Nilla’s Attic

somewhere between the front door and your bedroom, he’s lost his tie. his shirt is unbuttoned and untucked from his slacks and he’s already shrugging it off of his shoulders. the front of his pants are soaked with a damp spot the size of a plate and he’s visibly hard and bulging against the zipper 

“sweetheart—oh fuck,” leon growls when he finds you already sitting pretty on your knees, waiting for him. you smile softly up at him as he crosses the room in just a handful of strides whilst frantically undoing his belt. the metal buckle on it thuds against the floor when he drops it next to your knees and then, he’s grabbing at you 

his fingers tangle into your hair in an instant, tipping your head back to look up at him properly. the blue of his eyes is dark, not his usual icy color and he’s taken skin off of his bottom lip from where he’s been biting it throughout the day

there’s a second, just a second, where leon blinks down at you and you blink back up at him, still smiling softly. it’s a confirmation and it’s the one he’s looking for. it’s a moment that tells him to go ahead and use your mouth and body for as long as he needs to—until he no longer aches 

after that, he wastes no time in getting his pants off. there’s a flurry of movement while he unbuttons and unzips his pants and then in the blink of an eye, his thumbs hook under the waistband of his slacks and boxers to shove them right down his thighs 

your mouth floods immediately, watering over the sight of his cock bobbing just an inch away from your lips. his entire length is shiny, glistening with his own precome, and the head is an angry shade of red as it throbs in tight pulses that force a never ending stream of clear liquid from his slit 

without needing to be told, your lips part and your tongue lolls out of your mouth. pink and wet and dripping with saliva in an invitation for leon to take. and he does, straight away. he can’t hold himself back on the best of days but when he’s so pent up, he truly doesn’t stand a chance 

the head of his cock is heavy while he taps it against the tip of your tongue, once, twice, three times, before he starts to feed it into your mouth. he goes slowly, letting you prepare yourself as best as you can, even though you know he just wants to fuck right into the heat between your lips

“you’re so—fuck—fucking good, letting me do this,” leon moans, his voice hitching in the middle of his sentence as you pull your tongue back into your mouth, this time with his cock weighing on it, and lazily form a seal around his length with your lips 

a hum rumbles in the back of your throat in response, making his cock twitch against the inside of your cheek. precome gushes down your throat with ease as your palms skim up over his thick thighs to squeeze softly while he slides the rest of his cock into your mouth 

he stills once he’s there and his fat balls are resting against your chin, relishing in the feeling of your mouth and the tightness of your throat when you try to swallow around where the head of his cock is seated deep inside of you. his size stretches your lips wide and makes your eyes begin to water but, it excites you

and, well, you’ve been trained for it—in an unofficial way. you breathe slowly through your nose, filling your lungs with as much air as you can whilst leon starts to expel the contents of his in short panting breaths. his patience is starting to wear thin against his will and you’re so sure he’s about to snap

you nails sink into the muscles of his thighs—the greenlight he’s been waiting for. you brace yourself as he pulls his hips back in a shaky movement until just the head of his cock is trapped between your lips. you suck softly, causing his cock to throb and blurt precome over your tongue and that’s when he gives in 

leon’s hips snap forwards, quick and even, sliding his entire length into your mouth in a single roll of his hips. the sudden intrusion makes tears sting at your waterlines and cling to your lashes and they don’t stop as the push and pull of his hips becomes a destructive effort to glide his cock right into your throat 

“been thinking about this all day,” leon groans and tightens his fingers into the roots of your hair, holding you completely still while he uses you, “your fucking mouth—shit—thinkin’ about it always,” he admits candidly in his haze of lust, sending tingles down your spine

his pace doesn’t let up for even a second though. he’s lost in it, plunging his cock into your mouth with reckless abandon while you become a mess underneath him, which only spurs him on more. it’s a vicious circle that you’ll both run around in for as long as you can

saliva and precome beads and drools from the corners of your lips. it streams down your chin in thick drips and then hangs in strings that get snapped by the audible slap of leon’s balls against your jaw with every thrust. your cheeks are damp and sore—red, no doubt—but leon looks at you like you’re his muse 

around you both, the room is filled with sounds, though not many are coming from you. you’re humming and moaning, whining high in the back of your throat, sure, but all of your sounds are getting drowned out by leon’s. grunting, growling, hissing between his teeth, all mixed in with the filthy wet gargling sound that’s happening in the space where your bodies are joined 

any air that you had in your lungs has reduced to wisps and, no matter how hard you try, none of the air you’re dragging in through your nose whenever leon’s cock retreats from your mouth, is helping at all. so, you press your hands into his thighs, forcing him away with all of your limited strength and like always, he goes 

as his cock slips free from your lips, you heave. mouth open, tongue out, gasping air into your lungs like it’s the last thing you’re ever going to do. leon’s fingers loosen in your hair, beginning to stroke against your scalp softly and soothingly when you start to cough, letting your head bounce without your hair being pulled 

