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mybbmbby · 10 days ago

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Chemicals Hit Like A Drug

dick grayson x fem!reader

aka dick takes matters into his own hands

warnings: smut, almost cheating but not quite

The bar isn’t as busy as you’d expect for a Friday night. There’s by no means any shortage of people, but you were expecting to have to weave in and out of the crowd and spill your drink on at least two people before you made it to your destination.

Rather, when your boyfriend opens the door ahead of you, the level of commotion amongst the regulars isn’t as unbearable as expected. He walks in first, leaving you to hold the door open for yourself. For all his good qualities, chivalry was never one of them.

He makes his way to the bar without any mind for whether or not you’re following, and orders himself one vodka sour. You know he knows your go-to drink, and you wonder if him not ordering it is his way of telling you there will be a separate bill. No, it probably hadn’t even crossed his mind to tell you as much.

You stand shoulder to shoulder at the bar counter as he sips on his drink, scanning around the room.

You clear your throat, “So um, should we split up or stick together?”

He nods blankly, “Yeah, sure.”

His gaze is already caught on a target across the bar, and you know that he neither heard nor cared to hear your words. You similarly don’t have it in you to care that he’s already walking away from you, instead opting to drown your concerns.

With a sigh, you find a seat at the bar and order yourself a drink.

You’re thirty seconds into this and it already doesn’t seem to be worth it. Having a threesome was your bright idea, and yeah, maybe it originated from a place that’s a little self-serving, but you weren’t prepared to have that turned back around on you. Are you just giving him the chance to fuck another girl, no consequences?

You take a big swig and look down at the remaining contents of the alcohol, swishing the drink around.

This was really nothing more than a desperate attempt to keep something going but you’re beginning to fear your man isn’t much of a relationship man at all. You don’t have to look across the bar to find where he went, you don’t need to because you already know exactly what he’s doing. And to no one’s surprise, he’s probably doing it without a thought in the world about you.

So now you’re starting to wonder if the whole relationship is worth all the trouble. He’d been charming and funny in the beginning—and he still is—but now you’re seeing all these other parts of him that you weren’t expecting. Maybe calling it quits after such a short time is cruel, but it’s also starting to feel like the only option.

“You alright?”

A voice breaks you away from your deliberation and has you turning to meet a pleasant surprise.

A man that you couldn’t have dreamed up stands next to you, bourbon in hand, with nothing short of kindness in his eyes.

You stutter, “Oh, I’m—um…yeah. I’m fine.”

He nods, looking around casually.

“You’re not here by yourself, are you?”

“Uh, no. I’m not.” You hear the words as they come out of your mouth and they sound genuinely disappointed.

You can’t be sure exactly how he interprets that but he holds his hand out in front of him.

“I’m Dick,” he tells you.

You take his hand, shaking it, before telling him your own name.

He smiles upon the reveal, holding onto your hand for just a second longer than he needs to.

Truthfully, you never specified whether this threesome was going to involve a girl or a guy, but you’d been hoping that you’ll be able to convince him. That’s why you let yourself entertain a conversation with a very attractive man that you know your boyfriend would be too intimidated by to even consider.

“So who are you here with then?”

You look over your shoulder, quickly finding your boyfriend chatting up a pretty girl in a revealing dress. You point him out just long enough for Dick to see who you mean but not long enough for you to really have to absorb the scene taking place.

Dick peers over your shoulder with a furrowed brow and a frown. “‘S that your friend?” he asks.

“Boyfriend,” you correct with a nod, but your eyes are on the floor.

Dick copies your nod, processing. “You been dating him long?”

You lull your head to the side, looking back up at him. “A little over a month.”

You can see his eyes brighten hearing that.

“Must not be very serious then.”

You work to suppress a smile. “What makes you say that?”

“He left you over here all alone,” he says, looking around.

Your eyes scan him over quickly, “I’m not alone.”

You glance over at your boyfriend again, and even from where you’re standing, you can tell that he’s not going to get anywhere. His body language is all wrong on multiple levels. “And he’s just…doing something, anyways.”

