starzzluvr

[starzzluvr]

deference | Leon Kennedy

knight!Leon x healer!Reader

All breath leaves your body when you stumble upon an unconciousness knight baring arms of a rival kingdom. You nearly leave him to his death, uncaring of his fate but something in you calls you back to him.

warnings: historical fantasy au. forbidden love. mention of injuries. graphic description of violence. forced proximity. enemies (very mild) to lovers. begrudging allies. fictional kingdoms. reader is described with long black hair and dark eyes. female anatomy described. pacing might be strange. religious imagery. explicit making out. breast play. fade to black sex. MINORS DNI!!!

word count: 8.5k

a/n: the visions, i chant. anyways i think this is the most explicit wriitng ive ever done. i hope it was alright and did not feel clunky. happy reading<3

Sweat gathers in your brows, seeping deep into the follicles of your hair, sliding and slipping through every crevice of your body as it trails down, marking a path for others to follow. Your breathing is harsh, a gravelly intake followed by a sharp exhale, a grunt accompanying it soon after.

The sun is low, hidden behind the foliage of the great trees of the forest, forcing its way in through the leaves and painting the ground orange. It does less to hide the ugliness of the ground; a mixture of mud and grass, every step squelching loudly, footprint pressing into the earth heavier than normal.

You pause every now and then to steady yourself, stabilize your breathing, your bones protesting and aching under the heavy weight laden on your back. He is still breathing, his short breaths coming out in infrequent puffs against the skin of your neck. It is weak but it’s still there.

You tighten your grip around his armour-clad thigh, shaking the sweat away from your eyes before continuing on your path. You feel the trickle of another liquid on your back, more viscous and warmer, leaving behind a trail of scarlet, the smell of iron heavy in the air.

You begrudgingly continue your journey, uncaring about the path of blood leading towards you, mind focused on getting the man alive to your home.

But it seems nature is on your side today, a thick band of greying clouds rolling in, consuming the sun in its entirety, basking the earth in darkness before tumbling down its gift to the world. The rain washes away your sweat, cooling your body and with it the drops of crimson become one with the muddy expanse.

The slow pitter patter of rain does little to distract you from the unconscious knight on your back. His presence is proving to be a disastrous decision, his weight pulling you down as rainwater sticks to his clothes underneath the layers of his armour, the edge of his blade cutting shallow strokes in the back of your calves.

You should have left him to die, for reasons more than one.

He had been nothing but an interruption. The smell of death was lingering heavier than usual, roping you into it, lulling you closer, pleading you to take a closer look. You know recognize the scent of death, how it sours the air, digs into every corner it is able to find, festers away in your skin and muscle until there is nothing left but rot. It's what your hands smell like.  

The shrubs in your hands had fallen away when you parted your way through the trees, fingers carefully caressing the roughened barks of the old trees. The more you got closer the more it felt like air was being sucked from your lungs, tasting the decay on the tip of your tongue before peeling the branches away and revealing the scene before you.

Slaughtered bodies lying on the ground, with their severed limbs scattered around. There was a decapitated head near your foot, its visor turned up to reveal the pale skin underneath. Their essence flowed from where they were cut open, collecting together to form a stream draining into the soil, the earth drinking it as though enraptured by thirst.

The sight before you had dizzied you, eyes shut as you tried to regain your balance. The sound of a rasping breath had you shoot them open, eyes fixating on the body lying face down in the far corner. His limbs were intact, head still attached atop his body, facing away from you in an armour that did not match with the others that lay slain around him.

His helmet seems to be knocked off his head, mud covering majority of his mane but still it does not hide the true colour of his hair. Light strands peek out from beneath his dirtied hair, almost golden against the shine of the sun, so translucent that you think you would be able to spot your fingers should they be buried in them.

Your heart quickens in anticipation, breath quickening when your legs tentatively move forward.

It can’t be.

The unconscious knight does not react at your approach, still frozen on the ground when you kneel next to him. You slide your arms underneath his chest and heave him so he turns, flipping onto his back.

And you let out a soft gasp, your hands tainted pink. On his chest plate is the carving of the sun, your eyes shifting to his sword and catching the gold glint on its hilt.

The reaction is immediate, stumbling away, distancing yourself from him, hands dirtied with the bloody soil as you had nearly stumbled on the severed knight, the crescent moon crest on his chest plate a warning to you.

You had turned away, ready to forget but something compels you, halting you in your steps, unable to make your leave, pity rushing into your system and calling you back.

It's all it is. Pity. That’s what you’re repeating in your head as you trudge to your home, grateful to see the wooden fence of your cottage, all but barging in and locking the door behind you. Everything after is a reflex; water set to boil, fetching your needle and thread, grinding up the leaves in the mortar and pestle.

Pity.

And nothing more.

They say the brain works in mysterious ways, functioning with an inbuilt survival mechanism, taking the pain of the body and refusing to register it, pumping in the muscles the strength needed just for the chance of getting to live another day.

It is the first thing taught to a warrior – the beauty and inevitability of death. The sensation isn’t foreign to a man of war, having looked death in the eye and then having the courage to refuse its invitation.

It is the job, to live by the sword and to die by it.

And this time, Leon was ready. The golden hilt of his sword glittering in the sun, the blade eager and thirsty for a drink as he was circled like a prey by the enemy.

It baffles him still how instincts take over, hands working on their own as they hack, lunge and saw away the limbs of his opponents, blood spattering the silver crescent of their banners. He doesn’t register the damage done to him, entering an almost trance like state, his gold armour drenched in red.

All he remembers last is the heave of his harsh breaths, blinking his consciousness away as he remains the last to stand, strength sapping out of him as he collapses, tasting the grittiness of the dirt he will return to.

The air is heavy around him, the ground beneath him soft, his body weightless as he comes to. It is a task to peel his eyes open, the muck gathering in his lashes resisting his attempts. There is a warm glow somewhere, the sound of wood crackling and snapping in the hearth abundant, the smell of oak flooding his nostrils.

The fire reflects back into the room, with its tall ceilings, painting shadows across the wooden floor. There is an orange hue to all that the embers touch. He slowly moves his eyes around, noting the dried-up herbs and flowers hanging from lines from the ceilings, a huge shelf pressed up against the wall full with vials of different coloured liquids settled between the thick bindings of the books.

Elysium looks different than what he had thought it to be, the pearly white gates of heaven with the sweet melody of the harp welcoming him to his new home nowhere in sight. This place is too small to be heaven, the aesthetics a sharp contrast to what he had imagined.

Leon blinks and a shadow moves. It glides across the floor, absorbing the light around itself as it walks to the hearth, a cauldron bubbling away on top of the fire as it adds something to it.

He blinks again, eyes still adjusting to the light as the shadow turns around, the embers banishing away the darkness. He sucks in a breath. This may not be Elysium but there is an angel present. Or is it Death? He didn’t know that Lady Death could be this beautiful.

Pain shoots up his body as Leon makes the mistake of trying to get up. He snaps his eyes shut, body reeling with pain, his breathing becoming haggard.  He looks down to his chest, panic building when he notices himself adorned in a loose linen shirt and pants, bandages wrapping around him, the white of it a stark contrast against his shirt.

No, no, no, no, no.

Leon is very much alive; death having ignored him on their last meeting. He looks around, heart beating more viciously, flooding it with strength as his pupils dilate when he notices his sword lying next to him.

He shifts to grip it, swallowing his grunts of pain as he gets up and melts into the dark confines scattered across the room. He waits until the person makes to move towards the cauldron again, stirring its content with a wooden spoon.

He moves like the air around him; footsteps light and silent, and in an instant has the edge of his blade pointing at the side of the shadow’s neck, the tip gently kissing the skin there, beads of crimson dotting his steel.

You still, halting your motion.

The shadow sighs a tired breath before speaking. “You think with all that training you lot would be sufficient skilled with the art of decapitating.” You glare at him. “Why is it always like this with you people?”

Leon moves, sword still at your throat as he comes to stand next to you, eyes ablaze with fury. “Who are you?”

You fix him with a look, the flames dancing around in your dark eyes. You look uninterested, moving the blade away from your face with the handle of your wooden spoon before returning to mix in the contents of the pot bubbling away.

Surprise is evident on Leon’s face, taking a step back, trying to gauge the situation, his right arm burning in protest. The sword nearly slips from his grasp, the edge now hitting the floor with a loud clang as he cradles the injury on his arm. “I asked you a question,” he says with gritted teeth.

You simply shrug, blowing on the soup gathered in your spoon as you taste it. “No one.” Your eyebrows furrow in deep thought, gathering your skirts as you walk towards the wooden table, grabbing the mortar and pestle as you grind, throwing in an array of shrivelled-up leaves.

Ridiculous, he thinks. Leon is born and bred of this world, knowing full well the disparities between the two neighbouring kingdoms, one bathed in the gold of the sun while the other in the silver of the moon. And he is a knight, the Kingsguard, found battered in a foreign land where his mere existence is a crime.

He should have been dead. If he isn’t then it is either because he is a prisoner or the source of bounty, ready to be shipped off to the enemy’s castle where he would be stripped off his honour and then his head.

He needs to leave.

His armour his most prized possession. Where is it?

Leon pulls together the strength and raises his sword again as it trembles in his hand, pointed at you as you move back and forth. “My armour, what have you done with it?”

You don’t spare him a glance as you carry about working as though his presence is insignificant, like the dust gathering on your shelves; enough to be a nuisance but not enough to demand action. “It’s placed on the other side of where you were lying down.”

He forgets his station, limping hurriedly back from where he had gotten up, scrambling as he tightens the straps around his body, the tremble in his body worsening as the weight increases on his shoulders. It’s a sloppy work, nimble hands working deftly as he incorrectly dons his armour.

This act alone would have earned him two weeks of shovelling horse shit if he were back in the academy, working tirelessly underneath the beating of the sun as the smell of manure would follow him for days.

It is nearly comical how the noise is least bothersome to you, continuing to add spices into the bubbling soup. Leon trudges across the length of your home, his hand grasping the doorknob when you decide to speak up, your back towards him.

“You won’t make it past the old tree stump.”

The tension in Leon’s body increases ten-fold. “Am I your prisoner?”

You turn to look at him, sighing and shrugging your shoulders. “No.”

There’s nothing else Leon needs to hear as he twists the door open, holding onto the sword as he walks down the path leading away from the dreary cottage. The clouds are still present up in the sky, refusing to let the sun pass.

The sticky ground makes it difficult for him to walk, wobble in each step. His breath becomes laborious with every inch of ground he manages to cover, black spots flooding his field of vision, blurring the outline of the wooden fence.

Leon tries to shake it away. You can’t be a failure. And he is not. He will succeed even if it kills him. Soldiers have died from less and he is a Kingsguard; the best of the best. What a sham he will be when he returns, unable to scale a few meters of land.

Exhaustion catches up with him, sending him tumbling face down in the mud. Consciousness swims in and out of focus, so devoid of vigour that he can barely move a finger.

A sweet scent snaps into the air, lulling him into a deep sleep.

“I told you that you wouldn’t make it past the tree stump.”

He twists his head to the side to see you sitting down on the stump, arms crossed over your chest and an unimpressed look on your face. “What was your plan exactly?”

There is an edge of fury painting your words. “Follow the path? Come across the nearest town dressed the way you are? And then? There aren't many people in this country with hair and eyes as light as yours. You will be caught before days end and will be hanging by a noose before dawn.”

Leon makes a grunt of noise, trying and failing to heave himself up.

“If you truly have a death wish that badly, then do not hesitate to tell me. I can kill you myself.” You kick the ground underneath your feet. “What a waste it was to use my balms on you.”

He can’t seem to find the words, eyes fixated on your form, looking ethereal from where he is laying down, the fluttering of his eyes distorting the light around you. Leon is unable to move and is quick to lose the fight against the tiredness that is just on the edge of pulling him under. The world grows quiet around him, jaw slacking as he once again loses his grip on reality.

Leon wakes up in the same position as before.

This time around he wakes more gently, eyelashes fluttering against the skin of his cheeks, no harsh lights streaming in through the windows. The ache in his body is more intense as though in punishment for his deeds earlier.

He shifts a little in test, eyes moving everywhere and taking note that his armour and sword are also back in their original positions.

But this time there sits a bowl next to him.

Steam wafts up from its surface in wisps, carrying with it a delicious aroma that shuns away his nausea, instead reminding him just how much hungry he really is. The fire still roars away, illuminating the whole cottage with its glow.

Leon bites down his pain, heaving himself up and reaching out for the bowl. The sheet that had been thrown over him slides down to his waist as he brings the contents up to his mouth. Pain greets him again like an old friend when the hot liquid makes contact where his lips had been split open, grunting out loud but pressing on to tip the whole of it past his throat.

The gurgle of his stomach eases, letting the concoction of spices and herbs revitalize him, a steady flow of energy returning to him. He places it back down on the floor, making to lie back down.

“You’ll have to wash your own bowl.”

He tenses, shuffling around where he is on the floor to see where you are. You sit on a sofa in the far end of the corner, legs neatly tucked under yourself with your nose buried in a book.

“I thought you said I should rest.”

“I said no such thing.” You are quick to correct him. “You can’t walk past the fence but you can within these walls.”

He hums in thought. “You never told me who you are.”

“I did.”

“You said you were no one, that is not an answer.”

Silence.

“You know who I am,” Leon tries again.

“I do.”

“And yet you nurse me instead of turning me in.”

You finally grace him with a look, the fire returned to your eyes. “Is that a complaint?”

“An observation.”

“Sounds more like a complaint.”

“I don’t think they’d approve of your actions,” he says pointedly gesturing with his face with the crescent banner hanging above the fireplace. You look where he points and then nestle yourself back into your book.

“Neither would yours for sitting there quietly.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Are you a traitor?”

“If I were one, would I be living here so peacefully?”

“No.”

“Are you one?”

He pauses, a teasing lilt to his words. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Leon turns to stare at you, watching intently as your fingers splay against the parchment of your book, feeling the material between the pads of your index finger and thumb before turning it over. He's never seen hair as dark as yours. It was as black as the night sky, strands made of ebony, cascading down your face as though spilled ink.

“What is your name?”

You look up to catch him watching you, holding his gaze and then shifting between his eyes, the blue of his irises reminding you of the brilliant coolness of the lake on a hot summer's day. You try and assign a proper colour to his hair, a mix between the golden blond of a lion's mane with specks of platinum.

“I think it best to not reveal our names, or anything else, to each other.”

Leon nods, folding his hands over his chest. “You are a healer?”

“Yes.”

“You must be familiar with death then.”

You smile knowingly, the action not reaching your eyes. “As are you.”

Guilt begins to constrict his throat as he stares at the ceiling. He seems to be feeling better, nothing in his body hurting too much except for his pride, weakness embedded deep within each sliver of his muscle.

His mind races, going back to his gruelling training days at the academy, the sound of Captain Krauser echoing in his ears. He remembers his time, panting as he runs underneath the sun, in tow of his Captain’s horse, back laden with heavy weights. To die by the sword is to die with honour, anything short of that is failure.

Leon yearns for martyrdom the most, remembering the awe filled gaze of his childhood self, listening intently to the stories of many brave knights that had come before him, endless tales of great Sers laying down their lives for the crown. His idols, his heroes and yet here he is, lying wrecked after a plain mission that had him convinced of his fated end.

What is even more pitiful that he requires help from the enemy, the ones he had been trained for most valiantly, tales of their dark magic etched onto his brain, costing the lives of many back home.

He should despise you. And yet he doesn’t seem to have the energy for it. Leon shakes his head; he’ll make an exception of you for how could he carry a seed of hatred in heart for the one who had saved him?

This makes it all the more complicated. If he manages to make it back to the castle, there will be questions awaiting him. How did he survive? Was he successful? Did he meet anyone there? There would certainly be questions about you and more importantly how dare he let you touch him, to taint him, corrupt him with your darkness?

Leon is in your debt and he cannot betray you just on the basis of who you are. What a ridiculous technicality.

“You shouldn’t have saved me.” He mutters quietly.

The book in your hand snaps shut loudly, exasperation evident in your tone, “And maybe you shouldn’t have planned on dying out in my way in my forest. We can spend hours doing this so it would be best if you accepted the fact that sometimes things just happen without reason.”

Leon grows quiet as listens to the creak of your bed, the rustling of your sheets as you climb in. “I can’t stay here.”

“I am aware.”

“I need to leave.”

“I’m working on it.”

There’s a finality in the way you said it, not open to any more conversation. Leon is happy to oblige, feeling his eyelids grow heavier with his belly now full. But he can’t help how bare open he is in the enemy territory, unsure if he should be offended or not at the lack of chains keeping him bound. Did you think him that weak or did you simply not care?

“Are you not going to chain me?”

The bed creaks once more. “What for?”

“In case I may kill you.”

There is a heavy pause as you consider his words, pulling the sheets closer to your body as your head buries into the pillow. “If you must, do so in one stroke.”

The sun is bright today, taking its place high up in the sky, drying away the previous day's rainwater. It’s good, better and helpful in properly identifying the flowers and herbs that you need. It's a distance away from where you had found the golden knight. You wipe the sweat off your forehead with a rag, eyes raking up and down the fields in search of a flower.

It is special in its own right, not plucked by the people due to its unflattering visage. Its petals were not the same as its counterparts, not bestowed the beauty of pinks, purples and blues but rather the heaviness of browns.

It doesn’t have much purpose, overlooked by even the woodland creatures. It is why its your favourite, finding beauty in the most inconspicuous of things, reaching out to pluck it and placing it in your basket with the rest.

It bleeds pretty, leeching the brown pigment and helping in dye clothes. You hope it will colour hair as well.

You never could have imagined this is what your life would look like two days ago. The knight’s mere presence is enough to earn you the most severe punishment, ripped away of your freedom and your rights for harbouring the enemy.

You don’t know why you’re behaving like this, protocol drilled into your brain about what to do should you find yourself facing them.

They are the true traitors, stabbers in the back when all the Crescent has ever done is put out a hand of truce. Vile, vicious and cruel, cutting down anyone and anything in their path, born of evil, ambition driving them blind.

You see anyone sport the colours of the enemy, you report it to knights, collect your reward and live life as before.

So, why haven’t you?

It hurts your head too much thinking about it. But curiosity is burning brighter than anything else. He stays in your head too much, the light strands of his hair to the light blues of his eyes. You've never seen someone from across the border this up-close before.

You have so many questions. Does his hair glimmer in the sun like how his sword had? Are his eyes fully blue or if you look close enough, you'll fine specks of other colours in them? Maybe even a reflection of yourself?

You huff out a breath, basket held by your hips as you walk back. He wonders why you haven’t turned him in or bound him but you wonder as well why he hasn’t slain you already and run off. You know he is capable, evident in the way he had torn apart through the soldiers in the forest and his seal of the Kingsguard so prominent on his chest plate.

His skill is without question and yet he still heeds to you. He is a warrior, blood has stained his hands and yet they are so gentle, so soft against your skin when he had taken away your bowl at dawn before you left, keeping his promise of washing them.

“I hope you will not disappear by the time I return,” You had said to him, basket in hand as he scrubbed away.

He cracked a teasing smile, sending blood rushing into your ears, sparing you a glance through his hair, “Why? Will you miss me?”

You scoffed, turning away, “No but lest you get caught – which you will – it would not end well for me.”

Leon grabbed the rag lying nearby, wiping his hands dry as he walks closer to you, tilting his head in question. “Dire consequences?”

“Yes.”

You don’t step away as he enters your orbit, caught in your gravity as he steps closer. Leon gently grasped your chin between his fingers, tipping your head to look at him. “How so?”

“I will be tried for treason,” You whispered, drinking in his features, watching when his eyebrows furrowed, “Found guilty. And then they would cut off my tongue, chop my right hand and throw me in the dungeon to rot away.”

You still remember the way he had held you firmly, something akin to protectiveness burning in his eyes, voice not quivering when he swore on his life that he would be here waiting for you.

Lost in thought, you don’t realize you’re standing on your doorstep, heart fluttering in your chest when you shut the door behind you. You immediately search for him, finding him turning around from where he stands in front of your shelf, hands clasped behind him. You shy away from his eyes, jostling the basket, moving the flowers around. “You’re here.”

“Don’t sound so surprised now,” Leon quips, coming to take the basket away from your hands, “Where would I have gone knowing you were to return?”

You cough, removing the apron from around yourself, stealing glances from where the linen shirt hangs loosely on his back, the front of it dipping deep into his chest. “Flowers for me? I'm flattered.”

You roll your eyes, stifling a laugh, as you go searching for a clean pot, “They’re for your hair. Hopefully they can colour them dark so you are able to return home.”

He stills, letting the dainty petals fall through his fingers. “Ah yes, of course. Home. Have you figured out how?”

You hum in affirmation, coming to stand beside him and shifting all the flowers to the pot. “The best way is by boat. Tomorrow there shall be no vessel on the water, everyone on land in preparation for the full moon festival.” He grabs the bucket of water before you can, pouring it over the petals. “Even if someone spots you, your dark hair shall keep you from arising suspicion.”

His silence is uncharacteristic, making you look at him. He stares at his reflection in the water, lines deep on his forehead as he seems lost in thought.

You move around him, heaving the pot and setting up over the simmering fire. You grab a log, throwing it in and feeding it air to wake it up. You glance up again to where Leon is frozen on the table, back muscles dancing against the thin veil of his shirt.

You begin to hum a tune, grabbing your wooden spoon and stirring the contents as it comes up to heat.

“Can I ask you something?”

You whip your head up, his blond locks falling into his eyes, the pink of his lips more intense, looking heart-breaking with his tired eyes, shoulders slouched in defeat. “Yes, of course.”

He comes to stand next to you, palms held out towards the embers. “Why did you save me?”

You continue to stir, watching the fire crack open the lumber, exposing its insides to the flames consuming it within seconds. “You didn’t deserve an end like that.” The wood cracks. “You deserve to meet your end with honour; die a warrior’s death.”

The water leeches out the colour from the pigment in the petals, turning the water murky, camouflaging the flowers within itself. The process delights you still, taking a vial from the shelf, gathering the dust in it in your palms and scattering it like stars on a blank canvas. The colour deepens, smiling proudly and looking up to see Leon fixated on you.

His gentleness leaves you spellbound, rough callouses of his hand like wisps of clouds against your skin where they graze your temple, fingers delving into your hair and gliding through each strand. His eyes are full of mirth when he pulls away, dangling a leaf in front of your eyes, “You should be more vary out in the field, My Lady.”

Your heart twists at his words, unable to help your gaze as it falls to his lips, descending down to his prominent collarbones, milky skin taught on his chest where the collar tapers off, swallowing your saliva.

You tear yourself away from his enchantment, pulling the pot away from the fire and pouring it out in a bucket quickly, the steam adding warmth to your face. “It should cool down in a minute or so. Then we’ll wash your hair with it.”

He simply hums in agreement, hands still toying with the leaf he pulled from your hair. You grab thick fresh sheets, dragging a chair next to where you placed the bucket, bringing a stool closer with your foot. You sit on the chair, dipping your fingers in the liquid to check the temperature, glad to find it tepid.

You place away the sheets and pat the stool, encouraging Leon to sit. He moves wordlessly, coming to sit with his back facing you. Hesitantly you reach out, fingers dancing delicately over his shoulders before settling down on them, feeling his stiffen and then relax under your touch. You guide him to lie back, cradling the back of his head as it comes to rest in your lap.

“Comfortable?”

He nods, muscle in his jaw ticking as his eyes lock onto you, feeling the weight of it caress your face.

“I’ll pour from above and it will dissolve in your hair, okay?”

He settles his weight fully onto your lap, eyes shutting as he lets out a heavy exhale, hands in fists where they rest on his thighs. You take that as conformation, pouring it little by little, untangling his hair with your fingers.

Leon’s face twists as you glide your fingers through his soft hair and you pause upon noticing. “Am I hurting you?”

“No. It's just...I have never been touched like this.”

“How so?”

He opens his eyes, his gaze piercing. “With such gentleness.”

Your stomach jumps, caught up in the tender way he is looking at you. You abandon the pail, slowly lowering it at your side as you lean down, eyes flickering to the soft pink of his lips. Leon’s breath steadies, craning his neck further up as your hair flutters down your shoulders like a curtain drawing you two away from prying eyes.

You move your fingers again, threading through his golden strands, nails grazing his scalp. He shudders, a soft sound escaping from him as he relaxes further back, cradling his head in your lap, uncaring for the water dying your apron. Leon’s eyes flutter shut when your lips ghost over his forehead, warm breath flitting across his face.

He nearly whimpers, lost in ecstasy in the way you bestow upon him such gentleness. Leon had long forgotten what this felt like only familiar with the scourge of battle or the hunger of lust, hands held out always in demand of him and yet never being on the receiving end, body given to the crown to be made a slave.

He could stay like this forever, wrapped up in your arms, living a life away from metal and blood.

You move across his forehead, travelling down his temples to his cheeks, placing delicate kisses on his skin. It is addicting, the feel of him and the taste of him, craving him more and more. His breathless sounds fuel you, urging you to mark his whole face. You stop when you reach his lips, backing away as he makes a sound in protest.

“Come now,” You softly mumble, stroking his temples with your thumbs, moving his hair away, “Let’s get you home.”

Leon doesn’t answer, looking at you without blinking, surrendering himself to your touch as you manoeuvre back, your softness melting away from him. You avoid looking at him, picking up the pail and resuming the process.

You fix your eyes on his light hair turning dark, ignoring the way his eyes do not stray from you, bewitched in your benevolence. You comb his hair with your fingers, caressing him, ensuring the dye reaches every strand.

When you are sure the process is complete, you put down the pot, flicking away the water from your hands. You grab a thick clean sheet and wrap it around his hair. “That should do it.”

Leon’s hand comes up to hold the sheet, fingers grazing yours as he sits up, twisting around to look at you. You watch in confusion as he averts his gaze with a cough, a shade of pink dusting the top of his cheeks. He picks up the spare sheet and holds it out to you, unable to help his eyes flicker to you before staring adamantly away.

“Here...” He stutters, the muscle in his jaw jumping. “You should uh...”

You glance, mortification petrifying you as you see how much wet the front of your dress has become, clinging fiercely to your body, highlighting every curve, nipples hardened against the cloth.

Red, hot flames dance up your neck as you grab the sheet he holds out, wrapping it around your body. You get up from your seat, crossing over quickly to the fireplace, hoping its heat is enough to dry your clothes.

You hear a huff of breath before the sound of Leon aggressively rubbing the sheet over his head reaches you. Your heart is thumping furiously in your chest, holding the corners away from your body, hoping to dry the front of your dress quick, only letting your back be covered.

“Do you have a mirror?” His gravelly voice comes from behind.

“No.”

“Then how will I know it worked?”

You take a deep breath, taking one step back before turning around. The first thing you notice is his eyes, gleaming more brightly against the deep brown shade of his hair, emboldened and shining like two mighty jewels.

They drink you in, watching intently as you let the sheet drop in your approach, fixated on the sway of your hips. He inhales deeply as you stop in front of him, his fingers twitching at his side.

“Kneel,” You whisper, fingers ghosting over his dampened strands, “So that I may look.”

Leon goes down instantly, forgetting his stature and his duty, knowing well that he kneels only in front of god and his King. But right now, standing in front of you, he is just a man, shedding his armour and glamour, humbling himself before you. His left knee takes to the ground, hands still on his right knee, bowing his head down to you in submission.

Your fingers delve in, moving through his wet hair strands, burying themselves fully without hesitation. Leon groans as you grip his strands tightly, leaning his forehead against your thigh, holding onto the back of your knee. His sounds become more desperate with every motion of your fingers; gasping, whining and keening as you pull.

“My Lady,” He groans pitifully, bunching the skirt of your dress in his fist, burying his nose between your thighs.

Your patience runs thin, using one hand to tip his head back, holding him by his chin. It sets a fire inside you when you look at him – hair mussed, pupils blown wide and lips parted, shining in the dim light of your cottage.

You don’t know who lunges first – you when you reach down or him as he surges up, lips crashing against one another. It’s desperate, searing and all consuming. Leon’s hand comes up to cradle your face, holding you in place as his lips begin to devour you, drinking every gasp and moan that spills from your lips.

“My Lady,” He whispers again in between kisses, pressing you impossibly closer to him.

You whine when he trails away from your lips, travelling down your neck and leaving open mouthed kisses, your hands locking behind his neck, a sharp gasp when he reaches your collarbones. It's too much and not enough, electricity travelling up and down your limbs, heat pooling at the bottom of your stomach.

You place your hand over his where it rests on your waist, tugging it free and guiding him up. You shiver when his fingers press up against the front of your wet dress, stopping when you finally reach your breast, his fingers blazing a furious path in their wake. You press his palm against the soft flesh, a wanton moan echoing in your cottage when his thumb grazes the hardened peak of your nipple.

“Ser Knight.” You mutter, breathless, tremble in your voice as he suckles the skin where your collarbone meets your throat.

“Yours,” His voice is sickly sweet, dripping in honey, nose brushing against yours as he whispers against your lips. “Your Knight.” He squeezes your breast, making you gasp, “Say it.”

“My Knight.”  

He hums in approval, moving you with him, hands wrapping around the tie that holds your dress in place. You immediately sense hesitation overcome him, his body stiffening underneath as he lets go of your lips, the sound of it echoing loud in your ears.

He moves away when you try to kiss him, already missing the way he was massaging you, nearly stomping your foot in protest. His hands brush against your cheek, making you look at him as the back of your legs hit the frame of your bed.

You kiss his chin, the scruff of his unshaven beard tickling your sensitive lips as he tips his head back. Leon lets out a noise of frustration, forehead creased, a pained expression on his face as he buries his head in the crook of your neck.

“I...We should not,” He shudders as you caress the back of his neck.

“Why?” You whisper, every second like torture that he does not touch you.

He breathes heavy as though in pain, groaning as he shuts his eyes tight, his panting harsh against your skin. “Because of who I am. You deserve someone...else. Someone who is not me. Someone who will not taint you, cause you trouble.”

You force him to look at you, moving to lie back on your bed, the scent of roses wafting from your sheets as you pull him on top of you, caged between his arms and legs, feeling vulnerable as he hovers over you. You hold his cheek, heart full of mirth as he leans into your touch, shutting his eyes and kissing your palm, suckling the soft skin there.

“It doesn’t matter what I deserve, it matters what I want.” You urge him towards you, capturing his lips in a slow, languid kiss, tasting him without any rush. “And I want you.”

He holds himself above you, your words washing over him as he searches your face. And then you see it, eternal flames of his unbridled desire consume him quick, the blue of his irises eclipsed by the darkness of his pupil.

“Okay,” He whispers, tenderly kissing your forehead, leaning back on his haunches as he removes his shirt, throwing it at a distance. You marvel at his taught body, hardened muscle littered with healed scars glittering silver. Your fingers trace them languidly, Leon shivering at your touch.

He leans back down, kissing you ardently, hands moving to your back as they undo the lace of your dress, “Then you shall have me.”

The dress becomes loose around your shoulders, tugging it till it lays bunched around your waist, cool air caressing your bare chest. You feel brave under his heated gaze, arching your back to him almost in a silent plea to touch you.

He moves like the calm waters of a bubbling stream; mapping out every inch of your skin starting from your neck, down to dip at your throat, over the curve of your breasts, revelling in your gasps. Your hand curl around his neck, holding him close as his tongue moves in circles, the other coming to rest on his massaging the other.

