Lissa

He was gone for two weeks. Before he left, he made sure to explain what he could. A vague location, whether it was easy or not, stealth or close combat. In the moment, his reassurances helped you remember that he'd be safe. He even gave you Sherry's number to call if he wasn't home by the day he promised.

Luckily, he arrived right on time, but what he came home to only startled him a little. The house was as usual—perfectly clean and organized, kept as it had been—except for the fact that the living room had been turned into a... sleep area. Kind of. He stared at the couch being cozied like a bed, the way you had your laptop and notebook laid on the coffee table. It looked like the bedroom should.

"Honey? I'm home!" He called out, and within seconds, you came running down the hall, already tearing up as you jumped onto him. He barely caught you, lowering to his knees as you fell completely limp in his grasp, a small sound near a choked whimper leaving your lips.

He didn't ask immediately, just letting you breathe and keeping you close as he could. You sniffled, and before you could stop, a sob ripped from your throat, like a wave of.... something tight and restricted that you had been holding onto for far too long. He curled tighter around you, kissing your temple.

"I missed you, baby." He whispered softly. "I hate not being with you." He sighed.

"I missed you so much more." You sniffled, gasping faintly as you hiccupped.

"Wanna tell me about what's wrong?" He asked quietly. "I know I was gone, but... you don't normally react like this." He mumbled, pulling back to gently wipe your cheeks and cup your face in his hands.

"I just.." you hiccupped a little, swallowing harshly. "I got scared."

He paused, raising a brow as he felt you begin to calm down, your tears slowing. He let your words hang, struggling to decipher what they meant. Scared? Of what? Him dying? He chuckled lightly at the thought. "There's no reason to be afraid. I'm good at my job, and I'll always come home to you."

"I don't doubt your skills, but... you were gone for so, so long. I was worried you'd left, or.."

"Left?" He questioned, interrupting your explanation. You looked at Leon, heart dropping in realization. Of all the things Leon knew, you had yet to explain certain... troubles that lingered within your being.

"Me. I was—I don't know, I guess I got scared that you'd gotten tired of me and went on to find someone else but you'd lied and told me it was a mission when it was really you leaving me because I'm too much." Your words came out rushed, and Leon could watch the color rising to your cheeks, fear and shame filling your body in a violent warmth that made you scoot out of his lap because the touch of his warm skin had begun to burn.

"Woah, why—what—why would I ever do that?" He asked, hesitating as he reached out for you again. He pulled his hands back, brows furrowing. "I couldn't be paid to leave you. Not even with all the money in the world."

"Well, that's.." You paused, clearing your throat awkwardly. "That's a nice thought." You mumbled, slowly rising to your feet as you wiped your cheeks and rubbed at your face with a heavy, loaded exhale.

He stood after you, watching carefully as you fixed your shirt and turned back to him, but now you seemed almost hesitant to meet his gaze properly. Before he could reach out and ask for your hands, you scurried off toward the kitchen, gesturing for him to sit down. Leon never liked that you seemed to take over the kitchen, but you insisted it was part of you showing your love for him, so he only ever offered help, never pushed.

He found his way to the makeshift bed—nest?—of a couch, getting comfortable next to where you'd clearly been curled up previously. He heard some rummaging and electrical whirring of whatever appliance you were using—probably the microwave—from the kitchen. He sighed, turning his head to watch and waiting for you to come back. It wasn't very late, so all you had to do for his dinner was just warm it back up and bring it to him.

The food you warmed up was just from an hour or two ago, a meal of grilled chicken with lemon pepper seasoning, a side of roasted broccoli and potatoes cut up into wedges and likely air fried. When you came back, he smiled, that smooth curl of his lips, which were chapped from the mission—likely dehydration and not remembering or caring to use the small chapstick you'd bought him.

You settled onto the couch and handed him the plate. He looped an arm over your waist, tugging you in for a side hug, kissing your temple. "Thank you, honey." He mused, hand gently soothing over your hip as he set the plate in his lap and took a bite from the broccoli. "Mmh," he hummed, leaning his head against yours.

"Good?" You asked quietly.

"Amazing. It always is." He reassured quietly.

You didn't say anything for a while. You let him eat as the TV played quietly in the background. He watched it in silence, but as he eventually finished his food, he set the plate on the coffee table, and when he turned to you, you knew he had questions. You looked down at your lap, groaning inwardly.

