dabiscarpet

[dabiscarpet]

I HAD A NEW THOUGHT TO TELL YOU!!!!!!

How do you think the Leon Eras would react if you locked him in during sex? Like legs wrapped around not letting him go till he fills you to the brim!!!

Hii Dani this is delicious and I've been thinking about it all day omgggg, you knew what to hit me with...

Warnings: SMUT, MNDI, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Premature Ejaculation,

Discord server

RE2: Cums instantly, like you pull him in closer with a whine. That it he's whimpering and whining as his cock twitches wildly inside you. There is a sense of panic at first but then he gets hard almost immediately feeling it seep out around him. Plus it gives him a chance for you to forgive him for cumming so quick

RE4R: He's the one that put your legs there. He moved them one at a time ensuring you get the picture and squeezes your thighs to ensure the hold is tight. Pants and groans in your ear and how well you are taking him and how good it feels. His grip on your thighs leaves tender spots where his fingers were, and he loves it if you squeeze them around him

Infinite Darkness: Takes it as a challenge to get himself as close to you as possible. He's like driving into you so deep that you swear he will abuse your cervix like no tomorrow, he does not give a shit. Prefer it if you tighten the grip, he might slowly squirm away just for you to trap him tighter again.

Damnation: You make him stumble and lose his rhythm, the sudden change in position doesn't help with the alcohol he drowned his sorrows with. However just because you made him lose his footing he'll use the closeness to his advantage and come back at a punishing rate. I'm talking your pelvis is hurting and your hips click when you release him...

RE6: Reaches around and actually holds the lock you have on him. Pushes his entire body weight on you trapping you into the mating press to ensure that you are completely filled to his own satisfaction

Vendetta: Freezes for a second, it's all suddenly to intimate and he feels slightly trapped. The consequences of a creampie are some he's not entirely sure he wants to face them. It's not until you arch yourself against him using the position as levage that he gets into it. The deeper connection suddenly becomes more fun and he's not longer thinking about the what ifs

Death Island: He's giving you the biggest fucking grin you have ever seen. Actually takes it as a challenge to abuse your cervix even more than he is. Giving your cunt no other option but to take his load.

[dabiscarpet]

Big strong men who fuck you like you weigh nothing. Who pull you back so easily during doggy that you can't find purchase. Who lift you so easily in cowgirl and bounce you on their cocks like a fleshlight. Just big strong guys who act like you weigh as much as a bag of feathers 😵‍💫

[dabiscarpet]

THINKING ABOUT BEST FRIEND!LEON.

best friend!leon who’s been your best friend for as long as you could remember. he’s been at every birthday party and almost every family cookout.

best friend!leon who your mom secretly hopes you end up marrying.

best friend!leon who’s always been a bit of a goody two shoes. perfectly grades, clean record. every time you’d tease him about him about it he’d crossed his arms and frown.

best friend!leon who your grandma and aunties are very much fond of.

best friend!leon who always shares his things with you—his airpods, fries, hoodies—you name it.

best friend!leon who your father approves of.

best friend!leon who has a dislike for trouble and shenanigans, always seems to be pulled into your little mischievous ‘adventures’.

best friend!leon who seems to be…caught up in one of those ‘adventures’ as of right now.

“if you’re gonna move, move.” his voice is slightly muffled because his hands are on his face, hiding the fact that his eyes are damn near rolling into the back of his skull.

“what was that? i can’t hear you, lee.”

you hum happily as you lean forward and move them away from his face, revealing those gorgeous baby blues of his. his lips are slightly red and puffy from the intense makeout session you both had earlier prior to…this.

you look at him, flashing the sweetest most innocent smile as if you aren’t straddling his lap, all of his inches currently buried deep in you—taking a mental note of how flustered he is, purposely avoiding eye contact, skin semi clammy, chest heaving up and down…the poor boy is a wreck.

and you’re enjoying every second of it.

“i said,” he speaks slowly, voice a little raspy. “if you’re gonna move, move. you’re killing me here, sweetheart.”

sweetheart. he’s been calling you that for the longest of time-but every time he does, butterflies attack your stomach. it just…does something to you.

his eyes are back on you now, practically begging and pleading you to do something-anything.

you tilt your head and give him a fake confused look causing him to let out an annoyed scoff.

“seriously, just move already! what’s the whole point in even doing this, this is literally a torture tactic-why are you even doing this to me? it’s not fair and y—ahhhh—fuck!”

“you talk too much.” you roll your eyes as roll your hips, yours rocking into his as you perform a slow and steady circular motion and rhythm. your gaze falls upon leon, who’s eyes are squeezed shut as he hungrily grips the fat of your hips as you move. you place a teasing kiss on his cheek, getting a whiff of his cologne as you do; something icy and cool, mixed with the scent of his laundry detergent. a crisp clean smell that silently drove you crazy.

“keep going, please d-don’t stop! so good, sweetheart. sooo good.” whiny babbles and fucked out praises leave his wet lips as you continue to move against him but you can’t help but to suddenly get a little…sadistic idea.

your hips come to sudden halt earning an agitated groan from the boy in front of you. his eyes fly open, dark brows knitting together in annoyance. “you stopped. again. why?”

“seems like you were having a little too much fun,” you offer a simple shrug. “wanted to tease you a little more before i get you there.”

leon’s jaw clenches and you laugh—but it’s cut short when you suddenly feel his warm strong hand grab ahold of your waist and starts bouncing you up and down him.

“ah—leon!”

“you teased me enough,” he grunts keeping his eyes on you as you hold on to his shoulders, squeals and whines escaping your lips. “now it’s my fucking turn, sweetheart.”

[dabiscarpet]

save a horse, ride a cowboy!

[dabiscarpet]

𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 ☆ 𝐑𝐄𝟒!𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧

Summary: You had one job and three rules. And you broke every single one.

Word count: 2.18k

Genre: Smut. Mafia Au.

Pairing: MobBoss!Leon x PrivateDriver!Reader

Warnings: Swearing. Gun violence. Some angst. Mention of death. Leon’s a bit bloody. Blood (obviously). Unprotected sex. Car sex. Squirting. Light-hearted banter. Hinting of sex work and abuse (doesn't go into detail). Speeding. Car chase. Fingering. Fucking while driving (don't do this). Pet names

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"So you like to drive cars? Or just for me?" His voice was deep, smooth like vintage whiskey. You could see his eyes stare you down through the rear view mirror.

"Mr. Kennedy, I can reassure you that you are one of my favourite people to drive for. But try not to boost your own ego. I do drive for others and ride other things other than your car." You didn't even smile, knowing exactly how to play this cat and mouse game that all Mob bosses do. But Leon was different in a way. You felt a thrill bloom in your tummy whenever his eyes were on you.

"Ride other things? Like what?" He sipped his liquor, legs spreading wider, with one hand resting dangerously close to his crotch.

"Mr Kennedy. Don't flatter yourself." You smirked.

"Oh no, i want to hear it, darling. What else would you find enjoyable to ride?" He shot the last of his drink, his hand evidently palming his clothed hard-on.

"I think you already know the answer sir."

"Hmm," was all he responded with.

-

That night you’d fuck yourself on your dildo with the idea of Leon palming himself while you drove. The way his soft pants and whimpers were stuck in your brain, playing on repeat as he continued to pleasure himself while you drove him home. You couldn’t have dropped him off sooner, cause you swore he was going to cum in his pants if he kept going.

‘Until next time, bunny.’

His voice was so smooth. Deep. You know you were playing a dangerous game by becoming involved with a client much less a feared mob boss that would kill someone that looked at him the wrong way. But the way he looked at you through the mirror every time you drove him. He was always so happy to see you, chatting about anything to keep his mind off his work. You were an escape for him. Something that was a reminder he was supposed to be this angry man twenty-four-seven. No, he could, laugh, tease, flirt, with you and you’d either shut him down or egg him on. Both of which rial him up even more.

The idea of touching you, having you. Even if it was for one night, it was becoming increasingly more tempting. But alas, he knew you. You are professional, and you wouldn’t disobey your company’s rules.

Do not sleep with the clients.

But something deep in your soul was screaming at you that all of your morality was about to go out the window. You were sent to pick up a client on a south port right after they had finished some trade. Well, that was the plan, at least, but here you were sitting an hour later after the supposed pick-up. This is getting ridiculous. You thought, shifting in your seat, trying to keep your muscles awake. What is taking him so long?

You knew of the client. Some lowlife trying to make it big in the mafia world. How he managed to hire you was a mystery. Maybe a debt is being paid? Or some sweet talking. But then again, from what you heard, he had neither up his sleeve. You closed your eyes for a moment, just a moment, trying to rest the tired feeling you were experiencing behind your temple. Everything was quiet, peaceful almost… Well, that was until you heard a gunshot, then two more following it.

You sat up and looked around frantically, spotting a few men rushing out of the large barn that sat by the waterfront. They were chasing a man, a scruffy blonde, looking like..—it’s Leon… it’s Leon S. fucking Kennedy.

The side door opened to a bloody-looking man with a feverious smile. His adrenaline was pumping to the point that you could see the veins in his neck bulging. His gun was still tight in his grip, wiping his brow with the back of the same hand. “I need you to get us out of here, princess.”

“I..B-but. Wait. My client…” You were so confused, not even registering you started the car. The men that had been chasing Leon were hot on your tail, so you began to floor it through the back roads of the port.

“Uh, yeah, well. He’s dead. He didn’t like the deal I offered and the bitch thought he could beat it out of me. ME! The king of fucking Raccoon City. Fucking arrogant pig.” San rambled but you barely heard what he had to say about the client. No, all you could think about was getting the fuck out of dogged and away from any of the crooks Leon managed to piss off. But then again pissing people off seemed like Leon’s specialty.

“Where do I even go from here those bastards are probably tracking my fucking car.” You’ve never spoken so out of line before in front of a client but here you were. Leon just raked his fingers through his dirty hair, licking his busted lip.

“Why would they be tracking us.” Leon started searching through the glove departments for any signs of a tracker, but you just huffed, clutching the wheel tighter before almost screaming at him.

“They would be tracking us ‘cause they are the ones that own this fucking car and I was supposed to drive their fucking boss to a fucking safe house you idiot.” You didn’t mean to blow up but the tension became so thick in the vehicle you felt like you had no choice. Leon sat still for a moment, never hearing someone call him out of his stupidity before other than his right hand, Ada. The silence was making your skin crawl, making you suddenly aware you just yelled at a mob boss. A mob boss that was definitely packing some kind of weapon…The fucking king of Raccoon City as he put it. You suddenly felt a hand touch your thigh making your whole body jump and the car almost swerved off the road.

“Well go on. Get us out of here, darling.” His voice was smooth and collected. It made your head spin. “B-but the track—If we get far enough, the tracker won’t reach, and then we can dump the car and run." Leon chuckled, turning back to stare at the road. You, on the other hand, were struggling to keep focus on the tar in front of you. He hasn't moved his fucking hand…

You started to speed up, swerving through the small amounts of traffic. You kept eyeing the rear-view mirror checking your back, and you noticed several cars tailing you.

Bastards.

You took a sharp left, causing Leon to shift in his seat and his hand that was perched on your thigh to slide up higher. You visibly shivered, making Leon aware of where his hand went. He just smirked, "Such a good girl. Getting me out of here. Remind me, why you don't drive for me permanently again?"