You have never felt this way before, the contrast of being touched delicately yet so fiercely making you see stars. Every kiss, every lick and every bite is your undoing, body transcending the physical pain. The sound of wet skin being suckled parrots around the four walls, biting your lower lip as more moans threaten to spill.

So lost in your pleasure, you jolt when his roughened fingers come to cradle your cheek, fondly rubbing them against your tender lips, freeing them from the grip of your teeth. “Let me hear you,” He whispers against your chest, hot breath wounding you up tight like a coil ready to snap.

You oblige, a loud sound falling freely from your lips when he begins to mouth your other breast, sucking more harshly. “My beautiful lady.”

The praise hits you like ecstasy, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he presses his hips to yours, the added pressure opening new gates of pleasure, sounds getting louder from him when he begins to rut against you, his strokes slow and deep over the rough cotton of your skirt.

“My knight,” You whisper, beads of tears blurring your vision, stroking his hair.

And then something just breaks in him. He descends, falls from grace just for you on his hands and knees, worshipping your body and soul. His hands touch you with reverence, as though you are holy, gentle in their crusade, leaving no inch undiscovered.

Every sound, every gasp is his reward, pulling as many as he can from you, lost in the feeling of you, intertwining his fingers with yours where your hand lays atop your mattress, pressing it deeper.

And you sing for him, his precious songbird, loud and clear, leaving no room for any doubt.

The day arrives without fanfare, light pouring in through the stained glass of your windows flooding the cottage with shades of reds, blues and yellows. Birds chirp outside the walls, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves from their slumber.

Leon wakes before you, feeling your naked back pressed up against his chest, drowning him in the smell of your soap. His legs are twisted with yours underneath the sheet, his hands encircled around your waist, relishing in the warmth of your skin underneath his fingers.

He leans further into you, pulling you closer as his hands shift, grazing the underside of your breast. He wishes the sun would away, letting him have more time to live in this reality, not yet ready to let it go – let you go. But it doesn’t listen, unable to do anything as you stir against him, turning to face him as your eyes flutter open.

The gentle smile on your face nearly breaks his heart, thumb sliding against your cheekbone. You lean closer, nuzzling your nose with his in greeting. Reality is quick to settle in as you both lie together in silence, no one daring to break the quiet, fleeting touches over each other's bodies.

“We can’t stay here forever.” You finally break in a tone so low that he wouldn’t have heard it if he weren’t so close to you right now. His fingers trace your lips.

“We can try,” He offers.

You huff out a sound, Leon loosening his grip on you as you sit up, the sheet falling away from your body his eyes tracing the movement intently. You step over him, almost faltering when his warm hands stabilize you by your hips, so close in melting back into his embrace, shaking yourself out of the reverie when your feet touch the cool ground.

He sits up, bed already falling cold without you, staring at your back, eyes raking over the marks he had left scattered all over you, shades of purples painted all over your skin. Helplessly he watches you slip the dress back on, removing the sheet away from him and coming to stand behind you, back in the gravity of your heat.

Leon tugs silently at the lace in your back, taking it away from you. He buries his nose in the back of your head, pressing kisses on your bare shoulder, eyebrows furrowing as your hand comes to cradle his head.

He tightens each lace, checking to note any discomfort, each knot done serving as a reminder of the irrefutability of your fates. You hold your dress tight against your sides, helping him, shifting your weight from one foot to another, shivering when his hands would meet your bare skin.

He slides his hands around your waist when he is done, lips against the side of your jaw as you stroke your hands over his.

You turn around, settling the side of your face over his heart, letting him hold you for a moment and then breaking away before it becomes too much, before you become too weak. Leon sighs, slipping into his pants and pulling his head through his shirt when you return, armour held in your hands. He watches you put it down on the table next to him.

Leon begins to wear it, slow in his motions, reaching to do the straps when you stop him, hands taking the leather from him. You tighten it, revolving around him as you dress him for battle, letting your hands linger as his heat disappears underneath the layers of his uniform.

You walk away once more when he fastens his sword to his side, bringing out a dark cloak from your old trunk, draping it around him as the cloth swallows him whole, hiding him behind it.

He slips his hand in yours, smiling to quell your worries, squeezing it in reassurance.

You make sure to shut the door tight behind you, a fog settling low on the ground, blurring the scenery. It breaks the sunlight, scattering it all around, reflecting back by the dew drops collecting on the blades of grades.

The two of you leave a trail, quickly hidden away by the mist as you guide him, his hand clasped between both of yours. “The boat is very small. It shouldn’t raise much alarm so early in the day. It's a straight journey towards your border, shouldn’t take very long.”

Leon smiles fondly when you begin to ramble, eyebrows pulled tight together. He wants nothing more than to kiss it away, holding himself back as the cadence of your tone washes over him.

“And your hair, I almost forgot, there is a vial I’ve placed in the inner pockets of your armour. Spread it in your hands and apply it thoroughly through your strands and it will return to their normal colour.”

You breathe in deep, “The boat doesn’t have any markings on it, nothing that will give it away from where it is. The craftsmanship is plain and no emblems or flags decorate it. But still be on the lookout, pretend to be a fisherman if someone asks. Oh, and once you reach shore, push the boat back into the water. I’ll have it collected.”

He pulls you closer with one tug, lips brushing against your hair. “Hmm. Smuggled many other knights before, have you?”

You nestle further into his touch. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, Ser Knight.”

The air grows humid when two of you come close to your destination. The cove itself is hidden behind old trees, branches bowing towards their reflection, petals falling off from them and disturbing the stillness of the water. A wooden vessel lies in the centre, rope tying it to the small wooden dock.  

Your grip on his hand tightens, abruptly stopping in your steps. He lets you be, sliding his hand around your waist, and rubbing his fingers soothingly over the material of your dress.

You twist around in his grip, hand coming to cup his cheek, your eyes darting between his. “I’ll have no way of knowing if you made it to safety.”

He hums, holding your wrist more taught against his face, fighting a battle against himself. “I could stay.”

“No.” Your response is sharp, pulling your hand away and putting some distance between him and you. “I can’t ask that of you.”

Leon hangs his head low. “I apologize,” He murmurs, tentatively stepping closer to you. “I just want you to know that I regret none of it.”

Your smile is watery, tears glazing your irises. “Neither do I.”

“Then may I ask for a favour from the fair lady?”

“Anything.”

He smiles, hand moving out from under his robe and coming to hold yours, rubbing circles into your hand. “A kiss for good luck?”

You return his smile, free hand caressing his face as you lean into him, memorising his scent. Your lips meet his in the middle. Soft, gentle and mesmerising. You stroke his face, moving his darkened hair away, eyes flitting all over, committing him to memory.

There is no goodbye shared, fearing that it may send out a finality to the universe. Wordlessly he shifts, pushing the boat further in the water before climbing aboard.

 There is no hand raised in farewell, simply choosing to stand there and watch as the other fades from view, heart clenched in your chest. A strange emptiness comes to take hold of you, wind rustling your hair as you stand on the shore.

You blink and he disappears into the fog.

[starzzluvr]

hmmmmmm (taking me 4eva to finish cuz I have the attention span of a peanut)

[starzzluvr]

need 2 make my account less fugly omg

[starzzluvr]

Frosted Brushes

leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: an ill-timed snowstorm leaves you snowed in with a less than enthusiastic federal agent.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, kissing, oral sex, face-sitting, vaginal fingering, p in v, spanking, mild choking, bestfriend's older brother!leon

wc: 5.5k

a/n: i know i promised blurred lines pt2 (it's coming) but i just loveee the snowed in trope. also leon's biceps - i love his biceps <3

also on ao3!

Getting snowed in wasn't exactly on your bucket list. 

It’d been a mistake, your best friend had said, her voice anxious and apologetic on the phone as she’d tried to make up for the fact that she’d left you stranded here, in the middle of nowhere in a cabin that she had booked. You were only meant to stay here over the week of Christmas and fly back the next, but she’d conveniently forgotten to book tickets for both you and Leon. It’d been too late by then, a vicious snow storm rolling in and ruining all your chances of trying to leave.

You’d stared out the windows for a concerning amount of time, mourning the loss of your upcoming paychecks and not being able to sleep in your own bed. Outside, the snow was packed in tight and you’d been half-tempted to just grab the snow shovel and clear a path for yourself, but the howling wind coupled with the freezing temperature didn’t seem to agree with your plans. The only thing saving you from this woeful situation was the generator that was still up and running. 

The federal agent currently lounging on the couch wasn’t helping either. You’d known Leon since you were children, mostly seeing him around the house when you’d come over to play with your best friend. He had kept to himself all those years ago, shooting you fleeting glances and berating you when you’d gotten too loud playing.

Boredom makes your temples throb and the thought of reading through another book makes you feel nauseous, so you settle on approaching Leon, flopping down on the other end with a heavy sigh.

“Hey,” you say, your feet nudging his thigh, “can’t you call up one of your buddies and have ‘em pick us up?”

“That’s not how it works,” Leon sighs, his eyes flitting down to stare irritatedly at your fluffy sock covered feet.

“What good is being a federal agent then?” you drawl, head tipping back over the armrest.

Leon rolls his eyes, shoving your feet away. You grumble, tucking your feet back under you before scooting forward to peer at whatever work on his laptop screen.

“Classified,” Leon says shortly, turning the screen away from you.

“Seriously, Leon?” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s not like I’m going to leak government secrets to a foreign enemy.”

“You might ,” Leon grits out, sending you a glare as you try to twist your body to take another look. 

“Maybe I should be flattered that you think me capable of treason.”

Leon snorts, his eyes glancing over towards you again. “You wouldn’t last a day in the field, dork. Most likely end up getting yourself killed, or maybe even blown up.”

You glare at him, shifting again, making sure to dig your feet into his thigh a little harder as you roll over onto your side on the couch. Leon lets out a low hiss, growing irritated with your petulant behavior. He doesn’t shove your feet away like before so you settle on staying in that position, eyes slipping shut. A tiny sprig of hope unfurls inside of you; maybe if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to sleep the entire snowstorm away.

The weather doesn’t seem to let up, the wind howling outside, a chill beginning to creep into the cabin. You huff out an exasperated breath, eyes peeking open to sneak a glance at Leon. He looks engrossed in whatever he’s doing, fingers tapping against the keyboard, his brows drawn together.

Perhaps you’d struck out, getting stuck here with Leon. Sure, the federal agent stuff was mildly interesting, but he was more like a silent, grumpy lump. It sort of helped that he had a nice face, even if just to stare at. 

“‘m cold,” you mumble, sock-clad toes trying to worm under his thighs, seeking out his warmth.

“Stop complaining,” Leon grouses, nudging your legs away with his hand.

“You’re so mean,” you shoot back, eyes narrowing. “Is it because you got stuck with a desk job?”

Leon glares at you, his touch growing rougher as he grabs your ankle and throws your leg away from him. A yelp escapes you, body bending awkwardly before you straighten yourself up, curling up away from him.

“I’m a field agent,” Leon hisses, snapping his laptop shut.

You shoot him an unimpressed look, eyes flitting over him. “I don’t see a gun.”

“Yeah and it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it, because I would shoot you if I had the chance.”

A sharp scoff leaves you, arms crossing over your chest as you stand up. “You’re such a piece of sh-”

A loud screeching noise cuts you off, your brows furrowing as you glance towards the direction the sound was coming from. It doesn’t take long to figure out what’s happened when the lights in the cabin go out after a moment, the interior lit up by the flickering embers of the hearth. 

“Great,” Leon murmurs, standing up and walking towards the large windows, his eyes landing on the generator, “it’s probably frozen.”

You trail after him, a frown pulling at your lips as you stare out at the snowy tundra surrounding you in every direction.

“Is there no way to fix it?” you ask, fingers pressing up against the window.

“Maybe if we got rid of the snow,” Leon sighs, his hand running through his hair, “but the cold would probably just make it freeze up again.”

“Time to get shovelling,” you murmur, peering up at Leon.

Leon’s gaze flicks towards you, his lips thinning. “I’m not going out there.”

“What?” you ask snappily, irritation prickling across your skin, “why not?”

“Because I’ll freeze to death,” he retorts, “didn’t you watch the weather report?”

You stare at him, eye twitching at his refusal. At this rate, both of you would freeze to death if you weren’t able to get the generator up and running. You didn’t particularly trust the insulation either, although there was enough wood stocked in the spare room to maybe get you through the rest of the nights here.

“So what are you suggesting?” you ask, “that I go out and do it?”

“If you’re desperate enough,” he mutters under his breath.

“You’re the man!” you protest. “Shouldn’t you like protect me or something?”

Leon scoffs, his arms crossing over his chest as he stares down at you derisively. “You’re on your own, pipsqueak. Each man for themselves.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you snarl, stomping over to the door and yanking a jacket off of its hook. You shrug it on angrily, zipping it up tight before wrapping a scarf around your neck. “You’re pathetic, Leon!”

You grab the snow shovel, moving to open the door, only for it to not budge. There’s a moment of silence and you don’t dare look back at Leon. Setting the snow shovel down, you tug at the door handle, yanking hard. 

“Please open,” you whisper, trying to wrench the door open, “please.”

By the time you’re done grumbling and yanking, the door’s only response is a pitiful groan, failing to give way at all, completely and utterly frozen shut.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you mutter, glancing at the hinges of the door.

“Frozen in,” Leon drawls, stepping up behind you, “who would’ve thought? You know, you looked pretty pathetic trying to open it up.”

You turn around to face him, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from spewing a slew of curses at him. Your best friend would pay dearly for this debacle. Pushing past Leon, you stride purposefully into the room you were staying in, pulling free the sheets before managing to haul the mattress off of the bed frame. 

Leon watches with raised brows as you lug the mattress across the floor. You dump it onto the space just in front of the fireplace, brushing your hair out of your face before disappearing into your room again to gather the sheets and blankets.

“At least you’re resourceful?” Leon offers, following suit as he adds his mattress next to yours soon after.

The absence of heat becomes all the more apparent as the night creeps in, your body shivering and teeth chattering every now and then despite the layers you’re wearing. You and Leon settle on soup for dinner, placing the cans near the fireplace to heat them up.

“Maybe we’ll just freeze to death,” you sigh, tugging the blanket draped around your shoulders a little tighter.

Leon hums, glancing over at you. “Maybe.”

You roll your eyes at his short response, padding through the cabin and into the dark bathroom. No generator meant no lights and you weren’t willing to risk using your phone or the flashlights lest the battery ran out.

“Ouch,” you grumble when your hip hits the side of the sink, your eyes squinting in an attempt to adjust to the dark.

You’re too busy rubbing your hip to notice the dark shadow stepping into the bathroom. There’s an arm landing on your waist and you shriek, hand flying out to smack whoever it is. 

“Careful,” Leon groans when he feels you grab at his face, feeling around blindly.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, pushing at his chest.

“Keeping you company,” he shoots back, “not like there’s anything for me to do other than stare at the fire.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” you say, managing to turn the tap on. The water is entirely too cold, but thankfully not yet frozen. You hunch over, splashing some onto your face.

“Funny,” Leon replies drily, his hand slipping lower to hold your hip as you bend over.

Your breath hitches at the action and you hope Leon doesn’t notice, especially with the way you tremble when his hand smooths over your waist absentmindedly. Leon’s touching doesn’t seem to let up and you turn around in his arms, fingers prodding into his chest.

“Stop touching me, you creep.”

Leon lets out a heavy sigh, his hands falling away from you. You manage to bundle out of the bathroom, finding his eyes in the dim lighting. He stares down at you, and you tilt your head in question.

“Nothing,” he huffs out, shoving your face away with his hand.

You grumble, swatting his hand away, padding over to your makeshift bed near the fireplace. Despite the warmth of the fire, you still shiver, and snuggling in under the heap of blankets. 

Leon’s footfalls are quiet as he makes his way over, settling down on his own mattress. Silence passes over you both until a sneeze tickles at your nose, making your eyes water.

“Are you still cold?” Leon asks quietly.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you mumble back, curling up your toes in your socks, trying to bury yourself deeper under the blankets.

You miss the way Leon rolls his eyes, a squeak leaving you when you feel strong arms looping around your waist, tugging you across onto Leon’s mattress. His chest is warm against your back, the layers of blankets growing with the two of you now pressed together.

“Let- let go of me,” you grouse, trying to unlatch his arms from around you.

“No can do, pipsqueak,” he replies, keeping you close, “my sister will kill me if anything happens to you. Besides, I know you gotta little thing for me.” 

“I do not have a thing for you,” you scoff, your denial sharp. You squirm in his arms, managing to roll onto your other side to face him. “That would be gross, Leon.”

“Yeah?” Leon murmurs, his eyes drifting across your face, “you didn’t think it was gross when you told my sister you’d like to sit on my face.”

You sputter, embarrassment making your cheeks go hot. Suddenly, the chill of the snowstorm seems to fade, replaced by a heat that seems unbearable, Leon’s skin warm against yours.

“I- I did not say that!” you protest, trying to squirm out of his arms again but to no avail.

“I overheard you,” he sighs, rolling his eyes when you try to swat at his face.

“Well, fine,” you admit begrudgingly, stopping your struggling. “But you aren’t special . I could name five other guys off the top of my head that I’d enjoy.”

“Ouch,” Leon replies, his eyes boring into yours. “‘m wounded, pipsqueak.” 

You send him a glare before snuggling closer, your face shoving into his chest. Leon lets out a rough laugh, his grip on you loosening. Silence passes over you and the warmth settles down to something more cozy, making your eyes droop shut.

“Could be fun.”

“What?” you mumble sleepily.

“Could be fun if you sat on my face.”

You peek up at him, taken aback. “Have you lost your mind, Leon?”

His lips purse as he considers your words, shrugging his shoulders lazily. “Gotta kill the time somehow,” he yawns.

“‘m not sleeping with you, jerk,” you reply, trying to ignore the fact that Leon, grumpy federal agent Leon , was offering to eat you out.

He sighs, muttering something incoherent that you can barely pick up on. It doesn’t help that Leon’s managed to ruin your sleep, the image of Leon’s head between your thighs popping into your mind. Could be fun .

Leon’s already staring at you when you look back up at him, his brows raising when you play with the strings of his hoodie, twirling and twisting them.

“Do you want to?” you ask.

He considers your words, running his hand through his hair. “I could use the practice. It’s been a while.”

“I’m not a training dummy, Leon,” you retort, but Leon’s already moving, the blankets around you shifting as he pulls them off, grabbing at your sock and pajama pants. “You said it could be fun .”

“Practice can be fun,” he replies drily, pulling your pajama pants off.

You shiver when the cold hits your skin, goosebumps erupting all over immediately. Leon’s hands are warm when he slides them over your legs, his head lowering to take a look at your panties.

“Cute,” Leon murmurs, finger pulling at the band before letting the fabric snap back against your skin. 

“H- hey!” you stop him when he tries to pull them off, eyes narrowing. “You should build up to it, not just go right in.”

Leon rolls his eyes and you huff out an annoyed breath, feet pressing up against his chest. 

“C’mon, Leon,” you say, voice morphing into a taunt, “work for it.”

“You always like this?” he shoots back, glaring down at you.

You give him a snarky smile, nudging your feet against his chest again. Leon shakes his head, grabbing one of your feet. You watch as he dips his head, his lips landing on your ankle. Leon’s lips are surprisingly gentle, his eyes flitting to yours as he trails his lips up your leg, leaving hot kisses in his wake.

A soft sigh escapes you, the tenseness fading as you relax, letting your eyes slide shut as he squeezes your thighs and kisses the side of your knee.

“Good?” he asks, his voice low.

“Mhm,” you nod, hips reacting to his ministrations as he spreads you apart.

Leon’s breath is hot against your skin, his tongue darting out to lick teasingly as he covers your inner thighs with kisses. You peer down at him, reaching out to place your hand in his hair, back arching slightly when he noses into your panties.

You bite your lip when he licks over your panties, feeling wetness beginning to gather between your thighs. His eyes flutter shut when your nails scratch at his scalp lightly, lapping at your clothed pussy until the fabric is wet with his spit and your slick, clinging to your folds.

“That’s cute,” you murmur, “thought this was just practice?”

He huffs out a breath and you smile, letting him lap at your clothed cunt until he’s satisfied. Leon kisses your hip when he rises up, fingers trailing across your thighs before drifting over your panties again, rubbing the drenched material absentmindedly. 

“‘s nice,” he murmurs, reaching up to tug your panties flush against your pussy, his eyes latched onto the way it outlines your puffy folds. Leon’s fingers reach down, rubbing over your cunt, pressing your panties against you harder. He watches the way you bite back the noises that threaten to escape, his lips turning into a frown. “Don’t do that.”

You shake your head stubbornly and he glares at you, tugging your lip out from the confines of your teeth.

“Guess I’ll just have to wear you out, hm?”

Leon’s fingers are greedy as he pulls your panties free, throwing them somewhere over his shoulder.

“Kiss first,” you say quietly when he thumbs apart your sticky folds, “then lick.”

“I know how to do this,” he grunts, gripping your thighs harder to pull you closer to him.

“Well then show me- oh fuck -”

Your breath hitches when he kisses your clit, the bud swollen and aching from before when he’d licked over your panties and prodded his tongue against you. Leon grins against your cunt, his tongue lolling out to lick a stripe over your wet pussy, delving deep between your folds to drink down your slick.

“Taste good, pipsqueak,” he rasps, licking over your cunt, lapping over and over again until your thighs twitch and your hand tightens in his hair, eyes squeezing shut.

“Don’t- ngh- don’t call me that! ”

“What should I call you then?” Leon asks, pulling back to spit on your cunt, his fingers spreading over your clit and pussy, rubbing it in, his thumb drawing tight circles against your clit. “Hm? Baby, is that what you want? Maybe sweetheart? Darlin’, gorgeous, my good girl? All of ‘em?”

You can only manage out a moan, hips rolling up to meet his mouth as the pet-names ring in your mind, a haze of lust fogging over your mind. Leon lets out a hoarse laugh, prodding a finger against your fluttering hole, easing it in. 

A whimper leaves you, cunt clenching around it as he nips at your thigh, tilting his head to suck your clit into his mouth. You shudder as he suckles, tongue flicking against the throbbing bud, teeth grazing across gently. He presses another finger into your cunt, a deep groan leaving him as you clench around his fingers harder, hips jumping when he sucks at your clit with renewed fervor.

“Such a whiny baby,” Leon muses when he hears the little whimpers and whines that leave you, his hand clamping over your hip to keep you in place as you squirm. “Don’t worry sweetheart, ‘m gonna take care of you.”

You mewl, hips rolling again needily as he buries his face into your cunt, slurping and sucking noisily. It makes your cheeks flush with embarrassment, despite the fact no one can hear you for miles.

“Thought- ah- thought you were gonna let me sit on your face,” you mumble out, body shuddering when Leon curls his fingers, beginning to thrust them in and out of you.

“Is that what you want?” 

You peer down at him before managing out a nod. Leon hums, taking a measured suck of your clit and pressing a kiss to it. He pats your hip, shifting to lay on his back in response. It’s nice of him, you think, when he offers you his hand, pulling you closer as you swing your leg over his face as you peer down at him.

“Sit on my face, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh.

You flush lightly, reaching out to brush the hair that’s fallen across his forehead, running your fingers through the soft strands. Leon’s eyes slip shut and you smile, trailing your fingers over the curve of his cheek before shuffling forward, lowering yourself onto his awaiting mouth.

“Oh,” you breathe out, hands landing on the sheets above his head, gripping them tightly.

Leon groans, hands grasping at your thighs, squeezing the fat of them as he urges you to rock your hips across his mouth. It’s almost too much, the swirl of his tongue, the intensity of his gaze as he looks up at you.

“I like it when you shut up,” you murmur, giving him a smile as you drag your cunt over the length of his tongue. “So much more tolerable this way, Leon.”

Leon lets out an indignant sound and you yelp, jolting when his hand comes down on your ass, your flesh stinging. What an asshole. You glare down at him, gripping his hair harder, pulling at the strands, enough to make it hurt .

He grunts, eyes squeezing shut in pain before he grasps your hips, pulling you down flush against his mouth. Your mouth opens, a strangled moan sounding as you feel his tongue pressing into your cunt.

“N- ngh- no,” you begin to say but Leon ignores you, fucking into your cunt with your tongue.

You can hardly see straight, back arching, eyes squeezing shut. 

“Brat,” Leon snarls, slapping your ass again, “so fucking bratty, sweetheart.”

“‘m not,” you whine, squirming atop his mouth, moaning again when he sucks his clit into your mouth, tongue flicking and swirling until you’re seeing stars. “‘m not , Leon.”

“You are,” he snaps lowly, “bratty and annoying and a fucking pain the ass.” He licks over your cunt again and again. Your thighs twitch, chest heaving as you suck in short, sharp breaths, hunching over when his teeth nip at your folds carefully.

It’s the worst, or perhaps the best because it has the bridge of his nose pressing up against your clit in a way that you’ve never felt before. You rock your hips, gasping, tears pricking at your eyes when he lands another heavy slap to your ass.

“Cum, baby,” Leon hisses, his voice a low rasp, “cum on my fucking mouth. Can you do that, hm? Be a good girl for once and cum .”

You shudder, a sharp cry tearing its way out of your throat as you cum, twitching violently. There’s sweat covering your body, your eyes squeezing shut as you cum. Leon laps at your slick, drinking it down like a man starved. He squeezes your thighs and you tremble, managing to squirm off of him, slumping down over the blankets, panting as your cunt throbs.

Silence passes over the cabin, save for the soothing crackle of the fire. Leon clears his throat, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer into the warmth of his chest.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “you- uh, you good?”

“Shut up, Leon,” you grouse, still reeling from the fact that Leon had given you the best orgasm of your life.

“I didn’t mean it,” he offers quietly, calloused palm rubbing up and down your side, over the dip of your waist and curve of your hip. “Well, not all of it.”

You shift, turning to face him. Leon’s hair looks like a mess and you figure you don’t look that much better, given all the squirming and writhing you were doing earlier.

“Yeah?” you murmur, “well, I mean it when I say you’re a dick.”

“Fine,” Leon muses, a smile pulling at his lips, “I’ll let you h-”

His words are cut off when you shuffle closer, grabbing his hoodie. Your nose brushes against his gently, eyes fluttering shut as you press your lips against his tentatively. Leon sighs into your mouth, his hand squeezing at your ass, his lips working against yours.

You wrap your arms around his neck, letting out a soft noise when he licks into your mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. He can’t help himself as he grabs at you, his hands sliding up under your thick sweater to grasp at your tits. You whimper when he pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers before tugging gently.

“Gonna let me fuck you, sweetheart?” Leon whispers against your lips.

You nod, kissing him again, pulling at his hoodie. He sits up, tugging it up over his head before reaching for you, pulling your sweater off of you. Leon swallows when he sees your breasts, his hands reaching for them greedily.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmurs, dipping his head to suck a nipple into his mouth. You bite your lip, hands cupping the back of his head as Leon nuzzles into your breasts, mouthing at the sides of them, landing soft kisses across your sternum and up your throat before finding your lips again.

Your hands are just as greedy as his mouth, reaching down to palm him through his sweats, the bulge looking inviting. Leon moans into your mouth and you smile, pecking his lips as you dip your hand inside, curling your hand around his cock.

It’s thick and heavy when Leon pulls down his sweatpants, his cock bobbing. You lick your hips, straddling his thigh, stroking his cock slowly. Leon’s eyes are squeezed shut, his head tipped back as his hips buck up into your hand.

“‘s big, Leon,” you murmur, watching with rapt attention as thick globs of pre-cum bead at the tip of his cock.

“Y- yeah?” he whimpers, thighs twitching, “‘s all yours, sweetheart.”

You hum happily, meeting his eyes before opening your mouth, letting spit drop down from your tongue onto his cock. Leon groans brokenly, watching as you jerk him off, cum and spit mixing together. 

“Enough,” he grunts when you swipe your thumb over the tip of his cock.

You pout, shuffling back, enough to get your mouth around the head of his cock. Leon’s grumbling when your tongue swirls around his cock, his hand fisting into your hair to pull you off roughly.

“I said enough ,” Leon murmurs, moving you until you're on your hands and knees. 

“Thought you said your cock was mine ,” you drawl, wiggling your hips, ass up in the air for him. “You’re being- oh -”

A dazed sigh leaves you when you feel Leon’s mouth on you again, his thumbs spreading you apart greedily, tongue licking over your cunt. You turn your head, hazy eyes finding Leon’s hand wrapped around his cock, his grip tight as he strokes himself.

“Want your cock in me,” you mumble, drooling into the pillows when he kisses your clit.

“Greedy,” he says, rubbing his cock against your cunt for a few seconds before he presses his cock in.

You gasp, eyes squeezing shut, hips shifting away. Leon clicks his tongue, pulling your hips back, forcing you to take his cock. It’s girthy and thick, a mewl leaving you as you feel his cock stretch you out.

“That’s it,” Leon whispers, hand smoothing over the length of your back, “take my cock, sweetheart.”

You babble incoherently, leaning back into him when he drapes himself over your back, his lips on your shoulder. Leon draws his hips back before thrusting them forward, making you moan. He smiles against your skin, kissing the back of your neck before straightening out.

“Look at that,” Leon murmurs, letting out a low whistle as he spreads your wider, his fingers stroking the edges of your stretched out pussy. “Greedy cunt’s just swallowing up my cock, baby.”

“More,” you whine, starting to rock your hips back to meet his thrusts.

Leon groans, feeling your ass smack back against his hips. He grips you harder, fingers bruising against your hips, pushing down on your back to make you arch. The action has you squeaking when you lose your balance, toppling forward, cheek squishing into the pillows.

The clap of his hips against yours is embarrassing, the cold around you forgotten in the dim cabin, the thickness of his cock replacing any worries you had.

“So fucking good,” Leon snarls, tugging you up again. “Perfect fucking pussy, baby.”

You cry out when he fucks up into you, his chest flush against your back, his arm winding around your neck. Leon squeezes and you slur out a moan, head turning to sink your teeth into his bicep.

He hisses at the flare of pain, squeezing harder. Your body jolts with every thrust, eyes rolling back in delirium at how good the feel of his cock is combined with the squeeze of his arm around your neck.

“Leon!” you whimper, tipping your head back, kissing his jaw sloppily.

“‘m right here, sweetheart,” he groans, mouth slotting over yours messily.

It’s all spit and sloppy kisses, both of your bodies trembling as Leon pounds into you without abandon. The squeeze of his bicep has your vision blurring, nails digging into his thigh. Your cunt clenches and Leon whines, pressing you back down to fuck his cock into you, hand coming down on your ass hard .

“Gonna make me cum,” he rasps, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen bud. 

“Please,” you mewl, hugging the pillow to your chest, “please, Leon- wanna cum, wanna cum please .”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he chants breathlessly, kissing your cheek, “wait, where- fuck, baby- where do you want it?”

“In- nghhh- in me,” you beg, hooking your foot awkwardly around his leg, trying to keep him from pulling out. “Cum inside , Leon. Want your cum.”

“Shit,” Leon groans, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, his hips humping into your cunt as he loses himself in the tight clench of your pussy. “Sweetheart, you gotta let go.”

“N- nooo,” you whine, shaking your head, wiggling your hips back so his cock presses into you deeper.

He moans, the sound deep and guttural and it has you moaning too, cunt clenching around him like a vice. 

“Pussy’s not letting me go,” Leon snarls, cock driving into you deeper as he slows his thrusts, opting to roll his hips instead. “Fine, ‘m gonna give you my cum, sweetheart. Gonna fill this greedy, little pussy up.” 

