#reader smut

RE2R!Leon — (21 years old)

⟡ Insecure about his dick size, but 5 1/2 inches is average, right?

⟡ Leon doesn’t haven’t a preference for woman but when he met an older woman like you, he fell in love, the age gap only being 6 years

⟡ Is it embarrassing to say that you’re the only girl he brought over to his crappy apartment, a girl who’s older than him, he even tidy it up his room and especially his bed only for it to be ruined later

⟡ He shouldn’t jerk off in the RPD bathroom while he’s on duty because you couldn’t stop sending him dirty texts

⟡ Dry humping your clothed ass when he feels you pressed up against him at night

⟡ Sometimes comes right in his boxers when you continue to rub against his aching cock

⟡ He can be a bit perverted when doing laundry, he might take a sniff of your panties

⟡ He always has condoms on the bed side drawers, he’s always over prepare

⟡ The first time he tries pussy is life changing, he always feasts for it, “please—pleasee, baby” while he tugs on the waist band of your sweatpants when he has to go to work in 30 minutes

⟡ When you told him you wanted to try having raw sex, he was hesitant and was thinking of all the possibilities what could happen, he thought about your pregnancy more than you

⟡ His first time fucking you raw, he barley puts his tip in and he’s mumbling random things like “oh god oh god oh—fuck-“

⟡ Praising you over and over again when he’s so close to coming from your pussy clenching around his cock

⟡ Always so gentle during sex since he doesn’t want to hurt you

⟡ That’s why you put him back on condoms because he always came too fast like a horny teenager

⟡ Slow sex, just kissing you and slowly thrusting into you feeling like his cock is about to explode inside you

⟡ Pulls out his aching cock when he about to come and shoots it all over your belly

⟡ He’s so subby and when he needs you after a long day of work and just doing reports

⟡ Bondage? He never expected for that to be one of his kinks until you start stroking his cock as all he can do is moan and watch you abuse his tip even edging him

⟡ Your mouth feels like heaven, it shows you’re experienced by the way you’re making him moan under you

⟡ Nicknames he’ll call you: baby or some other name that’s short and sweet!

RE4R!Leon — (27 years old)

⟡ He’s now mature into a handsome man after the events of Raccoon City

⟡ With the years passed, he’s definitely more cocky and it shows during sex, “You gonna come all over my fingers just like that?” His voice filled with cockiness, watching you fall apart

⟡ This time, Leon prefers woman younger than him, this time the age gap being 3 years

⟡ After coming back from Spain, he can’t help but crawl back to bed with you and caress your body, never letting go, a feeling of fear that he wasn’t going to see you

⟡ His huge muscular arms holding you tight, kissing you down to your neck, his hands undressing you to feel you more

⟡ All those months of being gone really made him needy, coming after you sucked his tip for not even 2 minutes

⟡ This time bondage is different, it’s you being tied up, all vulnerable for him, roleplaying like you’re the one who needs rescuing

⟡ He loves fucking you against the wall, guess it was worth it to gain some muscle while he was back in specialized training to become a elite agent

⟡ “Giving my princess what she needs” Then rubbing your soaked panties with that cocky grin like he’s doing you a ‘big’ favor

⟡ Spits into your mouth before making out with you, tongue swirling together as he fingers your needy pussy

⟡ Of course he still wears a condom, right now isn’t the time to settle and have a kid when he’s out here fighting infected people and barely home as it

⟡ Even sex is more different well it’s depends, if he came home from a mission then it’s rough but usually it’s slow sex in the morning

⟡ Leaving hickeys on your warm body is all he can think about

⟡ Masturbating should’ve been left 6 year ago but he can’t help but touch himself when you send him nudes when he’s overseas

⟡ He can’t even let you shower alone without him, it most likely ends up with you on your knees sucking him off

⟡ Loves painting your face with his come after

⟡ Nicknames he’ll call you: babe and princess or if he feels very cocky then brat

RE6!Leon — (36 years old)

⟡ An older woman with big tits that he can motor boat in is his dreams

⟡ Age gap only being 4 years, as he always hears you complain about your wrinkles which he can’t even see

⟡ He definitely didn’t expect you to come along in his life, since he was helplessly in love with another woman who didn’t want him

⟡ He’s the definition of a jealous man, gets jealous of every man who claims to be your ‘friend’, it’s called protection, that’s why he’s having rough sex with you on the bed…right?

⟡ He has you gripping the sheets like crazy when you mention another guy around him, he’ll fuck the guy out of your memory

⟡ He has a habit of talking to your pussy like it’s a person, “She’s so needy for me today” as he proceeds to finger the fuck out of you

⟡ Overstimulation is the best with him, after you just comed all over his fingers, he just slides his cock right in, making you come twice while he rubs your clit still talking to your pussy

⟡ Maybe he has a bit of a daddy or degradation kink, he continues to hold a grudge of you talking to that guy from early, “You’re all mines, my body, all mines for Daddy, right? You little cheeky girl” pinching your cheeks

⟡ Type to send you videos of himself jerking himself off to a photo of you, muttering your name

⟡ He doesn’t even try when he eats your pussy it’s like he’s a pro at it, his tongues always hitting the right spots, but even so, he doesn’t allow you pushing his head in

⟡ Allowing you to ride him is a rare thing but you do it so good, he even praises you “Look at you go, sweetie” before pushing you down more

⟡ Nicknames he’ll call you: sweetie, cheeky girl, beautiful, honey

@strxwoq 2026! Do not copy or try to copy!

ugh re6 and damnation leon are literally my favorite, i can’t wait to write about damnation leon 🤤

A ridiculous notion, you'd shooed it from your brain as quickly as the idea had sprung up. Ignoring that hitch in his breath when you'd undone his updo, running your fingers through those raven locks whilst he rested beside you for bed.

You continued your book that you had once been immersed in, but not with as much fervor as before, now slightly distracted as you listened for a change in your lover's breathing. You'd noticed a shift in his posture, how he'd stopped lazily reading along with you, now just sitting against the headboard beside your figure, eyes traveling up and down and up and down.

You smiled and he caught this quickly, leaning into the touch of your hand a little more.

"Your day was well, my lord?" Your voice broke through the previously warm silence, never taking your eyes off of the pages.

But you could still feel the way Zuko's eyes burned against your skin, his hand slowly making its way under the covers and onto your thigh, moving your nightgown up and up and up. He hadn't answered with more than a hum, and you huffed out a laugh, flipping to the next line.

