🖤 ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ 🖤

A world he wanted to protect you from, not drag you into the pit with him. 

But you were stubborn and independent, a quality of yours he admired so greatly, weak to you and that determined face as you declared, ‘I’m not just gonna wait in a hotel for you Kennedy, I’m coming, end of story, consider it motivation to finish this even faster.’ 

Now look at what's happened.

“I know sweetheart, I’m getting you to a hospital, Bec’s already analyzed the samples, she’s gonna get you patched up,” muttered through clenched teeth, struggling to believe in the comforting words he’s blanketing you in. Replaying the scene of an uncovered plant flowering before your very eyes before a pink mist is blasted into your face a moment later. The sound of your yelp almost made his heart stop, turning from the computer terminal he’d been downloading files from into his flash drive to see you wafting the cloud surrounding your skull away. 

Pulled to the present once more when you whimper a sound that sounds less like pain and more like pleasure and with knuckles white from the force, you pull at his collar, you husk, “no hospital. Home. Take me home, please.” 

You feel so desperate, body feeling like a raging inferno even the wind chill he’s creating does little to dull the flames. Perspiration drips down your temple as you cling to him, fighting the urge to nip at his earlobe when you draw closer for him to hear you, “Please Leon, the antidote Rebecca is making.. It'll take too long. Feel like I’m gonna burn up, you know what this is.” 

And he does, Rebecca’s decomposition analysis of the substances submitted came back quickly, before he’d even carried you out of the ‘abandoned’ facility. His skin warms all over again at the recollection of Rebecca’s descriptions and list of symptoms and side affects, how it wasn’t their typical form of BOW but to be used against politicians expressly because of the sort of.. conduct the flowery scent would encourage through select engineering. 

Leon should’ve come alone, as he always does; that he should’ve been more cautious. He wishes he hadn’t been so easily swayed by you, specifically, this would be easier to deal with if it were anyone else. Easy to detach himself and not feel the guilt that threatens to swallow him whole now. 

Still, a hospital could help, could make this easier; maybe even have something to counteract the effects to spare him the turbulent relationship with dubious consent. The line of thought makes Leon debate maintaining his course instead of acquiescing again before you let out a pained whine and the most sinful whimper of his name to follow. 

“Shit, okay. Okay honey, I’ve got you,” and when the quiet, satisfied mewl slips from your lips, the pit of guilt yawns wider as carnal desire begins to also rage within him. 

— 

“Off, off, take it off,” your voice laden with desperation and it shows as you fumble with his belt while he shrugs his jacket off and peels away the second skin he called a compression shirt. 

“Easy sweetheart, easy,” comes his gentle cooing in complete contrast to the frenzied disrobing of you both. Nipping tentatively at places that made you arch and sucking at sensitive skin that threaten to leave marks in his wake and you do the same in turn as Leon herds you both toward the couch. Unlatching himself from you as the backs of his calves hit the couch, face now level with your mound and he greets your covered sex with an affectionate kiss. Something tender and familiar despite your relationship with him being coworkers that held the occasional conversation by a water cooler at worst and a friendly conversation over the phone at best. 

His fingers splay over your skin, thumbs grazing over supple flesh and the delicate article of clothing that feels offending to you the longer it remains. Leon places another kiss to your body, lower this time as he settles to the floor, back leaning against the couch. Another chaste brush of his lips earns a displeased whine from you, the contact grazing your clit in a way that feels mocking in your current state and your hands come down to cup just below Leon’s ears, “stop teasing, please.” 

“It’s alright, m’gonna take care of you like I said I would,” even still, he heeds your plea, straightening his spine that puts him at eyeline with your abdomen, just below your belly button. 

If you were more clearheaded, you’d think his treatment was charming, would certainly feel flustered by the adoration that feels reflexive to him. His lips press into the soft flesh just over your womb before blazing a trail of heated nips and open mouthed brushes of his lips from your pantyline to the space where your hip meets your pelvis before hooking his index fingers into the band and tugging them downward. Biting at the overly tender flesh of your inner thighs as you part them enough to let the lacy material fall away before guiding you to hike your leg over his shoulder. Pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee before running the flat of his tongue up in one broad swipe with unwavering eye contact. 

