#leon.. without you he's dead man! help him.

[gor3-hound]

CRY FOR ABSOLUTION - LEON S. KENNEDY

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

a/n: heyyy :3 had to make the priest collar edit on picsart so don't look at it too close... um... title from 'absolution' by ghost. thank you @ottermarbles for beta reading !! been working on this slowly while writing commissions... finally here !! rbs and feedback appreciated as always <3

cw: 18+ content, priest!leon, non-religious!reader, dead dove, non-con to dub-con to non-con, victim turned perpetrator, forced breeding, mentions of forcing marriage, religious themes, p in v, creampie, degradation, name calling, breath play

word count: 1.6k words

Leon can sense your presence in the church before he sees you. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, his whole body going rigid. He starts murmuring under his breath, eyes shut as he recites the prayer. He’d tried countless times to pray to the Virgin Mary, to strengthen his faith in God so he may resist your advances. To Saint Mary Magdalene, to guide you away from your life of sin. To God Himself to plead that you would leave him alone.

He was sure you were the Devil. Almost certain that you were some cruel test that God had bestowed on him.

He grips the rosary dangling around his neck as your footsteps get closer, whispering one final prayer to God, a desperate plea to give him strength before he faces you, hands trembling as his eyes open to meet yours. Leon couldn’t quite understand how you always managed to avoid the crowds, to worm your way into the Church between services, narrowly avoiding the other priests. You did not care for them, for your faith. You had your eyes set on Leon, a succubus in the flesh that had targeted him so callously.

”While I appreciate your dedication to the Church, I’m afraid the service has already drawn to a close, and there is a lot of work for me to get through before tonight’s service. Perhaps if you return later with the other parishioners, we can s-“

”Father, I hoped to speak to you before the service.” You say as you stalk closer, your heated gaze trailing him. He almost doesn’t hear you speak, the ringing in his ears dampening the sound around him, making your voice nothing more than a faint echo. He’s looking at you, but he’s not seeing you. His gaze is far away as he tries to think of something, anything else. A lump forms in his throat that he cannot dislodge no matter how hard he tries, swallowing to attempt to clear the passage enough so that he felt he could breathe, but with no success. His vision blurs, and he vaguely registers the tears forming in his eyes as you coo, cupping his cheek to wipe the few that fall.

”Please,” he whispers, voice cracking as he gazes at you fully, your face slowly coming into focus. What did he do to deserve this? He was a good man, wasn’t he? He’d tried his best to help the less fortunate, to be kind to everyone he spoke with. Had he committed some sin without realising it? Some blight against God that meant he deserved this? "Please, I don’t want this. You’re misguided, that's all. I can help you. You don’t have to do this.”

As always, his protests fall on deaf ears. He feels the steady stream of tears running down his face, brows pinching together as you back him up into the confessional. His chest continues to grow tighter and tighter until his lungs constrict painfully with each breath. The air gets caught in his throat and makes him choke, his brain shutting down as he just lets you free him from his vestments and tug down his trousers. He's glad to be rid of the collar, at the very least. It feels less like God was bearing down on his throat to drag him to Hell for letting this happen.

The first sob forces its way from his chest as your lips wrap around his cock. He wishes that he could hate the way it felt. It makes him nauseous - makes his head spin, but it feels good. He's at war with himself as to what this means, if enjoying the wet warmth wrapped around him means he's no better than you. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists as he tries to distance himself from your touch.

You pull yourself off of his cock with a pop, rustling around for something in your pocket. The crinkle of a packet has his eyes snapping open again, his eyes honing in on the foil you're holding up between two fingers. Panic seeps into his very core, his breath coming out in harsh puffs. “Thought we could try something new.” You say with a giggle, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

No. No, this couldn't happen to him. He's a priest - he's meant to stay far, far away from the pleasures of the flesh. He had to do something, anything to stop you. He swallows hard, eyes flickering around the confessional, trying to figure a way out of this before you lead him down a path of sin.

Leon isn't sure what happened. One minute, you were tearing open the condom with your teeth, and the next minute, he pounced. His hand gripped your throat to pin you down in the confessional, squeezing tight. His eyes are wide, almost feral as they meet yours, his free hand yanking your underwear down. His movements are clumsy as he prods as your cunt, trying to push his way in. After a few attempts, he manages to hook the tip on your entrance, and he slides home in one thrust.

“Oh.” He breathes out, eyes squeezing shut again. Maybe God wasn't testing him. Maybe this was his reward for being a good follower - all he had to do was breed this pussy full and wed you, and he'd be able to do this as many times as he pleased.