“you okay?” leon asks gently before he wipes his thumbs over your sore cheeks. it’s a stark contrast to the roughness he was displaying just moments ago and it never fails to make you feel dizzy. how he can be so desperate and so lost in his pleasure but still so caring and ready to put it aside when you need a break is beyond you 

“yeah m’fine,” you answer after a moment with a croak in your voice. the lining of your throat feels thick, lined with spit and an obscene load of precome that no amount of coughing will clear. but, you are fine and now that your lungs are filled to the brim and aching in the best way, you’re ready to continue 

leon’s cock bounces, neglected in the space between you. he’s lined with veins, bubbling precome from his tip—delicious. you lean in slowly and kiss the slick from his cock, letting it smear over your lips while you blink up at him through wet lashes and lean ever so slightly into his hands as they cup your face 

you scatter kisses along his length, tiny little pecks that you barely pull away from, making it more of a slow drag of your lips against his skin. you work downwards, all the way from tip to root and then back upwards just as teasingly, awaiting leon’s reaction—which you get when you kitten lick over his slit 

“fucking tease, god,” leon grunts and tips his head back, giving you just what you were looking for. a smile pulls at your lips, that are still around the hot, throbbing, head of his cock, while you shift your weight between your knees. they’re aching and they’ll bruise later—you’re sure—but leon will spend hours making up for it 

with leon distracted by blinking up at the ceiling, you slowly start to suck him into your mouth once again. he tries to buck his hips forwards, impatiently trying to take what he wants but your hands push against his thighs—again—and it’s enough to make his gaze snap down to you

you keep eye contact with him, batting your lashes innocently whilst you take him into your mouth. he’s enamored, indulging in watching every centimetre and inch of his cock sliding past your lips and the low groan, that sounds like thunder rumbling, that he gives you when your lips are tight around the base of his cock is dizzying 

but still, you don’t let him move. you don’t give him a signal to and leon wouldn’t ever do anything without your say so. you relax your throat around him, knowing that he’s creating a bulge in your neck and then carefully, you start to flick your tongue along the underside of his cock 

“fuck—sweetheart—fuck,” leon hisses. his thighs tremble against your hands as you moan shamelessly around him, letting it vibrate along his length and that’s when he falters. his knees buckle and it forces him to step closer to you, pressing your nose into the dark thatch of hair at the lowest point of his torso 

his balls bump against your chin, they’re heavy and already starting to draw upwards. leon’s close and you know it but you’re not quite finished with him, yet. you bob your head, grinding the tip of his cock along the back of your throat and he must feel it everywhere because his entire body shakes as his hands shoot back into your hair

you frown up at him and whine as he pulls on your roots, not hard enough to hurt you but almost hard enough to pull you off of his length. but, when leon’s lips part in an attempt to apologise, nothing comes out and you take pity on him, though it doesn’t seem that way to leon when you’re pulling off of him too fast for his liking

“fuck my mouth, ‘til you come, i need it, leon,”

blue eyes sharpen and leon plants his feet, steady either side of your knees and ready to fuck back into your mouth the second you’re done purring up at him. your throat is slick and your lungs are burning but you need to see it through to the end and leon can’t wait 

he slides home in one and sets pace again, somehow faster than he was before, aided by the fact he’s bent his knees and is—quite literally—fucking your mouth like his entire life depends on it. it’s animalistic, a primal need that’s pushing him further with each thrust 

his cock rams against the back of your throat before sliding into it, pounding and bruising it for you to feel for days to come but you don’t care—not when you’re properly crying, not when your lungs are stinging and not even when you can feel your chest getting damp from the mix of spit and precome that’s dripped from your chin

your hands start to slide up leon’s thighs, inching towards his balls but before you can touch him, he knocks your hands away, causing the next snap of his hips to become uneven. it sends his cock head grinding along the inside of your cheek and that causes you to gag