"Not much to report then?"

Again, a small hum, something disgruntled as you brushed your fingers through his soft strands, nails scratching against the very back of his head, just above his neck and shoulders. He was growing warmer in the face, close to his ears, and you could feel it. Your husband, a nervous wreck? Well, that just couldn't be. Zuko had never been much for shyness, and while that temper had subsided with age, a blush was rarely worn, and not with such vulnerability.

"Is it sleep that keeps your from conversation?" You finally turn your head to face him, and a smooth sigh falls from his lips, like he'd been itching for you to look in his direction just once, just for a second, and that would've been enough. "I can leave you to sleep, if you'd like."

"I'd burn cities if you left me," he mutters, leaning his head back into your fingers some more, hoping for friction. "I am comfortable."

So, you nod and continue your reading, leaning closer so that he might join again too, rather than stare so feverishly.

The hand that lies in his messy hair has come to a slow halt as your eyes move along the page, now distracted by the story and more or less forgetting about the man that sits beside you. Failing to notice that hurt, needy look on his face when you stop moving your hands. He rubs his head against your palm again, to no avail, letting out a childish huff.

He whispers your name gently, and you hum back, copying his previous silent attitude. You mumble something about almost being done, but this brings him no sort of satisfaction. Almost done could've meant hours before you'd closed that book, and that simply wouldn't do. He needed his head scratched now, he burned with the feeling.

Zuko tried to sit still for a moment, he really did. He wasn't always so dramatic about these sorts of things, but now, he couldn't help himself.

It's not long before he's taking the book, marking where you'd left off, and throwing it sliding it along the floor. His lips make a tight, curt line as he moves and lays right on top of you, head on your chest and placing your hands right where they belonged.

"Zuko—"

"Much better," he sighed dreamily, nuzzling his head just below your breast bone, against your ribs and crushing into your lungs with his weight ever-so-slightly. His voice rumbles against your chest, sending vibrations through your whole body. "Morning time is better for reading anyway."

You closed your gaping mouth, accepting your fate as you ran your fingers through his hair again, braiding and then unbraiding, humming some quiet little song to lull him. You twirled the hair in your fingers and felt his breath coming to a slow, calm rhythm.

And he had almost fallen straight to sleep, if not for the accidental tug you gave at the very top of his head.

You mumbled out a quick and babbled apology, rubbing his hair down again to remedy the offense, but something in the atmosphere had changed, almost drastically. You felt a heat start to fall into you from his body, and when your hands grazed against his back, he was hot to the touch, stiffening at the feeling of your finger pads against his shoulder blades.

"Zuko?"

"Hmm?" He went to lift his head before quickly deciding against it, resting back down atop of you.

His hands rest upon your thighs reassuringly, rubbing them softly in a cadence that you followed, back into his hair like nothing had happened. But his body was still stiff. And you know he felt warmer, you were certain of it.

Well, it's not like you knew for sure why he'd reacted that way.

So, of course, the only logical plan of action was to...test it out.

You continued your previous rhythm for a moment, a couple scratches here and there, a few twirls and twists. And then a tug, just one, just to see what might happen. And who could blame you for being so curious?

Certainly not Zuko, who had let a low groan slip from him, hips shifting slightly above the covers.

You hadn't expected that.

So you tug again, a little harder while still being careful with him, and that's what elicits what you swear is a moan if you had been listening close enough. Your eyes go wide with surprise and before Zuko can try to explain himself, you pull again, completely lifting his head off of your chest, holding him in the air by a fistful of black as if his head hadn't had a body at all. Oh, but it did, because you felt that body above you, growing warm and then warmer, hips pressing down against you like instinct.

"Wait-, fuck—"

You laugh at him, you really can't help it, and this only earns a sort of pout threatening to form, his brows knitting together at the very center as he looks up at you through those gorgeous lashes.

"You like when I pull your hair, my lord?"

You pull again, a little higher so he's eye-level with you, and his hips move with him, right against your leg, once, twice, and a third like it's uncontrollable. And perhaps it is, because Zuko lets himself whine in your grasp, hands holding himself up against the mattress and gripping the sheets like he's forcing himself not to rut against your leg like a dog in heat. You extend your arm and lunge it forward, pulling him back so that his head tilts towards the ceiling, watching the slow movement of his Adam's apple when he gulps. He's breathing heavily, one arm steadying himself and the other gripping your thigh, fingers digging into your plush skin.

"Please-, more, please—"

You smile sort of evilly and that sad, hopeful look on his face just contorts further, repositioning himself so that you might have a better angle to pull from. He struggles against your hand, resting his nose in the crook of your neck, kissing softly and then frantically when he notices you haven't moved at all, arm still frozen and locked in the same spot it was minutes before. But he needed you to pull again, and he needed it badly.

"Need it," he nods against your skin, feeling you pet his head briefly before holding a handful of his hair, rubbing it through your fingers as he spoke. "Love when you- hngh- pull my hair, my love, s'good."

You couldn't imagine that, the way he said it so peacefully, so eagerly. You'd had your fair share of bad hair days, combs getting caught and stuck, hair getting tangled in bed or within your clothes when you tried to remove them. And yet, Zuko was begging for it, some newfound idea bouncing around in his head and spreading like wildfire.

"Feels like this-" You felt a sudden rush of heat against your lower stomach, just above your measly excuse for undergarments, and Zuko's hands pressed against your skin, sending that warmth straight through. You clamped your thighs shut instinctively and he nodded again, lips pulling into a smile against your temple. "S'good, right? Feels good? Please, my love, just a little. Only need a little, please."

And who were you to reject that low and whiny tone in his voice?

You pulled his head back again with a harsh yank and he groaned, hands gripping into your stomach, thumbs brushing downward. He sat back and pulled you into his lap, holding you against the tent growing in his own undergarments, sighing happily when you'd settled your weight on him so that he could feel that familiar wetness just between your legs as you straddled. You wouldn't admit that you liked this just as much as he did, mostly because you couldn't. No one was having more fun than Zuko was, that was so embarrassingly obvious.

Still, with every tug of his hair, he found himself bucking up into you uncontrollably, the friction of your clothing between the two you just enough to meet that feeling in his head right now. He moved one hand from your waist to dip down and into your underwear, sighing again at the slick feeling.