No. This was a test. He must have passed. He succeeded, and this was his reward. A pretty housewife for him to keep bred and safe in his grasp. A woman to cure his cold, lonely nights. He could finally have the family he always wanted. He was angry at you now, yes, but he would forgive you when you accepted his proposal and his seed.

“Temptress.” He hisses between gritted teeth, the hand on your throat tightening. The pressure against your windpipe is bruising, leaving you desperately trying to gasp in breaths through too tight of a passage. “Indecent whore. This is what you wanted, wasn't it? You didn't care when I told you ‘no’, did you? No? Then take it.”

He scoffs as you plead for him to stop again, his brows narrowing in frustration. He didn't want to do this. Leon was a good man. He was a holy man. He couldn't let you ruin him. What if the word of this got out?

“You wanted to ruin me, didn't you? You thought you couldn't take what you wanted from me without consequences? That… fuck… that God wouldn't punish your sins? I'm going to make you take my seed. You're going to be my pretty little wife, and no one will hear about this.”

He thrusts forward particularly violently after his words, his grip on your throat tightening enough that you start thrashing, cunt clenching around his cock enough that he has to halt his movements to stop himself from cumming too soon.

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will drag you down into the deepest depths of Hell with me. I swear it on the Lord Himself.” He grits out, finally releasing his hold on your throat.

He ignores your protests, a muddy mix of guilt and anger swirling in his chest with each plea that falls from your lips. You had shown him no mercy, and yet you expect him to spare you? You were nothing more than a Godless nymph. He would show you the light.

“Do you know your prayers, hmm?” He coos, gripping your chin. The pads of his fingers dig into your cheeks harshly, drawing a pained moan from you. He starts fucking into you again now that his orgasm has fully subsided, letting out a shaky breath at the drag of his length against your gummy walls. “No, of course. You have no respect for the house of the Lord - you just wish to defile it.”

He lets go of your face to hitch your legs over his waist, breaths coming out in heavy pants as he pistons his hips into you, sweat beading against his skin from exertion, bangs stuck flat against his forehead. “Repeat after me.”

‘Lord God, in your goodness have mercy on me:’

The words fall past your lips in a daze as you repeat them, his hand reaching up to your throat again, but not squeezing. A warning to continue as he speaks the next line.

‘Do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt.’

He's close now, barely able to hold back as he ruts into you helplessly, reduced to nothing more than a dog in heat as you clench around his cock.

‘Create in me a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit.’

His hips stutter as you repeat the last words of Contrition back to him, his head dropping to the crook of your shoulder as he gasps out sharp breaths. His cock jumps as he orgasms, stuffing you full of his cum with a noise more akin to a whimper than a moan.

He leans back, eyes taking in your appearance. There was some kind of sick satisfaction seeing you broken like this, knowing God had allowed him to take back the part of him you had aimed to destroy.

You would be his. He would keep you as his wife, his prize. He was given a chance to relinquish the sins you had bestowed upon him.

He would not let the opportunity pass.

[clitorphosis]

SPIT TO SEE THE SHINE

Vendetta Leon S. Kennedy x reader |18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, KIDNAPPING, DUB CON, smut, age gap (reader is in 20s, Leon is 37) female reader, abusive relationship, implied alcoholism, stockholm syndrome, creampie, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, use of ‘daddy’ (not a lot), implied erectile disfunction lmao, victim blaming, fingering, implied physical and sexual violence, forced breeding.

Summary: life gets lonelier after 30s, the realization hits harder Leon and the way to cope with it is to get his hands on alcohol… too bad booze tends to encourage him to not be a good man - ending up with a younger girl in his apartment. Maybe it is a grave mistake, but Leon is just a man and who doesn’t make them? notes: uhm, this may be a lil bit self indulgent, sorry for that :3 I DONT CONDONE THIS BEHAVIOR IN REAL LIFE!!! reblogs, asks and any kind of feedback or interaction are really appreciated! :3

tags: @withonly-sweetheart

Mama has told you not to trust strangers, the concern was referred to the men, but your ears have never held her words for a time longer than a day. Nor did you remember her words when an attractive, older man noticed you and was nice enough to ask you out. That night was supposed to be a little date, giddy and happy jumping into the front seat of his car. That’s the last thing you remember. Eventually, you can not fathom how this happened - the day later your head hurt as you were forced to swallow the hard pill: you got kidnapped by your date.