You slur out a response, face shoved into the pillow, writhing as Leon rubs your clit a few more times. He curses when you squeeze around him again, slumping over you as his cock twitches, hot cum spilling into you. You bite your lip, dazed and sated as you cum with him, pussy fluttering around his cock.

Leon kisses your neck, panting as he lets his forehead rest against your back. His softening cock slips out of you and Leon turns you on your back, dipping his head to kiss you deeply. You wrap your arm around his neck loosely, sighing contentedly as he massages your hips and thighs.

“I’ll be back,” he whispers against your lips.

You nod, laying there limp. Leon returns with a dry cloth, his lips lingering on your stomach and hip as he cleans you up.

He tugs you into his chest after, kissing your cheek and letting you burrow into his warmth. Your fingers slide through his hair, playing with the soft strands absentmindedly as he smooths his hand over your side, dropping a kiss to your head every now and then.

“So was that good for practice?” you ask, feigning innocence.

Leon huffs out a laugh, his hand squeezing at your waist. “Yeah,” he says, thumb stroking over the curve of your hip, “real good, baby.”

You hum happily, smiling when he tilts his head, kissing you again.

“Does this mean I can see your work?”

“No,” he replies drily, smiling against your cheek. “Still classified, sweetheart.”

“Well, what can I do to un -classify it?”

Leon grins. “I can think of a few things.”

-

“Bring me any souvenirs?” you call out, leaning against the side of your car.

Leon rolls his eyes, dumping his duffle bag onto the ground, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. You laugh, letting him nuzzle into the crook of your neck, humming in amusement when he grumbles.

“You’re meant to say you missed me.”

You did miss Leon. After the snowstorm had receded, you’d still been unable to keep your hands off one another, even when you’d returned home. He’d been called on some mission some months later, and now here you were, picking him up.

“Just a smidge,” you murmur, biting your lip when he noses into your cheek, pressing soft kisses across your skin.

You turn your head, cupping his cheeks to pull him closer, kissing him deeply. Leon smiles against your lips, holding you tighter, arms squeezing around you. “Maybe a lot,” you whisper, landing another kiss to his lips.

“I missed you too,” he sighs, tucking your hair behind your ear and pressing a kiss to your forehead. Leon’s lips drift, dragging down over the side of your cheek and to your jaw. He presses you against the cool metal of your car, one of his hands drifting under your skirt.

“Know that pretty pussy missed me too,” he murmurs, “‘s why you sent me all those videos, right?”

“Shut up, Leon.”

“Oh c’mon,” Leon drawls, pulling you back into his chest when you try opening the door to your car, “I liked ‘em, sweetheart.”

He kisses your neck heatedly, a soft whine making its way out of your throat when he squeezes the fat of your ass and pats it affectionately.

“We should go home,” you whisper breathily.

“Yeah,” Leon murmurs, his hand forward to cup your pussy, stroking it through your panties. “Car’s right here though.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, muttering a curse when Leon speaks again.

“Could be fun.”

[starzzluvr]

i wanted it to be you. (II)

ch. 1 // ch. 2

di!leon x fem!reader

summary: when Leon thinks things are too late, he gets a friendly reminder that things are never too late.

tags: angst/comfort, happy endings, fluff, wedding ceremony, marriage, vows, talks about future, small mention of overbearing in-laws, reader having many second thoughts, drunk letters/vows, Chris and Claire Redfield mentioned, runaway bride, panic/anxiety attacks, Leon loves you, time skips, teasing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before ya' tap it)

warnings: panic and anxiety attacks

word count: 10.3K (yikes srry ya'll)

“my dream house?”

“yeah, tell me.” he urged, bumping your hip with his. you looked up into the sky, pondering his question. it was a good question. you’d never thought of something like that before. you were so used to your two-bedroom and one-half-bathroom apartment.

“well, i want lots of greenery. like plants in every corner and in every room.” you began, using your spoon as a little wand as you spoke. “i also want a lot of warm lights, to give the house a nice welcoming vibe to it,”

he hummed, nodding as you finished each sentence. “i like earthy tones or nude tones, nice soft couches, and a stone fireplace. a big living room and a large dining room- y’know how in those movies where the rich sad family gathers for dinner and it’s very awkward and quiet?”

his eyebrows furrowed, “you want something like that?”

you chuckled, “no, but i want my dining room to look like that just less … sad.”

“i see, it’s like those where the father is at the end and the mother at the other end,”

“exactly,” you smiled wider. you picked a cherry floating atop your frozen yogurt, taking it by the stem and bringing it to his lips. he opened his mouth with an audible sound, wrapping his cold lips around the fruit and plucking it off the stem.

you flicked the stem out of your fingers and onto the street where it’ll be swept away in the wind and trampled on by those who walked by.

“i want a large backyard, with either a poo or just a large field of grass.” you smiled at the thought of walking out onto your porch as an old feeble woman to enjoy a cup of coffee as you stared out into your backyard to watch the sun set or rise. or even watch your future kids play with the family dog.

you never wanted to have kids. just the thought of splitting yourself in half while pushing out new life sent chills up your spine. but sometimes, the idea of holding a child to your chest and watching it grow. the idea of listening to them laugh and play, watching as they discovered new interests and learned new things, and being alive to discover the person they will become, doesn’t sound too bad.

“i want a balcony, one that stretches from one side of the house to the other. that way i can sit outside and i don’t know enjoy a nice cigarette.”

a laugh erupted from his chest at the thought of you only wanting a balcony to smoke a cigarette. but then that image warped into him watching you from the door smoking that cigarette. the wind blowing in your hair, the sun kissing your skin, your clothes flapping against your skin.

he imagined you’d be wearing a baggy shirt, maybe one of his shirts. the wind blowing up from the balcony would cause your shirt to cling to you. to your curves and the dips of your body, the purchase of your hips, and the slim of your waist.

you’d turn to him with your elbows leaned up against the railing behind you, cigarette between the plump skin of your lips as you beckoned him over to join you.

“i had a friend,” you started, interrupting his small daydream.

“her parents had this master bedroom. when you walked in, to your left was a sliding door that led to the balcony overlooking her backyard, and then to the right was a couple’s bathroom,” you sighed at the memory, you envied her.

one, because her parents were happily married and slept in the same bed. two, because she had a big house with a large backyard. and three, because she was happy. she lived luxuriously in her big house, she was spoiled, and her parents doted on her. her life was perfect.

yours, not so much.

“her mom occupied one sink with her makeup and her jewelry, and her dad occupied the other with cologne and little figures,” you gulped down a lump in your throat, looking up at him to see him already looking at you. you could see the sad look on his face. the look of pity and sadness, it left a stab in your heart knowing that you probably ruined his night for him.

“i want that.” your words left your throat with a small croak. you weren’t just talking about a couples bathroom with a jacuzzi bathtub but also to be happy. to live in a large house, to be happy with your future husband and kids, to enjoy luxurious jewelry and clothes.

his heart hurt at the look in your eyes, the yearning and the hope. he could see the pain as you spoke about your friend, even if you were smiling as if it was a good memory. he wanted to say, i can give you that.

he wanted to give you that. not only for you but also for himself, that way when you beckon him over as you smoke your cigarette he can join your side. his daydream began to play again; as he joined your side, you’d put your cigarette out and wrap your arms around his torso with a sigh.

he could smell the shampoo in your damp hair and the lotion you lathered onto your skin — along with a hint of his cologne from the baggy t-shirt that belonged to him. the wind was nice and fresh, a cooling breeze along with the warm morning sun. he’d shut his eyes and hold you to his chest, slowly swaying you back and forth as he enjoyed the warmth from the sun along with the warmth from your body.

“that sounds nice,” he looked down at you, “peaceful,”

you smiled up at him, licking your sticky lips, “yeah, it does,”

your smile slowly faded as you began to doze off, he was very … pretty. the way his dirty blonde hair framed his face so perfectly. golden strands that are soft like silk and fluffy like cotton. his eyes, how they gazed into yours, pulling you in deep like the tide of the ocean and drowning you into his being.

they say the eyes are the window to the soul. when someone furrows a brow, you can tell their soul is confused or troubled. when a tear swells you know their soul is sad. when their pupil dilates you know their soul is in love.

there is a ring around his pupils, a ring of blue — the color of his irises. his plump lips are agape, sucking in breaths and letting them go. his lashes flutter with every blink, his eyes trailing every inch of your face, taking every detail of you into memory.

you did the same. scanning over his dimpled cheeks, his high cheekbones, his strong brow bones, his long lashes, the tips of his cold ears, and the window to his soul. all of it.

“you’re so beautiful,” his words came out almost in a drunken whisper. his brain wasn’t able to process any word that left his mouth until it did.

the blood that pumped into your veins instantly ran to your face. your cheeks heating up as your eyes widened, you looked back down at your melted froyo — hoping that taking a bite would hide away your hot cheeks. “thank you,” you mumbled trying to fight back the smile creeping up onto your sticky lips.

“of course uh- back to your dream house-“

“oh right! um-“

------

a living room with comfortable couches and a coffee table in the middle sitting, in front of a large stone fireplace. a kitchen with off-white cabinets, black tile floors, and an island with black marble counters and a deep sink. a dining room with a large table with seven chairs and a runner underneath.

plants, everywhere. in the front, in the large backyard, hanging from the roof, in every room, and in every corner.

large windows that faced the sunset and sunrise, casting down their warmth and triumph into the house to illuminate every corner without a single flip of a light switch. warm lights, in the kitchen, the living room, the dining room, the hallways, everywhere.

a patio out front and out back, a balcony that stretched across the back of the house. five rooms, a guest room, three kids’ rooms, and a master bedroom. a master bedroom where when you walked in, to the left were the sliding doors to the balcony, and to the right a couples bathroom and a walk-in closet.

though, it wasn’t a home. there were drapes over the furniture to keep them from collecting dust. there were no plants just empty corners. the windows were shut and no one lived there.

the rooms were empty, with nothing but carpet and walls. it wasn’t a home. it had no life, no family, no giggles and happiness. it was simply just a house.

“sir, i just need you to sign here and then we’ll lease the house.”

he straightened his posture and blinked away the dryness in his eyes. he looked over at the man, he was about his height. he wore a fancy suit, his mustache was nice and jelled up, his hair slicked back and he smelt of expensive cologne.

he took one last look around the house, his heart aching. if he closed his eyes, he could hear you in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and listening to your music or your podcasts. he could hear your voice calling him from your bedroom. he could hear a dog maybe the giggles of children. but that was just a figment of his imagination.

he was standing in the middle of a house. your dream house. the one you told him about so many years ago. back then, he would’ve said ‘i can give you that’, but he hesitated. would that have made you stay? if he said he was putting all his money into building this house for you.

buying the furniture and the tiling and marble necessary to make it happen. hiring construction workers to add on a balcony and a back porch. would all his effort … would it have made you stay?

“who’s getting married?” the realtor asked, pointing at his boutonniere with his pen. he blinked, once again brought out of his daze.

“uh my … ex-girlfriend,” he grumbled awkwardly. the realtor jumped back a little, a small strand of his slicked-back hair falling out.

“oh,” was all he could say as he too joined him in looking around the house. the real estate agent could tell that this man wasn’t looking to live here by himself, there were so many rooms, rooms for a family. a couples bathroom and a shared walk-in closet.

the realtor sighed, looking up at the man. his eyes were bloodshot red, most likely from crying or being up all night. the bags under his eyes were dark and heavy. he was holding a flask of whiskey and his posture remained slouched.

“Mr. Kennedy,” the realtor clicked his pen and hooked it back onto his suit pocket. he stuffed the paperwork under his arm and puffed out his chest. he was losing business by doing this but he’d rather see a man happy to sell his house rather than sad to sell his house.

“i was young once,” he began, standing next to Leon as he dozed off. “i too had a girlfriend, she was the girl of my dreams,” the man chuckled at the memory.

“we were young and very, very stupid,”

Leon’s head slowly turned towards the man beside him, he found that the realtor was looking out the window with a smile on his face which caused his mustache to turn upwards.

“i was poor and she was wild, i wanted to give her a proper life. so i worked and i worked to the point that i’d tire myself and i barely had time for her.”

Leon let his eyes fall to the ground, this story was sounding a bit too familiar to him. not having time for each other led to miscommunication and arguments all the time. it was not a story that he wished to retell.

“so she left me, one day i came home and she was gone.” the man sniffled a bit, watching a bird fly out of one of the trees that sat on the front lawn. the bird reminded him of her, his songbird, always singing and so loud. though, he loved it when she sang and tweeted like a bird.

her voice was always like music to his ears anyway.

“i crashed her wedding like a fool and she told me that she would’ve been happy getting married without a big ring and a big house. that she would’ve been happy with how things were,” the man let out a sigh, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“so, my word to you is…don’t let it be too late. if you love her and hopefully she still loves you then … make it work.” the man placed a hand on Leon’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. a sign of support for the young man since he too has been in Leon’s position once.

“it is never too late to be what you wanted to be,”

'i wanted it to be you.'

your voice replayed in his head. he could still hear the tears clogged in your throat and he could still see the look in your eye. he could still smell your perfume and feel your lips on his skin. it isn’t too late. he wasn’t too late.

Leon slowly began to nod his head, building up the courage to do something anything. he knew it was time to let you go, that it was over and done.

'do you still love me?'

'goodbye, Leon.'

those were the last words you said to him. he replays the sound in his voice every night and it keeps him awake at night. he tosses and turns, missing the warmth of your body and the feeling of your skin. he feels selfish, yearning for someone who wants nothing to do with him. someone who is getting married in a few hours.

but you aren’t just anyone. dare say, you are the love of his life.

“thank you, Mr. Gudzynski.” Leon smiled at the man, taking one last chug of the whiskey in his flask before making his way out the door. Chris stood there waiting for him, leaning up against his car with a cigarette hanging from his lips as he stared down at his phone.

upon hearing Leon’s foot crush the rocks beneath him, he looked up. he stomped out his cigarette as he blew out the last puff of smoke.

“how’d it go?” Chris asked, rolling his shoulders to let the sleeves of his suit adjust.

“did you just put out your cigarette on fresh cement?”

“i guess you sold it then,” Chris chuckled dryly.

Leon took a moment to reply, looking at the porch behind him. it was empty, just plain wooden slabs. he knew how much you wanted a patio, this was your house after all.

completely inspired by you. every corner and every detail of this house you had spoken to Leon years ago. he made your dream a reality, though you'll never know that.

“i couldn’t,”

Chris turned to Leon, his frame tensing up, “uh you what?”

“i couldn’t sell it, i just…” Leon ended his sentence with a shrug and much to his dismay, Chris nodded understandably.

“i knew you wouldn’t be able to,” Chris sighed, opening the door to his car.

“what?” Leon said with a lift of his brow.

“just get in,”

the whole drive to the church, Leon could feel his body growing heavier and heavier. he was nervous. unsure of what he should do or say? will he have the time? he was constantly wiping his hands onto his pants, trying to wipe the nerves and sweat away.

he was staring out the window blankly, bouncing his leg and biting on the inside of his cheeks.

~

’stop that,’

‘stop what?’

your fingers reached up to tap his cheek, ‘stop biting your cheeks, you’re making me anxious’

he stopped instantly, licking over the skin that he was just biting at. you sighed, standing in front of him as you fixed his tie. you worked with straightening the silk fabric and tightening it around his neck — not too much.

he looked down at you and his nerves instantly eased. your face was relaxed, your breathing slows, your lashes fluttered with every single blink, and god you were glowing. he couldn’t help but smile, he knew he had no reason to be nervous if you were right by his side.

and here you were; fixing his tie and smoothing out his suit.

‘you got this, it’s just a simple speech, we rehearsed it many times,’ you leaned up onto your tippy toes to place a kiss on his chin. ‘and i’ll be right in the audience supporting you,’

~

his lips curled into a small smile at the memory, he would’ve for sure embarrassed himself if it wasn’t for you being by his side. he remembers it clear as day, standing up on that podium as he received his award, his hands were shaking and his vision was blurry.

he was trying to read off of his speech but he couldn’t. that was until he found you in the room and then suddenly, you two were in the living room of your shared apartment. you were sitting on the couch with takeout in your lap. as he practiced his speech, you’d slurp your noodles or take a bite of your fried rice as you pretended to be a high government official.

once his eyes found yours in the large crowd, you smiled up at him mouthing the words; ‘you got this,’

“we’re here,” Chris sighed aloud. Leon looked up to see many familiar faces walking up the steps into the church, hand in hand and with smiles on their faces. all dressed in black suits and dresses, a simple and traditional color.

you were never a religious woman, you weren’t the type to go to church every Sunday or pray before every meal. but here you were getting married in a church, under the eye of god as if you hadn’t slept with another man just a few months ago.

your eyes were stuck on the cross hanging above you. the hairstylist you hired was busy touching up your hair, your makeup artist was powdering your nose and adding more highlight to your cheekbones consistently saying the same words, ‘make sure you smile that way you can really pop.’

you’d give her a small silent nod, whatever made her happy.

you haven’t smiled once. it was your wedding day. after months of trying on dresses, trying cake flavors, sending out invitations, and picking out bridesmaids. the day was here and you couldn’t smile. you’ve been sitting in this chair for hours, getting your hair and makeup done.

your bridesmaids would come in screaming excitedly while waving around bottles of champagne. you put on a fake smile with fake laughs and giggles but your mind was elsewhere.

you were thinking of a lot. your future after today, losing your last name, kids, and in-laws. but mostly you were thinking about him. it was hard, writing his name down on an envelope and sending it to him through the mail.

your fiancee, soon-husband, didn’t know about you and Leon. he believes you two are coworkers and nothing more. acquaintances or even strangers. he didn’t know the deep love you held for that man.

he was excited to see that you were inviting the other agents. he felt special. as if him being married to a D.S.O agent would make him a better tech or get him a promotion.

it was so hard sending him that invitation. most of the other invitations were given in person unless the guests lived far away. you wondered if he would come, part of you hoped he did and the other part of you hoped he didn’t.

“it’s almost time,” you looked to your side to see your uncle standing in the doorway. you chose him to walk you down the aisle, he’s been here for you more than your father. he was there for your daddy-daughter dances, for your graduation. elementary, middle school, and high school.

you stood up from your chair, smoothing out your dress. your dress was itchy and heavy, the pins in your hair stabbed your scalp with every movement, your makeup felt heavy and cakey, and your heels hurt. everything felt wrong.

“are you ready?” you looked at your uncle, a smile on his face as he looked at you. that was when tears welled in your eyes and you shook your head, suddenly you were a little girl again, crying to him when you didn’t get a toy you wanted.

your uncle’s face contorted with worry as he rushed to your side.

“hey, what’s wrong?”

you sobbed, throwing your head down so your tears wouldn’t ruin your makeup. you grabbed the back of your chair, trying to find your words and your breath but it was hard with the corset constricting your every movement.

“i can’t do it, i can’t go out there-“

“of course you can,” he reached over for a few napkins as his hand rubbed up and down your back, “i know it’s stressing, this is your big day, and your life is going to change after this.”

you shook your head again, pursing your lips together to keep another sob from leaving your lips.

“but this is the day you’ve been waiting for, you’ve stressed yourself out enough. after this, you get to enjoy your honeymoon and your house.”

you looked up at him, blinking away another tear. he smiled at you, taking the napkin to blot away the tears. you couldn’t help but think, only if he knew.

only if he knew where your heart truly lies. who your soul calls to. what you did, more specifically who you did. you couldn’t tell him. it was too late to tell anyone. what were you supposed to say? i slept with another man. quite frankly, the only man i’ve ever loved.

you’d be burned at the stake, by everyone in the church. especially, your mother-in-law.

so you sucked in a deep breath and stood up straight.

“okay,” you croaked, and you held the napkin to your tears. you hoped he wasn’t here, you really did. you knew if you made eye contact with him somewhere in the crowd, you would break.

so you linked arms with your uncle, standing up straight and putting a smile on your face. your uncle smiled back at you, giving your arm a small squeeze. your feet were already beginning to hurt and the minute the piano started your limbs began to shake.

your nerves were on edge, your palms were sweaty and you could barely control your breathing. you walked out of the small room you used to get ready and into the main hall. there were photographers, gasping at the sight of you.

gorgeous dress that made you look like a princess, the fabric along with your veil trailed behind you, leaving a path of your essence. instantly, camera shutters were beginning to go off. you gave the photographers a nervous smile and wave as you stood in front of the two large doors.

you looked up at the roof, naked baby angels danced above you, they were holding harps and chasing each other with smiles on their faces. clouds surrounded them along with doves. hints of gold were seen in the paint.

it was beautiful. architectural and just pure with grace. even if the paint was fading and cracking, it was the most beautiful thing you've seen today.

your uncle knocked at the doors, signaling whoever was inside that you were ready. when the doors opened you were met with gasps and the sound of people rising from their seats. you made eye contact with a few people both from your family and his.

you watched as a few covered their mouths in shock, their facial expressions softening in awe. you smiled at a few, keeping your head forward most of the time. your fiancee stood at the end with a wide smile on his face. his friends were giving him firm pats on the shoulder, demonstrating their support.

you smiled at him, pursing your lips as you let your eyes wander. to your left, in the second row, seated in the very first seat…there he was. he came. your face dropped upon seeing him, your knees suddenly felt weak, and a large pain erupted in your chest.

he stood with his hands folded in front of him. his lips were agape, his jaw hanging loose. his eyebrows were upturned in awe. your steps slowed a bit as you got closer to him. you wanted to see him one last time before it was too late.

in his mind, he was standing there at that altar instead of that bearded man. he was watching you walk down the aisle and you were smiling at him. you looked beautiful. god, that color always suited you. your makeup and hair were done beautifully, he’s never seen you this way — all dolled up.

it put his heart to a complete stop. he couldn’t focus on anything but you. your eyes were stuck on him as you passed by. he watched your smile fade as you both made eye contact and he felt a stab in his chest. for a second, he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t blink. he was just frozen in time.

as you walked past him, your head fell to look at the ground. Leon too looked away, continuing to bite on the inside of his cheeks, this time he could taste blood. he shouldn’t be here. he shouldn’t watch this happen. he couldn’t. he couldn’t.

but he wanted to, today was special to you but it was the complete opposite to him.

he watched as you stood before your husband, a smile rising to your mouth as you gave him a small ‘hi’. Leon let his head drop to his lap, his leg was bouncing uncontrollably. he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t be here.

he was about to look up at Chris to tell him he had to go but he was interrupted when Chris put his hand on Leon's knee. when he looked at Chris, he was looking ahead. a toothpick between his lips and his eyes stuck ahead on you and your future husband.

he knew Chris was trying to convey something, probably 'calm the fuck down,' but also some type of support.

Chris knew today was hard for Leon. with each passing day that the wedding got closer, Leon has been sulking and slacking off during training. his flask was his best friend and so was his bed.

Chris was the only one who knew how deep Leon’s love ran for you. Chris was there during the nights Leon would stumble around drunk and depressed. he gave Leon a hand when he was at his lowest. he helped Leon get rid of his addiction. he got Leon a therapist.

he did a lot for Leon when you two split, same for you. Chris was like the older brother you never had, he was supportive and kind. he was always understanding. you were able to confide in him comfortably. you could sob on his shoulder and use him as a punching bag instead of Leon.

Chris saw both of you at your lowest points and he brought both of you back.

he did so much to bring you two back together but here he is; watching one get married while the other watches with tears in his eyes. Leon kept his head down, unable to face you and watch the scenery before him. the priest prompted you two to begin your vows and he was first.

there was a nervous smile on his face as he pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. he unfolded the paper, his eyes flickering between you and the speech before him. he cleared his throat, facing the crowd.

“first and foremost, i want to thank everyone for being here; friends and family.” he cleared his throat once again, looking towards you. it made Leon’s stomach twist with jealousy as you smiled at him so lovingly. he also couldn’t stop admiring how beautiful you were. pure innocence and grace, well he knew you were far from innocent.

“and most of all my gorgeous wife-to-be,” your smile dropped into a simple lift of your lips. but slowly, you began to look around the crowd. your eyes landing on your family, your in-laws, and then Leon. from there, you stayed fixated on him.

you haven’t seen him so polished in so long. his suit was nicely tailored, sleek back with a white brooch. though his tie was crooked and he was chewing on the inside of his cheeks. his frantic leg bouncing stopped once he made eye contact with you. his body froze in a way, his breath caught in his throat.

he smiled at you, gently. the look in his eyes spoke for him, ‘you look beautiful,’ he said.

he tried to keep calm, for you. even though he was on the verge of a heart attack. even if he was terribly heart broken, he needed to be happy for you. today is your day.

you smiled back at him even wider, shying away from him with visible heat in your cheeks, ‘thank you,’ you said back, smoothing out the skirt of your dress. your fiancee’s speech fell on deaf ears, you were paying attention to everything else but him at the moment.

Leon sat right in your field of view. at the other side of the aisle, in the second row, towards the very end of the bench.

you sucked in a deep breath, your lips falling agape as you kept eye contact with him longer. suddenly, the feelings you wished to bury. the ones you’ve been trying to bury for years were coming back. it was like slowly drowning. you can see the surface still but as you sink deeper and deeper, it becomes blurry and you are forever trapped in the ocean beneath you.

his kisses, his touch, his love, his passion, his laugh, his smile, his hair, his teeth, his nose, the hair on his arms and legs, the scar on his shoulder, the mole on his neck — it was all coming back. he was coming back.

the happiness you felt when he would wake you up with gentle kisses to your neck and shoulder. the joy you felt walking into the kitchen to see him there making coffee, he hated coffee. he hated the feeling it left on your tongue. the bitter taste and the smell of your breath after taking a sip. he hated coffee but he still made it.

it made him feel like a normal person living in an apartment with his normal girlfriend.

the comfort you’d get when he’d hug you. the excitement you felt when he’d come home. the small things he did that aroused you to the point of insanity. the arguments…you even missed the petty arguments. arguments never lasted long. Leon hated arguing with you.

it would usually end up with him sleeping on the couch that night. then he’d wake up with a heavy weight on top of him. of course, it was you. or it would end up with him throwing you over his shoulder and locking you both in your shared bedroom together.

even if you two argued, you refused to be away from each other.

you were woken from your daydream by the wave of chuckles around the room. you joined in subconsciously, blinking your dry eyes and averting your attention away from Leon. meanwhile, he was gripping the pants of his suit with butterflies in his stomach. he couldn’t shake off this feeling.

the feeling of loss. the feeling that maybe it was too late.

your fiancee had finished his vows, folding up the paper and storing it back in his pocket. you looked up at you, a blush on his cheeks and sweat brimming at his forehead. you could see he was nervous, he was shaking — constantly rocking back and forth and itching at his beard.

you reached into your bra, pulling out your vows. you were so unprepared. you wrote your vows probably a few nights ago, drunk one too many drinks and elbow-deep in a bag of your favorite chips.

the minute you unfolded the paper, you knew you should’ve read it over.

‘To my beloved, Leon…’

you swallowed a lump in your throat, nervously looking between the paper, your fiancee, and Leon sitting in the crowd. you were drunk and wrote vows to the wrong man. no, it was to the right man. Leon was the right man. he always has been.

“um, to my beloved, future husband,” you began, your voice trembling and your throat aching. you read over the first line and you instantly felt tears swell up in your eyes, “i miss you, um,” your eyes flashed over to Leon.

“i miss you even if you’re right next to me. no words can summarize how much i love you, how much i burn and yearn for you every passing minute … every passing day.”

Leon felt his heart break into a million pieces right then and there. your eyes remained on him, only looking away to glance back down at your vows. were you … reading these to him? Leon swallowed a lump in his throat, his eyebrows upturning as he tried to hold himself together.

you were making up things as you went, your words completely different from what was really written down:

“i am glad to have you by my side,” i wish you were by my side, holding me and singing your cheesy songs in my ear.

“i am blessed to wake up to you every morning and suck in a deep breath of your essence and your being,” i miss waking up to you every morning, staying in bed for a few more hours just so i can watch you breathe and stir in your sleep.

“i was broken when you found me but you pieced me back together, slowly and patiently,” you broke me. we broke each other but every single piece of me will crawl back to you in the end. no matter how shattered i am.

a tear slipped down your cheek, you were beginning to choke up the more and more you read. it was getting hard to make things up and say those instead of reading what you wrote down. a full page confessing your every feeling and thought to the right man … to Leon.

tears continued to fall.

‘i miss you. god, i miss you. i should’ve never left. i should’ve stayed. it was my fault. i broke us, i hurt us. i died when i left you but you brought me back to life when i saw you standing on that cliff.

when i saw you, the emotions running through me i couldn’t comprehend. i wanted to run, i wanted to turn away because i knew if i approached you it would be bad. but my body made its way towards you anyway.

i love you. i always have and i always will. i wish i could hold you again. i wish i could go back. they say to never open the closed doors of your past. fuck not opening closed doors, your door never closed.

when i turn back i can see you, standing there in the doorway watching me leave. just like the night i left. it hurts looking back, it hurts because i want to run back to you so bad.’

‘do you still love me?’

his words rang in your head like an alarm. you were looking down at your paper, vision blurry with tears. you could feel the weight of your tears falling onto the sheet as you sat there in silence. a small sob left your lips as audible whispers rang throughout the room.

you folded the paper in half, shaking your head as you looked up at your fiancee.

“i’m sorry,” was all you said as you took a step back. your body moved before you could process anything. you ran down the steps, lifting the skirt of your dress with one hand while the other held your love letter with a vice grip.

you ran down the aisle, towards the large doors. your throat was on fire and as you burst through the wooden doors, you finally let out a singular sob.

everyone in the church stood and watched you run out, looking between you and your fiancee abandoned at the altar. the whispers became louder, and gasped erupted through the room. your fiancee stood at the altar looking at his feet, completely still.

his mother ran up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as she threw a million questions towards him. he stayed silent, eyes fixed on the ground below him. he couldn't believe it and neither could anyone else.

Leon looked back from you running out the door towards Chris standing behind him. his face was painted with worry, his eyes wide and eyebrows scrunched together. Chris nodding his head towards the door, signaling Leon to go after you.

“go, she needs you,” Claire said from behind Chris. Leon nodded silently, a heavy breath leaving his lips as he ran after you.

he was second to burst through those doors after you. he looked right and left, panicking. what happened? what was wrong? he knew he shouldn’t have come. this was his fault. if he didn’t come, you would be running out of this church with your husband on your arm. not like this.

those vows. they weren’t for your husband. he knew that for sure. your eyes were stuck on his, he watched with agony as tears slipped past your pretty eyes and down your cheeks. god, he hated seeing you cry more than anything. he just wished he could scoop you up in his arms and coax them out of you gently.

a sign against the wall that read ‘garden’ caught his attention. the sign pointed to the left and Leon was quick to take after you.

he knew you well. he knew you loved gardens and flowers, always plucking them from the ground or from their bush and sticking them into Leon’s hair. you once mentioned to him how when you’re troubled you tend to turn to nature or your bed. you’d take walks, sit outside in the sun in silence. you’d brush your fingers against the soft petals and leaves.

your bed was nowhere in sight so he ran in the direction of the garden.

he made way down the steps into the garden, loosening the tie around his neck. he shut his mouth, listening to your voice over his beating heart and his heaving breaths. he could faintly hear sobs coming from his right. his head snapped in the direction of your cries, his heart breaking as he spotted your heels on the ground.

they most likely slipped off as you ran away. he sucked in one last deep breath, trudging through the grass of the church garden to pick up your heels. the garden was beautiful, tall bushes acting as walls to a makehsift maze.

white roses were planted everywhere. the grass was healthy and warm, tickling at his ankles. bees buzzed around the bushes, hopping from flower to flower. birds chirped in the trees, singing melancholic tunes on this beautiful afternoon. or pretty drastic afternoon.

as he walked further into the maze, he caught eye of you. your back was turned to him, you had sat down on a bench in the middle of the maze and in front of a marble statue. he stopped in his tracks, gulping down the lump in his throat which somehow made his presence clear to you.

you turned around surprised, eyes wide and a small gasp leaving your lips.

when you caught eye of him standing there, holding your heels with one hand and the other tucked in his pocket. you felt tears welling up again, though you hid it away with a dry laugh.