"Cause you flirt too much and I'm…" you felt his finger brush against your inner thigh… "I-I'm in a contract with the company I work for."

"Hmmm, well, you know I'm pretty good at making contracts disappear." He dared to reach further, and you were delusional enough to open your legs a little for him.

"H-he'd kill me. I can't leave." There was so much more in your contract that Leon didn't know of, but he could think of a few things the scum bag made you do. You have a passion for driving and driving fast. And he used that to get you to do other shit for him. Bastard.

"You won't have to ever do anything for him ever again. Come home with me. I'll look after you. Let you ride any of my cars… and anything else you might want…" he leaned towards your tense frame, seeing your knuckles turn white from how hard you held the wheel. "I'd give you the moon if you asked, darling. Anything you want you’ll get, my best girl."

Best girl…. oh, now your head is definitely spinning. Your foot hit the gas harder, reaching a long stretch of dirt road. Sitting at 90, you jumped to 120. "L-Leon…"

He popped the button of your dress pants, slipping his fingers delectably down until they grazed your bare core.

125km/h

"You like to be called my Best girl, huh? Just need some praise, princess?" His breath tickled as he licked a strip along your neck up to your ear, biting your ear lobe. All the while, his hand dipped further, running his long finger along your slit. "Fuck your soaked baby. Wet for me baby?" He chuckled, deeply.

You bit your lip, trying so hard not to close your eyes. "Leon p-please." You didn't know why you said that, but it was all you could think of. He pushed the pad of his finger against your clit, rubbing in slow little circles.

130km/h

"God you know how much I've thought about this pussy. How much I've dreamt about fucking her, tasting her. I bet you taste like fucking honey darling." His finger slid into your aching hole, making you gasp.

135km/h

Your watery eyes looked through the rear-view mirror, seeing no one behind you anymore, just a thick dust cloud created in your wake. You felt his finger slip in and out of you, making you open your legs wider for him. He chuckled, kissing your neck more until.

You slammed on the brakes, drifting the car through the dirt until it spun around and stopped in a sharp huff. Everything happened so quickly, but it was like you and Leon were in sync. Undoing your belts, he pulled his chair's brake, pulling the seat backwards so he had more leg room and was angled so you could climb on top of him.

Your lips captured his in a hot and messy kiss while his hand worked his belt and pants, slipping them down just enough so his naked ass could rest on the leather and his cock slapped against his clothed abdomen. You pulled your pants off while still in your seat. Ditching your slip-on sneakers before climbing onto his lap.

He gripped your blouse, ripping it off so the button flew everywhere. Neither of you cared though. Not as his lips latched on the top of your breasts, tugging your bra down so your tits could spill over the top. "Fuck,"

He groans as he catches a glimpse of your body. You are perfect, better than he imagined. "This was not how I wanted to ravish you."

"Yes, it was, don't fucking lie." You cut him off with another kiss. In truth, you were right. He had many dreams of fucking you senselessly in one or all of his vehicles. Maybe even on his bike, too.

"It's the thought that counts." He laughed against your lips.

"Shut up." You pulled your panties aside, sinking your fingers inside yourself. Leon watched in awe as you stretched yourself out on top of his twitching cock. And as if you could get more perfect, you moaned his name while doing it.

"Fuck your gorgeous." He slammed his head back against the chair and groaned as he bucked his hips up to try and get some kind of friction. But what he didn't expect was to feel your hand wrap tightly around his aching shaft. "Jesus fuck.."

It was your turn to giggle now, shifting your weight you lined your soaking entrance to his red angry cock tip, letting him breach your walls with a pop. You slowly sank down on his inch by inch. His hands flew for your hips, helping you bottom him out. "L-Leeonnnn y-you're huge. Fuck."

"Don't say shit like that. I-Fuck.. I won't last." His eyes hazily gazed to where you were connected feeling you pull up, then slam back down onto his cock. You circled your hips, drawing loud moans from both of you. Your hands fly to his shoulders, bringing his body closer to yours. Chest to chest. Leon nuzzled his face into your neck, taking a large inhale through his nose. He could smell your sweet perfume mixing with the lewd scent of sex.

"So perfect." He mumbled, bracing his feet to the floor before jackhammering into your soaked cunt. Your screams were muffled against his neck as his pace became ruthless and harsh. Your hips moved out of sync with his thrusts, perfectly letting you grind your clit against his pelvis, sending electricity up your spine.

"Leon, I'm gonna cum. Please let me cum." You whimpered, biting down on his shoulder fearing to draw blood.

"Yes, cum baby. I want to feel you cum around my cock. Be a good girl." He groaned, holding you tighter, feeling his own high creeping closer. Your tummy tugged tight and snapped. Your hips stilling, taking Leon’s abusive thrusts as you squirted all over his lap.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck." Leon slammed deep inside you, splurting his seed inside you, painting your walls with his cream. He kisses your shoulder, legs slightly shaking as he empties his load. You just laid there, taking every drop. Your pussy clenched around him, hissing at the sensitivity. Your fingers were laced in his hair, and his making shapes on your sweat-still clothed back.

"I broke the rules…" You whispered. Leon felt a little guilty that he made you break the rules of your company. He tainted you, and he was sorry for it. You'd never get another job as a driver if people found out you slept with a client. "You made me go over 140. You're lucky there weren't cops out here."

Oh, you weren’t complaining about sleeping with him.

"That's what you're worried about." San had to laugh, hugging your figure tighter as he chuckled against your neck.

"Yes, I could have crashed and fucked the car."

"Yeah, instead, you just fucked me." You sat up and slapped his chest for that comment.

-

© DrDawnBreaker. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

[dabiscarpet]

Fields of trouble

City girl x Country farm boy leon

Desc: Spoiled city girl gets sent to her grandparents farm for the summer because her parents think she’s gotten too spoiled. While there she meets leon, the hot farm worker. Basically he gets fed up of her attitude and punishes her, then they low-key fall in love.

WC: 5k

Mentions of: Spanking, light bondage, edging, NSWF, leon is just mean, brat taming, overstimulation, degradation if you squint, oral (fem receiving) ,(princess, honey, brat, baby, doll).

If there was one thing you knew, it was that you did not belong on a farm.

The moment you stepped off the bus into the dry, sunbaked driveway of your grandparents' property, you could already feel your phone signal dropping. Your Louis Vuitton duffle bag thudded into the dirt, instantly scuffed. A chicken ran across the path, squawking at nothing in particular.

Your parents had sent you here as punishment.

One too many late nights, too many bad grades, and too many social media scandals. "You need grounding," your mom had said. "Real life. A place with no filters and no WiFi." Your grandparents greeted you warmly, but all you could think about was the sticky heat and the endless silence. Then came the next blow.

"We've got a helper around here - works full-time on the farm," your grandpa said. "You'll be seeing plenty of him."

As if on cue, you saw a boy walk by. Dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders, but your eyes were immediately drawn to his muscles. And damn was he hot. He barely spared you a glance when he walked past with a bucket of feed and muttered, "Try not to get in the way, city girl."

But before you could utter a word, he was already gone, leaving only the smell of hay and the sting of being underestimated.

The first few days were torture. Leon was everywhere - tossing bales of hay like it was nothing, fixing fences, riding the tractor - and each time he saw you, it was another jab.

"You're gonna break a nail, princess."

"You sure that's how you hold a shovel?"

“You're wearing perfume around the goats? Seriously?”

You hated him. And worse, you hated that he was kind of...ridiculous. Like, ridiculously attractive. Underneath the attitude and sweat, there was something sharp in his eyes. Smart. Sad, maybe.

Something you couldn't figure out.

Over the next few days, you started to learn more about him. He was mean. He gave you the worst chores: cleaning stalls, shoveling up dirt, and throwing bales of hay that were way too heavy for you. And he just would not back down, the more you pushed him and gave him attitude, the worse things got. You swore he took pleasure in watching you suffer. Milking a cow? Disaster. Feeding the chickens? They chased you. Cleaning stalls? Nearly passed out. 

“You gonna cry every time you break a nail?” He asked you, tossing you a pair of work gloves as you two picked tomatoes.

Frustrated with him and this whole situation, you threw the gloves back at him. “You know what? Maybe I will!” 

“Good. Maybe that’ll water the crops.” Is all he said, then returning to throw fresh tomatoes into a basket. 

You groaned loudly, stomping your foot on the ground and just storming away. You didn't get peace for very long because before you knew it, there was a strong hand wrapped around your arm, dragging you back. You didn't even have to look to know who it was. 

“You’ve got two choices,” He started, practically pushing you back to the small field of vegetables. “Finish picking the veggies, or go hungry.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms, waiting for him to smile or say anything else. He didn't. “You're serious.”

“Dead.”

One particular morning, the croak of the rooster woke you up, despite not wanting to get up, you knew you had to. Getting ready went by in a blur, and before you knew it, you were out in the blazing sun, watching Leon pick weeds and listen to him bark orders.

"You're here to work," he stated bluntly, his voice gravelly and authoritative. "Not to play at being some city girl trying to keep her hands clean. So get up and help."

"Fine then, I'll keep the animals entertained." You huffed, walking yourself over to the cute baby lambs. Cooing at them and petting their soft fur. The animals here made being forced to stay on this farm slightly bearable.

Leon watched you walk away, his expression remaining stern as ever. But he couldn't deny a slight hint of annoyance as you moved towards the sheep. "Alright, cut that out. You can play with the lambs later. Come back here and help me with these weeds."

"Yeah, why don't you make me." You mumbled under your breath, running your fingers through their fur. You were not meant for this work! And picking weeds, like that, would get your hands all dirty, and you would probably break some nails!

Leon heard your remark, and it clearly didn't sit well with him. He set down the shovel and slowly stalked towards you, his footsteps measured and deliberate. "You really want to test me?" he said, his voice lower now. "Because I assure you, I have no problem in making you do something you don't want to. I don't abide by brattism."

Scrunching your face up, you threw your arms to your sides. He was undeniably attractive but also a little scary. I bet he didn't even know you had almost half a million social media followers. Still, you didn't even want to be here. Yes, having a super hot guy around was nice, but he was super annoying and mean. “I'm not touching that.”

Leon's patience was starting to wear thin. He had been dealing with your attitude all day, and he wasn’t going to let more of it slide. His eyes locked on yours, intense and unyielding. “I’ll say this once more,” he said, his voice like gravel. “Cut the attitude, quit messing with the lambs, and come help me with the weeds. Now.”

Crossing your arms, you had finally had it. “No! You can not tell me what to do, and I'm done listening to you!” You shouted at him because who was he to tell you what to do? Did he even know who you were? Oh, you would show him.

But before you could get another word in or come up with any kind of plan, he had his hand wrapped around your arm, dragging you forward. Leon's patience had run out. “You don’t get to refuse,” he said, his tone low and dangerously quiet. “I'm the one giving these orders, and if you don't follow them, I’ll make sure you do.” Without waiting for a response, his hand shot out and smacked your ass.

You squeaked and gasped after feeling his hand on your ass. Your cheeks burned a dark red, and you quickly turned back around. You have never been spanked before, and were a little flustered. “Y-you did not just do that! That’s assault, I'm calling my lawyer!”

Leon let out a short scoff, the corners of his lips quirking upwards into a smirk. “Oh really?” he said, his voice holding a hint of amusement. “You think your city lawyer can do anything out here in the countryside? You’re on my turf now, honey.”

