Ivy

You and Steve have been steadily cleaning the thing out during shifts like these all summer. (And then guiltily re-filling it so you'd have something to give the kids who come in every now and then.) However, since you hadn't had a chance to buy more after your recent attack on the thing, you thought it was empty.

But there, at the very bottom, sits one lonely lollipop.

You risk a glance back at Steve, but his eyes are already pinned to the candy. You look at each other, then the jar, then each other again. 

And you both lunge in unison. 

His shoulder bumps yours, but your elbow digs into his ribs, forcing a grunt from him. His fingers are longer, so he reaches it first, but you pin his wrist against the cool glass with your own and pry it out of his hand. 

“Goddamn it,” he mutters when your fingers close around the candy. “It’s a mystery flavor one, too!”

You grin triumphantly and pull out your prize. “Nice try. Sucker.”

“You’re not funny.” He settles back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning as you unwrap the lollipop. “Technically, I touched it first.”

“Well, technically...that doesn’t matter.” You brandish the stick, then pop the candy in your mouth. “ ‘Cause look whose mouth it’s in.” 

And he does. Look at your mouth, that is. You try to ignore the swoop in your stomach as the afternoon light catches in his mussed hair, making it look as soft as warm caramel.

“You know,” he says slowly, “we could call it even and just…share.”

You snort. “Share? You can’t share a lollipop, are you insane?”

“Why not? 

“It's juss—” You take the sucker out of your mouth to speak clearly. “Like…purposely swapping spit?”

He shrugs. “What’s wrong with swapping spit? You drink out of my water bottle all the time.” Steve’s eyes flick to yours. “It’s not any different than making out.”

Oh. 

How can he just…say shit like that?

As if kissing your coworker is a perfectly normal thought to have. Of course, it is a frequent thought for you. Okay, more like an all-consuming one, but—whatever. 

“At least tell me what flavor it is," he begs, taking a step towards you.

You hum, squinting up at him and twirling the candy in your mouth teasingly. “Kind of like strawberry, but less sour? Too tart for watermelon. I don't know, but it’s soooo good.”

His gaze drops to your lips. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“What? Flaunting my win?” you say, voice full of false innocence. “I would never!”

He huffs a laugh, then his hand finds the counter behind you with a smack. Your vision fills with broad chest, and he presses you back against the ledge, so close that you have to tip your head up to look at him. 

“Careful,” he says. “I might have to revoke your water bottle privileges.”

You roll your eyes, then pull the lollipop out again. “Fine, Harrington. You want a taste that bad?”

His eyes drop to your lips. “So bad.”

You hold the candy up between you, but when he reaches for it, you snatch it back at the last second. 

He swallows hard as you slip it back into your mouth, twirling your tongue around the hard sugar and blinking up at him from under your lashes. 

When it clicks against your teeth, his eyes darken.

Suddenly, Steve grabs the sucker’s stick and pulls it from your mouth, and you’re not really sure who moves first, but a second later…his lips are on yours. 

Your breath hitches as his tongue presses against the seam of your lips, then dips inside, tasting the sweetness there, and—God, it’s everything you dreamed of.

Steve groans softly, his exhale hot against your cheek as his fingers spread over your lower back to pull you closer, making your vest whisper against his. Your hands fly to his shirt, gripping the fabric for support as the carpet beneath your feet seems to tilt. 

You could kiss him like this forever, actually. It’s syrupy sweet, the sugar on your tongue melting with the taste of him and creating this intoxicating, addictive—

Just then, the bell over the door chimes. 

You break apart instantly, chests heaving. Steve chuckles as your hands fly to your flaming cheeks, and you whip around, putting on your best customer service face for whoever just walked in.

The sucker lies forgotten on the countertop. Something for you to clean up later.

 “Oh, and by the way,” he whispers over your shoulder before turning back to the register. “It’s cherry.”

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.

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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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They were extremely lucky that you appeared so… joyful with them, Merlin knows why, or else he would’ve removed their hands from you at once. Instead, he settled for glaring at the places they rested on your forearms. And of course, the final thing he noticed were your nails, placed cautiously on your friends as they whispered conspiratorially and steered you over to him.

Tom’s eyes tracked you as you reluctantly followed them, cheeks red and gaze trained on your shoes before they came to a stop before him, Astoria and Pansy looking all too pleased with themselves. You looked like you wished for the floor to swallow you whole.

“Riddle.” Parkinson’s voice greeted, sly and husky in a tone that made him immediately irritated.

You watched his eyes narrow, dark and laced with a dangerous undercurrent that had Astoria’s confidence wavering, though Pansy seemed unaffected— per usual. After a moment of wondering whether this was worth his time whatsoever, Tom’s head dipped into a slight nod of greeting, closing the book that had sat unattended on his lap.