You sigh when he takes your hips and cants them towards his face, placing a tender kiss to your mons. Leon’s silent as he leans his head against the seat cushions, sinking lower into a comfortable position while pulling your body forward until your knees rest on either side of his face. He figured this would be easier, safer, less violating, under the circumstances; pleasure and relief provided to you alone. 

Leon would be lying, however, if he said he hadn’t thought about this with you before, evident in his actions that warm his blood pleasantly. It wasn’t like either of you hadn’t gone to dinner a time or two together, however uneventful those times had been; though, he wonders now if another would’ve ended like this. 

Especially as you comply with wordless ease, knees dipping in the plush cushions of your couch as your hands find purchase on the frame of its back. Curling your fingers and letting your head loll with a breathy moan ripping from your throat when he’s quick to bury his face into your soaked slit. Nose nudging testingly against your clit at first before his tongue delves into your cunt, palming your ass to press more of your weight into him. 

“F-fuck, Leon,” all but purring his name as he laps at you greedily, lewd slurping and slick clicking filling the space, your thighs trembling with effort over a losing battle to not come undone again his tongue already before long. Hips twitching as a jolt of electricity rockets up your spine, bucking before grinding down helplessly on Leon’s face when he adds to your stimulation with his pleased hum. More vocal than usual but you can’t even fully blame the effects of whatever that flowery mist earlier was, not really, considering it only heightening your usual receptiveness to whatever possible relationship coworker wanted with you.

Rewarding him with satisfyingly saccharine suspires and allowing him to watch in real time how he ruins you. Whole bodied trembles wrack your form as Leon drags you headlong into a short lived orgasm, a relief that felt far too fleeting, before you grew frantic at the sensation. Ruining it yourself, completely by accident, when you reach down to cup the curve of his skull as if Leon even remotely planned to draw away from you. 

Crystalline hues alight in the lowlight and his pupils blown wide like a solar eclipse on a summer day, making him look as if he were the one fighting off some foreign agent ravaging his system. It sends a wave of heat through your body once more, that same consuming warmth that threatens to burn you alive but it feels sweeter now, more manageable. 

A cacophony of lewd, wet slurping, sweet moans and muffled hungry groans filling the room before a cry out in frustration slows the symphony. Delicate digits knotting in his perfectly messy sandy blond locks, roots darkened with a smattering a gray over time, and tugging gently while you desperately grind down onto his face, “More Leon, please, not enough, I’m so hot, I’m sorry but I need you, please please please.” 

Leon only hums in affirmation, falling into the frenzy with you, losing himself to a lust he hasn’t known before, a chuckle sparking in his chest but not carrying any further because as if he could leave you unsatisfied now. The vibration of it, however, against your sensitive slit makes you shake needily, trembling overtop him in the beginnings of another climax. Hastily finding your own hurried rhythm to ride out the feeling this time that he adapts to with ease. 

Grabbing handfuls of your ass to assist you in chasing working through the high, assuring this one won't be ruined prematurely while groaning at every gasp and mewl his efforts are rewarded with. 

But even then it doesn’t feel like enough, the euphoria feeling like it fades all too quickly despite already building into another it should’ve cascaded into with little effort. You’re already beginning to feel that telltale sting of overstimulation, clit throbbing in time with the aggressive hammering of your heart and you pant for breath you can’t seem to catch. 

Everything is so overwhelming, even the humid puffs of his breath over your feverish skin feels like a dissolving heat from a source you’ve stepped away from. You feel like you’re burning from the inside out, like the inferno will consume you at any moment if that tightly wound coil doesn’t snap again soon, chasing a high more fleeting than illicit drugs, “s’close, s’close baby please.” 