The first month was insufferable and painful, slowly growing out of your ‘rebellious attitude’ and memorizing his body language like a child in an abusive household. His gaze is everywhere, keeping you locked up in the room when he is not present, a reminder to you that there is no free choice. The food, clothes, and your free time were defined by Leon’s mood and taste which… Liked to swing, creating a mess for you both, not knowing if he was genuinely ashamed of what he had done. You hated him, dreaming about the day when his throat would be sliced, painting your hands with red just to breathe in the air of freedom.

Mama knows best. No, Leon knows best.

Sometimes Leon is mean, without hesitation, sharp words can be thrown at you when he is drunk. Blaming his misery on you. Trying not to be affected by them, not enough to avoid some of them as they cling to your mind - circling as a reminder.

“You deserve this, what did you think a man would want from a woman?”,

“you are better dead”,

“you asked for this”. Did you actually?

Sometimes he is the nicest guy around here. Showering you with tenderness and care, trying to have a normal conversation, but not daring to look into your eyes. Ashamed probably, which was bittersweet and pleasant, but confusing too. Like a couple. You promised yourself to not change the way you feel about him, even if he is sweet. Not like you have a lot of options now.

Certainly, Stockholm syndrome wasn’t going to avoid you, it didn’t take long either. You aren’t special and Leon looked so lonely, returning after work mostly devastated. The expression someone would have had while grieving over something not obtainable. Not even daring to look into your face, ignoring you until his hands do not reach the booze - drinking himself until his mood changes to a handsy one. Physical or sexual. Sometimes both. And Leon is lonely, he told it himself once. Naturally or not, anger has changed to pity, while hate is mixed with something affectionate towards him. You can’t help yourself.

As someone has said - from love to hatred is one step.

So the routine has become clear after a month of staying here, sitting on the floor and watching TV while Leon is behind you. Big brother is watching you - no, Leon is watching you. Drunk or not, monitoring whatever is on the screen is appropriate in his eyes. Not for too long you were concentrating on the blue gleam coming from the screen, illuminating both frames in the living room, now like a natural thing for you both - his fingers end up in your panties to rub your clit in slow and lazy circles. His chest is pressing against your back, focused on your expressions and squirming. His calloused fingertips press harder against your sensitive clit, to hear your voice. Your body is the biggest enemy here - like a Pavlovian dog, reacting to his touch quickly and eagerly. The skin of his fingers is wet and soaked with your slick already, in no time, filling the room with squelching and wet sounds as your moans become harder to keep to yourself. Writhing and trying to shift away, but your body tends to become immobile most of the time - there is no fight or flight, just freeze.

“You look so miserable. It is reassuring, so cute too” In misery, together. His tone is the one someone would use for a dog. Always using that one with you, but you are not a dog. Not like you have any other choices right now, other than taking like a good girl and not lamenting.

If someone would have asked you, Leon is shameless with you, not the one to be shy after a bottle of whiskey, even if he can’t get it up sometimes. His fingers nudge your soaked hole, which aches for his attention. It clenches around nothing, pathetically and you disappointedly whine at the emptiness inside you.

“Come on, open your legs, be a nice girl for Daddy” Leon cooed. His lips brush over your ear, not giving you a chance to do this by yourself - forcing your legs roughly to part wider. “So much better now”

Your hips shift, arching your back as his two fingers intrude into your pussy, curling sweetly inside it to push them at your favorite sweet spot - to enforce more moans at every jolt of pleasure hitting your body. Leon likes that, watching you squirm and open your mouth like a fish desperate for air cause of him. His grip on your jaw is tight, painful even - there are going to be bruises tomorrow and he will be apologizing like a madman.

“Daddy has been so miserable these days too, fucking Redfield is always hassling me.” You don’t know who is that. The sound of his hand fumbling with his belt and the fly of his jeans reach your ears, a loud noise of them falling on the floor. “Can’t even have a vacation, what would you do without me, baby?”

“Ughh…!” you choke on your moans. There is no thought behind your eyes, your entire attention is on your pleasure. Feeling overwhelmed at every thrust of his fingers, writhing in his hold while he is roughly pumping into your drenched hole, an uncomfortable wetness clings to your inner thighs - begging to fuck you already.

