Rookie! Leon meets you for the first time during his first week on the force. He's in his blues, a bright pink sticky note in his hand and brows wrinkled in confusion as he reads over it.
You know the look, so it's easy to tell. Since you started your job you noticed a sort of pattern when rookies came into the café. The older guys would send them on a coffee mission with a long list of orders for them to balance back to the station.
Any other day, this might have irritated you and your coworkers. But Leon had that lost puppy look on his face and even before he opened the door, you were glancing at each other and whispering and giggling about who was going to help him.
You ended up on the register, your fellow baristas hovering over your shoulders to listen and read each order as you rang it in.
The attention makes him nervous, and when he notices how attentive you are, the way you help him with the more obscure drinks ("Yeah, our boss likes to mock the corporate coffees, it trips everyone up"), it makes his ears turn pink.
He'd expected dull eyes, a rush to get him out as quickly as possible but instead? Here you were guiding him through the whole thing and with the rest of your crew pushing most of the drinks out before he even gets the chance to pay.
"Damn, they loved you," one of the officers says when he returns. It's probably one of the quickest coffee runs a rookie's made, and everything was made right!
The station quickly learns that Leon is the one to send if they need things done right and quick. Not that he minds much, it's a chance to see you.
If things are slow when he shows up, he's asking questions and watching you work, cracking a joke here and there to make you smile. If it's busy, he waits patiently, flashes a thankful smile, and is on his way (though disappointed that he didnt get a chance to talk to you).
Soon enough, it becomes a habit for him to stop by on his way to the station, and your coworkers quickly catch on to why he does. He (not so subtlely) asks about you when you're not on shift. Sometimes he catches you coming back with gallons of milk in your hands and offers to help you carry them in. If the morning is especially slow and you and your crew are mixing and matching syrups, he'll try whatever you come up with.
After he leaves, your coworkers tease and grin at you and urge you to leave your number on a cup the next time he comes in. Each time, you refuse because what if they're seeing things? What if he already has someone and is just being nice because he's a genuinely nice guy?
"Nice going, rookie," Elliot says one day, clapping him on the shoulder. He swipes the coffee cup from Leon's desk and there, hidden under the cardboard sleeve, is your number. He didnt even know it was there!
The next day, there's a pep in his step. He's confident, ready to finally take that leap he'd been eyeing these past few weeks.
Through the glass door, Leon can see your coworkers laughing and shaking your shoulders, while you look like you'd rather crawl into a hole.
Because you hadn't written your number on the cup--- one of the others had. And now you didnt know what Leon was going to say. He didn't look upset, so that was good. Maybe he was just going to pretend it didnt happen? Maybe he didnt even notice it at all.
But part of you hoped he did. How that scenario would play out, you had no idea.
The nerves worsened as he drew closer to the counter. A chorus of "Hi Leon!" came from the others, who'd all drawn themselves back to fridges and espresso machines, pretending to be heavily invested in whatever they were doing.
Meanwhile, your heart is pounding in your chest, almost in your throat.
"Just the usual?" You manage once he's finally in front of you.
Your face is flushed and the way you bite your lip and avoid eye contact tells him exactly how nervous you are.
"So, I uh, I found your number," Leon starts. The confidence from earlier begins to waver. He made it this far, he thinks, he has to push through. "And I thought it'd be better to do this in person."
You try to steel your nerves. The moment of truth has arrived.
Leon sucks in a breath, preparing himself.
"Can I take you to dinner?" He asks, almost too quickly to understand.
The café feels too quiet. You can practically feel your coworkers staring you down from behind.
Your mind finally processes the question after a long beat of silence and your voice has disappeared, so you nod vigorously. A wide smile has found its way to your face and whatever tension might have been in his shoulders slips away.
Friday at seven, it's decided.
And as he's leaving, excitement buzzing in his chest, he hears you thanking your coworkers for sneaking your number on that cup.
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summary: a spontaneous shopping trip has leon re-evaluating his friendship with you.
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, p in v, spanking, oral sex, praise kink, fluff, friends/roommates to lovers, fantasizing
wc: 3.7k
also posted on ao3!
There’s a shriek leaving you when you trip over a bundle of shoes in the doorway. It nearly sends you hurtling towards the floor, but there’s an arm curling around your waist, tugging you up before you can fall. Leon.
You glare up at your roommate, shoving at his chest so it sends him stumbling.
“Seriously, Leon? How many times have I told you to put your shoes to the side of the doorway?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.
He winces at your shrill voice, his hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
“I was busy,” he says, his eyes pleading with you, “you know with… with work.”
You’re shooting him an unimpressed look, pushing past him to put the groceries on the kitchen counter. It was your day to collect them anyways.
Living with Leon had happened entirely by accident. One shittily written apartment listing later and the poor guy was standing outside your door, begging you to let him move in. It hadn’t been so bad. Leon had been nice, and you two had gotten along well, becoming friends even. The only thing you couldn’t stand was how messy the man was.
Empty boxes from delivered packages, stray parchment sheets from when he’d bake himself something and socks strewn haphazardly across the floor, much like his shoes. Leon had practically turned your apartment into a deathtrap.
You don’t get to reminisce for much longer, not when he’s reaching for the pack of popsicles you’d bought. Leon lets out a low whine, like a kicked puppy, when you swat his hand away and shoot him an irritated glance.
“I’m putting my foot down,” you tell him firmly, “no more unorganized socks, shoes or- or anything for that matter!”
Leon only tilts his head, blinking over at you. You glance towards the clock before your eyes are flitting back to meet his.
“Ikea,” you explain, “we’re going to Ikea to get you some organizers or whatever.”
“ Now? ” Leon asks, raising his brows “but I was going to go to the gym with Chris and-” he’s shutting up when he sees your hardened glare.
Leon lets out an exasperated huff, and you’re smiling over at him, happy you’ve won this argument. Just to reward him, you’re digging out a popsicle from the pack and handing it to him.
“So stubborn,” he mumbles under his breath, freeing the popsicle from its wrapper.
“I heard that,” you reply, sticking your tongue out at him.
You both finish up your popsicles, and you’re tossing him his car keys while you pull your shoes on again.
“Why do I have to drive?” he complains, leaning against the doorway.
“Because it’s your mess,” you retort, rolling your eyes, “and you’re paying as well.”
Leon lets out a scoff, “oh, fuck you.”
You smile back at him, patting him on the shoulder for some comfort. You manage to annoy him a little more during the drive to Ikea, and Leon’s contemplating whether he should just stuff your mouth with the rolled up catalog you’re currently holding
It’s when you both get to the kitchen area that Leon realizes something’s wrong. His eyes are watching the way you bend over the model kitchen counter, gaze trained on the way your skirt rides up slightly, exposing the backs of your thighs. He swallows harshly, wondering what it might be like to come up behind you, grab your hips and grind his cock against your ass.
Your voice breaks him out of his dazed thoughts, your hand waving him over as you point to the price tag.
“Don’t you think this is a catch?” You ask him, head tilting back to meet his eyes.
“A catch?” He echoes, raising his brows, “it’s $2000 . Do you even have $2000?”
You roll your eyes, elbowing him in the stomach.
“Don’t be such a jerk, Leon. I think it’d look good in our apartment.”
There it is. Our apartment. The words are so comfortably domestic that it has Leon’s knuckles squeezing tight around the basket he’s holding. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t imagined you two dating. Especially after that time he’d come home drunk one night. You’d taken care of him so sweetly, despite all of your grumbles and chastisements, that Leon felt like he was falling in love.
That had only happened once though, and Leon wasn’t prepared to make a big deal about his feelings so he buried them deep down and carried on with his life.
He doesn’t have time to dwell on his little crush any longer, brows furrowing when he feels the basket in his hand grow heavier. You’ve been milling about, dumping various little trays and organizational tidbits into the basket.
“At this point, I think you’re trying to max out my card,” he drawls, trailing after you.
“I’m helping you, Leon” you shoot back, bringing a candle up to your nose to smell its scent.
It’s not until you both get to the bedding area that Leon realizes he might actually be losing it.
He’s sitting down on the edge of one of the beds, the basket settled on the floor with how heavy it’s become.
You’re fluttering about, checking out the duvet covers and pillow cases. His eyes watch over you, letting you take a seat beside him on the bed when you find a duvet cover you like.
“Pretty, right?” You ask him, showing him the design.
“I guess,” he murmurs absentmindedly.
He thinks you look prettier though. Besides, it’s not like he can tell you that he’s imagining taking you on this very bed. Your face pressed into the pillows, his cock stuffed into your pussy. You’d probably make cute noises too, clench around his cock while he thrusted into you. He’d let everyone watch, he thinks, make sure everyone knew that you were his.
You’re snapping your fingers in his face, trying to get him to pay attention to you.
“Are you okay?” You ask, staring into his eyes “you keep getting distracted.”
“What?” Leon flushes, clearing his throat “yeah- yeah I’m fine… just had enough of you is all.”
You swat his shoulder and he rolls his eyes. Both of you manage to get to the checkout without any further bickering. Leon’s card doesn’t max out thankfully, but you wince when you see the total, ignoring Leon’s glower as he tears the receipt from the machine.
To make up for the spontaneous shopping spree, you buy him a soft serve and hand it to him with a smile.
Leon takes it with a grumble, his eyes dropping to the way you lick at your soft serve. The icy treat smudges across your lips, and he’s reaching out before he can stop himself, his thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth to clean the mess.
“Think you might be the messy one,” he mutters gruffly, drawing his hand back.
“Your socks alone have nearly crippled me” you reply, nibbling at the cone to try and quell the race of your heart at his unexpected action.
Leon lets out a loud sigh, shaking his head. The drive home is quiet, the soft sounds of the radio filling up the car’s space.
You help Leon with the stuff you bought, leaving the goods in his room before letting out a satisfied nod.
“There. Now you don’t have an excuse for being messy. Better start cleaning up, Leon” you chirp, giving him a snarky smile before tugging his door shut.
You sigh happily, mind feeling at ease. You’re sure that your apartment won’t be so messy anymore. The sounds of Leon rummaging inside his room almost make you feel bad, but this had been going on for months and you were glad you had done something about it.
Deciding to grab some food, you reach for the can of peaches on the kitchen counter. By some misfortune, your hand accidentally knocks the can, sending it rolling towards the edge. Letting out an irritated huff, you’re reaching across the counter to grab the can before it falls off.
While this happens, you’re blissfully unaware of the fact that your skirt is riding up. Leon feels his heart nearly jump out of his chest at the sight when he had wandered out of his room to grab a garbage bag.
He can see the swell of your ass, your cheeks peeking out from your panties as you’re bent over, grabbing the can of peaches.
“Have you made it some sort of mission to bend over every kitchen counter you see?” he asks dryly, his arms crossing over his chest.
You squeak in surprise, body jolting. The can of peaches slips from your hand pitifully, landing on the floor with a loud thunk .
“Why are you sneaking up on me?” You whine, turning to give him a glare.
Leon doesn’t reply, coming to a stop in front of you. His blue eyes are dark, dirty blonde hair hanging over his forehead.
“Um… Leon?” You wave your hand in front of his face.
“I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose,” he murmurs, his hand catching yours.
“Hm?” he squeezes your hand, his head lowering so he can stare right into his eyes, “bending over every kitchen counter so I can see your pretty ass?”
You manage to gather your wits, letting out a loud scoff and push at his chest.
“You’re such a perv, Leon!” you accuse, narrowing your eyes and placing your hands on your hips.
“I’m not a perv if you keep bending over like that!” he shoots back, his hands grabbing at your forearms to tug you towards him.
You swallow harshly when his calloused hands drift past your wrists, finding your hands and lacing his fingers with yours. The warmth of his body seeps into yours and your head is tilting, eyes finding his.
“We- we are not fucking,” you whisper, shaking your head.
“Who said anything about fucking?” Leon asks, his head lowering again.
His body presses against yours, causing your breath to hitch. You’re biting your lip at the way it feels, the hard planes of his body molding against yours.
“One kiss,” he whispers, peering into your eyes, “please? Just one kiss and it’ll be over.”
You’d be doing yourself a disservice if you denied his request. Leon was stupidly handsome even if he was a little annoying at times, and you had maybe masturbated to the thought of your roommate before.
“Did you happen to forget that we’re roommates?” you raise your brows, trying to voice your concerns.
“Roommates kiss all the time,” he says, his nose nudging against yours gently, “now c’mon, gimme a kiss.”
You don't know what sort of roommates he’s been hanging around, but you’re almost certain that roommates don’t kiss or do whatever the hell you two are doing right now.
Leon doesn’t know what he’s doing either. That one shopping trip had seriously messed up his brain, but he was here now so there was no going back. Your lips look so pretty, your eyes all starry. He wants to kiss you senseless and bend you over that stupid kitchen counter while he fucks into you until you’re crying on his cock.
As if to encourage you a little more, he nudges his nose against yours again. You send him a glare, eyes slipping shut as you rock up on the tips of your toes and brush your lips against his. The kiss is fleeting, a mere touch of your lips against his, and it’s safe to say Leon is not impressed.
“There,” you say, trying to hide the smirk that spreads across your face, “you got a kiss. Now leave me alone.”
Leon lets out a low groan, his head falling against your shoulder, “you’re a fuckin’ tease, you know that?”
You hum, pushing at his chest, taking the opportunity to free yourself from the confines of his grasp.
“Not so fast,” he murmurs, his hand snagging onto your shirt, “c’mere baby.”
His low voice has the butterflies in your stomach fluttering, your eyes widening when his hands cup your cheeks and he presses his lips against yours.
It doesn’t take you long to respond, arms wrapping around his neck as he kisses you fiercely. He groans into your mouth, his arms winding around your waist to pull you closer.
You’re both flush against each other and you let out an irritated noise when he shoves you up against the kitchen counter, feeling the solid surface dig into your back.
“Drove me crazy at that Ikea,” he whispers against your lips, his hands sneaking under your skirt to give your ass an appreciative grope, “thought about fucking you on one of those beds.”
The idea of it is so obscene and indecent that you find yourself moaning out loud.
“Yeah? You like that, baby? Me fucking you in front of everyone, letting them know that you’re mine?”
You’re nodding desperately at his filthy questions, trying to tug his shirt off so you can see his chest and abdomen. He obliges you, quickly shrugging off his shirt. Your teeth sink into your lower lip at the sight, eyes half-lidded.
You can’t help the way your body leans forward, lips pressing soft kisses across his chest and his pecs. Leon sucks in a sharp breath, his hands moving to cradle the back of your head.
“Just kisses, huh?” he murmurs.
You nod, peering up at him “no fucking, remember?”
He hums, tilting your head so he can kiss you again. Leon kisses you over and over until you can’t breathe. You’re feeling so dazed that you don’t even notice he’s spinning you around, bending you over the kitchen counter. There’s a soft whine escaping you when he flips your skirt up, his hands squeezing at your ass before his fingers slip under your panties, tugging the fabric back and letting it snap back against you.
Your fingers are scrabbling at the counter top when you feel him drop to his knees, his lips pressing against the skin of your ass. He kisses your body so reverently, you think you might actually pass out.
“Wanna kiss your pussy too,” he mumbles, tugging your panties down. You shudder when you feel his breath hit your sensitive skin, hips swaying back to meet the kisses he places on your clit.
His tongue lolls out before long, lapping at your cunt, collecting the slick that drips from you.
“That- that is not kissing,” you whimper out, head falling against the coolness of the counter.
“Sure it is,” he whispers, burying his face deeper into your pussy, “just dirty kisses, sweetheart.”
The way he eats you out is messy. Leon’s trying to shove his face deeper between your thighs, his lips suctioning around your pussy. You mewl when he draws back and spits on your cunt, his mouth latching on soon after. You’re not sure how much longer you can hold on, knees beginning to shake. Leon delivers a particularly toe-curling suck to your clit and you’re shuddering, letting out whines and whimpers when he lets out a low laugh, his tongue swiping over your cunt repeatedly.
“Leon- fuck! Leon, ‘m gonna-” you can barely speak properly.
“Then come , baby,” he whispers, his tongue pressing into your fluttering hole.
You squeal at the unfamiliar sensation, knuckles turning white as you come on his tongue. He licks up your slick eagerly, his wet lips pressing soft kisses against the swell of your ass as you pant.
He stands up, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. You press your back against his chest, turning your head to kiss along his jaw. His eyes flutter shut, his hands smoothing along your back to undo the clasp of your bra.
