minniture - Tumblr blog

minniture · 7 months ago

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switch kyle 🤌 we eating good tn

Malewife Gaz comes back from deployment desperate for his mean, office siren gf <3

Somewhat dub con / public sex / premature ejaculation / overstim / anal play / grinding / wet and messy / Kyle is kinda gross lol I luv him / he eats it from the back :D / they're both switches / squirting

Reader works in an office, but it's not clear what she does. She does have her own private office though ;) you go girl!

...

You're ignoring him.

Your phone isn't turned off, it's not even on silent, but you haven't flipped it right side up despite the near constant buzzing. Kyle has been texting, calling, but you're cross at the moment and don't feel like having it out with him on a work day.

You should turn your phone off. It's distracting, and a little inappropriate to have it making so much noise even through the walls cushioning your personal office.

The thing is, it's a little gratifying that he's desperately trying to reach you. Part of it is the satisfaction that he's a little anxious and wants to make it up, and part of it is wanting him to be extra sorry when you gets home.

Kyle had been able to call you all through the past month despite being on deployment. At least twice a week, you'd be laid up in bed or tucked away on lunch in your office telling him about your day. A rare treat for someone of his vocation, and something you appreciated greatly. The expectation you always set for yourself was zero contact - something to keep you from being hurt or placing more stress on him. Truly, your workaholic tendencies made you perfect for somebody that spent so much time deployed. When he came back, he made you take a break. There was a balance.

Typically you'd get a window of time for when he'd be back home. Your favourite thing to do was to cook a British classic for the occasion, usually bangers and mash - his favourite. You always had his preferred beer too, a brand you noticed he copied from Price. So cute. Yesterday morning he'd sent you a message that he'd be home for 9pm, a little late for dinner but the boys wanted to catch up at their favourite pub before they separated.

Only last night you'd sat at the table waiting for two full hours by yourself before giving up. His meal was packed in the fridge while you'd eaten yours by yourself on the couch with a glass of wine, texts going unanswered.

The worst part wasn't that he hadn't shown up. Sometimes that happened, when missions ram long or he'd gotten too into his cups with his team. It was annoying, but your tradition was to spend the day together when he got back, and you didn't mind having breakfast with him instead. You just didn't appreciate that he didn't even call or text about it, and that in the morning you found him sprawled on the couch with just his boxers and a mess of clothing tossed on the ground from the door to the living room couch. Socks, pants, his tank top.

So, petty as you are, you go to work and forego the tradition. Ignoring him. You dressed nice, too, black stockings and as tarty as you could without getting a call from HR. He hadn't seen you leave, but you wanted to get home and remind him what he was missing.

Your office phone rang once, twice, "hello?" The secretary at the front of the building was a nice enough lady, but she rarely called you directly. "Your lunch is here - the deliveryman is just waiting."

"Deliveryman?" You say skeptically. You hadn't ordered lunch. You'd brought Kyle's leftovers.

"Yep. Should I send him up?" Though you probably know who it is, you tell her you'll be down in the lobby instead. You'd prefer to be safe than sorry, in case it isn't Kyle.

It is.

He looks like a kicked puppy, holding some kind of takeout bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. He knows you love Los Vaqueros, the little coffeeshop next door. It's probably a macadamia nut latte, your favourite.

"Babe," he starts, sounding a little rough. Probably battling a hangover. He's wearing your favourite shirt, a tight black compression shirt that shows off his tits. Grey running sweats. Oh, he's good. "Is your phone dead?"

"I've got a pretty busy day today, Kyle," you're a little snotty about it. Your hip is cocked to the side. You want him to work for it. "I was in the middle of a meeting."

"You can't be that mad at me. I brought you macadamia and a caesar wrap. Come on, baby." He shifts the bag into the same hand as the coffee, using the other to show you his palm in apology.

You peer at him a little warily. It's times like this you wish he wasn't so tall, so that you could look at him all judgemental secretary like. You settle for arching a brow and squinting. "Go away now, I'll see you at home. I better not see any dirty socks on my floor, either."

"I cleaned them this morning, I swear."

"Good. Now scram, and give me that coffee." You reach for the coffee, but he intercept and grabs your elbow. Pulling you closer. "What- kyle--" his hands slides up to your upper back, making you shiver. When you don't pull away, he grins like a schoolboy and starts steering you down the hall. "I have work -!"

"I know, baby, but I really wanna make it up to you. Let me make it up to you." He's speaking quietly as to not alert the secretary a few feet away. He's leading you to the bathroom.

"No! Kyle, I'm at work. Goddammit, I have things to do-"

"No you don't." When you've turned the corner and are out of sight, he slides his hand from your back to your ass, squeezing hard, making you squeak. "And I need you. I woke up so hard. I need your pussy." He's close to whining, tucking his face close to your ear, smelling your hair.

Your voice goes high pitched, flustered, not expecting him to try and cajole you into fucking in a public bathroom. At your workplace no less. "We can't!"

He used to do this when you first started dating; get needy, corner you in some barely secluded place and get you both off one way or another. Quick and dirty. He swore he never fucked anyone else while deployed, and if it wasn't the trust you had in him it was how desperate he seemed to get when he got back that assured you of his faithfulness. Sometimes it was your favourite, just how whiney and flustered he would get. As a treat, if he'd been very good during dinner, you'd wake him up by sucking him off the morning he got back. Surely he had missed that this morning, what with how fast he'd led you to the employee bathroom. Good.

He locks the door behind you, and you let him kiss you a little. You don't see him put your food down, but he must because both his hands squeeze your waist. You rub your thighs together to soothe the pulsing arousal building in your belly.

You hand goes to his chest, pushing him. He's so strong, it takes you slapping him to move back, panting. "We can't, I'm serious. Do you want me to get fired?"

He licks his lips, not even looking you in the eye. "You won't get fired, baby. Just be quiet. Let me take care of you-" you interrupt him by grabbing his face and squeezing his cheeks hard, making his lips pucker up.

"Can you not think with your cock? Couldn't you have dropped lunch off and waited for me back home like a good boy?"

He slides his big hands down your waist to your hips, tilting his hard cock so its pressed against you. Despite you holding him, he walks you both forward until your back hits the wall and he can grind against you hard. "Kyle- I'm not kidding," you say sternly, but don't move away. His cock rubs deliciously against your mons, not quite where you want it, but a good enough tease that your breath shudders out in a moan.

"Please, please, let me," he begs, grinding. Pressing his body right up to yours. You acquiesce a little, moving your hand from his face to down his pants and into his boxers. "Hrmmn fuck, fuck," he whines. Bypassing his dick meanly, you feel him start to hump desperately, like a dog. He shudders hard and you're squashed against the wall as you palm his balls, playing with them a little. You feel wetness drip down your wrist.

"Did you just come?" Honestly, you're delighted, but you make sure your tone is disappointed. Your pussy squeezes, wets your panties. "Bad boy. I thought you were going to make it up to me?"

"Oh fuck, thank you baby. I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you still. Just give me a second."

"No way. Get to work." It's easy to bully him a little when he's so fresh from his orgasm. You push him onto his knees and lift a heel to rest it on that big, muscular thigh.

Your tits feel claustrophobic, squashed in your bra as you breathe hard, looking down at him. He pushes his forehead against your stomach, pushing your skirt up while murmuring something into the fabric. You palm yourself, pinch your own nipples through the fabric. Feeling empowered, your hand goes to his hair and you grind your panty covered pussy right on his nose.

"Go on."

He licks you through the fabric, long laps of his tongue. Sucks on where your clit is, wetting the fabric. Kyle grips your thighs and pulls them wider apart, making you struggle to stand a little. You teeter dangerously on one heel, the other digging into his leg. He mouths at your panties and bites gently at you while your scratch his scalp and neck.

He moans, and finally pushes your underwear down. You clench as your wetness is exposed to the air, cooling you a little. Your clit stands up, peeking out of your hood. He gives it a little lick, directly on the underside where you're most sensitive. It makes you jump, not expecting it. He doesn't let you move away, instead wrapping his lips around you and sucking, hard.

"Oh Jesus--" your knees buckle a little, "Kyle, fuck," he pulls back and turns you around forcefully, making you arch. His hand finds your ankle and lifts your leg up and out, tongue finding your cunt once again. He eats you out like he's making out with you, like a sloppy kiss. His other hand squeezes where your ass and thigh meet, spreading you open.

"I missed you so much," he says. "I missed this pretty little cunt. Oh, jesus, I'm hard again." Of course he is - his refractory period has always been quick. This is a new record, though. "Can I fuck you, baby?"

You have to really force it out, with how he spreads your asscheeks and licks your other hole. "Nn- no. You haven't - haven't earned it yet."

Kyle doesn't say anything to that, just curls his tongue in your ass and let's your ankle go to pinch your clit between two fingers, twisting it. You shout, then go still, remembering where you are. "Kyle --!" It sneaks up on you, how fast your orgasm comes. From your toes to your nipples, electricity shoots through you and tightens your skin. You tremble violently, soaking his fingers and his face. He stands up while you go through the aftershocks, hands stroking your belly and holding you from behind, crowding you and making you feel safe.

Kyle kisses your nape, sucks your earlobe a little. Waits like a gentleman. You lean back against him and squeeze his fingers.