“Yes he is,” Dick says, following your gaze with a nearly concerned stare. “What…would you call that? What he’s doing.”

“Um…he’s making a friend…”

Dick seems to understand the implication of your words without any help. “Without you?” He looks at you again, smiling knowingly. “Or are you doing the same thing?”

“I…don’t know what I’m doing,” you confess. “I’ve never done this before.”

“I have,” he assures.

You smile, “I assumed.”

He tilts his head, “Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“Not sure yet.”

He smiles at that, boyish and genuine.

He leans up against the bar, relaxing even more.

“Does he take care of you?” he asks casually.

“Yeah,” you reply, trying to size up where he’s going with this.

The nod of his head mirrors yours. “Yeah? He nice to you?”

“Yeah…”

“Mhm. How’s he nice to you?”

You can feel the blood in your cheeks now. “He kisses me…”

“Yeah? Good. What else?”

Your eyes flicker across his face, trying to will yourself to hold your gaze.

“He fucks me…”

He smiles hearing you murmur the words, “Does he fuck you good?”

You’re not nearly subtle enough, the way your gaze instantly averts and your face gets hot. To make matters worse, he seems to be able to read you like a goddamn book.

He smiles wider, tilting his head at you. “No? What, not attentive? Bad at head?”

He follows you with a smile as you tilt your head down, trying to avoid eye contact. He lowers his voice, “Not big enough?”

He grants you enough mercy to not have to actually verbalize it, but you get the feeling he knows the answer anyways. All of the above.

He just hums, soaking in your expression. “Was it your idea? To go out and find another guy to bring home?”

You look down at the floor, tongue between your teeth.

“Yeah…You need to get fucked good, don’t you?”

You do. But he has no business being able to tell that about you barely five minutes into this conversation. You take a deep breath, practically steeling yourself for the torture of hearing such blatant, unabashed words.

“You know, I have had threesomes before, and they’re fun but…” He looks at the floor with a soft smile, shaking his head. “Full disclosure, I’m only doing this so I can sleep with you.”

You feel blood rush to your cheeks that makes you automatically look down.

He chases after your gaze, “But you want to know something? I don’t think you want to have a threesome. I think you just need one person to show you a good time.”

You understand the implication of his words. He’s right, but your morality holds you back from saying so.

“He’s my boyfriend..”

He nods understandingly, “If you want to do it, I will. But I think I could make you feel even better on my own.”

You look up at him, eyeing his sincerity and measuring the weight of his promise.

“Come on,” he urges gently.

He leans in slightly, causing you to follow suit until you’re nose and nose with each other. Your eyes are practically closed and your inhibition is nearly gone.

His lips ghost over yours.

“Break up with him,” he says. “Break up with him so I can take you home.”

”Not exactly an even trade,” you say quietly.

He tilts his head.

“I’m losing a boyfriend.”

Barely.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises.

And that’s more than enough to convince the already convinced.

You pull back from him with a sigh and sit up straight. You plop down from your place on the edge of the barstool, glancing over your shoulder as you turn away.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell him.

As you approach your boyfriend, the girl he’s with sees you before he does, readjusting her position to let you into the conversation. He, upon seeing you, does no such thing.

Instead, he double takes like he’d forgotten you were even in the bar.

He splutters before introducing you. “...This is my girlfriend…”

This tidbit of information he’d forgotten to mention before you’d come over. You’d guess as much when the girl rolls her eyes and walks away. In return, he looks irked by your intrusion and therefore loss of a goal that he never had any chance of scoring.

You don’t give him the time to ask you what the fuck your problem is before giving him a dry smile. “I think we should break up.”

His face drops suddenly, before altering into something much more akin to anger.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah.”

He scowls. “This was your fucking idea. Don’t tell me you’re going and getting all jealous now.”

You nod blankly, not interested in prolonging this. “Okay. Have a good night.”

The last thing you see before turning away is the dumbfounded look on his face. And now that you know you have something better waiting for you, it stings just that much nicer.

Dick grins at you as you reapproach, clearly having watched that whole thing go down. He follows close with a hand on your backside as a means to help guide you out the door.