Your arms lift and Leon helps you take off your shirt and bra, letting out a soft sigh as your head falls back against his shoulder. Leon’s hands are restless, reaching for your breasts.
He hums at the sight of your hard nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers before letting go to squeeze your tits.
“You’re real pretty, sweetheart” he whispers, kissing your cheek.
You mewl, cheeks flushing. You hadn’t expected him to talk to you so sweetly. Leon feels your body lurch forward, tits pressing against his palms. He laughs, giving another firm grope to your tits and finds your lips to give you another filthy kiss. While he kisses you, Leon grinds his hips against your ass, and you gasp into his mouth, feeling the outline of his cock through his shorts.
“Think my cock wants to give your cute pussy some kisses too,” he says, his mouth pressed against your ear, “you up for it, baby?”
You could be a bobblehead with how fast your head is moving up and down. Leon grins against your ear, placing another kiss to your cheek before he’s bending you over the counter. The coolness of the counter startles you slightly, but Leon’s hand rubs up and down your back, warming your skin.
Tits squished against the hard surface, your feet on the tips of your toes, pussy glistening with his spit and your arousal, Leon can hardly believe his fantasy has come to fruition. He wants to take a picture, keep it safe and jerk off to the sight of you when he’s alone. There’s no pictures taken though, instead Leon’s hand delivers a heavy slap to one of your ass cheeks.
You moan, back arching slightly as you try and chase the feeling. It hurts and you can feel the sting of his palm prickling across your skin, but you want him to spank you again so badly.
“L- Leon, want more,” you mumble, looking back at him.
Leon takes your request in stride, his hand coming down on your ass repeatedly. Your body slumps against the counter, soft noises escaping you as he rains slap after slap onto your reddening skin.
“Shit, sweetheart” he whispers, his hands smoothing over the damage he’s done to your ass “so fuckin’ pretty.”
There’s a babbled noise escaping you. Mind feeling like mush, all you can think about is Leon. He smooths his hands over your sensitive skin a few more times, trying to soothe the pain before you feel him squeeze gently as he presses the head of his cock against your aching hole.
Leon pushes into your pussy with a groan, his hands squeezing at your hips. It almost feels like he’s trying to ground himself.
“Fuck-” he hisses, drawing his hips back to thrust back into you again, “ fuck - you’re so tight, baby.”
You whimper at the feeling of his cock stretching you out. Leon’s thrusts are beginning to pick up in speed and you’re whining, the force of his thrusts making your body rub against the kitchen counter.
“Leon, Leon, Leon,” you chant his name and his body is draping over yours, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder and back, “feels so good,” you slur.
His hips are rutting against your ass, cock stuffing you full. You’re moaning so loudly that Leon has to slip his hand over your mouth in an effort to quieten your noises. His balls are slapping against your clit and the combined stimulation is making your head spin.
Soon, his hand is leaving your mouth to grip your hips again.
“Take my fucking cock,” he grunts, each word punctuated with a harsh slap to your ass.
“It’s too much!” you wail, nails clawing at the counter to try and crawl away.
He growls, grip tightening as he keeps you in place, “don’t you dare run. Take my cock like a good girl, baby.”
“You’re insane,” you cry, but there’s a cockdrunk smile spreading across your face as he fucks into you.
“Yeah,” he whispers, his head lowering so he can whisper into your ear, “and it’s all for you, because- because I like you.”
There’s a loud whine ripping out of you at that, wet heat clenching around him. No one’s confessed to you before, like ever . You suck in a sharp breath, trying to calm your heart and stop the excited flipping of your stomach that comes with his confession.
Leon moans when he feels the clench of your walls around his cock and he’s fucking into you with renewed fervor.
“I like you,” he whispers again “like you so much, sweetheart. Always taking care of me, looking out for me, makes me feel special.”
“Only do that ‘cause you’re an idiot, Leon” you mumble, swallowing back another moan that threatens to spill out.
“But you do it anyway,” he murmurs, driving his cock into you.
You gasp, eyes squeezing shut as his fat tip grazes the spot deep inside of you. He grunts when he feels you getting tighter, feels you clenching hard around his cock.
“You gonna come for me?” he asks, sucking little love bites onto your neck, “hm? Can feel you clenching around me, baby.”
“Wanna- wanna come at the same time,” you babble “right, Leon? Since- since you like me, we gotta come at the same time.”
He’s letting out a hoarse laugh, kissing your shoulder again, “yeah baby, I’m right there with you.”
All of a sudden, he’s burying himself to the hilt inside of you and your mouth drops open, a sharp noise leaving you as you both come. Your body is limp against the counter, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you pant. Leon kisses your neck, letting out a whine as his cum spurts into you. It’s warm and thick, filling you up so perfectly that it has a serene smile settling on your face.
He helps you onto your feet, his hands rubbing up and down your sides to soothe your shaky legs. You feel him press a soft kiss to the side of your head and you’re rocking up on the tips of your toes, returning a kiss to his cheek.
“I like you too, Leon” you whisper, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down for another kiss.
You can feel him smile against your lips and he’s kissing you back sweetly. Leon keeps you there for a while as you both kiss, his hands petting across your tired body.
He takes you to his room later, his hand encasing yours. The moment is almost perfect, if not for the sock on the floor that sends you careening into his desk.
“Leon!” you grit out.
He only laughs, his arms wrapping around your waist as he picks you up and tosses you onto his bed.
Warnings:Soft 18+ towards the end, public sex? friends to lovers, vulnerability, creampie
Leon has been dreaming of you for years, fragments of you long before he ever meets you in the rain-soaked streets in the city. When your paths finally collide, he feels like he's finally complete
The dreams about you started long before Leon ever met you. At first, these dreams came in pieces: sunlight on water the smell of lemon trees and the ocean a laugh that felt like being at home. Leon would wake up in his home or run-down motels with his heart beating fast or sometimes with a lump in his throat after he realized that it wasn't real. In these dreams Leon was younger walking barefoot on sand looking at someone he could never quite see swimming towards him. Leon told himself it was just stress from his work. That it was just the desire to escape somewhere beautiful from his grim life.
Then, one night, Leon could clearly see your face smiling at him when you succeeded in swimming closer. Oh, how magnificent you were, his spring, his joy, his smiling rose. His mind was filled with your perfume, what a smell, what a scent that was. He woke up reaching for someone who wasn't there. Leon fell in love suddenly with a woman who did not exist, but what a love that was.
Months later in a city that was wet from rain Leon literally ran into you. You were walking down the sidewalk without an umbrella while cussing under your breath as water poured off of you. Leon came out of a doorway at the same time and bumped into you and you almost fell on your ass and his coffee spilled all over.
Without getting angry you looked up at Leon with rain dripping from your eyelashes and mascara running down your cheeks and laughed. The same laugh from his dreams.
"Sorry " you said, bending down to pick up his ruined coffee cup.
"I promise I'm not usually this clumsy." Leon stood still his heart beating fast like it knew you before his brain did.
"Are you okay?" you asked, tilting your head. Leon swallowed hard.
"Yeah.. yeah I'm fine. Just feel like I've seen you before."
You and Leon became friends quickly after that. You never asked him about his scars or the nights he disappeared without a warning. And Leon never bothered to tell you, he didn't want to burden you with his problems, instead you built a quiet friendship: going to diners late at night when Leon came back from work, talking on rooftops or driving out of the city to watch the sunset.
Leon started sleeping when you were near. The dreams changed too. They were no longer pieces of something lost but a whole image of you finally reaching him and he was left feeling fulfilled and peaceful.
One summer night you took Leon to a drive-in movie theater. Fireflies flashed gently around the parking lot.
"I have been dreaming about you " Leon said quietly his voice rough from not talking for a time. "Even before I met you. We were at a beach and you kept swimming towards the shore, towards me but i always woke up before you could reach me" You turned in his arms looking at his face. The projector flashed, casting golden light on his face making him look younger and softer like the boy in the dreams.
Leon breathed out slowly like he had been holding it in for years. He held the back of your neck his thumb touching the skin there
"I don't ever want to lose you" he said. "Please tell me none of this is a dream. I couldn't handle losing you again." You kissed him then slowly tasting like summer and every moment you had almost shared.
"Could I do this in a dream?"
Clothes came off under the flickering projector light, skin warm against the cool leather. Leon laid you back on the backseat, moving over you like you were something sacred he was afraid to break. His mouth traced every inch he’d only touched in dreams and when he finally slid into you it was like a thousand fireworks going off
“Fuck,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. You wrapped your legs around him, hands sliding up his back, as he moved slow and deep, rolling his hips in a rhythm that made you roll your eyes. When you came, it pulled him under with you, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside, whispering your name. He didn’t pull out right away. He stayed buried in you, arms wrapped tight, both of you breathing the same humid night air while the movie was reaching the end
"I do not know how many times you have lost me" you murmured, your voice sincere and satisfied. "But I promise I'm here and I'm real" You ran your fingers through his hair
He laughed softly "you better be"
The movie finally ended plunging the drive-in into darkness. The two of you stayed tangled in the backseat of his car. And for once the world felt like it was on his side.
Tysm for 100 followers! I know this was short and the smut wasn't that detailed but I wanted to write something fluffier
summary: dante’s armour is laughter, but his kisses tell the truth in every language his mouth refuses to speak
word count: 2,016
content: dante x gn!reader, stream of consciousness, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, kissing, yearning, emotional intimacy, jealousy, mild possessiveness, mentions of blood and injury, dante being emotionally constipated but trying his best
a/n: i have nothing to say for myself actually. i need to kiss him so bad.
companion piece to to be loved
(cross-posted from ao3)
Dante kisses you in more ways than he knows how to name because naming anything has always been the dangerous part. A kiss can still be passed off as impulse, appetite, poor judgement, something that happened because you were close and the whiskey had loosened the bolt on whatever door he keeps barred inside himself. Saying I need you, or I missed you, or sometimes I look at you and understand why people build homes instead of escape routes would require him to stand still long enough for the old ghosts to find him.
So he kisses you instead.
He kisses you laughing when you steal the last slice of pizza, one hand hooked around your waist while the other tries to wrestle the box back from you, his mouth crooked against yours because neither of you can stop smiling. He complains into the kiss that theft is a serious crime, sweetheart, especially when a man is starving. He lets you keep it anyway, of course he does. He always lets you keep the last good thing, even when he pretends to fight you for it.
He kisses you lazily on the couch with some terrible film bleeding blue light across the walls, his boots on the table, your legs over his lap, his thumb drawing thoughtless circles against your knee until he leans over the middle of a ridiculous line and presses his mouth to yours as though he has only just remembered you are there; as though your presence has surprised him, despite the fact that his body has been arranged around yours all evening. These kisses are slow, almost sleepy, flavoured by cheap beer or strawberry syrup or the olives he swore he picked off the pizza. The sort of kiss that begins without urgency and deepens slowly until the film becomes noise and the room seems to fold itself around the two of you, until his hand slides into your hair and something in his breathing changes. You realise Dante has forgotten to perform; forgotten the grin and the swagger and the smart remark waiting behind his teeth. Then he notices the silence growing to honest between you and murmurs something idiotic about your taste in cinema before you kiss him again to spare you both.
He kisses you in doorways when he is leaving for a job, quick and bright and careless on purpose. Two fingers lift your chin, his mouth brushing yours with a grin that says he will be back before dinner even when you both know that the job is worse than Morrison admitted, even when Rebellion sits heavy across his back and Ebony and Ivory wait beneath his coat, even when there is a particular tension in his shoulders that appears only when he understands the odds and has decided not to tell you. Sometimes you catch his jacket before he can turn away and pull him back for another, slower kiss. One that does not permit jokes, one that tells him you know—you always know. For a moment, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm upon your face, his eyes closed as though he cannot bear to look at the expression that you're wearing and then he says, soft enough to bruise you, hey, I always come back. You hate that always is a word built to tempt the universe, you hate the jaunty little salute he gives you as he leaves, hate the empty hours that follow, hate yourself most of all for listening to his footsteps fade and believing him.
He kisses you when he returns with blood dried black beneath his collar and rents in his shirt already knitting closed. He kisses you before you can decide whether to strike him or hold him, his hands coming up around your face with startling care while you are still saying his name like an accusation. His mouth lands on yours hard, almost clumsy, relief stripped of every joke, every defence, every easy layer of him. You feel in the force of it the confession he will not make, that there was a moment out there when the blade went through him, or the building came down, or the world opened its red mouth beneath his feet, and he thought of you. Not heroically, not as inspiration. He thought of your coffee cooling beside the sink, your shoes near his door, your voice complaining that he never replaces the toilet paper. The mundane little relics of life he has somehow been permitted to enter. The fear of never seeing them again frightened him more than Hell ever managed.
He kisses you after arguments with all the frustration neither of you can fit into words. When you tell him that healing does not make pain imaginary, that surviving is not the same thing as being safe, that throwing himself between you and every danger in creation does not mean he gets to leave you standing outside the locked rooms of his mind. He paces and snaps and makes some bitter joke about emotional growth being above his pay grade until you tell him to stop, just stop, Dante. The room changes because you have found the wound beneath the comedy and his face goes blank in the way it does when he has nowhere left to retreat. Sometimes he kisses you then, crossing the space between you like a man losing a war, one hand at the back of your neck and the other gripping your hip as if he needs proof you are solid and warm and real, that you are still here despite having seen the ugliest machinery inside him. The kiss tastes faintly of anger and shame and desperate gratitude, his teeth catching your lip, his breath breaking against your cheek. You know this is not an apology, but it is the closest he can come while his pride is still bleeding.
He kisses your forehead when you are ill, though he insists this is only a highly advanced diagnostic technique. He says the fever seems serious and he may have to prescribe two sundaes and a complete ban on responsibility. His mouth lingers against your skin long after the joke has finished, his palm spread over your temple, his expression unguarded because your eyes are closed and he thinks you cannot see him.
He kisses your knuckles when he is being insufferable, bowing over your hand with all the exaggerated grandeur of a disgraced prince in a filthy red coat, asking whether you might grant a humble devil hunter the great honour of buying him dinner. Sometimes the comedy falls away before he lifts his head and his lips rest over the pulse in your hand, and there is something ancient in his face then, something inherited from a father who crossed worlds for love and a mother who stood between monsters and her children, something that makes you wonder whether Dante fears tenderness because it feels too much like prophecy.
He kisses your scars with none of his usual noise, whether they came from demons or ordinary life, whether they are pale and old or still tender at the edges. He never calls them beautiful because he knows pain does not become holy simply because it healed. He never tells you they made you stronger, as though you should thank the thing that hurt you. He only presses his lips there, gentle enough to make your throat close, and holds you as if the body in his hands is not fragile but precious. Which is worse somehow, worse because Dante is so careless with his own flesh and so reverent with yours.
He kisses you when he is jealous, though he will deny jealousy until his dying breath. He appears at your shoulder with an arm sliding around your waist and a bright, lazy hey, babe for the benefit of whoever has been standing too close, then brushes his mouth against your temple as though affection has just occurred to him spontaneously except his grip tightens when you laugh and tell him he is ridiculous. Later, when you are alone, he kisses you against the nearest wall with a low sound in his throat, half amusement and half something rougher, something territorial he usually keeps leashed because you belong to no one, because that is why he loves you. Even in the heat of it, he waits for your hands to pull him closer before allowing hunger to overtake restraint.
He kisses you when he is afraid, and those are the rarest kisses of all. The ones that do not look like fear until you understand him, until you realise that Dante becomes quieter when terror is real. The jokes stop not because he has nothing to say, but because every possible word sounds too much like a plea. When you are hurt and the blood on his gloves belongs to you, when his healing cannot help and all his impossible strength has become useless beside the mortal rhythm stumbling beneath his fingers, he bends over you and kisses your mouth as though he can breathe life directly into you. C'mon, stay with me he whispers against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours. There is no flourish left in him then, no legendary Son of Sparda, no demon hunter who laughs when swords pierce his chest. Only a frightened man who has arrived too late before and cannot survive becoming that boy again.
He kisses you in sleep sometimes, or near enough to it, when consciousness has loosened his grip upon himself and his body turns towards yours without permission. His arm lies heavy across your waist, his mouth finding your shoulder, your nape, the curve behind your ear. Small, unconscious kisses that ask for nothing and reveal everything. Awake, Dante can turn affection into theatre. Sleeping, Dante knows only warmth, safety, yours, and curls around you with his body between you and the world as if protection is not a decision but a reflex written into his bones.