“don’t—fuck, baby—they hurt,” he explains between a broken moan when your throat tightens around him. it’s only natural that they’re uncomfortable, he hasn’t come in so long and its left his balls heavy and fat, they ache with everything that he needs to release and the mere thought of it makes you moan

between thrusts you push up onto your knees, letting leon take complete control of your body as well as his. you can feel him pulsing in your mouth, he’s hurtling towards his orgasm and if the stream of wrecked sounds spilling from his mouth wasn't enough to signal it, the tensing of his thighs will 

underneath the dig and harsh drag of your nails, leon’s muscles ripple and don’t even try to fight against the red lines your raking over his skin. you’ll kiss them afterwards, lick up any pinpricks of blood that rise to the surface, all whilst leon praises you for it. but for now, you make it hurt and it works 

“m’gonna—gonna come, sweetheart,” leon warns, sounding utterly brainless. you know why he’s warning you as he tries to pull his hips back and put space between your bodies but you don’t want him to and you tell him as much by winking up at him, “fucking—shit,” 

whatever leon was about to growl at you fizzles off into an almost painful sounding grunt. it scratches in his chest and then through his throat, making his voice crack. all he has left in him is one last feeble jolt of his hips but it drags the heat of your mouth over his full length and that’s enough 

his hands are still fisting at the roots of your hair when the first spurts of come shoot across your tongue. each one is followed by a next, one that’s thicker and longer, streaming waves of come down your throat quicker than you can swallow them down, forcing your cheeks to fill out with the overflow 

within a split second, there’s no room left for him to fill and it’s then that you finally let him push you away. one of his hands unweaves from your hair to jerk furiously over his length, wringing ropes of come from his cock to add to the mess that’s pouring from your lips in another wet gag. you’re covered in him and he’s nowhere near done

you tilt your head away from him, gasping in short breaths while his come drips all over your face. it’s splashed over your cheeks, it’s clinging to your lashes, it’s been smeared all over your swollen lips and now, he’s shooting his load all over your neck and chest too 

“fuck me,” leon pants raggedly through it all. he’s watching you closely with half lidded eyes, admiring the mess he’s made and is still actively making of your body. his eyes track the thick dribbles that are running over your collarbones, soaking them in a milky white sheen, “christ, how is it still going?”

a giggle erupts from your chest, it’s the only noise you can manage to make between swallowing and coughing and then swallowing again in a futile attempt to clear your throat. you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the feeling of his come bubbling in your throat and prolonging the taste of him but you’re not complaining 

eventually, the streams start to slow and thin out. leon’s fist loosens around his length, he’s too sensitive and too worn out to do anymore, even though his entire body is still tensing with his everlasting orgasm. his fingers flex when he lets himself go and his cock bobs pathetically over the loss of touch, flinging a string of come over your arm in the process

it’s a last ditch effort for his body because the next dribble of come that spills from his slit just hangs in a thin string. you lean in slowly and carefully lick up the last drip, making sure not to graze your tongue along leon’s sensitive cock, “done?” you ask before cringing over the ruined sound of your voice 

“i fuckin’ hope so,” leon sighs deeply and holds his hands out to help you up off of the floor. there’s a wobble in your knees as you straighten upwards with a wince but leon’s too busy ogling your face and chest to notice it, “look at you—god—i’m not wasting a towel on you, we’ll have to shower,” he chuckles, sounding equal parts amused and exhausted 

“what you mean is, round two in the shower,” you guess with a raise of your eyebrow. leon doesn’t answer you though, not verbally anyway. instead, he grabs your hips and as he starts to walk your backwards towards the bathroom, he licks his own come from your lips and then feeds it into your mouth amidst a filthy kiss 

you’ll take that as a yes

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah ily! send prompts to my ask box!

Carlos Oliveira

Carlos lounged on the couch, one strong arm hooked lazily over the backrest, black undershirt stretched over his chest, his tactical vest ditched for once in favor of battered sweatpants. The late morning sun painted gold patches across the hardwood, catching in the wild curls of his hair. He looked up from his phone, brown eyes warm, already smiling at you even before you said a word.