He leads you to his car, opening the passenger side door for you—something your ex-boyfriend never bothered doing—and helping you in.

When he’s sitting in the driver’s seat he takes your jaw and pulls you into a kiss. It’s sweet and gentle, but the intensity still has you pulling back and trying to catch your breath.

You catch his endeared smile, before he starts up the car and begins to back out of the parking lot.

You try to calm your body down as you ask, “Are we going to a hotel?”

He shakes his head, “Nah, I live close by.”

He turns to look at you, “Is that alright?”

You don’t need to weigh this out in your head to know the answer. After ten minutes you already trust Dick more than you trusted your ex after six weeks.

“Yeah.”

As promised, the drive back to his apartment doesn’t take long, it only ends up being a couple of blocks away. His right hand stays glued to your thigh throughout the entire drive, squeezing it once before he turns into the parking garage.

Once you’re parked, Dick unbuckles his seatbelt before looking over at you, who hasn’t moved a muscle yet.

He laughs as he takes in your unconfident posture, “Oh baby. It’s alright. Don’t need to be so nervous.”

He pulls you in for one more kiss before getting out of the car. He quickly opens your door for you and helps you out. He holds your hand all the way up to his apartment, stopping every once in a while to kiss you. You can tell he’s being more gentle with you than he maybe usually would, but you’re grateful for it.

As you round the final set of stairs, he nudges you in front of him. “Come ‘ere. It’s just up here.”

He unlocks the door and leads you into a lofty apartment, well-decorated and furnished. Significantly nicer than the studio with a mattress on the floor that your ex called home. You’re not given much time to look around before he’s got you pushed back and pressed against the now closed door.

He takes your face in both hands as he kisses you, getting completely in your space in the most welcome way possible. He leans down over you, pushing you further against the door. The kiss deepens and he slots his thigh in between your legs. He lets you grind a little against him, encouraging you via nips against your lips. But ultimately, he seems to decide that this isn’t enough.

He picks you up by your thighs, never breaking the kiss, and begins walking you towards his bedroom.

He sets you down in the middle of the room, kneeling down as he pulls your panties down. His lips ghost over your thighs in their wake, slipping them down and onto the floor.

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he takes in the sight of your pussy.

“Oh, pretty baby,” he murmurs.

He backs you up to the bed, pulling your dress down as he goes. By the time you get to the bed, you’re completely bare and he’s sitting you on his still-clothed lap.

He spreads your legs over his and gently brushes his fingers across your clit with a feather-light touch.

“Dick,” you whine, not even sure what your goal is. You don’t know if you have it in you to ask him directly for what you want.

“What? You want me to rub your clit for you? Want me to make you come?”

You mewl, ”Please—”

“‘Please’?” He coos. “Of course, pretty girl.”

He reaches down and rubs languid circles against your clit, his touch so light and feathery that it does nothing but leave you wanting more in a way you’re wholly unfamiliar with.

“You don’t need to beg me,” he continues. “Not tonight anyway.”

He kisses you again with more and more passion as he works your body like he owns it. The way he lets you grind up against his hand and moan into his mouth only encourages you more.

He doesn’t need to keep this up for very long before he has you coming under him, sooner and harder than you ever have before.

And it must show on your face because he tuts as he brushes your hair away from your eyes.

“Aw, honey. Nobody’s been touching you right, have they?”

Your eyes are borderline watering as you shake your head, No.

He lifts you up, off his lap, and sets you back down against the pillows. He pulls his shirt off before tugging his pants down, and repositions himself back over you. He moves down to start kissing at your chest, paying each side some much needed attention before continuing down lower.

He trails his kisses down your stomach and against your inner thighs, just high enough to make you feel a burst of heat every time.

He looks up at you, “Such a pretty girl. Pretty girls should be taken care of.”

Somehow you only just realize where this is going, and you can’t fend off the look of anxiety that flashes across your face.

He clocks your hesitation immediately.

He frowns, “What’s wrong, beautiful?”

“I—I’ve never had…” you trail off but he understands the sentiment just the same.