He kisses you hello after hours apart as though it has been weeks, catches you around the middle and lifts you just enough to make you curse at him, laughing into your mouth while you clutch his shoulders. He kisses you goodbye as though goodbye is a harmless word, as though it has not chased him through every chapter of his life. Sometimes his hand remains tangled with yours after the kiss ends and, for one suspended second, neither of you moves. The whole world waits outside the door with its teeth bared and you feel him consider staying, you feel the desire pass through him like weather, fierce and almost painful. Then duty wins again.
But the kiss that ruins you most is never the dramatic one, never the bloodied reunion or the desperate collision against a wall. It is the kiss he gives you when nothing is wrong, when there is no demon at the door and no argument between you and no wound demanding proof that you are both alive. When morning has found him rumpled in your bed and sunlight has caught the silver of his hair and he looks at you without needing to turn the moment into a joke. His fingers brush your cheek and his mouth settles over yours with aching patience, not taking, not teasing, not apologising, simply loving you. You feel how difficult this gentleness is for him, how courageously he has chosen it. Battle has always been easy, leaving has always been easier, but the simple act of remaining beside you when no catastrophe forces his hand is perhaps the bravest thing Dante has ever done. So you kiss him back slowly, carefully, answering a question he has spent his whole life pretending not to ask. When he finally pulls away, he keeps his eyes closed for another breath, smiling faintly, almost disbelievingly, like a man who has fought his way through Hell and found, to his astonishment, that someone left the light on for when he came home.
@t1track - tagged as requested my darling 🖤
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Girl I have a vision hear me out, Leon Kennedy going crazy over tan line from the bikini. Like he's going with the pool/sea date with Y/N and at night he notices the tan line and goes viral in bed....
♱ cw. 18+. established relationship. shower sex. unprotected p in v. porn w/o plot.
an. another leon req. im listeningggg 🙂↕️ hope you like this <3
the beach had been a good day. genuinely good, the kind you don’t get enough of with leon. him being actually present, actually relaxed, salt water in his hair and his hand finding yours on the towel without thinking about it. you’d driven home warm and drowsy and stumbled into the shower together because it was easier, sandy and sun-sticky and barely awake.
and then he’d looked at you under the water.
his finger traces the tan line at your shoulder first, following it across your collarbone like he’s reading something. the pale skin against the gold the sun left everywhere else. he doesn’t say anything for a second, just looks, water running down both of you, and then he makes a low sound in his chest and his hands are on you and it’s very clear the shower is not going to be a quick one.
he’s not gentle about it either, which you appreciate. his hands find you immediately, palms dragging up your wet skin to cup your boobs, squeezing with a groan like he’s been thinking about this since noon on that beach towel. his thumbs roll over your nipples and you gasp and he does it again, watching your face, before ducking his head to get his mouth on them, hot and insistent, tongue dragging slow while the water runs down both of you. his hands keep moving, greedy and restless, gripping the curve of your ass, pulling you closer, squeezing hard enough that you feel it. he mouths up your chest, your throat, biting gently at the tan line on your collarbone and groaning against it like it’s doing something to him. “makin me lose my mind,” he says against your skin, rough. he gets his hand between your thighs and finds you so wet and slick already that the sound he makes is almost pained, two fingers pushing inside slow while his other hand stays on your boob, thumb dragging back and forth over your nipple in lazy strokes that make your hips roll forward chasing more of him.
when he finally lifts you up against the tile and pushes in you both go still, his cock pushing in deep, pulsing, until he’d filled you up completely and your walls were squeezing every inch. and then he starts to move and it’s deep and relentless, his hips finding a rhythm that has you gripping his shoulders, one of his hands palming your boob and squeezing with every thrust like he can’t stop touching you, the other gripping the back of your thigh to keep you exactly where he wants you. he mouths at your neck, your jaw, pressing open kisses along the tan line at your collarbone between short rough exhales, and you feel everything. the slick grip of your walls around him, the steam, his hands and his mouth and his weight against you, until you come apart against the tile with his name on your lips and he follows you with a low broken groan pressed into your shoulder, hands squeezing tight one last time before they go soft.
he stays there after, both of you panting, water going lukewarm around you. his thumb traces the tan line at your shoulder one more time. satisfied. “we’re going back next weekend,” he says. you laugh and he smiles against your lips.
You randomly met Mina Ashido and Toru Hagakure at a club and ever since then, it was history. You guys did everything together on your free days, shop, hangout and eventually, you met their friends, mostly male and ALSO pro hero’s.
Minas boyfriend, Eijirou and then Denki, Katsuki. Whenever you all hung out ‘Katsuki’ was always staring. Never spoke to you, but always staring. It was so so weird. If he wanted a bitch he could just say it??
You weren’t complaining tho, cause he was fineee. Ash blonde hair, silver brow piercing, plump lips and crimson eyes? ouweee he was nice to look at.
A few months later, you’d figure out why he was always looking at you. one stupid night you decided to get drunk with them and let him drive you home. Him pulling over in an empty parking lot so you could ride him was “definitely” by accident. And holy shit his dick was big, you could see why he always acting like a piece of shit. That dick hit allll the right spots. Pale, veiny, long, thick flushed tip with precum seeping out of it, long. and the best part was definitely him talking you through it. Groaning in your ear and mumbling about how he’s been waiting so long to fuck you—and his hand placement? He could not keep his hands off your ass. squishing. kneading, slapping and rubbing it, each cheek in each palm as he guided you up and down his thick cock. Of course you cried. Who wouldn’t? getting stuffed with such a big dick and hearing such dirty words just puts you in that mood.
and this became a habit. Him coming over to your place after a long day of hero work to ruin your shit, pumping loads of his hot, frothy cum into you before cleaning you up and taking care of you.
Bakugo is halfway off of the couch, ass in the air as he tries to reach for his pants. He had dropped them in the middle of your living room, legs turned inside out and socks jammed inside. He manages to nab them by rolling over your leg, so you sigh again. "Ugh."
"Fuck off."
"Just get up!"
"I'm fucking tired. Someone needed to get dicked down three times-"
A hard shove nearly topples him off of the couch all together. "You liked it."
Katsuki's eyes flicker to your tits, then your eyes, then your tits again and it nearly, nearly, nearly makes you want to climb on him once again. Though, you're afraid if you move, you'll end up staining your couch-
"Don't you work in design? Why does your place look like dogshit?" Katsuki reads your mind. This the third time he's been to your place and it feels more embarrassing each time. His own place is nice, with a feminine touch that makes you feel sour.
"Tell your mom to pay me more."
"Oh, yeah," he rolls his eyes. "Hey, Mitsuki, I'm sick of looking at your interns ugly ass, lumpy couch, when I should be looking at her tits. Can you give her a raise? Also, she does this thing with her tongue that's worth a bonus-"
"Fuck off!"
The toothy smile he gives you is shortlived.
"Listen, we can't tell her. Or anybody. none of my friends can keep a secret." He leans back. "Things are... weird with my ex still."
You sit up, hand flying to cover yourself.
"Did you just cheat on her with me?"
"Fuck no, that's over. It's dead, but the old lady doesn't want it to be dead. She's still friends with her and everything. It's just... Some of my friends feel the same way, I think. It's just weird."
This feels a bit too personal for what you and Katsuki have. Neither of you have ever mentioned your personal lives before, other than your dire love for creampies.
"I'm sorry," you say, because you can think of nothing else. "Wanna see my pussy again? Would that make you feel better?"
Series masterlist
AO3
Pairing: RE4!Leon Kennedy x CIA!Reader
Summary: You’ve spent your career being the hand that sweeps the world's atrocities under the rug. You’re cynical, you’re tired, and you’re definitely too old for Leon Kennedy’s brand of heroics. There are rules to this job: Don’t get attached. Don’t hesitate. Don’t trust anyone. You break all three somewhere between a dive bar, a hospital room, and Leon Kennedy looking at you like you’re something worth saving.
Content: 18+, graphic descriptions of violence, eventual smut, second person POV, no use of Y/N, age gap (older reader), coworkers to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, awkward Leon, almost kisses, romantic tension, sexual tension, survivor's guilt, eventual smut, avoidant attachment, past trauma, patching each other up,
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The hum of the office’s industrial HVAC system has become a dull, brain-numbing thrum that Leon is convinced will be played on a loop in his personal version of hell.
It is 2:00 AM, and the windowless room feels like a pressurized capsule deep underwater.
He rubs the bridge of his nose, his eyes burning from fourteen hours of squinting at digital shipping manifests that all seem to blur into a single, endless string of shell companies and illegal cargo.
Across the desk, you are leaning back in a swivel chair, your head tilted back against the headrest as you stare at the ceiling tiles with a look of pure, unadulterated loathing.
"If I have to look at one more logistics code, I’m going to defect," you mutter, your voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrates through the quiet room.
You groan, checking your watch and letting out a huff of disbelief.
"An hour. I have an hour-long commute back to my place near Langley. By the time I hit the pillow, I’ll have to wake up and do my hair for the morning briefing. This is a human rights violation."
Leon looks at you, his heart doing that annoying, rhythmic hitch it always does when you let your guard down. He’s equally wrecked—his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and his blonde hair looks like he’s been trying to pull it out by the roots.
Don’t overthink it, Kennedy. Be a human being, his brain suggests.
"Don't be dramatic," he says, a tired smirk playing on his lips. "My place is ten minutes away. I have a guest room with actual pillows and a door that locks. You can crash there and save yourself the two hours of highway-induced misery."
──────•✦•──────
Ten minutes later, the rainy D.C. streets are a blur of neon reflections, blue and red smears of light streaking across the windshield as Leon drives you toward his apartment.
The silence in the car isn't heavy; it’s the comfortable, exhausted quiet of two people who have survived enough gunfights and bureaucratic marathons to find peace in the mechanical hum of an engine and the rhythmic sound of windshield wipers.
Leon keeps his eyes fixed on the road, his hands gripped at ten and two. He’s hyper-aware of your presence in the passenger seat—the way you’re leaned back, eyes closed, the faint scent of office coffee and rain clinging to your coat.
Don’t make it weird, Kennedy, his brain warns with a dry, cynical edge. You’re being a good partner. Providing a sleeping solution. It’s practically a mission requirement.
Still, as he pulls into his parking garage, he finds himself checking the rearview mirror to make sure he doesn't have a stray smudge of ink on his face.
Leon leads you inside, his keys jingling with a sudden, jarring loudness in the quiet hallway.
He pushes the door open and steps aside, feeling a strange, fluttery spike of nerves he hasn’t felt since his first day on the force. This is his sanctuary—the one place where he isn't an agent, he's just Leon.
And now, you’re in it.
The air in the flat smells of cedar, old paperback books, and the faint, lingering tang of the coffee he’d brewed at five that morning. It’s lived-in, sparse but clean, and suddenly he’s worried it’s too sparse. Or maybe too messy?
"Make yourself at home," he says, his voice cracking just enough to make him want to walk back out the front door and keep going until he reaches the border. "The guest room is through there."
He disappears into his bedroom for a moment, the sound of him rummaging through a dresser drawer echoing in the small space. He emerges holding a faded gray t-shirt—a relic from his Academy days, soft and thin from a hundred washes, the fabric so worn it feels like a second skin.
"Here," he says, handing it to you with a slight, awkward shrug. He avoids meeting your eyes, focusing instead on the way your fingers brush his as you take the fabric.
"It’s not exactly high fashion, but it’s better than sleeping in slacks. Unless you’re the type who likes to be combat-ready at 3:00 AM, in which case... I have an extra vest?"
It’s a terrible joke, and he knows it the moment it leaves his lips. He lets out a small, self-deprecating huff. "Ignore me. I’m running on fumes."
He leads you to the bathroom, pointing out the stack of fresh towels with the kind of stiff, formal hand gestures usually reserved for briefing the Joint Chiefs. "Soap is there. Extra toothbrush in the mirror cabinet. It’s, uh... it’s the soft bristle kind. Better for the gums. "
Better for the gums? Really? Just stop talking, his mind begs.
Once the bathroom door clicks shut, Leon retreats to the kitchen, feeling like he’s just defused a bomb with three seconds left on the clock. He leans against the laminate counter, his breath hitching as he stares at a glass of water like it holds the secrets to the universe.
He’s trying to stay professional, trying to maintain that "partner" persona that keeps things safe and uncomplicated, but his brain is currently a riot of unhelpful thoughts.
He can hear the water running in the shower, and the sound makes the apartment feel suddenly, claustrophobically intimate.
He thinks about you in his shirt—the way the gray cotton will hang off your frame, the way the collar will likely slide down one shoulder. He thinks about you sleeping just a few feet away, wrapped in his linens.
Get a grip, Kennedy, he tells himself, taking a long, slow sip of the water. You’re a professional. You’re an agent. You’re... currently staring at a toaster like it’s a high-priority threat because a woman is in your bathroom.
He lets out a long, weary sigh, rubbing his face with his hands.
He’s survived Raccoon City, the Plagas, and a dozen global conspiracies, but standing in his own kitchen while you wash the day off in the next room is somehow the most terrifying mission of his life.
He just hopes he can make it through the next eight hours without saying something even more idiotic.
Then, the bathroom door clicks open.
When you emerge, Leon’s brain simply... stops working.
The shirt is massive on you, the hem hitting mid-thigh, revealing the long, pale line of your legs. The collar is stretched wide, sliding off one shoulder to reveal the jagged, white edge of a scar—a map of your service that usually hides beneath layers of silk and Kevlar.
You look soft, vulnerable, and devastatingly domestic in his clothes.
Leon stands there, frozen with his glass halfway to his mouth, his inner monologue screaming in a panicked, high-pitched frequency.
Well, that’s it. Pack it up. I'mnever getting this image out of my head. I want her in my clothes forever.
He realizes he’s staring—not just a polite glance, but a full-blown, wide-eyed gaze that would be embarrassing even for a rookie.
You catch his eye, your brow arching in that familiar, sharp way that usually precedes a verbal dismantling.
"You know, Kennedy," you tease, your voice dropping into a playful, sleepy drawl. "If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to start charging you for the view. Or did you forget what a woman looks like without a holster?"
Leon feels the heat rush up his neck, a deep, searing crimson that he’s helpless to stop. He clears his throat, finally managing to set the glass down with a hand that is definitely not as steady as he’d like.
"I was just... checking to see if the shirt fit," he lies, his voice sounding uncomfortably raspy. "It’s a bit big."
"Right. Very considerate of you," you murmur, stepping into the narrow hallway where the linen closet is located.
He follows you to point out the extra blankets, but the hallway is cramped, a space designed for utility rather than the lingering, heavy tension that currently fills it.
Leon ends up standing way too close to you, his chest nearly brushing your bare shoulder as he reaches for a high shelf. He can smell the soap from his shower on your skin, mixed with your own scent, and it makes his head spin.
"Blankets are... uh, right here," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper.
He’s looking down at you, his gaze trapped by the way the dim hallway light catches the gold in your eyes.
He knows he should step back.
He knows he should say goodnight and go to bed like a rational adult.
But as you look up at him, your breath hitching just a fraction in the quiet intimacy of the apartment, Leon realizes that 'rational' is a luxury he can no longer afford. He stays right where he is, his hand lingering on the closet door, caught in the gravity of a woman who has finally managed to disarm the President's most dangerous weapon without firing a single shot.
You don't let the moment linger long enough for him to actually recover his dignity. Instead, you offer him a lazy, half-lidded smirk that says you know exactly what kind of chaos you're causing, and then you pat his arm—a touch that feels like a branding iron through the thin sleeve of his shirt.
"Goodnight, Leon," you murmur, your voice dripping with a playful, sleepy silkiness. "Try not to dream about shipping manifests."
You turn and slip into the guest room, the click of the door latch sounding like a gavel in the silence of the hallway. Leon stands there for a full thirty seconds, staring at the wood grain of the door, his hand still hovering near the linen closet.
"Yeah. Goodnight. I’m... I'm just across the hall," he finally stammers to the empty corridor, his voice cracking just enough to make his inner monologue groan in agony. "If you need... pillows. Or a tactical flashlight. Or anything. I'm right there. In the room. Sleeping."
He practically retreats to his own bedroom, tripping over the threshold in his haste to escape the radiating heat of his own embarrassment.
