meowza!

You sigh into your pillow a hundred times, and you toss and turn in your bed a hundred times, drifting off to sleep one moment and yet staying awake for the entirety of the night. Incessant thoughts of your argument with your boyfriend keep you up until the birds start to sing outside your window, and when your alarm clock goes off only a couple hours later, you just barely stop yourself from breaking it with your fist.

This is just what you needed. A fight with your boyfriend, a potential breakup looming over your head like a guillotine, far from enough sleep, and a whole day of work ahead of you - safe to say you drag yourself out of bed looking like one of those corpses you put to eternal rest back in Raccoon City. The entire morning that follows feels like your body is being strung along on autopilot. You brush your teeth, you drink a cup of coffee, you scarf down some scrambled eggs, and when you finally clock back into your own body, you are locking the front door of your apartment. It is only then that you pause. Leon slept on the couch last night. Was he there the entire time without you noticing?

You unlock the door and peek in. The blanket and pillow you left him on the couch are a mess from his tossing and turning. Seems the two of you had a similar night. But as for Leon himself, he is nowhere to be found. Fair enough, probably went to work… you hope. Finally, you lock the door and you turn on your heels, making your way down the hallway.

The thought of quitting your stupid job has crossed your mind countless times before and today is no different. No, in fact, it is worse. With everything going on between you and Leon, it really feels like things are just falling apart right in your hands. You hand back a customer the wrong change. Piles of canned corn tumble to the ground. You're distracted and depressed and you're sure that the manager has noticed.

Honestly, how did you get here? You used to be an agent. Shit, you used to save the world. Your manager doesn't even realize that there's a possibility he can yell at you right now because you sniped a B.O.W. that would have otherwise had his brain for lunch like ten years ago. But you can't tell him that. You just gotta take it, listen to him reprimand you for shit that does not matter in the grand scheme of things, and trust me, you have witnessed that grand scheme of things. You wonder then, if your manager has ever felt the cold touch of death upon his skin before in his life.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, mentally reprimanding yourself for letting your mind wander that way. It's not right. Yes, it is unfair that you will never get the recognition for doing the things you did, but that's not why you did them, right? You knew what you were getting into when you joined the secret service. You knew it would drain you, chew you up and spit you out onto the curb. At the same time, you understand why Leon drowns himself in the golden liquid of a whisky bottle. You can't hold it against him too much. You got out of that business; he didn't.

Yes, out of the two of you, he has it worse. And so you bite your tongue and you take your superior's scolding because it is infinitely better than never being enough despite giving your all.

"I'm taking this out of your paycheck."

You flinch then, snapping back to reality. It dawns on you that yes, you're making money, but Leon's job helps you immensely. If you lose him, you're back to working your ass off just to be able to pay rent. Fuck. It's not that this is all he means to you of course, but you'd really hate to go back to that life.

"Hello? Are you listening to me?" You look at the man in front of you, pulling yourself together enough to be able to function.

"Of course. I'm so sorry for all the trouble, Mr. Filcher."

"Sorry doesn't cut it," he says, resting a hand on the door of the back area. At least he had the decency to pull you aside and not scold you in front of the customers. "Just do your work right." And with that, he leaves. You linger behind a little longer. Shoulders hunched, body deflated. There's no denying it; you've been defeated. It wasn't all the death and carnage of cleaning up the mess Umbrella created that did you in, it was the 9-5 job at a fucking grocery store.

You suppose that's what this world simply does to a person. And Leon… Your heart aches at the thought of him, squeezing tears into your eyes. You don't want to break up with him at all.

When you arrive back at your apartment that evening, bag slung around your shoulder and exhaustion nestled into every inch of your face, you find yourself standing in front of the door but unable to enter. The key resting between your fingers grows warm with every passing second that you spend in contemplation. A light down the hallway flickers. Someone shuffles their feet in one of the other apartments. An elderly neighbor has his TV on full volume, though you don't really make out what the news anchor is saying through the door. The apartment complex is teeming with life both young and old and as you stare at the keyhole in front of you, you can't help but dwell on the anxiety that your apartment will be the exact opposite: empty, dark, and cold.