"You're still confused. I can see it on your face."

"You aren't even looking at me." He laughed a little.

"I can feel it in the air." You corrected with an eye roll.

"Mmh." He hummed. "Okay, so, you know I've got some questions, I assume?"

"Everyone does. Most people don't question my issues because normally they don't have to. Normally I can keep things at bay and not have to—"

"Woah, slow down a second." He eased, reaching out to grab your fidgety hands and letting you squeeze his instead of leaving deep cresent shaped marks in your palms.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, breath becoming shaky.

"Let's slow it down. You don't need to panic. Whatever it is, I signed up for it. The good, the bad, and everything in between, so long as I get to be yours." He leaned in to kiss your forehead, pulling back to look at you.

"I'm just worried you'll get... freaked out. It's.. it gets to be a lot, even just the base of it." You looked down, your hands easing their grip and letting them settle in your lap, still holding gently around his.

"Let's start simple."

"Simple." You snorted, shoulders bouncing a bit with a little laugh. "Just ask a question."

"Okay. And remember, just because I ask, doesn't mean you have to answer." He paused, watching you nod softly. "So.. you thought I was going to leave you. I know I was gone longer than normal, but... I'm worried that we didn't prepare properly. I worry that I don't know things that I need to know in order to keep you steady."

"There's... some stuff." You mumbled. "Possibly...heavily connected with my father.."

Leon blinked. "Your father?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's a shock I had one. He left when I was young." You grumbled a bit.

"It's—" He chuckled at your little quip. "It's not a shock. It's a shock you're mentioning him. You mentioned him... I dunno, once? And I don't know any other family related to you."

"That's probably best. Things didn't... stay good with all of us."

"We'll start with what was connected to your father. What... what connects to him and you being afraid of me leaving?" He asked, situating so that you could more properly face each other.

"Well, we could start with the... physical aspect of the trauma, or we could start with the mental and emotional aspect. Whichever one probably connects to my abandonment issues."

"Okay, so, I'm picking up that your father wasn't great."

"If you think great means abusing me, filling my head with constant verbal abuse, leaving for weeks on end and coming back like nothing happened, oh, and we can't forget the last time he told me I'd forever be a useless little girl who could never support herself so she'd likely fall into drugs or alcohol. And then he left. He's probably dead. Part of me hopes he is. Then yes, that means he was great." You spat the last part sarcastically, exhaling sharply.

It all came out at once, so when the silence fell, it was tense, thick, and almost violent. Leon didn't give you a look—not pity, not shock, not disgust. He just listened and gave you space to process your own confession.

"I've never told anyone that." You exhaled quietly.

"How do you feel?"

"Raw."

"That's a very interesting word choice."

"Raw. Naked. Bare. Unprotected. I feel like—" You brought a hand up, patting your chest and searching for your necklace, which had been forgotten in the bathroom earlier in the evening. "I feel like I have nothing to hide anymore. Like there's been some kind of—I-I don't know." You swallowed tightly, brows furrowing.

"Okay. Can I tell you something?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah..?" You whispered quietly, voice tight.

"All of that stuff that your deadbeat father left with you, I'm not doing any of that. Ever. Not even if someone bribed me with the kind of money that could make me immortal somehow."

"I know you're not!" You squeaked out. "I just—it scares me, okay? You're the only person I've managed to hold onto for so long, without drama, or new trouble, or having to fear that I'd somehow chase you off."

"I know," he murmured, pulling you in to straddle his lap so he could hold you closer. "And all of your fears are valid and understandable."

"But?"

"No buts. Just an add-on to make sure you know that whatever happens, whatever you've been through, you will never move from where you've burrowed into my heart. There's a spot right here," he took your hand, placing it against his chest so you could feel his heart beat, steady and slow, perfectly relaxed, like your vague dump hadn't done anything to him. "And it's yours in every life."

"I'm sorry." You whispered, eyes watering slightly as you stifled a tiny squeak in your throat. Your palm flexed slightly, fingers spreading out over the expanse of his chest, pressing deeper into the squishy flesh beneath the shirt.

"No, I'll have none of that. You have no reason to be apologetic. Just because your father was a piece of shit doesn't mean it has to stick with you."