"I'm gonna fuck you now." He's not asking anymore, and you're boneless, so you just spread your legs and let him push his cock into you slowly, enjoying the stretch. It makes you rise onto your tiptoes, letting him take your weight. He rocks into you slowly at first, hands roaming from your stomach to your tits to your throat. Pinching and squeezing, having earned your submission.

"I missed you too," you admit finally, breathily. "I love you, big boy."

Kyle hums, sucking a mark into your neck, picking up his pace. "I love you too." He nibbles on you a little. His thumb finds your asshole again, pushing in, making you whine high and thin. "You gonna be a good girl and come all over my cock? I've been waiting for this, you know. Your pussy feels like home."

Your cunt drips on him, making wet little sounds while he fucks you hard against the wall. You're still sensitive from coming earlier, so you squirm on his cock, squeezing both your holes around him. "Come inside me, please," you beg. You need to feel it. He uses his free hand to push your face into the wall, bucking into you once, twice, then holding himself taut as a bowstring. His hips grind minutely against your ass while he comes, flooding your pussy.

Kyle doesn't let you go, just pulls his cock and thumb out quickly, taking advantage of your stupor to cup your pussy and roughly squeeze your clit. You yelp like a dog, but keep your legs spread. Your peak is building again, and he knows it. Two of his big fingers find your stretched hole and push in, curling his finger and rubbing viciously until the pressure builds and builds and your pussy contracts, pleasure slicing through your abdomen painfully. You cover your mouth witn your hands just barely in time to shout your orgasm, gushing.

If not for Kyle holding you up, you'd have fallen down to the floor. You shake, feeling cored. He nuzzles you sweetly, licking your ear. His hand pets your pussy gently until you push him away, way too sensitive.

"Can I take you home, babygirl?"

"Yes please," your voice is a croak.

Kyle is a little inconsiderate in this but I hope it didn't read as angst and more playfulness between established partners <3<3 I feel like Kyle is a very noble character and he puts a lot of pressure on himself. Always worrying about what the right thing is. I figure with reader he can let go a little :') reader is a little miffed but she's soft for her man <3

Also I wrote this on my phone between shifts during a 13 hour day so please forgive any typos or grammar mistakes

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #cod x reader

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minniture · 2 years ago

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HOLY MOLY THIS IS TOO GOOD 🤕

cool my desire

Pairing; Las Plagas!Leon Kennedy x Fem Reader

Summary; Leon’s back from Spain and he’s fine. Really, he’s fine. There’s just something…different, about him. Maybe it has something to do with the fever he’s getting…

Warnings; 18+ minors dni or I’ll set Krauser on u hah! uh so. male masturbation, lots of 'scent stuff', he's obsessed with the way you smell, oral sex fem receiving, p in v sex, no protection and a lil creampie situation whoops, MINOR breeding kink, leon has the black eyes and veins hehe, lots of violent thoughts, blood and gore etc

(a/n) okay! been a month or so!!! sorry about this!! i'm proud of pretty much all of it, apart from maybe the ending i'm a bit unsure about? but, if you don't like it don't tell me like i've done fourteen thousand words y'all can keep your critiques to urselves lmao. title is a lyric from I'm On Fire by Bruce Springsteen, aka the best song Ever !

Word Count; 14k

It’s chaos when Leon makes it back, but his ears are ringing and he can’t bring himself to care too much about what’s going on anyway.

Ashley is safe. Ada is gone. Luis is dead. Mission successful.

He’d kept it at bay on the way back from Spain, and now he looks at Ashley reuniting with her father, all the suited men surrounding them acting as though this is the best possible outcome, like nothing else happened and he just wants to show them. He wants to drag them to that stupid little village, show them the charred corpses of the cops who tried to help him, the people he had to murder, the animals they mutated, Luis’ corpse, what Krauser did to himself. He wants to shove their faces into it, force them to look at all the bodies and the death and rot and show them what it took-that while they were here safe in their suits and their fancy offices, he was brutalising himself, leaving a decaying trail in his wake.

Leon can’t even speak, he just stands there, watching the entitlement and the privilege and the utter ignorance of sacrifice. It makes him so angry, leaves his vision red and blurry as he seethes.

No one notices, no one even looks at him twice. He stands in the middle of the room, unmoving, scanning the room and clenching his fists by his sides as he fights the urge to grab a suit and beat them into mushy pulp. It enrages him.

Someone claps him on the back and chuckles, congratulates him on a mission well done and moves forward to speak to another suit. He’s holding a glass of champagne. Leon has lost count of the amount of people he killed, he was infected with a parasite, he watched his friend die and this man is congratulating him and drinking champagne.

In a split second, his mind goes silent and time slows down as Leon imagines how the next five minutes might play out.

He imagines taking the glass, knocking it against the table next to him and breaking it, leaving a makeshift weapon to use. He imagines holding the man by the lapels of his expensive suit while he presses the sharp point of the glass under his chin. He imagines steadily driving his hand up, feeling the moment when the skin breaks and the glass sinks in. It would be so goddamn easy, no one would be able to stop him from skewering the man, watching through his open mouth as the glass comes up through his tongue and into the roof, streaming blood down to soak into his elegant clothes.

Leon blinks and unclenches his fist.

He lets out a shaky breath, nodding politely at the man as he brushes past and attempts to make himself concentrate on the fact that he’s alive, he’s safe, he’s back in America and Saddler is dead.

Something prickles up his spine and he winces, head jerking unnaturally a little as he tries to calm himself.

He wasn’t even that angry when he was in Spain, somehow not even that furious when he was fighting Saddler. There’s a small part of his mind that worries, that whispers what if las plagas changed you? What if you’ll never get rid of it? You’ll turn into a mindless monster like the people in that village, you’ll do nothing but kill at someone else’s behest and be a filthy, brutal, killing machi-

Turn it off turn it off turn it off. Safe, alive, safe and alive.

A couple of hours later, he’s in a bland room. The same one as always, the same interrogation room they use every time he comes back from a mission. He sits in the same chair, looks at the same two officers, and answers the same questions.

They ask for a step by step of what happened, the people and the places, his conversations with Hunnigan, how he protected Ashley, why they both got infected, who Luis and Ada are.

He answers them like usual, monotone and bored, going through the motions like he did with everyone else who questioned him on the way back.

They seem interested when he tells them about Las Plagas, about how it’s different from the T and G viruses but he’s not a doctor what the hell does he know? He scoffs as he says this, before his mind goes oddly quiet again and he fixes the officers with blank looks. He isn’t sure what they see but they both flinch at his eyes, empty and cold as he reminds them the only doctor that knew about this is now dead.

The same odd feeling prickles up his spine again and he takes a deep breath, letting the coldness go as a muscle in his jaw tics.

Instead of gripping them by their hair and slamming them face first into the table like he wants to for some reason, he manages a smirk and tells them that they’re welcome to take a little holiday to Spain if they want to know more. He gestures at the photos on the desk as he speaks, the images of open heads, missing limbs and disgusting mutations and watches the officers avert their eyes.

He averts his eyes as well, looking away from the officers as his stomach churns at the thought of what he just wanted to do to them. Leon almost feels sick at it, unable to figure out why his thoughts are so turbulent and violent, so impulsive and horrible even though he doesn’t feel that way at all. The officers are annoying, it irritates him every time he comes back from a mission and he has to go through it with them, but he wouldn’t wish them dead. He wouldn’t want them lifeless and bloody on the floor, like something in his mind suggested.

They finally let him go after a few hours, and tell him they’ll be back in touch and he’ll need to come in for some more sessions since they don’t know anything about this parasite. Can’t have another misstep like Raccoon City again, after all. Misstep.

When he gets into his car, he slumps down in the seat. It started raining earlier, and he watches the water pour down onto his windshield. It’s comforting, soothing after the days he’s just had.

The occasional car drives past him but he ignores everything else, just focusing on the soft patter of rain on glass, the way it streams in rivulets down to pool by his windshield wipers. Sighing a little, he sinks down further and lifts his eyes to watch his reflection in the glass.

He grimaces at what he sees, the dark circles around his eyes, the cut on his cheek,the scrape on his forehead and how gaunt he looks. He seems paler than usual as well, as though he’s ill maybe.

It’s only expected, he supposes, after everything he’s just done. Leon can’t even remember the last time he slept, all of his muscles hurt, he’s got god knows how many injuries and-

His eyes flash black in his reflection and he bolts upright, grabbing his gun from the holster on his thigh.

With a blink, his reflection is normal again.

Breathing heavily, he lowers his firearm and leans forward, brushing his fingers over the inside of the windshield. He swipes them back and forth, trying to figure out what he just saw.

He thinks about his lack of sleep again though, and slumps back down in his seat. If you were here you’d scold him and tell him to at least have a nap before driving anywhere.

His face relaxes as he thinks of you.

Sometimes he wonders if he should fight it when it happens, when his affection for you rises up and washes everything else away. A smile tugs on his lips as he thinks that hell, he definitely should have fought it before it got to this point.

It’s a familiar pull in his chest that he feels now, and, strangely, he thinks of a beach.

He went to the coast once when he was younger with some family, and in his memory it’s as vivid as the day he saw it. It’s one of his most treasured memories, so it’s no surprise that he’s found a way to associate it with you.