What if he left? What if he never returned?

You squeeze your eyes shut and clench the key and finally, you will yourself to move. The key slides into the keyhole, the lock clicks as you turn it, and then the door opens. Yet what waits behind it is not what you'd expect. The apartment is not cold, it is warm. The light is on and the smell of something delicious enters your nose. You hear the music then, the quiet sound of a small radio playing rock songs from the kitchen windowsill where it usually sits.

The scene leaves you bewildered. You just shut the door behind you slowly and quietly. Your apartment hasn't been this lively in months. Usually you'd return home alone, eat dinner alone, and go to sleep alone, with Leon being either away on a mission or drinking his sorrows away in a bar. Why is he here? Why is he cooking?

Did he actually take your words to heart? You didn't expect it to work. And then the man himself enters the living room, eyebrows raised in surprise to see you there. There is flour smeared on his face and drops of sauce sprayed across his apron, yet it is not the mess you pay attention to. It is the clarity in his eyes you haven't seen in a while. He's sober.

"Honey, you're home," he says, approaching you. His arms are raised at first, but then his expression shifts as he remembers last night and he stops his attempt to hug you, instead opting for carefully taking your hands into his. "You look tired."

You don't answer, subtly shaking your head instead as you look over his shoulder. "Leon, I- what is this?"

He follows your eyes, then turns back to you. "This is dinner."

"No, I-" you roll your eyes, "I know it's dinner. Why are you here?"

Leon pauses, gathering his thoughts. It's clear that he wants to take this seriously, discarding his usual jokes. "Because I can't be anywhere else."

Your breath hitches and you press your lips into a thin line. It's not like him to say something so genuine. In that moment, you spot the rookie cop in his eyes, and the sight makes your eyes water.

"Shit, I don't know how you put up with me. But you do. You've stayed all these years and I took that for granted. But yesterday, you…" He shakes his head. "I did a lot of thinking."

"Me too-" He raises a hand, pressing a finger against the softness of your lips.

"Let me finish? Please?" You nod and he continues, "I… can't do this without you. I've already lived through it once and… well, you know how that went." He swallows then, and you watch as his cheeks turn red. You wonder for a moment what's about to come out of his mouth, but it's not his words that surprise you, it's his actions: he gets on his knees in front of you.

Your own face heats up. "Hey, wait, what are you-"

"Don't leave me, Y/N. I'm really sorry I neglected you. I'm a selfish asshole for doing it, and I'm an even bigger selfish asshole for asking you to stay. I'll quit alcohol, I'll be good, I'll do anything you ask, just stay!"

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water, shocked by this display of desperation. Sure, you've made Leon beg before, but not like this. Honestly, you're very embarrassed. "Please get up, Leon, this is… this is too much."

"I understand you're fed up with me but-"

"Enough!" Your tone cuts through the air, shutting him up immediately. "I don't want to break up!" Your admission is, admittedly, much shakier than you wanted it to be. Tears gather in your eyes once again for the hundredth time that day and this time, you can't stop them from falling. You hide your mouth into the palm of your hand, then your entire face, shoulders trembling from the outpour of emotion.

"I don't want to break up," you repeat, "I can't do this without you either, I just don't have it in me. I was so scared of walking in, and- and- hic- seeing all the empty space you'd leave behind." You struggle to suck in a deep breath through all the sobs, and you don't notice Leon standing up until you're being pulled into his arms. With his warmth and scent enveloping your body like a blanket, you're finally able to breathe, and you grab onto his shirt with desperation.

The two of you stand there for a while as Leon lets you cry it all out. The argument, the threat of a break-up, the long months of loneliness and trying to hold on, the shitty day at work, all of it finally comes out and you have no power to stop it. By the end, he's rocking you back and forth gently and rubbing your back. You feel like shit. It should be you comforting him, not the other way around.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs into your hair. "It's my fault."