But your begging doesn’t go unheeded, the need in you seeping into Leon as deft digits alter from kneading the fat of your ass to pulling at the underside of your cheek to expose more of you to him, prodding at your neglected entrance teasingly. Arranging you slightly to accommodate the slight change in position, spit and slick coating his index and middle finger as he parts your folds, coyly lapping between the ‘v’ they form as he drinks in the sight of your divine cunt before he finally slips inside. 

The way you clamp around him is sinful and he can’t help the throatier groan that rumbles against his ribcage and your sopping slit. Though still he tends to you, scissoring and curling his digits within you with fervor, guided by every gasp and moan you give him until he finds where you need him most.

And even once you soak his face once again with his name tumbling from your lips like a whispered prayer, he doesn’t stop nor slow, does nothing to show he wants to work you down but instead prolongs the well earned rapture. 

Alternating between flicking and circling his tongue methodically and sucking at your swollen bundle of nerves while pressing the pads of his fingers against that spongy space along velvet walls until you’re gushing on his face. You don’t have the words to warn him, voice stalling in your throat for a long moment before a gasp rips from your lungs and you moan unabashedly in relief as pleasure finds you for another instance among the many you’ve lost count of by now. 

The feverish haze somewhat abated thanks to his valiant efforts as you ride the calming waves of pleasure until your hips slow from jerky ruts to leisurely rolls along Leon’s wet muscle. Gradually feeling marginally better without the aid of Rebecca’s antidote as you come down, the effects of whatever you’d been inhaled waning alongside the ebbing flow of your orgasm. 

Finally pulling away from your coworker after you’ve regained most of your bearings. Stepping back as you chance a glance down at Leon, facial expression something akin to blissful as he bears the glistening mixture of his saliva and your slick on his handsome face. You glance away from him with a clear of your throat, missing the way he paws subtly at the tenting material of his jeans as he pulls his knees higher to hide it a bit better.

“T-thank you, super cop,” you find it in yourself to tease, need to, so the proverbial bucket of cold water doesn’t douse you detrimentally. The gravity of what’s transpired sure to send you within a shell of embarrassment because, really, this was entirely your fault— meddling in an affair you’ve no part in as a researcher and not a field agent. 

You decided to search for your discarded clothing, finding your panties first to slip them on hastily in a bid for some decency despite what’s transpired. Chancing another glance at him as Leon does the same, tugging on his shirt after moving to sit atop the cushions of your couch.

He always bore an intentionally disheveled look, the sort that told you he cared about his appearance but not obsessively so, but you find this aftermath alluring. His hair tousled and pupils blown wide with a glossiness to his full lips that dares bid your core molten once more. Arms pulling through the short sleeves first, corded muscle of his well toned abdomen tensing and rolling with the movement before its hidden away beneath the fabric that’s soon tugged over it despite how it adheres tightly to his form. 

Silence blankets between you both, feeling tense before long as Leon combs his fingers through his hair in an unconscious habit. He clears his throat but says nothing to follow, something that makes your heart sink slightly, resting your forehead in the web of your palm to hide your face. 

You occupy yourself instead, searching for a pair of comfortable sleep pants, a pair that’s baggy to give the feeling of being swallowed up because the floor beneath you won’t grant you that mercy. 

Should you apologize? You should, right? For coming along, for insisting so at that only to become a liability and cause this whole thing; though you don’t inherently regret the action, only the circumstance in which it came about. You fold your arms over the other, resting just below your chest and your fingers ghost over your ribcage, a comforting touch for yourself as you turn towards him again. 

“Leon?” You start, taking a few steps towards him as he gives you his gaze. He’s slouched into the cushions of your couch, neck craned back as if he were staring at the ceiling before his spine straightens. Confidence wanes quickly despite the softened look on his features instead of the hard lines you’d once thought had become the natural resting expression. 

“Would you wanna get dinner with me?” His tone is smooth although it’s lighter, deeper notes pitched slightly higher; a tactic you’d once learned was used to be more disarming and soothing in moments of distress. You’d learned well over the years that Leon was adept at comforting those around him. 