"S-shit, Zuko—"

He shook his head quickly, taking one of your hands and using it to palm against his clothed length, already hard and bulging, already weeping with precum under your touch. "No need to be shy, my love. It seems I'm in the same predicament."

One hand continues to slide along your folds while the other encourages you to feel the way his body searches for you, his hips jerking up and up to feel your hand glide against him. You don't protest when he takes your hand and slips it into his pants, watching his gasp and throw his head back when you finally touch him, curling your fingers around the very base of his pulsing veins. You had seldom seen your lord struggle to keep his composure like this, but he was completely undone now, wrapped around your finger and biting at his lip at the feeling on both of your hands, both tugging.

His grunts fill the otherwise quiet room, staring deep into your eyes and you keep pulling his head away every time he tries to kiss you. He'll lean in close, breath mixing with yours and then tug, like it's funny, like you're having a grand old time making him look like this, all disgustingly needy, a little whimpering mess. And you are, you can feel it in your heat beneath you, the way he slips one, then two digits deep inside, and you're riding them heartily, like it's second nature.

"S'good, my love," he nods, twitching against your palm, lips finally meeting your nose before he's pulled away again. "S's-oft. You're so- shit- ah you're so good. S'good, feels s'good."

He's a babbling, blubbering mess, feeling you pause with one hand to pull with the other, forcing himself closer to you with each separate movement, trying to make you quicken the pace against his cock or strengthen the tug against his hair. And all the while, his fingers dig painstakingly slow against your clit, in small circles and then along the slick that keeps building between the two of you, the sounds of wet desire pulsating throughout the room in a steady sort of hum. The two of you, in perfect synchronization, as you do most things.

"She's so ready f'me," he says lowly, smiling boyishly down at your cunt, dipping fingers back in, making you pick up your own pace in response. "Just from making me feel good. So fucking wet f'me already." He's grinding his hips up into your fist, trying to move past them so that his greedy tip might get just a taste of what's so eagerly waiting for him. "You like touching me like this?"

And you can't help but nod, because you do, and his fingers are so deep, and you're riding them messily, tugging his head back so you can kiss that the sensitive part of his neck, just below his ear.

"No need to try and take the attention off yourself, pretty." He looks down between the two of you again, in some sort of awe. "I know- ah- what she wants. Can- fuck- feel her sucking me in." And if Zuko could, if he really wanted to, his jerking hips would've pushed past your fists a long time ago, his dick searching for that smooth feeling deep inside of you that his fingers were seemingly preparing you for. For now, you hand was enough, more than enough as his entire body seemed to stutter with every pull and caress of your thumb, every long glide against his shaft and that slitted tip. His dick is practically drooling, awaiting its sweet release that he's just inching closer and closer and closer to.

You feel yourself let out your own strangled whines as you grind against him a little faster, quickening the pace of your hands so that he might do the same.

And he reacts perfectly, driving his fingers almost all the way out and then hard and fast back in, deeper each time.

The hand that's on your waist falls against the sheets and the gripping of fabric is natural until it...isn't. There’s a windy sound beside you both, his head falling forward as your look up, sensing something off.

"Zuko?" You halt your movements just slightly, sniffing at the air.

Burning.

Fire.

Zuko was much to busy to notice, fucking up into your first repeatedly, rushing to meet where his fingers were plunging into you, throbbing along the crevices of your hand and shifting closer, and closer, and closer.

But the sheets were burning. He was actually burning the sheets below him, without even fully realizing. That had to be fixed soon, discussed even sooner, if you ever made it out of this room alive. You looked into your husband's dark eyes, all filled with lust and pride, and you knew how unlikely it might've been.

Still, you'd eventually forgotten to mind as well, free hand flying to his shoulder as he continue to jolt, the fingers within your dripping hole feeling warmer too, not so hot as to burn, but enough to feel it all within you, to bring you so so close to eternal damnation. You felt yourself start to break and before you could even say anything, even register that you were close, Zuko nodded, locking his lips with yours and practically eating your moans as you came down, still riding your high out along his fingers, feeling his own ruts only falter slightly before you'd both stilled.

All of a sudden, and with a filthy suck of his fingers, he'd placed you along the bed, holding both of your hands in the air to wait. You stared curiously through hazy and glossed-over eyes, to which he grinned, one hot hand spreading your legs apart, and the other holding his dick steady at your entrance, ready to slide in with an impeccable sort of ease.

"You pull," he commanded gently, bowing his head to you so that you might make great use of your new handle bars. "I'll do the rest."

zuko smut, zuko smut, zuko smut, zuko smut, zuko sm---

I haven't written actual smut in maybe three years so bare with me guys pls

boyfriends dad, who found your Instagram quickly enough. scrolling along the photos that you would post, whether it be your face, outfits, food. he was always looking at them when he had some time alone. he couldn't help himself, sooner or later cum would be all over his screen and he'd have to wipe it off. no shame to his actions.

boyfriends dad, who was a little nosey. just a little bit. he had overheard a phone call a while back, you were talking to your friend and seemed distressed and even disappointed. "i dunno, he just can't..pleasure me like i thought he would." oh? really?

boyfriends dad, who would take advantage of times you two would have alone. sometimes he would give subtle touches, those subtle touches would turn into not so subtle accidents. unlike his son, he could make you squirm and writhe with a few touches. unlike his son, he could have you moaning for real on his dick. unlike his son, he could have you cumming with just his hand.

boyfriends dad, who fucked you like an everyday schedule that just couldn't wait any longer. he'd have you bent over every surface he could get you on. kitchen counter, bathroom sink, couch, your boyfriends bed. shit, if he could compare this to the first hole he fucked this would be much better.

boyfriends dad, who could never stop talking and grunting while he fucked you. he wanted you to know you were his, even if on the outside you weren't, you surely were on the inside. "don't act all wimpy, take this dick like a man— 'less you a lil' girl, hm?" "daddy's got you addicted, don't he? mhm, ain't even gotta tell me with your words i can already see." "shh, shh, ain't none of that cryin'. big boys don't cry." "goood boy, suckin' me in so good."

boyfriends dad, absolutely loved to watch you come crawling back to him after you said you wouldn't. you'd try so hard to be a good boyfriend, try to force yourself to like the way your boyfriend fucked you, but you just couldn't do it. it was so difficult, you had to jerk yourself off beforehand. you just missed it so badly. missed his big hands gripping at the soft skin of your waist, missed the way his chest hair tickled your back when he leant down to go deeper, you missed it all.

boyfriends dad, who would rub it in your face each time you'd come back to him. saying things like you couldn't resist him, and he was right. fucking right. you'd have to give him head as an apology, listen to him degrade you like some side bitch. "fuck..look at ya, chokin' on this dick like you ain't beg me for it." he would thrust his hips the moment you'd get used to it for a second, seeing the way you could only gargle and whimper as a response.

boyfriends dad, who was just as obsessed with your body as you were of his. he paid attention to every little detail, every little twitch and wiggle so he would memorize it and get it right(unlike someone he knew). watch your tummy fill up and bloat with his cum each and every time he plunged in deep so he could feel the relief of cumming inside like he was getting you filled of his damn kids.