"No…" Your voice is muffled by the fabric of his clothes as you press your face into his shoulder. "I went too hard last night. And I should have tried harder to understand."

"No," he says loud and clear, pushing you away just far enough to be able to look you in the eyes. His calloused hands cup your cheeks and wipe the tears from underneath your lower eyelid. "This is all on me, okay?"

"It's not your fault."

"Well it has to be someone's…"

You let out a chuckle. It is a small, vulnerable sound. "We're both a lost cause, aren't we?"

"That explains why we're inseparable," he jokes, lips pulled into a smug grin. Your gaze lingers on them a bit longer than is normal, and nothing ever escapes Leon. His own eyes tick to yours. And with all your emotions laid bare and walls crumbled down, any self-restraint leaves your body, leaving you to act upon the powerful desire that you've worked so hard to suppress for far too long now.

Lips smash into each other in the blink of an eye. It's wet and salty and raw. Fabric gets crumpled yet again, though this time for a different reason, a different force driving the dig of your fingers. His hands lay firmly on the small of your back, caging you in while he devours you hungrily, and a small sound leaves Leon's throat when you bite back - literally. When the two of you separate, you're both rosy cheeked and out of breath.

"Are you cooking something?" you ask suddenly.

"What?"

"Is there something in the oven."

"Uh, no, it's all finished-"

"Good." You grab Leon's hand and begin pulling him towards the bedroom. "I'm in the mood for an appetizer." You hear him huff out a laugh behind you. He doesn't protest, he never does. In fact, he finds your forcefulness hot, and you know that he does. It's probably why this has worked out for so long, the mutual push and pull with just the right force, and when one of you pulls too hard, the other is there to correct it.

You shove the man onto the king size bed, then shut the door behind you, and when you turn back around to look at him, leaned back and legs spread wide, it is with hunger in your eyes. You lean onto the door at first, then peel yourself off of it.

"Are you just gonna watch?" Leon asks, almost purring.

"Maybe," you tease. Then you hook your fingers under the hem of your sweater and pull it over your head, tossing the article of clothing somewhere on the ground. Your clothes are plain, a T-shirt and some jeans, yet when Leon's eyes travel down your body, he wears the expression of someone staring at the most precious piece of jewelry. "Though I'm afraid," you breathe, "that I don't have the self-restraint for that tonight." Not after the long time of neglect.

You cross the empty space between you two, planting your knee on the bed between his legs and leaning over to kiss him again. He doesn't taste of alcohol anymore, just his usual taste. As your tongues brush against one another, you get busy with untying the dirty apron while his hands wander underneath your shirt. His touch tickles at first, but as his desire grows, so does the urgency of his grabbing. The apron gets tossed, then your T-shirt, then his. A pile of clothes forms next to the bed.

His lips find your neck, pulling an excited sigh out of you. His stubble scratches your skin and usually you would complain about it, but right now, it only serves to drive you even crazier. Dragging your nails down the skin of his chest and belly, you find the button of his pants and you get to undoing them with haste. Leon continues kissing down your neck, nipping at the skin over your collarbone, then traveling lower and lower until his breath fans the curve of your breast. He plants a kiss over your bra, and though you don't feel it much, it still sends a rush of heat into your lower abdomen. No doubt you're already soaked - and when your hand brushes over the bulge in his crotch, you feel his dick twitch as well.

And then your mean streak bares its teeth again. Planting your hand between his pecs, you push him down until he's lying on his back. Leon looks up at you with wide eyes and spit-slicked lips, and then his gaze flicks downwards when you reach behind you to discard your bra. Your breasts spill out and he breathes a shaky sigh.

"Fuck," he mumbles. Leon's hand rises with the attempt of cupping one of your boobs, but it doesn't reach its target: you grab both of his wrists and pin them above his head.

Leaning in close to his ear, you murmur an order: "No touching."

Leon flutters his pretty eyelashes. "What?"