"I wish it didn't stick with me the way it did." You mumbled.

"That's the way it goes sometimes. And.. given you haven't told anyone else, it's... it's gonna leave a bit of a mark."

"I don't want it to."

"Well, now it doesn't have to. We can go through it. Slowly. Together. And maybe..."

"If you suggest therapy, I might make you sleep on the couch." You said bluntly, blinking at him.

He snickered, both hands coming to brush hair out of your face. "Okay, no therapy. For now, will you let me help you?"

You stayed quiet, hesitant, looking off to the side as you slightly rocked side to side, taking a moment to think about it. Leon waited, hands gently kneading against your shoulders and moving to soothe along the nape of your neck.

"It will take time, and patience, and so much love," he paused, tilting your face to look back at him. "But I've grown to be an expert at all of those times when it promises more life with you."

"Buttering me up won't change my answer, dummy." You giggled at his sweet, cheesy reassurance, only to lean forward and fall into the familiar comfort of his chest.

You both let the living room fill with silence—easy, comfortable, loving silence. By the time you made up your mind, the question had been almost forgotten, but you still wished to make it clear to him. When he was ready to head to bed for the night, you followed behind him to the bathroom to get ready for bed with him. Brushing your teeth, you spit out the foamy toothpaste, only to wipe your lips and turn to him.

"If you swear on everything you've ever loved that your patience won't wear thin and whatever you find out about me and my needs or my bad habits won't scare you away—"

"I swear on my life. On your life. On my entire bloodline—past, present, and future—and everything I have and will ever love." He said bluntly, his swear interrupting your conditions. You blinked.

"I didn't even finish."

"It doesn't matter. I'll swear on whatever you want if it means you'll let me in." He leaned forward to gently kiss your forehead, only for you to push him away before he could make contact.

"Toothpaste on your mouth." You reminded him, only to make him laugh and lean over the sink to spit. He rinsed his mouth out and dried his lips, only for you to grasp his chin gently. His beard, long overdue for a trim, scraped and scratched along your fingers and palm as you used your finger to apply vaseline to his chapped lips. He never used any kind of skin care on missions, given he usually wasn't able to. So now it was your chance to give his lips life and moisture again.

"Can I please kiss you now?" He waited patiently, rubbing his lips together as you applied some of the vaseline to your own lips before you leaned up and accepted a kiss finally. Without a warning, Leon grabbed you by the hips and hoisted you onto the bathroom counter, making you squeak as he stood between your legs.

"What are you—"

"Hush." He murmured, kissing you softly, eyes fluttering closed as you both relaxed. There was no rush or hunger, just a fondness alongside the love that never diminished with time. "I love you." He whispered softly, gently nipping at your lower lip before he let go and looked at you.

"I love you." You murmured back, rubbing your lips together, mixing the vaseline and lingering saliva from the kiss.

"So... your father wasn't a steady presence for you?" He asked.

"Not even close." You shook your head, leaning into him to hide your face. "He'd leave for weeks at a time. Sometimes, he'd tell us he loved us and that he'd be home soon, but other times, he would..." you trailed off, brows furrowing as you brought your hands to clutch at Leon's shirt.

"Right here, honey." He reminded gently, soothing over your upper arms.

"Other times, he'd leave after one of his fits." You finished, exhaling slowly as you closed your eyes.

"Fits?"

"Fits of anger. Frustration. Anything he could use as an excuse. If I wasn't caught up on chores or homework, he was angry. If I was too slow or if I needed help, he was annoyed and frustrated." You explained quietly, head shifting to stare at the wall behind Leon. Two towels hung up—one dark, navy blue, and the other a softer orange color. Next to those towels were also two robes—his robe matched his navy blue towel, but yours was a dark red color unlike your orange towel. The simplicity of that sight made your shoulders ease.

"I'm sorry." He murmured, hands coming to rub up and down your back. "You didn't deserve any of that. You never have."

"Wait until you hear what he did during those fits." You snorted, finding humor in how he already felt bad for you and your past.

"Hon," he pulled back with a frown. "not funny."

"Kinda is." You looked off to the side, lips pursing to stifle a giggle. It wasn't actually funny, but in order for you to cope with the resurfacing of everything, you had to laugh.