“Fuck, I am so sorry, sweetheart, but you are so wet. I can’t. Just the tip, okay? Sorry,” he groans breathlessly, giving hot and quick kisses on the side of your head. Sweet touch. His gaze darkens and his body presses harder against yours, feeling his erection press against your ass. “just… this hole is dripping, and you don’t look like you don’t want it”

You are so close actually, every thrust hitting your sweet spot, curling, and keeping the quick pace of his fingers make you almost drool while focusing on approaching orgasm. Too bad that isn’t on his to-do list. As much as he wants to see you cum, on his fingers or not, - his own pleasure is much more important, especially when his dick is hard. Whiskey dick isn’t so easy to get up these days. His fingers roughly withdraw from your soaked hole with a squelching pop, denying your orgasm. The emptiness returns and your sensitive pussy clenched around nothing again - aching to be filled again.

“So messy,” Leon mutters out, shoving his index and middle fingers in your mouth - forcing you to clean them, your tongue rolls and wraps around them, tasting yourself before he finally pulls them away. “asking for bad things to happen”

You can swear to God this made your clit throb. Wetter than you can ever be, or you are hallucinating, hoping this isn’t the case. Thoughts are quickly brushed aside when his cock is pressed in between your pussy lips, bumping against your aching clit while he rubs himself against your soaked and needy cunt that coats his flesh in your slick, lubing his length in it before he pushed his cock into you - Leon is not really a patient man. Yeah, just the tip, of course. Your velvety walls easily swallow his cock, stretching inch by inch with pleasant pain and letting it slide as he pushed in quick motion until his cock got buried deep inside you. Balls pressed against your flesh, while you can’t help but tightly clench around him, his chest is pressed against your back. Relishing how tight and warm is your pussy, the best and most calming feeling for Leon - to fill you with his cock for his own pleasure. Your hair gets tugged roughly, making your head roll back while Leon starts moving slowly. His cock drags against your walls, pulling out until only a tip remains inside.

“See? Only a tip” Leon mocks you, before slamming back in, bottoming out in one thrust. You whimper and squirm, but his hold on your hair is hard - the only way to keep you under his control. His hips start pounding into you, falling deep into the pleasure connecting your bodies. “Your pussy just feels so good, weren’t you made for this, mmm?”

His movements stutter as his pace slowens when his blue eyes make eye contact with the TV. You didn’t really catch on what was happening until his hand tugged your hair, directing your half-lidded gaze to the point of his interest. The sight of your image on the news, big words on the red background: MISSING PERSON. The former shelf of yourself is staring at you both, smiling brightly - not knowing there is no future for you. The volume is turned off. In this household, it is common knowledge that Leon doesn’t let you watch the news, every time getting agitated and avoiding you even more, when sober, which doesn’t last long after that. The mood swing was quick, every time it was like a loud thunderstorm, his hips make another thrust - cock hits your cervix and forces out a loud moan, involuntarily, when Leon’s cockhead grinds against it.

“This is bullshit, you know?” He hisses into your ear, giving another rough thrust to make you gasp pathetically, as he presses your head against the TV screen. “no one is coming for you. Why? Cause you are forgettable, baby, no one needs you”

“S-stop, Leon” you mumble in between moans and trying to keep yourself aware of what is happening. “T-too much, p-please!”

Your body feels like it is on fire due to the mix of emotions he provokes, your cunt grips his cock tightly while aching for your denied orgasm from before. His hand gives a hard slap on your sensitive clit, making you arch and flinch. Your pussy flutters, gripping him tighter.

“Shhh, I am doing a favor here” he mutters, yanking your head back, forcing you to look at the news while his pounding grew more erratic, intensifying wet and flesh-hitting sounds. His voice is loud in your ears, muffling other sounds, overwhelming as his cock keeps making rough thrusts into you with every word - to punctuate them. “Keeping you here, taking care of useless you that can’t do anything right”

He buries himself deep again, pausing again to relish in the feeling of his cock filling you, while your wet walls engulf him nicely - like a drug, inviting him to stay there and never pull away. Slick drips down your thighs, and his nose brushes behind your ear before nibbling on the soft cartilage. His hand gives another light slap on your pussy, the tightness of your walls almost makes him cum.

“Maybe a baby, what do you think about it, mm?” The idea makes him throb, sliding in and out more erratically. As if he cares about your opinion right now, his fingers tug your hair harder, but his words make you flinch harder. Tears prick behind your eyelids.

“No-no-no. You can’t cum inside, no!” He is not wearing a condom. Bad, too bad. Begging comes out naturally for you now, in between your moans. Fear coats your voice, as the idea sets in quickly - being trapped here cause of an unfortunate kid. “Not the baby! Leon, please! I’ll be good, please!”