He just tilts his head.

“Really? That’s a shame. We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

His sentiment surprises you, but to be completely fair: everything about him has surprised you. This has been a complete 180 from what you’ve been used to, even beyond your most recent ex-boyfriend. You honestly didn’t even know guys like this existed outside of the movies.

Dick kisses your thigh again before looking back up at you, eyes asking for permission.

Not a single thought runs through your head as you nod, only filled with anticipation and lust.

He places a gentle kiss on your clit, before following up with an experimental lick on the same spot. He looks up at you, checking in, and when he’s seemingly satisfied, he goes all in.

He makes out with your pussy like he’s been doing it for years, like he knows your body better than you do. It’s almost embarrassing how fast you fall apart like this, or at least it would be, if you had any energy to spend on thinking. No, right now, all you’re doing is feeling. For once in your life, somebody has been able to do the impossible and get you out of your head.

Your hand instinctually goes to grab at his hair and he fucking moans into your pussy. The surprise of it has you gasping this shocked choke that nearly makes you sit straight up.

You curse, forcing yourself to relax completely against the mattress—a task that is nearly impossible. Still you manage success, if only for the sake of keeping him doing what he’s doing.

He alternates between sucking on your clit and licking you up and down, and the combination has you seeing stars. He continues to lap at you as you’re coming down from your high, keeps going until you’re squirming away from sensitivity.

He relents, kissing his way back up your body and finding your lips again. As you’re making out, he lines himself up at your entrance, taking special care to distract you from the stretch with intentionally placed kisses.

He lets you adjust to the feeling of him being inside of you for a moment, scanning over your face for any signs of pain or discomfort. Finding none, he slowly starts rocking his hips into you. He’s easing you into it, and you’re grateful for it because everything up to this point has been so surreal and intense.

As he starts to move with more intention, you start to realize that you’re in a serious fucking situation. There’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to go back to the way you were living, having experienced getting fucked like you’re about to.

As he really gets going, you find quickly that his strokes are good. He’s fucking you so deep and hitting a spot inside you that you didn’t know existed. You couldn’t help it to moan out when he first hits it, and from that point on he’s a fucking dead eye. He rubs up against your spot after every stroke and doesn’t let up.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl. Taking me so well,” he praises, looking down in between your bodies.

You moan out and one hand grabs at the headboard, the other going for the nape of his neck.

He keeps at this slow and sensual pace, correctly finding it to be exactly what you needed. When you’re in a more coherent state of mind, you’ll have to wonder how he could read you like a goddamn picture book.

“Dick—”you moan, voice nearly breaking.

“No, I know. You need somebody to take care of you good, huh?”

His words in your ear have you squeezing your eyes shut, genuinely whimpering.

He pushes in and out of you over and over again with intensity that rivals any experience ever you’ve had before. Nothing, nothing has gotten you feeling this good before. Not your fingers, not toys, and certainly not your exes. You have half a mind to start wondering if this is your little slice of heaven granted to you by karma. Though no, you don’t think anything amounts to this.

He goes and goes until you’re spasming around him, and even then, he fucks you straight through your orgasm.

“Such a pretty girl,” he tells you as you come, sweeping hair out of your face so he can get an undisturbed view.

He only begins to slow his movements when the shaking in your legs begins to calm and your body relaxes.

He pulls out of you and kisses your shoulder, murmuring a, “Good girl.”

You sit up against your elbows with a furrowed brow, “But you didn’t—“

He huffs out a laugh. “You got somewhere to be? I’m not done with you yet, pretty girl.”

And with that he flips you over onto your stomach and realigns himself with you.

Turns out, asking your boyfriend for a threesome was the best decision of your life.

🫵 if you don’t reblog fics we are not friends you are not cool and you CANNOT come to my sleepover this weekend 🫵

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mybbmbby · 5 months ago

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locked.

➶ leon scott kennedy x gn!reader ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ “I'm just saying, if you shut my mouth again, I'll bite you.”

If you have to hide in a closet from the Artist with your worst enemy, well... it raises a lot of problems. And the unresolved tension.