The question confuses you though, that must be evident on your features with how Leon scoffs a mirthless laugh as he shakes his head slightly and casts his gaze to the floor beneath his feet. His fingers interlace, pads of his thumbs swiping over the knuckles as they dangle between his spread legs, fringe hanging in his face forming a curtain and hiding his expression away from you. 

Is he the one feeling guilty for what’s happened? Of course he did, why would you think otherwise? If you knew anything about Leon, (which you certainly felt that you did despite the constant desire of wanting to learn more, to grow closer) of course he’d feel responsible. 

You sigh, expression contorting into one of disbelief, huffing a delicate sound that bordered an airy laugh as you shake your head at him. Bare feet padding quietly closer to him, near soundless as you surprise Leon with your proximity, crouching in front of him. 

His thoughts are loud, tormenting, something you’ve seen before in the times he’s spaced out in meetings and mission debriefs. Haunted by the past and you refuse to become one of his ghosts, resolute as your hands come to cradle his jaw. 

Your touch is simple yet loving, thumb stroking along his cheek when he gives you his gaze, the gesture keeping him from painting on that unbothered, stoic facade. He looks like that twenty one year old rookie cop Leon believes died in raccoon city, the one you’ve only seen in photos from his file. 

“I’d love to,” releasing him once the tension bleeds from his form and his shoulders sag in relaxation, features unburdened and softened sweetly. He almost looks boyish to you now, the comparison to just a few moments prior making that fact all the more dizzying. Who didn’t love a little duality? 

Not that it matters, none of it matters when Tomura lets himself into your life and he makes it clear he has no intention to leave. Demonstrating that fact each time he sneaks into your apartment. 

Or your friend's apartment. Or your childhood home when you visit your parents out of town. 

Wherever you go, he’s always there. Always finds you. It’s almost comforting. Familiar when you stir from a light sleep at the barely audible creak of your door, already partially awake because, by now, you can recognize his footsteps even when they don’t make a sound. 

You should really be alarmed when you become aware that you aren’t alone in your home, especially when you know the uninvited guest was a wanted criminal. But you aren’t, haven’t been since the first day you’d brought him home after a bad fucking day at the office. Having met a random man at a hole in the wall bar you wouldn’t normally go to but you knew if you’d gone anywhere else you were likely to run into someone you knew. 

You’d just wanted to be alone, then as the liquor burned your throat and warmed your chest you’d wanted anything but. Choosing him because he’d been a quiet constant in the seat one over from you, close but not too close. 

And that’s how Tomura has always stayed. Close but not quite, even as he slips into your room now, closing the door behind him. Shedding his crimson duster to hang on the hook on the back of your door that you’d put there specifically for him; only for him. 

Shoes already kicked off at the front door after only four times of complaining about the mud his ratty sneakers tracked through your house. Though he still makes his mess, bunching his shirt to tug over his head and toss to some corner of your room he’ll grumble over as he searches for it in the lowlight of just before dusk. 

His pants and boxer briefs crumpled in a pile at the foot of your bed before he climbs inside, wrenching the covers away from you just to hear you whine. Tomura already knew you were awake, you’re always awake by the time his shirt comes off. 

“Why are you wearing that?” Voice coated with a tinge of annoyance for the extra layer he has to shed before he can feel the warmth of your skin. Though there’s a bloom in his chest that tugs the corner of his lip into a smirk as his hands carefully slip beneath the shirt, his shirt, to run up your torso. Straddling your knees to appreciate the curve of your ass as he does so, smirk splitting wider at the way you arch when the fabric pools at his wrists the higher upwards he ventures before pulling it over your head completely. 

“Because it’s cold Tomura.” 

You turn your head to look at him from the corner of your eye, face still in your pillow as you come back to the mattress. His index dips beneath the seam of your underwear, tracing along the swell of your cheek until it reaches the elastic band that hugs around your pelvis, snapping the band. 

“But only panties?” 