“how cliche huh? runaway bride.”

he didn’t answer, making his way closer and closer to you. he rounded around the bench, getting down on one knee in front of you. he took your right ankle into his hands, rubbing at your soft skin.

Leon tried to ignore the damp paper in your hands — your vows. he was curious, what did they really say?

he slipped on your heel, continuing to draw circles onto your skin.

you watched him, inhaling deep, trembling breaths and gripping the edge of the bench with all your might. the tension was thick, so thick to the point neither of you could breathe.

“say something,” you sighed out.

“i don’t know what to say,” he croaked out, his voice stuffy and hoarse. he took a hold of your other ankle, slipping on the last heel.

“say that i don’t know, i’m stupid. i’m an idiot. i embarassed myself, i-“ you cut yourself off with a heavy sigh, dropping your head into your lap. there was a moment of silence, leaving you two stuck in an oasis of tweeting birds, rustling trees, and buzzing bees.

“look at me-“

“no,”

“please, baby look at me,” he practically begged. butterflies arose in your stomach and you shut your eyes, hoping you could shut him out. hoping the noise in your head would stop, just hoping everything will quiet. “i need you to look at me.”

that was all it took. you slowly looked up from your lap and at him. once you met his gaze, you felt like you were that young girl again. that young girl walking down the street after a dinner date, eating froyo in freezing weather and talking about your dream house.

“you’re not an idiot, you’re not stupid, you’re perfect. you’re so perfect,” he sighed out. “why’d you run?”

you shook your head, “i couldn’t do it, Leon, i-“ you stopped yourself to suck in a deep breath, but it felt so constricted. your head was pounding, everything felt heavy and you were so dizzy. every thing was falling down. you felt like you couldn’t breathe or think, your head was spinning and your knuckles white.

you gripped at your chest, nervously playing with the pendant of your necklace but at the same time trying to tug it off. you felt like you were choking, your vision began to cloud with tears but at the same time you felt like you were losing consciousness.

“hey, hey,” he came to sit next to you, instantly wrapping his heavy arms around your shoulders to bring you into his chest but still giving you room to breathe.

his fingers began to loosen the ribbons to your corset. his movements were stable and calm. “breathe with me ‘kay?" he soothed, "in and out, just how we always did,”

you nodded, gripping onto his suit, “in”

you shut your eyes and took a deep breath in. “good, what’s one thing you can taste?”

“um my lipstick,” you said, as you both exhaled.

“in,” he rubbed your back with one hand while the other held you firmly against him, “what are two things you can smell?”

his voice was getting deeper and quieter. slowly, your body began to relax. you could breathe again. you focused on your surroundings, naming off the first things you could. “the grass and…” you paused to let a deep breath out, “you.”

he wasn’t going to lie, your reply made his heart jump a little bit. he tightened his hold onto you, burying his nose into your hair. “in.”

as he took a deep breath in, he was bombarded with the smell of your shampoo and hairspray, “what are three things you can hear?”

“birds, wind and your heart beat,” you whispered to him as you let out another deep breath.

“in,” another deep breath in, “almost there, what are four things you can touch?” he could feel your body loosen up as you began to feel around him. your eyes were shut and your body began to go slack against him.

“your suit, the bench, and a button,” another deep breath out.

“good, almost there, in.” you were prepared for this one, pulling back from the hug just a bit so you could look around your surroundings. “what are five things you can see?”

you looked up at him, your breath hitching in your throat and your knees going weak. even if you were sitting down, you felt like jelly — as if you would melt right through this bench. you opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out but a weak croak.

he whispered out your name, concerned. his eyebrows curling upwards and his eyes searching yours. the longer you stayed like this, looking into his eyes and breathing with him, the quieter it got. there was no more pounding and noise in your head. your dress didn’t feel itchy. the pins in your hair no longer stabbed at your scalp. the soles of your feet didn’t hurt.

it was all so peaceful. everything.

“i do,” you managed to croak out.

“what?”

“to answer your question,”

‘do you still love me?’

“i do, Leon, i do. more than you’ll ever know,”

you couldn’t read the look on his face, all you saw was a flurry of emotions. he searched your face for any hesitation or lie, anything to keep him from taking you away from here for good. something to stop him from being selfish and keeping you all to himself.

“i love you, Leon Scott Kennedy.”

~

To my beloved, Leon,

i wish you were by my side, holding me and singing your cheesy songs in my ear.

i miss waking up to you every morning, staying in bed for a few more hours just so i can watch you breathe and stir in your sleep.

you broke me. we broke each other but every single piece of me will crawl back to you in the end. no matter how shattered i am.

i miss you. god, i miss you. i should’ve never left. i should’ve stayed. it was my fault. i broke us, i hurt us. i died when i left you but you brought me back to life when i saw you standing on that cliff.

when i saw you, the emotions running through me i couldn’t comprehend. i wanted to run, i wanted to turn away because i knew if i approached you it would be bad. but my body made its way towards you anyway.

i love you. i always have and i always will. i wish i could hold you again. i wish i could go back. they say to never open the closed doors of your past. fuck not opening closed doors, your door never closed.

when i turn back i can see you, standing there in the doorway watching me leave. just like the night i left. it hurts looking back, it hurts because i want to run back to you so bad.

you’re my everything and you’ll continue to be for the rest of my life. i cannot breathe without you, i cannot think, i cannot function. my head is foggy. but when i see you it all becomes so clear. when i go to sleep at night and the thought of you crosses my mind i can’t help but smile.

i wish i still had that picture of you by my bed because it’s never enough to see you smiling in my head as i lay in the dark. the sheets are cold, this house is cold, my heart is cold. i need you Leon.

it’s too late to go back now. i can’t keep doing this to you. i’m sorry. i love you.

~

a heavy hand was draped over your waist, strong firm muscle pooling you into a brick wall of a chest. you smiled, placing your hand over the one on your stomach. light kisses were pressed to your neck and down to your shoulder. rough stubble tickling your smooth skin only prompting you to smile wider.

“good morning,” a hoarse voice spoke in your ear. you looked up at the clock on your nightstand, it read 12:16. you grumbled, turning over and burying your face into chest and muscle, draping your arms around his frame and intertwining your legs with his.

“it’s so early,” you whined, hiding away from the sun peeking through your balcony doors.

“baby, it’s noon.” more kisses were pressed to your face, slowly waking you up with each one. gentle and wet kisses, you smiled at the feeling, nuzzling your nose between his pectorals with a low groan.

“it’s time to get up,”

the sound of you faking a snore earned you a small chuckle, the chest you lay on bouncing up and down — shaking you awake a bit more. the hand on your back traveled further south, rubbing over the bare skin of your ass.

“i tire you out last night, huh?” he taunted, kissing over the love bites forming on your neck and shoulders. you nodded shamelessly, every single one of your limbs was sore and you could barely move an inch without wincing in pain.

“that’s unfair, you folded me like origami and you expect me not to be tired, let me sleep,”

“i'm sorry baby, but i’m not done,”

a smirk grew on your lips and all of a sudden the pain in your body was gone. you were flipped over onto your back, making you squeal out in surprise. you were met with a pair of blue eyes and a messy head of brown hair.

warm lips met yours in a heated frenzy of a kiss — full of flame and passion. you tangled your fingers into the head of messy brown hair, moaning deeply into the kiss. you lifted your legs and brought them up and around his waist.

you could feel his hard cock press against your inner thigh, a small groan left his lips at the contact and a needy moan left yours. his hand reached between your nude bodies, two fingers slotting in between your folds and a slow and languid pace.

the tips of his fingers found your clit, rubbing small and slow circles around the sore nub. your walls fluttered around nothing, craving his cock that throbbed against your thigh.

you failed to kiss him back as a small whine left your lips.

“so wet already,” he kissed your chin, “were you dreaming about me, baby?”

you couldn’t help but give him a large smile, “maybe,”

you watched a smile grow on his lips as he placed another deep kiss to yours. his fingers left your aching cunt, leaving you pleading for more. his hand glided up your thigh, making sure your legs were securely wrapped around him.

he pulled away from the kiss, kissing your nose and then the corner of your mouth.

“i love you,” he breathed out.

“i love you too…ah,” your voice faded away into a moan as he slowly thrust into you. a weak moan left your lips and your nails dug into the skin of his back. you were never used to the sheer size of him, even if he was given to you just a few hours ago here you are, gasping for air as you clench around him.

“so beautiful, taking me so good,” he praised with a small groan. his tip nudged against your cervix, practically knocking the air left in your lungs straight out. he kept a hand on your leg, keeping you as close to him as possible.

with each deep thrust, he watched your every facial expression, watching as your mouth dropped open into a moan and as your eyes rolled into the back of your skull. he watched your lips try and form words, the only words you could moan out was his name:

“Leon,” you whined, dragging your nails down his back. he winced at the pain but he reveled in it, the way you’d claw at his back as he’d pound into you was better than any pain ever conflicted upon him. or when your teeth would sink into his shoulder, muffling your whines and moans.

the image only saturated his need.

you could feel his cock twitch inside of you and his hips began to roll against yours. still plagued by sleep, you buried your head into his shoulder, whimpering with each thrust. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, locking your ankles around his waist to bring him closer.

you loved feeling his weight on top of you, keeping you pressed firmly into the mattress, that way you had nowhere to run. not like you’d ever want to, the pleasure he gives you when he’s on top of you like this is inexplicable.

his arms underneath you, pulling you to his chest as he brought you up with him. both of your jaws dropped open, this new position allowing the tip of his cock to press further into you. you cupped his cheek, breathing in his heavy gasps as you slowly began to roll your hips down into him.

your breasts were pushed up against his, sweaty bodies sticking together and the smell of sex filled the room. soft and gentle moans slipped past your lips, your hands grabbing at anything in reach; his shoulders, his face, his arms, just him.

“you’re so beautiful,” he groaned, gripping the back of your neck and forcing you to look down at him. your lips met him in a frenzy, your cunt squelching the base of his cock as you rocked your hips against his faster — desperately chasing that high.

your stomach was burning with need, and every part of your body from your toes to your neck was on fire. you’ve never burned for someone like you do for him. his hips jolted up to meet yours and you gasped into his mouth which allowed him to slide his tongue against yours.

he was meeting you halfway with his thrusts, a gasp of pleasure leaving your mouth with every single one.

“fuck, it’s too much,” you whined as his lips traveled down your neck, biting down on your shoulder and your collarbones — he wanted to leave a mark.

“you can take it,” he heaved, “can’t you, baby?” he urged, as his teeth scraped against the plump of your breast. a shiver rolled up your spine at both the pain and pleasure, either way you nodded ecstatically.

“yes! i can take it,”

he smirked wider, his hips thrusting up faster. he watched as your tits bounced against his chest, your head rolling back which let your frizzy hair fall over your shoulders. his eyes were glued to the love bites decorating your body. the bruises and the redness growing on his skin.

the image of your body was now forever painted in his mind. your thighs wrapped around him as your hips ground down into his thrusts. your puffy cunt taking him so well, his cock sheathing inside of you and out again. your juices soaking the tuft of hair surrounding the base of his cock. your breasts bouncing and your ribs poking out.

“oh Leon, i’m so close-“ you whined, wrapping your arms around him. one of your hands running up the back of his neck and into his brown hair, the other wrapped around his shoulders with nails digging into his skin.

“let go for me, baby.” he egged you on, teetering close to his high as well. he screwed his eyes shut, digging his fingers into the fat of your ass, helping you meet his thrusts.

you buried yourself into the crook of his neck, muffling your loud moans into his skin. the sound of wet slapping skin only got louder, along with the sound of needy moans and the headboard banging against the wall.

the fog in your mind only got heavier and stars danced in your vision. your legs clamped around his waist as you came undone around his cock. stars danced behind your vision as you called out his name in a chant.

he wasn’t too far behind, biting down on your shoulder as he shot his seed deep inside of you. hot and thick, coating your gummy walls and painting you as his.

he continued pulling your hips down into his, slowly and carefully to help you ride out both of your highs. you slumped against him, completely worn out. all the soreness came back in a flash and your eyes felt heavy. but you smiled, draping your arms around his shoulders and allowing his softening cock to stay inside of you.

you turned your right, met with the bright light of the sun and the most beautiful view ever. the sun high in the sky shining down on a field of green grass. birds flew around in the distance, gliding in the wind and twirling in the air. you watched as they flew up and up until they were out of sight.

you pulled back from leaning on his shoulder, cupping his cheek and guiding him to look at you. his eyes peeled open slowly, his pupils contracting against the bright light he was exposed to before dilating again as he caught sight of you hovering above him.

he brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling up at you.

“hi,”

you chuckled, “hi,”

he placed a deep kiss on your lips, sealing in the steamy morning you both shared. as he pulled away, he let his eyes stay shut for a moment, he wanted to mesmerize the feeling of your lips alone. he wanted to remember the feeling of your sticky body pressed to his. he wanted to remember the sound of your voice. he wanted to remember this moment. that way if he died tomorrow, he would be able to lay back and remember you.

“my body hurts,” you groaned, leaning back and taking him with you. as you both hit the mattress with a loud ‘puff’, he couldn’t help but smile.

“let me guess, you’re going to spend the whole time in bed,” he chuckled.

“what? i can’t enjoy my honeymoon? and my new house,” you smiled widely up at him. he cupped your cheek, smiling happily as he brushed your cheek. your smile faded as you nuzzled yourself into his palm, with a small sigh.

“you know, the moment i got home after that date with the froyo,” he began, licking over his dry lips. “i went home and began mapping out how your dream house would look,”

"really?" you smiled as you turned towards him, bunching the duvet up to your chin. he nodded and you gave him a small playful scoff, "and here i thought it was just a question,"

"well, it wasn't,"

your heart ached at the image of a young and blonde Leon sitting at his crowded desk, sketching out a house with the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his lip. you smiled at his confession, letting him plop down beside you as his arm wrapped around your waist to bring you against him.

“i was determined to make it happen,” he chuckled to himself, “i bought the property, hired construction workers, and interior designers. now that i think about it, i was so mean to them.”

you laughed at that, his story playing out in your head like a movie. you wondered how long it took and how much it all cost. though, he refused to tell you. he refused to tell you anything about the making of this house. you didn’t know about it until just a few weeks ago.

when he carried you out of the car bridal style with a blindfold around your eyes. he placed you onto the ground for a moment and you could hear the jingling of keys and the squeak of a door. when you stepped into the house it smelt stale, like wood and dust.

but when he took that blindfold off you were faced with something much better. you were face to face with your future — your dream. he mapped it out perfectly, just to your desires and nothing could ever be better. it was better than your dreams. so much better.

“the day of your uh other wedding,” he paused stifling a small nervous laugh as you giggled, “i was about to sell it. i was about to throw your dream away,” you frowned, both feeling guilty and saddened at the thought. he reached down under the covers, finding your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours.

“our dream…i was going to throw our dream away,” he laid his head down against the pillow, looking down at your hands as he ran his thumb over your delicate knuckles. “it wasn’t your fault, i just couldn’t stomach the thought of living or owning a house that was meant for you,”

“oh Leon,” you sighed.

“you didn’t know about the house, i never got to tell you and well it was too late to.”

you brought your joined hands to your lips, placing a kiss on his knuckles as you scooched closer to him. you didn’t go back to him because of the house, even if you did know about the house, you knew that you would have gone back to him for the sole purpose of being with him.

you could still be in that dainty old apartment and you’d be happy. you could be living in a studio apartment with him and you’d be happy. you could be living in a cardboard box with him and you’d be happy. as long as you were with him. home was where he was. Leon was home.

“the realtor convinced me not to, he told me a story similar to ours,” his other hand reached up, cupping your cheek and stroking the puffiness underneath your eyes.

“his story didn’t have a happy ending like ours but he told me, ‘it is never too late to be what you wanted to be.’” Leon sighed heavily, looking deep into your eyes. you looked at him attentively, eyes wide and eyelashes fluttering up at him. he smiled at you, finding the look on your face adorable, like a kid listening to a bedtime story.

“and well i wanted to be with you,”

your heart swelled with love and your features softened. you gave him a look of pure adoration, and every waking moment and every waking day you found yourself falling more and more deeply in love with him. from the moment you woke, to the moment you slept and into the dreams you inhabit, you loved him dearly.

your heart called for him in your strongest and weakest moments. your soul was tied to him and your every thought revolved around him.

Leon. Leon. Leon. he was all you knew and all you wanted. he was your dream, your prince charming, your fairytale. he was your everything. he held you in the palm of his hands and he didn’t even know it. from the moment you met and to this very moment now, laying in bed with limbs entangled — stealing kisses and whispering sweet nothing, you were his.

you wanted it to be him.

you wanted him to be your partner in crime. you wanted him to be your husband, your partner in life and death, the father to your children, the man you introduced to your parents, the man to give you his last name, the person you woke up to in the morning and fell asleep next to in the night, the sole owner of your heart and soul.

and now he is that. he is your partner in life and death, your husband, to father of your future children, the man you woke up to and fell asleep next to. he is that man.

“i’m glad it was you.”

(divider creds to @saradika ,, photos off of pinterest)

tags : @xoxoloveless @luvrgreyy @ynsvnte @satinwithsilk @child-chomper1 @porcelain-sea-shore @stefoooo @spfoah @chesue00 @daervannafia @puppyina @prettyntxhee @leonkennedygvrl @altissia-09 @leqonsluv3r @yuiopiklmn @folksriddle @squazmine @its0214-am @xqlenkdy @belovedcloud @beafart (loved ur lil note btw! it made me laugh) @admirxation @neverg0nnagivey0uup @fancyyme @marymustdie @bloodstainedbandaid @jeonmochi99-blog

notes: if you wanna be on my tag list pls message me or fill out the form below (just to make it easier on me :D)

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author notes: MY GOD! pt. 2 is done and this shit is LONG! literally i did not need to write this much but i hope you guys enjoyed this one and tysm for filling out the taglist i was so surprised to see so many people wanted to be tagged in my work i thank each and every one of you ToT!!

also, summer is officially here for me so expect me to be active much more :D! - V!

[starzzluvr]

Sapphire | Leon Kennedy x bartender!fem!reader

☾ summary ➼ part II to Amethyst, you invited Leon to stay the night after he kindly drove you home in the dead of night. Long-hidden feelings finally reveal themselves in a passionate heated exchange.

☾ content/warnings ➼ fluff, canon world, mutual pining, SMUT (18+), p in v, oral (m and f recieving), unprotected sex, afab!reader, adult language

☾ wc ➼ 6.5k

After making sure his car was locked, Leon follows close behind you as you step up the few stairs to your front door. Luckily you were smart enough to turn the porch lights on before leaving – though that seemed like where your luck had run out for the day.

You are quick to insert your key and turn, pressing down on the handle at the same time so that the old door opens with a groan. You are instantly hit with a burst of warmth from the dimly lit interior, creating goosebumps down your arms.

"Do you live by yourself?” Leon asks behind you, his blue eyes trailing around the small area of your house he can see.

"Yes and no." You say simply as you carefully tug your keys from the door handle. A large yawn escapes you as you step over the threshold, Leon on your heels. He makes sure to close and lock it securely for you with a few clicks.

"What does that mean? You don't have any family members hiding so they can get the jump on me and chop me up, do you?" Leon watches you slide your work shoes off before tucking them neatly into a shoe rack at the base of the stairs leading up to who knows where.

He makes sure to do the same, placing them by the rack as there wasn't any room. From what he could tell, every pair of shoes was the same size, so either you lived alone, or your family had the same size shoe.

"Nah, that's a few houses down." You joke from down the hall. Leon follows your voice to find you digging into a small closet full of spare bedding and towels. The way you had bent down gave Leon a full view of your curves, and he forces himself to look away.

When you find what you were looking for, you clutch them to your chest and turn around. Leon is a lot closer than you thought he’d be, causing you to squeak in surprise. Your face heats up in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were there.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you, sorry.”

Both of your statements come out in unison, followed by some light laughter. You remember in the beginning of your friendship with him, he rarely laughed or even cracked a smile. The day he did both was a small victory that you hold onto even now.

And you never got tired of hearing and seeing them. The way Leon laughs is so endearing to you. His sapphire eyes half close, the creases by his eyes scrunching. The laughs were always deep and rumbling, a soothing sound to your ears.

“No one here but me… and Matilda.” You say, looking past Leon to the small black cat that sat on her haunches at the end of the hall. Her pale-yellow eyes watch Leon, half with curiosity and the other half with caution.

You don’t catch the way Leon’s eyes widen at the name, a familiar one to him that he hasn’t heard in a while. He turns around to face the little creature, giving her a small wave and smile.

“Well, at least you have someone to keep you safe.” Leon says, twisting back to face you again.

“She’s the most ferocious guard cat you’ll ever see.” You chuckle as you brush past Leon towards Matilda and the base of the stairs. The subtle hint of aftershave and sandalwood tickles your nose as you do, and you find yourself breathing in a little deeper to hold on to the scent before it inevitably disappears.

“I have a couch down here, but honestly, you’ll be more comfortable in my living space up here.” You continue. You watch as your shy cat runs off towards the kitchen as you approach.

When you make it to the top of the stairs, you’re faced with your little living space. The previous owners had originally used this as an upstairs studio but since you were the only human in the house, you turned it into an office and living space. Your own personal haven.

On the left of the room is a lush L-shaped sofa, littered with various soft blankets and pillows – your favorite napping spot. A small coffee table separates that side and the other where a mid-sized flat screen sits on top of a little media center. On the back wall is a small window overlooking the backyard, curtains and blinds closed as they always were when you were gone for work. And right next to the couch is a full bathroom, the door half open and decorated with your favorite colors.

Considering this is the room you spend the most time in, it’s very personalized to you. Leon couldn’t help but trail his eyes over every part of this room, noting every piece of your personality splayed out. His gaze finally lands on the bookshelf next to the media center, full of the trinkets and gifts he’s given you. He smirks as he makes his way over to them, eyeballing the glittering prizes and remembering exactly when and where he retrieved them for you.

“This shelf will be worth a fortune one day if you keep this up.” Leon teases.

After placing the bedding and towels down on to the coffee table, you turn to watch Leon as he leans towards the shelf to take a closer look. The way his back muscles ripple in his moistened shirt sends tingles through your body.

It’s not like you’ve never seen his muscles, but without the low lighting of the bar and closer proximity than usual, you can’t help but marvel at his whole physique. With every shift in weight, the thin cloth of his shirt tightens and loosens around his strong shoulders. You avert your eyes quickly when you notice he's about to turn around.

“Well, that’s if I decide to sell them. But I could never. They’re gifts, after all.” You walk back over to the top of the stairs and turn to face him before stepping down, your palm lightly placed on the half wall separating the stairs and the upper floor.

“That bathroom is all yours. I think I have some clothes that might fit you, I just need to find them first.” You purse your lips then start for the bottom floor, leaving Leon to his devices.

Leon watches as you descend until you’re out of sight, then sighs through his nose. He grips onto the towels and heads into the bathroom you had pointed out, shaking his head of the thoughts that swirl in his mind as if that would do anything to help.

It doesn’t take him long to strip out of his wet clothes and step into the shower, shivering from the sudden change of temperature on his skin. As the warm water cascades down his sore and worn-out body, he mentally kicks himself.

He shouldn’t have taken you up on your offer. He’s crossing a boundary he had long promised himself after the first month of being your regular – letting himself get close to you. It’s not like he didn’t want to be close to you, far from it, actually.

What he feared the most was getting you into danger because of the nature of his job.

Leon didn’t know if his next mission would be his last. Not to mention, if he were to finally indulge you with information of what he did on his ‘business trips’, it could put you under the government’s spotlight. That was something he couldn’t dare let happen, not to someone as precious to him as you were.

While stepping out to dry off, his mind stays clouded with those negatives, but even so. Thoughts of you break through like rays of sunshine and he finds it increasingly harder to talk himself out of the what ifs of a real relationship. What would it mean to not only kiss you softly but to also grocery shop with you? Every single mundane thing he could think of would be miles better having you by his side.

A soft knock brings him back to the present.

You watch as the bathroom door slowly opens in front of you, a little bit of steam escaping through the crack. Leon stands in the doorway, half covered with a towel wrapped around his lower body. Droplets from his dark blonde hair fall onto his bare shoulders and chest. You knew he was muscular but this…

You blink a few times as you gather yourself and meet his eyes, feeling the heat of not only the steamy bathroom but from shyness radiating into your cheeks. In your arms are some clothes you had struggled to dig out, about Leon’s size you hoped.

“Uh, here.” You say quickly, shoving them in his chest before stepping back a few feet. “Let me know if you need something else or they don’t fit. I’m sure there is some of my grandfather’s stuff around here. I just didn’t think you’d want to dress like an old man.” You ramble and laugh nervously, averting your gaze from his figure.

“Thank you, I appreciate this.” Leon says with a grin, pretending he didn’t notice your reactions for your sake. A few witty lines dance around his mind, but he bites his tongue.

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” You say quickly before awkwardly turning and heading down the stairs.

Despite it edging towards six A.M., you find yourself brewing a pot of coffee after a quick shower of your own, now wearing an oversized sweater and sleep shorts in place of your work ‘uniform'. While the bubbling sound of the coffee maker fills the kitchen space, you find yourself leaning against the kitchen island facing the backyard. The sky is starting to turn a dark navy blue, signaling the oncoming morning.

“Coffee at this time of night?” The sudden voice startles you, your body standing up straight and spinning around quickly.

Leon stands in the archway that connects the kitchen to the hallway, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised. At first glance, the clothes you had provided him with were a size or two too small. The band t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and chest, sitting flush like his wet shirt had in the car. The joggers were a few inches above his ankles and hugged tightly around his thighs and…

You turn to face the coffee pot and watch as the last few blackened drops fall, pinching your lips tightly at the sight of the subtle outline of his lower body.

“Well, technically it’s the morning.” You reply simply, fighting to keep your voice steady.

You hear Leon’s heavy-set footsteps as he walks into the kitchen, then the squeak of wood on the wooden floor as he pulls out a chair at your island, settling into it. You busy yourself by opening the cupboard above you and grabbing two mugs.

“How do you like your coffee?” You ask, your back still turned towards him. You pull down your sugar container then step to the fridge to grab your creamer.

“Black, please.”

You take a moment to pour the steaming liquid into each mug, doctoring yours up the way you like it first. With both in hand, you turn towards where Leon sat and place his coffee in front of him.

“It's not the greatest coffee.” You warn before taking a careful sip. The cream smoothed out the bitterness.

“It'll suffice.” Leon says, picking up his own.

The house is quiet now, awkwardly so. When you had suggested him to stay for the night (morning?), you didn't really think past that. Here you two were – one sitting and the other standing, on opposite sides of the island. A few birds chirp morning greetings outside the window, and the sky looks a little brighter.

Your eyes slowly trail around Leon's face as he stares out the window. You're only given a side profile, but it's enough to marvel at his handsome features. His sharp jaw, dimpled chin, long eyelashes.

He gives you a side eye as he takes another sip.

“Your eyes are glazing over.” Leon says with a small amused huff.

“It's been a long twenty hours.” You shrug, peeling your eyes away.

“We should probably go to bed, then.” He lightly suggests. Leon leans back and stretches in his chair, the small shirt riding up his stomach and showing a trail of light brown hair disappearing under the jogger's waistline. You didn't mean to look, but you did.

“Y-yeah. We probably should, huh?” You say, setting your cup down. That's as far as your body moves, though.

You watch Leon stand up, grab his mug, then walk over to your sink to set it down. His shoulder brushes against yours on his way back, and the sudden sensation sends a shiver down your spine. Just like in the car earlier, your mouth opens before thinking.

“Leon?” You call to him just as he's about to pass under the archway. He turns around to face you, eyebrows raised.

You take a few steps closer to him, your heart beating so strong in your chest that you worry Leon could hear it. When you're a foot away from him, you falter with your lips parted as if you were about to say something.

“Everything okay?” He looks down at you with softened eyes, his now damp hair falling into his face.

“I just… um. Look, there’s something I want to tell you but I-"

You're cut off by Leon leaning down to close the already small gap between you two, his warm lips pressing against yours. It takes you a moment to register the sensation of it all, even less time to melt into it. Your eyes flutter closed, unconsciously closing the rest of the distance. Leon's arm snakes around your waist and pulls you into his warm chest while his tongue slides along your bottom lip before parting them.

Your head spins as you grip onto his shirt, your senses overloading from how he feels to how your body reacts to him. The kiss grow hungrier, and the heat in your stomach grows hotter. It only takes until you’re fighting for air that you have to pull away. Leon's cheeks are bright red, his wide blue eyes contrasting against them. Both of your chests rise and fall rapidly in attempt to catch your breaths.

“I'm sorry.” Leon whispers, pulling away a little. He arm doesn't release you though, and you don't fight to leave.

“N-no, that was..” You’re a little dizzy but focusing on Leon’s body helps you from losing grip.

“You were in the middle of saying something and I cut you off.”

It could have been the shot nerves, or the look that Leon gives you, but you can't help but laugh. Your body shakes in his arms as you do, your head thrown back. You've been crushing on him for so long, but you still could never read the stoic faced, dry commenting Leon Kennedy. To have him kiss you first was like someone had cut the ropes that restrained you for so long.

Freeing.

“I don't know what I was going to say.” You say, your laughs dying down to small giggles.

“Can I do that again?” Leon asks softly. That impassive, hardened face of his transformed into that of a puppy in such a short time span, how could you say no?

Nodding your head yes, he leans down again, slower this time. As his lips meet yours again, you're more than ready this time. As your lips moved against each other, that heat in your core burns again, radiating warmth throughout your entire body.

The kiss turns as hot as your body. You feel Leon pushing up against you, and before you know it, you're backed into the archway. The light impact elicits a small gasp from you, escaping into Leon's open mouth. Your hands rest against his chest with your nails daring to dig straight into his covered skin.

Leon's large hands travel down from your waist to your hips, his fingers squeezing into your plush skin gently. You're practically sandwiched between his stone-like body and the wood behind you, but you don't care. Your hands slide up his muscular chest so that your arms can wrap around Leon's neck. Shaking fingers slide up into his dirty blonde hair and you can't help but tangle them into the strands and tug gently.

A soft whine comes out of him when you do that, the quick jerk pulling his lips away from you. Those ocean eyes of his open and look down at you with a dark expression. Despite that though, when he speaks, his voice comes out soft.

“Is this okay?”

“I'm not complaining.” As you grin, your fingers tug on his hair again, reveling in the reaction you get from him as you do.

“Careful.” Leon warns, his tone dropping slightly.

“Or what?” You tug again.

Leon doesn't even respond, he just steps back and effortlessly picks you up by the waist with both hands. He throws you over his shoulder and starts for the hallway, you squirming and laughing against his back.

“Which door?” He asks, stopping at the end of the hall where he's faced with two doors.