"You heard me." Pushing yourself up, you fully straddle his hips, finally unzipping his pants and freeing his cock of its confines. A thread of precum connects the tip to the boxers, and your heart races with excitement, chest rising and falling with your breaths. Leon himself squeezes his eyes shut, eyebrows furrowing over the lightest of touches. It seems he himself has been pretty pent up.

"You're still mad at me," he says, meeting the mischief in your eyes.

"Hmm," you look up, cocking your head to the side as you feign thinking. "A little bit." You lean forward once again, hovering right above him. Your hair, falling to the side, creates a curtain around your face. Leon is mesmerized by the sight. "Hand me the lube," you order.

"No magic word?"

"Nope." A grin lights up your face.

"You're a mean one." Despite his words, Leon does exactly as he's told, reaching over to the nightstand and pulling the bottle of lube out of the drawer.

"Don't play coy with me." You lower your face further, lips just barely brushing against each other. "You like me that way."

"Fuck," he says shakily, and you feel him twitch under your weight. Leon is the one to close the distance, and this time, you let him, snatching the lube out of his hand. Not that he even notices. Once you've had enough, you grab his cheeks with one hand and pull away with a smirk, eyes flicking from his lips to his eyes.

"Be a good boy for me and do as I say."

"Y-Yes." His eyes are half-lidded as he watches you sit back on your haunches and squirt some of the lubrication onto your hand. You then meet his gaze, and with a small smirk, you warm up the liquid between your palms before wrapping them around his length, gently running your hands up and down it to coat it evenly. Leon moans, digging his fingers into the bedsheet since he can't dig them into your skin. His breath quickens. "Y/N…"

"Yeah?" you purr, drawing the syllable out. Every movement, every noise that falls from your lips, they are all perfectly orchestrated to get him as worked up as possible. That's simply what you've learnt over the years: what he likes and what he doesn't, and what's most likely to tear delicious whimpers from his throat.

Leon is in control every second of his day-to-day life, but when it comes to sex, well… let's just say you don't have to try very hard to wrangle that control from his hands. Leon isn't usually very dominant, not when he's specifically in the mood for it anyway. And that's more than fine with you.

"Please don't- don't tease me more-"

You chuckle at the request, and Leon nearly jumps out of his hot skin. With one hand remaining at his cock to continue stroking him slowly, you shift so you are lying on your side, one leg hooked over his and elbow propped up under you so that you can look down on him. "Oh Leon," you murmur, voice carrying a tone that is almost pitiful, but not quite there. "This is all you're getting. Like I said… appetizer."

This pulls a whimper out of him. With a grin spreading across your face, you dive in for yet another kiss, one that is hungry and wet. You force your tongue beyond his teeth, which sends his hips bucking into your fist. You pry your lips off of his, much to his dismay, and plant them on the skin of his jaw, nipping and licking at the soft bend of it. Under your leg, you can feel his thigh tense up and try to bring itself flush to the other thigh. You don't allow it. Instead, you stop stroking his cock to swipe your thumb in circular motions around the tip, smearing the drop of precum that's gathered on top in the process.

Leon breathes out shakily. With your lips on his neck, you can feel the quick rhythm of his heart and the way it hitches when you brush against that one particular spot. You travel even lower, until your mouth meets the curve of his collarbone, more prominent than you remember it with his weight loss. You sink your teeth into his skin, and when he lets out a strangled moan, you resume your stroking.

"Shit, Y/N," he looks at you pleadingly. "Please, let me touch you."

Licking over the fresh tooth marks, your eyes tick up to his face. Flushed, with his eyebrows pinched over the bridge of his nose and tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He really wants it. Too bad you've decided to be mean.

You move in to kiss him again, then bite his lower lip. "No," you murmur, barely an inch away from his face. Leon's knuckles turn white with the strength of his vice grip on the bedsheet. Your hand speeds up and the new pace draws sweet sounds out of the man. You watch him like a hawk, feel every twitch of every muscle in his body with your closeness.