“Ladies.”

His voice was like the smoothest of silk, soft in the most deceptive of ways so you wouldn’t notice the satin knot being tied around your throat. You looked up then, your eyes immediately meeting his. The way he was staring at you, so intense and as if nothing surrounding you mattered, made your heart stop.

Then, without warning, Pansy grabbed your hand, ignoring your startled squeak and practically dragging you behind her as she thrust it into Tom’s view. His slow, unamused blink was the only thing that displayed his surprise.

“She got her nails done with us. Aren’t they pretty, Riddle?”

You vaguely wondered if Pansy had a death wish as you and Astoria shared a wary look. Tom was alarmingly unmoving, his stare sharp and cold where it rested on her fingers wrapped around your wrist.

“I suggest removing your hand, Parkinson. I would hate to have to do it for you.”

And for once in her life, Pansy listened, although it was done with a show of exaggeration, her palms coming up in surrender. Now that Tom could sufficiently focus, he leaned forward an indiscernible amount, focused intently on the new addition to the digits he had committed to memory.

Your nails were longer, but not so much so that it made them inconvenient or tacky. They were shaped gracefully into a rounded look, one resembling that of an almond, and were a shade of green so dark that one might think them black. More than that, they were so different from your friends’ nails that he couldn’t quite comprehend how you hung out with people with such bad taste (their nails were actually quite pretty, Tom is just allergic to color).

For someone who typically detested things that held no purpose, Tom found himself wanting to trace his fingers over yours and memorize every new angle and crevice. He found himself wanting to find how they would look interlinked with his, and how they’d feel scraping down his back. His face showed none of these curiosities, rather a blankness that left you shifting.

The longer his silence extended, the more impatient Pansy grew, foot tapping restlessly against the marble flooring as she squinted at Tom, ready to defend. You pulled your hands back then, feeling embarrassed and beginning to nervously pick at the skin around your cuticles until Tom shot his hand out, grabbing yours in a firm but soft grip.

The corner of Pansy’s lip curled up, her eyes glinting with satisfaction at the way Tom’s thumb smoothed over your skin before dropping you like you were on fire.

“Well?”

Tom glared at her.

“Well, what?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Well, what do you think?”

You held your breath as Tom looked away from Pansy and towards you with a scrutiny like molten lava— burning as it seeped under your skin and into your veins, lighting you from the inside out. He looked away into the respite cool of stone wall, jaw clenched.

“They’re… tolerable.”

It was frustrated sounding, like it pained him to admit even the most basic of compliments. Perhaps because from him, it held more words than a thousand empty letters could say, more honesty than hundreds of adjectives could provide.

Pansy gasped theatrically as your ears turned red.

“You heard that, right Astoria? He practically said he wants to put a ring on her finger.”

Astoria laughed before she could stop it, her eyes turning wide and her hand coming up to cover her mouth. Tom turned to Pansy with a scowl.

“I said no such thing. I merely stated that the nails aren’t the most hideous articles I’ve ever seen.”

“A love declaration coming from you.”

“Watch your tongue, Parkinson.”

You watched the interaction with despair, wide gaze bouncing back and forth between them like an intense tennis match. Pansy opened her mouth, ready to hurl another taunt, but you gripped her sleeve, frowning.

“Guys.”

It was soft, but it didn’t need volume. Pansy looked at you, your face pleading and pretty, before nodding with a sigh. Tom felt his muscles relax, well— as much as they were capable of, at your voice, his hand unclenching where it was laid on his knee, tight against his black slacks.

Pansy squeezed your hand, a silent apology as she began to lead Astoria away with her, up into the girls dorms where you would inevitably meet with them later. You hesitated, then sat down next to Tom with a considerable amount of room between the two of you.

Silence. And then.

“Your friends are insufferable.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, looking over at Tom with a sweet smile. When you spoke, your voice was quiet. “Pansy isn’t usually like that. She means well.”

“Perhaps.”

Tom settled back into his book then, and you conjured some crafty sort of project you had been working on (rubber band bracelets?), and it was peaceful for a long while. Domestic, some would describe it, had not all witnesses been terrified of Tom. It might’ve even been hours before his hand crept closer to yours, which had briefly given up on your project in favor of exhaustion, and locked his fingers with yours, finally finding out what they looked like together.

He said nothing. He didn’t have to, not as your head moved to his shoulder in a sleepy display and he didn’t push you away. Not as his thumb rolled small circles over your knuckles, nor as he clumsily flipped the page one handedly.

Turns out, he liked your nails interlinked with his quite a bit. Maybe he’d find out what they’d look like down his back later.