Tomura stops you from turning with his palm settles to the center of your back, intent to keep you in this position for what he wants to do. You groan, opting to prop up on your elbows instead as he starts to work the lace down your legs. 

“I’m not gonna wear pants in my own house, especially not while I sleep.” 

That makes him chuckle, like he already wasn’t more than aware of that with each visit. He knows you don’t like the feeling the fabric causes to your skin. How it bunches when you toss and turn in the night, always settled in a way that wakes you from an already restless slumber. 

“Not like you get much sleep when I’m here anyway,” his voice drops an octave, velvet sin as he adjusts your bodies with ease. Lifting your hips as he presses his pelvis to the plump flesh of your backside, semi-hard cock brushing your sex before it pokes at the apex of your thighs. 

You sigh instantly, lids fluttering at the feel while your body relaxes, choosing not to respond to his statement. It was true anyway, you didn’t count the intermittent naps between his desire throughout the night. He liked to make the most of his time and you liked the unmitigated pleasure he provided, a giving lover despite his selfish tendencies. 

His breath catches in his throat for a moment, swelling his chest as your legs spread to let him slot his cock between your folds. Rutting lazily like he wants to re-familiarize himself with you, hardening with each stroke he punctuates with a soft exhale. Fingers gripping into the fat of your ass as your wetness grows, speeding up the process by snaking one hand around your front to find your clit. Index and pinky fingers spreading your lips while his middle and ring roll methodical circles into the hardening bud. 

Pressing with intent to pull more pretty sounds from you that your pillow can’t muffle, chuckling as you mewl when his flushed tip catches at your entrance. Tomura grasps the base of his cock to keep himself aligned, moving back to your hip to pull you back into him as he shoves in one thrust to make you moan. You like the burning stretch, even with some more foreplay than usual, the sudden fullness urging you to fist the ends of your pillow. 

His pace is slow at first, long strokes because he likes to watch how you take him before he’s lost in the pleasure and overtaken with the need to cum. Watching like he’s mesmerized by the silvery strings your cunt coats him in before Tomura wants to be closer. Changing his rhythm to quick ruts paired with frantic swiping to your clit to force your first orgasm from you, slowing back to his leisurely speed once more. Leaning away once more to admire the creamy ring that’s gathered at the base of his cock. 

You know he’s teasing for now, it means he has time to stay tonight. Secretly it makes you happy, makes you smile into the plush material you clutch for dear life when he cants his hips and runs his fingers along your spine to put you into the arch he likes. 

The room fills with the sticky sound of your sopping cunt greedily taking everything Tomura has to give, his grunts mingling sinfully with the clap of skin on skin. Your moans a sweet background noise for him as his fingers thread into your hair to pull you from your pillow, your walls convulsing around him tightly that steadily has him losing his composure. Gritting his teeth while sweat slicks his ivory locks to his temples and throat as that telltale tightness in his lower abdomen guides him now. Leaning down to to mold to your body as he takes on his faster pace once more. 

Tomura drags you to the edge again as he chases his release, sigh exhaled heavily from his nostrils to fan against the nape of your neck as you arch into him. Pressing your chest into the mattress like a feline giving a full-bodied stretch as he pulls your hips to him in time with each of his pointed thrusts. 

He’s close, hastening the hurdle to his demise with the thought of filling you full, of giving you a tangible reason to eagerly await each of his visits. Tomura lets his hand slide from your hip to the soft pouch of your lower abdomen, carefully pressing four fingers into the flesh and his eyes roll at the thought of it being solid. 

Of a belly round with the child he put there. 

Tomura’s teeth sink into your shoulder to quiet his groan at the thought. Shuddering overtop you as his hips stutter with his release while you moan, long and relieved, muffled into your pillow as he paints velvet walls in sticky white. Rutting slowly into you, the resounding clap of his pelvis into the fat of your ass quieted to only the squelch of your full cunt, to prolong the feeling of closeness and the fleeting euphoria before he has to leave again.