job to do here.”
With a teasing look towards Leon, she drags the young woman ahead, the cell ward’s gate shutting behind them with an echoey slam.
The blonde’s head thuds on his pillow with a muffled thump. It's been a long shift—one he’s sure he won't forget for a long time. It all plays again in his mind, from the moment his eyes first landed on her uncanny expression, to seeing her escorted away in her orange jumpsuit. It makes his chest ache despite himself.
He doesn't know why he feels particularly empathetic over a woman that harassed him, but he can't help it. She was… cute. Even with her weird shenanigans. He still would rather not deal with her again, and internally prays that by the time he returns to the station she would have been bailed out. But he still spends longer than necessary thinking of her and her blown pupils.
Fuck, that frisk session got him good.
He sighs as he turns to his side with a groan, hugging a pillow against his chest in contemplation. He has so many questions about the girl, but he forced himself earlier not to look through her file and head home instead. Because he knew the second he would open that can of worms, he would go on a spree of information diving to find out everything he can about her. No, he needed to go home to sleep—which is what he is trying and failing to do now.
He just keeps wondering what drives a young person to act that way? He could have been some creep who would take advantage of her, someone like Eric Prescott… The thought of the man makes him uneasy. He never truly caught him doing anything nefarious, but he doesn't trust him, and he would rather he stayed away from the girl.
There he goes worrying about her for no reason again. Maybe he’s more depraved than he thought if he cares this much after a single unhinged encounter. But then again, it's not everyday a pretty stranger crawls to suck you off. He can't help but imagine how good it would have been if he let her. She did say she can deepthroat.
He squeezes his eyes shut when he feels the urge to reach into his boxers, a half erection making its presence known. He can't jerk off to her—that would not only be incredibly perverse, but what would it say about him if he's stroking it over his detainee? He's not that kind of man… He refuses to be.
The smell of coffee permeates the air as Leon strides into the precinct for another evening shift. Today, he’s spending most of it at the station to complete tedious paperwork and reports. So, he stretches his neck as he walks to the open plan office to make his way to his desk, greeting colleagues on his way with curt nods.
He’s not letting his thoughts get the best of him today. Not after the tormented sleep he suffered through where he had to fight himself and his own standards of morality. He is not a bad cop.
As if the universe heard his thoughts, he suddenly bumps into none other than Prescott whose eyes light up at the sight of him.
“Kennedy! Looks like our shifts are synching up again, huh?”
“Looks like they are,” he responds with a tight smile.
The moustached man looks him over for a moment, gaze glinting when he steps closer. “You know I talked to Jones earlier and we shared a good laugh… The pretty thing you brought in last night? Apparently she kept asking after you when Jones took her for the meeting with the judge.”
Leon tenses, the mention of the girl immediately putting him on alert. She must still be held in if no one got her out yet, and that causes him begrudging concern. But he can't show that to the asshole before him, so he forces a casual laugh, turning to pick up files from his desk.
“Oh, yeah? She must've gotten bored.”
“Right, bored…” the other laughs, his eyes filled with suspicion under his mirth. “Hey, you don't know her, do you?”
The blonde’s head snaps in his direction before he can stop himself. “Why?” he asks defensively.
“Oh, nothing... Just curious. She likes ya—it had me wondering.”
“If every detainee that asked for me to let them go liked me, I’d have a whole fanclub by now.”
“Well, you are Mr. Popular, aren't ya? Ladies—and some gents—seem to like you.”
Leon chuckles dryly, discomfort barely concealed on his features. “Whatever you say, P. You’re the boss.”
The grin on Prescott’s face makes the young man want to punch him. He exhales through his nose in an effort to recollect himself before waving the folders he has in hand with a tight smile.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me—lots of reports for me today.”
With that, he walks towards the printer, tension weighing heavy on his shoulders. He already had to suffer through a night of blue balls, and now this asshole is getting up his business. He hopes to busy himself and leave the other’s bullshit behind.