"God, you're insufferable." He rolled his eyes and lifted you into his arms to carry you into the bedroom to find a comfortable spot in your shared bed. Again, another sight of simple domesticity—your jackets hung up behind the bedroom door. Your small vanity littered with his cologne and deodorant and his brush and that dumb electric razor that he rarely used, his products mixed sweetly with your makeup and skincare and routine stuff. You curled tighter into him, and he returned the squeeze.

"Promise me you won't leave." You whispered, voice shaky.

"Pinky promise." He mused, leaning back to curl around you. "I've got you. Forever and always. In this life and the next." He hummed. "No matter how bad your daddy issues are." He joked.

You smacked his arm. "Too soon, jackass."

Leon laughed, watching you roll your eyes with an undeniable faint smile. "Alright, no more daddy issue jokes. Let's go to bed. I'm exhausted and I missed sleeping in a warm bed." He muttered.

"Will you go get the big comforter from the couch? And my special pillow?" You asked quietly, listening to him exhale lazily.

"Yes, I'll go grab it from your makeshift nest." He teased. "The flat pillow, right?"

"Mhmm." You nodded. He untangled himself from your grasp, kissing your cheek as he departed. You shuffled closer to the middle of the bed, pushing onto your knees so you could open the window that sat behind the headboard of the bed frame. It always got too hot without the window open because Leon was basically a human heater. You still questioned whether or not he had a fever sometimes, but he never did. That man had the immune system of the Gods.

He came back, comforter looped around one arm, your special pillow tucked under the other. You situated and sat upright, waiting for him to lay the items down. He switched the regular pillow for yours, fixing the pillow case and gesturing for you to get comfy. He laid down the comforter and then crawled in with you, exhaling heavily with relief.

"All set?" He asked quietly, reaching behind him to turn off the bedside lamp.

"Mhmm." You nodded, following his body and curling into his touch. He turned the lamp off and shifted closer to you, arms engulfing you in a warm, secure embrace.

"Mmh, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

"I love you so much." He added quietly. Due to your exhaustion, you simply tapped his shoulder blade three times to say it back without having to put in extra energy.

Leon's expression softens, his hand lightly squeezing your knee. “Nervous? What’s making you nervous?”

You feel your face flush. “You being all up in there,” you huff, and he chuckles, smoothing his palm down your shin, “and what if… I dunno… I taste bad?”

You cringe inwardly as soon as the words settle in the silence between you both, teeth biting down on the inside of your cheek.

“You won’t taste bad.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, I’m not doing it for the taste; I’m doing it because I want you to feel good, baby. Making you feel good makes me feel good.” He argues, tilting his head so he can meet your eyes with an annoyingly charming smile, “Besides, m’not expecting it to taste like birthday cake.”

You look at him, all shyly, watching as he drops a kiss to your knee, lingering. “You really wanna do it that much?”

“God, so fucking much, s’all I think about.” He groans playfully, propping his chin onto your kneecap. “But only if you want it too, s’no fun if you’re not into it.”

You shift a little against the cushions, giving him a tiny nod, heart hammering in your chest, “I want to, I do. can we just go slow?”

“Of course, you tell me if you wanna stop and we stop. No problem.” He promises, reaching out to gently tilt your chin towards him, “Yeah?”

“yeah.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and he leans in to steal a quick kiss before sinking to the floor with a big, dopey smile, blue eyes gleaming with excitement. He settles between your legs, gently nudging your thighs open, and your breath catches in your chest, heat pooling in your tummy as he slides his big warm palms up to your hips.

“Scoot that ass forward a little, baby.”

You sink further back into the crease of the couch, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you watch him kiss the fat of your inner thighs before pulling back to shimmy your shorts down with a soft: “lift your hips f’me, baby. There we go.”

His blue eyes then flutter back up to you, hands squeezing your hips. “Ready?”

You nod your head, warmth rushing through your body.

“Words.”

“Yes, yeah, I’m ready. I’m good.”

“Good. Now let me see this pretty pussy.” He grins wolfishly, giving one last push of your legs to spread you open for him, your folds all slick from the earlier makeout session. “Fuck you’re dripping; you want my tongue all over your clit, hm?” He coos, hooking both your legs over his broad shoulders.

“God— yes, please-” you words break off into a whiny moan when he presses his face into your cunt, running his tongue through your plush folds and up to your pudgy clit. Your hands fly down to grasp his hair, hips tilting up into his mouth when he sucks on you, his hands massaging the fat of your thighs.