“The left one.” You say through choked giggles.

Leon pushes your door open with ease, one of his arms holding tight around your thighs to keep you safely in place. The light switch flips on with a click and your cozy bedroom illuminates in front of him. He doesn't take a moment to look around though, he's more focused on something else. Someone else. You.

He flips you down on the bed onto your back, a few of your decorative pillows and plushies falling to the floor from the impact. The way you look up at Leon with warm cheeks and a shy smile is enough to make him crack his own lopsided grin.

“You’re breathtaking.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.”  

Sitting up, you reach over to grab Leon by his shirt and start pulling him down with you. He crawls into the bed, his lips meeting yours once again as you both slowly fall into the bed together. He has both hands propped up on each side of your head, holding himself up so he doesn’t crush you with his weight.

Your fingers tighten in the thin cloth while kissing back, savoring every bit of him in your mouth. Leon’s lips break away and slowly start to trail kisses down your jawline and neck. Your head tilts back into the soft sheets so he has better access and as you do, a soft sigh escapes you.

As Leon's lips reach your collar bones, he runs one of his hands under your sweater and squeezes your side softly, appreciating the warmth and softness of your skin. His hand continues upward, your sweater pulling up with it. The blatant absence of your bra lets Leon's big hand cup your breast easily, filling his calloused palm.

Your hands were just as busy, both of them under his too small shirt and feeling the ridges and dimples that came with his muscular torso and stomach. His body seems to be burning just as hot as your own. As your hands travel down, your fingertips find the waistband of his pants. You tug gently, getting a small chuckle out Leon.

Leon breaks away to look at you, his face hovering over yours and his blonde hair tickling your forehead.

“Impatient, are we?” He teases, moving his hand away from your chest and back down to the soft part of your stomach. Before you can answer, he slides off the bed and stands at the end of it, towering over you. In one swift move, Leon's strong hands grip you by the waist and pull you to the edge of the bed as well, your ass barely on the mattress. The movement makes you gasp, your eyes no doubt full of surprise as well.

His fingers trail light touches down your legs and thighs before slowing at the hem of your shorts. He looks down at you expectantly, as if waiting for you to stop him. You don't, instead you hook your thumbs at the hem of your sweater and tug it up over your chest. It takes you a moment, but you're able to pull it all the way over your head and off completely, tossing it on to the floor.

Leon chuckles above you, an eyebrow raised but he's no doubt staring at your plush chest and curves.

“Oh shut it, Kennedy.” You say before flopping on your back again, arms raised above your head.

“I didn't say anything.” Leon pulls your legs up to where your ass is flush to him now, and you can feel how hard he is for you. He places a soft kiss on your ankle before slowly going down your leg. With each kiss, he slides down to the floor so that he's kneeling and at eye level with your clothed heat. Your thighs now sit on top of his shoulders and you can see Leon's mischievous stare aimed at you.  

He doesn't hesitate to lean forward and nose into you gently, feeling how warm you are. Leon inhales a bit as he squeezes your soft thighs in tight fingers, your sweet scent nearly driving him crazy. After pulling away slightly, one of his hands gently palms over your sensitive core. Your hips reflexively buck up, pressing yourself more into his hand. The quick friction of it causes a soft moan to leave you.

It had been a while since you’ve been touched like this. That and the addition of it being someone you had vied after for so long makes you want to come undone on the spot.

A huff escapes Leon while watching you, pleased by how you react so easily to him. With a long finger, he hooks it around the thin cloth of your shorts and panties and pulls it to the side. Leon groans at the sight of your pretty pussy, glistening with your arousal, ready just for him.

Leon likes to tease. You feel his hot breath pat against your exposed heat, and you let out a small whine in frustration. However, out of shyness, you hide your face by crossing your arms over your head.

“Hey now,” Leon says softly, reaching up to grab your forearm and tugging it down gently so that he can see your face. “don't hide. I want to see your pretty face while I taste you.” He gives you another lopsided grin and you flush even more. You nod and remove your arms, opting to prop yourself up on your elbows so you both had a better visual on each other.

He places his lips on the soft inside of your thigh, lightly nipping at your skin. Slowly, he trails his tongue down until finally, his lips just barely ghosts on your already swollen clit. A few seconds pass and then his warm mouth envelopes you entirely, the tip of his tongue slowly lapping at your folds. He can't help but moan softly, the vibrations of it resonating to your core. You taste just as addictive as he thought.

Leon pulls away which causes you to whimper, and you eye him with a pout as he looks up at you. He just meets you with a sly smile.

“You're still wearing way too much.” He says before grabbing the waistline of your shorts and pulls them down roughly, taking your panties with them. In a single fluid movement, he slides them down your legs and over your feet, tossing them to the floor behind him. His rough hands grip your thighs and push them down onto the bed, gentle yet firm enough that you couldn't move them even if you tried.

You watch as he doesn't hesitate this time to dive in, his tongue dipping into your slick, the tip of his nose pressing against your clit. As his tongue moves, your head is thrown back in bliss as soft mewls escape from your lips. Instinctually, your hips buck but that's as far as you can go. Your legs strain against Leon's strength.

Your fingers make their way into his soft hair, tangling and tugging. Groans vibrate against you once again, adding to the friction against your most sensitive spot. It doesn't take long for the sensations to overwhelm you, your toes curling into the sheets just as your fingertips did in his scalp.

Suddenly, Leon pulls away slightly only to insert a finger into your tight warmth. As he slowly pumps his finger in and out of you, his mouth envelopes your clit once more, sucking ever so slightly. He doesn't stop there, the tip of his tongue making kitten licks as he does.

“Le-Leon I'm gonna..” You can't even get your words out, the rest of your words coming out in choking syllables. Instead, you tighten your fingers into his soft locks, tugging and pushing yourself more into his mouth as you chase your high.

Leon doesn't stop, not after you're moaning his name with your head thrown back and your nails digging into his scalp nor even when you're gushing hard into his mouth as your orgasm hits you like raging waves on ocean rocks.

You fall back onto the mattress with heavy pants and closed eyes as you feel your ecstasy fading away. From the front of the bed, you hear a low chuckle from Leon. Your left eye peeks open and you peer down to see Leon watching you with a smug smile.

“I bet you're pretty proud of yourself, huh?” You laugh, raising a hand for Leon to take.

“As a matter of fact, I am. You did so well.” Leon takes your hand and pulls you up into a sitting position right in front of him. The words he used sends shivers down your spine, and you can't help but smile up at him.

“Well, it's my turn.” Without hesitating, you reach over and palm over Leon's not-so-subtle erection, tucked in so tight under the cloth that it must hurt. The moment you make contact, Leon sucks in a bit of air, already so sensitive from what he just did to you and the noises he got out of you.

Moving your hand up his length, you reach the waistline of his joggers and tuck in a few fingers before gently yanking down the thick fabric, taking his boxers with it too. His cock springs free, the tip angry red and glistening with sheer pre-cum, all because of you.

“Christ, Leon…” You mutter softly. With one hand, you're pulling his pants down while the other wraps around Leon's girth, feeling the heat and ridged veins against your soft palm.

You don't miss the way Leon's soft sighs come out of his parted lips as he stares down at you, his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly and his gaze intent on your pretty face.

Slowly, you scoot towards the edge of the bed so that you’re sitting with your legs dangling and Leon standing right in the middle. You lean forward and flick your tongue up the little slit, gathering the drop of pre-cum in your mouth and then wrapping your lips around his head, savoring him.

The slight gasp from Leon sends a wave of arousal from your head down to your toes and you can't help but smile around him, your eyes meeting his darkened gaze. His hand reaches up and gently grabs a fistful of your hair then guides you up and down his cock, unconsciously bucking his hips so that you take in even more of him. It doesn't take long for your jaw to get tired from his size, but even still you take him all.

When you look up with watering eyes, you note how Leon has his own eyes closed from bliss, with his lips parted allowing soft pants to escape. The way his cheeks flush bright pink to the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, you love it all. It fuels your need to suckle on him even harder, your tongue swirling around him at every chance you can.

Before you know it, Leon pushes your head away, a trail of saliva connecting your tongue to his throbbing cock. You look up at him curiously but before you can really get a good look, he's leaning down and effortlessly picks you up by the thighs so that you're pressed up against his chest lest you want to fall backwards.

In one fluid motion, he's twisting so that his back is facing the bed and then sitting on the edge of it in the spot you just were. You get the hint quickly and find yourself sitting on your knees on either side of his thighs, your arms wrapped around his neck and his large hands holding you up by your ass.

There's a moment where he just looks at you, making sure that you're okay with this. You answer the only way you know you can, by lining his hard cock with your slick entrance and slowly sliding down on him.

The way your warm walls hug around him is almost too much for the both of you. With this position, he's deep inside, his tip almost kissing your cervix. You don't move for a moment, letting yourself stretch to his size. Leon doesn't hesitate to capture your swollen lips in another kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth and tangling with your tongue.

One of his arms wraps around your back while the other sits on your plush hip, his well manicured nails digging straight into your flesh. With that, he helps you move up and down on his length, and from there rapidly building moans escape you both.

Using the leverage from your knees, you're able to bounce up and down on him. He helps as he continues to kiss you hard, holding you up so that you can keep riding him easily. Breathy moans make you break away from his mouth, more trails of saliva connecting you both before splitting.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Leon moans out, resting his hot forehead on your shoulder as you gyrate your hips on him. Every roll creates friction on your clit and you can already feel a massive wave of pleasure about to wash over you.

Leon can tell too just by the way your breathing comes out ragged, how your moans pitch higher, and how your movements become sloppier as you chase that high once again.

“Cum for me.” Leon grunts out, his arm that wraps around your waist tightens as he holds himself up with his other arm, giving him leverage to thrust up into you hard. That was it for you.

The dam that welled now broke and you came hard on top of him. As your body spasmed in his hold, your teeth find his shoulder and bite down as you moan his name, muffled and broken up.

He doesn't cum yet, because he's not done. He's waited so long for this, and he wants one more orgasm from you.

There's not a moment to breathe as he stands up, his hard cock popping out of you, and quickly he twists back facing the bed. He gives you a long, lingering kiss before tossing you onto the bed again.

Despite the post-orgasm dizziness, you can't help but laugh out loud on impact, staring up at him with a bright grin and wild eyes. He gets on the bed and crawls over to you, the bed frame groaning from the shifts in weight.

Leon leans over you, his blonde hair tickling your face once more. He lowers himself down to kiss you again, this time slower and sensually. As he moves his lips against yours, he spreads your legs under him and hooks your leg in his elbow so that he can push your knee closer to your chest.

Your lips are locked in his when he pushes his way into your dripping pussy, filling you up once again. As he does that, a sharp gasp escapes into his mouth from the sudden change, only to transform into a low moan.

Leon's lips trail down your jaw and neck as he slowly snaps his hips against you, the smacking of skin and breathy moans filling the empty spaces of your house. His teeth find purchase against your sensitive skin, eliciting the sweetest noises Leon's ever heard in his life.

His lips trail down further, nipping at your collarbone then down to your breasts. He licks one of your hardened nipples before taking it into his mouth and sucking gently. His teeth bite down a little making you gasp from the mixed pleasure and pain. He releases it before going back up your shoulder, grunts of effort escaping his parted lips.  

“God, you're perfect.” He moans against your neck before going in to suck on it, no doubt leaving a mark there for later.

Your hands slide up his sweaty chest and around his back, digging your nails straight into those back muscles you loved so much. You don't know if you're drawing red, but you certainly felt like you were by how tight you were holding on to him. As if your life depended on it.

He continues to fuck you into the bed, his grunts and moans coming out broken. You could have sworn you heard a little whine in there too, which only pushed you closer to the edge of your climax.

Leon releases your leg and lets it fall to the bed so that he can unwrap your arms around him and in one hand, he takes your wrists and flips them up above your head, holding you down as he pushes himself into you more, groaning as he picks up his pace.

“Fu-fuck I'm not going to last any longer..” He groans out as he rests his forehead on yours, both of your sweat mixing as his hot breath fans on your face.

“P-please cum in me.” You moan, wrapping your legs around his waist to hold him closer.

“Are you sure?” The look of hesitation flickers across his face before he notices how desperate you were for him. Then it turns into a wicked grin, loving the sight of you taking him so well and wanting more.

“Please!”

“Say it again.” That sweet begging voice of yours, he needs it. He snaps into you roughly, his fingers tightening around your wrists as he does.

“Please cum in me, L-Leon!” At this point, your words are slurring from being love-drunk, tired and fatigued but you don't want to stop until you're both finished.

Leon doesn't ask again, and as he feels that winding string about to break in him, he leans down and catches your mouth again, moving his lips against yours heatedly and just like that, you both let go.

Your legs tighten around his waist as ropes of his hot cum spill into you, his movements not stilling one bit as he finishes inside your pulsating walls. He can't help but groan your name as he does, feeling every ounce of energy draining from him with every last drop he shoots into you.

For a moment, there's a silence bar the heavy panting from the both of you. Then suddenly, you burst into a fit of laughter, him soon following. It’s contagious, and he leans down to kiss you again, chaste and sweet.

Leon pulls out slowly, and you can feel his cum already starting to leak out and onto the sheets. He releases your wrists then flops over next to you and sprawls out, his joints and bones popping as he stretches. Between this passionate session and his recent mission, he just knows his body will be mad at him later.

As you both lie there, staring at the now sunrise lit ceiling, sated grins sit on your faces. You both turn to face each other, staring into each other's eyes. He reaches over to move some of your hair off your face that had gotten stuck there from sweat, his fingers lightly caressing your skin.

“How long have you been waiting to do that, Kennedy?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“How long have you been waiting for me to do that, is the better question.” He counters, chuckling lowly.

“Far too long, that's for sure.” You mutter softly, giving him a small smile.

“Does this mean I'm definitely your favorite regular now?”

You smack his chest lightly and laugh, rolling your eyes at him. You sit up carefully, noting how racked your body feels from the heated exchange. Slowly, you slide off the bed and stand up on wobbly knees. It takes you a moment to gather your bearings as you stretch yourself, feeling the warmth of the sunrays peering through your sheer curtains on your skin.

“You've always been my favorite, dummy. No one else brings me fun trinkets from their dangerous business trips.” You joke lightly, turning around to face him. He’s lying on his side, propped up on an arm as he stares at you. God, he's so perfect.

“Good, because I'll fight anyone that comes close to that title.”

“I’m sure you will, Kennedy. I'm gonna go clean up in the shower, wanna join?”

“But, showering means I'll see you naked.” He feigns shyness, but his smirk tells something different. He’s so dumb, you laugh to yourself.

“Your loss.” You purse your lips and start for the bathroom. The thud of Leon landing on the floor behind you is instantaneous, his heavy footsteps following quickly behind.

It's well into the morning when you find yourself snuggled up lazily into Leon's arms, both freshly showered and satisfied. He helped you strip your sheets and put new ones on before you grabbed him by the arm and tugged him into bed with you – something he definitely did not try to fight.

With his big arm wrapped around you protectively, him lying on his back, you nuzzle into his ribs as you splay your arm across his broad chest. He's already in and out of sleep, soft snores escaping him. His arm around you just tightens in response, his fingers curling into your soft side as he mumbles softly. As the morning birds continue their melody, you drift off easily. Already is your mind busy dreaming of the man whose scent permeates every part of your senses, making this rest the easiest one you've had in a while.

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please do not copy, repost, or translate. everything but the characters and world belong to me, @spicerackofblorbos . if you liked it, reblogs and comments are always appreciated!!

[starzzluvr]

pretty baby — leon kennedy

wc: 3.1k

pairing: re6! leon kennedy x fem! reader.

warnings: age gap, smoking, alcohol consumption, fake-dating, two pretentious people engaging in a conversation, leon saying "women", kissing, reader is apart of leon's squad.

honorable mention: claire redfield.

a/n: mmmmmm re6 leon (i'm losing my mind). posted this from my patio because the weather's finally getting better <3.

contrary to popular opinion, dreary, rainy nights were one of your most favorite things—amongst many other stuff you cherished—but you held nights like these dear to your heart. the soft pattering from rain droplets hitting against the window, a warm blanket, and comfortable pajamas, coupled with a cup of hot coffee and a book was, in your opinion, a perfect way to wind down after slaving away at work all day.

however…you just wished for one more thing.

a boyfriend. a man. someone to call your own. 

someone who'd let you rest your head on their lap as you flipped through the pages and took sporadic sips of whatever hot beverage you were drinking at the moment. someone who'd thread their fingers through your hair and press soft kisses on your forehead. your entire body yearned for such a thing, but it always felt so out of reach.

unfortunately, men didn't commit, or think, like that. they just took what they wanted like dogs and then headed out the door, not a single care in the world. it was pathetic and desperate. 

hook-up culture irked you. so did "talking stages," or anything of that caliber. why would any sane person waste their time and energy like that on someone they'd meet for no longer than a week? maybe you were just a hopeless romantic. 

maybe you were the pathetic and desperate one.

none of the men at your workplace interested you in the slightest—as they all had that mindset you loathed. you were a special government agent, trying to save the world from bioterrorism. all the male agents were arrogant, wanna-be jerks. they'd call themselves "esoteric" when really, their favorite movie directors were quentin tarantino and christopher nolan.

you just rolled your eyes and sighed. how deplorable.

there was one guy, however, but you deemed him out of the question. a forbidden fruit, in other words. for starters, he was a good ten years—maybe more—older than you. he also happened to be the leader of your assigned, specific, squad. and ironically enough, a mercenary had him twirling his dirty blonde hair and blushing like a schoolgirl. she was very gorgeous, in his defense.

leon kennedy was just so damn handsome, it had you acting a fool. you couldn't help but swoon when he called you "sweetheart" casually, as if it was second nature. he'd put his hands on your waist while walking past you, muttering a quick, "sorry, sweetheart." he had really good taste in films, music, and books too, surprisingly. he treated you like a real person, not a piece of meat like most men did.

he even made you laugh at his insanely stupid jokes.

you often wondered if you were in love with him, or if it was just a fleeting crush. or maybe you adored the attention he gave you (more than your other peers). but then again, was there really a difference between love and attention?

as you tucked your knees beneath yourself, sinking down further into the couch, your cellphone vibrated right next to you, the caller id reading leon—how fucking cliche. your heart then dropped, wondering why he'd call you at eight pm on a saturday. swallowing the lump in your throat, you answered quickly, "um, hello?" 

"hey sweetheart," leon's low, smooth voice said on the other end of the line. it sounded like he was driving. maybe to see me, you thought, before chastising yourself for being delusional. he couldn't fawn over you when ada wong existed. a beat later, he added, "i know this is a little out of the norm, but i was just wondering if you were free tomorrow."

free tomorrow? for what? was this seriously happening? you dumbfoundedly stammered, uttering something so laughable out, "i— uh— are you sure you have the right number?" your whole body recoiled with cringe the second those words rolled right off your tongue. you resisted the urge to groan in annoyance.

and laugh is exactly what leon did. it was short, almost a scoff. "nah. but it isn't what you think, don't worry," that little bit confused you, before he elaborated, "i'm not trying to be some creepy boss. long story short, i need a date for an event."

"a date..? what kind of event?" you queried, sitting yourself upright. your mind was still barely registering the fact that you were having this conversation with leon, quite literally moments after fantasizing about him.

he let out a soft exhale, "one of my old friends is hosting this get together, and lets just say i've been lying to her about having a girlfriend—" leon groaned at how juvenile he was sounding, shaking his head in disbelief. "i'm too old for this shit." he chastised, before getting back on track. "anyways, she's been on my ass about it, telling me i should find a girl, and that i'd be a lot happier, or something like that." 

debatable, he thought, given his experience with a certain woman in the past.

"so i lied to her, and said i was talking to this girl, so she's expecting you. you don't have to if you aren't up for it, but i won't let you go back home empty-handed if you do end up coming through."

pretending to be leon's girlfriend—even for a day—sounded like heaven on earth to you. 

without even giving the offer a second thought, you said a little too excitedly, "yes!—i mean, sure, why not." a poor attempt at playing it cool. "i haven't got anything planned tomorrow, so…"

leon chuckled lightly at your enthusiasm, finding it endearing. unbeknownst to you, the man did actually think about you outside of work, even if it swarmed him with guilt. you weren't a rookie, but still, it felt wrong. he was thirty-six, he shouldn't be giving a girl in her early-to-mid twenties second thoughts. he really did feel like a "creepy boss."

but he couldn't help himself. not when you were so unfathomably pretty. his lips parted at the way you'd smile up at him, nodding your head as you quickly scurried off and followed orders, or how you'd always offer to help him with filing mission reports—a very tedious task that no other agent on your team would ever volunteer to do. 

he also wasn't an idiot, and knew that you held him on some sort of pedestal, whether it be a crush, infatuation, or simply admiration. 

"alright, cool." leon affirmed, now pulling into his driveway, the asphalt crackling beneath the tires. he pulled the keys out of the ignition, and shoved them into his pocket, whilst staying on the phone with you. "i'll pick you up around six. we won't stay too long, leave around eight. okay?"

your mouth had went dry by this point, but you quickly agreed, "yeah, sounds good."

what the hell just happened? 

…

holding onto leon's arm, the two of you walked into his friend's—who you later found out was the claire redfield—house, and you couldn't help but marvel at the place. clearly, the woman made relatively well money, and it showed itself in flaming colors through her subtle decor. dressed in her classic red leather jacket, she greeted you and leon with a smile, "hey leon, and…the mystery girl he's been telling me about," the woman chuckled. she was so pretty.

you introduced yourself to claire, surprisingly not feeling nervous in the slightest, as you usually were when you meet people for the first time. it wasn't that you were shy, you were just reserved. but claire was sweet. some people take ages to warm up to, but she wasn't like that—instantly likable. 

"i honestly don't know how a girl as pretty as her is into you leon," claire teased, a knowing smirk on her maroon lips. leon just scoffed, rolling his eyes as if he was used to her tormenting. "drinks?" she asked, not waiting for you two to respond as she handed the two of you glasses of red wine.

you mumble a quick thank you, then raising the glass to your lip gloss coated lips, taking a sip before laughing, "maybe i'm just attracted to losers." which wasn't exactly a lie—you were in love with leon, or something like that. he just didn't know. yet…

"a loser?" an offended look crosses his perfect features, as he looks down at you in surprise. he just shook his head and sighed, "women." the comment earned a chuckle from both you and claire—laughing at leon's misery would always be funny. he could only purse his lips and keep his peace.

your eyes dart around the room, noticing a few familiar faces, others not. a couple of bsaa agents, sherry birkin—to name a few—and more. the next hour consisted of repeating your introduction to a few more of leon's friends that you didn't know, and leon sporadically leaving kisses on either the top of your head, or your arm, as any "boyfriend" would. he was doing an awfully good job of playing the part.

almost too good. if only you weren't so oblivious.

the atmosphere was becoming disgustingly stuffy, so you free yourself from leon's arm wrapped around your waist from behind, and told him, "hey, i'm gonna step out on the patio for a second." 

"wait, i'll go with you." and you didn't protest against it.

leon was fighting the guilt that was regurgitating to the surface, telling himself that he shouldn't pursue you in any way possible. he couldn't entertain whatever feelings you were harboring for him, not when he was the older, more experienced individual in this scenario. but he was weak. so inexplicably drawn to you, like a moth to a flame. 

the two of you slipped out to the patio, standing side-by-side as the cool breeze blew threw your hair, the skirt of your dress billowing in the wind. leon stared at you, lovelorn. you pulled a pack of parliaments and a fancy lighter out of your purse, flicking it and lighting your cigarette.

"i didn't know you smoked." leon said plainly. he himself didn't—never did, never will. it was a bit ironic how he was comfortable being an alcoholic, though.

you shrugged, exhaling a plume of smoke into the air, "eh. i'm not addicted, like you might be assuming. i just do it for shits and giggles, i don't know," another puff, another cloud of smoke.

"shits and giggles?" he mused, laughing lightly. "that's a juvenile way to put it."

his laugh alone pulled a smile onto your lips, as you couldn't fight the heat that spread across your cheeks like a wildfire. "i guess. but hey, everyone has their vices, don't judge." 

"hey, i'm not judging." leon raised his hands in surrender, a soft smile of his own forming. "you just didn't strike me as the type, that's all."

you just shook your head with a grin, looking away from leon bashfully, trying your hardest to ignore the fact that your heart was beating out of your chest. he was a horribly charming fake boyfriend. it didn't help that you were already pining for the man, even if you wanted to pretend like you could never have him. that was beyond your concerns in this moment. 

"what kind of girl do i strike you as?" you ask curiously, turning your head to meet him staring right at you. oh shit. you bit the corner of your cheek anxiously. whatever, i'm probably misreading things, you console yourself. no, he couldn't be. this wasn't some cheesy romcom. 

he feigned mulling over the question for a moment, before replying in a tone softer than silk. "well," leon got a little closer, just a teensy bit, and said, "you're a good girl. tooth-rottingly sweet, does her work before its due, volunteers when she doesn't have to, not to mention she graduated top of her class. you're also bit of a stickler, no offense," his sharp eyes met yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

"i am not—!" he gave you a knowing look, before you sighed, "i guess you're right. but whatever, you like jane austen novels," you fired back, "you, who enjoys bands like alice in chains and the foo fighters, reads authors like dostoevsky and nabokov—your favorite movie is the french connection for christ's sake! jane austen is very out of character, i'd say."

leon couldn't describe the swell of adoration he felt for you as you judged his tastes, going on a whole tangent; if he had no self-control, he'd kiss you without hesitation. but he played it cool, his eyes narrowing as he countered, "that's different." 

you remembered that stuff about him. his heart skipped a beat, making him feel like an anxious teenager.

"it's different? how's it different?" you retorted playfully, and the two of you went back and forth for the next five minutes over the most ineffably stupid conversation known to mankind. the whole scene was so awfully picturesque, straight out of a movie. 

"whatever you say, sweetheart," was what leon said sarcastically, ending the banter between the two of you, even if he was enjoying it beyond belief. it had been a damn long time since he'd felt something this warm inside of him. leon mentally chastised himself for being so self-indulgent—even if he really deserved it.

his pale blue eyes glance over at his watch, reading the time: 8:04 pm. leon then looked up at you, and asked, "you wanna head out soon?" 

you take a final puff from your lit cigarette, softly exhaling the smoke, before answering weakly, "hm? oh, uh, sure." 

that definitely put a damper in your mood, and leon took very well notice of it. after tonight, you wouldn't be leon's pretend girlfriend. you'd go back to being his subordinate, just someone who he worked with on the field, and maybe considered a friend. you really enjoyed spending time with more veteran agents tonight, more importantly, you enjoyed spending time with leon. 

this all only made your lovesick self worse. you felt slightly mad at him for playing his part so well.

"you okay?" leon asked, a concerned expression etched onto his features as he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. his hand, typically so calloused from the rough years, felt so delicate. it was jarring, yet swoon-worthy. he was a little confused as to why you were so upset now.

you swallowed the heavy lump in yout throat, unsure of how to proceed, so you resort to simply mustering up a half-hearted smile, "yeah. just a little exhausted."

"exhausted?" he repeated incredulously. "just a minute ago you were spewing nonsense at me. tell me the truth, sweetheart." a genuine look was plastered on his face, one you couldn't argue against. but it wasn't like you could confess to leon just like that, with zero repercussions. no, that wouldn't work.

he teased slyly, in an attempt to lighten the mood and cheer you up, "was i too mean?"

"nah," you couldn't bring yourself to stifle your chuckle, "it's just…" your voice trailed off, not knowing how to proceed. "well…" leon lifts his hand from you shoulder, up to your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear, allowing him to get a better look of your face. your lips part slightly in awe at his sweet gesture—you weren't by anyone now, you didn't have to pretend to be a couple. 

"c'mon, lay it on me."

you sucked in a deep breath, before swallowing your pride, and confessing, "leon, i— look, i know it's not allowed, and quite frankly, inappropriate, but…" 

and that was telling enough. he knew just what you were trying to tell him, and to save you from any further embarrassing stuttering, he leaned in closer, his lips grazing overs, your breath mingling with his.

"that's alright," leon cooed, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. "i'm flattered, really."

his mind was yelling, praying for him to stop and get ahold of himself, but his entire body was working on autopilot, fueling his desires. here this pretty girl was, handing herself to him on a silver platter—how in god's name could he refuse? he was just as eager for her, to feel her soft skin, kiss her sweet, full lips. his breath hitched as your hand lightly trailed up his arm. 

his lips then left a soft, gentle kiss against yours. you sighed contently, leaning in closer to his touch, deepening the kiss. leon's hands roamed a bit more freely, crawling up your sides, lingering on your hips. he pulled away for a moment, and mumbled, "you're so pretty baby," a light chuckle erupted from his throat, the sound alone making your heart flutter. "such a sweet girl." he left another kiss on your jaw, then on your neck, his light stubble prickling your skin.

a shaky breath slipped past your lips, escaping from the depths of your lungs. his words alone made your knees weak—this seemed so surreal, but nice. here leon was, a man you thought you'd never have, kissing you as if he really was your boyfriend. you lifted your hands, bringing them up to cup his cheeks, and smiled. 

"so…are you just getting free kisses out of me, or what?"

leon shook his head, "nah, no way." another quick kiss against your lips. "i'm taking you out for dinner next weekend. i won't take no for an answer." he stared at you intently, as he plunged right back in for another kiss—this man was starved. 

you reciprocated each and every kiss, letting out a soft moan as he slipped his tongue past your lips, fingers tangling into his dirty blonde hair. leon was at war with his mind, his body betraying his thoughts. he really shouldn't be doing this—entertaining the notion of a relationship between the two of you—but he couldn't bring himself to. he was only human, after all.

"fine by me," you replied, pulling away momentarily to catch your breath. "b-but what about the rules? wouldn't this get us both in trouble?"

"again with the stickler act." leon chuckled amusedly. "sweetheart, nobody has to know. this'll be our little thing. we can keep this under the wraps, can't we?—if it all works out, that is. believe it or not…i've had it bad for you too." he reassured you, the words coming out smoothly, as if he'd been planning this moment for ages. i've got it bad for you too. 

"if you say so," you conceded with a stupid smile, leaning in to kiss him again. leon pushed away any regretful thoughts, not allowing them to consume a good moment—they were as rare as they come with him.

you both really were a bunch of self-indulgent, pretentious losers.

[starzzluvr]

cooking some leon stuff in my notes app n it’s probably going 2 take eight years to finish cause i have the attention span of a squirrel

[starzzluvr]

(DON'T) FIGHT THE FLESH

chris redfield x gn!reader x leon kennedy // 9.4k words

summary: It starts off as a workplace affair borne from physical necessity. You love the distraction and Chris loves to help people—no emotional strings attached. Until Leon Kennedy shows up, a guard dog with sharp teeth and sad eyes, and things (feelings) get very complicated.

warnings: 18+ ONLY (penetrative sex, blowjobs, deepthroating); heavy themes of alcohol abuse; everyone is traumatized; brief mentions of blood/gore

notes: this is the first part of an eventual poly fic and everyone is dysfunctional right now but it gets better. im so sorry about the word count. set after vendetta

>> read on ao3

There’s blood on your face and the target is dead and the world keeps moving. Soldiers, medics, agents all mill about, preparing body bags, grouping up for post-mission discussions, weaning off the adrenaline. The fight is over. You should be happy.

But it never ends. Next week, another rat will skitter from its hole and you’ll be sent off to another part of the world to face a new set of inevitables. Strife is inevitable. Evil cannot exist without good, but fuck—when was the last time you felt something good?