He falls back onto his mattress, not even bothering to change out of his trousers, and stares up at the ceiling where the shadows of the rainy D.C. streets dance in rhythmic patterns.
His heart is a frantic percussion in the quiet room. All he can see behind his eyelids is the way that gray t-shirt—his shirt—hung off your frame. The way the hem brushed your thighs. The way the collar exposed that small, pale sliver of a scar on your shoulder.
You’re in his house.
You're in his clothes.
You're currently sliding under sheets that he washed and folded.
She’s in my bed, he thinks, the realization hitting him with the force of a flashbang. He quickly corrects himself, his eyes snapping open. Well, not my bed. The guest bed. But it’s still my furniture. My linens. My space.
He wonders, with a sudden and terrifying intensity, if the guest room will smell like you in the morning. If that sharp, clean scent of your perfume will linger in the fibers of the pillowcase. Then, he stops, squeezing his eyes shut as a wave of self-loathing washes over him.
God, you’re a pervert, Kennedy, his inner monologue snarls, dry and biting. A highly trained federal agent, and here you are, lying in the dark wondering about the smell of your spare bedding like some kind of basement-dwelling creep. Real professional.
He rolls onto his side, clutching his own pillow and trying to force his brain to shut down, but it’s a losing battle. The apartment feels different now—smaller, warmer, and infinitely more dangerous.
Every creak of the floorboards sounds like a reminder that you're just a few feet away, wrapped in his cotton, and Leon realizes that "ten minutes away" might have been the most perilous distance he's ever traveled.
Do you think the gray shirt looks better on him or you?
And more importantly, would you actually be there when the sun came up, or would you vanish back into the shadows of Langley before he could offer you a cup of that high-end coffee?
How long do you think it'll take before Leon finally stops "acting professional" and actually tells you he's been gone for you since that first briefing?
──────•✦•──────
The morning light is a cruel, unfiltered glare that cuts through the condensation on the kitchen windows, highlighting every dust mote dancing in the air of Leon’s apartment.
You emerge from the guest room feeling surprisingly human, having scrubbed the exhaustion from your face with cold water. You’re back in yesterday’s clothes—the slacks pressed as best as you could manage with your palms, the silk blouse tucked in with surgical precision.
To any casual observer, you look like the high-level operative you are: composed, untouchable, and ready to dismantle a regime before lunch.
You walk into the kitchen, the soft click of your heels on the hardwood announcing your arrival.
Leon is there, standing by the counter with a mug in his hand. He’s already dressed in a fresh suit—minus the jacket—but his hair is a damp, chaotic mess from a recent shower, and he has the haunted, wide-eyed look of a man who spent the night wrestling with his own conscience.
"Morning, Leon," you say, your voice smooth and entirely too steady for someone who got four hours of sleep.
Leon jolts, nearly sloshing coffee over his white shirt. "Morning," he manages, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.
He clears his throat, his gaze flicking to you and then immediately back to the toaster as if it were a high-priority threat.
"Coffee’s in the pot. It’s... it’s the good stuff. Not the federal battery acid."
"You remembered my request. I’m touched," you tease, leaning against the kitchen island.
You watch him fumble with a spoon, his movements jerky and uncoordinated.
It’s fascinating, really.
This man has stared down biological horrors that would turn most people’s hair white, but a quiet morning in a kitchen with you has him on the verge of a meltdown.
You take a slow, deliberate sip of the coffee—it is, in fact, really good—and then you let a slow, mischievous smirk pull at your lips. It’s time to poke the bear. Or the baby deer.
"You know," you start, your tone conversational as you glance down at your rumpled blouse. "We’re going to be arriving at work at the exact same time. Me in yesterday’s clothes, walking in right behind you." You tilt your head, watching him over the rim of your mug. "The rumor mill is going to have a field day. By noon, the Director will think we’re engaged, and by the afternoon debrief, Evan will be asking when the housewarming party is."
The effect is instantaneous. Leon freezes, his hand tightening around his mug until his knuckles turn white. You watch the panic flare behind his blue eyes, followed quickly by that deep, scorched-earth blush that climbs from his collar all the way to his messy hairline.
"I—well, I mean—" he stammers, his brain clearly freezing as he tries to calculate the political and social fallout of such a scandal. "I can drop you off a block away? Or I can... I could go in late? We don't have to—it doesn't have to look like that."
God, he’s so easy to rattle, you think, feeling a surge of genuine, playful affection for the man.
You push off the counter, stepping into his space just enough to see him hold his breath.
"Relax, Leon," you murmur, your voice dropping into a gentle, raspy drawl as you pat his shoulder. "I’m an expert at redirection. I’ll just tell them I spent the night in a high-stakes interrogation and you were my primary witness. It’s not even a lie, technically."
You offer him a wink, watching him struggle to form a coherent sentence. "Drink your coffee, pretty boy. We’ve got a world to save, and you look like you’re one joke away from an aneurysm."
Leon just stares at you, his mouth slightly parted, his "professional" mask completely shattered. He looks absolutely wrecked, and you find it entirely too satisfying.
"Right," he finally mumbles, taking a desperate gulp of coffee. "Interrogation. I can work with that."
You wonder much longer he can survive this kind of "professional" tension before he actually tries to make the rumors true.
──────•✦•──────
The ink on these financial spreadsheets is starting to look less like data and more like a personal insult.
You are leaning so far forward over the secure glass terminal that your nose is practically touching the display, your fingers flying across the trackpad as you scroll through a seemingly endless labyrinth of encrypted shipping manifests, shell companies, and falsified customs declarations.
The air in the secure room is freezing, smelling faintly of heated copper wiring and the aggressively chemical lemon wipes someone used to clean the desks. Your lower back is a solid sheet of pain from sitting in a government-issued rolling chair for nine hours straight, and your inner monologue is currently composing a deeply moving, highly profane eulogy for your sanity.
If I have to look at one more offshore banking routing number registered in the Cayman Islands, you think, your jaw tightening as you rub at a stubborn knot in your shoulder, I am going to personally find the head of the Chimera Syndicate and strangle him with a networking cable. Just for the sake of variety.
"Hey, tax evasion enthusiasts," you call out, your voice a gravelly, sand-papered rasp that cuts through the rhythmic clicking of keyboards.
"Look at this July manifest from 'Apex Logistics.' It’s a classic dummy corporation. No physical assets, one registered mailbox in Panama, and a paper trail that completely vanishes into thin air."
Evan leans over your shoulder, a cold cup of tea in his hand, his eyes narrowing as he tracks your cursor. "They’re flagging heavy refrigerated cargo containers. Certified as agricultural fertilizer, but look at the temperature requirements. Negative eighty degrees Celsius. You don't keep cow manure on dry ice."
Across the table, Leon straightens up from his own terminal. He has his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the corded, athletic muscle of his forearms, and his blond hair is a little less perfectly styled than usual—a clear sign that he’s been running his hands through it in frustration for the last three hours.
He walks over to your station, his solid, broad presence instantly cutting off the draft from the AC vent.
"The routing numbers on those shipments are bouncing through a secondary shell company based out of Lima," Leon says, his smooth voice dropping into that intensely focused, analytical register that always makes your pulse do a stupid, uncoordinated little flutter. He points a finger at a highlighted line on your screen. "Look where the physical tracking data cuts off. It’s not the coast. It’s the high-altitude cloud forests of the Amazonas region in northern Peru."
You tilt your head back, looking up into his chiseled face. "Peru," you drawl, a heavy, theatrical sigh vibrating in your chest. "Fucking marvelous. So we’re trading the humid, parasitic swamps of Colombia for high-altitude, oxygen-deprived mountain ridges. My knees are practically weeping tears of joy, Kennedy."
Leon lets out a soft, genuine laugh, a warm sound that completely shatters the sterile, stressful atmosphere of the terminal room. He leans his hip against the edge of your desk, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an incredibly playful, teasing brightness.
"Come on," he murmurs, his mouth curving into that crooked, slightly awkward smirk you’re becoming dangerously fond of. "Look on the bright side. The llamas are friendly, the geography is stunning, and I hear the local pisco sours are incredible. It’s basically a vacation. A working vacation where we happen to be hunting a highly illegal, mutated biological weapon lab."
"You really are an incurable optimist, aren't you, pretty boy?" you tease, a slow, wicked smile spreading across your face. You reach out, your fingers lightly tapping against his forearm, feeling the rigid, steady warmth of his skin beneath your touch. "A vacation. Right. I’ll make sure to pack my finest tactical sunhat. If a giant, mutated guinea pig tries to bite my face off in the Andes, I am personally using your leather jacket as a shield."
Leon blinks, his cheeks flushing a faint, endearing shade of pink at the sudden physical contact and the low, gravelly intimacy of your tone. He scratches the back of his neck, his signature schoolboy awkwardness returning in full force. "I, uh... I think my jacket has suffered enough structural damage for one month," he stammers slightly, clearing his throat.
Evan lets out a loud, raspy snort from across the desk, completely destroying the moment. "If you two are quite finished, we actually have a flight log to clear. The Director just signed off on the operational budget. You’re wheels up for Lima in six hours."
The playful light instantly vanishes from your eyes, your professional, hardened mask clicking right back into place as you sit up straight. You stare at the digital map of Peru now populating the main screen, your heart settling into a steady, cold rhythm.
"Alright, let's get the satellite terrain scans for those coordinates," you command, your voice turning into that fierce, unyielding authority that leaves no room for corporate bureaucracy. "If the Chimera Syndicate built a laboratory in the mountains, they’re going to have limited extraction points. Let’s figure out how to box the bastards in before we even touch down."
Leon steps back to his terminal, his posture shifting seamlessly from the awkward, charming guy into the lethal, hyper-competent operative you trust with your life.
But as he glances back at you over his shoulder, the intense, lingering warmth in his blue gaze tells you everything you need to know: the walls are crumbling, and whatever nightmares are waiting for the two of you in the Peruvian clouds, you aren't facing them alone.
──────•✦•──────
The basement armory of the STRATCOM headquarters smells of gun oil, floor wax, and the bruised egos of a hundred field agents who came before you.
You’re currently standing in front of a rack of combat knives, weighing a balanced Karambit in your hand while Leon meticulously inspects a standard-issue survival knife like he’s looking for a microscopic flaw in the steel.
"You’re overthinking it," you say, your voice echoing slightly in the sterile, low-ceilinged room. "It’s a blade, not a soulmate. You point the sharp end at the bad guy and try not to get blood on your boots."
Leon huffs, a dry, amused sound. He doesn't look up from the blade.
"Precision matters. In a close-quarters struggle, a quarter-inch of reach is the difference between going home and ending up as a redacted file. But I wouldn't expect a CIA 'point-and-click' specialist to understand the nuances of a proper edge."
Your inner monologue lets out a sharp, cynical bark. Nuances? This man treats a knife like it’s a high-maintenance girlfriend.
You turn toward him, leaning your hip against the gear table. "‘Point-and-click’? Careful, pretty boy. I’ve put more miles on a combat blade than you’ve put on that hair product you love so much. In a real scrap, I’d have you on the floor before you finished reciting the manufacturer’s warranty."
Leon finally looks at you, a challenge sparking in those deep blue eyes. He sets the knife down with a deliberate clack. "Is that so? You think you can take down a STRATCOM veteran with just 'nuance-free' aggression?"
"I don't think, Kennedy. I know," you counter, a playful, dangerous smirk pulling at your lips. You gesture toward the padded sparring mats at the far end of the armory. "Unless you’re afraid of losing your 'Golden Boy' status to a girl from Langley."
"The mats. Now," Leon says, his voice dropping into that focused, mission-ready register that always makes a small, traitorous part of you shiver.
The spar begins as a physical chess match. You shed your tactical jackets, down to just your black undershirts, and the shift in energy is palpable.
You move first—you’re faster, a blur of practiced, kinetic motion. You’re a product of the CIA’s ruthless efficiency; you don't fight fair, you fight to end it. Leon, however, is a wall. He’s stronger, his movements grounded and economical, honed by years of surviving things that shouldn't be survivable.
You lunge, a feint toward his ribs that he catches with a forearm block that feels like hitting a steel pipe. You use the momentum to spin, sweeping for his ankle, but he hops the strike and lunges for a clinch.
For a few minutes, it’s a blur of heavy breathing, the scent of salt and exertion, and the dull thud of bodies hitting the mat.
Your brain is providing a running commentary of dry insults. Come on. He’s built like a tank, but tanks don't turn well. Pivot. Use his weight.
You see your opening when he commits too heavily to a shoulder throw. You slip under his center of gravity, a move that requires more trust in your own knees than you probably have, and trip his lead foot while driving your weight into his chest.
The air leaves his lungs in a sharp woof as he hits the mat hard. Before he can roll, you’re on top of him, pinning him down with a practiced, brutal grace.
You’ve got your knees firmly planted on either side of his hips, pinning his lower body, and your forearm is pressed across his collarbone, just shy of his throat.
You’re both gasping for air, the silence of the armory amplified by the frantic thrumming of your hearts.
A single bead of sweat drips off the tip of your nose, landing right on the collar of his damp shirt.
Your hair has fallen out of its tie, framing your face in a messy curtain. You look down at him, your chest heaving, and let a triumphant, jagged smile take over.
"See?" you wheeze, your voice a low, mocking drawl. "I told you. Easy to take down. Maybe STRATCOM needs to up their recruitment standards if this is the best they’ve got."
You expect a retort. A one-liner about "lucky breaks" or "dirty tricks."
But Leon doesn't say a word. He’s looking up at you, and the heat in his gaze has nothing to do with the exercise. His blue eyes are dark, focused on your face with an intensity that makes the playful insult die in your throat.
Slowly, almost tentatively, Leon reaches up.
His hand is large, his skin warm as he brushes a stray lock of hair away from your forehead and tucks it behind your ear. His thumb lingers for a heartbeat, grazing the curve of your cheekbone with a gentleness that feels completely out of place in a basement full of weapons.
"You're... relentless," he whispers, his voice a gravelly vibration that you feel through your knees.
The air in the room suddenly feels ten degrees hotter.
Your heart, which had been slowing down, kicks back into a frantic, uneven rhythm. For a second, you think he might pull you down, or you might lean in, and the "professional boundaries" will finally go up in smoke right here on the blue vinyl.
But you’re a CIA veteran; you know when to retreat from a compromised position. You force a sharp, barking laugh and push off him, springing to your feet in one fluid motion.
"Relentless and currently winning," you say, reaching down to grab your jacket from the floor.
You don't look back as you head for the door, your brain screaming at you for being a coward.
"Try to get some ice on that ego, Kennedy. I’d hate for you to be too sore to carry my bags on the next mission."
You hear him behind you—the sound of him scrambling to his feet, followed by the inevitable, adorable stammer.
"I—my ego is fine! And I'm not carrying your bags! That was a technicality!"
You smirk as you hit the elevator button.
Nice work, pretty boy, you think, feeling the ghost of his thumb still burning against your skin. Let’s see how you handle the debrief.
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synopsis: brief time apart while caring for his dog gives you the opportunity to think about Leon. His return gives you the opportunity to think harder about him.
word count: 2.5k
warnings: alternate universe - professional sports, 20ish year age gap, selfship coded, talk of vasectomy (Leon had one)
He thrived on quality time, so much so that you already had a bag in his house with spare clothes for overnights. He was very difficult to say no to when he was already wrapped around you, making you feel very warm and fuzzy as he buried his face in your neck. Those blue eyes were very dangerous when he was looking at you with a little pout, and you liked the way he smiled at you when you emerged in the morning wearing one of his shirts with Travis trotting behind you. You had unintentionally stolen his dog in addition to apparently stealing his heart with the efficiency that he stole bases in games, but you didn’t think he was complaining about it in the slightest.
This week would be different, because you would be watching Travis while Leon was out of town for three days in Chicago. The neighbor kid that usually kept an eye on him was visiting his grandparents, so Leon asked if you’d stay at his house and look after his dog while he was away.
“You can sleep in my bed while you’re here,” he’d told you, rubbing your back as you laid on him on the couch. You usually didn’t sleep in his bed, instead sleeping in the guest bedroom for the sake of your nerves when you’d spent the night and making up for the distance by letting him be clingy the next morning until you had to get going about your days. You’d told him that you would, since it apparently meant a lot to him, but now you felt out of place sitting in his bedroom without him. Your work for the day was done, having just posted your edit announcing the team’s well earned win, so all you really needed to do was get ready for bed and wait up for the call you knew would be coming as soon as he had a free moment where he could call.