Later that evening, Leon is assisting with the booking of an arrestee, still completing the never ending tasks at the station. He’s in the middle of walking up to a colleague when a familiar cuffed figure passes by, escorted by Jones once again.
He stutters in his steps, then forces himself to not trip like an idiot as he deliberately slows his walk. From the corner of his eye, he sees her being taken to the line of phones on the wall and wonders why she is only waiting for now to make a call, after an entire day in the cell.
She doesn't notice him, too engrossed with pressing the number pad, her handcuffed wrists jingling with every move. It makes him sigh in relief that she appears oblivious to his presence, but then his curiosity peaks…
He hands the officer he intended to speak to paperwork he needed, then excuses himself pretending that his phone is buzzing in his pocket. He knows it’s ridiculous, and he knows he’s behaving like a fool over a crazy woman who probably gets arrested every week, but he can't help it—he needs to listen in on her conversation.
Pretending to quietly talk on his cell while facing away from the girl in orange, he feels utterly stupid as he puts on the despicable act, but it works when he hears her speak.
“Hey, it’s me,” she begins once the person on the other end is patched through. “Oh, Aaron? Um, is Max around? …Okay, well, it's like six already and I’ve been waiting all day to call. Can you wake him up?” A moment passes where the girl rolls her eyes, her foot tapping impatiently on the floor tile.
Leon, in his corner, is turned slightly just to take a discreet look at her. She looks awfully annoyed about the conversation, and it makes him frown. Though, he can't help but trail his eyes down her figure, lingering briefly on her ass. Why does she look good in prison clothes? But most importantly, since when did he turn into such a fucking perv? He’s no better than Prescott at this point.
After a while of waiting, the oblivious young woman smiles as she responds, but it looks strained. “Max! Hi! …Yeah, yeah, I know I said that but I didn't mean it, okay? I was wrong, Maxy, I miss you…” Her voice takes an overly sweet tone, but her face contorts into a frustrated expression. “Look, I’m gonna make it up to you if you come pick me up. It'll be just how you like...”
The blonde’s eyebrows shoot up in cartoonish fashion, his blue eyes darting around as he listens more closely. Who the hell is this Max? She’s clearly buttering him up to come get her.
“I knew you miss me too! Okay, so, um, I don't know if Aaron told you where this call is being patched from, but, uh… I’m kind of in jail, and I kind of need you to bail me out… Fucking hell, Max, with all the times I helped you out this is the least you can do!” she grunts, frustration breaking through her act. She then inhales deeply to regain her composure. “Okay, okay, you’re right… I’m sorry, Maxy, I promise not to leave like that again, I was so stupid.”
As he listens, Leon thinks that whoever she’s talking to has to be a serious dumbass to think her apology is genuine. But the fact she's still calling him for help has his jaw twitching. It's obvious she's offering favors in return for him bailing her out.
The girl’s face floods with sudden relief at hearing her desired response, and she puts on a teasing smile. “You won't regret it, baby, we’ll have so much fun, trust me… Just get here fast, okay?”
The conversation ends soon after, and Leon quickly moves away not to be spotted. He feels a bit bad about listening in, but it's not like her call isn't being recorded by the station anyways. Still, now he's left filled with curiosity—and frustration—about who this Max guy is and why the young woman seemed so reluctant to call him. He doesn't like this one bit.
Leon is zoned out as he absentmindedly stares at his desk’s wooden grain with his arms crossed. He’s been acting off the entire day, his thoughts whirring over that weird girl that seemingly took over his mind with her pretty eyes and crazy antics. He simply finds the whole situation so bizarre, and he hates how it fills him with both discomfort and begrudging interest.
He knows she said she remembers him from some previous encounter where she asked for road directions, but he can't for the life of him recall it. Especially considering the sheer number of people he deals with every day on his shifts. But, as much as he hates to admit it, the fact he allegedly left enough of a lasting impression on her that she remembered his name and then pursued him that parking garage boosts his ego. The entire encounter with her does, no matter how insane.