You’re tucked against him, pressed against his side and half sprawled across his chest, your cheek resting just below his collarbone and above his heart. His arm is heavy around your back, it wasn’t pinning you down, God, Steve never pinned you down. He held you, his arm was just there solid, warm, grounding.

Your body still feels loose in that post-sleep, post-everything haze, limbs uncoordinated, thoughts slow and drifting. There’s a faint ache in your limbs, not unpleasant, just the quiet reminder that you’re real, that last night actually happened.

You’re not fully awake, you are not fully anything. Not tired, just in between dream and reality where everything feels a little better. Or maybe that's just Steve.

Steve breathes beneath you, steady and deep. Every inhale lifts you slightly and every exhale lets you settle back into him. You can hear his heart if you focus, the quiet rhythm of it, the proof that he’s really here. That this isn’t something you imagined in the half-dream state where reality and want blur together. You wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

You shift just a little, careful not to wake him, though part of you isn’t sure whether you want to or not. The sheet slides down his chest as you move, pooling at his waist. Your fingers rest there absentmindedly, tracing nothing in particular, just following the rise and fall beneath your palm.

Your fingers splay idly across his chest, the soft rasp of hair beneath your palm. It’s darker there, thicker toward the center, not perfectly even, curling slightly in places and there’s something grounding about it, the way it makes his chest feel lived-in rather than polished. Your fingers drift lower without thinking, following the faint line that disappears beneath the sheet, that narrow trail like an arrow pointing somewhere you consciously do not follow. Still, the knowledge of it sits warm in your chest, intimate in a way that has nothing to do with urgency or lust. You press your lips briefly into the space just above it instead, breathing him in, feeling absurdly fond of the fact that he’s real like this, hair and all, uncurated, unguarded, entirely himself.

That’s when you really notice them.

His beauty marks. They’re scattered across his skin in a way that feels intentional, like someone dotted them there thoughtfully and then stepped back to admire the work, but they are also something so simple that they look like they were there by pure happenstance, a reverent thing. He was so beautiful.

There were a few near his shoulder, one just above his sternum, another lower, closer to where your hand rests now. You’ve seen them before, noticed them without really seeing them, but now, in the quiet soft cushion of your shared bedroom, they feel important. Like something you want to learn, something you want to worship and appreciate.

You lift yourself slightly, just enough to look at him properly. Steve’s face is turned toward you, lashes resting dark against his cheeks, mouth relaxed in sleep. He looks younger like this. Softer. Nothing like the version of him the world usually sees, the confident one, the joking one, the one who fills space without trying. This Steve feels like a secret, and you are so, so lucky you get to see him like this. Your sweet, sweet boyfriend.

You don’t think about it before you do it. You just lean down, press a gentle kiss to the first beauty mark near his shoulder. It’s barely there, more intention than pressure, your lips lingering for half a second longer than necessary.

Steve shifts beneath you, brow twitching faintly, a quiet sound leaving him, somewhere between a sigh and a breath. You smile to yourself, small and private, and move to the next one.

You kiss another.

And another.

Your kisses are slow, deliberate. Not rushed. Not playful. Each one feels like punctuation, soft markers of attention, of care. You follow them the way your eyes want to, tracing a lazy path downward and then back up, your lips warm against his skin. There’s something grounding about it, about following these tiny markers across his skin, about paying attention in a way that feels almost devout. Each kiss is gentle, unhurried, like you’re afraid of breaking the moment if you rush it. You’re aware, distantly, of how intimate it is. Not in a way that makes your heart race, but in the quieter way that makes your chest feel full. Like this, this is something sacred in its own right.

You move slowly, your lips tracing an uneven path upward. Steve breathes in deeper when you kiss just below his neck, his arm tightening slightly around you, instinctive. His fingers curl into the fabric of his your shirt at your back, grounding himself as he wakes.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice rough and barely there.

You freeze, lifting your head just enough to see his eyes flutter open. He looks at you for a second like he’s still deciding which reality he’s in. Then his mouth curves into a lazy, familiar smile.

“Morning,” you whisper.

He hums in response, eyes closing again as if that’s all the confirmation he needs, basking in the warmth of your love. “You’re very quiet,” he says, words slurring slightly.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Too late,” he mumbles, but there’s no complaint in it. His hand slips under the shirt where his thumb rubs slow circles against your back. “What’re you doing?”

You hesitate, suddenly self-aware, heat creeping up your neck at the intimacy, taking its place and settling on your cheeks. Steve’s mouth parts, you’re just so gorgeous, he loves waking up to you.

You shrug lightly and hum. “Noticing things.”

He opens one eye, squinting at you. “That sounds ominous.”

You huff softly and lean back down, pressing another kiss to his chest. “You have a lot of beauty marks.” you say simply.

Steve lets out a quiet laugh, chest vibrating beneath your cheek. “Wow. Thank you. I was really hoping you’d bring that up.”

“They’re pretty,” you add, frowning slightly because his tone sounded awfully like self-abasement, and because you are trying to find the right word for how deeply the affection for them runs in you. “You’re pretty, Stevie”

His laughter fades into something softer. You feel him shift beneath you, adjusting so you’re more comfortable, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck.

“I love you,” he says gently.

“I know,” you reply just as softly. “I love you too.”

There's a moment of just appreciation, looking at him and being so permeated with love. The pause is long, long enough that you wonder if he’s going to fall back asleep. He watches you lean down again, watches you kiss another small mark near his collarbone like it’s something precious. His throat bobs when you move higher, when your lips brush the skin just below his neck again.