You have to steel your nerves after you’re in your pajamas, face freshly washed and your preferred pillow that you swiped from the guest bedroom tucked into your arms. Travis trots behind you, taking his stairs up to Leon’s large bed and making himself comfortable in what you knew was his spot on the left side of the bed, leaving you the choice of laying in Leon’s usual spot towards the middle or making your own spot on the right side of the bed. Did it matter? Probably not, since Leon would be back in a couple days and you’d most likely be on his right side while Travis kept the left. But in this moment it matters significantly, and you make your decision with the understanding and acceptance that you weren’t staking a permanent claim in his bed. It was two nights, maybe three if their flight was later than usual, and you needed to stop being so dramatic about it.
When Leon calls it’s just as you’d made yourself comfortable in the center of the bed, the pillow you’d taken from the guest bedroom properly angled for you to lay on and Travis scooting himself over to be closer to you. The conversation is light, some words of congratulations for his victory and him recapping the day and giving you the itinerary for tomorrow before you gave him your itinerary for tomorrow and an update on his dog’s behavior with you.
“He has a little attitude if I don’t nearly dislocate my shoulder to throw the ball for him,” you comment with a laugh, idly scratching the dog behind his ears as Leon lets out his own tired chuckle. “You better warm up for when you get home, he’s definitely missed your throws.”
“I’m going to invest in a portable ball launcher for him so we can take him to the field and he can entertain himself.”
“And what would we be doing?”
“Entertaining each other,” he says it so easily, and you’re proud that this is the first time you accept it easily. “You finding everything okay in the house?”
“You ask that like I haven’t spent more time here than at my own place the last couple weeks. I noticed that a couple coffee mugs were placed on a lower shelf before I got here.”
“Trying to be considerate.”
“It’s appreciated,” you say around a yawn, quickly covering your mouth. “Your bed is very comfortable.”
“I think I know what would make it more comfortable.”
“You?”
“If you’ll have me.”
“It’s your bed.”
“Yeah but your comfort is more important. I’d sleep outside if you wanted me to.”
“You definitely don’t need to do all that,” you assure, idly twirling a strand of Travis’ fur. “But also when did you start sticking your tongue out when you pitch?”
“I’ve never done that.”
“I have pictures to send you then, because you definitely were today.”
The next two nights went as easily as the first, Leon’s bed was very comfortable and you stayed on the phone with him until you started to doze off. The third night you found yourself struggling to sleep, because you knew the team was flying home tonight and you were eager to see your boyfriend. Why you missed him so much this time you weren’t sure, but you were giddy when you got the text that they were boarding the plane and he should be home in a few hours. You’d responded with a picture of you and Travis, the borzoi laid on his back against your chest, but the pitcher zeroed in on the shirt you were wearing.
Shopped in my closet?
Stole this from you last week. You respond, relaxing more into the pillow. He doesn’t respond, you assume it was due to standard takeoff protocols, and instead go back to looking at the comments on the last post on the team’s Instagram to see what the fans were fighting about now.
“Oh Travis, they’re idiots,” you mumble, gently scratching the dog as you scroll through a back and forth about Leon’s value as the team’s captain because they lost one game. As if they knew anything about the work he’d put into his career and the “value” he brought to the team — as if the mentorship he’d given to most of the younger players meant nothing. “He’s definitely my boyfriend if I’m this defensive on reflex.”
The dog snorts, as if to agree with you, and you smile before locking your phone and setting it down to charge. Leon would be home soon enough, and you wanted to be well rested to enjoy the morning with him before you both had to get ready for the next game of their series against the Cubs. It was currently tilted in favor of the enemy, and you needed Leon to clean things up tomorrow and the following day.
You wake up to the bed shifting behind you, a gentle hand pushing your hair from your face with accompanying body heat at your back. You try to turn, only to be hushed by a familiar voice and kiss to your temple.
“Didn’t mean to wake you, honey, just wanted to say hi before bed.” That was Leon, and you reach back to get a hold of his shirt to keep him close.
“Hi Leon,” you whisper, a sleepy smile on your face as your eyes try to find him in the dark room. “Come to bed.”
“You sure?”
You nod, giving his shirt a gentle tug to reaffirm your request. He must’ve already gotten ready for bed, because he doesn’t hesitate to get under the duvet behind you and pull you back against his chest. It feels good to be surrounded by his scent again, aftershave and a minty body wash enveloping you in addition to his warmth. You were wrong, though, your spot in this bed would be the middle between Leon and his furry son Travis, and at this point there wasn’t anywhere else you’d rather be.
When you wake up in the morning Leon is still there, his own soft snores filling the room in tandem with the snores of the borzoi on your other side. The sun is starting to peek through the crack in the curtains, sending a sliver of light across your bodies and letting you know that an alarm was likely to be going off soon as today was yet another game day. You’d need your phone to confirm your schedule for the day, but you’re stopped from moving by his hand squeezing your breast and the realization that his hand had moved from where it had rested on your hip. You weren’t assuming anything less than well intentioned, and if you had to be honest you’d say that you liked how his hand felt on your chest and you wished it could’ve been under your shirt. You’d been trying so hard to pace your relationship but not out of a need for your own comfort, instead out of a need to protect your image from people you didn’t much care about. What did it matter if you slept in his bed, or if you guys were already having sex — “already” being a silly word to use because it simply didn’t matter when you were having sex as long as you both wanted it.
His hands were large, warm and slightly calloused, and you did want to feel them travel every inch of your body. You trusted that he’d be so gentle with you until you didn’t want him to be. It was probably time to be as forward with him as he’d been with you. Everything about him was so much bigger than you were, you’d felt his erection through his pants a couple times as you’d sat on his lap and you would be lying if you hadn’t thought about how it would feel inside you.
Maybe if they won tonight you’d offer to celebrate. He’d probably like that.
The alarm on your phone starts to go off, causing the man behind you to stir and you take that opportunity to try and sit up only to be pulled back into his chest.
“Five more minutes, baby? Maybe ten?”
“I was going to make us some breakfast,” you murmur, managing to turn in his arms so you could face him properly. “Plus I don’t know exactly when I’m supposed to be at the park.”
“Ten minutes won’t make us late, and I’ll make breakfast,” he states, his eyes barely open as you sigh but let yourself cuddle into his chest.
“You’re lucky I missed you,” you mumble, draping one of your legs over his hip in an effort to get closer. His hands help you get closer, arms wrapping tight around your body to get you as close as possible to him. One of the hands on your back slips under your shirt, fingers splayed wide against the expanse of your skin and accentuating once more how big he was compared to you. “Can I ask you a potentially silly question?”
“You can ask me anything.”
“Were you really going to sleep across the hall last night?”
“I didn’t want to potentially freak you out since we’ve been sleeping separately.” You pull back to look at him properly, your heart melting at his sleepy smile before he’s leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose. “I gotta keep you comfortable first.”
“You’re very good to me, Leon.”
“Tryin’ to be,” he whispers back, his lips catching yours in a kiss. His lips are dry and you sure yours weren’t much better, but his fingertips press into your back as your hand cups his cheek, pulling each other in closer as he kisses you senseless. You’re sure he could ask you for anything after kissing you like this and you’d say yes without hesitation. But all good things came to an end, and your end came with your phone alarm going off once more.
“Been wantin’ to kiss you like that since I left,” he says, smiling as you kiss him again as his hand searches for your phone on the nightstand. It’s handed over to you as you sit up, quickly unlocking it and going to your calendar to make sure you were right about when you needed to be at work. Your free hand rests on his chest, covered by his own hand that keeps it there as his heart beats beneath. “When do you have to get there?”
“Nine-thirty, and it’s seven thirty now,” you murmur, taking a quick picture of him before locking your phone and setting it to the side. “Can I ask you another potentially silly question?”
“Of course.”
“Do you want to have sex tonight?”
Something in his face changes at your question. He’s still smiling, but there was a subtle shift in his expression that you probably only caught because you were looking at him so intently. Concerning nonetheless, and you feel yourself getting nervous again as he hesitates to respond.
“We totally don’t have to, I was just thinking that—“
“I want to, honey, don’t doubt that,” he cuts you off, guiding you to sit a bit lower so he could sit up properly. You settle easily in his lap, your legs around his waist as his hands cup your cheeks with thumbs carefully dragging against your skin as he steals a kiss. “I’ve just been putting off telling you something, and now I know I need to.”
“Do you have a lifetime disease?“
“No, no diseases or ailments.” This time you kiss him, letting your fingers get buried in his hair as you do. “I had a vasectomy.”
That was it?
“So?”
“So I said I was serious about you forever, but if you want kids I can’t really give you them. I froze some sperm but it’s not a guarantee that it would work.”
“If we get to a point where we decide we want kids, we can cross that bridge. Right now I think that’s the best news you could’ve told me.”
“You sure? You’re still so young and—“
“And right now I don’t want them. If that changes we’ll talk about it and figure it all out.” There’s a finality to your tone, one that has your boyfriend nodding his understanding with a soft smile. You can tell that he’s not comfortable, potentially fearing a truly negative reaction from you down the line, but you were grateful that he told you at all. Plenty of stories floating around online about trying for a baby only to learn their partner had a vasectomy, and you were glad that you wouldn’t be contributing to that and that Leon was always putting you first. “Thank you for telling me that you don’t need a condom.”
“Thank you in advance for letting me…hit raw?” You groan, shaking your head as he chuckles at your expense. The downside was that he wasn’t using it incorrectly, but you never wanted to hear him say it like that again. “Okay yeah, that was bad. But the sentiment is there.”
“On that note I’m going to take a shower while you make breakfast.”
There is a faint mark on your back, fading traces that resemble tight grip of fingers.
It isn't rare for you to be littered in bites and bruises, Bakugou took pride in marking you up any way possible, but this wasn't his mark.
"So, you let your side piece mark you up too?" He huffed, arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame, grey sweats loose on his waist, cum-gutters peeking through the elastic, whore.
"Which one are you talking about?" You move around sluggishly, trying to find whatever mark he was taking about, twisting your torso in an awkward angle before giving up and going back to getting ready.
"So, multiple side pieces, un-fucking-believable!" He groaned, arm raising up to run a hand through his hairs, "at least tell me, I am your favourite." He pleaded, tilting his head, sighing dramatically.
You scowled, "You are like 4th on the list." The pair of pants you had chosen today, refused to co-operate, stuck at your thighs despite your constant struggles to pull them up.
"Huh?! 4th?!!" He exclaimed, in utter disbelief, watching you hop around, "You better tell what he is doing so I can up my rank." He walked over, yanking you close by your arm, before reaching for your waistband gently pulling your pants up, hands circling your waist to make sure it didn't get stuck at the back of your thighs.
You let him manhandle your body, hands coming to rest on his shoulders as you lightly kiss his cheek, "He helps me dress up." Another kiss on his forehead. "Pulls my pants up for me." Another one on the tip of his nose. "Stares lovingly as I talk about my side pieces."
He grunted, zipping up your pants and pulling you closer, "Yeah." He mumbled against your lips, "Something tells me I might know this guy." Не pressed his lips against your jaw, hands tracing your body as he grabbed your shirt.
"Maybe." You slide your hands into the sleeves, letting him button up your shirt, "He is tall, blonde, and so utterly handsome." You moaned obnoxiously. "And he has a huge coc—"
"We can't have a cute moment, can we?" He sighed, letting go of your shirt buttons as he leaned his forehead against yours, "Your pant aren't too tight, are they?" He asked, eyes meeting your dumbfounded ones, "Ma can design you a perfect pai—"
You cut his words off, pressing your lips against his, swarm of butterflies erupting in your belly as you take in his words, "You considerate, caring asshole," You huffed pulling away from his lips, "you'll kill me someday."
He let out a breathy chuckle, cradling your jaw, pressing a kiss against your forehead, "Just trying to improve my rank, you know." He hummed, swaying slightly despite no music playing in the background, "Can't let your side pieces steal you away from me."
"It's a bruise by the way."
Bakugou hummed in question pulling away from you slightly.
"The mark you were looking at, bruise from sparring with Mina."
"Racoon eyes is your side pieces no.1?!!"
"Katsuki NO."
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
a/n: reposting an older fic (that I deleted along with few other fics, last year when I was tweaking)
He comes home at 3:12 AM after a mission that took three days and also his will to live.
He doesn’t turn on the lights or announce himself, he just heads to your kitchen in full tac gear and opens the fridge.
He drinks orange juice straight from the carton like the raw vitamin C will somehow fix all the cuts, bruises, and trauma.
You walk in half-asleep, flicking on the light with an audible click.
He goes completely still, like a raccoon you’ve just caught in your kitchen. He's too tired, too committed, and obviously considering whether freezing counts as a survival strategy.
He pauses.
You pause.
Then he nods once like this is a completely normal household interaction, tips the juice back, and finishes the carton.
He tries to shoot it into the open trash can.
Misses.
Shuffles across the kitchen, picks it up, and gently places it in the trash can.
you just blink at him.
"they trust you to save the world?" you ask.
"I can't believe it either," he says and turns the light off. "Dead tired. Let's go to bed."
AO3
Pairing: RE4R!Leon Kennedy x CIA!Reader
Summary: You’ve spent your career being the hand that sweeps the world's atrocities under the rug. You’re cynical, you’re tired, and you’re definitely too old for Leon Kennedy’s brand of heroics. There are rules to this job: Don’t get attached. Don’t hesitate. Don’t trust anyone. You break all three somewhere between a dive bar, a hospital room, and Leon Kennedy looking at you like you’re something worth saving.
Content: 18+, graphic descriptions of violence, eventual smut, second person POV, no use of Y/N, age gap (about 10 years, older reader), coworkers to lovers, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, awkward Leon, almost kisses, romantic tension, sexual tension, survivor's guilt, eventual smut, avoidant attachment, past trauma, patching each other up,
— in which! you could name a few facts about leon on the tippy top of your head, but, well, maaaaaaaybe there were some exceptions.
wordcount! 4.7k (what)
warning! hey so i lied, MDNI, explicit smut (first time writing c'mon give me a chance), cliché, idiots in love, childhood best friends trope, absolute teeth-rotting stuff, very and i mean very LIGHT ANGST like i swear it's just a dabble, LEON IS AN EATER (oral, f-receiving), fingering, p in v, dirty talk, heavy make-out sesh, light praise kink, light degradation kink, light condescending praise, size kink if you squint, sumn sumn leon being leon, snowballing if you squint, possessive f! reader, cockdrunk f!reader, dom! leon, pussydrunk! leon, leon whimpering, one mention of bleeding (not while fucking), bro i swear this was NOT supposed to be a smut i was js thinking w my phantom 13-inch dick okay? OKAY!
loosely inspired by: please by bts (and my thirteen-inch phantom dick)
LEON S. KENNEDY IS A MAN OF FEW WORDS. He likes to keep things simple. Minimal. Straight to the point. That’s just the kind of man he is. He likes his coffee black and his pastries with less sugar.
“Great day, welcome to Annie’s Café. What can I get you?” It was early, and the employee’s tone sounded fake—which, honestly, okay, valid—it’s the crack ass of dawn and the birds still haven’t sung to their heart’s content. No shit the employee sounded ready to clock out, even if they just arrived. Drive-thrus included.
“I’d like two iced Spanish lattes in large with a box of macarons, please,” Leon replied, politely, as if nothing could rain on his parade. He’d been feeling quite peckish, as of late, and he thinks it’s because he’s been hanging out with you too much after each grueling mission.
Now who was he fooling? Himself, obviously. Mission or not, he’s still banging on your door. Too much, unfortunately, to the point that you—begrudgingly—shoved him your spare key the next day so you could actually experience shitting in peace again, and he could just waltz in as he pleases.
“Okay, anything else?” The tired voice of the server blaring from the speaker wrenched him out of his reverie. He shook his head once, twice, then, as if remembering something, he answered, “Make that three boxes. And add that Mango Rose Tart Special, thanks.”
“Okay, please proceed to the next window to claim and have a nice day ahead. Hope to see you next time at Annie’s!” The voice from the speaker sounded tired—dripping with faux cheeriness, but nonetheless, moving to serve his ridiculous order of freshly baked boxes of macarons and a tart, with cold-brewed lattes.
Nodding to himself, mentally patting his back as a job well done, he drove towards the next window, picking up his (rather bulky) order with a dashing half-smile that made the servers thank the gods that pretty people with huge biceps exist. If that was their reward for baking at 3:00 am, they’d gladly make some more.