Leon's whimpers and moans grow in frequency with his approaching climax. The lack of intimacy has made his stamina tank, but it doesn't matter to you. In fact, you even relish in the knowledge that you can make him cum this fast. It's cute. Leon is cute. Especially like this, so pliable and obedient in your hands.

"Are you gonna cum?" you ask, almost teasingly, teeth closing around his earlobe.

"Ye-yeah," his jaw drops open, abs growing visibly taut. "I'm sorry, I don't think - ah - I can hold it in…"

"That's okay," you purr. There it is again, that tone of fake pity. You've mastered it at this point. "I didn't say you had to."

When Leon looks at you, his eyes bear the thirst of someone who's traversed the desert heat. You're his oasis, the shade of a palm tree, the cold sensation of water upon his parched esophagus. You squeeze his dick a little harder and he hisses.

"Fuck, Y/N. Kiss me. Please."

"Since you asked so nicely." This time, you grant him his wish. You kiss him, slowly but deeply, your tongue brushing against his. He accepts it, takes your forcefulness as the gift it is, and with that, he cums. Muffled moans come spilling into your mouth together with the spurts of cum that paint his bare stomach white. Leon's cock twitches between your stilled fingers. Finally, he lets his head fall onto the pillow, breathing heavily.

You let go of his softening dick, wiping the leftover lube onto his chest. "Good boy." You make sure to compliment him and press a kiss into his cheek. Leon hums.

"So, how would you rate the appetizer?" he asks, voice raspy. His eyes have softened considerably, but the little glimmer of playfulness doesn't escape your notice.

"Hmm, there's room for improvement. The chef's cute though."

Leon lets out an amused huff, shaking his head as he looks away from you. "Well, you've had your appetizer," he murmurs, and suddenly you're being spun around and pinned underneath him. "Now it's my turn." While one hand presses your wrists into the softness of a pillow, the other rushes to the button of your pants.

"Naughty," you chastise through your grin, "I thought you were going to be good- ah!"

You don't get to finish. Leon's hand finds its way under your panties, and the sensation of his cold fingers upon your heat pulls a whimper out of you. Almost like they have a mind of their own, your hips arch, pressing your skin against his, betraying your own desires which you've worked so hard to contain.

"Look at you," Leon is the one to purr this time, "soaked like this just from watching me cum." He pulls out his hand and spreads his fingers apart. Strings of your slick connect them. The sight sends heat down to your core, and you press your thighs together.

"L-Leon…" You try to wrangle control back from him, but it's useless. He dives into the curve of your neck and litters the skin with hot, wet kisses, and the butterflies in your stomach turn to a soft moan as they crawl their way up your throat. He distracts you, makes your head spin so you don't notice when he pulls your pants down, your hands remaining faithfully above your head. Leon doesn't pull them down entirely, however, just enough to expose your bare sex. He lets them pool around your ankles and act as restraints while he hooks his hands under your knees and pushes them up, folding you in half.

You gasp. Positioned like this, the lips of your weeping cunt spread open, and though it isn't cold in the room by any means, the air is definitely cooler than inside of you. The combination of this sensation and the exposure of having your intimate areas on full display only serves to excite you more, tie your stomach in knots. Your eyes meet Leon's, and the hunger in them makes you clench. He runs two calloused fingers up and down your slit, coating them in more of your wetness, and the motion is only pleasant enough to leave you craving more.

A shudder runs down your spine. "Are you just gonna keep teasing me?" you ask when his fingertips just barely skirt your entrance. He smirks at your question.

"I thought this was an appetizer?"

Using your own words against you. Touché.

"Leon, ple-" You don't even get to beg. His fingers finally slide inside you. The gentle stretch has you sighing in relief and this time, it's you gripping the sheets with your hands. Leon begins to move his digits in and out of you, brushing against the spots he knows you like, the spots that are sure to make you squirm. His pace is slow but deliberate, almost like every sound pulled out of you is calculated.