“Of course, I can. Shut up. You like this” Leon hisses, keeping your head in a firm hold, so your eyes are set on the old photo. It doesn’t feel right, but you can’t stop yourself from making noises, shifting so Leon would hit a better angle. This somewhat combines with a shame, at every hint of it your mind shoves it away. “You can’t look at yourself, too bad. Dripping even more after my words, like a whore.“

Wanting to cum, focusing more on the pleasure of his dick filling your hole - feels so wrong, but good. Like your body shouldn’t enjoy how Leon’s hips keep pounding into your soaked cunt, hitting the pudgy spot and making you repeat his name like a prayer, but your own mind and body are the biggest enemy, betraying you. His own balls tighten, as a reminder of his so soon approaching orgasm.

“You love me right, baby?” Leon whispers, voice coming out breathy and brushing against your ear shell. His calloused fingers crawl back to your clit, flicking and rubbing it roughly and unsteadily. Trying to keep the feeling of that warm tightness sucking in his cock.

“I love you, Leon, o-oh!” you hum, nibbling on the lower lip and arching, letting more noises when his dick hits your sweet spot so sloppily and messy now, chasing his orgasm. And him circling your clit with his calloused fingertips makes your legs tremble - so close to tripping and falling flat on the floor. This makes your mind fuzzy, shoving away the fear of being pregnant. Leon is nice, right? Nice enough to push you against the cold screen of the TV, it doesn’t have its use anymore. That photo faded with the news, after all. “I love you, love you,”

Your voice comes out shaky and high-pitched now. His eyes are set on your disheveled look, with light traces of tears as you repeat the confession erratically, filling his mind with them. Making this normal, you love him, so he can allow himself to not feel so guilty, right? With a final and rough thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, giving chaste and soft kisses to the back of your head. Your body shudders eventually too, your walls spasm harder around him as the hard feeling of orgasm hits you, pleasant shockwaves dumb every bad thought in the head. His cock throbbed, letting a loud groan and finally spurting ropes of cum into you while keeping messy circles on your sensitive clit, prolonging your orgasm and making you more overwhelmed with every flick. The warm essence fills your hole, Leon pulls out his softening cock with a wet pop, watching how his sperm slowly oozes out from your pussy. His mind is light, the hint of booze keeps guilt from emerging.

Words of love don’t feel like a complete lie now, as pleasant memories overwhelm the bad ones. They become almost an empty spot in the back of your mind, leaving only a foggy feeling of hate and dread. And your brain is weak for the bliss, hammering every moment deep in you - craving for more. Hate won’t bring you out of this, maybe affection will. Your hand grips weakly his wrist, you won’t be able to bear the loneliness after sex tonight.

“Don’t leave me” Your mouth is quicker than your mind, not processing anything right now. Leon breaks out in a weak smile, but his gaze isn’t capable of keeping eye contact right now. Still, he scoops you in his arms without a second thought. Remaining silent, feeling your weak body in his hold he can’t help but pepper chaste kisses on your forehead. Trying to prolong the sweet and guiltless moment for you both.

You should have known better than to accept that date with him.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

simmer down and pucker up

pairing: leon x reader

cw: daddy kink, ddlg dynamics, p in v, oral sex, semi-public sex

summary: he's not daddy in public, he's just leon. but you want daddy's attention.

a/n: not proofread. title is from do i wanna know? by the arctic monkeys.

wc: 2.3k

You and Leon play daddy and baby girl at home - only at home, no one will ever know about this taboo little habit. You hide any obvious paraphernalia like the pacifiers in your sock drawer, and hope no one suspects anything based solely on the large collection of plushies that line the bed. The dolls you have are “collectors items” or “hold sentimental value”, “you’ve had them since you were a child”, etc. The list of lies is a long one. 

It helps that you don’t constantly dress in tiny pink skirts and thigh highs. You’re wearing your new strawberry shortcake panties, but no one can see those under your jeans. It feels weird to call the man you love by his first name. Leon. Who’s that? Oh, you mean daddy?

You have to call him Leon in public. You try to practice around the house, but it comes out in your sing-songy tone just like ‘daddy’. When daddy tells you he has to leave you cling to his leg like a koala bear. 

“C’mon, baby girl, I’m gonna be late,” he says, genuinely tired of arguing with you. 

“I wanna come with you,” you say. The truth is, you don’t really want to go to whatever professional event Leon has to attend - you just want his attention, and this seems to be your only option. 