You strolled past him, a little swagger in your step, towel still wrapped around your body from your shower, and flicked a facial wipe straight into his lap. “Here. Clean up, soldier,” you said, your tone light but commanding.

Carlos arched a thick brow, amused. “My face?” He plucked up the wipe, looking from it to you, then back. “What, you see something I don’t?”

You grinned, heading for the kitchen, but not before glancing over your shoulder. “I don’t like sitting on a dirty seat,” you tossed back, voice nonchalant but your smile sly.

He stared at you for a heartbeat, the line sinking in. The room filled with a loaded pause. Then, you heard the crinkle of the wipe as he obediently swiped it across his face, slow, and a little exaggerated. 

“Oh, that’s how it is, huh?” His voice rumbled, the teasing edge undercut with a flash of heat.

You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him. “You want me to sit, you gotta make sure it’s clean.”

Carlos’s eyes narrowed, a devilish grin stretching his lips. He tossed the used wipe onto the coffee table and shot up from the couch, muscles rippling under his shirt. “All right, princess, you wanna talk about dirty seats, huh?” He stalked toward you, his steps heavy and sure, a predator with a glint in his eye.

You shrieked, laughing, darting out of the kitchen just as he lunged. He gave chase, the apartment suddenly too small for your playful escape. The floorboards rattled under the thunder of his bare feet, his laughter mixing with yours, deep and sweet, and absolutely delighted.

You rounded the corner for the bedroom but Carlos was faster. He caught you at the threshold, strong arms circling your waist and hauling you back against his chest. He pressed his face into your neck, breath hot, stubble scratching your skin. “You know, I could show you exactly how clean I can be,” he murmured, voice low and wicked.

You wriggled in his grasp, towel moving dangerously low, laughter bubbling and breath catching as he tightened his hold on your hips. “Oh yeah? Prove it,” you taunted, eyes bright, pulse wild.

He spun you around, mouth finding yours in a kiss that started soft but deepened, his hand sliding down your back, fingers splayed wide. With easy strength, he walked you backward, lips never leaving yours, until your knees hit the edge of the bed. Carlos’s grin turned devilish, dark eyes glittering with intent. Instead of pressing you down, he shifted, rolling onto his back atop the bed, one arm looping easily behind his head, the other sliding firm and sure along your thigh. “C’mere,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing, command wrapped in velvet. “You talked a big game, sweetheart. Let’s see you back it up.”

He tugged you forward, strong hands guiding you until you were straddling his chest, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his broad torso. His curls spilled across the pillow, his face angled up to meet yours, lips parted, breath fanning hot over your skin. He looked up at you, equal parts reverence and mischief, like he was savoring every second—like he was exactly where he’d always wanted to be.

He pulled the towel away from your body. And then, with a gentle, insistent pull, Carlos drew you up farther until your thighs bracketed his face, your body hovering just above his lips. “Your seat is clean, ma’am,” he teased, voice husky, “but you’re the one who's about to make a mess on it.”

His hands gripped your hips, steady and sure, anchoring you above him. The last thing you saw before you sank down was his wicked smile, all challenge and promise.

Chris Redfield

Chris Redfield never truly relaxed, even on a so-called day off. There was always something about the way he moved—shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes alert and sweeping his surroundings as if expecting an ambush behind every unlocked door. You heard the front door click open, boots thudding heavily over the worn floorboards. He stepped inside, broad frame swathed in that dark tactical coat, the collar turned up against a wind long since left outside. Even now, the air around him brimmed with the scent of rain and gun oil, and the faintest trace of sweat and aftershave.

You met him at the threshold, anticipation sparking under your skin. Chris looked tired, lines cut deeper at the corners of his eyes, stubble rough along his jaw. Yet beneath the exhaustion was a simmering restlessness, that constant tension wound tight in every muscle.

He barely got a greeting out. Just a low, “Hey,” voice gravel-thick and weary, before you reached up, pressing a cool facial wipe to his cheek. He jerked back, brows knitting, blue eyes narrowing. “What are you—? Seriously?” His tone was rough, edged with confusion and a flicker of annoyance as you began wiping grime and faint traces of dried mud from his face.

You only smiled, determined, working the wipe across his cheekbones, jaw, the stubborn bridge of his nose. “Hold still, Chris. You don’t want to track all that through the house, do you?” you teased, lips curled in a soft smirk.