Closing his eyes, he remembers standing on the shoreline, digging his toes into the sand and looking out over the water. It was calm that day-he was allowed to go swimming without an adult-and he’d stayed there for a while, just standing in the foamy water lapping at his ankles. It hadn’t seemed that important at the time, and yet when his training got too tough, Leon found himself thinking back on it and remembering the feeling of the cool waves.

And now, for some reason he can’t explain, he thinks of you in the waves.

He often thinks of it in times like this, when everything is too much and his body is at it’s breaking point, and he imagines being at a shoreline, waves coming in, waves going out. The water washes away everything, gives him a clean slate-it clears his mind and cleans his wounds, and he can’t help but think of you. You, who, without fail, always manage to calm his turbulent thoughts and mend his body even when he’s pushed it too far.

You do it because you’re a friend, you berate him for not taking better care of himself and then you earnestly tell him how glad you are that he made it back to you.

You do it because you’re a friend, and Leon feels guilty that every time he comes to see you it’s because he’s not your friend.

He turns his head to watch the rain on the window instead of the windshield, adjusting the way he’s sitting so he doesn’t fall asleep.

Sometimes he feels ashamed of his relationship with you, the way he thinks he’s practically using your friendship. He only feels like that when he’s alone though-when he sees you again it doesn’t seem like that much of a big deal, like it doesn’t really matter, you wouldn’t be bothered if you knew how little he sees you as a friend.

He fought the truth for a long while, though he didn’t realise he should have been fighting his feelings instead. If you’re in love with someone, there’s no point telling yourself what you feel isn’t love. The feeling’s the same, after all.

If he’d only fought a little harder, he thinks. And then he remembers that he didn’t want to.

He remembers when you met, when you found a home in his mind and figured you’d stay a little while. It was immediate, unfortunately for his sanity. Perhaps a result of the things he’s faced and the terrors he’s been through, but the way you greeted him and didn’t ask about his missions, didn’t appear to see him as the prodigy Agent Kennedy, just as Leon, it hooked and reeled him in.

By the time he admitted what he wants from your relationship, you’d firmly settled into the role of his friend. His closest by far, but still just a friend.

Leon eases himself up in the driver's seat and grips the steering wheel, realising it’s about time he went home. He’s still thinking of you though, and it angers him again. Makes his spine itch as he thinks of what he does want. His body moves faster than his mind and he lifts his hand, only to slam it against the steering wheel over and over, gritting his teeth and relishing the burn in his palm.

His mind catches up all of a sudden and he stops, drops his hand and cradles it with his other as he sucks in a breath at the now sensitive skin.

Leon falters for a second, struggling with the fact that he was thinking of you like he often does, and he then lost control of himself.

It’s a strange feeling in his chest, as though something has hidden there and bided its time, waited until now to unfurl itself and spread through his limbs. He thinks of Las Plagas again and shuts his eyes, counting to ten before opening them and confirming to himself that he’s cured now, he saved Ashley and she saved him. He shakily dismisses his worries by reassuring himself he would have turned by now, he would have become a mindless mutant like everyone-everything else he encountered.

Leon runs his fingers up and down his forearm, confirming his veins are still blue-ish green under his pale skin.

Lack of sleep, just lack of sleep. Need sleep. And her. Lack of sleep, lack of her.

Swallowing and gripping the steering wheel again, he starts his car and attempts to forget his outburst. It’s not him, it’s nothing like him. You often scold him for bottling things up and not letting you in, but he can take it as long as it means he doesn’t unleash anything on you. How could he go on knowing he’d scared or hurt you? But today, this afternoon, it makes him wonder just a little bit-seeds a fragment of doubt in his mind that he’s not safe to be around. That he might actually pose a danger to you.

No. No-won’t hurt her, I won’t-I couldn’t. Protect her-yes, protect, make her safe.

He shakes his head, as though trying to clear it of his worries, as he drives through the city. A little faster than he should, as well.

Leon doesn’t even really look where he’s going as he drives, he knows it’s dangerous but he can’t stop thinking. His mind is a blur, jumbled thoughts of you and his outburst and the mission and everything he’s done, if he’s safe to be around-if he can be around you.

Ordinarily he wouldn’t think twice about it, he’d push the mission out of his mind and head straight to yours. He’d wave off your concerns so that he didn’t linger too long on the fact that you’re worried about him, you’re concerned for him and care about him and-

Leon breathes out shakily, glancing in his rearview mirror before turning onto your street.

Your street.

Once glance at your place calms him, strangely so.

He doesn’t take very much notice of it, as your presence usually calms him somewhat-most things seem easier to handle when you’re next to him, he thinks happily. But he fails to notice the odd way his heart slows down, how his mind goes quiet suddenly. He just feels at home, like nothing else could possibly matter now that he’s about to be with you again.

Why was he even so angry earlier? It seems impossible that he wanted to hurt people today-and he almost laughs as he steps out of the car, thinking back to the man in the suit he’d wanted to spear on his glass and scoffing at the thought he was ever that angry.

How could he have spent the day daydreaming about brutalising his associates when it doesn’t even matter? Nothing else matters apart from getting into your apartment right now, apart from seeing you again.

Leon grins as he jogs up to your building, giddy with the prospect of seeing you. That should strike him as odd too but he doesn’t register it. He’s always excited to see you, always waiting for the next time he can be in your presence, but he’s feverish tonight. For a second he thinks about what you might be wearing, a brief thought flashing through his mind that maybe you’d actually be wearing very little, waiting to welcome him home and reward him for how brave he was.

Home.

This is not his home. And there’s no reason you would be dressed to please him in any way.

He falters in his stride as that jumps to the forefront of his mind. His fists clench and his spine straightens, smile fading and wondering what it will take for you to invite him to make it his home.

Leon could care for you better than anyone else-he knows he can, why don’t you see that? His breathing quickens as do his steps, eager to see you and tell you about the mission, about how he found and protected Ashley, saved her and eliminated all threats-that should show you shouldn’t it? He nods to himself as he thinks that yes, yes that should be enough, you’ll see how good he could be for you, the perfect choice.

A better choice than those stupid little dates you fool yourself with-those ridiculous men that couldn’t please you let alone provide for you. You deserve more, you deserve Leon.

His mind goes silent again, he stops and goes cold, staring dead ahead.

Maybe you’d choose Leon if you saw him against the men you try to date. If you could see how easily he’d beat them, the mere seconds it would take him to kill them. Isn’t a man like that better suited to provide for and protect you? Heat prickles up his spine as he fantasises, imagining you caring for him in the aftermath. You’d be pleased, he’s sure of it, satisfied with his ability to protect you and you’d clean him up, wipe the blood off of him and kiss his wounds, coo at him and let him know that he did a good job taking care of you.

The thought of your soft lips on him makes him blink, realise he’s getting a little cold and wonder why he even stopped-he’s mere feet away from your building after all. Odd.

Shaking his head in confusion and smiling again softly at the thought of seeing you, he heads inside.

After he knocks on your door, he breathes shakily and his hands tremble as he waits for you to open it, as if he’s 16 again waiting to pick up a girl for a high school dance.

What is wrong with me?

The second you open the door he can’t stop himself lurching forward, throwing his arms over your shoulders and tugging you into his chest. He’s greeted with a soft yelp from you, surprised by his sudden outburst-and his presence, to be honest.

Leon’s thoughts go quiet, but he vaguely registers a difference to the previous times earlier today. When he was looking at the man with champagne or the officers interviewing him, it was as though his mind went crystal clear, silent and poised for him to unleash himself on anyone. Now it’s, well, peaceful. It’s the same as when he fell asleep on your couch a couple of months ago and you laid a blanket over him, tucking it in around his sides and making sure he was warm and comfortable.

It’s just like someone put a warm blanket over his thoughts, like his mind is all hazy and satisfied, simply content to hold you like this.

He sighs deeply, soaking in the feeling of home-and he smiles as he realises he's decided this will be his home. It may not be yet, but he’s quite sure it will be in the future. You’ll see what a good choice he is for a partner, see how he dotes on you and always puts you first, cares for you in every aspect, and you’ll see that-you’ll see it and you’ll choose him. You have to, he thinks as his grip tightens minutely on you, he doesn’t know what he’ll do if you don’t.

A deep breath in makes his head spin, makes his eyes flutter closed at the delectable scent he’s inhaling.

It’s a little like his favourite meal as a child, a little like that beach he went to, a little sweet and a little like the feeling he gets when he sinks into his bed after a long mission. It’s addictive.

Leon takes a step forward, inadvertently pushing your face into his shoulder and making you grumble indignantly as he buries his face in your neck. He inhales deeply again, desperate for more of whatever it is that smells so good, and his eyes roll back in his head slightly as his head fills with it again. He’s almost dizzy with it, hardly believing something could even be that delicious.

A light tapping on his back brings him back somewhat, and he registers that you’re trying to ask him something. He loosens his hold ever so slightly but refuses to move back, still soaking in the way you feel in his arms.

“Hey-hey I said I thought you weren’t coming back so early? What happened? Well I know you can’t exactly say-but like did everything go fine or whatever passes for fine on your missions-”

She cares she cares she wants to know what it was like she wants to know I’m okay I should-I need to-need to reassure her-need to soothe her-make it okay-

He blinks at those thoughts, suddenly registering the desperation in them, the need he usually manages to contain around you. It’s always simmering beneath the surface, but he controls himself around you. Why is tonight so different?