➴ genre: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one locker

: ̗̀➛ warnings: a lot of cursing, some heavy kissing & lingering sexual tension, also david is bleeding

⌨ :: 3.4K words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ @honeytwo was the one who checked the translation. thank you very much, xoxo! <3

⁀➷ a/n: i uploaded this oneshot to ao3 around halloween. i wanted to upload it here right away, but i didn't feel like editing the "cover" and creating a new masterlist. but now i did!

by the way, the fic itself is made around 2021, in my great leon and dbd brainrot. very nostalgic.

➳ mlist

"What's up? With you and Leon?"

Feng's question makes you raise your head. It's not just the subject that piques your interest, but the way her question comes in the form of a worried, tired sigh. She's usually this exhausted when the current killer has been chasing her for at least a minute and a half.

It surprises you so much that you almost let go of the generator’s wires, and that would be a fatal blunder. Instead, you grip them tighter so she can work undisturbed.

That question makes no sense. You think the answer is obvious. You and Leon Scott Kennedy, the cop who knows more than anyone, hate each other. He makes you impossibly annoyed when he gives you orders, commands and gets on your nerves.

“I'd rather see him on the hook than around me," you say, summing up your feelings about the man.

“Interesting…”

You don't like her tone, so instead of concentrating to keep the wire from slipping out of your sweaty palm, you glare at Feng.

“What do you mean?" your voice is perhaps a little irritated, trembling slightly with focused tension.

“That's not what I saw. I mean, sometimes it does feel like you're at each other's throats, but other times it's the opposite.”

You don't know what she's talking about when she says the other times are opposite. Yesterday, you refused to go to a generator with Leon when he took it too personally, and from two hundred yards away you shouted about each other's uselessness, unnecessary and totally unprofessional behavior. Of course, the murderer is not deaf, he took the opportunity to hang someone, so Leon got you both into trouble with his displeasure.

Before he did, he asked you whether you wanted him to let you off the hook or continue with his 15% generator. He even expected you to thank him afterwards.

But that's just the way he is. He can't see past his ego. So you turn to him with contempt in every situation and you don't understand what Feng is talking about. You find her weird waffling somewhat offensive.

“I, for one, want to jump at his throat as soon as I see him. Maybe I could do a better job than the killer.”

Feng shakes her head. You're watching out of the corner of your eye because you need to focus on the job. You can't mess up this generator now, chitchat or no chitchat.

“Okay. Tell me what you're getting at," you say impatiently.

"I don't think you hate each other one hundred percent," she tells you. "Mutually," she adds meaningfully, and you're so freaked out by this that not only do your words fail you, but you even wave your hand defensively, idiotically, as if you could dismiss this sinister, completely false idea.

In other words, you let go of the wire, the generator sparks the key and fires up loudly. You mishandled it, and in doing so, you let the killer have you gave away your location. Feng does not address you, nor does she turn towards you, simply, following emergency protocol, crouches in the grass and sneaks away from the scene until she is certain that the killer - whose identity is currently unknown - will not come here, or if they do, will leave. Shamefully, you follow. You hide behind a log and watch the scene from there.

Someone is coming, not from the front, but from the grass. It's David. He's wounded, clutching his side, which is bleeding quite badly. You try to pry off his fingers to see how bad the cut is, and he screams in despair, pulls away.

“We've got the Artist, and she didn't spare me,” he reports in great pain.

“Get me a bandage!” Feng gives the task to you, then takes David's arm supportively. “David, we'll get a safe distance from the generator. You have a tetanus shot, right?”

Feng is in charge, but listening to her isn't hard at all. You understand what she's doing, and you know she has the collective interest at heart. And she's logical. Unlike Leon's orders, which are given out of thin air to protect only one man: himself. That selfish bastard.

These are the thoughts you fire yourself up with to stop shaking with fear by the time you get to the hut. In their cellars, there is always a box to help survivors. It's not too far away, but you approach it stealthily just in case, listening for any noises. As you start down the creaking stairs, you worry for David and yourself: someone is already opening the box. You hear the squeak of the lock, and there can only be one of the four of you downstairs. You feel sick in the stomach with anticipation of the inevitable encounter.