“Looks like your little fan is getting bailed out right now,” Prescott suddenly shows up, his signature shit-eating smirk plastered on his face. “Too bad, I was hoping she'd keep us company a bit longer.”
Leon does his best to hide his interest, faking a yawn of boredom as he stretches in his seat. “Oh, yeah? Good for her. I wish someone could bail me out of paperwork.”
The older man chuckles, shaking his head. “Shifts at the precinct are the worst. I’d rather be out there catching misbehaving little shits.”
The blonde internally scoffs. Only a weirdo would get excited about making arrests, but he’s used to colleagues saying unsavory things—it comes with his line of work.
Growing restless from Prescott’s presence and already concocting a plan in mind, he stands with deliberate unhurriedness, then puts on his phoniest apologetic smile. “Nature's call. Be back in a minute, P.”
He doesn't wait for the other’s answer as he strides away with a determined step.
He wants to find out who this Max guy is, and he has a feeling he won't like him.
Next chapter coming soon.
guys he's such a loser he's down bad already lmaooo
also d.c doesn't have a bail system but we're making shit up gang so please suspend your disbelief with me mwah
leon kennedy x reader, re4r!leon, smut, masturbation
leon’s all pent up from the gym and be wants you to see how he relieves his stress
leon doesn’t know where he got the balls to command you to your knees, meaty fingers pulling at the band of his sweats. his feet are shoulder width apart, hips angled to your face with dangerous blue eyes studying your eager gaze. his breath is heavy like he’s possessed with lust, though he can’t deny he’s also trying to conceal that he also needs to control his nerves. you dropped to your knees so fast, he didn’t think it’d be this easy.
he’s quiet when pulling out his cock, weighted and stiffening with every fondle of it. there’s a quake in his breath as he uses his other hand to pull his sweats a bit more below his hip. his body tingles from your pout, naturally stepping closer to you. you don’t miss the grip he has on himself before pulling a slow stroke.
as if it’s instinct, your hands rest on his thighs, gently massaging them. it’s a sight to see from down here. the glisten of his tanned skin, pink cheeks, his beanie protecting his face from his hair while he was at the gym, the rise and fall of his bare chest and taut nipples— drunk off of you.
“open your mouth,” leon instructs dryly before tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. he sighs from your obedience, rolling his eyes. he’s so in love with you. it’s only when he sees your lips try to purse around the blushing tip does he speak up. “you’re gonna catch it.” you know what that means: be obedient and keep your hands off of his work.
the look in your eye is studied by leon as you share a gaze. all the while leon slowly pumps the head of his cock. you definitely weren’t expecting not being able to suck him off— especially since he’s not the punishment type. but you dive deeper in his expression; it’s not an order, it’s an experiment. the smile he feeds you prompts you to do the same, becoming an active participant.
but you being you, you can’t help but to joke with him. “don’t you think you should let me suck it just a little bit? why do all that work?”
leon laughs, hand leaving the hem of his pants to rest on his chest. “no—“ he breaths out, smile fading at the sound of your laugh, lips parting instead. he jumps in his own hand, high and excited, “shit,” he bites his cheek.
“i didn’t know you could do that,” you chirp, eyes wide with amusement.
“yeah,” leon agrees, massaging his shaft a bit quicker. “me neither, you sound so pretty when you laugh.” again. another smile comes and goes as he works on himself, choking up a growl.
his hands work from the head to the base with a firm grip, wrist twisting as he stands hard in his palm. his hips chase his pumps, creating a rhythm that knocks him out of all conversation and sends his head back. his firm cock flinches in his hand, arm jiggling slightly with the extra weight he’s got from bulking this summer. instead of swearing, a mix of quietly slurred gurgles leave his throat.
you watch him carefully, body on fire from the scene. his tummy clenches with more intensity from every passing breath, whining when his index finger grazed the slick head of his dick. his head finally lifts, eyes back on you. “fuck,” he exhales. “i wanna see you spit on it,” he commands quietly.
his body visibly twitches as you stand on your knees, and positioning yourself to not spit, but drool on his aching cock. he uses your saliva to slick himself down, rubbing himself faster.