He stepped even closer, towering over you. His hands now rested on his hips, and his expression held a hint of challenge. “And out here, things work a little differently. We don’t call it assault. We call it discipline.”

“T-that’s not..” You fumbled over your words, your arms hanging loosely by your sides. “You can’t do that.”

Leon chuckled, clearly enjoying this turn of events. “Can’t I?” he said, his mocking expression growing. “Watch me.”

With a swift motion, he grabbed your arm once more and yanked it up behind your back. This unexpected action pulled your body right against him, pressing you into his solid frame. He leaned down, his mouth hovering close to your ear. “I think you need to learn a little lesson about respect,” he murmured. “And I’m more than happy to teach it to you.”

You inhaled sharply and furrowed your brows. Beyond embarrassed at this point, your parents never disciplined you. More or less spanked you. “You..don’t know who I am..”

Leon chuckled again, clearly enjoying your struggle. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, princess,” he replied, the word 'princess' rolling off his tongue with clear sarcasm. “You’re some city girl who thinks she knows better. Well, let me tell you, you have a lot to learn about life out here in the country.”

He released your arm, but quickly slid his hand down to your ass, giving it another firm smack. “And I think you’ve had about enough sass for one day. Time for a change of attitude.” He murmured, pushing you down until your chest was pressed against some stacked hay bales. Ass in the air, he gripped the waistband of your pants. “Let’s see how long that attitude lasts after this.”

You let out a small scream, panic started settling in when you realized your position right now. “No! Wait, you can’t do that you-!” You started to say, squirming because how dare he!? Were you a little turned on from this…yes, but that's not the point!

“I can, and I will,” Leon responded, his voice firm as yanked your pants down with no regard for your say in the matter. He pushed his hand against your lower back, keeping your squirming minimal. His palm connected with your ass with a sharp smack, the sting immediately registering.

“This is your first real lesson. Learn and adjust your attitude, or this is going to continue happening. Am I clear?” Without pausing, he landed two more hard slaps in quick succession, each one making contact with the same spot on your left cheek. “You’re here to work and learn, not sass. Got it?”

You whimpered and squirmed, not liking the stinging sensation with every hit delivered. Slowly nodding, too embarrassed to do anything else.

He just smirked when he saw you acting all submissive and embarrassed, leaning closer, he delivered another few smacks to each cheek. “Not so mouthy now, are you? Maybe that's where you've been going wrong, you just needed someone to tell you who's in charge. Someone to put you in your place when you think you're in charge.” 

His voice was deep and firm, with a hint of mockery in it if you listened closely. With each hit made, you wince and squirm, each mocking word he said made your face turn redder, and all you could do was just take it. He was just so masculine, so naturally dominant and authoritative. You have never had anyone take charge of you like this before, mainly because that's just not how things worked back in the city. 

He rubbed his hand over your reddening skin before delivering another smack. “Oh, you like this, huh? You like how I handle you, the way I dont put up with your bullshit, bet you never had a city boy do this.” 

You did like it. Of course, you would never admit it, but the way he just manhandled you around made your heart flutter. A small part of you liked how he wasn't scared of you, how he didn't put up with your attitude, or how rough he was. Everyone usually just put up with your bratty attitude and sassy remarks, but he didn't. You liked that. 

Yeah, he knew you liked this, he could tell from the moment he met you that you liked him. The way your cheeks flushed, and you refused to make eye contact with him. He noticed the subtle way your thighs would rub together when watching him throw bales of hay. If he looked closely, he could see the way your nipples hardened underneath your little tank top when he ordered you to do something. You were such a virgin. So much sass and attitude just to cover up the fact you're an inexperienced brat. He couldn't wait to get rid of that attitude and make you completely submissive to him. 

He smacked your ass a few more times before rubbing the tender skin again and speaking to you sternly. “I know you're used to getting what you want in the city, but that's not how things work here. So you can start by apologizing.”

“Sorry..” You mumbled, it was a weak apology with no real meaning behind it. The only things you could feel was the stinging pain from your ass and the humiliation bubbling up.

Cute. He liked how your voice wavered, and a small smirk played on his lips. But that answer wasn't satisfactory, so he delivered another hard swat to your tender skin. “Try again. Apologize again, and this time, mean it.” He snarled, his voice low. 

“M’sorry!” You repeated in a much whinier tone, tears threatening to form in your eyes because he just kept going. It hurt badly, his hands were so big and rough, showing no mercy to your soft skin.  

He didn't say anything for a few moments but seemed to accept your answer, pulling you up by the back of your shirt and holding you by your waist. His grip tightened, and he abruptly jerked you forward, earning a small gasp from you, which was quickly silenced when his lips crashed against yours. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes squeezed together. To be honest, you weren't the best kisser. But it wasn't your fault…believe it or not, you had little to no romantic relationship experience. 

You were a shitty kisser. Clearly, no one had taught you how to kiss, and he was more than willing to fix that. He pulled away from you and gripped the back of your head, staring down at you for a moment before pulling away. "Go grab another shovel from the shed." He snapped, his voice returning to his usual cold tone. "Then get to work, you've got weeds that need clearing."

"Huh.." Was all you could get out, your head spinning and brain still a little fuzzy from everything that just happened. 

"Move it, city brat. Those weeds aint gonna clear themselves." He paused, his boots crunching over the gravel as he made his way to the door. "And fix those shorts before I have to fix 'em for you."

You couldn't get a word in before the barn door slammed shut, standing in complete silence for a few seconds before slowly tugging your shorts back up. Was he really just going to leave you here? After everything that just happened and made you work? Apparently, he was because he didn't say anything but kept walking away. 

After a few moments, you emerged from the shed, dragging a shovel behind you slowly. It was much hotter out here than it was inside the barn, and it just made you more upset and confused about this whole situation. And boy, was the pain starting to settle in. But - god, the view of Leon throwing fresh bales of hay across the field made it all worth it. The way his sleeves strained against his muscles as he threw hay like it was nothing. He briefly glanced over at you, his shirt damp with sweat, stretched across his broad shoulders. He paused for a moment to watch your less-than-graceful way of using the shovel, but said nothing and continued to throw hay bales. 

It was hot, and you'd been at it forever, so you decided to take a little break. Finding a nice shaded area underneath a tree to lounge at and play on your phone. Not that there was much to do on it since there was like no reception, but it was better than just sitting and doing nothing. It was a little uncomfortable to sit though, so you kept shifting, trying to find a position that minimized the pain you felt. 

Unfortunately, it didn't take long before he happened to notice you. And Leon Kennedy hated a quitter. 

Stomping towards you, jaw clenched as his eyes narrowed. “Up.” He said, kicking your ankle with his boot. “You think you get to relax? That lazy attitude of yours is exactly why you're here.” 

“I'm taking a break.” Is all you said, moving slightly from the kick he delivered and bringing your knees to your chest. 

Brat. He leaned down, crouching onto your level and snatching your phone from your hands. “Your break is over, up now.” 

When you felt your phone being ripped from your hands, you immediately shot up, glaring at him and standing up. He stood right up with you, tucking your phone in his back pocket and staring down at you expectantly. He was tired of your attitude, the disrespect, and sass, and was going to put an end to this. 

You pretty much did as you were told for the rest of the day. Not wanting to risk getting spanked again. There was a small hint of satisfaction watching you finally comply. He didn't say anything, but was just making sure you were following directions. You weren't that bad when you were quiet. The next few days, he would find any reason to touch you. A brush against you, a gentle hand on your shoulder, a nudge, or even a small touch to your waist. You were an attractive girl, he wouldn't deny that. You just had a terrible attitude problem. He could fix that.

One particular night, all the chores around the farm were finished, and he leisurely walked over to you. Taking a seat beside you, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into him. “What’re you doing up so late?” 

When you felt his warm arm wrapped around you, you leaned into him. Sighing softly and looking up at the sun beginning to set. “Watching the sun..” You mumbled, looking up at him. He was being uncharacteristically…nice? Usually, he would just push you away or demand you to do more work, but it was kind of nice. Cuddling with him, being wrapped up in his strong, warm arms. 

“You did a lot better today.” He said quietly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Still got a mouth on you though.”

“Everyone has a mouth.” You responded in a slightly cheeky tone, tilting your head up to take a few glances at him. 

He whipped his head down at you, raising an eyebrow at your sassy tone. A scoff escaped his lips as he leaned slightly closer to you. “That's exactly the attitude I'm talking about, you can't go ten minutes without acting up, can you?”

“I'm not acting up, I'm just sitting here.” You said in a huff, though you weren't actually annoyed at him.

“Yeah sure, just sitting there with that attitude of yours.” He muttered, rolling his eyes and staring at you. “Let me tell you something, attitude gets you in trouble. You'd better keep that smart tongue to yourself if you know what's good for you. Got it?” 

“Yeah, whatever..” You mumbled that last part, hoping he wouldn't hear it. Of course, he did, though, because he suddenly grabbed your wrist tightly, pulling you against him. 

“What did I just say?” He said, his voice low and sharp, his eyes locking on yours. He pulled you up to your feet, then pulled you into him again. He was tired of your bratty attitude. “I don't like that tone.” 

There was nothing you could do to stop him from manhandling you to your feet, but feeling his warm, muscular chest against your back was a nice feeling. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to stop you from stomping your foot on his, which you immediately regretted when you felt him tighten his grip and heard his grunt in pain. 

“So you wanna play like that, huh? Alright, I can get rough, too.” He basically growled in your ear, dragging you to the barn with no regard for your protests or half-hearted apologies. It didn't even hurt that bad, but it all came down to the principle of things; he didn't want you thinking it was okay to just stomp on or hit people whenever you didn't get your way. When he finally got to the barn, he wasted no time shoving you against the wall and pinning your arms to your chest with one hand. 

All you could feel was his hand roaming your body, his heavy breathing as he squeezed your wrists together. “We're gonna put an end to that little attitude right now.” He muttered, his free hand groping your breast through your shirt. Pinching your nipple hard enough to make you whimper. 

“Stop it..” You muttered weakly, but you didn't actually want him to stop. The way he was touching you and looking at you just made the heat inside of you grow. It was turning you on, big time. 

His lips just curled into a slow, sensual smile, nuzzling his face against her neck and pressing light kisses to her skin as his hand continued to move down her body. “Stop? Stop what, this?” He asked, a sarcastic tone creeping up in his voice. Pulling away briefly just to slowly undo his belt, taking the leather and wrapping it around your wrists. He grabbed your bound wrists and hooked them to a saddle mount that was above your head. 

Now that your arms were successfully restrained, he placed more open-mouth kisses on your neck. He held your waist in one hand, the other was slowly sliding down your shorts. Not bothering to take them off all the way, he yanked your shorts down to your ankles. Took a moment to admire the view of your soaked through panties and your embarrassed like state before tugging your panties down too. 

He ran his finger through your folds and chuckled. “All this for me?” He asked lowly, bringing his finger up to rub your clit in small soft circles. 

You let out a small whimper and a tiny little moan when he started rubbing you, shifting in place, and closing your eyes because it felt so good, but it was so embarrassing. You were so caught up in your feelings about this, you hadn't even realized he had sunk to his knees until you felt his tongue against your thighs.

He held your waist, tilting his head up and pushing his tongue against your folds. He suddenly moved his tongue up to your clit and flicked it, moving his tounge back and forth. This caused a very loud, very unexpected moan to rip through your body. Arching your back up and tugging on your arms, desperately trying to free them, but it was no use. He smirked against you, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucked hard, moving one hand to your thigh and gripping it tightly. 