He huffed, almost a growl, and tried to lean away again. “I can handle it myself,” he muttered, but you just kept at it with single-minded devotion, chasing every stubborn streak until his scowl deepened.

You paused, drawing the wipe away, and met his gaze squarely. “Well, you know me—I don’t like sitting on a dirty seat.”

A beat passed. Chris blinked, mouth parting, a flicker of confusion in his eyes as he tried to parse your words, the meaning not quite landing. “What—?”

You tossed the crumpled wipe in the trash and turned on your heel, making for the hallway. “You heard me,” you said, letting your gaze drop deliberately to his freshly cleaned face. “I won’t sit if it’s dirty.” The silence that followed was thick and electric. 

His eyes widened, the realization sparking behind them, then narrowed with a sharp glint and a dangerous, wolfish curve of his lips. You heard the scrape of his boots, the sudden rush of air as he lunged after you.

“You’re not getting away with that!” Chris’s voice had a new edge—still rough, but now playful, almost predatory.

You bolted, laughter bursting free, heart racing as you sprinted down the hall, bare feet sliding over the hardwood. Your pulse thundered in your ears, his heavy steps close behind. You ducked into the bedroom, yanking the door open and making a beeline for the bed, but Chris was faster—his hand caught your waist, hauling you flush against his chest.

He spun you around, his grip unyielding but gentle, eyes bright with heat and challenge. “You want to say that again?” he rumbled, voice low, his breath warm against your ear.

You grinned, breathless, your back pressed to his chest, your body pinned between muscled arms and the edge of the bed. “I said what I said,” you teased, wriggling in his hold, laughter still spilling from your lips.

Chris shook his head, the last vestiges of his fatigue falling away, replaced by something sharper, hungrier. He leaned down, lips brushing your ear, voice dropping to a growl that made your skin prickle. “You want a clean seat? You’re damn well gonna get it.”

He eased you forward, guiding you with unrelenting hands until your knees hit the mattress. Then he tugged you gently, insistently, until you were facing the bed. With a low, amused grunt, Chris shrugged off his tactical coat, tossing it aside, and sprawled out on his back, eyes locked on yours—steady, smoldering, utterly sure of himself.

One arm looped behind his head, the other sliding up your thigh, coaxing you closer until you were hovering above him, knees braced on either side of his broad chest. He looked up, blue gaze dark and unblinking, lips curled in the faintest, cockiest smirk. “C’mon,” he murmured, voice rough velvet. “Let’s see if you’re brave enough to put your words where your seat is.”

Leon S. Kennedy

A shaft of lazy afternoon sun sliced through the curtains, painting the rumpled bed in honeyed gold. Leon lay sprawled across the sheets, one arm tossed over his brow, jacket half-off, boots abandoned somewhere at the foot of the bed. His breathing was deep, steady; his face, for once, looked soft, brow smooth, the lines of decades smoothed out by sleep. That stubborn, iconic hair curled over his forehead, brushed by the gentle, late-day light. Stubble shadowed his jaw.

You knew you should let him rest. The man was a legend, a survivor, a protector battered and rebuilt by every horror the world had to offer. But he was also—especially now, quiet and undone by sleep—irresistibly, and infuriatingly hot. You crept in, bare feet silent on the worn floorboards, a soft, mischievous smile tugging at your lips. In your hand, the weapon: a single, cooling facial wipe.

You leaned down, hovering above him, heart quickening at the sheer intimacy of this little tableau. Gently, you pressed the wipe to his cheek, tracing a line from the corner of his jaw up toward his temple, sweeping away the faint shadow of dirt, the salt of sweat, the lingering memories of chaos and darkness.

Leon stirred, brow furrowing. His blue eyes blinked open, clouded and unfocused, lashes thick and dark against the tired hollows beneath. His voice was a sleep-heavy rumble. “Mmhh… What’re you—” He stilled, adjusting to the sensation, then squinted up at you, clearly both annoyed and amused. “Seriously? Can’t a guy get some beauty sleep?”

You grinned, not even pretending innocence. “Just making sure you’re clean, Leon. Gotta wipe down my favorite seat.”

He blinked, the words bouncing off his drowsy brain, smirk tugging at his lips but confusion clouding his gaze. “Your… seat?” he echoed, voice gravelly, as if the implications hadn’t quite landed yet.

You leaned in, letting your breath tickle his ear, your voice syrup-sweet and absolutely unrepentant. “Yeah. I’m making sure my seat’s nice and clean before I put it to use.”