“Fine. Get dressed,” he concedes. “You have 15 minutes or I’m leaving without you.” 

You want to tell Leon that he’s supposed to act like a daddy, not a father, but you don’t have time to make snide remarks because you have to go dig something that could be considered “cocktail attire” out of the back of your closet. You’ve never had a large professional wardrobe, so most of your dresses are skin-tight with a plunging neckline. You manage to find one that almost goes down to your knees, and though Leon gives you a look of mild disapproval when you walk downstairs, his mind is really filled with dirty thoughts he tries very hard to shake off before you leave. 

You tap his shoulder and hold up your heels, asking for help.  

“No, you’ve gotta practice being independent if you’re gonna come with me tonight, alright?”

“But daddy-”

“Ah,” he tuts, finger out in front of you. 

“But Leon,” you whine - like an adult this time, sitting on the floor to properly put your shoes on.

“Good girl,” he says with a kiss upon your forehead. Unfortunately, this feeds your baby girl behavior. You look up at him doe-eyed and grinning. 

You take Leon’s hand which is already outstretched for you and stand up on your own. Daddy would’ve picked you up and carried you out to the car, but Leon is mean and makes you walk by yourself and buckle your own seatbelt. 

Leon had warned you that it would be boring, and he was right. You’re beginning to regret insisting on accompanying him. It would’ve been more enjoyable if the banquet hall had a kids menu (the kind that comes with crayons). 

“Daddy,” you whisper, tugging at his sleeve. It’s his nice suit, but that’s not why he scolds you. 

“Uh-uh. We only say that word inside the house.” He told you it was because he didn’t want anyone to overhear you calling him that, but in reality, he’s worried about you making him hard in public. He’ll have to drink a lot more and hope he can induce whiskey-dick (though, that’s something that seems to have disappeared from his life since you got together). 

“Can I play on your phone?”

“You have your own phone.”

“The battery is almost dead.”

He fishes his phone out of his pocket, but before he hands it over, he looks you in the eye and says as sternly as he can (which is not very stern, considering it’s you he’s talking to), “Just games. No texting, no calling, no email. Got it?”

“Got it,” you agree with a nod. 

He suppresses the urge to call you a good girl because it’ll further instigate you to mess with him, something he can already tell you want to do.

You play Neko Atsume until you get bored and hand Leon back his phone. Daddy says he has to do important work things, so you are relegated to a different part of the room. He tells you that you could come with him if you’re willing to socialize, but you said no. You want his undivided attention. Luckily, you’d anticipated this, and made sure your phone had a little bit of battery left. You leave the ballroom and head for the ladies room, locking yourself in a stall. 

A while back, you’d set a special ringtone for yourself in Leon’s phone, so whenever you called he’d know to pick up ASAP. You also made sure his phone always alerted him when you sent him a text. Calls are for emergencies and texts are for not-so-urgent things. You decide that your current problem - your neediness, which is mostly a constant - is not an emergency, so a call is not warranted, only a text. Plus, you can send Leon a picture if you text, rather than call. 

You couldn’t fit a bra under your dress which only makes it easier to take a picture of your tits and send it to Leon. The exchange goes as follows. 

You: daddy I need you!!

You know he’s flustered when he texts you back. 

daddy <3: Knock it off.

You: but daddyyy my princess parts need help :(

daddy <3: Where are you?

Oh, he’s caving and coming to see you. You think you’ve won, but you’re so very wrong. 

You: bathroom ;) 

daddy <3: Get out here now.

You find him standing outside the ladies room with his arms crossed. He stares you down and you think you’ve really pissed him off. He doesn’t say anything, but he yanks you by the arm like a child.

“Are we going home?” You can’t decide whether to be eager or apologetic, so you try to keep your cutesy tone as neutral as possible. 

“No.” He doesn’t say anything else until you get outside. He finds a relatively secluded spot where he’s fairly sure that you won’t get caught. 

“On your knees,” he says. 

You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are. You asked for him to come give you attention and sent him an explicit photo. But you really didn’t think Leon would be this bold. You’ve never done anything in public before and the idea makes you a bit nervous. 

Leon can see that you’re feeling shy now, but he’s too hard to soothe your nerves. “Do you want daddy or no?” he asks, with his hands on his hips. He’s impatient, he doesn’t have to pretend. 

You nod. Obedient now that you’ve gotten what you wanted. 

“Are you going to do what I say?”

“Yes, daddy.” 