Jesus, he can’t wait to return to you.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
LEON S. KENNEDY DISLIKES NOISY MORNINGS. He likes to keep things quiet. Peaceful. Alone. Moping around and wagging his imaginary tail to see you—wait, what?
“Sweets! I bought sweets.” Leon nuzzled at your peacefully sleeping form after carefully putting the boxes on your dining table and shoving the lattes into your fridge. His arms automatically hooked into your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest, greedily taking your warmth for himself. He felt you moving, settling quite nicely, and making yourself comfortable in his hold.
“You’re noisy.” He heard you mumble in his chest, but he couldn’t care less. Hooking his chin at the top of your head, he breathes in your scent, inhaling the fragrance of your shampoo and your detergent, utterly content with being suffocated by—well—you.
“You act as if I care.” He hummed, taming your messy bedhead with soft pats, gently weaving his fingers through your hair as if patting an incredibly sleepy chinchilla.
Christ, he could melt just by looking at you. You looked adorable. Your naturally pouty lips jutted as your eyes remained closed, looking utterly at peace. Blissfully unaware of your effect on him. He thinks it’s unfair. How you just breathe, and he’s already at your beck and call. How the sun peeks through your windows perfectly frames your figure, making you look utterly devastating. How your hair just cascades perfectly on your shoulders, looking like messy waves that just fit.
How he thinks he wanted to be a little more than just a best friend.
“Mhm, stay.” He felt arms slowly snaking around his body, and he swore his heart rate sped up. He’s sure you heard it, too—with how your face was pressed into his chest. And he would’ve been embarrassed if he hadn’t felt you nuzzle—burying your nose in between his soft pectorals. Each puff of breath was hot, rendering his brain pathetically useless—a putty in your embrace.
“F-for breakfast?” Yeah, real smooth, Leon. What a stuttering sweet-talker you are. Proud of you, son.
“Forever.”
Then you were awake, staring at those huge cerulean eyes that reminded you of the vast seas. Gods, he was beautiful. Would it be too greedy to wish to wake up every morning with this sight? With Leon’s flushed cheeks and soft eyes that scream longing and affection?
Oh wait, maybe you’re projecting.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
LEON S. KENNEDY HATES BEING TIED DOWN. He despises commitments with passion. Almost pukes at the mere mention of it, actually. He doesn’t do all that lovey-dovey shit. He isn’t clingy—hates to be that person, in fact. He likes being alone, surrounded by his thoughts. That’s his favorite pastime, actually. He—okay, what the fuck. Who wrote this? This script is wrong. Someone is getting fired.
The air in the dining room feels light. Comfortable. The rays of the sun softly peeking through, the birds by the windows singing their hearty tune, and Leon taking care of you, just as usual. You like this routine: drinking coffee while chatting with your favorite person, just as the sun rises like a beautiful backdrop.
“Let’s make us official.”
You almost spat your coffee, heart suddenly—*violently—*hammering inside your ribcage, begging to be let out. You think it’s palpitations. The iced Spanish latte does its job at roughhousing your nervous system to the point that you think you’re hallucinating shit at like 7:46 am in the morning. You’re not equipped with the right knowledge for this conversation. It feels like your cells just burst.
“W-what?” You replied, with all the neurons and brain cells working overtime. They’re like three combined, so it’s not really that hard of a job when all you could think about was Katseye’s Gnarly chorus on loop. And maybe your hot-fucking-childhood-best-friend-that-acts-more-like-a-boyfriend-than-best-friend-but-you-digress.
“I mean, we’re not blind. As much as we’d like to deny it, we can’t run away from this conversation forever.” If there was hesitation in Leon’s voice, you couldn’t pinpoint it. And if his hands were mildly trembling beneath the surface of the table, you couldn’t see it. But you’d be damned if you couldn’t feel the tension rapidly resurfacing while the conversation continued.
“I can run away right now.”
“Sweets.”
“Lee.”
Leon sighed, as if he could already feel a headache coming. “I can catch you.”
“I’ll run even faster.” See, your tongue is your greatest enemy here.
“You talk too much.”
“You can shut me up.”
You knew someday that your sharp tongue would be the death of you. You got into so much trouble as a child because of it. Your aunties and uncles often get offended by your blunt words, while your little cousins seem to enjoy it. Your parents often scolded you, urging you to school your sharp tongue and witty replies, specifying it’ll bite you in the ass in the future. You didn’t give a fuck. Little you know who you were from a very young age.
You knew, and you were well-aware.
You just didn’t expect to be bitten right now.
Not that you would complain—oh god, no. You’d die happily.
“What?”
“What?”
Leon was staring at you as if he’d like to do exactly that. You don’t blame him—you’d like to do exactly that, too. You’re just… scared.
Scared to lose him.
Scared to lose the sacred friendship you built since you were in literal diapers.
Scared to mess it up so bad, you’d break up.
Scared to fuck it up, he’d end up lea—
“Whatever you’re thinking of, stop. It won’t happen.” Leon suddenly spoke up, looking at you, even if you avoided it. You hate how he knows you like the back of his hand.
Then, he sighed. Leaning closer towards you, hovering his hand over yours. He doesn’t touch, no. He waits. Patiently. “I won’t let it.” He said, barely a breath louder.
Oh, how you hate how easily he makes your resolve crumble.
You’d pity yourself if only you weren’t exactly where you want to be.
You took a deep breath, looking at his eyes after, letting your fears swirl in your irises and baring your emotions in front of him. It’s just… you weren’t used to being vulnerable, okay? Not when you’ve forced yourself into accepting whatever the fuck life throws in your way, simply choosing to laugh it off rather than to mope somewhere all day.
But this? This sudden vulnerability? This sudden confession—no, it never really was sudden. It had been subtle, yes, but you really shouldn’t have been surprised. You’ve been tiptoeing around—crossed, even—the friendship boundary roughly about a few years ago, after that incident in damned Raccoon City.
Now for the record, choosing to go with Leon to venture to that place was on you. You knew he’d be fucked up, being blacked out drunk the night prior—you would know, you were with him at the bar. You get it, the night he just wanted to forget being dumped by his asshole ex. And well, maybe you just wanted to go to RC because you were curious about his workplace, okay? Sue you for being nosy.
You just haven’t expected it to be, for lack of better terms, infested with rotting undead corpses who wanted you for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert.
That definitely wasn’t how you wanted to start your Monday.
“Leon, I…” You felt your nails digging through your palm, leaving crescent indents. It grounded you. “I want to, I really fucking do. I don’t think I have to confess when I’ve always been obvious.” Something dripped, maybe it was crimson from your hands or clear from your eyes. “I’m just scared. So fucking scared.”
You couldn’t face him, swallowed by your cowardly brain, and yet, you couldn’t stop your mouth from speaking every unsaid thought that plagued you. It has a mind of its own.
“I’m scared. What if you wake up one day and realize that I wasn’t the one you’d like to spend your future with? What if you realize that you just settled for the safest option? Because I’m not her, I will never be her—god, fuck! I wanted to be her, but fuck my life, I’m not. I could never do the things she could—I’m basically useless without you. What if I fuck this up? Fuck it up so bad, I’d lose you?”
You were spiraling. Your mind was clouded, as if the dam had been broken and every word was just falling out uncontrollably.
“I like you. No, fucking hell, that’s lackluster. I’m fucking in love with you, and I hate that my stupid brain keeps spewing nonsense and my mouth couldn’t fucking shut up and it’s exposing me!”
And finally, god, finally. Your eyes finally darted at him.
He didn’t look surprised. God, no. It’s so much worse.
He looked soft. As if something unbelievable finally happened. As if he were just waiting for those words to come out of your damn mouth.
“You’re in love with… me?” Leon uttered—no, it was barely a whisper. It was disbelief and relief, all at once. Packaged like a buy-one-get-me-free sale. His soft cerulean eyes were shining with something suspiciously akin to unshed tears. It was apparent, even if he was looking far from you, staring at his now-empty cup and leftover ice.
“Was that all you’ve heard?” While you, you were puzzled. You knew he was a little fucked up, but damn, all those ramblings and that’s all he registered?
As if finally collected his bearings, Leon looked at you, fighting that watery smile that didn’t seem to get off, no matter how hard he tried. “It was all that mattered.” He choked out, biting his lip as a tear finally dropped.
And another.
Then another.
Until it flowed freely like a beautiful waterfall.
“I couldn’t care less. Shit, I just wanted you.” Leon rasped, “Fucking hell, all I’ve ever wanted—no, needed was you.” Trembling, his hands grasped yours, engulfing them whole. He traced little shaky hearts, his fingers still absentmindedly trembling as he stared at your skin, shying away from your gaze.
“All you, Sweets. Always you.” He lifted your hand, prompting it to cup his cheek. With his eyes closed, he melted into your warmth, exhaling a stuttered breath before looking into your eyes. “Always had been, always will be.”
It was whispered.
The promise.
Barely above a whisper.
But the devotion was loud.
Too fucking loud, it echoed through your heart, silencing your stupid brain’s unnecessary provocations.
“You dumb fuck.” You croaked. Before swiftly crossing the table to suffocate in his embrace. You hugged him like he was your lifeline, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his stupefying scent.
Leon did the same, nosing your hair and pulling you to his lap. His head was filled with nothing but you, his arms wrapped in you like a warm cocoon. Peppering light kisses, while his hands fiddled with the ends of your hair, tracing feather-light patterns on your clothed skin. “Your dumb fuck, I suppose?”
“Mine.” You replied, cheekily pecking his neck, feeling the goosebumps run through his spine. “You learn fast.”
“Mhm, shut up.”
Then suddenly, his hand was on your cheek, guiding you towards his plush lips. And damn, you fucking melted, your lips moved as if you were already accustomed to his, moving in sync, like a mad rhythm waiting to be played. The kiss was tender, full of longing and secret devotion shared. It felt like whiskey, something strong, harsh yet addicting. It was heavy with regret—regret of why you haven’t done this much sooner, how you’ve lasted this long without each other’s constant touch, when you’ve realized all you needed was each other, and what’s stopping you from fully destroying the quote-unquote bounder-less boundaries you’ve been too afraid to fully cross.
And was quickly replaced by need—full hunger that aches to restore time that was lost. There was heat when he parted your mouth with his tongue, curling around yours like a waltz that seeks to devour you whole. Your throat bubbles with whines you don’t even bother suppressing, because he drank it with vigor. He kisses you like he was starved, tongue fondling with yours, curling and stroking until your head was fucked and air was a foreign concept for losers.
You felt his large hands grope your ass, snaking down to grab a hold of your thighs, manhandling you so you’re straddling him, clothed drenched cunt to clothed hard cock. It made you whimper, embarrassing sounds escaping your lips while he rolled his hips, catching your clit. Writhing in his hold, your mouth left his as you tugged his shirt, signaling that you want it gone.
He obliged with a husky chuckle, “Impatient, aren’t you? My needy baby.” Leon’s voice dropped an octave lower, swiftly pulling his shirt off to reveal his muscular build. Before your head could catch a fraction of what you were doing, your hands were already tracing his sculptured lines. Nimble hands flying from the sides of his neck, lightly circling his pebbled nipples (which made him stutter a breathless gasp), dropping lower to his chiseled abs, feeling the deep ridges and subtly grinding on his hard cock.
“F-fuck, sweets. Like what you see?”
“Very.”
Oh, maybe you shouldn’t have done that.
Because suddenly, you’re very afraid of what will happen next.
Maybe your legs would cease to work.
Maybe your voice would refuse to come out.
Maybe his cock would be wrung dry.
And maybe you’d like that.
Leon groaned in response, hauling you up with one arm while his other arm busied itself gripping the back of your scalp, under your soft hair, pulling you closer as his tongue bullied yours yet again. Your arms flew to his neck, inching yourself even closer as you felt him move—walking to what you would assume to be your bedroom.
Plopping you down on your bed, you bounced twice—twice too long for Leon, apparently, as he found himself in between your thighs, rip, rip, ripping your clothes to shreds. His hand found purchase in your bra, swiftly unhooking it with a snap. It would’ve been impressive if not for his tongue immediately lapping your pebbled nipple, calloused hand playing and massaging the other one.
“Fuck, baby,” he panted, sucking lazy kisses that would for sure bruise. “Y’taste too sweet. Shit, you really are my sweets.” Then, you felt a hazy, sharp pain, looking down to see a bite mark right before your areola—all red and new as he stares at you with hooded eyes. Cerulean eyes that seemed to deepen with each passing second, pupils all blown out and dilated as if you were the only drug he’s willing to indulge in.
Then, he switched to your other nipple, slobbering and giving it the same attention as the other one. Little zigzags as his tongue traced your areola to your hardened nipple. Fuck, it was a mess of spit and bites as he sucked wet kisses down your stomach, fiddling the strings of your sleep shorts and tugging them down with the patience of a saint—well, if the saint was being chased by a rather aggressive wolf in a two-by-two world build.
“Fuckin’ look amazing, gorgeous.” Leon huffed, kissing the side seams of your panties and lifting your thigh, placing it on his broad shoulder, his face lightly pressing your inner thighs as he scattered wet kisses—his light stubble scratching you involuntarily, arching your back with light whines.
His warm puffs of breath tickled you, moaning as your fingers travel to his scalp. “S-stop teasing m—” You stuttered, before a sharp whine catches on the back of your throat.
Fuck, it was hot. His warm tongue lapped the gusset of your drenched panties, tasting you just from the fabric. Desperate licks as he sucked, blunt nails digging through your thighs as your arousal seeps through the ruined cloth. Then, his lips found purchase on your clothed (almost transparent) clit, sucking and sucking with the scratchy—wet—fabric adding the stupefying sensations.
The room was filled with your ah-ah-ah!’s while Leon was having the time of his life in between your legs. It wasn’t until you heard a small rip-rip-rip until ypu realized that oh! you’re fucked.
Leon groaned, immediately devouring your fucking pussy. “Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart. Y’ve been keeping t’is from me?” He slurred, tracing your folds with his tongue, fucking you with zigzags that ranged from lazy to vigorous spurts of energy. He eats you out like he was starved and you were the only meal he needed to survive. He flicked his tongue on your clit, swirlin’ and sucking, then going back to your drippy hole where he collects your sweet fuckin’ sap. “Shit—haah—so fuckin’ wet for me—juuuust for me, sweets?”
“C’mon, baby. Gimme more, yeah? Fuuuuuck, y’can gimme more.” Leon rasped, greedily sucking your twitchy, engorged clit, then switching to tongue-fuck your drippy hole, curling and stroking your stretchy walls. While you? You were (s)creaming, throat scratchy with strings of curses, with drool collecting on the corner of your lips—precisely why you barely registered his thick finger entering you, stretching your poor pussy out while his tongue continued to abuse your poor clit. “P-please.”
The burn was insane—insanely fucking delicious, your head was swarming with dizzying pleasure. “F—s-shit, m-more—mhmn—a-aah!” You don't even remember what you were doing, barely even remembering your name. All you could think about was Leon, Leon, Leon.
You felt another finger, scissoring, curling inside your gummy walls. Reaching into the depths of your spongy weakness—making you scream, thrashing into his hold to the point that he has no choice but to wrap his strong arm around your abdomen to halt your involuntary actions.
And then another.
Three fingers, knuckles deep, assaulting your insides—hammering into your fucking g-spot, while his tongue continues to suck the living soul out of your poor hypersensitive nub.
“S-shit, ‘m close—fuuuuuck—‘m close!” You rasped, tugging Leon’s soft locks as your body convulsed—unravelling, coming undone. Eyes rolling back to the back of your skull until all you could see was white, and the coil on your abdomen violently snapping as liquids flew like a damn waterfall.
And Leon? Yeah, he wasn’t done. Still lapping your juices as you spill it all out. Even after your high was released, his mouth was still moving, still making out with your oversensitive pussy, still greedily sucking your juices, even if you tried to pull away, running from his strong embrace. God, no. He just pulls you back even closer, burying his nose in your clit while his tongue circles your hole.
He’s determined to fuck your brains out so good, you’d stop thinking of pointless possibilities that would never fucking happen as long as he’s alive. Why would he think about other women when he’s got you splayed out for him like a fucking five-course meal, just his for taking? Why would he think about the irrelevant fucking future when his past and present were spent with you? All you, baby. All fucking you.
“Oh, fuck—Leon—!!”