Your body jerked forward when he started sucking, letting out a few high pitched whines and moans. It was honestly a little embarrassing how close you already were, opening your eyes slightly to see his blonde hair, which you wished you could grab. Continuing to pant and shift your hips against his face, you started to moan about how close you were, which was a mistake. 

As soon as he heard you were going to cum, he pulled away. Looking up at your confused and frustrated expression, and stood back up. “You didn't really think you were going to get what you wanted after the way you've been acting, did you?” He asked mockingly and actually started to laugh at you.

You fell back against the wall, your face burning red in a mix of how humiliating this is and how good it felt. “Please..” You mumbled, looking up at him with a pleadeful expression hoping he would take pity on you and just let you cum. But this was just the beginning. 

Honestly, you had lost count of how many times he brought you to the edge, then just stopped. But you were defiently feeling sorry now, feeling his fingers play with your sensitive clit just made you moan louder, you felt so weak, and it didnt help he was mocking you the whole time. 

“You're so sensitive, do you get like this for all the city boys back home?” 

“You wont cum till I say so, and right now your not even close.”

“You're not used to not getting what you want, are you? Well, that's too bad.” 

Your mind was all foggy, and your whole body felt hot and tingly. You were so close again, but you knew what was going to happen, so it was hard to stay hopeful. “I'm not begging.” You managed to speak between whimpers and choked out moans. But you had standards, even though he had reduced you to a whiny mess, you refused to beg. 

“Oh, you will.” He retorted, pressing his thumb harder against your clit and moving it in faster tight circles. His touch became more direct, his finger moving more intensely. He was trying to break you. His smile only widened at the sound of your moans, making him even more determined. He was starting to put the puzzle pieces together, though, the way you were acting and responding to him. 

“Are you a virgin?”

When you heard him ask that, you froze. Yeah, you were, but how did he know? Naturally, you didn't say anything, but squeezed your thighs together because you were close. A small part of you was hoping he couldn't tell, and maybe you could sneak an orgasm past him. But all your hope was crushed when you felt his fingers leave you again. Stomping your foot on the floor, you let out a frustrated groan and slowly lifted your head to meet his gaze. Damn did he look hot right now. You really didn't want to beg him…but what other choice did you have? 

So you let out the smallest, “Please..” and you should have known that would never be acceptable because he delivered a sharp smack to your ass drawing a whimper from your lips. You weren't entirely sure how to react; no one's ever done this to you before. No one cared to correct your behaviour or teach you manners, so this was all new. 

“Please, Leon.” You continued to mumble, your legs trembling slightly and your arms starting to ache from being held above your head for so long. It was your fault, though; you could have ended this a long time ago if you would just swallow your pride and beg. It was harder than it sounded.  

He grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at him, his tone demanding and harsh as he asked. “Please, what?’ 

“You know what!” You exclaimed, squirming again and only being able to look at him for a few seconds before having to look away. 

He chuckled at your whine, his grip firm and inescapable. “Oh, I know what. But I want to hear you say it. I want you to beg. You’re not getting anything unless you beg for it.”  

His hand moved between your thighs again and began stroking you softly, teasingly. “Come on, baby. Just say the words. You’ll feel much better after.”

You let out another whine when he started to play with your sensitive bundle of nerves again. Arching your back up from the wall for the millionth time, determined to get what you want this time. “I wanna..just…”

He chuckled at the sound of your struggling little gasps, the way you squirmed against him. “You want what?” he teased. “Use your words, honey.”

“Wanna cum.” You finally admitted, your voice was low and quiet because you didn’t want to be admitting this. But there was no other way, he wasn’t going to give in to puppy dog eyes or pouty lips. 

He let out a low, gruff noise at your admission, giving your clit a pinch. “There it is,” he murmured, his tone rougher, more dangerous. “You’re a good girl when you do what you’re told.”  

He leaned down, his mouth close to your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “And now you’re going to say it again, and keep saying it until I’m satisfied.”

“What!?” You exclaimed, yelping at the sudden pinch, unable to tell if it felt good or not. “But that’s not fair, you didn’t-“ You tried to say, but cut yourself off with a small moan.

“Fairs got nothing to do with it, you asked for this. You asked to be punished.” His finger moved a little faster, then pulled away again. Causing you to let out another frustrated groan and squirm helplessly. Leaving you unsatisfied and wanting. You started to rub your thighs a little, since you couldn't use your hands. 

“Ah ah.” He warned, grabbing your thighs and ripping them apart. “Stop that.” He brought his fingers back down and started to rub at your poor clit again. He was driving you insane. 

Swallowing your pride, you closed your eyes as another small cry of pleasure left your lips. “Please! Please just let me cum!” You finally cried, beyond frustrated and humiliated at this point, but you couldn't take being denied anymore. 

He let out a deep, satisfied groan when you spoke and started to move his fingers faster. “There you go, that's what I want to hear, good girl.”

“Please please please please…” You continued to mumble under your breath, feeling the tension in your body, and you knew you were close. You just didn't want him to stop again. Arching your back off the wall, not even caring about your ego anymore, and letting out a few small, whiny moans. 

He could practically see all the signs of your impending orgasm. Flushed cheeks, your little breathy pants, small moans, and he wanted to hold you there for a moment. “You're so close, keep going.”

Your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, a wave of relief and pleasure washed over your body at once, and you could feel all the tension leave your body. Letting out small whimpers as your thighs trembled. He kept rubbing you through your orgasm, and he didn’t plan on stopping at one. 

Your breath was coming out in short gasps, watching him lick his fingers clean you expected him to free you. He didn't; instead, he moved his head back between your thighs and started to lap at your folds. Not giving you a scond to recover as his tongue moved across your overstimulated pussy, cleaning up all your cum.

Your eyes rolled back, and your mouth hung open in pleasure. You were so sensitive, and he was still going! But you didn't have much energy left to beg him to stop, so all you could do was lean against the wall for support as your legs trembled. 

He closed his eyes and wrapped his lips around your clit again and started to gently suck while his tongue flicked back and forth. Moving his ring and index finger down and pushing them inside your cunt. This drew a mewl from your lips and left you to rock your hips against his face. 

“Leon…” You spoke, voice weak as another few moans left your lips. 

He continued to pump his fingers in and out of you as he briefly pulled away to talk. “I'm not done with you yet, not even close. Your going to cum for me again, over and over until your whole body is shaking. And then,” He spoke, curling his fingers to hit that spot inside you that makes your whole body tingle. “You're gonna beg me to stop, I'm gonna break you, doll.” 

Fuck he did break you. By the time he was done you were in tears, you couldnt even count the number of times he forced your body to cum, pushing you to your limits until you literally could not take anymore. You don't really remember much of what happened after that, just remember waking up inside. Opening your eyes slowly, you turned your head to the side and saw a pair of strong arms wrapped around you. 

Oh, he must have carried you inside. You must have passed out then, you couldn't help but cringe and die a little inside when you remembered everything that just happened. Well, you certainly wouldn't be giving him anymore attitude, that's for sure. But for now, you were just enjoying the calm, cuddled up in his arms. Maybe farm life wasn't so bad after all. 

(SO SORRY FOR THR ABRUPT ENDIND BUT I DIDNT REALLY KNOW HOW TO END IT. I’ve also been debating making a part two where they actually like do it but idk guys is that to much. 😭)

[dabiscarpet]

— all the right reasons || l.s.k

pairing: older!rockstar!leon x popstar!fem!reader

tags: music au, set in 2011, leon is a rockstar (obviously), and reader is a popstar (think like, sabrina carpenter type). rivals to lovers, lots and lots of shitty banter, feelings are CAUGHT!, really bad music related puns, MDNI 18+, unprotected p in v, reader rides that dick into next weeeek, vaginal fingering, lots and lots of dirty talk too. sappy ending <3

summary: You're a sugarplum tabloid darling who's making headlines across the globe, he's a tried and true rockstar who's a household name. Leon S. Kennedy was just another thorn in your side. Until he wasn't. He’s older, meaner, and too good with his hands. You’re supposed to hate him. So why do you feel like you’re falling in love?

word count: 8.4k

a/n: omg... so like... hi again... it's been a while!! i dragged myself out of the depressive pit that is trying to date real men and reminded myself of what REALLY matters (writing fanfiction of men who don't exist) so that's how i'm back here, lmao.

also, BIGGEST thank you's to my gorgeous girls vivi and lea for offering to beta read and leaving the silliest, funniest comments and feedback

anyway enjoy asshole-older-rockstar leon, he's stolen my heart and i want to [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]... i've been shot 47 times

playlist⭑masterlist⭑AO3

You never liked Leon Kennedy.

He’s always been bark and bite, broody and callous. All whiskey breath and tired denim and the kind of stubble that looked more like laziness than effort. Too jaded. Too old. His time has come and gone, and still, somehow, he was headlining festivals, charting on billboards, signing tits.

You’d met him twice before you ever really spoke. Once at an awards afterparty, where he didn’t even look at you when you said hi—just brushed past with a half-hearted “sorry, sweetheart,” before disappearing into a crowd of laughing industry men. The second time, backstage at some benefit concert. He’d been in the wings, watched you be hurried past in a blur of glitter and gold, murmured something you can only imagine was unsavoury under his breath.

So yeah. You weren’t exactly dying to be his friend.

Which is why it’s so fucking inconvenient that your first real single is now under the same label as his—why you pass each other in the hallway at Capitol every other week, the scent of his cologne arriving before he does, heavy and heady and masculine.

But you’re not stupid either. You knew who he was long before you ever stood in the same room as him. You knew the album that broke him, the single that went triple platinum, the first stadium he sold out. You knew the way critics talked about his guitar playing like it was something they’d never seen before. You might’ve even had a crumpled tour shirt buried somewhere in your closet from high school, but that was a long time ago. That was before you learned what it meant when people said never meet your heroes.

But still there were moments, little things that made you reconsider. Once, at the label offices, he held the elevator door open for you even though you were halfway across the hallway. He didn’t look at you when you stepped in. Just said, “You gonna hit the button or stand there all night?” but his voice had been warmer than you expected.

And maybe it’s all in your head. Maybe he’s not thinking about you at all. Maybe he’s just that kind of man—coated in disinterest, carved out of concrete. Still, there’s something behind the way he looks at you that you still haven’t quite figured out.

It’s midnight when Leon finds the fork in the road that decides his fate.

It’s the voice of an angel that seals it.

He’s not even supposed to be standing in the liminal space outside your door and wondering if he should go in. He’s not even meant to be thinking about you at all.

He was thinking about the rain. About how he’d failed to remember an umbrella, about how his car smells like mildew and the CD player is still shot. About how he hasn’t written a decent song in six months. His manager had so kindly told him to go home, sleep it off, stop showing up to the label’s building like a ghost to its haunt.

And fuck if he’s already had his fill with the shitty elevator. Leon’s busy jamming the buttons to the ground floor, stuck on the second, when he hears it.

A pretty litany of sun-soaked lyrics that spills into the hallway and the elevator the same way the light from the half-opened door does.

That’s how he finds himself here: standing outside your studio door, staring at the plaque with your name engraved in gold like it’s daring him to knock.

He doesn’t. Just opens it.