You could practically see the gears grinding, the moment of realization dawning beneath that battered cool. One eyebrow arched. His mouth parted, a slow, crooked grin spreading across his lips, surprise and delight flickering in his gaze.

“Wow,” he said, voice suddenly lighter, cheekier, “never thought I’d hear that line before coffee. Or a glass of bourbon.”

You snorted, straightening, and started to slip away, already plotting a retreat—but Leon was faster, even with the ache of years and scars. His hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist, grip gentle but unyielding. “Oh no, you’re not getting away that easy,” he murmured, a wolfish glint in his eyes as he tugged you down, guiding you to his chest, pinning you there with surprising strength.

You squirmed, breath catching, pulse fluttering against the hard muscle beneath your palm. Leon’s hands slid up your sides, slow and languid, coaxing, coaxing, until his thumb brushed just beneath the hem of your tee. He lifted your chin, gaze locked on yours, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was soft, sweet, lingering—like he meant to taste every ounce of mischief still fizzing on your tongue.

He pulled back, mouth inches from yours, voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. “You sure you’re not just looking for an excuse, sweetheart? Maybe you want me a little dirty, huh?”

You felt heat bloom on your cheeks, the flush bright and unmistakable. “I—no, I just—” You tried to wriggle free, but he tightened his hold, his hands sliding down to your hips, anchoring you firm against him.

Leon’s grin widened, all wolfish charm and dangerous promise. “How am I supposed to get any rest knowing my wife’s got a clean throne to sit on?” His breath was hot against your cheek, his tone teasing, but beneath it there was a hunger that made you shiver.

You barely had time to stammer a protest before Leon’s fingers were deftly working your shorts down, peeling away the last barriers, his gaze never leaving yours. He nudged your knees apart, guiding you up, his hands gentle and sure, until you were straddling his firm chest, thighs trembling, anticipation buzzing through every inch of your skin.

He looked up at you, eyes dark and dazzling, a smirk curling one corner of his mouth. “You know, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice full of wicked, lazy confidence, “this seat’s not gonna be clean for long.”

he brings his hand up to his mouth, lips pursing as his tongue allows a generous bit of spit into his finger tips. you watch him twinkling eyes as he coats what he can onto his shaft. “spread ’er open for me, sweetheart.”

“mm.. fuck..” you gasp a little as your fingers pull back the fatty lips of your cunt, exposing the hardened fat bud peeking shamelessly from beneath the hood. “she’s so wet for you..” your bottom lip gets pressed in between your teeth as you watch him. you have that stare, the one where it looks like you could very well could eat him alive—your (color) irises meeting your lash line leaving nothing but a space of white beneath.

“yeah? how sweet is she.” leon’s cock bobs under its own weight, which is always astonishing in itself because.. his dick is so heavy. his hand comes up, squeezing your lips together while the other strokes his shaft. his gaze is locked in between your legs taking in the sight for what it is, because the pressure from his thumb and pointer push some excess wet slick through your folds. and fuck is it pretty. “got all those naughty pictures you sent me when i was away—drove me crazy. had to jerk a few out.”

“that’s so sexy..“ you reach for him and he obliges almost immediately, leaning down and his forehead rests onto yours. “love when you do stuff like that..” you say shyly.

“i know,” he murmurs, his eyes are on nothing but you as he rubs his cockhead against your folds, pushing so mean against your clit. your hips start to roll, following him in opposite directions while a lazy arm is wrapped around his neck, breath catching at the sensation. “you’re a fuckin’ pervert.”

“i can’t help it..” you whine, the smallest pout pushing at your bottom lip. “look at you.” your fingers wander up to his scruff absentminded, you’re too distracted by him to stop, eyes all wide and adoring. “you’re so handsome.”

“and you talk about me being a charmer,” he chuckles under his breath. “listen to yourself, mama.”

there’s a slow pressure as his cock presses in against your soft, soaking heat. and for a second leon just lets it linger, playing and teasing with it because he knows you can feel every inch of him—length and width. slowly, he starts to give, pushing in deeper little by little as your warmth yields around all eight and a half inches of dick, stretching you out enough to take it in.

“god—i love this cock, baby.” you grit through your teeth as you look down at where you two are connected. “fucks me so good—makes me so fuckin’ stupid.”