Leon hums at the taste of you, the sound muffled into your wetness as he runs his hot tongue over your sticky labia and back up your clit sloppily, practically making out with your pussy. “Mfmm, fuck— taste s’good,” he drawls out, already drunk on you and trying to press impossibly closer in between your thighs as you buck up into him, “that's it baby, fuck my face.”

You pant and whine above him, head tipping back against the couch as he slides the tip of his tongue over your fluttering hole, his nose nudging your clit. Your legs tingle, trembling over his big shoulders as he licks and kisses you closer and closer to your release.

“Leon, fuck— fuck m’so close… please.”

He hums in approval, pushing his tongue a little deeper to lick into your cunt with a rough moan. “Yeah? Rub your clit for me, baby. cum in my mouth… c’mon,” he begs, tongue-fucking your tight hole as your hand fumbles between your legs, rubbing circles over your sensitive bud, and it doesn’t take long until you're gushing all over his mouth, your cunt clenching around his tongue.

He pants heavily into your wet heat, pulling back just enough to look up at you— his lips and chin all shiny, covered in your arousal, resting his cheek against your thigh with a lopsided smile. “You taste amazing.” He murmurs, licking his lips with a chuckle as you roll your eyes at him with a soft laugh.

“Shut up.”

“Just like birthday cake.”

“Shut up.” you tell him again, giggling as he peppers soft kisses over the swell of your hips before letting him convince you to do it all over again.

જ⁀➴ Resident Evil Masterlist જ⁀➴ General Masterlist

But you’re not an agent. The circumstances where you met Leon are far from what he does for a living, but you accepted him with the life he has from the start. A life when there’s always the risk that he’s not coming back.

When Leon got sick, the anguish deepened, even if, ironically, he was spending more time at home. The black blotches started getting bigger, his hunch worsened, his hands started to get shaky. He looked tired, frustrated of not being able to have a normal life.

More than once, he avoided you at home, to the extreme of sleeping in the guest room a couple of times. He didn’t want you to see him like this. That caused more than one argument: it hurt to see your husband pushing you away. Eventually, you reminded him of the obvious: in sickness and in health, no matter what happens.

So when he left without explaining anything, you knew what was happening. Days before that, his body was withering even more. You were scared of not seeing him again. When you saw the news about the Raccoon City facility burning on TV, you thought of the worst.

It was almost dawn when you heard the door opening. After all these years married, you already even know how his steps sound when he gets into the house after a mission. You were curled up on the couch, covered with a blanket, your face all red, eyebags of how much you cried before falling asleep.

Now you cried again, hugging him tightly, checking with care his hands and his neck, fully cured. He tried to comfort you, telling you I’m here, baby, not going anywhere, it’s fine, reminding you how much he loves you, over and over again.

He was covered in dirt, blood, wounded and bruised. You were used to this, sewers odor included. You helped him take a bath, being careful with every wound, washing his hair, while he told you about his mission. The FBI agent he met, all the things he found out, the new reasons to mistrust the government. You went to bed, both sleeping soundly after days of uncertainty.

That weekend, Leon showed you with actions how better he was feeling. He didn’t let you leave the bed (to give you some rest and have the best sex you had after months of struggling moments), cooked your favorite dishes, watched his movies with you without falling asleep. Your husband was back, but something actually changed.

Days later, he took you to the shooting range. You’ve been here before, a couple of times, just because you were curious. He always told you he didn’t want to see you holding a gun. He didn’t marry you to drag you into his lifestyle. And you hate guns, actually.

So why now?

You felt slightly annoyed, especially because you sucked at it, even if you went twice a week. It took you a whole month to land a bullet in a stunt (barely). At that point, you were kinda done, the only thing keeping you here was that he took you to dinner after the training, helped you at night to go to bed if you felt sore, made love to you gently, telling you how good you did today.

It was worth it. But you didn’t understand yet.

One day, you woke up in an awful mood. Your way to the shooting range was in silence, you frowning looking at the window.

“What is it, baby?”

“I don’t want to go today,” you said, in an annoyed, embarrassingly childish tone.

“Hey…”

“Do you want me to join the DSO or something?” you snapped, upset.