Steve’s breathing changes, still calm, but deeper now, more aware. His fingers tighten just slightly where they rest against you, like he’s anchoring himself to the moment. You don’t notice at first. You’re focused on the next small mark, on the warmth beneath your lips. It’s only when his fingers brush the side of your neck, gentle, grounding, that you look up meeting his eyes. He’s watching you like he’s not entirely sure what to do with the feeling.

“What?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head, barely perceptible. “Nothing.”

He goes quiet after that, eyes slipping closed again, trusting you not to disappear. You kiss your way slowly upward, pausing occasionally just to rest your cheek against him, to feel his warmth seep into you. There’s no urgency. No need to prove anything. Just the quiet certainty of being wanted and wanting in return.

When you reach near his lip, you hesitate, pressing a kiss there that lingers. Steve exhales shakily. You kiss the last beauty mark on his cheek and then pause, deciding to rest your cheek against his chest again. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear. Fast enough to be noticeable.

A minute passes. Maybe more.

“You’re awake now.” you say quietly.

“Mm,” he hums. “Was anyway.”

Your chest tightens, uncomfortable with sudden shyness and warm all at once. You don’t respond right away, there’s another stretch of silence. Comfortable. Real. The kind that doesn’t need filling. So instead, you press one last kiss just below his jaw, then settle back against him, tucking yourself into the space you seem to fit perfectly.

You nod, even though he can’t see it. “Okay.”

Steve shifts slightly, adjusting so you’re more comfortable, his arm tightening fully around you now. He presses his chin briefly against the top of your head, not quite a kiss, just contact, breathing you in.

“You okay?” he asks.

You think about it. Really think. Because you realise that this is all you’ve ever wanted.

“Yeah,” you say. Then, after a moment, “I love you.”

“Good. Because I love you too.”

Outside, a car passes. Somewhere down the street, a dog barks. The world starts to wake up again. But for now, you stay exactly where you are, neither of you move, for once, you don’t feel the need to go anywhere else. You stay there, listening to him breathe, feeling the warmth of him seep into you. You are so loved, and you love him so much in return, and that feels like enough.

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Something clicked. You had only known Claire for a painfully short time, yet she pulled something long buried back to the surface: the desire for strength – and for a better world.

And so here you were. A trainee again. In a new division that was far more physical than you were used to.

Of course, they hadn’t sent you straight into the field, even with your prior experience. You weren’t unfit – but you weren’t as hardened as the agents moving through these facilities.

They moved with agility, flexibility, precision. In your first days at the academy, surrounded by other “trainees” – though none of you were truly inexperienced; you were all transfers – you repeatedly noticed seasoned DSO agents observing you.

While you were practically fighting for your life.

The training was harsher than anything you had ever imagined. It demanded everything from you – and then a little more. More than once, you wondered what you had gotten yourself into. You even considered quitting.

After a few weeks, some of you did.

And somehow, that was exactly what motivated you to keep going.

Every time you thought you had finally reached the required level, the training became just a little harder. The sparring partners just a little stronger. Always just slightly stronger than you – to the point where it began to frustrate you.

As a soldier, though, you certainly weren’t going to complain.

You lay flat on your back on the mat of the training hall, which had become as much your home as the barracks where your group slept. Sweat ran from your forehead into your hair and down your temples. With every ragged breath, your lungs burned as if they refused to absorb the oxygen you desperately needed.

Your current training partner was faring slightly better – no surprise, since she had been the one to throw you onto the mat in the first place. She was breathing hard too, but she was still standing. Bent forward, hands on her knees, she took a moment before flashing you a grin and offering her hand.

Her palm was just as slick with sweat as yours, but you managed to grip each other firmly enough for her to pull you back to your feet.

“Again!” your trainer barked in your direction.

He never gave you even a second to rest. Not from the beginning, and he never would. In a strange way, you admired that about him.

You both saluted and faced each other again, slipping back into fighting stance to repeat the maneuver.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed someone standing at the edge of the mats, watching.

“Do you ever wonder who those people are who keep coming in here?” you asked your fellow agent curiously as you circled each other.

“You mean the hottie with a body standing over there?” she asked, stealing a glance while she had the angle.

You smirked. “Yeah. Him.”

You had noticed him before. A very well-trained agent, slightly older, dark blond hair, and a stern expression that could rival your trainer’s. He appeared in the training hall every now and then, observing – never speaking to anyone.

And then, eventually, he would just leave again.

Your colleague’s words hadn’t come from nowhere. Yes, this agent looked extremely good. Well-built, undeniably experienced – his presence was rough, somehow distant. If not for those tiny moments when his furrowed brows would relax whenever he observed something that clearly interested him. Then his features softened, the crease in his forehead smoothing, his eyes widening just slightly. In those moments he looked so handsome that you had more than once wanted to approach him – but hadn’t dared.

“Agent Kennedy!”

Both of you flinched when your trainer practically roared across the hall, his grim expression locked onto the bystander. The agent’s features took on an almost innocent note as he glanced left and right, as though he wasn’t entirely sure he was the one being addressed, even pointing at himself in mock confusion.

“You’re distracting the recruits!”

You and your colleague exchanged a caught, embarrassed grin and hurried to refocus on your training while Agent Kennedy began his own retreat.

After that, you found yourself looking for him again and again.

Once you had heard his name, it hadn’t taken long to realize this was the Agent Leon S. Kennedy. The top-notch veteran of the DSO. Survivor of Raccoon City. Rescuer of Ashley Graham. Involved in some of the most dangerous bioterrorism missions in the world – Tall Oaks, China, New York, Alcatraz. He had been everywhere.

Why would such an experienced agent need to show up at the training center so regularly?

You certainly weren’t complaining.

On the contrary – the training, and your progressively strengthening body, were hardening your mind as well. You gained confidence. And that confidence convinced you to finally speak to him.

When you spotted him again, you gave yourself a quick internal pep talk and pretended to head for your water bottle and towel for a short break. You wiped the sweat from your forehead deliberately and took a sip before casting him a sideways glance – only to find him already looking in your direction, making you swallow a little harder while hoping he wouldn’t notice the faint nervous tremor running through you.

“Here to learn something new, Agent Kennedy?” you asked, amusement threading your voice.

He blinked as if surfacing from deep thought, then, leaning against a concrete pillar with arms folded, offered you a quiet laugh.