You take the final steps. Two lockers are in front of you, and to your left is the room, four hooks bounded by a wooden wall, the perfect sacrificial site. From here it's harder to rescue the one who's been hooked, this room is riskier and more isolated than all the others. Beyond the hooks are a few more lockers, and in the corner is the box.

And as you'd expect, Leon kneels in front of it. He's so busy, he doesn't even know you're here. If you were a killer, you could easily pick him up and have him fiddle around, the hooks are just a few steps away. Yeah, this careless jerk thinks he's in charge.

“Now I understand why we're so fucked with the generators.” You cross your arms, sizing him up. His hands are bandaged, his face is dirty, and he's never wearing something more practical than his police uniform. So pompous.

“If you're so worried, you could make one. Maybe it’d calm you down.” He looks up, frowns. He doesn't understand what you're doing here. It's really none of his business.

“The only thing that would calm me down was if you got your ass up and contributed to the unit. If there were four of us, we'd be done a lot sooner with less risk.”

“I get that you've got hero syndrome, but I don't need saving. I can take care of myself.”

“I can see that. At everyone's cost.”

It's like there's pain in his eyes, but you can't analyze it. Grimacing as he returns to his task, he hits the lock so hard it breaks. The understatement of opening the top is more like slamming it against the wall. You've either angered him or offended him, or both. He's a drama queen who doesn't take defeat well. You glance over his shoulder at the exposed bracket and sigh in relief. In the trunk are clothes, a flashlight, and, thankfully, a first aid kit.

The tension is suffocating, the silence could be cut. You have to speak.

“David's hurt. I'll take the med kit.” You're trying to sound less hostile, more objective. He might not give it to you because you've stabbed him in the soul. You would expect that from him. He nods unconvincingly, so you reach for the box's ear in a hurry before he changes his mind. He's picking out the flashlight.

You barely grip the med kit, crows flutter above, the sound of running filters down. Leon was too loud. There's no time to think of escape, no time to make plans. The man jumps up, pulls you into the nearest closet. In his fury, he is fortunately careful not to slam the door, but to close it gently. You let the box down beside you.

And you languish in the cramped space in the dark, with danger lurking. You don't feel like kicking him or arguing or mouthing off. You're scared. You hate the hooks down below. You've been down them once or twice. You don't like it, you don't want to go back.

A shaky, deep groaning whimper rises up from inside you. Leon puts his palm over your mouth. You press yourself against the wall, trying to relax, to slow your breathing.

The Artist arrives. She walks around the room, squawking.

You close your eyes. You imagine you're somewhere else.

A door slams creakily open. You tense up, Leon's thighs tighten. You feel him take your hand, his fingers close around yours. He's shaking, but he's holding on better than you are. You don't pull your hand away, you let him hold it.

The killer walks a little more. Then she pauses, ponders her next move, and finally leaves.

The sound of your breathing will be the only source of sound besides the creaking of the hut. Leon takes his palm away from your face, deliberately, as if he's not sure it's time. You sigh, throwing your head against the side of the closet.

“I'm still of the opinion that we'd be better off if you helped with the generators.”

“You're making things bigger.” His words are stiff and reserved. There's no trace of the intimate hand holding you just had. If you had any tenderness towards him, he's lost it, as well as his sweaty hands.

“Isn't it big enough that we almost died because of your carelessness?”

“And you ignore your own mistakes.” You can't see his eyes, but yours are aflame. You don't understand this guy. You've got more important things to do than to let him piss you off. “I saved your life.”

“You were the one who put me in danger, asshole.” That would be your last word, you'd end the duel of stifled whispers, leave your hiding place, but Leon pushes your shoulders against the wall, his legs pressed against yours, hips clashing. Only now do you realize how close you really are, how little closet space there is. The atmosphere is still thick, yet somehow this is different. He's not finished, and your stomach clenches at the unpleasant ideas of what else he's going to throw at you.

“I need great fucking restraint and patience when I'm with you. But it's no use. You are incapable of cooperating with me,” he mumbles.