Leon just sighed, and didn’t say anything. He knows you enough to be aware of the fact that giving you an answer, no matter how gentle it was, was going to annoy you even more. That’s how a potential argument starts. They’re not common at all, though. But when you get angry… You're really scary.

When you got to the shooting range, you stood on your usual spot. He fixed your hair, but looked at you, and held you tight. His hug felt heavily affectionate, endearing, like he was anchoring himself through you, making sure you were there with him. He kissed your temple, and approached your ear.

“I still don’t want you to hold a gun, never in your whole life,” he whispered, squeezing you gently. “But I want to make sure that you can protect yourself when I’m not around.”

He paused, taking a deep breath.

“I love you so much. And I hope you never need this. I’ll keep protecting you so you never find yourself in a situation like this. But… I’ll work hard to never lose you. And I’ll keep working so I can stay by your side, and grow old together as we promised years ago.”

You held him tighter. A few tears ran through your face.

“I love you, my corny man,” you murmured. “I’m so glad I married you.”

After giving you a soft peck on your lips, he looked at you, he dried the tears off your face. You smiled at him, now with a calm expression.

“Better?”

You nodded, happier.

“Good, good. Where are we having dinner tonight?”

“Nowhere,” you caressed his face, pinching one of his cheeks. “I want to go home and cuddle with you.”

His mouth twitched, pleased by your answer.

His gaze cuts to the bed, where a few formal gowns are tossed across the comforter, bags and tissue paper scattered along the floor. He crosses the room, stepping toward the edge of the mattress, fingers grazing the assortment of textures and colors. 

“My cousin’s wedding is next week. I’m a bridesmaid, remember?” 

“Ah,” he says, mouth falling open. “I thought you all had to match each other–like the same color or something.” 

He plays with the skirt of one of the dresses, a chartreuse chiffon fabric–a color that is very popular this year à la the saleswoman who helped you pick it out. You’re not convinced. 

“Not anymore. Apparently it’s all the rage these days to have a mis-matched bridal party. Something about pinterest, I don’t know.” Your voice trails off as you head back to the standing mirror in the corner of the room, taking another look at the gown meeting your curves. It’s hot pink, the color an immaculate complement to your complexion, yet the shape is a little matronly. 

“You look beautiful,” he says, contacting your eyes in the reflection. “I like it.” 

Oh, Leon, you think. “It’s a little frumpy.” You smooth the fabric over your hips, officially signing the veto order. “Help me unzip?” 

He nods, approaching from behind, hands immediately finding the zipper between your shoulder blades. Instant relief courses through you as the fabric releases from your skin. A knuckle brushes up and down your spine before Leon helps guide the sleeves down your arms. 

“Try on another one,” he commands softly at your ear, hands returning to the balls of your shoulders to squeeze. 

You pull off the pink dress entirely, putting it back on the hanger and in its respective garment bag and into the ‘no’ pile. Leon paces back and forth around the bed, surveying the array of gowns, eventually deciding on which one he wants to see you in next, pointing to a shimmery gold dress with thick straps and a bandage-style body that is sure to hug your every curve. There’s no surprise why he picked that one. 

He helps you slip into the gown, crouching by your feet, holding the skirt open for you to step into, gliding it up your calves, your thighs, your middle, aiding you in pulling on the straps. 

“Gorgeous,” he says with a smile, spinning you around, dipping you back to plant a long, savored kiss on your lips. “But I don’t think this is the one.” 

He lets you back up, and you glance at him from beneath cinched brows. “Why not?” You turn your head to the side to catch your figure in the mirror across the room, taking in the way the fabric conforms to the slope of your hips, the length of your waist. A strong contender. “I think it looks great. Really great.”

Tonight was one of those nights. Ten minutes into making out and groping and gently coaxing you into his lap, he froze up when your hand moved under his shirt. He stopped, breath shaky as he looked down and gently stopped your wrist. You halted, leaning back.

"What's wrong?" You asked quietly.

"I.. maybe we should hold off tonight." He looked to the side, eyes low as he swallowed thickly.

Leon wasn't one to deny intimacy, even when he was absolutely exhausted. So you prodded further. "What's the problem? Did I do something?" You asked again, moving your hand and bringing both palms to cup his cheek and tilt his head to look at you.