“It would seem so.” His gaze softened from its usual intensity as he began speaking with you – he looked almost… friendly. “Agent…?”

You gave him your name.

“Good to meet you,” he said, his voice slipping back into its stoic cadence. “Better get back to training before we both get into trouble again.”

He nodded toward your trainer, who stood with folded arms and a look that very clearly translated to What the hell are you doing?

You let out a short laugh. “Probably wise. Nice to meet you, Agent Kennedy.”

With an amused smile, you turned away, lifting a hand in farewell before heading back to the mats.

How you had managed to gather so much confidence in such a short time wasn’t entirely clear to you, but you credited the training – and the fact that Claire had secured you one hell of a job. Maybe the job that had always been missing from your life.

You made a mental note to invite her to dinner once you finally had a sliver of free time, just to thank her.

And so it happened that you began seeing Leon Kennedy more often – partly because you were suddenly very attentive whenever you walked through the facilities. At first, you took every opportunity to speak to him – much to the amusement of your comrades, some of whom openly joked that you had simply been quick enough to seize your chance – until eventually he started approaching you on his own to exchange a few words.

It was often nothing more than small talk, but you had the feeling you understood each other well. And maybe, just maybe, there was a hint of flirting woven into those conversations. At the very least, you didn’t deny yourself the occasional coquettish remark.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that you were building up a certain energy inside yourself – energy that made your new life at the DSO thrilling, but also dangerous. A different kind of dangerous than your first field deployments with your team. Different from the missions you would still go on.

This was the yearning for a colleague you probably shouldn’t find this attractive – given your status as a newcomer and his as a seasoned agent.

But the way his beautiful blue eyes lingered on you, the slow motion of his mouth when he spoke, how strangely captivating you found every line in his face – it made restraint incredibly difficult.

So difficult that you decided to see the attraction as something positive.

It was a complicated situation.

And a great way to yearn for someone.

You leaned into it and embraced whatever it was. And you grew bolder and bolder – until that one night.

It was late. Too late, really. You would regret it the next morning when you were exhausted, having stayed at the training center far longer than necessary to prepare for the upcoming mission. Again and again, you ran through the briefing in your head, considering what you might need in the field – even though this “mission” wasn’t particularly important or dangerous. More of a test than anything else.

“Up late.”

You flinched. Despite your sharpened awareness, you still couldn’t prevent someone like Leon from sneaking up on you. With a half-gloved hand, you steadied the swinging punching bag.

“Yeah,” you confirmed shortly, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand and taking the opportunity to tighten your ponytail.

Leon stood a few feet away, near the double doors to the center – where he usually lingered when you saw him. The soft training mats cushioned your bare steps as you moved. His gaze followed you. You offered him a slightly tired smile before focusing on your water bottle.

“You too,” you added after soothing your burning throat and catching your breath.

He looked faintly amused that you had thrown his own remark back at him. Then he surprised you.

“I like being here. Reminds me of the basics.”

“Oh.” Understanding dawned. “Is that why you keep dropping by to watch us train?”

He nodded. He made no move to close the distance between you, just stood there, his ever-intense gaze fixed on you as though searching for something.

An impulsive idea formed in your mind – one that required courage. Luckily, you had gathered plenty of that over the past few months.

“Care to get back to the basics, then?” One hand landed casually on your hip. “I could use someone to challenge me before the mission.”

As you had seen before, Leon’s usually stern expression softened into something curious after your words. Despite what you took as a positive reaction, he took his time answering. He seemed to genuinely ponder whether he wanted to be persuaded.

Long enough that you felt the need to push.

“Does it help if I say please?”

That caught him off guard enough for his poker face to slip. He leaned forward slightly, a quiet laugh escaping toward the floor before his posture settled back into calm composure.

“Sure. Can’t hurt.”

Something deep inside you tingled – something you tried to suppress in light of the upcoming spar. Leon would show you no mercy. He would truly test your abilities. You forced yourself to focus.

He didn’t make it easy.

He unzipped his training jacket, revealing a tight tactical shirt stretched over toned, defined muscles. His upper arms were so big you almost wondered why the fabric didn’t tear.

A flicker of uncertainty passed through you – whether this had been a good idea. Too late now.

You set down your water bottle and adjusted your gloves with deliberate composure as you stepped toward the center of the mats. Leon simply rolled his broad shoulders.

He was massive. So much bigger than you. Imposing. You would never overpower him – not in this life, not in the next. The key was not letting that show.

“Want some pointers?” he asked helpfully, slipping into a fighting stance you knew well.

You mirrored him, feet pressing firmly into the mats, and nodded.

“Breathe.”

He was right. The moment he said it, you realized how tense you were, how shallow your breathing had become. You forced a long inhale, dropping your shoulders.

“Good,” he praised with a faint smile. “Now, stay sharp.”

That was his only warning.

He stepped toward you in one long stride. Only your trained reflexes kept him from grabbing you instantly. You sidestepped automatically.

“You’re smaller than me. Faster. Use it to your advantage.” His voice was utterly calm, as though this were a walk in the park for him.

Meanwhile, something wild and flickering ignited inside you – stubborn determination to walk away with some form of success. His tips barely registered; you were too focused on tracking his movements, reacting to them.

For what felt like an eternity, you circled each other, each searching for a weakness in the other’s defense. You darted forward only to retreat again, testing, measuring, resetting – a charged dance across the mats.

You parried the arm lunging toward you, intending to grab his wrist. What you hadn’t calculated was the experience of the more seasoned agent. He stepped straight into you, his entire massive body suddenly against yours, his chest right in front of your eyes. It startled you – and more than just the heat from training rose to your cheeks.

That brief hesitation was all Leon needed to spin you around, seize your wrist, and trap it. No way out – he could break your arm like this. So you stood pressed against his solid torso, panting once again from exertion – one would think you’d have built up more stamina by now. But this time, the breathlessness wasn’t only from training.

“Don’t let yourself get thrown off so easily.”

Leon’s warm breath brushed over your ear, low and somehow suggestive. Damn it – you couldn’t suppress the excited tremor running through your body. Had he done that on purpose?

You stayed still, and he didn’t release your wrist. He allowed you just enough movement to shift your body slightly, to turn your head and look at him. His sky-blue eyes burned into yours – searching and utterly certain at the same time.