“Didn’t know they let you keep the studio past your bedtime.”

It’s a joke. Kinda. He winces halfway through delivery, like he hears it too late. Nose scrunching like he didn’t mean it, and truthfully he doesn’t think he did. God, Kennedy, didn’t anyone teach you to think before you speak?

You flinch—just a little—eyes snapping open as you pull off the headphones. The track dies in your ears, and the silence feels abrupt, almost rude, like it’s been interrupted mid-confession.

You glance over your shoulder. Leon stands in the threshold looking exactly like he always does—leather jacket, dark jeans, stubble that's a little more dirty than charmingly rugged. He could be anywhere else. He should be anywhere else. And yet.

Your brow lifts, unimpressed. “Didn’t know they let you out of the retirement home either. Should I call someone?”

Leon scoffs. “I’m not geriatric.”

“Sure.” And you turn back to the soundboard like he doesn’t exist.

He stands there, lips pursed like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“So… what was that?” he asks.

You sigh like it costs you. Slip the headphones off and let them settle around your neck. “A song. You’re familiar, yes?”

Leon rolls his eyes. “Plenty. You’ve got a smart mouth, kid.”

You grin, all teeth. “Thanks.”

He lets that hang in the silence for a beat, then has the bright idea to push off the doorway. He wanders in and makes himself at home in your space. His boot grazes a stack of scribbled sheet music, and he nudges it aside with his toe like he’s being polite. Then he drops onto your couch without asking—moves a cushion, spreads his knees, settles like it’s shared property.

You shoot him a look. “Comfortable?”

Leon shrugs. “Your feng shui needs work.”

“What do you want?” You finally ask, defeated.

He nods toward the board. “Play it.”

You blink. “What?”

“The song. Play it.”

“You’re really bad at this, y’know.”

“At what?”

“Basic human interaction. Hospitality. Small talk.”

He blinks, caught off-guard like he’s never been told that a day in his life.

“Sorry,” you say sweetly. “Too honest?”

“Play the damn song.”

You raise a brow. “Magic word?”

Leon just stares.

You sigh, press spacebar. The track tumbles out of the speakers, raw and half-finished. It holds for a moment, teeters, then collapses—unfinished and unsatisfying. You pull your headphones off with a huff. Leon thinks it's cute.

The weight of his gaze burns a hole into your back, makes heat crawl up your spine. You glance at him when it gets too much. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he hums.

“Felt like you wanted to.”

He laughs a little then, like the meekness to your voice is amusing. “I was just gonna say it’s close.” He murmurs, “But it’s stuck.”

You exhale through your nose, lean back in your chair, swivel from left to right. “No shit.”

You don’t see him move as much as you hear him, the creak of the aged leather couch, before there’s the familiar dull ring of your guitar.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He asks as he slips into the second chair next to yours, you try to ignore the way your skin prickles when his knee knocks yours.

“Mi casa, su casa,” you sigh defeatedly, his lips quirk and you find yourself smiling against your will.

Leon decides your song just needs some weight to it. Typical of him. All his music has weight. A smoky, heady bass, a sexy guitar, heavy drums, but what he plays for you is none of that.

Yes, it holds weight, but a different one to what you pinned him for. It carries something gentler, softer chords that fill your lungs with exactly the type of yearning you were aiming for. 

You pause. “That’s…”

“Exactly what you wanted?”

You nudge his knee with your own, hit record on the soundboard, “do it again.”

And so it begins. 

You find that Leon isn’t so bad when he’s writing music with you. In fact, within the four soundproof walls of your studio, he’s almost nice. He listens when you tell him to change a chord. He lets you needle him, prod at his composure like you’re tuning a guitar string too tight just to hear it snap.

Most nights you’re in the studio until the twilight hours before sunrise. You stay until your voice is worn ragged, fingers blistered from overuse. Until your limbs give out and you’ve passed out in the swivel chair, curled up like a cat in the glow of LED strips and mixing boards. You always wake to something left behind—a lukewarm cup of coffee, a half-drunk energy drink, sometimes the old throw blanket draped over your shoulders. It’s a rhythm now, syncopated and strange, yet something you’ve grown fond of.

It’s only inevitable, the way you grow closer with time. 

“Don’t lie sweetheart,” he murmurs one night in the hush of your studio, “I think I’m growing on you.”

“Like black mold.” you shoot back, but the grin tugging at your lips betrays you.

And it’s just all too easy to think about him when he's not there.

You remember watching his set from the wings at that summer festival—the first time you’d shared a stage. The downpour had been terrible and insistent his entire performance, rain slicking his thread-bare shirt to his skin, turning his hair dark and wild. He’d looked like straight up sex appeal, sweat and storm and strobe lights, and you’d had to physically stop yourself from reaching for him when he walked offstage.

He’d smelt like a thunderstorm, heady as he’d squeezed your shoulders like he was grateful, damp and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. “How’d I do?”

“Not bad, rockstar,” you’d said, but your voice had come out all soft.

Now he lives in your notebooks.

That’s the real inevitability of it, you think. Unreleased verses tucked between grocery lists and studio appointments. Lyrics written in the haze of 2 a.m., voice notes left half-sung on your phone, songs you’ll never show him during your secret writing sessions.

They’re not the kind of songs you should be writing.

They’re laced with want—velvet and teeth, obsessive and desperate. They don’t sound like you, not the way your label wants you to. They’re darker, sultrier, leave you flushed when you play them back. 

It’s not like you mean to write them about him. They just come out that way. Something about the way his voice sounds when he's two glasses of whiskey in and recounting a silent film he’d watched three fortnights ago. They’re all pent up tension—the way he pretty much knows his way around your apartment now, well enough to find where you keep the good wine anyway, the way his fingers move over the fretboard of his Paul Reed Smith with a guitar pick between his teeth, the phantom weight of his palm on your lower back when he passes by you.

You bottle every look, every breathy half-laugh, every fleeting moment where you wonder what his hands would feel like if they dipped lower.

Your songs are about him, yes, and they’re for him, in all the infuriating ways you wish they weren’t.

So naturally, the smartest thing to do is keep them buried—demo files hidden in unlabeled folders, notebooks tucked behind equipment cases. Off-limits. Confidential. A bomb waiting to go off. 

At least, until tonight.

You’re curled up on the studio couch, Leon’s out at some fancy party tonight, said he couldn't write. There’s a half-empty bottle of wine and the glow of your laptop screen to keep you company, but it’s not enough not the same without him.

There’s a particular song that haunts you. It’s a confession wrapped in delicate ribbons of sultry melodies. Your voice a touch away from a moan, lyrics that dance around his name.

You shouldn’t have written it. 

Definitely shouldn’t have recorded it either.

And now you find yourself hovering over the file like it’s taunting you.

Maybe you can blame it on the buzz in your veins, or the way you’d caught his eye earlier that morning in the breakroom. He’d looked at you over the rim of his mug, winked at you like he could read you. You curse yourself under your breath at the memory. He totally knows he’s getting to you. You’d dropped the I-hate-you act three moves back.

So you drag-and-drop the demo. Chew your lip. Hit send.

Check and mate.

But by the time you’ve sobered up enough to panic, it’s already much too late.

Seven minutes. He texts back, and it sounds nearly like a threat.

Bad, bad, bad idea. No, actually, bad doesn’t even begin to encapsulate how horrific of an idea that was. A category-five hurricane of a mistake. 

What were you thinking? 

Well, clearly you weren’t.

You clamber to your feet, pace barefoot on the studio carpet, wearing a frantic path into the fibres. Back and forth, back and forth. Damage control is like a roulette wheel spinning in your mind, you could delete the message, a phone malfunction, yes, totally. Your label leaked it by accident, or it’s just one big elaborate joke.

Or, or— and this is the best one yet, you could change your name, dye your hair, move to another country where six-time award winning rockstars with stupid voices and stupid fingers on guitars don’t exist.

You’re halfway through plotting your escape through the window when the door clicks open exactly seven minutes later.

You startle like a deer in headlights, eyes wide when they snap up to the man of the hour—to Leon— and your stomach drops clean through the floor.

“You drive fast,” is what you manage. Leon clicks the door shut behind him.

His hair’s an artful mess, like he’s either run his hand through it a million times on the drive here, or just rolled out of bed. You like the former option so you pretend it’s that. His shoulders look tense, jaw tight, and his eyes—dark, sharp, dragging over you like he’s trying to see right through you.

His eyes flick to the littered coffee table, your notebook, the bottle of wine that looks at least a quarter drained.

Something strange flickers in his gaze, and for a minute you paint him as disappointed. 

Oh. You realise, with startling clarity, that he thinks you’re wasted.

It’s like a light at the end of the tunnel, a saving grace. It’d be an easy way out, wouldn’t it? Oops, Leon, sorry, wasn’t in my right mind, don’t even remember sending it, haha, how embarrassing!

But you’re not, at least not anymore, you’re standing in front of him with unfortunate sobriety. 

“Are you drunk?” He asks, voice low and rough around the edges.

Your mouth falls open, as if you’ve been scandalised. “Uh, rude?” You gesture wildly to the wine, then yourself. “I had two drinks, max. I am perfectly—” you take a dramatic step forward, stop, then another, arms out like you're proving a sobriety test, “—-fine.”

Leon doesn’t budge, stands there with his brows cinched like he’s in deep thought. It gives you space to take the upper hand back, if it was ever yours in the first place. “You, on the other hand,” you point an accusatory finger across the room, “are looking at me like I crashed your car or something.”

You might as well have with the way you have his heart hammering up his throat. He hates it, how you make him lose his carefully crafted cool. Being this nonchalant doesn’t come easy.

His tongue swipes over his teeth. And fuck him, because that shouldn’t be so distracting.

“Fine,” he starts, slow, “you wanna play dumb?’

“M’not dumb, it’s called being coy,” you hum, all too self satisfied.

Leon lets out a short breath of laughter, sharp, shakes his head and turns away like he needs to physically remove himself from you before he does something stupid.

And you should leave it there, because his buttons are officially pushed, yet you don’t feel familiar satisfaction curl around your chest like it should. “If this is about the song—”

His head tips, just slightly. “If?”

You swallow. “I mean—”

He scoffs. Sharp. Disbelieving. Runs a thumb over his lips. “If this is about the song,” he repeats, like he can’t believe you even tried that.

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again. "I—"

“Don’t,” he mutters. “Drop it.”

Your jaw shuts, and it takes less than a second for Leon to close the distance between you, effectively stealing all the air from your lungs. You resist the urge to back away, to give him that satisfaction, even when your body screams at you to. Not out of fear, but because he’s looking at you like he can finally see right through you.

"You sent it to me first," he says, quiet, but sure. His eyes flick down, over your lips, your throat, back up.

Your stomach turns, and you force yourself to bite back your words, despite how hard they are to swallow.

“And I wanted to believe you were drunk when you sent it,” he says, voice rougher now than before, “would’ve been easier that way.”

You shift your weight, but don’t bow your head. “Easier?”

Your gaze flickers to where his jaw flexes. "Would’ve been a mistake, then. Would’ve meant I could just forget about it."

Forget about it. That shouldn’t sting.

You shrug, aiming for nonchalance, but your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to. "So forget about it."

His voice, that stupid calibre of his, drops to something even lower, something  barely above a whisper. 

"You really want me to?"

Your breath stutters. He takes your loss of words as an answer.