Leon pulls back and settles for standing in front of you, flexing his fingers as they itch to touch you again.

“It was-yeah, well I guess everything went as it was supposed to-I-I managed to-I did what I went to do, anyway, so that’s the uh-that’s-that’s the-fuck what is that smell?”

He vaguely hears another noise of indignation as he sidesteps you and walks toward your kitchen a little.

“Hey! Kennedy what are you-fine okay well I made that pasta dish you liked a couple weeks ago? It’s probably that now can you just-”

“No it’s-it doesn’t smell like that it’s like-did you get a new candle or something? Have you started using incense? God it’s like-it’s really good-”

A sigh reaches his ears and he knows if he turns around you’ll be staring at him with that tired look you always wear when he’s doing something stupid or annoying. It sits uncomfortably in him and he tries to push his questioning out of his mind, attempting to focus on calming you, making sure you know it’s okay, he’s okay, he’s back now and everything’s fine. A different part of his brain asks why he’s suddenly so over protective, why can’t he handle even the idea of you in the slightest bit of distress? The protective part of him wins though, unsurprisingly.

“Christ well I’m glad you’re back either way-none of my other friends help me lug furniture around my apartment for hours on end after all, gotta keep you around for a few things don’t I-”

He hears your footsteps a fraction of a second before he feels you, your fingers sliding over his shoulder and gently squeezing, a brief touch as you walk by him and into your living room. His skin warms where you touch it, heat blossoming across his shoulder while he watches you pad into your living room.

His heart aches for a second, watching how domestic this scene is. The comfy clothes you’re wearing, the smell of dinner lingering in the air, how you let him be in your space because there’s no way he’s not meant to be here, where he belongs.

The sheer rightness of it floors him for a second, the belonging he feels and the craving thrumming through him to just exist in your space with you. He feels like he can’t breathe, throat tight and a weight on his chest at the image of waking up next to you, his clothes next to yours, you nagging him about taking too long in the shower-he’s dizzy again suddenly, mind foggy at the need for it, the need for that rightness and belonging.

Without thinking he takes a couple of quick strides toward you, halting when you look back with a surprised expression.

What the fuck am I doing? Get a goddamn hold of yourself, control yourself and act normal-

Taking a deep breath, he walks at a normal speed and sinks down onto your couch. You raise your eyebrows but don’t say anything, stepping over his sprawled out legs to take your place next to him.

He watches out of the corner of his eye, feels his heart beat quicken as he sees you shuffle around to get comfortable and extend your legs toward him, evidently intent on resting them over his lap.

Yet when you actually do so, when he can feel your calves settled onto his thighs, his heart beat slows down again. Much slower than it was before, in fact, as though he’s in a deep sleep. He furrows his brow at the feeling, trying not to let on how confused he is at how his body is acting today.

Overflowing with bloodlust earlier, and now he feels better than he has in, well, he can’t even remember the last time he felt this good. It almost feels like he’s been drugged somehow, like his mind is all foggy and hazy as he soaks in the feeling of you touching him. Your body against his, what else could possibly matter?

You seem to realise that he’s not in the mood to do much talking and press play for whatever you were watching before he came in, something he vaguely recognises as one of your childhood favourites, one you told him about a few months back.

‘Would you stop laughing at me? KENNEDY! Stop laughing I swear to god-it’s just-it’s not the greatest thing ever of course not, I just watched it a lot when I was a kid and it’s kinda comforting-I don’t watch it for the cinematography or whatever of course I don’t-it’s just like being back home and being safe and warm and happy yknow? Whatever laugh at me if you want but it’ll still cheer me up when I’m worried or upset-’

Leon’s body tenses as he realises why you’re watching it, why your body is curled slightly towards his.

“Are you-were you…very worried about me-my mission?”

His voice is soft, gentler than he even knew he was capable of, as he tries to fight the need steadily burning in him. It’s different than he usually feels around you, more intense and all consuming, it makes him feel as though there’s no other option than wrapping his arms around you, tugging you into his lap and comforting you until he’s sure you’re okay. It confuses him-that’s what he usually wants to do when he sees you’re upset, but since he knows he’s just your friend he holds back and lets you rant and rave, initiate contact that you want. And now-his body is itching, simmering with the need to hold you close, like he knows exactly what you need and how to calm you and he needs to because it means he’s a bad partner if he doesn’t make you feel better, if he can’t make it all okay for you-

He blinks himself out of these thoughts when you turn your head to look at him, cheeks heating a little as you reach to grab his hand, squeeze it gently and admit that yes, of course I was worried about you you idiot-

Then you simply turn back to the tv, shuffling a little closer to him. He watches you for most of the evening, marvelling at how his day has gone. How much stronger, instinctive and primal everything has been.

When he wakes in his own bed, in his own apartment the next day, he feels bereft and lost. His bed feels empty though he’s never had another person in it, his apartment feels quiet though it’s only ever him making noise in it.

Before his eyes even open his arm is groping across his sheets. When he finds no one else there (why would there be anyone?) a surge of worry grips him, wondering where you’ve gone, why aren’t you with him, next to him, sleeping in his arms and letting him take care of you? And then he opens his eyes and realises that oh, of course you’re not sleeping next to him-because you have no reason to.

He sits up and lets his duvet fall to his lap, shivering slightly in the cool air of his bedroom as he rubs his eyes tiredly. Apparently he hasn’t adjusted from his mission yet, and the fluke of yesterday is still plaguing him.

Flopping back onto his bed with a soft thump, Leon groans a little to himself and wonders when he’s going to feel normal again. When he can go back to being a friend you deserve, rather than someone ready to kill at a moment's notice, and intent on making you his.

Woah, no no no-wait a second-

Leon freezes with his hands running through his hair, eyes flicking open and swallowing nervously. He’s never been a particularly…possessive man, and the realisation that he now very much wants to make sure you’re his and his alone, that you’re never with another man because Leon is the one who can take care of you, he’s the one who can provide for you and-

Jesus stop it stop it stop it-

Leon sits up abruptly and swings his legs over the edge of his bed, ripping back the covers as he goes.

The realisation disturbs him.

He’s wanted to be with you, he’s wanted to be yours-but this is the first time he’s felt such an intense need for you to be his. The thought of you on dates and with other men has never been a happy one, but right now it makes him murderous. He doesn’t just want you to be his partner, but to completely belong to him, to wear his clothes, sleep in his bed, spend his money, drown in his scent.

Scent. Fucking hell-scent?

Leon stares at the wall opposite him, mind flitting between the addictive thought of you smelling like him and how utterly weird that is.

He sifts through his feelings slowly, deciphering why he suddenly thinks you’d be best wearing his scent.

Unfortunately the only thing he comes up with is that it will mean you’re truly his, that you belong to him and him alone. That other men will know they can’t have you, they’ll know how well he takes care of you, how well he satisfies you.

He blinks in surprise at his own thoughts, and stands abruptly.

Leon pads into his bathroom and runs the shower, waiting for it to heat up as he looks in the mirror. His view is critical, drifting over his chest and down to his stomach, over his hips and his cock, below to his thighs.

As steam fills the room, Leon runs his fingers over his collarbone.

He fleetingly imagines the soft press of your lips against it, small kisses tucked into the hollows and licks traced across his throat. His cock jumps at the fantasy, hardening slightly as it often does when he thinks of you. There’s a crooked white line that streaks across his pecs, a scar to remember one of his earliest missions by. He rubs at it gently and wonders what you’d think of it, if you’d be repulsed or if you’d push more delicate kisses into his skin over it, maybe you’d think it’s unattractive or maybe you’d be pleased by the evidence of his capability. He was wounded and yet he endured, kept going and persisted. Brought himself to this point, to a time where he’s capable enough for you, strong enough and brave enough.

More steam fogs up the mirror a little and he looks further down to his toned stomach, the dips on his hips and pelvis. He frowns a little as he thinks that maybe you’d want someone buffer, someone whose strength is evident, poured into their body in defined abs and chiselled muscles. Leon is stronger than most and looks capable, but it doesn’t show the same way. He’s not ripped like the men who preen at themselves in the gym every day, his body is built for practicality. His waist is trim, shoulders broad and stomach toned to ensure he can move, can fight exactly the way he needs to. It’s layers of muscles and fat, tissue to pad him out a little more and make him better.

His hand stops moving where he’s tracing the faint lines of his abdomen. What if you didn’t like it? What if he bared himself and showed you everything, the half closed slit from a knife sitting low on his stomach, minor because of the way he’s built himself, and the yellowing bruise on the side of his torso, and you decided you wanted smooth skin, evident muscles, the kind for show not for use?

Maybe you wouldn’t think him attractive, not pretty or handsome. His heart feels heavy at that, at the thought that he hasn’t pleased you in some way, that he’s let you down. It makes his body tense slightly, the entirety of him yearning to make it right, to preen and purger and pick at himself until he’s exactly what you want. Molded to fit your desires and needs, perfection in your eyes and nothing less. Anything less isn’t acceptable.

His hand trembles a little as his thoughts dart around, jumbled and messy and all he can think is that he needs to be what you want, he has to be exactly right for you because anything else isn’t possible. How could he bear to displease you? How could he be lacking for you in any way, shape or form?