“your mouth.. is so filthy.” he says through a breathy laugh. “stupid, huh?” a smile. “gonna be my stupid girl on my cock?”

this part is really on leon because he can’t stay still for too long. he can be greedy himself but honestly he deserves it. his shaft presses in harder now—faster, the heat around it soft and pliant, giving just enough as his cock slides deeper. every inch feels thick and makes you feel so full, your body quite literally wrapping around it and holding him in. you can feel the way it stretches you, you can feel everything throb and shift as your soft folds part around the fattest part. your fingers dig into whatever you can reach, because my god is leon kennedy a whole lot of man. it was overwhelming.

he pins your thighs up against your chest with one hand—god, he’s so strong. it just never fails to make you swoon, like wow. one hand could hold you in place so effortlessly, it makes you feel crazy in a love as consumption way. your legs press into your body, soft and warm against you and the way he keeps you still makes your whole body hum with this dizzy ache.

his grip is firm enough to make you feel held and a little helpless all at once. you can feel the weight of him behind it, every muscle taut, and it’s like your body is wrapped around him and trapped in the best way possible. your thighs press harder into your chest as he fucks you—deeper, carving out a rhythm into your pussy, soft folds and curves squish together under his hand.

your head feels all light and fuzzy, every thought has melted into a soft hazy swirl. every touch, every press, every movement is like this overwhelming wave that makes your knees weak and your chest flutter uncontrollably. you can’t even think straight, your brain turning into a squishy and warm mess where all you know is fuck.. this man makes me feel good.

heat blooms through you in slow stretching waves, making your fingers tremble and your hands clench at whatever’s beneath them. your chest rises and falls faster than your thoughts can keep up with, every nerve screaming and humming at once, and it makes your vision go a little, the world itself has melted into soft spinning warmth at this point.

“i love how you make my pussy feel—oh my god—this fucking cock is so good. want you to make me cum all day, all day, all day-! never stop fucking me, leon please!” you’re babbling at this point, and leon—well, leon is fighting for his life inside of this pussy.

his jaw tightens, teeth clenched, “christ—” it drags out of him low and irritated, more exhale than word as his grip tightens just a fraction to ground himself. his head dips, eyes shut as he pounds into your hole, voice thick with restraint.

“buttercup—” he breathes it out. the word’s caught between his throat and he doesn’t have the patience for it at all. the nickname softer than anything else about him right now, completely at odds with the tension winding through his body. his teeth grit again before he forces the rest out,

“need you to be good ’nd just—” he cuts himself off for half a second, fighting for control before he finishes it through his teeth, quieter, “shut up.”

“fuck, ’m gonna cum! ’m gonna cum—!” you whine, your hips bucking upwards as your high starts to unravel.

“i know, can feel it..” he breathes, cock starting to falter in its pacing. “gonna make me cum..”

it hits him all at once, dragging a rough sound out of his chest as his whole body tenses through it. his grip tightens without thinking, fingers digging into your supple flesh as he rides it out, breath coming in short and uneven bursts because he can’t catch it fast enough. he’s filling you up—pumping your pussy full of his cum.

his head pulls back, jaw clenched and nose scrunched as a strained exhale pushes past his lips. it’s too much and not enough at the same time, leaving him wound tight even as it starts to fade, because his body doesn’t know how to settle back down from it. physically, he’s tired. but mentally? he wants to keep fucking into you until he’s cumming again and again. good pussy will do that to a man.

he swallows hard, chest still rising and falling a little too fast, grip loosening just slightly. but it’s all still there—that tingly heat from an orgasm. its under his skin, in the way his muscles stay tense, in his breathing, in how he doesn’t quite pull out of you away right away.

you tilt your head up to look at him, eyes all bright and a little dazed, but there’s that tiny knowing spark sitting there as your lips curl into this soft, mischievous smile.

your teeth catch your bottom lip again, biting down a giggle. your fingers barely shift where they rest against him—light, absentminded, you’re still a little floaty from your high.

“welcome back, space cadet,” you murmur, voice soft and a little smug. you know you’ve got him a little out of it, and frankly.. you’re enjoying every second of it. “enjoy your time on neptune?”

“you’re funny.” he says, unamused but there’s no real heat behind it. he pulls out of you slowly. “don’t think i forgot about—” he starts to mock your moans.

“leon!”