His fingers brush against your wrist, deft hands circle around the bone, his thumb brushing up against your pulse. Your skin burns where his finger’s graze. His other hand skims up your other arm, brushes against your jaw, and it’s so soft, tentative in a way that makes you shudder, an oxymoron to the storm brewing in his eyes. 

“Tell me,” he murmurs, “if I kiss you right now, are you gonna pretend you don’t want it?”

The question hangs in the space between, thick like tar.

It’s only when his thumb brushes against your cheek, that you feel your restraint, thin as hair, give. Slowly—so slowly—you tilt your chin up, just a fraction, just enough to close the distance so that your lips ghost over his, an echo of a kiss, but not quite one. Your move, rockstar.

It’s a thread-thin dangerous thing that sets his jaw tight, he inhales sharply, and you swear you see him tremble. 

You laugh softly at that, sweet as ever.

Leon caves.

His hand shifts, curls around the nape of your neck, pulls you flush and slots his lips against yours. 

The press of his mouth is warm, wanting, firm and demanding. 

But then you smile against his lips—satisfied, smug, victorious—and he groans something devastated.

It’s a low, deep, wrecked sort of sound, something that comes right from his chest, heavy with everything unsaid. His other hand finds your waist, squeezes tight, feels your skin give under his hold, like you’re finally his to keep and he can’t quite get enough. 

“Minx,” he mutters, breathless frustration bleeding into his words.

You revel in it, your skin erupting in goosebumps.

His hand tightens around the back of your neck, tilting your head just so—like he’s determined to kiss that satisfaction right off your lips.

Spoiler: he won’t.

Because you kiss him back just as fiercely, just as insistently, pressing up on your toes like you need to get closer, like you could crawl inside his skin if he let you. 

Your hands curl around his shoulders, move up to the junction where they meet the column of his throat, tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug and he lets out something that sounds dangerously close to a moan.

And you wonder if he hates this, how easily he unravels for you, how easily you undo him. It’s like you’ve been sent right from heaven to torture him.

His hands find the curve of your waist, skate down the warmth of your skin, the swell of your hips, the back of your thighs, until he’s pressing in, guiding you backward—steady, steady—until the backs of your knees hit the couch. 

Your balance wavers.

“Careful,” he murmurs, half-amused like this is funny to him.

He doesn’t give you the grace of finding your footing, pressing forward until you’ve sunk into the cushions.

Leon stands there for a second, looking down at you, eyes heavy-lidded, dark with something that makes heat coil in your stomach. He drags a hand over his mouth, like he’s trying to wipe away whatever impulse is written across his face. Like it might be something reckless, ruining. 

Then, he exhales. Sharp and quiet, he sinks to his knees in the space between your legs, a sight so devastating you forget to breathe. 

Broad hands wrap around the plush of your thighs, fingers pressing half-moon divots into your skin. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, half to himself, half to you, something dangerously close to adoration lacing his words. His thumb brushes absently along the sensitive skin just above your knee, gaze tracking the way your breath shudders. Ruining, indeed.

And then—oh, then— his palm slips to hook underneath your knee, pulls your leg over his shoulder. You suck in a sharp breath, unable to tear your gaze away from his; bright blue eyes that sparkle something wondrous in the low light. 

You try to handle yourself, lest he watch you fall apart from a simple look. “If you think I’m just gonna melt the second you put your hands on me, you’re—” Your breath unfortunately hitches the second his grip tightens around your thigh, makes your pulse jump.

He raises a brow, infuriatingly smug, like he’s daring you to finish that sentence.

You clear your throat. “—you’re sorely mistaken.”

Leon huffs out a laugh, low and knowing. “Sorely?”

You fruitlessly dig your heel into his back, a half-attempt at a kick, a half-attempt at saving some of your dignity. “Yes, sorely.”

His hands slide up in a wordless answer—dragging his nails back down your thigh, nosing at the soft fat, pressing his mouth against the skin. The brush of his lips alone unravels you enough that you can’t muster an appropriate response, shivering, sighing instead.

“Someone’s quiet,” he muses lazily, drags his teeth just barely along your skin before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Where’d all that attitude go?”

You scowl before you can stop yourself. “It’s recalculating.”

A shit-eating smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, “Yeah?” He does it again, open-mouthed this time, sucks supple flesh between his lips, bites, pulls away. “Let me know when it’s back."

Your chest feels like it’s on fire, so instead, your hands find the broad line of his shoulders, curl into the fabric of his shirt, and pull him up by the collar. He follows without much give, your thigh falls off his shoulder when he climbs up to press you into the plush cushion, cages you in. And fuck—you don’t think you should be this turned on by his weight atop you, by the heat of him, by that look in his eyes.

You can hear the way your heart pounds, blood rushing in your ears. Can feel it in your fingertips when you drag them down his chest, his stomach, until they catch the hem of his shirt. You push it up enough to reveal the hard muscle of his abdomen. He shudders atop you.

Leon’s lips are back on yours before you can even think to be smug about it, before the teasing grin can curl at the corner of your lips. It’s hotter now, deeper, tongue sliding against yours like he’s trying to drown you. And in the heat of it, his knee presses between your thighs. You’re not sure if he does it on purpose, if it’s a brilliant accident, but either way it makes you keen, a gasp of pleasant surprise tumbling from your lips.

He groans into your mouth, one hand tightening on your hip. “You sound better than I imagined,” he breathes heavily, and heat floods your face.

You swallow hard. Shut up, shut up, shut up. 

Your heart jumps at the thought of him having imagined this. Having imagined how you sounded, how he would’ve imagined you falling apart. It does horrible things to your head and even worse things to the slick heat between your thighs.

You should have a response by now, something sharp and devastatingly witty, but all you can really focus on is the way he looks at you. Like he’d let you ruin him and call it a privilege. And then he moves, pressing closer, knee pressing up between your thighs more purposefully than before, and whatever witty remark you had queued up promptly exits the premises.

The sound that leaves your mouth is embarrassing. Mortifying, even.

“Oh,” Leon murmurs, voice all smoke and velvet, “there it is.”

You absolutely despise how much you like that, refuse to let him have it. Can’t. Won’t. His ego is slowly swelling to the size of a stadium, and the last thing you need is for him to think he has you all figured out.

So, you do what any self-respecting, prideful person in your position would do: you take the liberty to push at his shoulders, and when he leans back, you seize the opportunity. Grip the front of his shirt, and push him down against the couch. He lets you, laughing under his breath, hands settling easy against your thighs as you straddle his lap.

“Don’t look so smug,” you warn, fingers sliding down, slow and deliberate. His stomach tenses beneath your touch.

“I’m not smug,” he argues, but he’s smiling something devilish—lazy, lopsided, thoroughly enjoying himself. His hands flex against your legs, and you let yourself believe he needs it to ground himself. “Just waiting to see what you’ve got planned.”

Your pulse thrums in your throat, but you play nonchalance better than he gives you credit for. “You got a request?”

“Don’t think I need one,” he says, watching as your hands dip lower, brushing over his belt buckle. “You wrote a song about it, m’sure you have ideas.”

If looks could kill he would be dead, because you’re glaring at him like he’s said something horrific. He is right, but you don’t let him have the satisfaction of hearing you admit it.

Instead, you hook your fingers under the leather, tug just enough to make him suck in a harsh breath. His eyes darken, and it’s thrilling—watching him unravel, shift beneath you.

“Aw, is that all it took?” You coo, pleased beyond words, leaning in close to brush your lips against his jaw. “Usually so put together, doesn’t take much to get you like this, does it?”

Leon huffs a laugh, but goes willingly, tilts his head to let you mouth down his throat. “You wanna talk about falling apart? What was that sound you made just a minute ago?”

You bite down, enough to make him hiss. “Stop talking.”

You can picture the smile that tugs at his thin lips, feel the way his warm, broad palms skim up, under your shirt, pressing into your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine, slipping under the band of bra.

His belt slips free with a quiet clink, and you savour the way his muscles jump under your hands as you undo the button of his jeans, the steady sound of his shallow breathing when your fingers brush against the sharp line of his hip bone. 

He tries not to push, but you can just about feel the restraining in him, the way his fingers twitch where they rest against your thighs, jaw clenched, muscles tight like a wire pulled taut.

You drag your nails lightly over the plane of his stomach, card your fingers through the thin trail of hair that leads down from his navel, just to see what he does when you do.

Leon sucks in a sharp breath, his head tipping back against the couch, and the sound he makes—low and barely restrained—sends a rush of heat straight through you.

“You’re trying to kill me.” He swears, voice beyond wrecked, and for a second you think he might start begging for mercy. 

“No,” you hum, tilting your head, hands running up his chest, under his shirt. “Just having fun.”

Leon laughs—all breathless, shaky around the edges. But there’s something desperate in the way he exhales, in the way his hips shift up just barely like he’s fighting every instinct to meet you halfway.

There must be a devil on your shoulder, he thinks, because you make it worse.

Your hips roll down, testing, barely any pressure, but enough he feels it. His breath punches out of him like you’ve knocked the wind from his lungs. His fingers dig into your thighs, desperation in his grip.

His head falls forward, eyes flicking up to meet yours, and fuck, you really weren’t prepared for how he looks at you—half-lidded, dark with something simmering just beneath the surface.

“You enjoying yourself?” he asks, voice low and rough, like it pains him to think too hard.

A grin stretches across your lips, heart thrumming with satisfaction, you’ve won, you think, made him fall to pieces without even touching him properly. 

But then he exhales sharply through his nose, takes your hand.

He presses it to his chest, right over his heart—fast, heavy, pounding. 

“You feel that?” His voice is low, his other hand, still on your back, coaxes you closer. Close enough your lips brush. “You did that.”

You let out a shaky breath, Leon curses because he thinks he finally has you breaking.

You didn’t expect him to do that, to let his walls come down and show you just how much you affect him. Didn’t think he’d pull the rug from under your feet and admit defeat in one fell swoop. He looks at you like he actually wants you, not just the game of it, not just for the win.

He wants you. 

…You want him.

Leon watches your face like he’s waiting for you to stop him, but when you don’t, when your lips part like you’re about to ask for something, maybe even beg—he decides.

He leans up, closes the short space between you, and kisses you deep and slow. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. He doesn’t rush, nor does he fumble. Just touches you like he means it. Like he really has thought about this more than he’s willing to admit.

His fingers push at the hem of your shirt, sliding up your ribs, pulls the fabric off like it’s nothing. And when your body trembles against his, he swears to himself he’d do just about anything for you.

He lets you tug his jeans lower, helps you. His hands are steady, careful when he presses against the fabric of your underwear.

Leon watches your face, watches the way your lips fall open, breath uneven, the way your fingers tighten in his shirt, and then—

Then you make a sound so sweet, so utterly wrecked that his resolve snaps like a thread pulled too tight.

“Christ,” he mutters, like it physically pains him, and then he’s kissing you twice as hard as before, deep and wanting, swallowing every breath, every soft noise, every shaky exhale.

His fingers press firmer, so, so eager, willing to coax any sound out of you that you’ll let him. Your hands curl at his shoulders, hips bucking deftly against his palm.

“Leon, Leon, Leon,” you murmur, breathless and shaking, spilling his name into his own mouth.

He stills just barely, and fuck, it wrecks him—he doesn’t know if it’s the way you say it, like he’s something sacred, or the fact that you’re coming undone just for him.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling away even if it kills him, pressing warm lips against your jaw. “Gotta use your words.”