Though your eyes are closed, you can feel his eyes burning holes into your dripping entrance. And when his breath fans your skin and the heat of his mouth licks your folds, the moan that leaves your mouth is almost pornographic. Leon closes his lips around the nub sitting on top of your vulva and sucks, humming at the taste of you. Excitement oozes around his fingers that have penetrated you, dripping down onto the sheets mixed with saliva in a perverted display of worship.

You body contorts with sensation, back arching, head tilting back. You are acutely aware of every touch, every finger digging into the supple flesh of your thigh, every drag of his tongue against your most sensitive parts. Leon is devouring you like he's been starved for days, and honestly, he just might have been. The very air in your lungs feels humid and the fog that settles in your brain obscures every thought that isn't right here, right now, in this bed and at your boyfriend's mercy.

A particular suck makes your walls clench around his digits and your hands fly down to grab at Leon, and the only thing they can reach at this angle is his hair.

"Ah! F-fuck, Leon," you moan, pulling at his darkened strands, which prompts a delicious sound out of him. "I don't th-think I can, ah, last long like this."

He pauses his attack on your clit for a moment. "Then don't."

Leon presses his lips to the underside of your thigh first, trailing lower while fingerfucking you. Butterflies flutter in his trail and the display of love only serves to heat your molten core even further. Finally, he's back to your cunt, and when he attached himself back to your clit, a third finger enters you.

Pleasure builds, and so does the tightness in your stomach. Heat rushes to your pelvis and it nestles there, growing and oozing. Your muscles grow taut, your whimpers more frequent, wetness drips down your crack, and then—release.

Colors dance in your vision and your heart flutters just the same as the walls that surround Leon's fingers. He stills his movements but keeps his mouth on your pussy, aiming to make the most out of your orgasm. Your thighs tremble and you moan with each wave of pleasure, until it subsides, and all that's left of the tide are the shimmering rocks upon the coastline that had been obscured by the dark blue of the raging sea.

Your entire body goes limp, and only then does Leon finally give you one last lick before releasing you. He rests your legs upon the bed, stroking the length of one of your thighs.

"Are you okay?" He checks in. He always checks in. That's the rookie you used to know talking.

"Mmh," you murmur. "More than okay."

You feel the bed dip under his weight as he rests an arm by your hip, and then his figure blocks the overhead light from hitting your face. You look at him, he looks at you.

"Am I forgiven, then?" he asks, a small smirk resting on his lips.

"Hmm, not quite. You're getting there, though."

He chuckles then, hanging his head. Yeah, there's no denying it - you've got Leon wrapped around your finger, and deep down he knows he wouldn't have it any other way.

Leon lowers himself closer to your face and your lips meet in a kiss. This one, unlike the previous passionately ravenous ones, is chock full of tenderness. "You're gonna make me work for it, aren't you?" he asks then, just a hair's breadth away from your face.

"Yup. You're gonna have to work your ass off, buddy."

"Buddy?" He feigns offense, but you can tell by the amused glimmer in his eye that he doesn't really care.

You laugh and pull him in for another kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. It dawns on you then, that the amount of chances you are willing to extend to Leon is infinite. It is a fact that both excites you, and terrifies you deeply. Because this is unhealthy, and it is codependent—but then again, so is the alcohol inside the wooden cabinet and so are the snuffed out cigarette butts lying in the ashtray. Poison courses through your veins, trauma intertwines your roots, and though time may erode your puzzle pieces, at the end of the day, you will always be the only ones to fit.

Leon breaks the kiss, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Time for the main course?"

"Mm. What's for dinner?"

"Gnocchi alla sorrentina," he replies, and his broken italian accent makes you laugh.

"Alright, but let me freshen up first."

Leon glances down at his dirty torso. "Good call." He tucks his dick back into his pants and gets off the bed. "Meet you in ten?"

You remain lying, pulling your thighs together and resting your hands on your naked stomach. You don't miss the way Leon's eyes linger on your chest. "I'll be there."