Leon blinks, pressing his fingers into the grooves of his hips and sliding over them, dipping down toward his half hard cock and back up over a healed bullet wound high on his hip.

His mind is chaotic and messy and he hates it, used to feeling control and knowing what's happening and yet now? Now he’s having bouts of murderous rage, obsessive love for you, fits of possession and sudden fears his body isn’t good enough. Apart from the fact that he’s never quite this homicidal in his everyday life-even on missions it’s just a job, no feelings involved-he’s also never been quite this obsessed with you, or insecure about his own body.

Even though he’s wanted to be with you since he’s known you, he's never been this utterly consumed with it. It’s never felt this…instinctive before, like some part of his brain is wired to you, focused on pleasing you and making you happy and providing for you-like he needs it just as much as eating and drinking and sleeping.

He’s always been rather happy with his body as well, aware that women find it attractive and that he knows how to use it. And yet, all he can think as he stares at his foggy reflection in the mirror is that if you don’t like it, he’ll do whatever it takes to change, to be enough for you.

Leon sighs and drops his hand, stepping into his shower and tipping his head back to soak his hair through. He always takes his showers scaldingly hot and right now the heat soothes him, works on the aching muscles that are taut across his back, the tension in his shoulders and the stiffness in his neck.

The warmth doesn’t curb the growing heat that spreads through his veins though, the prickling up his spine as his blood rushes to his cock. Leon grimaces as his shaft bobs against his stomach, flushed and sensitive as the water beats down on him.

He fucking hates doing this.

He can never stop himself from thinking of you, and there’s a moment of pleasure when he comes, but after-it’s just shame. It grows in him and stays for a few days, hollows out a part of his chest and fills it with embarrassment and guilt that he could act so crudely towards you. And then it eases up, he convinces himself it’s not so bad really, he’ll go and see you, stay over at your place, and it all starts again. Every few days, like clockwork.

Leon presses his lips together and balls up his fist, digging his nails into his palm.

Disgusting-depraved, she’d hate you, she’d think you’re repulsive if she could see you-you know she would, you know how filthy this is-you’re defiling her, you know you are-shaming her by behaving so perversely-can’t you even control your base instincts-behaving like a fucking anim-

He pulls his arm back, baring his teeth as he yearns for the satisfaction of his fist cracking against the shower tiles. Before he lets his fist fly, it hits him, what he’s doing, and he stumbles back a step, slipping a little against the wet floor.

His vision clears all of a sudden and his legs weaken, falling to his knees in the bottom of his shower. The small sting of pain that shoots up his thighs is distant though, compared to the throbbing that pulses through his member, the need he can’t ignore anymore now that his anger has dissipated.

Leon feels his hand shake as he moves to grip his cock, rage gone but shame still flowing through him like a disease. It nestles in every corner of him and his eyes burn as he pumps his fist up and down slowly, squeezing a little when he reaches the tip, twisting as he goes down, pressing lightly on the prominent veins decorating his shaft. Leon’s sensitive, worked up and on a knife’s edge already, part of him still back in your apartment with you last night, part of him dreaming of being in bed with you. A pained sigh escapes him as he feels the coil tightening in his gut, more fragile than usual, like his body has been waiting for this for months.

He presses his thumb over his slit and rubs gently, waiting for the release he knows it will bring.

But-

It doesn’t.

It makes his hips buck forward and his other hand scrabbles at the tiles on the wall, trying to stabilise himself, as his eyes roll back in his head. He keeps rubbing his thumb back and forth, thinking it will only take another moment for him to come, it’ll only take a second, just a little bit more-

A stifled cry works its way out of his throat and he tips his head back, breathing raggedly while his eyes start blurring. The pressure turns into pain, stinging sensations shooting up into his gut and settling in his belly, pushing away the need and desire that had pooled there. It makes his thighs tremble, and he gasps as he pulls his hand away, sitting back on his heels.

He lets the water beat down on him, watching it stream over his thighs and towards the plug hole. He pants into the silence of the bathroom, brows furrowing in confusion.

That has never happened before.

Leon pulls his bottom lip into his mouth as he thinks, mind wandering back to the times he’s attempted to get himself off but been too tired and strung out from a mission, times he’s been too drunk to chase pleasure properly. But this is different, he’s not exhausted, he’s sober, he’s enthusiastically doing everything he can to find that release-and yet, nothing.

Shakily, he lifts his hand up again and grasps himself. He hisses immediately at the sensation, at the tenderness there, but grits his teeth and pumps his hand up and down again. Maybe he needs to take it slower, work up to it a little more?

Dropping his head, Leon spits quietly and watches his saliva catch on where he’s gripping his shaft, immediately spreading it and sighing at the brief satisfaction it provides.

Within seconds he’s at that peak again, still partly wound up from the first attempt. He lets his eyes fall shut this time to try and enhance the pleasure, letting himself feel nothing but the way his hand feels around his member, the blood rushing through him, the water bouncing off his skin.

Tentatively, he shifts his arm so he can pay attention to the tip of his cock again-thinking surely this must be it, he’s perfectly balanced on the edge, just a little bit more and it’ll push him over-

His head drops back on his shoulders with a low roar as he still finds himself unable to go just that smallest bit further, an inhuman noise that spills from the depths of him, some sound he didn’t even know he could make. A sound of frustration, of inadequacy and need. Before his movements verge into pain like before, he plunges his hands into his wet hair and pushes it back off of his forehead where the water had plastered it to his skin.

Unexpectedly, his eyes become blurry suddenly and his thoughts flit back to you.

What if this is ongoing? What if somehow, someday, he’s with you and he can’t continue? What if his body fails him and he can’t please, can’t satisfy you?

The thought is abhorrent, making his veins roar with fury, and he shakes his head though there’s no one to witness it, promises himself he’ll be good enough for you though there’s no one to hear it.

Leon rises unsteadily to his feet and reaches for the temperature dial, grimacing as he turns it to the coldest it can go, trying to calm his body if he’s not going to find the release he seeks.

After a week, a painful week of not seeing you due to conflicting schedules, he gets a message. Brief, blunt, straight to the point and telling him he needs to go to the lab to recheck everything.

Ah. Las Plagas.

Just when he thinks the nightmare in Spain is fully over, more tests. More poking and prodding and pricking with stupidly big needles, more of him being nothing more than a little lab rat for them.

He only sighs when he receives the message though. Knows he can’t get out of going and accepts that he’s going to spend the next day stuck in the same white room they always out him in, the one that has alarming amounts of confusing medical technology that he was no knowledge of, and that smells horribly strongly of disinfectant.

It makes his nose burn whenever he has to go in there, and he dreads it as his eyes scan over the rest of the message. One day it’s going to be the end of him he swears, all the tests they put him through. From sheer boredom if nothing else. There’s generic questions, there’s the hour or so where he has to lie on that weird dentist’s office-like chair, the hour where they stick various wires to him and monitor something on a little screen.

And then there’s the two hours he dreads the most, when they ask him the more personal questions. The ones about the mission, about his life, about his relationships, about life since the mission, side effects and memories and trauma and everything Leon never wants to talk about.

He thinks of you the entire morning, as he showers, as he dresses, as he drives and as he heads toward the lab. You’d make him feel better, you’d cheer him up, he’s sure of it.

Leon doesn’t think there’s anything he could conceive of that you couldn’t make better. If you were one of those doctors or the one asking him questions, he’d answer every single one in a heartbeat. He’d do whatever you want, tell you anything.

But unfortunately for him, you are not one of those doctors. You’re still at your place and probably still asleep judging by the, quite frankly, disgustingly early time his watch displays. His strides down one of the long white corridors slow as he lets his thoughts wander, lets his mind drift away to some fantasy where he’s in your bed and curled up with you.

It would be a different life, a better one than he leads now. Maybe he’d still be a police officer in this life-for longer than one apocalyptic day, that is.

Him and Chris would be accomplished members of the force-though maybe he’d have progressed to the elite STARS team and be one of them. Maybe he’d meet you there, maybe you’d work there too. A simple office romance, the officer falling for the secretary. He wouldn’t be pulled away to backwater towns in god knows where, chasing down the most depraved things humankind has invented.

Leon reaches the end of the corridor and is ripped out of his daydreams much too soon for his liking, arriving at a blank, white door with just a simple triangle on it. For a split second he thinks of Saddler’s symbol and his hand tightens on the doorknob, pushing it open with more force than necessary.

When he sees the two doctors sitting on the other side of the steel table, his body relaxes once again. The rage calms and his blood stops roaring in his ears, he lets out a deep breath and closes the door behind him.

A number of hours later, he’s sat at the table once again. They did the first questions, they did the tests and the poking and prodding (they attempted to put rather a large needle where they really shouldn’t have, and one doctor may or may not have left with a broken finger) and now they’ve gotten to the in-depth part. The personal part, which he hates.

They make him go over the mission again, see if anythings changed in his mind or in his memories. They focus a lot on Ada, on his disdain for her when he talks about seeing her again, having to rely on her information because he lost Ashley even after everything that happened in Racoon City.

When they ask the first question about Ada, about how it felt to see her for the first time, something clicks inside him. It’s as though something slots together and closes up, letting his frustration build up inside him instead of letting it flow out.