You blink up at him, dazed. “Don’t baby me.”

His mouth twitches. “You don’t want me to baby you?”

You want to tell him everything. That you want him to touch you like this, and talk to you like that, but also see you, really see you. Want him to want all of it—not just your body, not just the thrill of it, but the gentler parts too. The parts of you that ache when he leaves the room. The parts that want to believe someone like him could care that deeply.

“I want—” you start, then stop, teeth sinking into your lip.

He softens. Just a bit. Just enough. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Tell me how you want it.”

Your throat works around the words. You reach down, let your fingers trace along the waistband of his boxers, and look him dead in the eyes.

“Wanna ride you.” You whisper, voice is thin with adrenaline and want.

Leon groans like it’s been punched out of him. “Fuck. Jesus. Shit.”

You grin, all teeth, trying to ease the gravity in your chest. “Oh, c’mon, rockstar. I’m sure that’s not the first time you’ve had a girl say that before.”

He huffs out something like a laugh. “S’different,” he says quietly.

You’re too scared to ask how.

So instead, you kiss him like it’ll shut out the question. Like you can pour your want into his mouth and he’ll take it, keep it, like your secret's tucked somewhere between your teeth and if he’s patient enough, if he presses hard enough, he’ll find it there.

Leon groans into it, hands dragging along the curve of your waist, your hips. His palms are firm there, like he’s claiming something, like he’s grounding you both.

“You ride me,” he murmurs against your lips, “and I swear I’m not gonna last long.”

“Aw,” you tease, all syrup and heat, brushing your nose against his, “poor baby.”

He bites your bottom lip in retaliation, gentle but pointed, and you gasp.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” you whisper, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt before finally, finally, dragging it up, over his head, revealing sweat-warmed skin that you wish you could lick clean with your tongue.

Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be much more time to waste. Leon’s handsiness, you’ve discovered, is both a curse and a gift—he can’t seem to stop touching you, and you’re in no hurry to make him. 

He helps you shimmy out of your underwear, breath catching when you’re bare before him. He drinks you in, staring like a man praying for patience. Then you sit back slightly, thighs spread over his lap, and he does it again, that mouth of his.

“God, look at you,” he mutters, like he can’t believe his luck. “You’re unreal.”

It makes your head swim, the way he says it.

In hindsight, you should’ve taken more time, wish you’d used your hand to stroke his length until he was begging for more, but the heady haze of sex-soup your brain is swimming in doesn’t leave you much choice. You’ll get him next time, you decide.

So instead you hide the flush of your cheeks with the sink of your hips, and you think it just about does it. Leon groans like it knocks the wind from him, his head tips back against the couch, throat bared, lashes fluttering.

The stretch is deep, thick, just shy of overwhelming. It steals your breath and then your balance, and you fall forward, catching yourself on his chest. He’s warm there. Bare skin and heart beneath your palms, his pulse kicking against your fingertips like it might leap out and run to you.

“Fuck— God you’re warm. You’re so warm,” he mumbles, and it’s so hot and heavy it makes you blush hard enough you feel it in your ears, your chest, your thighs.

“Romantic,” you breathe against his jaw, trying for wit but inevitably melting into the moment.

He huffs out a laugh, half-amused, half-ruined. “Mouth on you.”

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately,” he grits out, squeezing your thighs. “You gonna move or just sit there lookin’ pretty?”

He feels you grin against the column of his throat first, then feels you roll your hips sickeningly slowly second.

“Christ,” he moans obscenely, fingers digging into your skin. “You’re—fuck. This is a bad idea.”

You pant, shake your head. “I think we’re way past bad ideas.”

Leon’s hand slides up your back, catches at the nape of your neck, forces your mouth back to his like he needs to taste your smugness. You feel him twitch inside you when you moan into the kiss—high and desperate, something wild climbing up your throat.

“You sound so sweet when you’re full of me,” he murmurs against your lips, and it’s awful, the way your body clenches down at the filth of it. “All that smartass attitude, but now you’re just—” he cuts himself off with a groan, “—fuckin’ whimpering.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Your hand finds the back of his neck, you tighten your grip in his hair and drop your hips again, slower this time, grinding until he groans like you’ve punched the air out of him. You want to crawl inside him, disappear beneath his skin.

“Pretty girl,” he says, low and reverent. “You sound so fuckin’ sweet.”

You whimper at that. Your rhythm stutters.

Leon finds it really doesn’t take much to melt your poor brain. You’re already gone—thighs trembling, mouth open, whimpering nonsense between the slick drag of your hips. He takes advantage where he can, thrusts up into you with a force that makes you hiccup on a wet moan. Cute, cute, cute. 

“Leon,” you whisper, voice thin and cracked and ruined. You’re not sure what you’re asking for. More? Less? Everything?

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes, eyes glassy as they flick between your face and where your bodies meet. “Feels good, huh?”

God, his voice. You want to drown in the low timber that rattles through your head when he speaks like that. And of course, you nod. Desperate, mindless, somewhere between obsession and devotion. Your nails dig half-moons into the meat of his shoulders, your hips rocking pitifully.

“Can’t—can’t think,” you admit, a choked sound riding the edge of a sob.

Leon lets out a sharp breath through his nose, swears under it. “Good.” His voice is hoarse, fraying at the edges. “Don’t wanna hear you think. Just wanna hear you come.”

“Yours,” you whisper without thinking, tears burning and cresting your pretty lashes. “Yours, yours, yours—”

“That’s it,” he groans, “My girl.”

Your head jerks slightly, like the words ripple straight through you.

“Your girl?” you echo, dazed, like it floated up out of your mouth before your brain could catch it.

He doesn’t answer—not with words. Just thrusts up into you slow and deep, like he can fuck the truth back into you. Kisses you like you’ve ruined him completely. 

And just like that, it’s all too much.

The rhythm you’ve managed to keep starts to splinter, your movements losing precision. You’re clinging to him, breath coming in hot, wet gasps, thighs shaking, body screaming for that last push.

Leon feels it. Sees it in your face.

“You gonna come for me?” he pants, hands sliding down, down, gripping the back of your thighs as you lift and drop, roll and press. “You gonna soak my cock like a good fuckin’ girl?”

“Don’t wanna yet,” you whisper, but it’s fragile, a lie at best. You’re already falling apart.

He groans like you’ve stabbed him. “Jesus, you’re killing me. I haven’t fucked you stupid enough yet, huh?”

His hand slides down, fingers finding your clit, circling slow and punishing.

You arch into him with a cry, loud and unfiltered, every inch of you unraveling.

“There she is,” he breathes, reverent and wild-eyed, watching you fall to pieces on top of him. “God, baby. Just like that.”

“You’re bein’ mean,” You whine, words all slurred, as the tears begin to well and dribble down the pretty apples of your cheeks.

“Oh, angel,” He coos, and god you really do hate how smug he gets. “Me? Mean? You wound me, pretty.”

“Shut up,” you pant, whining high and rutting hopelessly against him. 

“C’mon,” he pants, thumb still working lazy circles against the throb of your clit, “I wanna feel you beg for it.”

It’s cruel. Cruel, the way he says it—rasped out like a curse, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever ask for. His hand is steady even as his breath breaks apart. He’s wrecked. Close. You can feel it in the way he shakes under you, in the stutter of his hips against yours. 

You giggle helplessly into the crook of his neck.

His thumb presses firmer, tight figure eights.

“Leon—!” your voice catches on a sob, you’re so close it’s dizzying, so wet and full and tense that your whole body tightens like a string about to snap. “Can’t—too much—”

“Too much?” he echoes, low and amused, and god, it shouldn’t sound so tender. “Thought you said you didn’t wanna come yet. Changed your mind?”

You nod before you can stop yourself, head lolling as your hips rut down in frantic little circles, chasing the friction.

He groans at the sight, palm spreading wide across your spine like he’s trying to hold you together. “Fuckin’ knew it. Talk big, but look at you now—makin’ a mess on me.”

One arm tightens around your waist, locking you down, and the other braces at your back as he thrusts up into you again—deeper now, sharper, fucking the air right out of your lungs.

You keen, and he laughs—breathy and soft and so fucking fond that it breaks you open.

“Look at you.” He noses at your cheek. “You’re outta your mind.”

You are. You really are. And it’s all him. The heat of him, the rough scrape of his voice, the way he touches you like you’re something to worship and ruin in the same breath.

“Gonna come,” you choke out, breath hitching as your thighs start to shake. “Please—Leon, please—”

“Fuck,” he groans, and his hips stutter. “Go on, baby. Let go. You’ve been so good for me.”

That’s all it takes. The words hit like a match to gasoline. Your whole body seizes—tight and trembling and gasping as your climax crashes over you like a wave, dragging a whine out of your throat that doesn’t sound human.

Leon holds you through it, rocking you through every pulse, every shudder. He murmurs something into your skin, something quiet and unintelligible, and then he follows—his body locking up beneath you, his breath catching.

“Fuck—fuck,” he hisses, head tipped back, mouth open. You feel the heat of him inside you, feel the full-body tremor that wrecks him. He’s still buried deep, still gripping you like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.

It’s a long moment before either of you moves.

You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, wild and unsteady. 

“You alright?” he asks after a minute, voice low and rough around the edges.

You nod, cheek resting heavy against his shoulder, still trembling even when he eases you back. Your body feels like it’s been rung out, soaked in sugar, nerves singing somewhere between pleasure and disbelief.

Your fingers twitch where they rest against his chest, and you murmur something against his neck—something nonsensical, vowels dragging like honey.

“What was that?” he asks, voice hoarse but amused, his hand smoothing over your back, tracing your spine like a secret.

“Dunno,” you mumble, “I think I saw God.”

Leon huffs a laugh. “You talk a lot.”

You don’t respond, just hum again, lost in the float of it—too far gone to be embarrassed, too fucked out to pretend you’re not still clenching around him. You feel him begin to shift, and what starts as a delighted little hum, turns to protest, a whimper slipping from your lips before you can think to stop it when you realise he’s pulling out.

“No,” you whisper, eyes glassy, fingers curling weakly at his wrist like maybe you could keep him there. “Wait—Leon—mmph.”

His laugh is breathy, wrecked. “That good, huh?”

You glare, or try to. It’s weak at best. “Don’t—don’t be mean to me.”

“You’re the one whining.”

“You made me whine,” you grumble, but it comes out slurred, a little dreamy.

Leon grins like he’s won the lottery. He’s still so close, and maybe the way his hands are smoothing over your thighs, up your hips, dragging the touch out like he can’t stand to stop can make up for how empty you feel now.

He has no shame when he cups between your thighs again and presses two fingers there, slow and lazy, you jolt. “Leon—”

He hums, smug. “Messy,” he murmurs, fingers slipping between your folds. “Look at what you let me do to you.”

You shiver hard, half from oversensitivity, half from the way his voice drips with possessiveness. You’re too blissed out to argue, too soft to push him away. Especially when he slides one of those fingers back in, just enough.

You gasp. “Ohhhhh,” you sigh, all delight and dazed affection.

You squirm against him a little helplessly, make a face when you feel him push a little deeper, like he’s guiding what’s left of himself back into you. Your head tips back with a helpless sound.

“Leon—what the fuck?”

He has the audacity to look smug. “What? Can’t let any of it go to waste.”