“Your enormous patience is like an ant's dick. I say two words to you and you're ready to attack.”

“Just like you,” he sighs. Clearly, he's had enough of you. The feeling is mutual, so you don't understand at all why he hasn't let you go yet. By the time he says what he wants, David is bleeding to death.

“I never claimed to have patience with you.”

“Will you please shut up and listen to me for once?" he growls belligerently, his fingers digging into your skin.

“I’m not your subordinate. I’m under no obligation to listen to you,” you mutter, and you have no thought of showing any less resistance in his direction. You wouldn’t be you if you listened to him.

“How can someone be this annoying?”

“Here, you don't even have to ask.” You shrug, but you can feel how much he's squeezing. “On the other hand, you could really get off of me. I'm busy. Maybe another time I'll tell you about the world of non-egocentric, non-narcissistic people, so you at least get the theory," you sputter with derision, your heart about to plunge into your esophagus and choke you.

“What can I do to shut you up?” He thinks out loud.

“I'm just saying, if you shut my mouth again, I'll bite you.”

“Fuck.” Leon groans deeply, disgruntled, worried and angry. His palm hits the space next to your head, his lips crashing against yours.

Willingly and wearily he kisses you, really wanting you to be quiet. You moan in surprise at how well he kisses you, instead of punching him in the face.

Your mind is still churning out pithy retorts, but your body is acting as if it has been ready for this. You grab the back of the man's head, holding him close. You press your legs to his hips, your soles against the bottom of the other wall. Maybe you'll manage to pry the closet open the way this make-out session does your lungs.

You grip his hair, trying to push him away a little to catch your breath, to think clearly, but Leon sweetly whimpers and kisses you more passionately. You melt into his arm, his pleasant earthy scent mingling with sweat. You no longer want to think clearly.

His tongue dances around yours, caressing you, and you enjoy it more than when he uses it to mess with you. You press so hard against each other that you know why his pants are so relentlessly tight. He bites your bottom lip gently, making you go limp. And you promised that if he shut your mouth, you'd bite him, not the other way around.

Your lust-fuelled, angry and excruciatingly sensual games end when you accidentally kick the first aid box. You cringe, the moment is gone, and you have no idea what happened. You stare ahead languidly, your lips tingling, feeling a bit dizzy.

Leon strokes your cheek. The rough material of the gauze bandage sneaks over your skin. He presses your forehead together, panting softly.

“Listen to me, please," he whispers, hopeful and soft.

He speaks to you so softly that every part of you feels hot again. You nod, because after all this you need an explanation to go on with your life from the point you fell into this closet with the man. It's a stupid idea, but you trust that he has a reason for your reaction. For example, he wears a perfume so seductive that even the people who dislike him the most can't resist kissing him.

“I experienced hell a few months ago,” he starts.

“Did you meet me?”

“Hush.” He puts his finger on your lips, and it's so intimate you don't feel like biting. You want to lick it instead. You have no idea what's going on with you. It's Leon, and you hate him. You hate him. “Killers are smart. I have a great friend, Jill. Nemesis built his plan on our friendship. We almost got caught because we were both protecting each other at all costs. When I met the rest of the survivors, I couldn't let you get in trouble. I pushed you away right at the beginning, just in case something happened.”

You remember the first moments. Actually, you started to hate Leon because he had a cocky, arrogant and uncaring attitude towards everyone you cared about. You never thought that was a strategy, not the ultimate in rudeness.

“Then why did you kiss me?”

Your question makes what just happened very real. Because he did kiss you and you enjoyed it.

“Because I couldn't take it anymore. You know, it's hard to insult you when all I can think about is wanting to kiss you.”

Now you understand what Feng was talking about. Leon's longing gaze must have told her a lot about his true intentions. You're not sure about the mutuality, though. You've never said anything about Leon other than you hate him... But if you think about it, your body language may have conveyed something suspicious that you didn't realize. After all, you just threw yourself at him the first chance you got when his lips touched yours... How long have you had this desire lurking inside you if it's been triggered like this?