It’s worse when they ask how it felt compared to their time in Racoon City, if it was like history repeated itself. That question hits something within him, rewords itself and stews inside him. They ask if history repeated itself, and Leon hears that they think his feelings for you are invalid, that he feels more for Ada than he does for you. He hears that what you have is nothing, that they’re questioning his love for you-his devotion. He can’t have that.

His fists clench where they rest on the table, trembling ever so slightly with the tension pushed into them.

His mind goes quiet again.

Leon’s been staring at the table through this interrogation, but now he raises his eyes, looking out from beneath furrowed brows and silky hair at the two doctors. There’s the odd feeling of something crawling up his neck, over his cheeks and building up to his eyes-he’s not sure what the doctors see but their faces pale a little, and one of them actually jerks his head back minutely.

In a startlingly calm voice, Leon tells them in no uncertain terms, “I will not hear, or say, another word about that woman.”

The last word is accentuated by his fist slamming onto the table though, echoing around the room and making the doctors jump in their chairs, betraying his calm exterior.

Leon looks down at his hands and blinks in surprise, staring at the dent he’s somehow caused. The tabletop is inches of thick steel, but they must have changed it right? They must have moved a flimsier, thinner table in here for some reason, there’s no way he could have dented it with just his fist otherwise. Right?

That thought clears away the quiet blanket over his thoughts and he comes back to himself, clearing his throat and shifting his hands to rest in his lap. He watches the doctors settle back down in their chairs, giving him odd, and slightly worried, looks as they collect the papers they dropped onto the table.

Hesitantly, one of them asks if he’s experienced anything odd lately. Anything that could be considered a side effect, if he’s changed in any way since Las Plagas.

Leon scoffs and opens his mouth to laugh at them, wanting to sneer at them that of fucking course nothing’s changed, look at him he’s fine isn’t he? He’s not that stupid, if something happened to him he would have said something of course.

And then he thinks of the odd moments where silence falls in his mind, where he’s consumed by the need to see blood, to rip open flesh and tear skin with his fingers, watch someone's insides pool on the floor because they made a comment about Spain or looked at you in a way he didn’t like. He thinks of every night since he saw you, when he’s dreamed about cradling you to his body and filling you up, watching his seed leak from your pretty cunt and stuffing it back in with his fingers. He thinks of the other morning when he dug around in his closet and was hit by a wave of that scent, the one he smelled in your apartment, when he found the shirt that smelled like that, a shirt you’d left at his apartment a few weeks back-and one he’d promptly shoved his face into, kneeling on his bedroom floor and letting his eyes roll back in his head as he surrounded himself in that scent. He thinks of the shower, of his desperate attempts to cum that resulted in nothing but frustration and aching need.

“Do I look like anything’s wrong with me? Think of some better questions next time, yeah doc?”

A couple of days pass and he’s consumed by the thought that maybe Las Plagas has had some effect on him.

And then on the third day, he gets a fever.

He doesn’t believe it’s a fever, after all the weather has been getting warmer lately (by about one degree) and he’s been sequestered in his apartment all day, he’s just feeling a little caged and claustrophobic is all.

Leon convinces himself that that’s it, it has nothing to do with Las Plagas, nothing to do with Saddler and Spain, he’s just a little out of it, surely.

He’s changing his sweat soaked shirt when he gets the text from you, asking him if he wants to come over for that pasta dish he loved so much, the one that smelled so goddamn good. There’s the odd feeling again of something crawling up his neck and onto his face as he reads the message over and over again, looking for a hidden meaning or something he’s missed, something more than just a friendly dinner invitation.

He takes a cold shower to cool his body down before he drives over to your place, and though he feels better under the freezing water, as soon as he steps out he’s burning up again. Tugging at the collar of his shirt as he thinks about seeing you, feeling the heat in him rise a few degrees as he wonders what comfy shorts you’ll be wearing this time.

There’s a minute part of his brain that tells him he should stay home, not risk infecting you with whatever is going on with him. But the rest of his brain feeds him memories of you, lewd images and fantasies from the depths of his mind and kicks up the temperature in him, convincing him there’s no other option than going to see you. How could he ever deny you?

Besides, something in him is craving your presence. It’s not unusual, but he somehow knows this odd fever will be better around you. It will ease and become better to deal with, he’ll see you and his body will figure the rest out, he’s sure of it.

When he arrives at yours, he’s breathing heavily.

The drive was almost unbearable, heat notching up in the enclosed space of his car and with his daydreams of you. He made the mistake of remembering how good your apartment smelled last time he was there and before he knew it there was a flush growing on his cheeks, chest heaving up and down and mouth dry.

Leon knocks on the door and fidgets with his hands as he waits for you, every fibre of him aching to push inside and be with you, touch you.

He mops his brow with the hem of his shirt, grimacing and wondering if maybe he really should have stayed home-and then he hears a clatter from inside your apartment and you calling out that it’s already open.

The sound of your voice buries any worries or doubts he has, coaxes him into twisting the handle and taking hasty steps into your apartment-and tripping a little over the floor in the process.

He stops almost immediately. That same scent from last week is everywhere again, clinging to his clothes and filling his nostrils.

Leon presses a hand to the wall next to him as his head spins, unable to stop himself inhaling deeply and breathing in as much of it as he can. It’s impossibly addictive, as though there will never be a thing more perfect to him and he can’t get enough. He mops his forehead again and wipes his hands on his trousers, closing his eyes for a few seconds as he breathes heavily.

The scent does something…different, this time.

Last week it was like coming home and falling into your arms, like your fingers carding gently through his hair as you tell him softly about your day.

This week-

Oh, this week.

This week it’s like the dream he had of you the other night. The one where he was sitting back against the cushions of your couch with you straddling him, sinking down slowly over his cock until he sensed how tired you were and gripped your hips, holding you in place against his body as he drove himself up into you. It’s a little like the time he’d leaned against his kitchen counter eating his breakfast and couldn’t stop imagining bending you over it, sinking to his knees and using his thumbs to spread you open before lapping at your cunt.

His body makes him take a few steps forward before he catches up with himself, not knowing what he’s even moving for.

Her. Need her. Get her, move-walk-find her-need to have her-take take take-

Opening his eyes, Leon finds himself at the entrance to your kitchen.

You have your back to him, bobbing your head gently to whatever song is playing as you chop vegetables. You notice him with a quick glance backward, subconsciously aware of being watched, and shoot him a smile before turning around again.

Your hair moves as you do, and Leon is suddenly suffocating under that scent, drowning in that deliciousness he can’t stop inhaling.

His vision dims ever so slightly around the edges and he blinks, ignoring it in favour of walking unsteadily toward you, becoming more and more sure by the second that the scent is somehow coming from whatever you’re doing.

You don’t even appear to notice his behaviour, the way he stops in the middle of your kitchen and a few feet behind you, curiously tilting his head as he breathes heavily and soaks in more of the addictive scent.

He takes another step forward just as you turn back again, hair flipping over your shoulder once more and inadvertently revealing the soft skin of your neck.

It’s almost painful, the way that scent hits him-the way it envelops all his senses and burrows into him. His nose stings ever so slightly and his head jerks back, eyes widening as he realises it’s you.

Instinctively, he takes another two steps and finds himself a hair's breadth away from you, chest barely a centimetre away from your back. He feels you jolt at the sudden presence, hands faltering on the chopping board as you turn your head a little, muttering his name questioningly, worryingly.

As though on autopilot, with no mind of his own, his hands reach forward and grip your hips, digging his fingers in slightly as he inhales once again. He distantly hears the knife in your hand drop onto the wooden board but he ignores it, breathing in and letting his eyes flutter closed as his body throbs and pulses at the delectable scent.

His name rings out over your music, louder and blunter than before.

With a heaving gasp, Leon stumbles back from you and feels his shoulder bump harshly against the doorframe, welcoming the shooting pain through his arm and back as he attempts to clear his mind.

Did he really-did he actually just grab your hips and-

Did he just smell you?

It would be better from the source though wouldn’t it? Look at her pretty pulse point-the way it tics and jumps-just waiting to be kissed and bitten isn’t it? Don’t you think the scent would be so much stronger-

Leon clears his throat, trying to silence the argument in his head as he regards you warily. A pang shoots through him, bones aching at the thought that he’s just probably ruined this forever-you’ll tell him to leave and you’ll never want to see him again-you’ll find someone else and invite them over and he won’t have his mate-

He squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head to the side, unsuccessfully blocking out the longing and the ache thrumming through him-and whatever inside him is calling you his mate.

When he looks at you again, tentatively, he sees you haven’t even moved from your spot by the counter. You’re still facing it, hands resting on the worktop as you look over your shoulder at him somewhat.

He stutters out an apology, balling his fists as he chokes out that I’m-I’m so sorry I’m sorry I can’t-

You shake your head though, effectively cutting him off and making him press his lips together, eyes blurring as he waits for your rebuttal. You’ll tell him to leave, he’s sure of it, you’ll politely tell him he’s creeped you the fuck out and you never want to see him again-after all what kind of friend smells you?

Curiously, Leon watches your shoulders relax, losing the tension that had you bringing them up and turning your head to look at him better.

“What-Leon what do you need?”

Not want. What do you need?

Her.

He shakes his head a little, biting his lip painfully to stop himself from blurting out how much he needs you, how much he craves everything about you from your scent to your touch, for you to just look his way.