Back on base, the teams join to break out a fifth of whiskey in equal parts celebration and mourning. Paraphernalia in any other circumstance, but you survived. Spike gave his sacrifice. Everyone deserves it.

A single wall separates the common room from where you reside post-shower, scrubbing fruitlessly at the blood beneath short-clipped nails. Though muffled, you catch whirlwind anecdotes of good times passed, shared with an enthusiasm only drunkenness can perpetuate.

Fifteen minutes into staring at a well of pink sink water, after scrubbing your cuticles raw sans progress, you relent. The blood will stay with you until it doesn’t. Maybe it’s meant to be. A reminder, a lesson, a manifestation of consequence.

Once upon a time, someone told you that the worst thing a person could do is grieve alone. Humanity thrives on connection—a sentiment written in the literal stars overhead, in a time where aliens align more with longing than conspiracy. What a pitiful plight of humanity, always searching for companionship, truth, breakthroughs. Finding love in the strangest places.

Funny then, that you struggle with that final step over the threshold. You lean against the door frame and count your team and come up short, and a surge of nausea leaves you gritting your teeth. In part, you’re to blame for your own spiral. Death happens. It happens as often as sunrise, as flowers wilt, as conception itself. Your leadership isn’t good enough to cheat the inevitable, however badly you wish it to be true, and shouldering that kind of pressure was bound to break you the moment death knocked on your front door.

Outside, you join the other smokers sat in a wonky circle made up of folding chairs and opened beers and cigarettes, and everyone looks smaller without all the gear. Five in total, only two faces you recognize—one being Chris Redfield himself. Icon, legend, hero, but tonight you can’t bring yourself to care. The blood is there. He’s just another man.

Everyone is exhausted, that much is clear. Reads in sunken eyes and slumped shoulders and Lieutenant Reeves even nods off in his seat in the corner. It’s always like this. The aftermath. The weight of leadership.

You take the unoccupied seat beside Chris (servicemen thrive off of routine, and habits form after twenty-one days—you’ve surpassed stone-set by an extra one hundred and eighty-three) and he’s kind enough to offer you a lighter. Not that you need one, but you appreciate his small attempt at support. He gets it. The first time, the first death, is always hard.

He says nothing at first, and neither do you. Not much for small talk, too weighed down by the shackles of grief. It’s a relief. You nibble upon leftovers of another conversation and smoke your cigarette until the filter begins to dissolve with a cloying, bitter smell. Kinda reminds you of burnt hair. A little.

Maybe you’re just imagining things.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says, leaned in close enough that you taste metallic rot at the back of your throat. He showered a short while ago, cropped hair still damp, but the stench still coats his skin like an oily film.

Gore probably leaks from your own pores.

When you reply with a simple nod, he sighs through his nose, opaque smoke billowing into the space between you. It dries out your eyes but covers up the smell so you lean into it and, by proxy, him.

“Listen, I get it. I do. But your team needs a leader now more than ever. You can't afford to dwell on it.”

You know. You know. You've seen death at its most peaceful and its most gruesome. Most days you blink and the blackout darkness bleeds red. You've patted Death on the back and brushed shoulders with ghosts and shaken hands with skeletons. You've experienced the end a thousand different ways. But this is different.

You shake your head, not to disagree, but to filter away the thoughts that aren't helping your spiral. “I could've—”

“Stop.” His voice mumbles quiet. More quiet than you've ever heard him. He smells of gunpowder and body wash and tobacco and resignation, and your eyelids flutter. “You know that's bullshit. Can't stop the inevitable.”

He's right. You know he is. And you meet his eye and the air between you shifts like a thunderclap back toward reality.

One minute you’re on the front patio smoking, and the next you’re being fucked (hard, angry, just the way you need it) into the mattress with Chris’s mouth on your neck and your pants caught on your boots. He's a heavy weight against your back, a choking fullness inside you. A travel-sized bottle of lube sits just out of reach and every thrust is slick and noisy, the mattress creaking with each snap of his hips, and you can't help but revel in his selfish hands.

On the field, his touches are simplified down to necessity, a professional on all accounts, a convolution of sharp edges ripe enough to cut. On more than one occasion he's dragged you back to safety by the scruff like a disobedient puppy, and you've seen him manhandle soldiers unconcerned with their own self-preservation.

Here, alone, he takes and he savors and the rasp of his callouses liken to baptism against your waist and back and chest. His teeth seek permanent indentation along the curve of your shoulder, a kind of dying-star desperation that in thirty years his place in your life will forever be fossilized by your reflection in the mirror. The pain is exactly what you need, and he knows that, and such intuition scares you.

But here’s the thing about Chris: he doesn’t do one night stands. This situation—whatever you can call it—is more of a symbiotic relationship months past conception. A situation coincidental to when you became smoking buddies. You need the skinship and he loves to save people. The first week post-mission is hell to spend alone. Sex helps you feel something good. You both get your orgasm then say goodbye then fly off to opposite ends of the world for an indeterminate amount of time. Until the next time you meet again.

And there is a next time, as always. Deadly circumstances, per usual. But there’s a wrench thrown in the routine: a new player. A DSO agent with a name you know well.

Leon S. Kennedy. He keeps that middle initial close to his chest, cups the mystery like a baby bird who lost its nest. A mother that flew too close to the sun. He’s an asshole when you first meet him at the debrief, your judgements proven right (the pre-deployment gossip keeps you occupied and you can’t help but internalize a few common threads), but Chris swears up and down that this isn’t him.

He knows him via his sister who escaped Raccoon City—Ground Zero—by the skin of her teeth, which is where S.T.A.R.S. and Wesker and Jill Valentine and Chris himself come into the picture. A whole clusterfuck of horrible luck and wrong-place-wrong-time coincidences and intersecting relationships, and look. Chris has a history. Leon does, too. Trouble sniffs them out and chases them up trees like it’s the universe’s full-time hound dog job. But you’ve expended too much energy and time and blood into The Cause, and you’re stubborn to a concerning degree, so you refuse to back out now and let everybody else take all the credit.

The bird touches down ten miles from the FOB, a humvee awaiting the transport of your crew. You recognize Nav, a communications expert best known for tracking the shipment of a B.O.W. across three different European countries. Your new stand-in for Spike.

His crooked smile stings. “Glad to be here, boss.”

The FOB is little more than five large tents and a sea of desert. Egg-frying heat. Before you even step onto the sand, sweat pools beneath your gear and stings at your eyes.

Your team is here on surveillance, employed once again by the BSAA. Redfield’s doing, no doubt. He keeps his circle close.

Chris meets you at the gate, a flimsy thing held together by scrap metal and prayer, and the driver waves you off once bags have been collected and taken to the bunkhouse.

“Really giving us the royal treatment out here,” you say, fetching the crushed pack of cigarettes from one of the pockets in your fatigues.

“Being the best means you get the least resources.”

“It's more like your people hate me.”

“Or they know you love low profiles.”

Your team spends the next two days settling in, making friends, playing cards on some rickety fold-out table much too small for the five-to-seven people that crowd around it at any given time.

You stay close to Chris on instinct. A connection borne from an all-work-some-play arrangement and the knowledge of his doggish loyalty aided by how fucking good he is at his job. You trust him with your life—a sentiment held by everyone who's met the man. His reputation precedes him.

Things start out well, and things quickly devolve. You're stuck in the desert with two dozen people who don't know how to sit the fuck down, who would rather die than wrestle a moment of silence with their thoughts. And then, a week in, Leon Kennedy steps out of the humvee looking fresh off the front page of a magazine. Fresh gear, shiny guns, a head of hair not flattened down by grease.

His hiring was an expensive one, and the American government never fails to show off.

Your team looks on in poorly-guised, bitter disbelief. He's groomed, probably had a nice meal, maybe watched a show during his flight, experienced the luxury of air conditioning. You're a little pissed about it, too. Standing and sweating beneath the sun because there are too few fold-outs to seat everybody and Redfield's team stole half of them to play musical chairs (there isn't even any music).

At least you have a stockpile of cigarettes. The one luxury the BSAA left you with, all thanks to Redfield's influence.

Chris moves in close to greet him, and you miss Spike. He would've shaken you by the shoulders, made some silly comment just to see you smile. Always good at that, you suppose: timing. Now, your memory of him is tainted by the sight of a broken, emptied-out skull. You never knew blood could be so red.

You blink and Leon stands before you, Chris at his shoulder. There's a sharp order of be nice written in the squint of his eyes.

From the ground behind you, Taylor snorts. You choose to ignore her.

“Well,” you say. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Agent.”

He leans to the side, just enough to look past you. Blue eyes more stark than you remember, a pinprick sea amongst miles of sand. “I can see why. I wouldn't even let my dog stay here.”

You perk up at that—finally, some common ground. “You have a dog?”

His brows dip and your heart shatters a little. “Figure of speech.”

Suddenly you're back in bootcamp. The days are impossibly long, every muscle in your body retains a perpetual state of exhaustion, your peers fail in their efforts to befriend you. The drill sergeants are harsh, punishing (when it rains, your fingers always itch for a mop after that endless week of thunderstorms and sidewalk punishment).

You've always hated being told what to do, hated the politics that came with military life, and they all but beat the spark out of you within the first six months.

Everybody always asks you why you joined in the first place, and you answer the same exact way: I had some things to escape from. A half-truth. Really, you just wanted somewhere you could belong. A family. You believed the stories about brothers-in-arms and that's the fault of some younger, more idealistic version of you.

But you're tired.

You nod your head as Taylor snorts out a laugh and Chris shifts on his feet. It's humiliating. You're eighteen again and the drill sergeant told you to wipe the stupid fucking smile off your face. You were trying not to cry.

“Right.”

You were never meant to belong.

.

.

.

Chris sits on the balcony of your apartment in a shitty chair almost too small for his bulk, his third cigarette of the hour lit at the end in sunstorm orange, indentations of his teeth scarred into the filter. It's the first time your intimate relationship has ever breached the walls of a military base. An ultimate display of defiance, a rage against the military industrial complex that leaves the teenage version of you cheering somewhere beneath all the dog-teeth brain matter.

He looks different like this, less a legend and more a regular man indulging in post-coital habits. Dressed in nothing but a pair of plaid boxers and the dog tags he forgot to leave at base yesterday (there's something hot about that, though—the lip stain of forbidden fruit). The sweat has yet to dry on his neck, the bridge of his nose, dark curls of chest hair matted to his skin.

He looks up at the flick of your lighter, a gunshot cutting through the silence.

“You're chainsmoking,” you say, shuffling over to the unoccupied chair beside him. You move the plastic ashtray closer to you.

If he notices the way you favor a hip when you sit down, he doesn't comment on it. “I already have a mom. Don’t need another.”

He shuts down like this sometimes. As if the ghosts that plague him, dormant most days, return to torment his psyche. His thoughts make him angry, and he needs somewhere to store all the baggage. You tilt your head and the bites along the curve of your neck sting and you almost purr at the sensation. If your body is his graveyard, you'll swallow the dirt and the bones with pride.

You can't remember a time when you prioritized faith, but the crinkle of his pretty eyes when he grins at you makes you want to believe in some form of God. He sits before you rough-worn and weary, and the smoke from his cigarette curls and bleeds into starshine sky, but his cheeks puff up when his smile deepens and you know. You know.

You're fucked.

.

.

.

After the sweep of an underground facility and the acquisition of fresh new intel, HQ sends you a continent over to delve into salty seas and wade through lush rainforests. There's more waiting ahead, but at least you found a cure for the humidity.

The beach you stumbled upon is small, more pebbled than sandy, but it's quiet enough to hear leaves rustle and birdcall and the voice of your thoughts, and the streak-skied sunset steals your breath as you sink down into the water. A chill that settles deep, spikes your heart rate, tethers you to consciousness—

(what a cruel thing existence can be).

Redfield slips between the trees, boots loud enough against the grass to alert you to his presence. He appears less daunting in casual clothes, yet every bit a Captain—military perfect posture, a severe twist to his brow stamped to permanence years ago. Your spine straightens at the biting call of your name, his voice thick with exhaustion. Habit, second nature, an imperceptible reaction to the dominance of your betters.

Blend in with the locals. Keep a low profile. Find out who Simmons is.

Some parallel-universe, optimistic version of you would consider this a vacation, so if Chris wishes to break your solitude, he'll have to get wet. You swam far enough out that your toes brush plant life, submerged up to the neck.

Be honest: you just want to see him squirm.

“Care for a swim?” you call upon his approach, unphased by the cross of his arms or the glare on his face that warns of a verbal reaming.

Nobody leaves the safehouse past dusk. You're breaking rules by roughly an hour and a half, but the call of water proved too urgent to ignore.

You also like to cause a bit of trouble.

He offers up a shrug, mouth twisting into an echo of a smile (you think he's forgotten how to do it after years of cutting teeth and breaking fingers). “No can do. Forgot my speedo.”

“Would you believe me if I said I was naked under all this water?”

“Not for a second.”

“You are the antithesis of fun.”

“I get that a lot.”

His eyes are black as midnight, and each passing minute bathes more of his silhouette in sharp-edged shadows. A branch overhead bisects his face into two halves, perfectly centered on the bridge of his nose.

“I could write you up for this,” he says, a hint of danger to his tone. Warning. Your stomach burns hot.

“But you won't.”

He steps just out of reach of the incoming tide, marked clear by a sharp line in the sand between wet and dry.

You try again, a hairsbreadth away from desperation. Urgency. “Swim with me.”

As a child, you played games that none of your peers wished to join. You used to beg them—c'mon, please? just for five minutes, it'll be quick—to the point of tears, until resignation finally set in. Nobody wanted to be around you. You played alone and you ate alone and you read books alone.

This isn't like that—at least, it shouldn't be. You're a troublemaker and he's just doing his job. But still, that childish desperation rears its ugly, disfigured head, and you grin at the sound of his caving sigh. Corrupting the straight-laced Captain… like something out of a trashy paperback erotica.

He takes off his boots first and your heart surges into your throat. Sagging realization almost drowns you beneath an incoming wave of water (he would break rules for you), and you swim closer to shore to meet him.

At the tree line, a silhouette appears, human in shape. Chris follows the line of your wide-eyed stare, every muscle in your body tensed up at the first whiff of danger. Until the shape steps forward into the kiss of moonlight, and you aren't sure whether relief of irritation floods your system.

It's Leon Kennedy. Definitely both.

There's a sadness settled deep inside his bones that the rumors never prepared you for. He walks closer, kicking up sand with each step, and the lighting pales him to a ghostly mirage. Back at the FOB he kept to himself. Spoke when spoken to. Occupied the same chair like he paid for it, all crossed arms and scowling at anybody who dared breach the invisible line of his personal bubble. Everyone except for Chris.

There's a history here you fail to pick up on, a thickness that cloys in the air. Words left unsaid, a silent grudge years in the making. But beneath all the rot, therein lies an unshakeable foundation built on trust.

“I thought we had a curfew,” Leon says, looking more hollow than human from where you stand half-submerged.

Still, the blue of the water could never compare to his eyes. You remember their vividness even as they are now, bathed in shadow by his brow.

You wonder for just a moment (Spike’s voice echoes inside your head: you spend too much time in the clouds, Lieutenant) what he looks like when he smiles. How long it's been since the muscles worked.

“I'm a bad influence,” you say, and for a moment, when their eyes meet, you think you've disappeared into the ether. A buoy treading water.

They share in silent conversation before Chris nods toward the direction of the safe house. “Let's head back.”

The glare he gives you holds no room for argument.

You wade back onto the beach and the sand sinks between your toes. If you stood here long enough the beach might just swallow you up, and the thought shouldn't be as comforting as it is.

Nearby, your clothes sit in a pile, half-buried in sand by the wet-hot wind that pools sweat at the base of your neck. The weather is a stifling scorch, made even worse on the walk back by trees that trap in humidity.

Leon falls back to walk beside you, bathing the forest in an uncomfortable silence. You have nothing in common, and he possesses the social prowess of a rabid dog, but maybe that's the thing that draws you in. You have a penchant for picking up strays. Hell, your entire team is a patchwork quilt of sewn-together outcasts too talented to be thrown aside and forgotten. Old dogs can, in fact, learn new tricks. Teaching them how is your specialty.

You get it.

He rubs a palm over the stubble at his jaw, gaze trained on the canopy above. The creatures here are active at night. Noisy. A fluttering insect catches your attention before landing on a nearby branch. Moonlight casts deep shadows upon the terrain, bathes the ground in sharp cuts of jagged shadow. You pass beneath a large leaf and Leon disappears entirely for half a second.

“So,” he says, tone flat as a board, as if he'd rather bloody his fingers clawing on tree bark than speak, “you're the friend I've heard so much about.”

You can't see his features well in the low lighting, but the cut of his gaze sears you. Dark circles—shades of deep blue and faded purple, the color of bruises—a mile deep, rings of blue framed by midnight black and vessels of red. Like he hasn't slept in weeks, like he just came back from an extended bender. It's—

“I guess so,” you say, because you can't ask about the scabs on his knuckles, or the long-healed scar on his cheek, or why his eyes seem so sad.

There are a thousand Leon Kennedys in your line of work. The same story told a thousand different ways. You recognize the signs of epidemic, the symptoms of deadly viruses, and the man before you belongs to a sub-category pockmarked by trauma.

You look at him and see the choke chain pulled tight around his neck, scarring where the skin's grown around each metal prong. Yours probably looks the same.

But it's none of your business, you suppose. You lock your bullshit up tight and tuck it neatly in the back of your brain that grows cobwebs, and then you let it rot. Not your fault if the miasma sometimes leaks through.

Leon exhales a scoffing laugh. “To be honest, I didn't think Chris had friends.”

A grin twitches the corners of your lips, and you glance ahead to spot the broad width of Chris's back before he ducks under a low-hanging branch. A warmth stokes to flame, curls a tender smoke around each of your ribs. “We knew each other before the BSAA. To be honest, he's the only reason I joined. Gave this big speech about saving the world and shit, I couldn't say no.”

He nods and looks at you with softened eyes. “Yeah. He has that affect on people.”

It's the first thing you and Leon Kennedy have in common.

.

.

.

Chris promised Leon a drink.

You find yourself sat at some bar in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, him on one side and Leon on the other. It's packed, and the music is a touch too loud, and the crowd is rowdy.

Nobody says a word. Not when things ended the way this last mission did.

Failure.

The bartender, some grumpy man with a long, greying beard and a permanent scowl on his face, sets a whiskey down before you. The glass sticks to the tabletop when you pick it up, and you can't remember how many drinks you've had but you know that the trip back to the safehouse will be a hazardous one.

A thousand people dead. Too late to stop the bombing of the small village Umbrella pinged as their testing ground. A travesty, a massacre.

The alcohol burns inside your mouth, burns all the way down to your empty belly and leaves behind a wave of nausea. You wonder how packed the bathroom in this place is.

There was a little boy.

You deserve the burn. Deserve for it to consume you, to eat away at your viscera until acid bleeds from you pores.

You killed a little boy.

Someone grabs you rough by the curve of the neck, pulls you back, curls an arm around your shoulders.

“Hey, we're heading back.” Taylor, voice loud to beat out the music, slurring in your ear. “You gonna be alright?”

You've seen dead children before. Dozens of them of all ages, all manner of decomposed. Victims of Umbrella. Collaterals of evil. But you've never been the cause of it. Never been the perpetrator.

It cuts deep. Cuts deeper when you think of Spike. All the people you've failed.

Our lives revolve around death, he had told you one night, sat swaying on a barstool a lot like this one, and one day we're gonna be consumed by it. Can't have your cake and eat it, too, as they say. Gotta exist in one plane or the other.

She shakes your shoulder, grip rough without all your gear, with more alcohol than blood in her veins. “You good?”

You blink in shades of red. “Yeah. Just be careful on the way back.”

When she goes to leave, Chris catches her by the elbow. Says something you can't hear over the music, but she glances at you and nods her head. You don't care enough to find out.

To your right, Leon sweeps a hand through his hair. Leans over to stare at you beneath hooded lids. “You get used to it.”

There it is. The chain around your neck pulls taut, and you choke back the bitter tang of whiskey in your mouth. Might as well choke on your words while you're at it.

He handles his alcohol too well. A worrying observation in any other circumstance, but you'd be a hypocrite to accost him and an asshole to deny him his coping mechanism, however harmful it is.

What good is living a healthy life when you've one foot already in the grave?

Your fingers itch for a cigarette. The pit of your belly craves a dirty mattress and a bottle of lube and the man at your left who keeps nudging his elbow into your arm each time he sets down his drink.

A hypocrite, you'll never be.

So you settle for the cigarette and say nothing when Leon waves the bartender over.

“Been doing this for almost a decade, and I'm still waiting,” you say, head balanced on a sweaty, sticky palm. “Don't think I could ever get used to killing kids.”

Beside you, Leon takes a long few gulps from his drink. “Yeah, that's… different.”

You grow bold from the whiskey sloshing around in your stomach and lean in close, well past the boundary of his personal space. Behind the long-dried sweat and the brandy on his breath, you smell the death that lurks beneath his epidermis. Like a dog that's rolled in a rotting corpse, bits of viscera still trapped in its fur.

“Have you ever killed a kid?”

He glares at you from the corner of his eye, throat bobbing as he swallows. “Too many.” Choking down the memories.

.

.

.

He's pretty and perfect, ruddy at the tip, thick all the way to the base. The perfect size to deepthroat (long enough to choke off your breath without the stretching pain). You tried it once with Chris and the last inch or so made you tap out, and you remember vividly the pinched grimace on his face, almost pitying to the way your eyes leaked with tears as you coughed away the searing burn.

I warned you, he had said, leaned up against the wall of some unused supply closet. The start of your workplace affair.

And now, you find yourself on your knees in some dirty back alley, Leon's cock swallowed all the way to the base. A small, insignificant victory, but the taste of him—salt-musk and skin–washes away the blood that sticks to the roof of your mouth.

You pull away and work him over with a spit-slicked hand, hissing a breath through your teeth. You look up to find his chin dipped toward his chest, pretty eyes glossy and lidded, a deep blush spread thick over his cheeks and nose. Cute. It's cute. He's cute.

Maybe that's the whiskey talking.

(Not like you have a history of fucking your coworkers or anything.)

The thought sobers you a bit, and your hand slows. Your gaze sharpens.

“Good?” you whisper, just loud enough to hear over the rhythmic schlick of your fist.

Your conscience flares in a sharp thump against the part of your brain still functioning, and you wonder what Chris would think if he saw you like this. You can envision him now, all disappointed and frowning, maybe a little hurt in the squint of his eyes. He'd bitch at you for being so irresponsible, because fucking around with him has nothing to do with feelings, but shit. What you wouldn’t give to see him jealous.

Then Leon huffs out a breath, says, “Please,” in such a pitiful voice that—

Well.

You can unpack all this later.

Your focus shift backs to the man before you, smile devilish and wide as his head thumps against the brick. “Please what?”

“Fuck. Don't do this right now.”

You shift on the hard pavement, knees screaming in pain. But you can tolerate it. His mouth falls open, exhales a choked off moan when you circle your tongue over the sensitive nerves of his frenulum, and nothing else matters.

The sight of him flayed open, vulnerable, needy is intoxicating. A sharp contrast to when you first met, how he soured at the sight of you and licked his teeth like he craved to grab hold of your arm and shake.

You take him into your mouth again, hollowing your cheeks around each inch in a slow savor of the weight against your tongue, and you think you might go a little crazy when he cants his hips and curls a hand around the back of your neck.

“Gonna—I need—”

You moan around him, the best invitation you can manage, and he's quick to take it. The pace he sets sends fire licking up your spine, hurried and quick, long pumps that tease at the sheath of your throat but never breach. You steady yourself with a hand on each of his thighs, thumbing at the downy-blond hair covering the skin.

He's nice about face-fucking you, the alcohol half-worn off. Cradles your head like he either loves you or the way you swallow his cock, shoulders pressed flat against the brick wall to steady himself. Generous with his sounds (Chris communicates in heavy breaths and grunts, but Leon gets into it, and you aren't sure which you like best).

There's something wrong in the way you compare the men, as if they aren't the antithesis of each other down to each individual atom, but maybe that's the appeal. The best of both worlds.

He pulls out of your mouth after a heaving sigh, foamy spit spread from root to tip, connecting in a thin string to your bottom lip.

“Sorry. Can never finish when I drink,” he says, breathless, frustration bleeding through each sluggish syllable.

“Don't worry. I can't either.” It's an anticlimactic end to the night when he pulls up his pants and stuffs his still-hard cock back into his underwear. Says, “It'll go away in a minute,” when he catches you staring at the obvious bulge stretching the fabric.

You move to stand, knees almost buckling from being bent for so long. A clear sign of your age, a body composed of weary bones and ground-down joints and nerve damage. The inevitable effects of a dangerous, active career.

When you stumble, he steadies you with a firm grip around your bicep. Quick to pull away when you right yourself.

A pang starts directly behind your eyes. You need a glass of water.

“Do you want me to…” he trails off, nodding to the space between your thighs. No doubt you've leaked through your pants, your own need mostly forgotten to prioritize his.

But that's okay. Your brain shut up as soon as you got your mouth on him and that's all you care about. Mission accomplished. You can just rub one out when you get a private moment (who knows when that'll be).

“Don't worry about it.”

“Oh.”

“Not that I'm not interested, but the others are probably wondering where we are.” And by others, you mean Redfield, still left hunched over at the bar.

There had been a silent agreement with Leon after your conversation. A shared understanding that, yes, this was a very bad idea, but adrenaline and alcohol and drowning memories always ends in poor decisions anyway. The weight of inevitables.

You can't remember who followed who out the door.

The silence that follows is unbelievably awkward. Leon can't go back into the bar just yet, and you don't wish to leave him alone. But you have no idea where to go from here. With Chris, the transition progressed naturally: smoking buddies to confidants to friends to fucking each other after an adrenaline-fueled disaster of a deployment (huh, a common theme). The reasoning makes sense: you both need a good orgasm to stave off the stress every once in a while. The tenderness you harbor for him is an inconvenient side effect.

Regarding Leon, there's no history here. You share in trauma, yank against leashes attached to the same hand, hold a similiar respect for Chris. Nothing but overarching ideals posing as interpersonal commonality.

But you have a soft spot for strays. Especially the feral ones with sharp teeth and a mean streak.

Leon adjusts the crotch of his pants, kicks out a leg, and you exhale a laugh. He's frustratingly, awkwardly endearing.

(it's just the alcohol it's just the alcohol it's just the alcohol)

You clear your throat, a bashful heat creeping up the nape of your neck. “Thanks. For the—ya know, the distraction. I needed it.”

He nods, turns on his heel, and leaves the alley.

When you walk back inside, Chris is already gone.

.

.

.

And then the world floods. A solid week of heavy rain that, as you lean against the railing of your balcony, seeks to swallow the cars down below on the street, already halfway up the wheels. A rogue bike floats down the street. The water is deceptive in its surface-level calmness, but you know what lurks beneath. Step in the way of nature and be swept off your feet. They'd find your body half a mile away, lungs filled with muddy run-off.

You've never been religious, and faith has eluded you since you were young—don't think you've ever believed in anything besides the sanctity of life—but the street flooding below reminds you of the popular Christian tale. Two of each animal, a great ark, the end of times (the first of many).

You turn to Chris, stood just inside the sliding glass door that leads onto the balcony. “Do you believe in God? Any of ‘em?”

The wrinkles on his forehead deepen, and you remember a time when his eyes held life. They still spark, but sometimes you fear his anger setting him ablaze. Much to be angry about these days: injustice, evil, fighting for a dead-end cause.

The dead can still burn. You know that well.

There still exists moments where his face smooths out, like the few hours of rest he steals at night, but the damage is already done. Fine lines permanent, a testament to the long-flooded chasm of his worries.

“Never thought about it, really.”

Water pours off the edge of the balcony above, a light spray misting your face as the wind switches course and blows the rain sideways. Your feet shift inside a shallow puddle, just deep enough to splash. A chill forms beneath your skin, raises gooseflesh along your arms and legs, the weather a mere accomplice to the problem (many at this point, some identifiable and others still stuck in the stage of repression) that took root inside your bones.

“Not much to believe in anymore, is there?”

Behind you, he sniffs. “It's been that way for a long time.”

Then he steps out onto the concrete, shuts the glass door with a dull thump. A lighter flickers, barely intelligible over the noise of the storm. A moment later, the cloying smell of tobacco hits your nose, and a hand comes into view out of the corner of your eye.

An offering. The cigarette pinched between thumb and forefinger a sacred gift from a man like him.

“You sound like you need it,” he says, bare chest fitting nice and warm against your back, and you relax into his bulk on instinct.

Always instinct with him.

He's kept his distance since that night with Leon in the alleyway. You know he knows. Tries his best to pretend, to regain the dynamic that changed as soon as you dropped to your knees and unzipped Leon's pants, but there's no going back. And you don't know if you want to. With a life hand-woven by fuck-ups and guilt, you rarely experience the absence of regret, so when you woke up that morning and continued on with your day and Leon crept closer than normal, engaged in muted conversation over the flight back home, you decided you wouldn't change a thing.

Maybe you're too selfish. Too self-serving. Too desperate for a way out of this, but—

Chris's beard rasps over your jaw, lips hot when they press to the skin. A hand slides beneath your shirt to rest flat against your stomach, the muscles there tensing.

—shit, you think you deserve indulgence every once in a while.

But he never escalates past the fluttering kisses along your pulse, a languid savor to the way your heart beats for him. The same way you savor your cigarette. An unusual intimacy that you aren't sure how to cope with. What it all means.

So you ruin it, just as you ruin everything good in your life.

(People like you don't deserve goodness, no matter how hard you grasp for it.)

Fat droplets of pouring rain dissect the thick fog of smoke you exhale. “You saw us, didn't you?”

The fingers on your belly curl inward, almost possessive. Like he wants to burrow elbow-deep inside the cavern of viscera and curl your intestines around his hand—the perfect makeshift leash. You wouldn't mind if it was him.

It's always been this way, hasn't it?

“Of course I did.” A sharp nip to the curve of your shoulder, and your hips twitch forward, a hiss choking off at the back of your throat. “Thought you hated him.”

“Almost dying has a funny way of bringing people together.”

“We know all about that, don't we?”

You hum in agreement as his hand climbs higher, squeezes soft at the curve of your ribcage, fingers protecting each brittle bone. Re-learning your body, testing its limits, searching for… something.

“You said it yourself, Chris. People like us don't get the luxury of romance. Dating, marriage, kids. They're pipe dreams. Gotta stave off the loneliness as best we can, but,” you stamp out your cigarette on the wet metal railing, and it cries out with a hiss as water seeps into the filter, “even the sex is a lie. We know it is.”

A lie you gorge on until your heart swells, bloated and tender to the touch.

His mouth is on you as soon as you sit on the couch, already stripped bare below the waist by two sets of desperate hands. Didn't even have a chance to close the door to the balcony with him shoving you back inside.

The sight of him (an inspiration, a legend, a hero) on his knees never fails to stroke your ego, and he meets your eyes with a grin. Slicks his hand between your legs with a chest-purring hum.

Chris, for all his skill, possesses a one-track mind. He hones in on outcome, completing the mission, point A to point B. As such, he doesn't care for distractions. Takes control—prefers giving to recieving any day of the week. And although the sight of him kissing up your thigh conjures heat at the base of your spine, you have another idea.

“Wait,” you say, already a bit breathless, and he sits back to listen. A good, obedient dog. “Move to the couch. I'll be right back.”