“keep your mouth open, i wanna— cum,” leon tries his hardest to keep a steady speaking voice but it shook the moment he got it out. “i wanna cum,” he repeats, more desperate, body slightly doubling over.
you sit on your heels once more, eager for him to fill your mouth. the hand that hung on his chest now holds the back of your head. you know you’re rule: no touching. but fuck, you really want to.
“i’m gonna cum,” he whispers, hand rushing to the base of his shaft to position his angry tip at your lips. “suck it,” he begs, tapping it against your bottom lip.
“i thought you wanted me to catch—“
“either i cum in your mouth or on your face— you’re gunna talk yourself into one of ‘em,” it’s supposed to be a playful threat but how bad can it be when both of you want it either way? “come on, just the tip.”
though you listen, lips wrapping around the head of his cock and doing as your told. your tongue teases the slit where prepped precum oozes, that familiar taste inviting you back to him. your lips are tight around his rosy tip, feeling you bob your head, making him rumble out a fit of whines. “holy shit. ah— shit.”
he doesn’t mean to thrust deep into your throat as he fills you up. in fact, he’s actually very sorry but doesn’t have the composure to pull out or remove his hand from the back of your head. your eyes water with each passing second, trying to keep your throat open so you don’t choke. leon makes it hard. you don’t mind, but your breath does. tapping his thigh alerts him to pull away and quick, stumbling back with a panting breath.
his body shivers him down from his high with a foggy brain that is trying its best to verbalize his worry for you. “fuck,” he checks on your coughing body, noticing your mouth messy and stained. “you okay?” he quizzes, hand trapping the one you have on his leg. “i’m sorry— i’m sorry if I,” he pants, “sorry if i hurt you, baby.”
now it’s you giggling, standing to your feet. “if you didn’t nearly kill me it means you didn’t like it.” leon’s smug grin gets wider at the end of your sentence, slipping you in his warm arms. “i don’t know what pre workout that gives you this much energy, but i think you should keep taking it.”
“is that so?” leon prods your side with his finger in a lighthearted manner, leaning his head towards you for a sweet kiss. your nod provokes him to pull you closer. “next time you may not be on your knees.”
“i always loved couples workouts. about time you asked me to one.”
i looove writing my smutty one shots but if we're talking favorites then it will be the series since they hold more of an emotional value in my heart
i don't wanna be basic but probably hofah and ygbo + desecrated (which is technically ygbo lol) because i really liked the horror aspect of it and it was a really cool challenge to write!
BUT i will say i'm also really excited about beyond priority, especially when we get to the good parts, it'll probably become one of my favorites too 💖
the things you write about leon is so sick and twisted it makes me wanna throw up. thats a lot of peoples comfort character and yall just making him a rapist and be proud of it. im sincerely saying this, please get some therapy. if you don't have money online ones are cheaper. if you don't have enough money for that too there are plenty of people in the internet who will willingly help you about these thoughts. i don't understand even the slightest like... getting aroused by raping... i understand cnc but this shit is insane. and from what i understand you not only get aroused by having someone rape you, you also get aroused by raping. i totally understand that you are probably and most likely a victim. but this is not helping and is not coping. and also this website is Tumblr and not ao3. in ao3 you can choose the tags yk? i saw your nurse Leon one when i was just searching about Leon. i could also be a victim and that would trigger me. please reconsider your own actions.
okay so you yapped a whole lot but i'm gonna put aside the armchair psychology where you insinuate i'm into irl r*pe for a sec and just try to understand your thought process
you read the dead dove warning in bold red letters, then the extensive cw list, all on a dead dove tagged post, then still clicked on 'read more'? i'm confused 🤔
i don't think i have to explain that fiction about pixel characters is different than real life, since i would think that's common sense i.e writing a slasher horror doesn't mean you want to murder people
but just for future ref, here's a pro tip: mute dead dove tags and block writers you don't like 🫶 it really is that easy 😊
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
this came from the idea of innocent sweet rookie being a secret devil :') i decided to make an audio halfway through writing hence the late night upload 😖
enjoy and please read the cw!