He can’t tell you-he can’t-

You’ll be repulsed he knows you will, disgusted at the fact that he can’t breathe when you’re not near, how often he touches himself to the thought of you because nothing else works the same, how often he dreams of being yours and making you his, seeing you in his clothes and in his bed, how tonight just the way you smell is making his cock strain against his zipper.

And yet, he can’t stop the shuddering breath that leaves him, shaky with need, as he chokes out that he just needs You-I just-only-only you I need-fuck-

The scent in the air changes minutely, more heady than before and intense and he almost falls to his knees when it hits him, but instead rushing forward and halting just behind you once again.

His hands twitch when he raises them, unsure whether you mean he can do this or if you just want to know.

And then your hands are on his, guiding them gently to your waist and he all but melts into you, chest pressing to your back and cheek nudging against the side of your head. He breathes in deeply once again, filling his senses with the scent of you. It makes his heart slow and his cock twitch, simultaneously craving the feeling of being in your arms and the need to be surrounded by your warmth.

He ducks his head slightly, angling his nose further into your hair to get closer to where your scent is strongest, tightening his grip on your waist and flicking his tongue over his lips.

Leon whimpers at that, nostrils flaring as he realises he can somehow taste you in the air, intensifying your scent and filling his lungs with it. You lean back against him a little, content to let him do what he needs-even if it is a little odd right now.

Gently, he loosens one of his hands from your waist and drags it up a few centimetres, resting his palm over your ribcage and brushing his thumb across the underside of your breast. His mind is foggy at the feeling, hazy from your scent and thoughts fragmented as he touches you, actually touches you like he’s wanted to for years.

Pushing his hand up further, he hears your breath hitch as he ghosts his fingers over your breast but he’s too distracted to focus on it-part of him preens at the effect he’s having on you, that he’s made you react in some way, but the rest of him is too focused on the path he’s already taking.

His fingers drag up the column of your throat, slender digits curling around your neck and making you gasp.

Though, he doesn’t wrap his hand around your throat like you anticipate. He keeps shifting his fingers up, pressing the pads of them against your chin and tilting your face up. His hand slides over the same spot, cupping your jaw in his palm with gentle force, keeping your head twisted slightly up and away.

A shaky exhale reaches your ears a split second before you feel his nose against the base of your neck, chin hooked over your shoulder and eyes slipping closed and he drags the tip of it up, up, up, following an invisible line under your jaw and pausing behind your ear.

He hears you sigh contentedly, seemingly satisfied by his action.

“You are-fuck-you smell divine-”

Some sort of contented noise resounds in his chest as he dips his head once more, and he belatedly realises it sounds an awful lot like a purr.

When you arch your back a little and let him turn your face further away though, well, he can’t find it in himself to care too much about the sounds he's making, simply focused on pressing the bulge in his jeans against your ass, rubbing his nose into the crook of your neck.

His other arm wraps firmly around your waist and he pulls you back against him, keeping a firm hold on your chin as he purrs into your throat. The vibrations make you bite your lip, bringing one hand up to grip his forearm where it encircles you and resting your head back on his shoulder.

Leon feels the moment you fully relax into him and lean back, satisfied and happy in his arms and it makes him dizzy, drunk on your scent already and struggling to open his eyes and he can’t help it he just can’t-

He flattens his tongue against the dip of your collarbone and drags it up your neck in the same path his nose took, pausing at your pulse point this time. With a deep inhale he fills his senses with your scent once again, absently noticing the sounds in his chest getting lower and rougher, more growls than purrs. It confuses him for a fraction of a second before the taste of your skin fully hits him and he whimpers into you, lets out a pitiful whine as he shoves his face into your neck and sucks an open mouthed kiss onto your ticking pulse.

That fucking taste-that scent-

Leon’s hands leave your body, pressing onto the counter and crowding you forward as he sucks and sucks and sucks at your neck, desperate to fill his senses with as much of you as he possibly can, to ingrain you in him and never let you go.

You’re breathing heavily now, gasps forced out of you with every renewed touch from him, but he barely even hears, just distantly feels your hand slide into his hair and chokes on a moan, shoving his cock forward against your ass as his teeth scrape over your pulse point.

The feeling seems to jerk you out of the moment a bit, makes you open your eyes as you groan and pull on his hair to tug his face away from where he’s still mouthing at your neck.

All Leon knows is that something is trying to stop him and he growls at you, pushing his face into you again and nudging his nose over your throat in a desperate display. His hands revert back to your hips and he pulls you into him, almost rutting against you as he keeps breathing you in. How could anyone stop this? How could anyone try and take this away from him, try to stop him from scenting his mate?

A few days ago he would have baulked at that thought, confused and worried, but now he lets out another contented purr. His mate.

My mate. Need-need to scent and-mine-need to-to take-

The sound shocks you into more action, firmly pulling his head away and turning you both until you’re pointed towards the kitchen door as he keeps trying to nuzzle his nose into your neck again.

And then he freezes.

With his hands still firmly gripping your hips you stumble back against him slightly before looking up and seeing what he’s so caught by.

The mirror in the hall, visible from the kitchen, reflects the both of you.

More accurately, it reflects your somewhat tousled hair from his actions, and a shockingly large purplish red bruise blossoming on your neck. It reflects Leon’s hands splayed possessively over your stomach, fingertips digging into your flesh, and his panting form behind you.

His gaze is fixed, unsurprisingly, on his face.

Staring unblinkingly at his eyes, his beautiful bright blue eyes, now swimming in blackness. His breath catches and his hold on you falters as he watches himself, how the black murkiness spreads and covers the whites of his eyes, dyes them as though he dipped them in ink.

Your gaze travels over the rest of his face, smooth skin now underlined by slender black blood vessels, snaking out from his eyes over his cheekbones and down towards his mouth a little.

And then you blink, and the black starts fading. It centres in on his eyes, sucks out of his cheeks and back somewhere inside him, leaving him as unscathed as he was when he left his house this morning. Leon’s lips part, eyes darting over his reflection rapidly as he chases the black veins and his mind races, trying to figure out what’s happening to him.

The fever settled in him comes rushing back as he remembers it, flaring up again and immediately making him sweat, the crawling sensation over his neck and his face jumps to the forefront of his mind and he grimaces, berating himself for not realising-for telling the doctors that he was fine. Of course he wasn’t of course something has happened and now he might have infected you or what if he can’t control himself around you and he hurts-

He feels you twist in his arms and bring a hand up to brush your fingers over his cheekbone, his eyes flitting over your face as he swallows nervously and leans into your touch. Part of him rings alarm bells in the back of his mind, screams at him that he’s going to hurt you he needs to stop touching you he needs to get out-

Your lips press timidly against his, unmoving for a second before you shift back down onto your feet and watch him, eyes squeezed shut as he breathes tremulously.

“Leon? Do you-how do you feel?”

He lets out a breath and hesitantly opens his eyes again, almost falling to his knees at the soft look on your face and the worry in your eyes. He’s still warring with himself inside, screaming and shouting that all he needs is you, but what if he hurts you?

All he can get out is a stuttering response that it’s hot-feeling-so so hot-temperature too-too high ‘nd-itchy-everything so-all itchy-

Once more, you floor him. You ask him okay, what do you need?

And he can barely even respond, body struggling with everything since Spain and he just wipes his nose, bites his lip before choking out that I don’t know-you just-feels-more-s’better when I-with you and I don’t know I just-

The smile he receives from you is shaky, but sweet, and he follows you easily as you tug on his hand, walking slowly to your bedroom.

He trips over his own feet on the threshold to your room, lungs filling up intoxicatingly with your scent again. It’s a hundred times more powerful in here, strengthened by all of your clothes and your products and your bed.

It’s almost as though his throat closes a little at the intensity and he reaches for you as his eyes dart around over your space. His breath quickens as he watches you turn and guide his hands to your hips again, letting him squeeze gently to reassure himself you are here, you want this and you want him. Slowly, he watches you pull up the hem of your shirt until it’s tugged off over your head, body pulsing at the sight of your nude chest.

Leon absentmindedly licks his lips as he stares, gaze turning hungry in a matter of seconds, and he closes the space between you to glide his hands up your torso, hesitating for a split second before he cups your breasts gently.

All he can think of is how soft you are, and his cock twitches at the feeling.

So fucking soft, so much softer than anything else in his life. He pinches and pulls, tugs and kneads at your chest just to see how you react to it, brushing his thumbs over the peaks of your nipples and listening to the hitch in your breath, carefully kneading at your flesh with his palms and hearing you sigh in satisfaction.

He’s purring again he realises, happy sounds emanating from him and dissipating into your room.

The ache in his cock is undeniable now, throbbing and pulsing against the fabric of his briefs as he explores your chest. He takes another step forward and lets the bulge in his trousers brush against your hip, sliding one hand to your lower back to pull you into him and still groping at your tits with the other. The action makes you gasp and open your eyes after they’d fluttered shut from his ministrations, hands coming up to rest on his lower stomach and picking at the material of his shirt.

That makes him falter, though. He pauses his movements and clears his throat a little as he finally looks at you properly, takes in the desire painted on your face and the way you’ve never looked more perfect.

Dropping his hands from your chest and gripping your wrists to pull you away from taking his shirt off.

Wanna see you-

No you don’t-

You can’t possibly want to see him, there’s no world in which you want to see all the scars and marks and bullet holes, the slits and scrapes and partially healed bruises.