You don’t answer. You're confused, and while he caresses your cheek so tenderly, you're unable to say anything, or even just to open your mouth.

“I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable,” he apologizes, and fails to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“I think it's much easier to hate you than to love you," you sigh, throwing your head against the locker. That's all you can suddenly say.

“Is it also better?”

“Excuse me, but you hate me in my defense.”

“That doesn't answer the question.”

"I have no idea," you shrug. “I've never tried to love you. I haven't dared.”

“And would you try?" These are hopefully light words, almost falling out of the man's mouth.

“When we’re alone like this? Keeping it a secret from everyone? Maybe.”

Okay, it's not maybe, but you need to be firm and reserved a little longer. He needs to believe that a mind-blowing kiss and a heartwarming confession like that didn't sweep you off your feet. After all, half an hour ago you were wishing for his hanging.

He's smiling. That's for sure. You're glad you can't see it, so he won't notice your face is red. At most, he can feel it. This time his mouth is roaming your face instead of his finger. You shudder when he touches your cheekbone because the love in his movements is sincere and caring. If only he had treated you like this from the beginning! He would have spared you some very high blood pressure numbers.

“We can't do that here…”

“No one can see us here. And I have to prove to you that it’s worth being with me.” He's mumbling onto the skin of your throat. You moan, when he kisses your neck eagerly. He grabs your hips. You pull him tightly to you by the small of his back, so eager to let him prove the truth of his words with lots and lots of kisses and touches.

But then you remember David’s wound, the box, Feng. You're on a mission now, and you can't be seduced, you can't collapse into Leon's muscular arms to be undressed and ignited into true love in this closet. You'd gladly give yourself to him, but not now, when your friends are counting on you. Plus, there's a killer on the loose.

“David” your gasp makes the name sound a little longing, so Leon stiffens, trails off slightly. You rest your palm on his chest, feel how it rises, how it sinks. “Bleeding. Med kit.” You try to let him know in small words that you're not fantasizing about another guy when he's kissing you with his soul, ready to give you all he has. You're trying to clear your head, because it's foggy and stunned. No one has ever fallen like that for you in a closet.

To be clear, once Hillbilly dragged you out, but he's not known to be a kisser.

“Okay," Leon nods, presses a final kiss to your lips, then pauses, his hand hesitantly on the doorknob, "but what about us?”

“I’ll think about it. "Your answer is fifty percent, but the cheerful kiss you quickly plant on his lips increases his chances by twenty percent.

He opens the door. There’s no proper lighting, just a few candles, but that also disturbs your eyes after the total darkness. You grab the first aid, and squint as you stumble out of the closet that’s guarding the memory of your kiss.

You dodge the hooks, climb the creaking stairs, and a set bird trap awaits you. If you step inside, the crows will attack, and are so loud that the Artist will find you immediately. You pass it cautiously.

You are soon back. Feng and David are almost where you left them, continuing the generator, only David is holding his side. It is a desperate action to repair the generator, it has to be done at all costs.

Your moves are not too blunt, Feng snaps her head up. They both look towards you, and suddenly you can't think of anything forceful to say to Leon, or grumble about his presence. Instead, you close your eyes, kneel beside them and open the box.

Feng and you work quietly to tend to David's wound.

You want to be remorseful, shameful, do everything you can to help him, but it's hard to concentrate on that when Leon is lurking not far away, and you're still spinning about how he kissed you. which you loved, and you were really selfish.

“I'm off to another generator," he announces, as if reading your jumbled thoughts.

“No need to announce it. No one here needs your company,” you throw the judgment at him mockingly.

Feng's eyebrows furrow, she snaps at you in a whisper. She didn't expect you to go at Leon again. Well, sorry, now you have to, just to keep up the pretense.

"I just want to clear the record," you shrug.

You lock eyes with Leon. A mischievous glance flickers in both of your eyes, because this is far from what it used to be. They don't know, but you do. It's exciting and new, but you can't wait to be alone with him again, locked in your honest feelings.

Your notes, comments and Leon thoughts are warmly welcomed! 💓

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