Audio link 🔊 (i will also indicate below where it starts)
word count: 3k
cw: dead dove, non-con, somnophilia, hospital sex, comatose fem!reader, mentions of medical injury (car accident), seizures, medical inaccuracies (probably), sadism, nipple play, tit slapping, spitting, pubic hair pulling, degradation, cunnilingus, PIV, face slapping, facial, leon is a terrible human, 2nd pov and 3rd pov.
thank you to my bestie @sammimi19 for proofreading and for being all around awesome ilysm mwah 💙
“Can you lift your head up for me? There you go…”
A gentle voice accompanied by gentle hands adjust your pillow after you complained about it sliding too low. Their owner has become your favorite nurse during your short hospital stay—a true angel if you've ever met one. Blue eyes bring you comfort as you trudge through the pain and trauma from a car accident that left you with many injuries.
A broken radius, a fissured clavicle, and a Traumatic Brain Injury. All thanks to your shitty driver of a friend who got away with a single broken pinky. How unfair is that?
Three days of incessant lab tests, x-rays, and everything in between just to assess your cognitive functions since your forehead got banged pretty bad. The ugly bandage wrapped around your cranium proves it.
The worst, however, are the seizures you have started sporadically experiencing. The doctors say it's normal, although there is a risk the condition becomes long term, or worse, that a particularly bad seizure could push you into a coma. You shudder at the thought.
“Would you like more water?” The kind nurse, Leon, asks with a soft smile and pulls you out of your spiraling.
You missed him last night when he wasn't on call, you kept asking after him like a directionless puppy. Thankfully, he said he’ll be around for the next multiple hours now that he came back for a shift—to your great delight.
“No, thanks… But, um, I can’t find the TV remote.”
You look around as you search for the device, the small television hung on the wall turned off. Cable is not exactly your favorite entertainment, but it beats boredom as your phone charges by the outlets.
“Hm… When did you last have it?” he asks as he begins to eye search, his gaze trailing from your bedside table to your sheets.
“Just before my nap. But I’m not sure where I put it.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll find it,” he reassures softly.
It’s so simple, and yet it makes your heart flutter the way his voice is so soothing, his entire demeanor radiating kindness and sincere care. Although, you’re sure his handsome looks contribute to your attachment as well. The perfect pairing between masculine, strong features like his broad shoulders and defined cheekbones, contrasting beautifully with his plump lips and doe eyes.
Circling around the bed while you internally berate yourself for ogling him, he crouches to look under. When nothing comes of it, he straightens back before reaching for the thin blanket draped over your frame with a shy expression. “May I?”
You nod with an equally shy smile, and he lifts the covers, patting a hand around the mattress with deliberate care not to touch you. His professionalism is probably the thing you have come to appreciate about him the most. Hell, he didn’t steal a single glance even as he helped you change your top the day prior—a true gentleman. One that made you feel at ease during your vulnerable state when he could easily not care. It’s particularly impressive considering his young age which you guess is no older than early twenties. He’s simply the sweetest.
“Ah, there it is,” he grins once he finds the remote poking from under your side. You blame the bandages covering your sore waist for not feeling it.
He retrieves it with utmost gentleness, then hands it to you gracefully, his dark blonde strands falling on his temple with the motion. His hair looks like the softest thing you’ve ever seen.
“Thank you, Leon,” you murmur in sincere gratitude.
He smiles, his rose dusted cheeks lifting endearingly. “My pleasure.”