Did he say that out loud? Because by the look of it, he did. Your glassy, heart eyes say it so.
“Like that, sweets? That I’m aaaaaall yours? Yeah?” Leon grunts, standing up so he could hover over you, kissing you, all spit, come, and tongue. His tongue—god, his tongue, you love his fucking tongue—coiled around yours. Fucking your mouth while his hand unbuckled his belt, tugging off his pants in a swift motion. You caught sight of his drenched boxers, spurts of wetness visible through the grey fabric. It made you whine on his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as you basked in the sensation.
“Bet you fuckin’ loved that, didn’t you, sweetheart? Loved the fact that I came untouched by eating you out, mhm?” He whispered on your lips, slightly pulling away as his lips reattached to your neck, sucking and kissing deep reds and purples once more. “Didn't even need to grind, fuck, y’r cunt’s allll I need, baby. Drives me fuckin’ insane.”
Just as quickly, you felt something hard and hot pulsing on your fluttering cunt. Blinking—willing your eyes to open, you saw his massive cock—long, pretty, veiny and fucking girthy as you swallowed dry. Shivers traveled down your spine, suddenly very fuckin’ afraid if it’ll even fit.
Leon chuckled, as if sensing your hesitation. His hand moved to cup your cheek while his other traced circles in your hips, grounding you. “It’ll fit, baby. I’ll make it fit.” His tone was soft, his thumb caressing your cheek as he wills you to look at his eyes—but damn, his words were nasty. “Gonna make sure y’r head’s full of my cock, my pretty baby. Y’like that?”
See, you would’ve responded. All sweet and high-pitchy. Instead, moans were the only thing that left your lips when you felt his cock nudge your outer lips, teasing your cunt as you felt Leon spreading your legs further, bullying your cunt until his tip finally fuckin’ entered your stretchy hole.
“F-fuhck! Mhmnn—!!” You stuttered, already feelin’ fucking full. Still too hypersensitive from your earlier release. “S’jus the t-tip?”
It made Leon puff out a breathy chuckle, moving his hips little by little, small thrusts to fit snugly inside you. “Y-yeah, baby. Still jus’ the tip. ‘m sure y’can fit more inches here, yeah?” He drawled out, his fingers tracing to what he would assume to be where his dick would fit. “J-jus’ tell me if y’need a break, ‘kay?”
Then he thrusts, parting your gummy walls, impaling you with his thick, veiny cock fully. And you did nothing but take it, enjoying every second of being fucked dumb by Leon and hearing his damn cute whines. He wasn't afraid to be vocal, oh god no. He was loud. Groaning with each mean thrust on your cunt—whining as he repeatedly pounds your g-spot, making you drool on your sheets.
“Y-yeah? L-like that, baby? Oh fuuck—” Cutting himself off with a groan, he felt you clench—squeezing his damn cock so tight, he had to will himself not to cum that fast. “Sweet girl, you're—ngh—y’r fuckin’ suffocatin’ me.”
You did nothin’ but whimper, and he did nothin’ but take you to pound town.
Leon’s stamina was more than fucking impressive; his unrelenting thrusts were constant and damn consistent, roughly loving and disrespecting you all at the same time. You felt stuffed to the brim with his thick shaft, his calloused thumb traveling to rub mean circles on your clit as you moaned for mercy. The repeated plap-plap-plap of his skin slapping yours was nasty, and his erratic ministrations of your body felt like heaven. You think you could stay like this forever.
“Yeah, b-baby? Fuuuuuuckin’ think you could stay like t’is for—nghh!—forever?” He groaned at the shell of your ear, darting his tongue to flick at the sensitive lobe. “Think ‘m doin’ somethin’ wrong, y’shouldn’t be thinkin’ at alllll.” He croons, tone deep and mocking, manhandling your thighs, folding you in half.
“Wha—Lee!! Oh fuck, Leoooooon—!!” All you could do was squeak, your voice going an octave higher—something you didn’t even know you were capable of, as he jackhammers into your cunt. Fucking you senseless and so utterly stupid, abusing your spongy g-spot with precise thrusts. And you could only retaliate by fucking up his back, scratching while your back gives out.
You swore you heard him whimper in delight.
Your five senses consist of staring at Leon’s fucked out face, smelling Leon’s heady scent, tasting your cum and Leon’s saliva still on your lips, hearing Leon’s sharp grunts and gasps—occasionally his small whimpers as he hits a rather deep spot, and—fuck—feeling Leon’s thick cock spearheading your tight cunt, feeling him twitch as his veins tickled your insides.
Yeah, you won’t be walking, alright.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
LEON S. KENNEDY IS ALL OF THOSE THINGS, BUT MAYBE THERE MIGHT BE EXCEPTIONS (YOU).
“Fuck you, Kennedy. Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou!” You groaned, the feeling of your legs still not returning after a day and a half of full bed rest.
The person charged guilty was found chuckling, eating ice cream, and faaaaaar away from where your wrath could grasp him in the neck (he’d like that). “Ouch, babe. Kennedy? Seriously? Who’s that?”
Aaaaaand then ducking, as if he could already feel the pillow heading toward his head without directly looking at it.
“Fuck you and your stupid fucking stamina and your stupid fucking words—ugh! I am never sleeping with you ever again!”
“You kiss your boyfie with that potty mouth?” He whistled, “Damn.”
“Oh, you dick!” You threw him your plushy, the same thing he gave a few years ago—all purpley and stupid. Cute, but stupid.
“Nine inches, baby. And a grower—hey! Not my child.” Leon pouted, catching the plushy with both hands, then patting in the head as if it truly had feelings.
“Fuckin’ suffocate!”
“In those thighs? Bet.”
“Asshole—!!”
“We could try that, too.”
“Urgh!” You threw your hands up, huffing, as you slumped back in your (thank god wasn’t broken) bed.
imsorryimsorryimsorryiwantmore holy fuck i don't know what i wrote and in my defense, my hands started typing shit before i even realized what i was doing okay okay. (did u enjoy it tho? teehee) rbs and comms are greatly appreciated! i work well with praise wink wink wink
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SYNOPSIS: You were getting really worried about Leon's alcoholic tendencies and reminded him how you will always be here for him when he needs it in any way. After some consideration, he takes up on your offer.
PAIRING: Vendetta Leon Kennedy x Agent Partner!Reader
WORD COUNT: 4.8k
WARNINGS/TAGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, angst, but fluffy ending, Reader is also a survivor of Raccoon City, alcohol, arguing, drunk Leon:(, Leon struggling to let go full turkey, he is fully sober during the smut dw, switch!Leon x switch!Reader, unprotected p in v (be responsible!!), handjob, cum eating, nipple play, missionary, making out, lots of kisses, and crying, very emotional sex, multiple orgasms, pulling out method, praise, begging, aftercare, morning after, sober confessions!!, cuddles, petnames (hun, honey, baby, sweetheart, beautiful)
NOTES: WE ARE BACK YA’LL WITH THE END OF 13 DAYS OF LEON and YESSS FINALLY. A VENDETTA LEON FIC. I LOVE VENDETTA LEON SM. This is also lowkey a little deep and sad, so proceed with caution. (I always make it have a happy ending anyway😞)
“Leon…” You softly say under your breath followed by a sigh as you look over the mess of a man sitting across the room at the bar.
Chris had called you a bit over half an hour ago asking you to “get your partner, he’s drowned himself in wallowing again.” He sure wasn’t wrong, as your fellow agent is currently burying his face into his arms crossed on the table. His mop of black box dyed hair obscures whatever mood he is in as he is crowded by an array of glasses. His infamous whiskey, a fat bottle of rum, cheap bottles of beer, you name it. It seems he is very deep in it today.
Despite there being multiple people just like him scattered about the establishment or are being the complete opposite, dancing around and playing a dart game or two, your focus is entirely on Leon as you carefully maneuver the crowd. This place is not really your scene, not since you were practically forced to work for the government after the catastrophe that was Raccoon City. The temptations being led by the idea of trying anything to forget the things you’ve seen had to be immediately cut from your life; one of the most important lessons you’ve learned from government training is alertness, whether you were on the clock or not.
The moment you step a couple of feet behind Leon, the heavy scent of alcohol is nearly a smack to the face. You keep your neutral expression up regardless, you don’t want to make him feel worse than he already did. Once you got to him, you gently placed a hand on his shoulder. When that got no reaction, you began to softly shake him. “Leon?”
His body twitched to life under your fingers as his shoulders raised and stayed that way. His head slowly lifted from his arms and he turned it to the side. After a second, his gravelly voice whispered out your name before dropping his head back down. He didn’t even look at you. Unfortunately, you were not new to these antics. You took a seat at an empty stool next to him.
“Let me guess,” Leon slurred out, muffled by his hiding place, “Redfield called you to babysit me again.” It sounded more like a statement than a question.
“What if I just wanted to hang out with my drunk coworker, is that too bad?” You replied sarcastically, attempting to lighten the mood, but you already knew it would work as you got no response back.
“Okay, not a big fan of how you worded it, but yes.” You say as you sit against the bar on your stool, looking out towards the crowd before looking back at him. “Chris did sound more worried on the phone than usual though, and to be honest now that I’m here, I’m glad I came.”
Leon lifted his head again, his eyes squinting at you. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a very obvious mess right now, Leon.” You flat out tell him. There is no use in sugarcoating anything anymore. “And this is not just the drinking. Your issues are being shown clearly in your performance, in how you are taking care of yourself, in everything that you do.”
Leon groans to that of a toddler as he hides himself again. His hand instinctively goes to grab a glass, but you are not letting him have another single drop. You stand from your seat and get a firm grip under his arms and pull up. “Okay, up we go.”
“What the fuck? Let go of me.” Leon grumbled out, trying to sway out of your hold. Out of pure luck, you get to pull him steps away from his seat. You can feel the eyes staring at you both, but you honestly didn’t care. You needed Leon to get far away from this place. Leon stumbles around despite staying in place from where you pulled him, so you bring one of his arms over your shoulder and start walking him out. He moves to speak, but the quick sharp look you gave him shut him up, at least for now.
“Get off me-” Leon rushes to get away the moment you take a step out of the bar, almost as if your touch burned him. You scoff as he tries to balance himself after tripping on his two feet. “I don’t need you swooping in wherever I spend my personal time tryin’ to save me.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t if you just learned to at least control yourself!” You start as you walk towards Leon as he leaned on a nearby light post. “You don’t think I worry when you come in every morning with a headache? Or when I see you spacing off into god knows what during transports? Having me wonder if you lose focus out in the field and how that can get you killed? No matter if it’s by the bottle or the end of someone else’s gun, you are drinking yourself to death, Leon.”
“Why do you even care?” Leon wheezes out before coughing the other way, trying not to hurl. You quickly run to his side as he lets it out, rubbing his back to comfort him. While him being drunk annoys you to bits, you could never leave his side, he needs help.
“How could I not, we’ve been through everything together.” You trail off as Leon sits on the curb, shuddering still from throwing up. “I feel like sometimes you forget that I’ve seen things too. People dying, promises I couldn’t keep, I want to erase them from my memory just as much as you, but I don’t want to destroy myself. Despite the feelings of failure and having no option but to serve the government, we have to look at what’s ahead. We still have people to save, the fight to end the attack of bioterrorism is not over yet.”
“And you don’t have to go through this fight alone. I always come to end your pity parties because I really do care about you, Leon. I always have since Raccoon City when I met you at the police station after you saved my life. It’s the very least I can do for you as a friend.” You say the last part with a sense of yearning, which you stop to cringe at as you hope Leon didn’t catch onto it. You slowly turn to look at Leon to see him looking at you, his eyes glossed over. Whether it was by tears or being drunk is beyond you, but you knew he did listen.
“All I am asking of you is to at least try to limit the drinking, and if you need someone by your side to do it, I’m here. I always will.” You finish off before looking at the pavement under your feet. Leon also looks down, deep in thought. After a beat, you stand up before giving a hand. “Now c’mon, let me drive you home.”
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Leon has been up nights ever since that day you got him at the bar. Not just from him trying to complete your wish of lessening the load on drinking (Though that has been a very difficult task to keep up with), but from your words. He wonders how on earth can you deal with it all and make it look so easy? From your bright smile and confident energy, no one would ever think you went through the things on that dreaded day. Leon spends every second and every day thinking back to the things he did and didn’t do, of how he wishes he can go back knowing the things he knows now.
His bed sheets are drenched in sweat as he tosses and turns for the hundredth time tonight. His fingers just tics for the feeling of the glass of a bottle. His head is swimming with millions of thoughts and he just can’t handle it anymore, not in the dead silence of his apartment.
He throws the covers off his body and goes for his closet. He throws on a t-shirt and a pair of black jeans haphazardly before grabbing his phone off his nightstand. His gut churns at the sight of the ungodly hour, he doesn’t want to bother you, but he is afraid that if he forces himself to be tortured with his thoughts for another hour, he might be losing the battle he worked hard in for the past 5 days. His thumb presses the phone button and he listens expectantly.
“Hello-”
“Hey, are you awake?” Good one, Leon. “Damnit, of course you are, how else would’ve you answered. I just.”
“Leon, are you doing alright?” You can hear him out of breath from having to rush all that out.
“Sorta, not really.” Leon says, bringing his shivering hand to his temple. “I tried to do what you said, I really did. It was going fine at first, really got me thinking I can do it, but things are getting really difficult right now.”
“Aw I see,” you say as it dawns on you Leon has not drank in what seemed like days, “Do you want me to stay on the line with you to keep you company? Or do you want to sleep over at mine? Whatever will make you feel better, I am here for you.”
Leon’s ears perk at the mention of coming over. He might’ve only stopped by your home a couple of times, but every time he did, he felt this overwhelming feeling of comfort, that no evil could ever reach him there. He just hopes that feeling still remains as he throws on his leather jacket and boots and runs out his front door.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
A series of firm knocks were heard shortly after your call with Leon. Before then, you were preparing some hot water for tea and brought out your good blankets. You put down the movies you were contemplating for the night and head over to the door. Leon stood there on your porch looking like he just ran a marathon. His attention snapped onto you the moment you pulled the door open all the way.
You welcomed him in without missing a beat and helped him settle in. You noticed how his hands steadied when you handed him a mug of spearmint tea, finally putting them to rest. You also brought in all the snacks you could scrounge up from your pantry and laid them out at the coffee table before sitting on the other side of the couch with him.
“Okay so, how are we feeling right now? Do we want to sip tea in silence? Want to put on some music or a movie? Maybe read a book to sleep? You pick.”
Leon takes a moment to think of his options as he takes small sips of his tea, blowing on it softly in between sips. He feels a bit overcome with emotions, he doesn’t understand how you can be so patient with him, especially right now as he basically woke you up in the middle of the night just because he felt like he couldn’t stop himself from getting a drink. He feels childish but mentally notes that once he feels better, he will thank you all for this, he’ll just think of a way of expressing it in the meantime.
“A movie would be good,” he says gingerly. You enthusiastically nod before hopping off the couch to the dvd player. You put on a classic, something entertaining, but also won’t be a shame to miss out due to sleep.
Leon notices that you now sit closer to him on the couch when you come back. He tries not to think too much about it until you bring a blanket to cover you both.
“Sorry, I’m doing laundry tomorrow, so this is all I have,” you point out sheepishly.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” He responds back with a soft smile. You both keep eye contact a second too long and then revert your attention back to the TV.
The night goes by over tea and gossip about your coworkers every once in a while before going quiet at the dramatic scenes of the movie. Once empty mugs were placed on the carpet, you both got into a comfortable silence.
You were focused on the television when you felt it.
Startled slightly, you looked down to see Leon’s head on your lap. He must’ve dozed off as he softly snored, his mouth agape. You chuckle a bit to yourself as you carefully make yourself comfortable. You have never seen Leon look so peaceful before, the space between his brows not having the usual set of lines. You brought a hand down to his head, slowly running your fingers through the dark strands of hair. He seemed to subconsciously lean towards your touch. You continued massaging his scalp until your own eyes got heavy.
Leon's eyes snapped open about a half hour later, though it wasn’t over the alcohol induced insomnia this time, but over the feeling that he accidentally fell asleep. He sat up a second too quickly, as you also woke up a bit shocked.
“Oh shoot. I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to- Shit.” Leon cursed out as he ran his hands through his hair, looking around his surroundings.
“What’s wrong?” You said sleepily, still trying to escape the dreamy haze you were in.