You yank your shirt over your head as if it catalyzed every single problem in your current life and leave for the bedroom. Need lube—a must where his size is concerned.

You return to him lounging on the couch, his bulk sagging its very foundation. An impossibly large, commanding presence, and you're unsure how the very idea of him doesn't collapse your room into a gravity-swallowing blackhole.

He is man. You've seen him bleed, seen him laugh, seen him on the brink of death. And yet the tangibility of his existence awes you even now, after all these years.

The stretch conjures between your legs an impenetrable pressure, made slick by all the lube. And he gazes up at you, seated naked in his lap, with all the reverence of a creation bowed before the altar of its god.

To be perceived is a terrifying ordeal. One you try not to think much about. But here, there's no hiding place brave enough to shelter you from the doggish fealty in his eyes. It's terrifying and wonderful and humiliating, and if you aren't careful, you'll begin to crave the feeling of being wanted.

A dangerous thing, loyalty.

You kiss him—a wet, hurried mess of a thing; tender flesh caught between canine teeth; calloused hands guiding the intensity with a palm against your jaw and the other gripping your waist, fingers sticky with lube. He's as big as you dream about, your insides stretched snug and velvety and slick around him.

He breaks off the kiss with a grunt caged behind grit teeth as you begin to ride him in a slow, grinding rhythm.

“Like this?” you ask, solely for your own amusement (love the way his cheeks get all pink), because you've fucked him well enough to know what he likes.

Still, though. To hear him say it is to be well-fed.

He hums, eyes downcast to the place where your bodies join, both hands a steadfast grip on your hips. Guiding, coaxing, savoring.

The sight of his bottom lip tugged between his teeth almost undoes you. And then he looks up at you with the prettiest, puppy-dog brown eyes, and the world stops. The sun burns and burns and burns until flesh melts from bone.

In the aftermath, cuddled naked and sticky together on the couch, a new star is born, nurtured by the warmth of your bodies. You kiss him, and gravity collapses in on itself.

The rain stops.

.

.

.

A conversation transpires at some hole-in-the-wall bar in Birmingham, Alabama. Why Leon chose this place you'll never know, and why Chris chose you to tag along on this two-person manhunt eludes you even more. Something about needing support, back-up, a friend he could trust. And you said yes. Of course you did.

But he seems to handle the situation just fine.

You lounge in a booth within sight of the bar where the two men sit. Leon slumps over the bartop and Chris rests an arm across his shoulders, both of them leaned in close to keep the conversation private. You feel like you have no right to watch, like the moment was not meant for your eyes. They speak like they've conquered lifetimes together, an intimacy you don't think you could ever fully understand.

You take a sip of your beer and trace your eyes over the sticky woodgrain of the table.

After a few minutes—somewhere between five and thirty, when you've already begun to nod off in your seat—a shadow passes over you, then another.

A large hand claps you on the shoulder. “Let's go.”

You sip on the rest of your beer as you follow behind the men, Leon stumbling over cracks in the pavement, cresting the tumultuous wave of drunkenness. Chris holds him steady by a hand fisted in the back of his leather jacket, and you feel much like a wraith. Intangible, inconsequential, tethered to the earthly realm by the beer bottle that sweats a chill against your palm.

It would be sad if sadness wasn't such a permanent facet of your life.

The motel Leon leads you to is a run-down thing. A few cars scatter around the parking lot, cigarette butts litter the concrete walk that leads to each room, and the lampost nearby blinks in a coincidental mimicry of morse code. As Leon attempts to unlock the door, you stare through the swarm of moths to where the dark-light rhythm spells out

H-E-L-P H-E-L-P H-E-L-P.

You didn't sleep too well on the flight over.

His room fares no better, caught in the sharp-toothed maw of a week-long bender. A red flag, a mental health hazard that leaves Chris sighing as he helps Leon over to the stained, naked mattress he calls a bed. He leaves one leg half-dangling off the side, some trick you learned during the early days of training when every weekend ended in borderline alcohol poisoning and the room wouldn't stop spinning.

A few feet over, you spot a thin sheet and a blanket on the floor, crumpled into a mound of itchy fabric. You choose the blanket to drape over him, wrinkled all to hell, but he doesn't seem to mind. Holds it close to his chest in a loose fist while his other hand grabs your shoulder.

“’m sorry Redfield dragged you into this mess,” he says, eyes bloodshot and unfocused, a certain sway to his words that sends a pang to the deepest part of your chest.

You've been here before, many a time. Can't count the days you wasted sleeping in bushes or heaving over a toilet or so drunk you couldn't even stand, because the alcohol felt good until it didn't, and even now you find something meaningful in the hammering of a morning-after migraine—pain means you're alive, Chris likes to say.

You slip up sometimes (a lot), forget your sober vows when the hardships need a good drowning. The ethanol kills them for a little while, but they always come back. You fool yourself every time into believing the next drink will be different.

It makes sense now. Why Chris chose you to tag along. You stare down at Leon and some parallel-universe mirror image stares back. The beer in your stomach settles like a molten rock.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” A sentence you wish to tell some younger, dumber version of yourself, before you stopped believing in redemption. “Just sleep it off, okay? We'll be here when you wake up.”

You and Chris share the threadbare couch in silence, curled up on either cushion. He twirls one of your shoelaces around a finger, then unravels it, then twirls it again, over and over as the sound of Leon's rhythmic snoring fills the room.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, cheek pressed to the back of the couch as he looks toward a hanging cobweb on the cieling. “It's hard to talk him down when he gets like this.”

“I think you handled it well.”

He exhales a tired laugh through his nose, the shadows under his eyes deeper beneath the pale of moonlight. “Only because I knew I had a backup plan.”

“And what would that have been?”

His lips twitch into a grin. “We drag his ass out of there kicking and screaming.”

“Damn. I'm almost sad the talking angle worked.”

“You would be.”

The comfortable silence stays steadfast for all of twenty seconds before you look over the back of the couch to where Leon lay.

“I hate to see him like this,” you say, wrinkles forming between your brow. “You know those kinds of people, where you can take one look at them and know they've been through hell?”

Chris hums.

“He's definitely one of ‘em.”

He shakes his head after a long moment, brows raised. “You have no idea.”

No. You don't. But it puts his behavior into perspective. Straddles the hair-fine line between excuse and explanation. Hard to develop meaningful, lasting relationships when everyone around you routinely drops like flies.

The night drones on, and on, and on. You should be able to sleep anytime and anywhere at this point, but the two sets of snoring seeks to do your head in. That, and Chris effectively shoved you off the rickety couch in his sleep and stretched out upon the cushions. But that's okay. He needs it.

Night turns to day somewhere between your anxious pacing around the room and your decision to take the floor, and you wake sweaty, a bit addled amidst unrecognizable surroundings.

Until you recognize the voices sounding from the opposite side of the room. Your hip screams when you rise to your feet, and you're dying for a drink of water and the cool breeze from a fan.

“Morning, sunshine,” Leon says, looking no worse for wear after the previous night. Hair a bit tousled, clothes wrinkled, but bright-eyed and aware. It's both infuriating and relieving.

“Definitely not a good one,” you grumble, because it's far too early to be awake and why are you even here in the first place? Chris could've handled it himself.

(God, you need to chug a glass of cold water. Swallow down a few ibuprofen while you're at it because pain makes you a certifiable asshole.)

Even in your youth, you hated mornings. Hated missing out on sleep, stumbling around for the better part of thirty minutes because nothing could get you awake. Hated the anxious, seven a.m. rush of the world.

A shit career you found for yourself, given that fact. Can't remember the last time you slept a full eight hours (your extracurriculars with Chris notwithstanding).

“I’m not a fan of mornings, either,” Leon says. Passes you a half-empty bottle of water from the nightstand, and you would hate to know how long it’s been there.

Long enough to taste earth-bitter and flat, but it hydrates the inside of your mouth to a blissful degree. You down the rest in three big gulps then squish up the plastic in a fist. The lukewarm water shaves down the edges of your teeth that crave something to chew on; a certain kind of clarity that rears its head only when your needs are met.

“Thank you,” you say, capping the bottle and tossing it beside him on the bed.

He nods. “Don't mention it.”

Chris leaves to smoke a cigarette outside as Leon begins packing what few things he brought with him. You plop down on the edge of the bed, unsure of how to breach the topic of his mental stability. But you feel like you should say something.

“So. How are things?” A rough start given the stare he cuts you with. “I just mean… well, you don't have to suffer alone like this. Chris cares about you, and I do, too. We wouldn't be here otherwise.”

Almost dying has a way of bringing people closer together.

He shoves a rolled-up shirt into his bag with a weary sigh. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can. But I know that shit gets heavy to carry around, so—”

“Yeah. I got it.”

You sit in a silence for a moment, the fabric of his jacket rustling as he scoops it off the floor then shakes the dirt off. Maybe you should clean a bit, take some stress off the workers. But Leon pins you with a look when you ask him for a broom. Says, “This is a motel. Nobody gives a shit.”

You sit back down.

Filth has never disturbed you. You've slept in places that weren't fit for human life, drank water swarming with viruses (in your defense, the order hadn't come through yet, and you suffered through half a dozen antidotal injections as punishment), but it's about the overarching intent of Leon being here. Whether a perfect reflection of his ground-through psyche or his self-taught deservedness for suffering, you aren't sure. It makes you sad regardless.

He sets his bag by the door and settles into the shitty couch, and you trail behind him. “Ya know, it took me a really long time before I ever felt like I could open to anybody. But once I did, it just… it felt nice. Can’t tell you how many times Chris saved me from myself.”

He scoffs. “Sounds like him.”

“He’s just trying to help. But you have to want it.”

“I don’t. Obviously.”

You nod. You've spent enough time around broken people to know when to shut up, to stop digging, and there's a blaring red stop sign over his head. “I know. But when you do, we'll be here.”

.

.

.

Chris Redfield is man, and he bleeds, and he flinches away from pain. He hates needles something fierce yet regularly requires them due to the job. One such example of the comedic irony that lives within him.

So you hold his hand while the stern-faced nurse begins an IV. He's pale in the face, grip weak, sweaty on the palms. Lucky to be alive. A mark of his mortality the deep, serrated gash slicing through the front of his thigh. A gnarly thing, makes your stomach drop when you think about it.

The nurse discards the needle and extra gauze then steps out in a rush, closing the door behind her. Beside you, tucked beneath two hospital blankets, comically large in the bed, Chris breathes a sigh of relief.

“So. How do I look?”

“Like shit.”

He winces, shifting his uninjured leg beneath the sheets. “Gonna be here a while, aren't I?”

“Probably not. Longest part'll be the PT.”

He shoots you a stern glare that tells you to shut the fuck up—a very rare showcase of off-the-field command. “It's not that bad.”

“It is that bad. You're lucky you still have a fucking leg.”

The air of the hospital room thickens. You know the unspoken, chain-of-command line you tread, the luxuries afforded to you because of the softness in his heart where you placed your claim. One such example: you can yell at him without reprimand. Best used when he's being a tunnel-vision dumbass.

You blink and the world bleeds red and there you are, back on the field with a roll of gauze in one hand and a tourniquet in the other. Nobody can find the goddamn medic and he'll be bled out by the time they get here. You bark orders to your team as the writhing mass of limbs and teeth begins to drag itself across the bridge, and you think of Spike.

Chris yowls at the last few turns of the rod.

Not again.

The missions grow more dangerous with each deployment. He denies this over and over and over, says the worst spike of bioterrorism was after Raccoon City, when Umbrella threw caution to the wind and stopped caring about cover-ups. When the government did it for them, when technology wasn’t like it is now.

But frequency and impact are two very different things, and you know an inevitable, a fork in the road, is soon to come.

That's always how these things end.

[starzzluvr]

feel like i’ve read every single leon post ever on here im

gonna rip my hair out i need more

[starzzluvr]

Can I request leon finding a survivor in racoon city and protecting them? ( I've never played re2 so sorry if this would never happen in the game)

sure you can!🤗 i wasn't sure if you wanted slash or not so i went somewhere in the middle, hope that's okay 💕 enjoy!

☆ leon s kennedy x reader

tags: hurt/comfort, blood and injury, protective leon, gn!reader

wordcount: 2105

<3

"thirty-three..." you count silently, hugging your knees to your chest as you shut your eyes even tighter.

you take a deep breath, hold it, and let it go. relax, a voice tells you in your mind.

there's another loud bang on the door. you try to be quiet, but your limbs flinch involuntarily and a cry slips past the hand on your mouth regardless.

"thirty-four..." you whisper into your palm, tasting the saltiness of your tears on the skin.

you're so tense it hurts, legs uncomfortably angled to fit under the same desk you've had since you were a kid and neck curled to do the same.

breathe, that voice says again, and you let go of the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.

the door creaks under the weight of another thud, and you inhale sharply, instantly regretting doing so as your nose fills with the sharp stench of blood.

you let another whimper slip, inching further beneath the desk as the scratching starts back up again. it never ends, really, but in times like these it reminds you that the wooden door separating you and them won't hold forever.

you are going to die in here, you think and glance at the window, or you are going to die out there.

"thirty..." shit, where were you?

outside, the rain is pouring, slamming against the thin glass of the windowpanes as if dedicated to give you even more problems.

you're grateful your flat is on the third floor, then is instantly struck with guilt again, remembering your neighbors downstairs and the plants you used to water for them.

maybe they- your mind starts, and for the nth time you have to remind yourself: no, they didn't get out safely, no one did, you're the last person alive in racoon city - you're alone.

of course, you can't be sure of that last part, but you can't imagine anyone who's still breathing would be stupid enough to stay.

one of them starts growling into the crack in the door again, and you're reminded of where you are - curled up in the bedroom you only moved into a week ago and hiding because zombies are real and the undead version of your landlords are trying to eat your brain.

you shut your eyes with a sigh, cursing your thoughts for being so entirely unhelpful.

"one..." you start over, wondering if you'll even get to thirty this time.

except, before you can even get to two there's a loud noise. not the kind of dull thuds you've gotten used to, but something else.

a gunshot.

at first you think you're imagining things, or maybe you misheard. but then there it is again - a series of deafening pangs just below your window.

your heart races as you sit perfectly still, listening intently for any other sound as the shots go silent. a loud creak follows, old and rusted and terrifyingly familiar.

your stomach drops - you know exactly what's making that noise, remembering how the landlord showed you how the fire escape works and how the metal groaned under his weight.

something got up there, you think, panic climbing in your throat.

heavy thuds join the familiar one on the door, except they come from outside your window. this time, as the voice in your head tells you to breathe, you can't. it's as if the air has glued itself to the inside of your lungs, and you hold it there as your body aches with tension.

the snarling outside the door intensifies, and just as you recognize the heart-wrenching sound of the door panels splintering apart. quickly joining the cacophony of terror, however, is the noise of the window shattering.

you can't move, can't breathe-

BANG!

ears ringing, your mouth opens in what is only to you a soundless scream. you watch through tears as a dark smear in your vison slashes at your landlord. the man drops in front of the desk, and you flinch as something dark and wet sprays all over you.

panic muddles your mind. you thought you were prepared to die - you were wrong. it's scary and it's horrible and you hate it-

a hand touches your knee.

your eyes fly open as your leg kicks out instinctively. you watch, dazed, as a man, bloody and blond and alive, grimaces and stumbles back, cradling his stomach.

he raises his hands, maybe hoping to calm you.

it's in vain, your head is spinning and you only now recognize the sticky liquid on your skin as blood and your lungs ache as you belatedly realize you're still screaming.

the man's posture relaxes considerably once you shut your mouth and you blink, eyes flitting around your room as you struggle to process the state it's in.

you look at the bed, thinking about the old quilt at the foot of it that your dad made you when you were little. a limp body is draped over it, and you watch, horrified, as crimson red begins to pool on the floor.

the body wears a sun washed nirvana t-shirt, and you remember seeing it on the old man a floor above you before.

oh god, you think, breathing picking up again. they're dead. they're all dead-

"-y, hey, look at me," a voice startles you as the ringing in your ears subside and you catch the tail end of his words. you look over at the man, trying and failing not to look at the gore on his knife.

"okay, you're okay," he tells you, and when you meet his eyes, you're surprised to find sincerity there. he could still kill you, that voice from before pipes up, no longer comforting.

as if noticing the clarity slowly returning to you, the man nods and stands up, heading towards the door. panic strikes you suddenly and you shoot to your feet, bumping your head on the desk as the idea of being left alone here makes you tremble.

"wait!" you exclaim, surprised at the sound of your own voice so ragged and breathless. the man turns, eyes wide as he quickly gestures for you to calm down.

"hey, look, i'm just going to check the hallway," he says carefully while pointing to the broken door. "i'll be right back, okay? just stay here, ."

he waits for your shaky nod before leaving. you'd almost be grateful for the time alone to collect yourself, except you're not alone, and the two corpses in your bedroom aren't going anywhere. or at least you hope they're not.

so, standing in the centre of the bedroom you moved into a week ago, next to your dead landlord and neighbor, you hug yourself tightly and walk over the corner furthest from the door.

unfortunately it's the same corner where the window is, and you make a half-hearted effort to avoid stepping on any glass.

you flinch as another gunshot echoes from the floor above, letting a few more tears fall even as you try to calm yourself down. you knew things must be terrible, but your vivid imagination is somehow still not as bad as seeing it for yourself.

you can hear growling coming form the alley below your apartment, and instinctively glance out the window - meeting the dead eyes of a dozen walking corpses milling under the raised fire escape.

gasping sharply, you stumble away from the scene, panic increasing as your back collides with a hard surface.

"easy," the man from before says and grips your arms from behind. slowly he turns you to face him. "don't look."

you nod, somehow unbothered by his hands on your wrists as his eyes, sparkling with concern, scans your face. maybe you should be embarrassed of your cheeks blotchy with tears and puffy from how you've been rubbing your face clear of them for hours.

"i'm leon," the man introduces himself. you're grateful to put a name to the face, especially if this is the last time you see him.

you give him yours in turn, and he smiles, tells you it's a good name as his hand moves to your back and he moves you towards the door.

the hallway is in worse shape than your room, and you avert your eyes before more of the splattered blood imprint themselves on your retinas. even though this is technically still your house, you let leon guide you through it until you're sat at the kitchen table, watching him crush some herbs on a paper towel.

"i just moved here a week ago," you find yourself saying, trying not to cry again as you think about the safety of home; cursing yourself for ever leaving.

leon looks up from his plants, smiling sympathetically. "yesterday was my first day on the job."

tomorrow would've been yours. you'd been excited for your new job, but now you don't even want to imagine staying here if you even survive. you huff bitterly. "lucky us, huh?"

he laughs. "definitely."

apparently deeming his work complete, leon hands you the herbs after grabbing a handful for himself. you watch, a little stunned, as leon shoves it in his mouth and begins exaggeratedly chewing.

he gestures for you to do the same, and you hesitantly bring a bit to your dry lips, absently wondering if you're about to be poisoned.

fuck it. you throw the whole thing in your mouth, immediately wincing at the bitter taste but chewing the best you can. leon watches you intently, but doesn't comment.

"that'll make you feel better," he says and begins digging through a pouch on his hip. it takes a second, but he eventually finds what he's looking for - pulling out another knife.

you're already halfway to your feet by the time he's set it down on the table, looking at him fearfully. "please, i-"

leon looks between you and the knife, and his eyes widen. "oh, no- hey, i'm not gonna hurt you, okay?" he says carefully, showing you his hands, "it's for you, so you can protect yourself, it doesn't matter if you're not trained, it's better than nothing."

you're heart sinks at the confirmation of being left behind, that you'll have to fend for yourself from here on out. "oh," you say sitting back at the table, "okay, thank you."

leon smiles and goes back to checking through his various packs and pockets. "is there anything you need?" he asks. "you live here, right? maybe some other clothes or important medicine? i could get it for you, if you'd like."

his care only makes the idea of losing him worse. you shake your head, knowing you're being childish still. he's a survivor, he could give you tips if you weren't so busy pouting.

"we can probably find some later, don't worry," leon says and starts shamelessly raiding your cabinets. he pulls out the pack of wafers you bought the other day and stuffs it in a backpack you belatedly realize is your own.

maybe you should feel more scandalized by the daylight robbery, but you don't. you don't feel much at all, really.

leon disappears for a second long enough for you to worry but not outright spiral, since he left yours-now-his backpack on the table. when he returns, it's with one of your favorite hoodies in hand, along with a pair of trainers and some bandages from your bathroom.

he stuffs the bandages and the shoes in the bag, barely even batting an eye as he steps up in front of you and pulls the hoodies over your head. he gets some tape from god-knows-where and tapes several layers of it around your forearms and calves before you even have time to blink.

stunned you gape as he hands you the now full backpack and stands in the door, as if waiting for something.

"look," leon says after he realizes you aren't moving, "i know this is your home and all but we really gotta go..."

you furrow your brows, confused by the fact that he's even still here. "we?"

leon frowns and steps towards you. "yeah, we. what- i'm not just gonna leave you here."

"oh."

"come on." you startle at the sudden feel of a hand on yours, but quickly close your fingers around his, holding on tight. "it's time to go."

you nod, sticking close to leon as he guides you through the apartment complex and starts to show you the world, in all it's terrifying glory, again. it's scary and messy and half the time ou think you're going to die but at least you're not alone.

breathe, a voice says, familiar and supportive again. this time, you listen.

<3

psst- my writing asks are still open, go check it out if you have a request ;)

[starzzluvr]

re2r leon let me eat you

[starzzluvr]

texts with silly gf ellie short smau

synopsis: no plot just texts with your girlfriend ellie williams and she's a dork!

cw: swearing, mentions of sex (pussy eating lolz), ellie loves adventure time fornite n roblox as she shoulddd, ellies a nerdy freak n readers kind of a mean freak (sometimes) they're inloveeeee

[starzzluvr]

hang the stars upon tonight [tasm!peter parker x reader]

A/N: Here it is at LONG LAST – my entry for @spidervee April AU event. Please enjoy tattoo artist!Peter Parker. Reblogs are always appreciated! Except it’s June, so we’re claiming SUMMER AU EVENT! 

Reblogs make the world go ‘round. 

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x fem!reader (no use of y/n; Peter calls reader “Eden.” Gentle reminder that all my readers are written ambiguously, but I write them as latinx!readers).

Word Count: 23.6k (I KNOW, OKAY?) of little ‘forevers,’ of constellations and conundrums, of ink on bodies and ink on pages, of heartache and holy moments.

Warnings: my writing is its own warning, cw/tw: mentions of getting a first tattoo – so, minor discussions of pain, discomfort and a little mention of blood. Also – a bit of angst, and smut, so 18+ ONLY – touching, biting, my usual odd attempts at dirty talk, fingering, oral (female receiving), p in v sex, peter is kinda rude  at times, i’m sorry but it’s true. 

Summary: Tattoo!AU – Peter is a tattoo artist with a sleeve of stars and his own ideas about love. Until he meets you – the literary-loving prospective client with her heart set on forever, a perpetual garden of greenery and goodwill. Will you find your forever? Or are you doomed to dance and die in the arms of a beautiful boy?  

—

– So many aspects of life are fleeting … 

The beloved, pink sparkly jellies you’d worn through as a child that pinched your toes, but you’d loved anyway. Flowers that withered and died before you’d gotten a chance to fully appreciate their bursting blooms from the vase at the corner of your windowsill. Loves that come and are lost, that feel grandiose and historic in the moment, but are no more than brushes against lips and fading fingerprint bruises along hips. The seasonal changes that marked each year, autumn bleeding auburn unto the white of winter’s chill. 

Perhaps that’s why the permanent things never really scared you. No, you’d preferred the steadfast staunchness of things that stood the test of time. 

You’d accepted that certain aspects of life would come and go, with the next person none the wiser … Like when you returned a library book, and the next person to hold it would be blissfully unaware that you had beheld the same text. Your fingerprints invisible to them, save for a dated stamp on a card tucked inside the front jacket.

Was it right to say you feared fleeting things? Perhaps it was more accurate to say that you craved constants where you could get them. Keep them. 

You held, with great reverence, the concept of ‘forever,’ of love and lasting, and of something that would endure, beyond yourself and your finite time. You never started a job with the intention of leaving it. And you never took lightly any decision that would have a rippling impact. It just wasn’t in your nature. That said, the weight of a choice was not heavy on your shoulders; no, you held it in your hands with gentle certainty, as one might cradle a small, smooth stone. Before skipping it and watching the ripples extend outward with each touch to the water’s smooth surface, destined to touch and extend forever. 

So the prospect of getting a tattoo – something permanent by its nature – filled you with a thrill in the knowledge that your body would behold this piece throughout your lifetime, etched into your being. Something to remind yourself of who you were in this moment, as well as a piece of your soul you could share with others. Your heart literally on your sleeve, if you so chose.

Suffice it to say you were one to do your due diligence when it came to the permanent things. 

Keep reading

[starzzluvr]

Be Quiet and Drive Far Away

"it feels good to know you're mine."

or the one where ellie takes you on a drive.

pairing : ellie x female!reader (modern college au)

WARNINGS : SMUT, heavy petting, oral f!receiving (obvi lolz), facesitting, fingering, grinding, messy makeouts, car sex, virginity loss, weed usage, praise, lowk jealous ellie oops, but also jealous!reader :0 groping, manhandling, dry humping, mentions of strap, masturbation, slight hair pulling, light restraining, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, semi public sex ?? fluff at the end teehee i love lesbians

TRIGGER WARNINGS : sex under the influence but both reader and ellie are high, i can't think of anything else but if i missed smth pls lmk, otherwise enjoy <3

a/n : i know ellie is 5'5 but in this pretend she's 5'10 pls & ty teehee

you’re sitting with jesse and dina, trying to be polite and engage in conversation, but you can’t. you can’t keep up with trying to time your fake laughter in time when they make a joke, not because they aren’t funny, but you can’t pay attention. 

the only thing you can focus on is ellie. ellie ellie ellie

dina’s not stupid, she’s been involved with ellie. she knows how enticing she can be without even having to try.

she’s also quick to notice your lack of involvement in conversing, she can follow your eyes that always lead right to ellie. she doesn’t blame you, no one could. all the girls in your friend group have fallen victim to ellie’s effect.

and now it was your turn. 

your heart picks up just that much more, when ellie glances at you in the bleachers, and she smiles for a moment, waving at you before she returns her attention back to the game. “WOO YEAH ELLIE!” jesse yells, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“i barely understand what’s happening,” he whispers to both you and dina and you laugh, shrugging. “honestly? i don’t either, i’m just here for ellie,” and jesse doesn’t even have time to stop himself from laughing. 

“oh we know,” he snickers and dina nudges him. “don’t be a dick,” she chides, glancing over at you while you try to lessen the hot embarrassment in your cheeks.

“sorry, sorry,” he says comfortingly, scooting closer to you on the bleachers. he rubs your arm and you lean on his shoulder, watching ellie dribble the basketball. 

she’s hunched forward, and you can see the necklace you gave her on her birthday hang from her neck, and a bit of warmth flutters in the pit of your stomach at the sweet detail.

you watch ellie push at her opponents, knocking them down like it’s nothing, dribbling the ball before shooting and scoring, not once missing the hoop. she’s impressive, but you don’t really care about the game, no no, all you can manage to care about is just how good ellie looks.   

the navy blue uniform fits her so well, it complements her fair skin, and the way she pauses, holding the ball between her thighs when she re-ties her hair, pulling the top half back and letting the front strands fall beside her temples, inevitably sticking to her from the sweat, you can’t bear it. 

you’re so, so happy you made dina and jesse come early to the game, swearing up and down if you just beat the crowd you’d score good seats, and boy were you more than right. 

you got a front seat to all the action, up close glances at ellie’s hands gripping the ball, her long slender fingers curling over the curve of it, made you squirm just a little. 

she walks to the side, taking gulps of water from her bottle, and you watch the droplets stream down her chin messily, trickling beneath her jersey. 

she lifts it up, wiping her mouth clean, and your grip on jesse’s arm gets tighter, your eyes unable to peel themselves off the sight of her fit and toned abdomen. 

ugh. you need her. 

jesse looks down at you, bumping you gently with his shoulder. “you feelin’ alright?” he asks and you sit up, nodding with a pat to his knee. “yeah, uh yeah, sorry, i’m good.” you sip from the slushie dina bought and he raises a brow, clicking his tongue. “yeah…okay,” he chuckles, turning back to face forward. 

dina tilts her head backwards behind jesse’s back, catching your stare. she smiles knowingly at you, wiggling your hand in her’s. you both share a laugh before looking back at the game. 

– 

the game ends, and you’re waiting for ellie in the parking lot to come out from the locker rooms. you’re nervously fiddling with the ends of your tank top, tugging at the loose threads, and dina notices. 

she stands next to you, bumping her hips to your’s. “you make things so obvious, be cool, i think she’s coming,” she says quietly, low enough for only you to hear, and you make a squeaky sound full of nerves, looking at her with wide worried eyes. “don’t freak! you look good,” she winks, falling back behind you with jesse. 

ellie spots the three of you, her long legs taking strides right to where you all stood. “WOO there’s our champ, congrats dude you killed it,” jesse cheers, and ellie laughs, shaking her head when jesse and her connect hands and hug with a firm pat over the back. 

“thank you, thank you,” she curtsies with the ends of her flannel. 

“hey din,” she greets, and dina smiles, pulling her in for a hug. her sights shift to you, and her smile deepens. “hi,” she breathes out, her hand falling to your waist, her grasp was just a passing away from tight as she ushers you in her arms. 

you squeeze her back, the scent of her freshly washed hair and skin filling your senses. “you did great,” you praise softly, and she replies with an equally soft, thank you, her hand deviating right on the curve above your ass, running her hand side to side. 

a spark explodes in the space cradled by the plump of your thighs at her touch. 

you can smell the honey and white oak native body wash on her, feeling dizzy from it even when she lets you go, her hands still lingering over your waist. she eyes you, mouthing a silent hi once more before her eyes fall back to jesse and dina. 

“so!” she claps her hands together, rubbing them excitedly when she stands amidst you three. “where’re you guys takin’ me for my celebration dinner?” 

“about that,” jesse sighs awkwardly, scratching at his neck. “dina and i gotta study for that molecular biology exam tomorrow, we won’t be able to do the dinner celebration with you tonight, i’m sorry ells,” he frowns, but you’re not stupid, actually, even an idiot could see through his poor excuse of a lie. 

“yeah, i’m sorry ellie, i promise we’ll make it up to you, but!” dina’s eyes flicker to you, and your eyes widen, your face drops in horror, shaking your head and hands rapidly behind ellie. “someone is still free,” she nods towards you, and ellie turns to look at you. 

you paint a smile over the anxiety etched in your face. “you still down for dinner?” she asks, and you bob your head affirmatively, praying she can’t see how painfully nervous you are. 

“alright well,” she drapes an arm over your shoulders, turning back to dina and jesse. “you guys suck, we are gonna go have dinner. later.” she sends them a peace sign, walking with you over to her truck. 

“how much you wanna bet she’s gonna hit?” jesse asks and dina, groans, rolling her eyes. “you’re gross,” she hops in the car, and he joins her in the passenger seat.

“but 20 bucks.” she answers, looking at him with an upside down smile. jesse laughs, taking her hand in a firm shake. “you’re on.” 

– 

it’s quiet for awhile, the sound of cars driving beside the truck is calming, the sound of ellie drumming her fingers against the steering wheel is too, but no matter how tame your environment is, you just can’t seem to shed the anxiety that comes with being alone with her. but lucky for you, she speaks while you can’t seem to. 