“You’re trapped. What do you do?” he asked, leaning closer, close enough that your heavy breaths reached his lips.

“Um… die?” Your voice had dropped to a whisper. Your stomach twisted with anticipation – he was so close, you felt his presence, anticipated his lips. What was happening here?

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not the kind to say please more than one time,” you added defiantly – though there was unmistakable flirt in your tone.

That earned a quiet grin from Leon. “I see.”

The hand around your wrist tightened its grip.

“You gonna let me go?” you asked, even though you weren’t entirely sure you wanted him to.

He glanced past you, toward the double doors of the training center.

“Maybe,” he answered.

His free hand slid forward boldly, coming to rest on your leggings-clad hip. His attention returned to you. “If you say please.”

You let out a theatrical sigh. “Guess I’ll die, then.”

His grin widened.

You held his intense gaze long enough that he exhaled, came even closer, and your breaths mingled. The hand at your hip pressed more firmly. Your lips parted gently, inviting him that final inch closer.

“I know another way,” he murmured, “if you’re up for it.”

Your bare back hit the cold tiles of the shower stall, pressed there by Leon’s flat palm against your chest. One step – and his glorious body was back in your space. Without breaking eye contact, fire running through his gaze, he pulled the shower door shut behind him, flicked the water on in one fluid motion, and pressed his heavy muscles against you.

Warm water touched you at the same moment his lips did – both tender and heavy at once. His broad neck offered the perfect anchor to sink into, to feel the passionate pressure of his mouth as he captured you, catapulted you into another world, washing away thoughts of training, missions, and everything else, just like the water slowly soaking you both.

This close, this raw against you, he felt even larger. Not an inch of him wasn’t hard, sculpted – almost unfairly perfect. You wanted to explore every piece of him – his wet hair, the strong shoulders, the impossibly big arms, so defined that under the heated tension and pattering shower, his veins stood out.

Unfortunately, the utterly superior agent, you had to admit it, had you pinned against the wall. His body covered yours from every direction, arms braced beneath yours so that his hands could roam anywhere, while yours were limited to above his shoulders.

Broad palms slid over your body, gripping wherever they pleased – your hips, your waist, softer at the sides of your breasts before giving a squeeze that pulled a moan from you straight into his mouth, your senses completely overwhelmed between his tongue and the steam swirling around you.

“You’re a real tease, you know,” Leon murmured, his face only the slightest distance from yours.

He couldn’t very well tell you that he had noticed your looks from the very beginning. At first, he’d only been interested in the new recruits – especially the one Claire had mentioned. You. The one who’d looked at him so adorably, who always had a sharp remark ready, disciplined and strong-willed.

He was far too old to be getting involved with a colleague like this – but damn, you were irresistible. And with the way you had practically invited him… Leon simply hadn’t been able to hold back.

“Me?” you asked innocently, your eyes half-closed from the delicious arousal brought on by Leon’s searching lips, his exploring hands – and mostly by the way his cock pressed against you, matching his body in size from everything you could feel.

“I’m no tease,” you murmured with a small grin and a slight tilt of your head. “You’re the one who kept showing up and distracting us.”

Leon gave a playful hum, kissing you again with a satisfied smile on his lips. This time it was gentler – so gentle you couldn’t resist giving his lower lip a small bite, earning a smirk from him.

“Careful. I might bite back,” he rasped.

His lips set off on a new mission – a soft kiss to your cheek, wandering down over your chin, to your neck, where he lingered, sucking at the delicate skin, tasting salt mixed with warm water on his tongue.

Let everyone see what you’d been up to late at night before missions.

You exhaled heavily, completely unbothered by any consequences this night might bring. If you were going to take on a job this dangerous, you might as well reap the benefits.

And Leon was one hell of a benefit.

He stayed at your neck longer and longer, his fingers tracing the curves of your breasts, stroking back and forth, sometimes grazing your nipples just a little too lightly. A quiet gasp slipped from your throat, your back arching into his hand, searching for the touches he silently promised but didn’t give.

Your stomach tightened deliciously, and with the little leverage you had, you slid your leg up along his, inviting him closer.

“Hah–who’s the tease now?” Your breathy voice barely rose above the sound of the water.

A soft laugh answered you. “I’m not teasing.” His eyes found yours, the blue somehow darker now, deep and intense like the sea. “I’m just enjoying you.”

It wasn’t just the way he said it – laced with genuine honesty. It was the softness in his gaze that made you melt. Not only was Leon Kennedy unbelievably hot – he seemed to value closeness, intimacy, the charge of being together.

Excitement tingled between your legs – your body wanted his so badly that your mind had thrown caution overboard from the very beginning. Your lips found each other in a heated, open kiss, breath mixing, bodies merging – and finally, Leon pressed himself exactly where you needed him.

A small, adorable moan vibrated against his lips as he gave your nipples proper attention, taking them between his fingers, gently pinching, then soothingly rolling. A knee slid between your legs. Your mouth broke from his to pull in a sharp breath. Leon’s hard thigh rubbed against you, stimulating your softly throbbing clit – wet leg hair tickling, but firm muscle making the pleasure swell.

You stood there in front of him, eyes closed, against the tiled wall, mouth open in search of air between steam and him. You looked so unbelievably sexy that Leon briefly wondered how exactly this had happened.

“Look at me,” he murmured close to your face. He needed to see you, your eyes, needed to see how much you wanted him.

Wild electricity flashed in them as you obeyed instantly, your hands sliding from his neck into his wet hair, sensual, silently begging for more.

“Leon…” you breathed his name, and his composure slipped. He felt it – his body relaxing while his cock twitched, demanding.

“You okay to turn around?” It was more respect than a real question, but that was how it should be.

It took your fogged mind a moment to process the words, but once they settled, you nodded eagerly. His large hand steadied you, guiding you as his solid body moved away to make space.

The tiles were white and smooth – you knew immediately your footing would be tricky. But you’d manage. You wanted this.

“Come here.” His voice was low, coaxing you into bending forward a little more.

One hand slid between you, calloused fingers finding your clit, rolling over the throbbing spot, making you bite your lower lip and let out a sound somewhere between a squeal and a moan.

Gentle pressure guided your pelvis into a deeper arch. You searched – and barely found – your grip on the tiles, rising onto your toes with the curve of your body, impatiently waiting for the promised fullness when Leon would bury himself inside you. You should have looked at him properly. You’d have to make up for that later.