You wait for him though, stand there gripping the hem of his shirt and wait for him to be okay.

His heart beats a little faster at the knowledge that you want him, you want to see him how he’s seeing you because you desire him. He can do this, he can-he can please you, if this is what you want he’s going to make sure you get it. You deserve everything, after all.

Leon lets go of your wrists and looks at you through the curtain of his hair, waiting for you to be repulsed and disgusted by his body.

He sucks in a sharp breath when your hands finally rest on his bare chest, palms lightly laying over his pecs and framing each end of the crooked white scar he has stretched across there, displaying what he knows you’ll hate.

And then you lean in and press a soft kiss over the middle of it, pulling back only a couple of centimetres to look up at him. He whimpers just then, still drunk on your scent and overwhelmed by the tenderness in your touch.

Quietly, you tell him that they’re part of you, just as pretty as the rest-if not more because it proves what kind of man you are-one who’ll do the right thing, protect what needs protecting-

Leon almost bruises your lips in his frantic attempt to kiss you after that. One of his hands cups the back of your neck to try and pull you somehow closer, keeping you where he needs you as he licks into your mouth and groans at the way you taste.

He doesn’t even realise he’s walking you backwards until you fall onto your bed, pulling him with you as he paws at the waistband of your shorts. His cock strains against his pants as he tugs the material down your legs, groaning as your panties come into view.

The desperation in him is like nothing he’s ever felt before, like it’s been festering inside him for a while now and you’ve given him an outlet. His veins are burning up, on fire and ready to boil over as a new scent hits him, slightly sweeter than before.

It’s heady, musky and addictive. Leon’s gaze falls to where your legs have spread slightly, displaying the fabric covering your core and the small wet patch decorating it.

Unable to stop himself, he sinks to his knees in front of the bed and tugs on your thighs, not noticing the odd easiness with which he pulls your entire body down to meet his face. His eyes are trained on your cunt, where the wet cotton clings to your lips and how fucking pretty it is, how much stronger your scent is and how he can taste you in the air again, tongue flicking out over his lips before his brain even catches up with what he’s doing.

His name leaves your lips in a breathy sigh and what’s left of his composure snaps, lurching forward to press his nose up against you.

Yet again, he purrs against you. The vibrations make your legs tremble, a teasing sensation travelling across your cunt as he breathes you in.

Leon shifts his head, wraps his arms around your waist to lock you down and pushes his nose against you even harder. With a groan, he rubs the bridge of it over your clothed pussy and bumps it against your clit, feeling your body jerk in surprise.

You can barely even hear him but he starts mumbling, more to himself than anything, muttering against your soaked panties that y’smell so fucking good-so-I don’t even-m’wanna stay-let me stay here-gonna-gonna make it good-promise sweetheart-smell so delicious how could-how could I not-gotta-m’gotta make sure y’happy don’t I-so fucking good I can’t-how do you smell so-so-oh fuck s’pretty sweetheart-all slick already ‘nd-’nd waiting f’me-m’-m’so sorry baby I-can’t-don’t know why’m-just-just smell so good-can’t stop-sweetheart-please don’t-just-please don’t make me stop m’not-need to taste you-need it-

Two of his fingers clumsily reach up and hook into the material of your panties, pushing them out of his way as though he’s offended by them somehow, annoyed that he’s being restricted from your dripping hole.

He can feel it again, the sensation of something crawling up his neck as he watches you squirm under his hungry gaze, clenching around nothing. The movement sharpens your scent and a deep growl leaves him just before he drops his head and opens his mouth, securing his lips over your entrance and sucking greedily.

Leon’s eyes roll back in his head, whimpering against you as his mouth fills with your slick and his senses are consumed by you again-he’s vaguely aware of your thighs trembling either side of his head and the way you arch your back, and he hooks his arms up around your waist, biceps crushing your thighs to his ears. His nose rubs deliciously against your clit and makes you buck your hips up; well, you attempt to but his grip is like iron rods bent around you, holding you down as he laps at your cunt.

The room sounds like a fucking porno, slurping noises echoing around as he hungrily drinks down everything you give, licking and swallowing everything that leaks from your aching hole. One of his hands dips down toward where his face is shoved into you, thumb pressing messily into the bundle of nerves, all swollen and begging for his attention.

His tongue flicks out and laves a stripe up your entrance, before he opens his eyes to watch your face, to soak in your expression as he pushes the muscle into you. Leon’s blessed with the sweet sight of your back arching up off the bed and your head being thrown back against the pillows, writhing in his grip as he thrusts his tongue into your cunt and rubs small circles over your clit, pulling the hood back a little and purring into you at the sight of it all red and swollen for him.

As you buck and squirm on the bed, falling over the edge at his desperate actions, he withdraws his tongue and goes back to lapping up your release, slurping and gulping at everything dripping into his mouth. He doesn’t even notice your hand pushing against his head, tugging on his hair and trying to pull him off of you as your body shakes, overstimulated and tense.

When your nails scratch gently across his scalp he loosens his hold on you slightly, looking up and gasping in heaving breaths, chin slick with your come and nose still rubbing against you and he just can’t-can’t stop-please don’t-mmf-don’t make me stop-need’t taste-need it-don’t-don’t move away-please sweetheart-need-oh fuck-need some more-taste so fucking good-shit-baby m’begging you-

But you still pull him away-his tongue flicks out as his head is tugged back and he strains against your hold, watching your cunt clench and flutter and drip, whining at being deprived of another taste.

When you cup his jaw and sit up though, when your breasts press against his bare chest he looks back up at you and refocuses finally, eventually hearing your words get through his dazed mind and scrambling back up onto the bed, unable to resist you cooing at him, asking if he wants to go further now? Doesn’t he wanna be inside you tonight? You’re ready if he is-

He’s been ready since the second he met you, constantly desperate around you and aching in your presence, Thought he falters now, hesitating for a split second as he remembers his shower, how he tried so fucking hard and he still couldn’t come. What if it happens now-what if it wasn’t a fluke and he can’t please you-can’t fill you up like he desperately needs to, like his body and mind are begging him to?

Your lips are on his again before he starts spiralling too much, quieting his mind like before, putting a blanket over his thoughts and calming him like nothing else can.

Don’t think, yeah? Just feel-whatever you need right?

Leon almost collapses on top of you at that comment, somewhat laughing at himself at how everything you do makes him quite literally weak at the knees, and purrs happily once again at the bulge in his pants grinding over your core, already partly soaked from you.

Clumsily, he pushes at the waistband of his sweats and briefs, not bothering to take them off completely before he pushes the head of his cock against your entrance.

He wants to take it slow-he really does, he tries so fucking hard, but you feel too good and the whimper that escapes your throat does nothing to hold him back, only entices him and encourages him into sinking fully into your warm, wet heat.

Leon does fall onto you then, bottoming out and releasing a guttural groan into your neck as he pants and presses his skin against yours. The heat is almost unbearable, that fever in him rearing its ugly head once more as the temperature between your sweat slicked bodies climbs, skin sliding against skin as he ruts his hips into you.

He feels your nails dig into his back and he arches his back, belly pushing into yours, and tips his head back, mumbling to himself, some kind of nonsense you can’t understand. When he drops back down and brackets your head with his forearms though that’s when you hear it, how he’s muttering to himself that he’s not going to last very long, he can’t take much more it’s too much it feels too good-

He doesn’t even expect you to hear him, so when you start mumbling back that it’s okay, he can go as fast or as a slow as he wants, s’whatever he needs, whatever Leon needs tonight-

Ducking his head again, he buries his face in your neck and inhales deeply, hips stuttering already as he scents you. His hips aren’t even thrusting properly, simply grinding listlessly into you and barely pulling back, rhythm messy and uneven as he pushes his nose against your pulse point.

Faint babbling of him telling you that m’gonna-can’t-m’gonna cum I can’t-no s’not-s’-too soon I need-fuck I can’t-can’t fucking stop I can’t-shit sweetheart m’gonna-oh fuck fuck m’gonna-m’gonna cum- is the warning you get before his full weight drops down on you, growls vibrating against your neck as his hips buck erratically, warmth spreading inside you and wet squelching filling the air as he fucks his come deeper into you, muttering again something about his seed and how you’re gonna take it, how good you’re gonna look for him, how fucking perfect it feels to fill you up-

It takes a few minutes for his breathing to even out fully, steadying slowly as he gingerly pushes himself up onto his forearms above you. He’s greeted with your heated and sweaty face, and he thinks this is his favorite look-you, fucked out and blissful after he’s emptied his come into you. When he looks at you your eyes widen minutely before relaxing again, face softening as your hand comes up to brush over his cheekbone.

Leon is unsure exactly what the slight shock was for, but he presses a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb as he watches you contentedly, satisfied and drunk on you.

It’s a pretty image, Leon hovering above you covered in a sheen of sweat, arms trembling with exertion, and black blood vessels receding across his cheeks. It’s almost faded now, but you briefly wonder if it should have been as attractive as it was to see his eyes turn black as he came inside you.

The fever inside him is already dying out, the ache in his body is settling into a manageable feeling at the bottom of his stomach-and somehow he knows, he just knows it’ll be okay.

Unless the fever hits him again.

Unless, right?

comments and reblogs and asks are HUGELY appreciated thank u my loves!!! 💞

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