"I just.. I'm not sure I feel great. Yknow, visually.." he trailed off, words vague and brief as his gaze darted down again.

"Oh, baby," you purred softly, leaning forward to kiss his nose. "I know you get a little worried about your body sometimes," you paused, thumbs soothing over his cheekbones. "but I promise, on my life, there's no reason for it. You're fit, healthy, and you've got a whole story mapped out on your pretty body. Scars, moles, your cute little freckles." You leaned down to kiss the freckle between his collarbone and his adams apple, making him snicker at your gentle words.

"I love you," he murmured when you lifted your head. He pushed forward for a kiss once more, tugging you tighter to his body.

"If thats the only reason you don't feel up to it, there's two ways we can fix it."

"Mmh?" He hummed curiously, leaning back as you shuffled down a little, hands resting on his belt.

"We can stop and relax and wait for another time," you hummed, slowly undoing his belt. He didn't stop you, but he gave you a look to seek more information. "or we can keep it all on, get in a little dry humping action, and if you wanna keep going, I can just ride you with your pants pushed down a little."

"Ooh," he breathed, looking between you and your hands on his half undone belt. "You really know how to convince a man.." he muttered.

"Only when it comes to you." You grinned.

"Yeah.. yeah, we can try that." He nodded, swallowing harshly once more as he pulled you to have your heat pressed directly against the girth of his erection in his pants.

"You want me to do the work?" You asked. He blinked.

"I-i can. If you want. Whatever you want." He sputtered quickly, assuming you'd been teasing about his assumption of you being on top longer.

You giggled. "I'll stay here for now. Just stay comfy. If at any point you feel at all compelled to stop, just say the word, and I'll be off of you before you can blink."

He nodded again, body relaxing beneath you as he leaned back against the headboard and pillows, sighing quietly. His ease was sharply interrupted by the warm, burning sensation of you grinding down against his boner. He squeaked slightly, brows furrowing as he dug his nails into your hips. You continued, hips rolling slowly with a firm enough pressure that you could feel enough, and he could feel more than enough—just how he liked it.

"Oh," he breathed, eyes fluttering with struggle to stay open. "Fuck, th-that's really good." He shuddered, his legs tensing as he leaned forward to grab tighter around your waist as he bucked his hips into yours.

"Mmhm," you hummed, one hand coming to tangled into the hair above the nape of his neck, tilting his head back and kissing him deeply. He choked on a moan as you dragged back and forth. The kiss turned sloppy within seconds, and you couldn't help but laugh softly at how easily his brain turned to mush for you.

"Breathe, baby," you reminded him, feeling his breath catching and holding as he leaned his chin against your chest.

"Sorry." He squeaked out, breathing shakily as he grabbed your hips more firmly, trying to take a little control with the pace and rhythm.

"Can't have you passing out on me before you've even been given a reason to feel that good." You teased sweetly, making him whine and hide his face again.

"But it feels so good." He groaned, the sound pitchy and drawn out.

"Does dry humping really get you that close?" You snickered.

"Maybe." He muttered, only to shiver and swallow harshly. You slowed to a stop, only for him to perk up and tilt his head. "Why'd you stop?" His voice barely above a whisper.

"Because I didn't work you all the way up just for you to cum in your pants before I'm even halfway there."

"'M sorry," he curled around you, groaning in embarrassment. "It just felt really good."

"We've got all night. There's no need to get it all done during the foreplay." You soothed, scooting back slowly and pulling on his waistband. You finished undoing his belt, tugging his zipper down and gently tugging at the fabric of his pants and boxers. He lifted his hips slightly, and you managed to pull the fabric down just enough that his cock sprang free and you pushed the waistband of his boxers down to where it rested just beneath his balls.

You lifted your skirt, grabbing Leon's hands and having him hold up the fabric as you pulled your panties to the side. He watched, eyes darting between your face and the show you were putting on just for him. His grip tightened on your skirt, knuckles turning white as you propped his cock upright and hovered over the drooling cock head. He looked up at you, lips parted with soft breaths leaving his plush, kiss-swollen lips.

"Oh, you're so cute," you mused, watching his face as you lowered yourself onto him. The tip was enough to make his face contort, a squeak pulled from his throat as he quivered in response with a pitchy 'fuck' rolling off of his tongue.