“so you and jesse are gettin’ pretty close huh?” she asks, her left elbow resting against the car window, driving with her right hand. she looks over at you, and you look back, slightly confused.

“uh, i mean i suppose. he hangs around dina and i’s dorm a lot.” 

she nods, a quiet yeah while she purses her lips. “i just ask because you guys seemed kinda. buddy buddy at the game,” and you laugh in a hushed disbelief, turning in your seat to face her. 

“dude, it’s definitely not like that,” you’re shaking your head, the thought of you and jesse being together is almost hysterical. 

the thought of you being with anyone that wasn’t the girl sitting right next to you was ridiculous, but you keep that thought to yourself. 

“nah, i just mean..it’d be…cute, if you guys were a thing.” cute sounds forced coming from ellie, the taste on her tongue from verbalizing the image of you and jesse together leaves her crinkling her lips to the side, unhappy with the thought. 

you laugh again, and she gazes over at you, brow raised, thumb running under her bottom lip. “somethin’ funny?” she half laughs dryly. 

“no no, it’s just,” your laughter fades as you wipe the fake tears from your eyes. “you sound jealous is all. it’s silly.” 

the corner of her lips curl just a little, and she inches her head towards you, her hand resting on the stick shift. “do i?” she asks, her voice dropping lower than it usually is, and you swallow hard, feeling hot under her gaze. 

you look at the hand that rests next to you on the stick shift, eyes tracing over her knuckles, the rings that adorn them…

you look back up at her and she laughs under her breath, catching you in your stares. she continues driving once the red light switches back to green. “here, you can play whatever you want.” she hands you her phone, and you grin, giggling something cute, taking her phone. 

your brows come up in surprise when you log in to her spotify. the saved playlists in her recent activity are not her’s. 

“these playlists. they look… familiar,” you suck on your bottom lip to keep from the wide smile itching to spread.

her cheeks get a little pinker at your observations and she chuckles, leaning in deeper in her seat, running her fingers under her lips. “caught me. i stalked your spotify.” 

you scroll through the many saved playlists, laughing in shock when you look back at her. “creep, you have just about every playlist i’ve ever made.” the words ring even truer when you land on the playlist entitled e. 

shit. 

you clear your throat, quickly choosing a playlist that wasn’t the one you made during a crying fit at 2am because you overheard from jesse that she was hooking up with a girl from her basketball team. 

“i just so happen to think you have good music taste, and by the way,” she glances away from the road for a moment over to you, pointing a finger in the air. “no one ever gets aux privileges in the truck, so feel special.” 

you hold her phone to your chest, bowing with dramatic graciousness. “thank you ellie for this honor, i will appreciate it until the day i die,” she half scoffs, half laughs, the tip of her tongue poking her cheek. “yeah you better,” she feigns a grumble. 

“anyways,” you draw out, poking at her sides, laughing when she does at your prodding. “where does the winner wanna eat?” 

“agh i was just thinking about that, i kinda want something fancy, i feel like i need to eat something fit for a king,” she’s partially joking, but she’s starving, ready to eat just about anything, and she almost says that when she looks over at you.

she wonders how much you’d squirm if she said that. 

“ahh yes, a feast if you will,” you agree, tapping your chin. “what’s fancy and nearby?” 

— 

you two landed in an olive garden. 

“this is the fanciest place i know!” ellie says in defense, trying to convince you of the pure class olive garden has to offer. 

“no yeah, i definitely believe that olive garden is the fanciest place you know,” you laugh quietly when she opens the door for you. 

“don’t be rude,” she squints at you, pointing at you in tandem. 

you two are seated by a hostess, ellie trails behind you, her hand in the middle of your back while you walk, and you have to pretend it isn’t affecting you, and that the heat from her hand doesn’t radiate itself all the way down to a place where it shouldn’t be. 

“your server will be right with you,” is what you both are left with before you start scavenging over the menu. 

“i’m kinda tempted to get the tour of italy thing but i’m gonna be glued to their toilet if i do,” ellie clicks her tongue and you laugh behind the menu. 

“well,” you set the menu down, ellie following in your actions. “is it worth it? tour of italy feast and then explosive diarrhea or one plate of pasta and a minor poop session?” 

ellie stares at you with lips cracking into a wobbly laugh. “you really know how to set the mood, don't you?” and you laugh, despite the feeling that picks up in your lower stomach. 

set the mood? 

was there a mood to be set? 

before you can reply, the waiter comes, and you’re half tempted to tell him you need more time, just for a few more seconds alone with ellie. 

–

“you’re not paying.” ellie says with finality, giving you a look that says don’t argue. but naturally, of course you do. 

“no dude c’mon, it’s your night, you shouldn’t have to pay.” you try to tug at the bill, but her grip is unwavering. “yeah, my night, my rules.” she taps the bill over your nose before digging out her wallet. she slides her credit card into the tablet at the table, winking at you when she catches your annoyed stare. 

you roll your eyes despite the fluttery feeling rushing in your chest at the small act. “next time i’m paying.” you promise, and ellie nods patronizingly, opening the door for you on your way out. “don’t give me that look, i’m serious!” 

ellie just hums an, i’m sure you are, tossing one of those chocolate mints into her mouth. 

“where to next?” you ask, buckling yourself up in the passenger seat. she rests her elbow on your seat, turning around to watch the back of her truck while she pulls out. 

your face gets hot, and you can’t get yourself to scoot away from how close she is to you. 

“uh, dunno. figured we could just drive around for a bit. that cool with you?” she asks, still close to you, close and in your air. you can smell the chocolate mint and peach bellini tea on her breath and you have to calm yourself before you speak. 

“yeah, yeah it-it’s cool with me.” you respond quieter than you intended. 

“you sure? i can drop you back off at your dorm if you’re not feelin’ it–” 

“no, i mean aha, no no it’s all good with me,” you reply faster than you meant, and you feel like slapping yourself when she laughs. “alright,” she smiles at you, turning back to face the road.

music fills in the silence when you can’t, mind buzzing with possible things to say, none of them sounding good enough to mention. 

“so, i heard you’re talking to abby,” ellie says, pulling you up and out of the heaps of thoughts you dug yourself into. 

“wait, like talking talking?” you ask, and ellie nods, sucking on her teeth, and you can’t help but wonder if her visible dislike of mentioning abby is because she’s jealous, or because she just doesn’t like her. you tell yourself it’s the ladder, but a giddy feeling fills you up from the pit of your gut at the idea of the other option. 

“no, no it’s not like that, i think she’s still into owen or something.” you answer and ellie stays quiet, nodding to herself slowly. 

“but if she wasn’t?” she pushes a little further, glancing over at you. “well, i don’t really like abby like that, she’s not my type.” you shrug, and ellie chuckles. “yeah, girls?” 

you feel like yelling in her face that you more than like girls, if anything you happen to be in love with the one that’s currently driving.  

“no stupid, if anything i’m not…particularly into owen’s type. abby’s cool but, i’m not interested.” you’re treading lightly on this topic, not quite sure why, ellie’s the last person you should be nervous to talk about this with, and yet you still are. 

to be fair, ellie just makes you nervous to begin with. 

when she pulls to a stop at the red light, her hand finds its way back behind your seat, very close to the nape of your neck.

she's tilting her head at you, her skin illuminating from the bright red glare from the light, and a curl at her lips makes you feel hot all over. “really? i didn’t know you were into girls,” 

“how?” you laugh and she shrugs, joining you in your laugh. “well you never said anything!” she replies, her words hanging off the curve of playful exasperation. 

you point your knees towards her, letting yourself get closer. “you never asked.” you reply, and she sucks on her bottom lip, her fingers brushing behind your neck, trailing your shoulder. “yeah, you’re right.” she all but whispers, barely covering the sound of your shivering at her ghosting touches.  

“i kinda guessed, but just left it as wishful thinking.” you peer at her wordlessly, her comment echoing in the walls of your head. 

what was there to be wishful of? is she purposefully saying this shit? 

“i wouldn’t have minded,” you decide to say, and she hums a, minded what?

“if you asked. i…i wouldn’t have minded.” you’re quiet when you speak again, and ellie nods to herself, and she chuckles something to herself. “should’ve asked then.” 

its quiet for awhile more, until ellie speaks up. “and by the way, you could do a lot better than abby anderson,” you exhale a little at what she says, feigning unsurety, leaning towards where her hand rests. 

“i dunno, she is kind of hot.” ellie’s brows screw together and she scoffs. “her name sounds like she came up with it on the spot, she’s always got the same fuckin’ braid and she plays a stupid sport.” 

you’re holding back the volume of how hard you want to laugh, which is loudly, but you refrain. “her name is normal and softball isn’t stupid.” she shoots you a suspecting glare, eyes flickering over you up and down. “you sure you don’t like abby?” 

you huff, punching at her shoulder, trying to hide your smile when she laughs an ow dude!

“i don’t like abby,” you grumble, and ellie’s lips turn in a cocky way at your confirmation, wanting to rub it right in abby’s face. 

“but what about you?” you ask, somewhat accusingly, interrupting ellie’s internal gloating. “what about me? you know i can’t stand her,” she answers and you blow out an irritated sigh. 

“not who i’m talking about. i heard you have a thing with one of the girls on your team.” you’re not sure why you let yourself bring it up, the last thing you want to hear is ellie going into detail about her romp with some girl who isn’t you. 

“what?” she laughs airily, her wrist now hanging off the stick shift. “where’d you hear that?” she queries and you purse your lips, shrugging.

“probably from the same place where you heard that i’m talking to abby.” your brow raises at her, and her tongue pokes at her cheek, thumb running along her chin. “alright, alright,” she chuckles under her breath. 

“it was nothin’ serious, she wanted to experiment, and i happened to be the one she wanted to use as a test drive.” she drums her fingers against the steering wheel, tittering stilly at the memory and you grow uncomfortable, almost upset that she even has something to remember between her and that girl. and it looks like she doesn’t quite mind the memory either. 

“that’s like what? the fifth girl you’ve let experiment with you? you’re like the community strap.” ellie looks at you, ears taking notice of the scorn in your grousing. “wow, okay did i strike a nerve somehow?” 

“no, no, not at all.” you reply, and ellie watches you for a little longer, seeing that you’re not looking at her. uh huh. she hums to herself before digging through her center console. she pulls out a blunt, quickly fishing out her lighter from her pocket. 

she puts it between her lips, handing you the lighter. she points it towards you, and you hold the lit lighter to the end of her blunt, and she blinks a thanks, at you. she inhales, holding it in, breathing it as much as she can, before letting it fan out. she hands it to you, and you accept. 

you two pass it back and forth, taking silent drags from it until the silence turns to giggling. “i just feel like i’d be… i don’t know, bad at it? it’s been so long you know?” you admit through a fit of embarrassed giggles and ellie breathes through her’s before responding. 

“couldn’t have been that long. how long has it been since you’ve kissed someone?” you suck in your lips, and she bumps your arm. “i won’t judge, i promise.” she swears, and you sigh, closing your eyes when you take in a long drag, handing it back to her when you exhale. 

“the third day in the first week of senior year in highschool.” ellie just about slams on the breaks, and you jerk forward, gripping onto your seatbelt. “ellie the fuck–” 

“nah dude, you what the fuck! it’s been like, 3 almost 4 years since you’ve kissed anyone?” she’s shocked, and she’s loud, and you wish you never said anything. “what happened to no judging?” you frown, taking back the blunt. “no, no i’m not judging, just…shocked no one’s kissed you in that long,” she murmurs, running her hand across your forearm. 

your skin prickles up under her warm palm, and your eyes drift over to the tattoos on the arm touching you, her rolled up flannel fitting around her elbow. 

you let your staring fall into her eyes. her throat bobs, and she turns away, her hand still on your arm, the other back on the steering wheel. 

“where are we going?” you ask, waiting for her to answer while she’s got the blunt between her lips. “somewhere i can change that.” 

your heart freezes before it beats harder than it ever has beneath your chest cavity. “what?” you breathe out and she turns to you. “only if you want,” she replies in the same breath. “okay,” you nod, squeezing the hand on your arm. 

she taps the ashes out the window when she pulls up into the picnic area of a park that faces a lake. 

and when she turns the keys, killing the engine, it’s too quiet, the ringing in your ears suddenly getting louder and louder. 

she shifts around in her seat, fully facing you, and she leans in, the tips of her fingers tracing over the apple of your cheek. 

“we don’t have to if you don’t want to, i don’t want you to feel pressured or anything,” she murmurs, her soft words fanning over your lips. 

you shake your head, inching closer. “i don’t feel pressured, just nervous,” you admit, the air slowly depleting from your voice. 

“i know, s’okay. i got you. come here,” her hand rests on the side of your neck, cradling you to her. she tilts her heard towards you, quickly flicking the roach out the window. 

her lips are on your’s, the second you two interlock, she lets out something like a moan in your mouth, it’s quiet but filled with relief. 

she wants more. 

you’re holding her cheeks, pulling her in closer while her hand keeps you stuck to her, her fingers splayed along your jawline, her thumb on the side of your chin. 

the sounds from your kiss fill the truck, and it does something to ellie, it does something to you. 

you whimper in her mouth when her tongue pushes between your lips, flicking over yours. you hold on tighter, feeling weak when her tongue piercing grazes you.

she likes the way you cling to her, likes the way your body tells on you, making it clear you’re enjoying this as much as she is. you’re tilting your heads side to side at a slow pace, moving in closer to each other now, hands starting to wander. 

the burn from a lack of air feels good, you’re slightly faint, but that’s just ellie’s effect. 

her lips sponge a few times to yours before she pulls apart, light gasps for air while she rests her forehead to your’s. 

“you sure you haven’t kissed anyone in awhile?” she chuckles, running her hands up and down your arms. 

you giggle, pecking her lips. “yeah, i’m sure.” you breathe through your fading giggles. 

“i felt your tongue piercing, i didn’t know you actually got it done,” you mention, voice still wavering, the imprint of her lips on yours tracing itself into circles over your own, and she exhales a breathless laugh, moving in nearer. 

“you wanna feel it again?” she offers, words falling heavy into temptation. you don’t say anything, you just pull her back in with both hands on either side of her face. 

she groans in your mouth, her hand holding you as close as can be by the back of your neck. 

you’re both breathing through your noses, too enthralled by the way the other feels pressed up against each other, air feeling unimportant in comparison. 

her tongue is on yours, and she slightly inches back, sucking on your bottom lip, letting it fall back in place before going back in, kissing you hard. 

her hand lays on your thigh, traveling up your hip, squeezing, pulling you in closer, but you can’t get any closer than you already are. 

“ellie,” you expel what little breaths you have to whisper her name. “yeah?” she mumbles, kissing at your jaw. “i wanna be closer,” your nervousness melts away little by little, and you think maybe she took it from you when you kissed. 

“we can move to the back of the truck, there isn’t much more space than this in the backseat,” she swallows, pressing another peck to your lips. you nod, and she holds your hip a little tighter before you make your way out the truck. 

when you both meet at the back of her truck, she looks down at you, running her thumb over your chin for a moment before pulling the trunk down.

there’s already sheets laid out and you look at her suspiciously, uhh? coming out your mouth.

“was this an elaborate scheme to get me in the back of your trunk?” you ask, knowing that even if it was, you wouldn’t have cared. 

“no, oh god, joel was helping me move some shit and he laid that down so it didn’t scratch the bed of my truck i swear,” she rambles, and it’s the first time you’ve ever been the one to make her flustered. 

you laugh, clambering up into the trunk. “i’m kidding ells, now hurry up it’s cold,” your knees close together, elbows supporting you upright so you can continue looking at her. 

“i’ll warm you up,” she promises stilly, climbing up after you.

she closes the bed of the truck up, laying right beside you, hand holding her head while the other rests on your waist. 

her hand drops from her head to rest beside yours when she leans back in to kiss you. you moan as soon as your lips touch her’s, trying to get closer and closer. 

she finds herself on top of you, one leg resting under your’s while her other knee rests aside your hip, and when she leans down, sliding herself right up against you, you whimper in her mouth, struggling to kiss her back when you connect there. 

the seams at the crotch of your jeans create a friction you both share, and it’s too good.

she’s grunting above you, kissing you hard and messily while she ruts her cunt against your’s, your sweet little cries fueling her, adding gas to her fire that’s already burning her skin hot. 

you try to sit up, try to kiss her more, but she pushes you down, grabbing your wrists and holding them above your head. 

she’s panting just inches from your face, the necklace you gifted her dangling in front of you, the silver E glimmering in the moonlight. 

“can feel how wet you are from the outside of your jeans,” she breathes out a cocky chuckle, holding your wrists with one hand while the other dips beneath your tank top, her hand warm at the base of your tummy. 

she lets it move up and up and up until it’s bunched at your chin, your chest bared in a cute little bra, the kind with a zipper at the front. 

she lowers herself down to it, teeth latching onto the zipper, eyes peering up at you when she drags it down, sighing lowly, carnally, at the sight of your bare tits. 

your shoulders try to curl on themselves shyly, but she grips tighter onto your wrists, shaking her head. “fuckin’ hot,” she mutters more to herself, ducking down and attacking one with her mouth, tongue hot and wet, swirling over your nipples, switching between the two. “ellie,” you whimper, back arching. “let me touch you,” you gasp when her teeth graze your nipple. “please?” 

she obliges, releasing her hold on your wrists, and they soon fall to her short hair, weaving through the coffee strands. 

she kisses down your sternum, down to the middle of your stomach, but you stop her right when she reaches the button of your jeans. 

she looks up at you, rising back up to hold your cheek. “sorry, did i go too far?” she asks softly, and you shake your head, clearing away the strands from her eyes. “no, i just…i’ve never…” she gapes at you at your confession. 

“you’re a virgin?” you nod, looking away. her index finger guides you by your jaw to look back at her, and she laughs airly. “that’s okay, you don’t need to be embarrassed, but if you wanna do this, i promise, i’ll make it good for you.” she creates a covenant she’s confident will go unbroken, eager to show you how good she can make you feel. 

“i’m just scared i won’t… be as good as the other girl’s you’ve been with–” 

“hey,” she interrupts you, her hand already resting on your inner thigh, gripping tightly. “they don’t matter. all that does is you,” she whispers into your hair, kissing the space just before your ear before she makes her way back down. 

she unbuttons your jeans, pulling them all the way down after you’ve kicked your shoes off. you’re left feeling colder than when you started, but ellie is quick to fix it. 

she leaves wet kisses all around your lower tummy, letting her breath fan over your dampening underwear. 

a sense of pure pride resonates in her chest when she sees how wet you are, and it’s all for her. 

she pushes your underwear to the side, and she sighs when she sees your bare cunt, squeezing her thighs together at the sight of you soaked. 

“show me how you touch yourself,” she instructs, her voice soft, but she’s serious, stern. “what?” you ask, unsure if you heard her right. “you heard me. touch yourself. i wanna see what you do that makes you feel good.” she says silkenly, kissing your inner thigh. your breath hitches. 

“ellie…” your words dwindling back into nervousness. “hey,” she moves back up, her face close to yours. “i wanna touch you the way you like, just show me what you do and i’ll take care of the rest.” she kisses her confirmation into your cheek before lowering herself back down. 

you close your eyes, head resting against the bed of the truck when your fingers find themselves over your clit, rubbing familiar circles over it, feeling your hips start to twist at the light touches. 

you dip down into your hole, pushing in, unable to reach the spot you desperately wish you could reach, moaning a quiet complaint, and ellie can’t get any wetter than she is as she watches you.

she could fix that little issue for you.

“did you ever think of me while you touched yourself?” she asks, her hands already starting to ready themselves at your thighs. you nod thoughtlessly, whimpering. “always wanted it to be your hands,” shifting around, the aching sensation only growing.

“so fuckin’ pretty, i’ll take care of you,” she growls, moving your hands aside and diving in as fast as she can, feeling starved yet again but for something sweeter this time. 

she moans almost louder than you do once her tongue is on you. you’re shaking, hands finding purchase in the short locks of her hair, trying your best to not yank on them but it’s so hard not to. 

it’s difficult trying to think clearly when she’s burying her face as far as it can go into your cunt, her tongue and lips sucking over your clit, her fingers pushing themselves into your fluttering hole. 

you’re grateful there’s no one around to witness this, your naked chest, heaving with an ajar mouth flowing with endless moans, and a pretty girl between your thighs going down on you in the back of her truck. 

she smacks at your thighs, gripping them hard and keeping them open, spreading you wide for her. 

“ellie, fuck,” you cry out, trying to buck yourself deeper into her mouth, but she keeps you in your place, an arm pressing down on your tummy, adding even more pressure to the already intense feeling over her flicking her tongue on your clit. 

your eyes roll back and all you can do is cry out her name in the most incoherent mess she’s ever heard from you. 

she cups herself, trying to soothe the ache throbbing between her thighs. 

but you’re the more important one, she can wait. she pushes her finger back inside you, and it’s long, you squirm when she pushes into you until she hits the knuckle. 

she curls over the spongy spot inside you, almost smirking against your cunt when you just about sob. 

“that feel good?” she asks breathlessly, mouth wet from your slick when she looks up at you, her wrist still moving, finger still deep in you, fucking you. “uh huh,” you nod pathetically watery eyes barely able to look back at her. “feels sooo good ellie, so good,” you slur, head falling back while you grind down onto her. 

“good, baby that’s the goal,” she says lowly, a chuckle somewhere in her words, her lips grazing over your clit when she speaks. 

you shudder, trying to have more of her. she keeps her forearm firm atop your stomach, too busy eating you out for you to move away, she’s waited too long and you’re not gonna squirm away from it. 

you’re panting, clawing at the sheet you’re laying on top of, legs buckling around ellie, but she doesn’t care, she lets your thighs encase her, she loves the feeling. her tongue piercing rolling over your clit is too much, but it’s so good, you want more. 

cries of ellie’s name leave past your bitten lips, falling one after the other, and it makes ellie feel near animalistic, she wants her name and her tongue to be the only things you can say and feel. you buck your hips just right, you meet the thrusts of her finger, eyes squeezing the tears gathering at your lashes. 

she rises from between your thighs, her finger staying put inside you. she wants to watch your face when she adds in a second. your back arches, thighs trembling around her wrist when she inches in her index finger. 

you whimper, holding at her flexing bicep and she shushes you, thumbing over your clit to ease you into it. 

“you can take it babe,” she murmurs, kissing your forehead. “s’much,” you hiccup, and she kisses you gently, her words airing out over your lips. “i know, but if you can take my fingers you’ll be able to take my strap,” you tighten around her fingers at her proffers, and she notices, laughing ardently, curling her fingers in deeper. 

“yeah,” she leans down, her nose against your cheek, lips by your ear. “knew you’d like that.” 

her thumb rubs circles over your clit, her fingers working inside you too well, you can barely take it, you’re pulling ellie down to kiss you, and she obliges, holding your face with her free hand. the wet slick sound eliciting from your cunt, makes her kiss you harder, so eager and thrilled to finally be touching you like this, and even more excited knowing she’s got you this soaked for her.

“wanna cum,” you whine into her skin, and she ducks back down between your thighs, her lips wrapping around your clit, replacing her thumb. you cry loudly, grinding down into her mouth, greedily trying to soak up every flick of her tongue, every graze from her piercing. 

“let me taste it baby, cmon let it out,” she coaxes it out of you, her lips sucking over your clit just right, her fingers never relenting inside you, finally satisfying you in ways you could never accomplish before. 

your head whips side to side, back twitching up and down, unable to contain any moans and loud sobs of ellie’s name, the pressure in your tummy bursting and spreading all throughout the entirety of your body. you roll your hips into her, panting, gasping, trying to keep up with her but your body can’t take it, can’t take how much she’s giving you. it feels like your orgasm isn’t ending. ellie won’t let it. 

“ellie please,” you whine, trying to wriggle away from her, but her grip only tightens. 

she removes her fingers, letting her tongue do all the work. you push her away, but she doesn’t budge. “you’re right there baby, give me one more, i know you can,” she has more faith in you than you do yourself, but you can never say no to ellie. 

you endure the burning stimulation rippling under your skin, throbbing through your cunt. you’re freely crying, whining, pleading with ellie, but she doesn’t let up, she can’t just have a taste of your cunt and be one and done, she needs more. 

the pressure rebuilds itself, soon to crumble in on its foundation, and you can’t believe it’s about to happen again, it hurts, but you don’t want it to stop either. all you can do is take it, babbling mindlessly while ellie devours you whole. 

you’re cumming with a loud cry, the inability to stay still doesn’t affect ellie in the slightest, her strong arms keep you planted still, leaving you inescapable from her tongue. she laps you up, taking you all in, gently grazing her teeth over your clit and chuckling when you shiver. 

you can’t stop shaking, your cunt is still buzzing, you can feel every swirl of ellie’s tongue over your clit, her fingers still buried inside you, and the muscle memory makes you twitch when it hits you extra hard. 

she holds you in close, ridding herself of her flannel to drape over you. “y’did so good for me, taste so sweet,” she whispers, watching as you cocoon yourself in her arms, head falling heavy in her chest. you’re still trying to remember how to breathe, pressing soft kisses to the base of her neck. 

“you feel okay?” she asks, quietly, leaning down to check on you, and you nod, humming happily. you crawl out of her arms and on top of her, hands on her shoulders, and she has to fight to maintain eye contact instead of just staring at your chest in front of her. 

“i wanna make you feel good too,” you’re not sure if it’s the weed or the high from the back to back orgasms that’s making you this bold, but you go along with it anyway, the curiosity and hunger for how ellie would taste is what really enables it all. 

her hands fall to your waist, and she looks up at you with an excited challenge in her eyes. “oh yeah?” she asks, mhmm, leaving your lips. 

“you sure? there’s no like, obligation–” it’s your turn to interrupt ellie. 

“ellie,” you lean down. “i’ve wanted to eat you out for as long as i’ve known you. there’s no sense of obligation here,” you whisper, and ellie gapes at you, laughing out of disbelief, but she’d be lying if she said that didn’t make her clit throb. 

she holds your sides, turning you flat on your back, her knees on either side of you now. “yeah? okay, i’ll give you what you want,” she mutters, unbuttoning and unzipping her pants, leaving them to the side where your’s are. 

“gonna let me sit on your face?” she asks, her nose brushing against your’s and your throat tightens with anticipation. “i’ve never..”

“i know baby, but i’ll do all the work, you just listen to me okay?” you nod, mouthing a quiet “okay.”

she’s left in her wife beater and calvin klein boxers, you feel weak at the sight, trying to take a mental image of it for later. when she rids herself of her boxers, you swallow hard, eyes landing over her pussy. it’s so pretty. you think adoringly when she levels herself above your mouth. 

she rubs her clit in front of you, and you moan just under your breath. 

she grabs your wrists, holding them back over your head when she lowers herself down onto you. your tongue is quick to find her clit, and she gasps an oh shit, her forehead resting at the back window of her truck, starting to grind her hips down onto your tongue. 

it’s been awhile since ellie’s done this, and she forgot how intense it feels, the source of pleasure directly pointed into her cunt radiates into her entire body, and she tries to steady herself, tries to not immediately fuck your face. 

your nose rubs side to side over her clit and she groans, back arching and hips swiveling down into your mouth. 

“shit,” she winces, forcing her eyes to open and look at you, taking her cunt so well, eating her like she’s the most important thing you’ve ever had to taste. 

which she is in your book. nothing could be more important than ellie’s cunt on your tongue. 

“you look good like this,” she comments through a breathless laugh, rolling her hips down onto your tongue, shuddering when you curl the tip of it right over her clit. 

“you’re fucking good at this,” she whines, and your clit throbs at the sound, moaning into her with contentment. you understand now why ellie couldn’t pull herself from your cunt. 

now that she’s on your face, you never want to let her get off. 

“so good for me, so fucking good,” she pants, her hand falling back when she releases your wrists, gripping onto the sheet under her. 

your hands wander all over her sides, finding themselves under her wife beater, squeezing at her chest. you pinch at her pebbled nipples, feeling cocky yourself now when she whimpers, buckling further into your mouth. 

you settle on her hips, your arms holding her thighs down to have more of her. you drink her in, tongue licking her up, and down, swirling over her clit like clockwork. 

“fuck, suck on it, yeah, just like that,” she falls forward, arm leaning against the back of her truck while she fucks herself on your tongue, starting to feel herself grow sporadic when your lips envelope her clit, flickering over the sensitive button over and over. 

“gonna cum, gonna, shit!” her thighs tremble on either side of your head, but you keep her still, supporting her with a firm hold on her thighs, tongue never relenting in her. she gasps, shaking while she lets you milk her dry of her orgasm. 

it prickles into a hot pain mixed with the best feeling she’s ever felt, but it’s more she can take, and she struggles to clamber off of you, falling on her ass beside you. 

she grabs you, pulling you on top of her, holding you by the back of your head, her other hand resting low on your back when she kisses you hard. she breathes in your air, tongue colliding and you moan in unison when you taste each other. 

when she pulls away, your foreheads stay together, sharing quiet gasps. “virgin my ass,” she chuckles and your face gets hot, burying it in her neck. she lets you drift to the side of her, she keeps you close, running her hand up and down your back, your bare chest concealed by hiding it into her side.

“i guess now’s as good as any time to confess that i’ve liked you for longer than i’d like to admit.” you mumble, somehow still feeling shy after all that’s happened. 

she smiles, her chin pointing towards the top of your head when she shifts to look at you.

“i was hoping you did. i didn’t wanna just assume you liked girls and get my feelings hurt, so i just… never did anything about it.” she admits, and you punch her shoulder playfully, your heart pounding in your throat at her confessions. 

“ellie! you should have said something, i was pining after you thinking i never had a chance!” and she cups your face, her thumb grazing over your bottom lip. “that’s exactly how i felt,” she chuckles and you grumble, leaning deeper into her. 

“i wish you said something,” you repeat quietly, and she sighs, nodding. 

“do you wanna be my girlfriend?” she asks softly, and you beam at her, slipping an arm under her’s, hugging her tight. “of course i do,” you reply, words under the same blanketed softness. she holds your chin, leaning down to kiss you with a newfound delicateness. 

“good, because i would’ve kept asking until you said yes.” she jokes and you laugh, shaking your head. “i’d never say no to you.” 

[starzzluvr]

don’t you dare fall in love. | 2

pairing. dealer college student! ellie williams x f! reader

PART ONE. MASTERLIST.  synopsis. ellie tries her hardest not to mix business with pleasure. or, ellie gets a new customer and unfortunately falls in love with her.

warnings. 18+. drug dealing, panic attack, death references (light), creepy men (light), – sexually explicit descriptions, dry humping, sleepy sex.

an. well. this happened quickly. thanks for all the love on part one. please comment & reblog<3 if this is being laggy, go to settings and smash the cache.

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[starzzluvr]

HOLY FUCK SHIT BALLS I AM GOING TO GO INSANE

don’t you dare fall in love. 

pairing. dealer college student! ellie williams x f! reader. 

synopsis. ellie tries her hardest not to mix business with pleasure. or, ellie gets a new customer and unfortunately falls in love with her.  warnings. 18+. drug dealing, references to anxiety, sexually explicit descriptions. eventual: smut, stalkerish behavior, violence, drunk/high kissing, homophobic behavior & slurs. 

an. trying my hand at dealer!ellie and it turned into a near eight thousand word fic. planning for this to be multi chap because i’m insane. please comment and reblog, it really makes the effort worth it<3 i hope u enjoy.

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