Leon’s demeanor softens when he hears your sweet - almost apologetic - voice. 

“I know you can be a good girl for me.”

Good girl. The words are like magic, making you kneel in front of him. 

Leon looks around quickly before he unzips his pants and pulls his dick out. He’s so hard that it twitches in anticipation when your hand reaches to touch it. The tip is already leaking, too. You did this, and now you have to fix it. When you look up into his eyes, you can tell he’s not actually upset with you. He can’t be. He’s just tense because he needs to cum - he’s more desperate for you than you are for him. 

You know you won’t get rewarded if you tease him so you take him as far as you can down your throat. His eyes go wide, as he’s shocked by how much you can take. He sees your eyes water and he starts to worry until you start bobbing your head eagerly and he can’t think straight. Leon tips his head back and groans, louder than he should. He looks down into your eyes and in seconds, he feels the familiar sensation of his muscles tightening in his abdomen. 

“Baby,” he says, “daddy’s gonna cum soon.” He’s practically panting at this point, and more worried than before that you might get caught. The possibility of ruining his reputation as a hard-working agent - or worse, an arrest - is one thing, but now that he’s so close to the edge, the idea of being stopped before his orgasm hits is what he fears more. 

You remove him from your mouth and he thinks you’re going to turn the tables on him in an expert play. But you don’t. 

“Daddy, I want it on my face,” you say. 

And despite his better judgment telling him that this is the worst place to do this, he can’t help but give in. He finishes himself off with his own hand, painting your face with thick white ropes. It takes all of his strength to keep his eyes open but you look so pretty with your mouth open wide like this, eager to taste his release. 

When he comes down from his high, you take the initiative and get every last drop from his cock. He quickly slips himself back into his pants and the moment of clarity hits him. 

“What am I going to do with you?” He half-laughs because it’s either that or panic about the fact that your face is covered in an unmistakable sticky white substance. 

You reach into your purse, pull out some tissues and hand them to him. He cleans you up carefully, making sure nothing gets in your eyes. 

“Can we go home now, daddy?”

“Yeah,” he says, deciding he’ll figure out how to explain his sudden departure later. He can’t take you inside when you look like that. He holds your hand while you walk to the car and he buckles you in. 

“Am I still in trouble?” you ask on the way home, breaking the silence. 

Leon really doesn’t know. You were naughty, but then you were good, really fucking good in his opinion. And, he’s not good at punishing you. “Only a little bit.”

“Does that mean you’ll help me?”

“With what?” He turns to look at you when he stops at a red light. 

You look down at your lap, too shy to say the words.  

“Help you with your princess parts?”

Your breath hitches. The two words increase your arousal exponentially. Your tone quavers when you say, “yes, daddy.” It’s the correct response, but really, it’s the only words you can come up with anyway. 

He sighs. “You were naughty tonight.”

“Please, daddy,” you say, and when Leon parks the car in the driveway, you grab his hand and guide it under your dress. “I really need it,” you say when his hand finds your panties. 

Wet would be an understatement. Leon finds himself straining against the fabric of his pants already. You’ve done it again. He can’t help but think about how you taste. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see it in his eyes when you walk in the door. He takes your shoes off along with own and then picks you up and carries you to bed. 

In the bedroom, Leon is gentle with you, carefully unzipping your dress and slipping it down your body. He’s gentle, but he’s not selfless. He plays with your tits, sucks on them until he decides it’s time to move down between your legs. He takes his jacket off and rolls up his sleeves like he’s preparing for something laborious. He gets on his knees at the edge of the bed and pulls you towards him. He sucks on the gusset of your panties until you’re kicking your legs in protest. He finally takes them off, so he can truly savor you. 

It doesn’t take long for you to cum, crying out “daddy” over and over. But, Leon doesn’t stop. 

“Daddy it’s too much,” you sob. 

“Daddy’s not done yet,” he says, continuing to lap at your folds. You sob and tug at his hair, undecided about whether or not you really want him to stop. “Daddy, no more,” you say. 

“One more, baby. Just give daddy one more.” It’s more of a plea than a demand.

“I can’t,” you cry. 

“Yes, you can." WIth that, he hands you a plushie to squeeze. Whether the thoughtful act comes from daddy's nurturing nature or if it's a well-played bargaining chip, you accept it.

Daddy is right - you can cum again. When you do, you coat Leon’s face with your arousal, and your orgasm leaves you gasping for breath. When you open your eyes, you see Leon undressing. 

“Daddy I’m too sensitive,” you say. 