You eased your way down, all too satisfied with the way his entire body surrendered itself to you, trusting with his mind, body, and soul. With you fully seated on his cock, he fell back against the pillows, breath uneven and stiff as his cock twitched inside of you. You tried to start grinding slowly, only for him to dig his fingertips into your waist.

"Not yet. I might—" He exhaled, head falling back. "I might embarrass myself if I don't breathe for a second."

"I'd rather you cum in me than your boxers." You teased. He huffed, pinching your side lazily.

"Cruel, cruel woman."

"I'll show you cruel."

Leon didn't have time to process your words before you were already lifting and dropping down with enough force to have him bust right then and there. He cried out, gasping slightly at the first bounce.

"Fuck! Okay, n-not cruel. 'M sorry!" He whined, holding you down with as much strength as he could maintain in such a weak moment.

You laughed a little, only to apologize through slow, shallow bounces and grinding back and forth. The change made it much easier for him to readjust and relax. He melted under you, his grip easing.

"You still don't want your shirt off?" You asked, hands creeping under the fabric. He whined, shaking his head no. You retracted your touch. "Can I still touch?" You asked, palms resting just below his well-worked pecs. He nodded, looking up at you as he nudged your hands upward, letting you know that touching was still on the table. You grinned at his actions.

On the rare occasion that Leon let you take this much control, it was always a delight to see how he'd respond to the things he did to you. Like how he'd grope and pinch and pull at your nipples or sometimes even use them to keep his mouth busy. Given the fact his shirt was on, you resorted to the hands-on approach. You worked him up with some slow circling of your thumbs around his nipples, and when he closed his eyes, you picked up the bouncing with deeper strokes and began to gently pinch and twist his nipples. Nothing that would hurt him, but with just enough pressure to make him whimper.

"Hah—ahh, shit," he breathed out a small laugh, brows knitting together tighter.

"Touch me, baby. C'mon, don't make me do all the work by myself." You cooed, gesturing down to his hands. One hand quickly found its way downward between your legs, his thumb effortlessly meeting your clit as you fucked yourself on his cock, pussy fluttering at the reciprocation of stimulation. It was your turn to mewl and whimper, head falling back as your hips bounced and ground against his touch with every drop of your hips.

"F-fuck," he choked. "M-mmmm—might not make it," he whined, eyes struggling to stay focused and attentative in the moment.

"God, just a little more, please." You mewled, head falling back as your hands worked his nipples with pinching and pulling and rolling, his body pliant and willing for you.

Leon tried, he really did, but with you growing closer, tightening and clenching and pulsing around his cock and using him like a fucking ragdoll, he found himself drowned in pleasure. He could only sputter out an embarrassing 'cumming!' before his body jolted and tensed, a ragged sob leaving his lips. His dick twitched and throbbed as he spilled his load into you, relief flooding his nerves and his muscles as he fell limp and twitchy beneath you.

You followed quickly, his thumb still working on your clit as you eased into softer bounces and slower grinding, ending up at a perfect peak for your pleasure to throb through your nerves. You came to a stop, breathing heavy and shaky. Leon was absolutely done for. Ruined beyond comprehension in the moment. He shivered when you lifted yourself off of him, dropping beside him and cuddling up against him as your skirt dropped back into place, panties still notched to the side.

"Maybe being insecure isn't so bad." He rasped lazily, leaning into you and wrapping an arm around you.

"Shut up." You laughed, rolling your eyes as you wrapped an arm around his waist, head turning to kiss his collarbone over his shirt. "You know you're sexy, scars and all."

"You say that because you have to." He murmured.

"No, I don't. I'm saying it because I love you, you're amazing, and you look amazing—even when you don't feel like it." You insisted, kissing his jawline before you sat upright. "Shower together or alone?" You asked.

"Uh... I.." he hesitated, stammering as he sat upright and shifted to curl into himself.

You laughed quietly, shaking your head as you reached to cup his cheek. "I'll go start the shower, and if you feel like it, you can join me. If not, you can shower after me. Okay? You okay with that?"

He nodded, smiling lightly as he leaned into your touch. "Thank you."

"I'll be back." You mused, shuffling out of bed. "Care to change the sheets while I'm showering?" You called over your shoulder as you began to undress while leaving the bedroom to the bathroom.

"On it!" He stood from the bed on shaky legs and worked his way to change the sheets.