The feel of his tip against you told you everything you needed to know. He was big. But not too big for you. The water didn’t make things easier. But the stretch felt so good that suspended moment before he would be fully inside you, connected to you, and you’d finally get properly fucked again after far too long.

“You good?”

Leon watched as his cock gradually sank into you, the resistance giving way more and more to your wet arousal. The sight was beyond hot. The feeling of you was more than he’d dared to imagine the first time you’d looked at him with those eyes. Damn – how had you managed to wrap him around your finger so quickly?

“Yeah.”

Your cunt tightened around him even though he wasn’t fully inside you yet – almost as if trying to pull him in faster. Leon let out a low grunt.

“More than good.”

Another sound escaped both of you as he finally bottomed out inside you.

The first thrust was experimental, meant to find what you liked. He hit it immediately. The second found that same spot again, and you let out a high sound that rang in his ears.

From that moment on, you lost yourselves in each other.

Leon’s movements were measured, every stroke aimed precisely where it needed to be, absorbing your eager whimpers like a sponge, learning your body quickly and skillfully. If water hadn’t already been running over your mouth, it would have been watering from the feel of him driving deep, hard thrusts into you, his full length inside, grazing your cervix just enough to intensify the pleasure.

Wet, slapping sounds mixed with the spray of water filled the shower room, echoing inside your small, private world – accompanied by your moans as Leon drove you higher and higher, his own breath coming in sharp bursts.

You were so tight around him, gripping him perfectly, pulling him in – one throbbing, overwhelming sensation of bliss. He decided then: he wouldn’t stop until he’d pushed you to the very edge.

Your arms began to strain under the weight pressing you into the wall and the repeated impact, your body tired from endless training. You held on for dear life, trying to angle yourself for the perfect pleasure while also not slipping on the slick tiles. Between high cries, small grunts of effort escaped you.

Though Leon was captivated by how well you took him – how almost surreal you looked, water cascading over your rocking body – he noticed your frantic shifting against the wall. Your hands searched for grip, slipped, found new purchase.

One hand released your hip from its iron hold, reaching forward to gently wrap around your throat and pull you upright. Your arms fell slack at your sides instantly, yielding to his every touch. The move ignited something inside you you hadn’t known before, and you moaned louder, impulsive and appreciative.

He held you there as he kept ploughing into you, relentlessly targeting your sweet spot with an endurance you hadn’t expected. Wet lips grazed your ear, his panting echoing through you, never once slowing.

“Oh god,” you gasped, growing more vocal. Between whimpers, words like “Shit” and even “Help” slipped out – not truly intended, just outlets when simple sounds couldn’t contain the intensity anymore.

Your entire body was on fire, flames the shower couldn’t extinguish. Your legs turned to jelly with every thrust, every delicious thrust you could no longer tell was too much or exactly right.

Reality became abstract. There was only his cock inside you and his hand at your throat, holding you up while delicate squeezes stoked the heat further. You had never been fucked this well. So well that you were catapulted beyond limits you’d thought possible.

“I can’t take it,” you complained anyway, though he held you, though all you had to do was take.

“You can, baby. You’re so good for me.”

Even Leon felt how limp you’d become against him, no longer able to hold yourself up, your body simply receptive and open. It was one of those rare fucks where there were only two people and a connection that felt impossible to break. He wouldn’t even consider coming until you had.

One hand remained at your throat, supporting you with careful pressure. The other slid down between your legs to your wildly throbbing clit.

You mumbled incoherent words, losing your ability to speak, your sounds dissolving into high-pitched whimpers. Your mind screamed that it was too much, but your body wanted more, more, more. It showed him through your rhythmic contractions, drawing a strained groan from Leon, followed by a sharp exhale and then a deep, guttural moan.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he breathed, the sensation ripping through him, his cock almost just a conduit for the electric pulses flooding his entire body.

It was the best fuck he’d had in a long time.

His fingers drew merciless circles over your clit, making your walls flutter around him even more.

You needed that sweet release, needed the climax more than the delicious torture, the overwhelming build. It was almost as if you were summoning it through sheer will, pressing his cock deeper, feeling him so consciously, every vein vivid in your mind.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m coming.”

“That’s a good girl. Come for me,” the words rushed into your ears.

Your body, limp moments ago, granted you one last surge of strength, tensing against his powerful frame, every nerve firing wild sensations through you as you came hard enough to leave you dizzy between breathless cries and swirling steam. You were fairly certain you would have collapsed under his unrelenting pace if he hadn’t been holding you upright – if he hadn’t driven your orgasm so far that you screamed his name into the shower, overstimulated, right at your limit.

“Wanna have me come as well, pretty girl?”

The fact that you even processed the words was a miracle, given that you were lost in complete ecstasy.

“Yes–yes, please, shit, please!”

That was all Leon needed.

He released your throat, demanded one final effort from you, gripping your hips as he let go. His pelvis snapped against you, grinding into you like a man on a mission, his cock wrapped in tight, wet heat.

Leon’s fingers dug into your flesh as a wave of pleasure tore through him, his vision going blurry somewhere between paradise and you, guided by your high, melodic cries.

Small and larger sounds escaped through his clenched teeth, but above all a long, drawn-out growl as his body told him it was time to spill inside you. His orgasm seized him, nearly shattering him with its intensity, his lower half on fire and ice all at once. God, if only the feeling of your pussy milking him could last forever, the pumping into you never stopping.

Leon gave you everything he had. A release that had been building ever since the first time you’d spoken to him. Again and again he thrust his essence into you until overstimulation forced him to stillness.

The aftermath felt like stepping down from clouds back to earth.

Leon remained inside you, unwilling to separate just yet. Strong arms pulled you upright against him, long fingers catching your chin and turning your face to his for a slow, lingering kiss while your racing hearts gradually steadied.

Your legs trembled. You were so warm that you fumbled for the shower handle, turning the water down to lukewarm. When you finally managed to focus, you saw Leon’s satisfied expression, his eyes fixed on you with devotion, droplets falling from the tips of his hair.

“I’d say the training paid off.”

He flashed an open, happy grin.

Your mind slowly returned to you, but you managed a smile of your own.

“Want to train some more when I’m back from my mission?”

He let out a soft laugh. “You bet.”

Another kiss landed on your lips. A small, beautiful promise.

The job at the DSO was the best one you’d ever had.