You’re about to make a comment about watching yet another episode of Family Feud, when you suddenly sense a weird flavor on your tongue. You swallow, grimacing at the taste as it gets stronger—metallic, but you're not bleeding. Then, you feel pins and needles along your legs, the sensation causing you to gasp in panic. You already know what's coming.
Leon seems to notice immediately as he moves closer with a frown, hands hovering over you like he’s ready to catch you if you fall. “Seizure?” he asks with concern.
“I-I…” your voice stutters, nausea settling in your guts as your vision blurs. You’re not sure how fast it happens, but one moment you're conscious, and the very next you black out.
With your awareness gone, you’re not awake to feel your body convulse and spasm in a grand mal seizure, your muscles cramping and your eyes rolling back.
The nurse moves quickly to rotate you onto your side, discarding the sheets tangling with your limbs and pulling down your collar for better airflow. His movements are practiced and professional, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration.
Then, with pursed lips, he begins to time the seizure on his watch. The protocol is clear; if it lasts longer than five minutes, it becomes status epiliticus—a life threatening condition.
The first minute passes, then the second, then the third. Your body continues to shake, and his ice blues continue to flicker between your contorting shape and the ticking time on his wrist. By the fourth minute, he’s already reaching for his radio, jaw tight as he waits for the worst. Five minutes. He makes the call without hesitation.
“Code Blue, room 206.”
After Lorazepam and Levetiracetam failed to stop the violent seizure, the woman was transported to the ICU for an induced coma through Propofol. It was the only way to preserve her life as her body wouldn't stop spasming.
Now, with her unconscious form strapped to various monitoring machines as she lays on a bed, her favorite nurse stands by her side in a dimly lit room. It’s nearly midnight already, and the lights are turned low to preserve the natural circadian rhythm of the human condition—something to help her comatose brain.
Leon peers down at her with an impassive expression. He remembers the way her face lit up earlier when he came in to start his shift, she was so happy to see him again. He knows he tends to be the favorite with his gentle approach and disarming look, and it’s exactly his goal. He loves to see everyone melt the second he offers a smile, it feeds his ego like no other.
The young man circles the bed with that same neutral look, until he comes to a stand right beside her head. She’s pretty—he got lucky with this one. Her emergency state happened out of pure coincidence, but he isn't one to complain after the coma ward was left dry of any potential candidates for weeks. He had grown tired of checking the list of patients only to find seniors and children. It's so hard to get what you want sometimes.
When he reaches a hand to brush over her cheekbone softly, his touch is as tender as it always is, before he gives her face a light smack that makes a sound that causes him to crack a smile. This is about to be fun.
With the door locked and the hospital quiet, he knows he won't be interrupted during his work. Although, the thrill of being caught always makes things more enticing.
He rolls up the long sleeves peeking under his scrubs one by one in a clinical manner, not a moment of hesitation or doubt. Then, a whirring noise fills his ears when he readjusts the bed’s positioning, lifting it slightly so the woman is half sitting for his viewing pleasure. He then reaches to roll down the covers off her body swiftly, letting them bunch at the edge of the mattress.
All that separates them now is the thin, crinkly fabric of her hospital gown.
Leon doesn't lift it right away, he just stands at the foot of the bed and inhales a deep breath. The smell of disinfectant fills his nostrils and he closes his eyes. He’s already getting hard from the scent alone. Oh, the memories of every secret encounter… It brings a serene smile to his handsome face.
With a featherlight touch, he traces her ankle like he has all the time in the world, letting his hand move higher and higher until it reaches the edge of the gown.
“Will you let me take a look?” he smirks, pretending for a moment that he will actually receive a response. Sometimes, he likes to act as if they actually want it.
He takes her comatose silence as consent and nods in satisfaction. “Very well, then.”
Leon pushes the fabric up her thighs, then her hips, her stomach, and all the way up her chest. Now he can see her breasts displayed for him and the diaper adorning her crotch. Cute.