“I-” Leon started before he forced himself to calm down and breathe. He is fine. You are fine. Everything is fine, he is just in a situation he doesn’t usually find himself in. But he is with you, his safe space, he can tell you anything. “Nothing. It was just that nap was… actually pretty nice. Damn, I haven’t had a good sleep like that in a long time.”
“I could tell,” you smirked at him before looking down at your lap. “Sorry for sleeping on you too.”
“No. Don’t be, I’m the one who barged into your house late at night anyway.” Leon stated.
“Yeah, because I offered.” You fought back.
You both intensely stared at each other until you realized just how close your faces were. However, none of you made a move to back away. You can feel his breath on your face, but instead of the usual alcohol, it was replaced by mint with a hint of honey.
The air was dense like never before.
You both looked down to each other’s lips before quickly looking back up to make eye contact. You were secretly freaking out as Leon looked composed as ever, though his interest was piqued. He was your coworker, your government agent partner. This is not allowed, why are you still standing here?
You then felt Leon’s hand caress the side of your face. It felt like it always meant to belong there until it went rigid along with his whole body.
“Oh- Is this okay?” He whispers.
“Yeah, more than okay,” you reply with a nod, which made Leon relax.
His thumb passes over your cheek a couple of times as the tension comes to a gentle simmer.
“You take too good care of me.” Leon breathes out after a minute. “I don’t know how you do it: having to deal with my mess while also going through your own stuff. You shouldn’t have to, yet you do it anyway. I’m sorry for any stupid thing I say while I’m drunk, just know I don’t mean any of it.”
“I get it, Leon. There’s no book telling us how to recover from that day. We will naturally cling to what we feel like is “safe,” even if it really hurts us even more. I’m proud that you are making moves to get better, and I’m more grateful that you trust me with it.” You say softly.
“You always seem to know what to say,” Leon says as he shifts his face closer to yours, “I admire you for that.”
You close your eyes as his lips touch yours gently. The simple press of lips got a burst of butterflies going around your guts. You always liked Leon, but at a deeper level. You’ve seen him grow from an excited rookie cop to a mature, experienced agent. It broke your heart when you saw he started to let go of himself. The change started subtle, but the moment Leon started going downhill, it just kept getting worse. Even though he would always be in a negative headspace, he still always managed to be present for everyone. You just wished he was able to do that for himself too.
After kissing for what felt like hours, while in reality was just a couple of seconds, you both pull back for breath. Leon wraps his arms around your waist and hoists you up to straddle his lap. He presses soft kisses all over your face, it almost tickles.
“I promise you, starting today, I’ll better myself,” He says breathlessly between pecks, “I’ll do it for the job. For me. For Sherry. For you.” Your heart skipped a beat at his words, they held so much weight that if it weren’t for you sitting down, you were sure you would fall.
“I know this journey I’m about to take won’t be easy, I may have some setbacks, but believe me when I say I will try. I want to.” Leon breathes into your ear before tracing a line of kisses down your neck. Your breath hitches when he reaches a sensitive spot, which he fists the end of the baggy sleeping shirt you had on.
You bring both of your hands to cradle the sides of his face, bringing him away from you. He looked up at you as if he would answer your beck and call. You take in the stubble that lined the edges of his jaw, his mustache, his eyebags that somehow lightened from the little sleep he got earlier. “I don’t doubt it.”
You lean down and give Leon a firmer, more passionate kiss. You lay him down on the couch, the blanket completely discarded on the floor. You felt something firm hit your clothed core and knew what to do immediately. Your hands went down to undo his belt as you placed kisses on his neck. Leon whined out your name when you unzipped his jeans and palmed him through his boxers.
“You don’t have to-” He stutters out.
“Let me,” you tell him softly as you dipped your hand beneath his waistband. He let out a choked out moan as you brought his cock out and started to slowly start to stroke him. “That’s it, just relax.”
Leon’s shoulders eased down on the couch as he let himself go, not bothering to hide any of his noises. Your movements became firmer as you made sure to make every stroke thorough, rubbing your thumb on his slit every time you went up. As you sat on his thighs, your free hand went up to cup his cheek.
“Baby please-” Leon begged, tears forming at the corner of his eye. You rubbed them away. You can feel the tension completely leaving his body. “Don’t stop, please.”
“You’re close?” You asked as his voice got higher, his breathing going more rapid. He was so lost in the sensation, that he could only answer with a nod. At that, you began to jerk him off faster and harder, and just when you felt his leg tense under you, did he release. You continued your movements, going slower to not overstimulate him through his orgasm as it got all over your hand and a bit on his happy trail. You were thankful you raised his shirt up a bit beforehand. Once he started whining, you let go of him. You looked at the mess on your hand and brought it up to your mouth, cleaning his release off. You hummed at the salty taste. Leon looked up at you dumbfounded.
“God, you’re unreal,” Leon huffs out a laugh after coming down. You smile down at him, flustered. You yelped when you got pushed down, your back against the cushions this time around as Leon held himself above you, removing his shirt. “Now, let me take care of you this time around.”
Leon brought you into an open-mouthed kiss, groaning at the taste of him in your mouth. His hand went under your shirt, slowly trailing his touch up your ribs to right under your breast, riding your shirt up with it. You moaned into his mouth when his thumb started to circle your nipple. Leon then lifted your shirt to above your tits and separated from you and started littering them with featherlight kisses. He then brought his mouth to one of them and started to suck.
“Oh fuck! Leon!” You shouted as you tangled a hand into his hair. Leon brought his other hand to grab and caress your other breast as he occupied the other with his mouth giving sucks are love bites. He then switched places and you could feel the intense pleasure seep into your core. Leon then started to go lower, leaving more presses of his lips and bites as he went until he reached your shorts.
“Let’s get these off…” He says smoothly as he pulls both it and your panties off your form. He then spreads your legs and groans at the sight of your dripping cunt. He takes one of his hands and drags a finger through your slit, circling a little on your clit. “So sensitive. Don’t worry sweetheart, we will deal with that right away.”
He then removes his jeans and underwear completely before getting closer to you. He runs the head of his cock through your center a couple of times, enough to get it wet enough combined with his release from earlier to slip into you. He then put a hand on your hip before carefully pushing himself into you. You both moan out at the feeling and he gives you a minute to get used to the stretch.
“You okay?” He asks as he tries to steady his breathing. Despite only a third of him being buried into your pussy, he already feels like you're swallowing him whole with the way your walls were so warm and clenching on him.
“Uhuh-” You mumble out, already cockdrunk. Leon huffs and starts giving shallow thrusts, pushing more of himself in with each stroke. Once he was all the way in, he leaned down to press kisses to your neck.
“Let me know when you're ready, hun.” His hot breath got shivers running down your body.
“Leon, just please fuck me.” You whined out, and not even a millisecond later Leon setted out a medium, but hard pace, He made sure you felt everything, every ridge, every vein, every bit of his care into you.
“Oh fuck me. God, you feel so good.” Leon grunted out as he put his all into every thrust. He was starting to feel hot, but it wasn’t from this intimate moment you are sharing in the middle of your living room. It was from all the love you have been giving him up until this very moment. How you were always there ever since 1998, you never complained or felt forced to be there for him. You were here for him. All the things you have done for him, whether it was a casual drive home to his apartment or saving his life in the middle of a mission, was catching up to him.
“Leon?” You call out, snapped out of your pleasurable haze when you hear it: a sniffle. You look down to see a couple of tears going down his face. His grip on your thighs that he had lifted up to his hips got harder as he kept going with his movements. “Woah, hey, let’s stop.”
“No- I’m okay.” Leon rushed out as he laid his forehead on your shoulder. “I’m now realizing a bunch of things, I don't know why I’m crying. But don’t worry, I’m good.”
You tried to hold back your noises as you still felt uncertain. “A-Are you sure?”
“Positive. Fuck, I just love you so much.” He moans out as he hugs your waist and fucks up into you at a fast pace. Each push would force a breathy sound out of you, and now your stomach was full of sensations. His words alone just brought you really close to the edge. “I always had, just been too fucking scared to tell ya- Shit- Well, now I’m saying it, I love you.”
“Fuck! Just feel you keep on squeezing up on me? Are you going to come? Please do, fuck baby, please come.” Leon begged as he brought his face back into your chest, kissing the side of your breast.
“Holy shit, Leon-” You got cut off as your high hit you, and it hit you hard. Your back arched in his hold, but he managed to keep you down with his weight as he fucked you through it. He placed kisses on above your breasts and collarbones until you came down a bit. He thrusted a couple more times before pulling out, stroking himself until he came.
“Fuck.” He groaned as he painted your stomach. He fell on top of you, but kept himself up on his arms so he wouldn’t make more of a mess on your tummy. You both took a moment to gain back your breaths as the warm air of sex lingered around you.
After Leon regained his strength, he placed a kiss on your forehead before getting off the couch. You were still going through your aftershocks, so you finally got your focus back when he came back with his arms full.’
“Hopefully I didn’t keep you waiting too long. My taking care of you is not over yet. I brought some water, a washcloth, and a pillow from your room if you don’t mind.” He said as he dropped everything at the nearby coffee table. He first placed the pillow under your head, moving the hair that stuck onto your forehead out of the way. He then brought the washcloth and cleaned you up before turning it to himself. He then knelt next to you on the couch. “You’re doing okay?”
“Yeah, how about you?” You say softly, bringing your hand down to hold his.
“Great.” He smiled. “You want anything else? Snacks? Water?”
“I just want you. And sleep.” You said as you made grabby hands at him, which he laughed at.
“Okay, anything you want.” He said as he got back on the couch. He brought you to lay on top of him as he got the blanket off the floor and covered you both. “Good night.”
“G’night.” You yawned out as you cuddled closer to him, letting exhaustion take over.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
The sound of birds tweeting outside your window is what roused you from your sleep. You were going to rub your eyes when you felt the firm planes of muscle slowly rising up and down under you. You turned your head and saw Leon already looking down at you, his hand rubbing your lower back.
“Morning, beautiful.” His voice was heavy with sleep, but you immediately saw how his dark circles had gotten less dark since last night. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” you said, blushing at the memories of last night until you remembered his words, how he told you he loved you. You got quiet and he seemed to notice.
“Something on your mind?” He asked cautiously.
“Yeah, about last night.” You replied back in the same tone. You could see Leon sift through his mind until he realized.
“Oh, right.” He said. He swallowed before continuing. “It wasn’t a heat of a moment kind of thing if that’s what you’re thinking. That was something I truly meant.”
“I see,” you say before falling back to the awkward silence. “Well… What are we now?”
“Well, I care for you a lot. But, seeing how I am right now, I won’t feel bad if you don’t want to be with me, I have a lot of things to go through. But, I also don’t mind if you have me, I promise to do everything in my power to become better, you have shown me that is possible in my life-”
“Leon. I want to be with you, I always have.” You cut his ranting off. “Just like how you were there for me during my dark moments, I’ll be there for yours. We’re in this together.”
“Okay then,” Leon breathed out with a sigh of relief as he placed a kiss on the crown of your head before bringing you in closer into his arms. “Together. I like the sound of that.”
END NOTES: This turned out to be longer than I thought (hence why this took a while to make), but I am so happy to get back to writing!! Special shoutout to @d3wydr0p for giving me a logical tea to work in this situation and for listening to me rant about this fic😭Hoping to have the last 2 days by tomorrow morning!! Thank you for your patience and for reading!!<33
TAGLIST: @nocturnalstar, @kennedysbbyy (Let me know in the comments below if you want to be tagged in this celebration's fics!!)
13 DAYS OF LEON KENNEDY: 100 FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION
leon’s daughter learns the word no and uses it the whole day. fluff. 0.9k wc.
leon has handled worse in the past. he’s sure of it. he’s been shot at, chased, infected with deadly viruses, and thrown into abysmal situations where the only plan was to survive and improvise. this, however? this shouldn’t be harder than that, right?
he should’ve known today was going to be difficult the second his daughter woke up and discovered the power of the word no. since breakfast, she’d used it for everything. she used it when she was angry. she used it when she was happy. she used it when she agreed with something. sometimes she even used it while actively doing the thing she was supposedly refusing to do.
now, as the evening settled outside the windows and painted the living room gold, the toddler stood by the front door, bouncing excitedly. “outside!”
“yeah, kiddo,” leon said, grabbing her tiny sneakers. “outside. now c’mere.”
the smile on her face immediately vanished. “no.”
“no outside?” he asked, confused.
“outside!” came the enthusiastic reply.
“okay.” leon crouched down in front of her. “then let’s put your shoes on.”
“no!” she declared, jerking her foot away, making leon miss the shoe entirely.
your daughter sat heavily on the floor, arms crossed and bottom lip sticking out in pure stubbornness.
“sweetheart,” he tried again, gentler this time, “can i put your shoes on?”
“no.”
“can mommy put your shoes on?”
“no.”
“can the president of the united states put your shoes on?”
and she actually seemed to consider it for a moment, before the expected reply came, “no.”
“mm, thought so.” for a minute, leon simply sat beside her, scratching the back of his neck and looking at the tiny sneakers as if they held all the answers. leon was beginning to suspect that whoever said toddlers were easy had never actually met one. now that wasn’t to say he didn’t love her. if anything, experience had taught him that trying to out-stubborn a toddler was like trying to fist-fight a tornado. eventually, he gave up and asked, “what shoes do you want to wear?”
now that got her attention and tears stopped before they’d even started. when she pointed to the front door, leon followed her finger, pointing to the pair of black combat boots sitting there. his boots.
“no, bug...” he tried to reason with her.
her tiny finger, however, remained steady. “papa boots.”
he knew there was no trying to reason with her. that simply wouldn’t work. still, leon looked towards you for help. you had a digicam in your hand, recording the whole thing and trying not to laugh. playing this at her highschool graduation dinner and embarrassing her would be so fun. “she’s got a point,” you said.
“how?” he chuckled at the ridiculousness of it.
“i don’t know?? toddler logic.”
your toddler waddled over to the boots and wrapped both her arms around one of them. it looked ridiculous. the boots were as long as her entire leg. leon sighed and gave in.
five minutes later came tantrum number two when leon wouldn’t let her wear his boots without socks.
tantrum number three happened because he put the left boot on first.
tantrum number four occurred because he’d tried to zip up her jacket. “no!” she cried.
“you don’t want to wear your jacket?”
“no.”
“what jacket do you want?”
and at the question, the toddler pointed at the leather jacket leon was wearing. “you want my jacket?” he asked, and she nodded vigorously in reply.
thankfully, there were no more tantrums after that. by the time you three finally made it outside, leon felt like he had survived a boss fight. your toddler, however, was delighted. papa’s boots and papa’s jacket? oh, this was the best day ever.
she waddled down the sidewalk happily and with all the confidence in the world. leon had to fold the sleeves of his jacket up six times, and it still nearly swallowed her whole and the hem nearly touched the ground.
his boots were even worse. every step was an adventure. clomp. pause. wobble. clomp. the boots slid and slipped around her tiny feet so much she looked like a baby duck learning how to walk.
but she was beaming, and that is what mattered. plus leon was careful, helping her each time she wobbled. every few steps, she’d look down at herself, visibly remembering what she was wearing, and wobble.
“papa boots!” she chirped happily.
leon nodded proudly.
“papa jacket!!”
“yes, bug.”
she took another few steps and then she held up her arms dramatically. “papa!”
the declaration was so proud, it made leon laugh warmly. “that’s right, bug. papa.”
she giggled and continued her impossible journey down the sidewalk. after about thirty feet, she got tired and demanded uppies. leon lifted her effortlessly and immediately she curled against his chest, tiny hands grabbing at the collar of his shirt.
“you know,” you said, walking beside them, “she just wanted to match with you.”
“yeah.” leon smiled warmly, looking down at the little girl already getting sleepy against his chest. and then, smugly, to tease you, “my outfits are obviously cooler. she has inherited my fine taste.”
“sure,” you rolled your eyes playfully, cracking a fond smile nonetheless. when you looked at your daughter, she looked ridiculous, really. one boot almost dangling off her foot. ridiculously adorable. but also impossibly happy.
“papa...” your daughter yawned softly, the hold of her tiny hand gripping his collar tightened.
“yeah, sweetheart,” he whispered back, kissing the top of her head.
this time, there was no no. just a content little hum as she snuggled deeper into papa’s jacket, perfectly satisfied now that she looked just like papa.