“Gross,” you whine, trying and failing to wiggle away. He keeps you right there, hands firm but fond, and you know, deep in your bones, that you don’t really want to go anywhere but where he is.

He offers you a real clean-up after your thighs have stopped shaking, drives you back to your place and walks you to the door like a gentleman. It feels all too sweet for the type of night you’ve had, and every part of you wishes this won’t be the last of them.

You half expect him to say something—to ask to come in, or kiss you goodnight, or at least promise to see you again.

But he just smiles. Nods. Taps two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute.

“Night, sweetheart.”

Then he’s gone.

And in the warm lull of dawn, with your sheets still cold and your heart beating somewhere between your ribs and your throat, you wonder what to do with the ache of him still lingering under your skin.

So when morning properly comes—sun high, coffee half-sipped, hair still tangled from the night before—you call.

Just to see if he’ll pick up. Just to hear the line connect.

It rings once.

Twice.

And then you hang up in a panic.

You curse under your breath. Call yourself a hundred kinds of idiot. Your thumb is still hovering over the screen when your phone buzzes in your hand.

Leon Kennedy is calling you.

Shit, shit, shit! You muster whatever dignity you have left, swallow, and answer.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is all sleepy, a little hoarse with morning, makes your heart bloom with warmth. You sink deeper into your mattress at the sound of it, curl into your pillow like it’s his chest.

“Yeah?” you say, like you’re afraid you’ve imagined the whole thing.

“You alright?”

“Mhm.”

“You called?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna say something?”

You pause to worry your lip between your teeth.

“…No.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. You can hear the rustle of sheets over the line, the sleepy shift of his weight. You picture him in bed—bare chest, tousled hair, phone pressed to his ear, eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

“Alright,” he murmurs.

And then he hangs up.

You stare at your phone, wide-eyed like you can’t believe he really did it. Then you hit call again before you can talk yourself out of it. He answers right away.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey,” he breathes, voice quiet and curious like a secret. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You roll onto your back, smiling helplessly at the ceiling. “No.”

He chuckles, quiet and fond. “Me neither. Was already thinkin’ about you.”

You close your eyes. “I liked your voice just now.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“I like yours too,” he says, voice thick. “Sound all soft. Like I should be wakin’ up next to you.”

The room feels warm again, like the night before never ended, whatever figurative line that you’ve drawn in the sand between you seems thinner than ever.

“Maybe next time,” you say softly.

There’s a careful pause. You both hang in the quiet, waiting to see if the moment passes.

“Have you…” he starts, then clears his throat. “Have you eaten yet?”

You shake your head although he can’t see. “No.”

“You want me to bring you something?”

The question bowls you over. It’s too sweet, too easy. Like he’s asked it a hundred times before, like this is just what you do.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper, but the fond curl of your lips slips into your voice and gives you away.

“Didn’t say I had to. Just figured you might want it.” A pause. “Something hot and filling.”

Your throat closes up a little, an uncharacteristic flush to your cheeks. “You mean pancakes?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Among other things.”

“Leon,” you say his name urgently, too much bubbling to the surface all at once.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You’re being…” You trail off, plucking at the fraying cuff of your sweater, too afraid to name it how it is, to ruin a good thing.

Another pause, you can hear the soft rise and fall of his breath. “I can be soft on you.” He murmurs, “If you let me.”

You press the phone harder to your ear, eyes stinging. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good.” He says finally. Then, “Any coffee left at your place?”

“Only if you make it.”

He chuckles, low and fond. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

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Older Leon come home. Older Leon who drapes your legs over his shoulders and nuzzles into your throat with his stubble, who mumbles “It’s okay. I know, baby, I know. But you’re taking me so well.” Who strokes over your wrists with his thumb and nips at the sensitive skin of your ear lobe solely to watch you squirm and squeak, bringing a hoarse chuckle from his lips. Older Leon who talks you through it and presses his forehead to your own, panting in uneven breaths as his hips drive faster into your cunt. “C’mon, sweetheart. C’mon.”

[dabiscarpet]

[dabiscarpet]

you have me, yeah?

—♡ leon has successfully been able to restrain his desires for you until you bent over in front of him, revealing a part of you that he deeply craved.

—♡ warnings: pervy best friend leon, reader is kinda bimbo coded, feminine reader, dom!leon, manhandling, teasing, oral sex (reader recieving), mentions of rough sex.

“why don’t you like my teddy bears?” you asked, arms crossed with a pout as you stare at your best friend. he stares back at you, his muscled body resting against your white bed frame.

“i don’t hate them i just don’t see why you care about them so much. they’re not rea-”

“leon!” you cut him off, a look of genuine terror on your face. which makes him chuckle.

you were too cute for words. your sweet personality making his heart gush. as it always does. 

you captured his heart so effortlessly. you were pure, so delicate. in every possible way. he couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander to the dark side. he felt so disgusting and tried so hard to keep them in check. but oh god, it was so fucking hard. especially when you were prancing around your bedroom in tiny sleep shorts, smooth thigh highs that hugged your soft legs in the most intoxicating way, white tank tops which were borderline see-through. showing the outline of your perky breasts and nipples. and here you were now, you kneeled next to him on the bed. dressed in exactly that. he felt like a fucking animal, wanting to destroy every ounce of purity that radiated from you. 

he wasn’t stupid, he knew you liked him more than just a friend. always finding himself enamored by the way your cheeks tinted pink every time he touched you, or called you pretty, or rested his large hand on your soft squishy thighs. just above where your cute little thigh highs sit. he couldn’t possibly help but think how pretty your pussy would be.

fuck leon, quit it. take your time with her. he’d think to himself.

he can’t quite recall when his forbidden feelings had exceeded a platonic level, all he knew is that he wanted you. needed you. the days would go by where he didn’t make a move and felt himself growing more and more sadistic towards you.

“well, you don't need to cuddle this little thing tonight. you've got me, yeah?” he says, carelessly throwing your cute little plushie on the floor. an overly dramatic gasp escaping your mouth.

“leon, that's not funny. you're so mean. you have to be gentle with them,” you say softly as you move down the mattress to retrieve the beloved little bunny, bending your body off the edge of the bed. as the front half of your body disappeared, leon looked. wanting to get a glimpse of as much as he could without you noticing his devious gaze. but what he wasn’t expecting to see was your bare cunt on full display before his eyes. his breath hitched as his thoughts ran wild.

do you always forget to wear underwear when he's around? why hasn't he noticed this before? is this an invitation?

he couldn’t help but stare. you looked so so soft. eyes locked onto your entrance. swearing he could see it glisten. he gulps, saliva filling his hungry mouth at the thought of fucking you open with his tongue. 

“fuck…” he mutters a little too loudly, causing you to turn around. still bent over to retrieve your plushie.

“what’s wrong, lee?” you ask, your pretty doe eyes looking into his with wonder. “are you feeling ok?”

god, you really and no fucking idea what you were doing. 

“you… you’re a little fuckin’ tease aren’t you?” he hisses, grabbing your hips as if you were a rag doll and forcing you to lay down on your bed. hair splaying across your silky pillows. he was hovering over you now, you felt like you were drowning under his large frame.

“w-what are you talkin about, leon? i-” you attempt.

“‘i-… i-… what are you talking about, leon?’” he mocks, a sadistic smirk on his face. “you’re not fooling me, doll,” he moves his large hand down to your cunt, resting it over your thin sleep shorts. gasping as the warmth of his skin laid against your most precious area. “did you forget to wear your panties today like a silly little dits?”

“n-no, just wanted to be comfy. didn’t do it on purpose,” you look into his eyes as you plead, precious little pout on your lips.

oh god, he was going to fucking ruin you. 

“is that right?” he asks, biting his lip. you nod your head. he doesn’t say anything as he moves down your body, forcing your thighs open as he settles between them. his toned stomach resting against your frilly duvet. he then pulls your bottoms to the side, revealing your glistening pussy to his properly. “then why is your needy little cunt dripping for me?”

“i.. leon i just-” you spoke, being cut off by your own gasp as he pulls down your shorts and throws them carelessly to the side. you blush, nobody had ever seen you like this before. your legs instinctively begin to close, but he effortlessly pulls them open again.

“wanted to see this precious little pussy of yours for years, don’t even think about hiding it from me now,” you whimper at his words. recalling the countless nights you spent alone, whining his name into your pillows to the thought of his rough fingers touching you there. and now, it was finally happening.

your head was spinning.

you weren’t naive, you knew about sex. what your sexual preferences were and what you desired, but you’d never actually done anything before. he knew that, he’s your best friend.

of course he knew.

he leans in, pressing his nose to your clit and inhaling your essence deeply. taking in your scent. it was feral, but your pussy clenched around nothing at his action. he hums, saliva filling his mouth as he prepares to taste you for the first time.

he could no longer resist and licked a rough stripe from your hole to your needy clit, the unfamiliar feeling causing a small gasp to escape your lungs. but oh god, did it feel good.

“leon…” you whine as he kisses your clit softly, and then again, and then again. legs trembling pathetically with each kiss. the sound of you whimpering his name sent him into a feral state, his tongue messily tracing along each crevice of your cunt. his pretty nose poking your clit in the most heavenly way.

“oh… oh, leon,” you whimper out, your trembling back arching off the bed. he finally locks his slick soaked lips around your needy bud, aggressively sucking on the delicate bundle of nerves. he rests one of his large hands on your tummy, semi exposed as your little top rode up when he threw you down on the bed.

“taste so pretty and sweet, knew you would,” he speaks against you, thighs trembling softly around his face and head. he contemplated using his fingers, but concluded quickly that it was unexplored territory for you. he didn’t want to overwhelm you too much, so he decided that simply eating your pussy would suffice. for now.

his attention stayed on your puffy clit, sucking and nipping the bundle. anything to hear those desperate whines and pleas of yours. he could tell you were already about to cum based on the way your body shook in his grasp, the way your hips attempted to buck towards his mouth. not to mention all of the pathetic whimpers that fell from your sweet lips.

all it took was for his eyes to meet yours for the band inside of your stomach to snap. your head flew back as the intense pleasure flooded your jolting frame. limbs wildly trembling and sweet cries that only drove him to buck his hips against the mattress himself. leon collected every drop of cum that fell from your slit, groaning at the sweet salty taste that he knew he’d now be addicted to for the rest of his life.

he continued to lick your cunt until he decided it was enough, kissing up your tummy and torso until his face was hovering over yours. you looked so pretty and fucked out, all he could think about was how you’d look after he finally gets to split you open with his cock. like he’s been waiting for, for so damn long.

he couldn’t wait for that day, but he knew that’d be too much. he knew what was best for you.

he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. you whined when he abruptly moved back. not satisfied with the shortness of the kiss. you watched him as he moved off the bed, bending down to pick up your long lost stuffed animal before returning to his previous position.

“here you go, baby doll. think you’re gonna need his after that,” he says, handing you the plushie that he had carelessly tossed onto the floor earlier. that’s when you noticed the way his chin was glistening with your essence. the warm lamps light reflecting on it causing it to sparkle. you blush and clutch your plushie to your chest. you look up at his lips as you bit yours, hoping he’d take the hint and kiss you once again. and he did.

because he knew you so well.

[dabiscarpet]

leon!!

[dabiscarpet]

playing resident evil is very stressful because there are monsters and hot people everywhere

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Full

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Surgeon Dabi & Gyno Hawks

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Todoroki Touya the man you are

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