“You were so shy when I was helping you change yesterday… Now you’re showing it all to me. You’re shameless.”
He chuckles, moving to her side to inspect her tits a bit better. First, a light caress of his right palm, and then a squeeze, groping the flesh like he owns it. Then, with both hands, he tweaks her nipples between index and thumb, rolling and pulling at the fragile flesh until they peak.
Suddenly, he slaps the two soft mounds hard, the sound reverberating across the silent room only filled with quietly beeping machine noises.
“You know, for someone always acting so sweet, you have some really slutty tits… I wonder how many have played with them before me.”
Another slap, sharper this time, until his handprint leaves a mark to his great satisfaction. He would spend more time on her chest if peeking under her padded underwear wasn't making his dick twitch with anticipation.
For this, he climbs on the bed and kneels between her legs after pushing them apart. He peers down at her with excitement. She looks so stupid with her parted lips and closed lids, but he likes it when they're vulnerable.
A ripping noise emanates from the cotton resting on her hip as he tears the seams of the diaper on both sides with strong hands. When he pulls it open, he's almost disappointed to find the inner padding dry—it’s fun to shame them for pissing themselves when they can't control it. He sighs and rolls the disposable underwear tight before discarding it on the floor. He has more important things to pay attention to now; her pretty cunt.
Leon leans closer, blue eyes glinting with excitement as his hands come to frame her spread open pussy. It looks so cute with the light tuft adorning its mound, it gives him cuteness aggression and he can't resist pulling at the wiry hairs. If she was awake, she would yelp, but all he gets is a little breath hitch on her still stupidly peaceful face.
He sighs in contentment as he pinches the flesh hard enough that the skin caught between his pincers loses some color before it refills once he releases it. He just needs to be careful not to leave marks for other staff to notice, to his great dismay. If it was up to him, he’d carve his name on her ass with a scalpel just for the fun of it.
The nurse’s thumb trails down between her slit to rest at the top of her clit, giving it an experimental rub. The skin is too dry for the movement to be easy, so he doesn't hesitate to spit right onto the nub to make it glisten, biting his plump bottom lip at the sight.
“A slutty pussy too… Bet it gets used pretty often, huh? I know I would every chance I get,” he snickers.
With the lubrication of his saliva, he’s able to easily draw precise little circles on her bundle of nerves, noticing the way her breathing gets a bit faster the more he goes on. He spits more whenever her clit dries, rubbing and rubbing with utter fascination as his cock leaks steadily in his pants. He loves to make them wet for him. It proves to him they're all secret sluts who enjoy getting their pussies played with even in their sleep.
“Are you gonna cum, little whore? I’m sure you will if I keep going, your cunt is starting to soak like it's begging for it,” he coos in his gentle voice.
He then brushes her entrance to collect the slickness that started to collect there just to prove his point, using that moisture to continue playing with her swelling bud, all puffy from stimulation. The increasingly fast beeping of the EKG is yet another indication of his success at pleasuring her as her heartrate quickens. It feeds his ego deliciously.
When her cunt involuntarily twitches, he can't stop himself anymore from leaning in just to seal his lips around her sensitive clit like he's tired of teasing himself. He suckles harshly, not caring if it's too much or if it hurts—it’s not like the bitch can stop him anyway. He then spreads her labia further with his thumbs just to get full access, flicking his tongue on the soft flesh vacuumed into his mouth incessantly.
The spasming of her clit and the fluttering of her hole lets him know she's cumming like a needy slut, her breathing stuttering audibly. He moans, biting lightly on the nub, just enough for her pussy to jerk but not enough to injure. He loves every moment of her body reacting to him even in her unconscious state.
“Good girl,” he hums against her folds, slurping her sweet slick into his mouth with deliberate slowness. He’s like a sommelier relishing in the most refined of drinks.
Once done, he leans back to lift his head, leaving a kiss on each of her nipples. He crawls over her properly as he lowers his stretchy pants just enough for his throbbing erection to peak out. There's only so much teasing he’s willing to do before taking what he wants.
Leon notches his tip into the sleeping woman’s glistening hole, then sheathes himself fully inside in one efficient thrust. No need to let her adjust or prep her prior for his fat length, if she has a complaint she can wake up to express it.
“Fuck…” he moans at the feel of her tight heat hugging him so snuggly it's borderline hard to move. She's probably not wet enough for the brutal fucking that will ensue, but he’ll be damned before pulling out now.
He starts gaining rhythm, his thrusts matching the beat of her heartrate. With every beep, his cockhead nudges her cervix in a way he's sure she would whine about if she was awake. Too bad for her she can't do much about it.
“You like this?” he pants, his voice whinier now that he's drowning in pleasure. “You like your greedy hole filled? Shit— I see the way you look at me… I know you fucking want this.”
The blonde receives no response from the woman’s jostling body that jerks with every slam of his hips, his hands planted firmly on either side of her waist like he’s fucking into a blowup doll rather than a person. The sight of her split open on his cock, taking it without so much as a fluttering of lashes makes him groan louder, his sadistic tendencies flaring.
“Good fucking whore. Knew I could count on your little pussy to open up for me... But then again, it’s not like you have much of a choice, do you, little slut?”
A thick glob of saliva splatters on her cheek when he spits on her face crudely—no kisses for the fleshlight. “Pretty bitches like you always act all high and mighty until your pussy’s getting raped. Then suddenly you're creaming on cock like a depraved prostitute…”
Slapping her face hard enough her head lolls to the side, he spits on her again just to see the wetness land on her lips in the perfect picture of degradation. Then, he slows his thrusts just enough to reach for his phone in his pocket, then snaps a picture, the flash illuminating her sleeping features with a click.
“Fucking perfect… If it were up to me, I’d keep you sleeping here for as long as this pussy is still tight… Just so that I can pound her everyday—ngh—I’d knock you up if I could, little slut.”
🔊🔊🔊
His moans grow louder and louder until he has to muffle them into her neck, his rabbitting hips making the old hospital bed creak repeatedly along with the noise of clapping skin. He can feel himself about to burst, even more so when her breathing stutters like she's also on the edge, but he refuses to touch her clit again. A single orgasm is more than enough generosity for a comatose fuckhole.
“Ngh— Son of a bitch…” he whines as he nears the point of no return, gyrating deep inside her then forcing himself to pull out just in time.
Then, without stalling, he moves up to jerk his wet cock in front of her face, making pathetically animalistic noises as he cums obscenely on her sleeping features. A thick load of spend coats her cheeks, nose and lips, with a spurt covering her eye without her even flinching.
With a heaving chest, the young man leans back to see his masterpiece, a beautiful illustration of abstract art on a pretty face. “Perfect…” he murmurs with a sigh.
He doesn't bother cleaning her up right away as he moves off the bed to tuck himself unhurriedly. He then gives her wet pussy a condescending slap—as well as snapping another naughty picture—before slipping a new diaper onto her hips. Finally, he pulls her gown back down her body, and tucks the sheets around her with his usual gentle care.
If not for the cum on her cheeks, no one would guess the sleeping woman was just raped by the hospital’s favorite nurse with the way her heartrate has returned to normal, no sign of distress apparent. The thought makes him smile in pride—he’s gotten so good at this.
After taking a final photo of her desecrated face, he finally begrudgingly wipes the semen and spit that had started to dry, leaving her skin spotless despite his inner protests.
“I think you looked better when you were marked by me like a sweet cum rag… But there's always tomorrow, right?” he teases like she would respond to his joke with a shy giggle.
Except of course she doesn't. She stays completely still, entirely calm—the perfect doll just for him.
disgusting... me next 😵💫
somnology because he's studying her coma with his dick haha get it? anyways... medical professionals please don't judge me too hard i really tried my best 😭