“Then how come you said you needed daddy earlier? Were you lying to daddy?”

“No.”

You’re going to tell him that you need a break but when he takes his cock out you change your mind. It doesn’t matter how overstimulated you are, you want him inside you.

You’re wetter than usual, and that’s saying something. Leon slips into you with relative ease. Sometimes, you struggle to take all of him, but now, he's able to bury himself fully in your soaking cunt. Sorry, princess parts.

“Look, baby,” he says, pointing down at your tummy where you can see him bulging inside you. “Look how good you’re taking daddy.”

Your tears cease for a moment when you see his smile. 

“Daddy’s so proud of you,” he whispers into your ear and clamp down onto him in response. His movements are more forceful by necessity. You make it difficult for him to thrust in and out when you clench this tightly around him. Leon doesn't mind, he'll gladly fuck you roughly if given the chance. He loves to hear the way you babble nonsense, he loves to watch drool drip out of your mouth. Daddy loves you. That's the last thing he says before he cums.

When Leon has his second orgasm of the night, he feels like he’s about to blackout, and it takes every bit of his strength to not fall over and crush you. He can barely pay attention to you, so he only notices your orgasm when he feels your walls pulsating around him, making him cum harder - something that would’ve seemed impossible mere seconds ago. 

When his back hits the mattress, he doesn’t say anything, and after a moment, you place your hand on his chest, worried you might have given him a heart attack. 

“Are you okay, daddy?”

“Besides the fact that I can’t feel my dick anymore? Yeah, I’m good, very, very good.” 

Leon is quiet for long enough that you think he might’ve dozed off until he says, “You know, I think I was wrong.”

“About what?”

“Taking you with me was a great idea.”

[lipglossanon]

Turbo Killer

Real Dad!Leon S. Kennedy x daughter fem!reader (quasi foursome) w/ Dad!Jack Krauser x daughter!Ashley

shoutout to the anon who gave me this idea! It’s all smut so if your here for any plot, you’re looking in the wrong place 🤣

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, INCEST, DEAD DOVE, multiple pairings (slight Ashley x Leon & Krauser x reader before Leon x reader & Krauser x Ashley), fingering, dirty talk, kissing, unprotected sex, creampies

not proofread

title from Turbo Killer by Carpenter Brut

Your dad easily talks you into going up to the cabin for the weekend once he says Jack Krauser and his daughter are tagging along. Having someone else there helps keep your thoughts away from picturing you on your knees for Leon; you’re sure he wouldn’t appreciate the thought even as it makes you wet between the legs. (This messed up train of thought hasn’t stopped occurring since you accidentally walked in on him changing last week). 

Truthfully, after graduating college, you two don’t really see each other as much so it was a surprise he even invited you out for the weekend. To make up for lost time, he told you over the phone. So now, you’re pulling up in front of the family vacation home with your dad’s friend and his daughter parking behind. 

Ashley, Mr. Krauser’s daughter, is bubbly and sweet; she brings you out of your shell in no time even though you haven’t seen each other in years. You’re actually looking forward to this impromptu weekend getaway. Until hours later, you walk into the guest room and see your dad fingering Ashley on the bed. 

“Sorry, baby. You weren’t supposed to see,” his dark blue eyes stare at you, not stopping as he continues to press his fingers inside Ashley’s wet cunt which is bared to the room since her skirt’s flipped up over her hips. 

You don’t know what to say, completely rooted to the spot. Your own pussy throbs as you watch your dad finger your friend. She tries to get him to stop, but he’s pinning her in place, making her take his rough fingerfucking until she cries out. Ashely cums all over Leon’s fingers and he watches you the entire time. 

“Starting without me?” A rough voice rings out behind you. 

A pair of hands sneak around and grope your chest as Mr. Krauser presses against your back. Gasping low in your throat, you watch your dad drop his gaze from your eyes down to your breasts.

“Sorry, she just seemed like she needed it,” Leon smirks, looking up over your shoulder, and Mr. Krauser laughs. 

A calloused hand slides up your skirt and palms your mound. 

“Seems like this chubby little pussy’s soaking wet, sweetheart,” he growls loud enough for your dad to hear. 

“Is that so?” Leon’s stare makes you squirm, “bring her over here, we can share the bed. Right, princess?” he directs the last part to Ashley, who’s still trying to catch her breath.

She only whines in response, making both of them chuckle. 

“Let Jack take care of you, baby,” your dad coos as the other man guides you to the bed. 

In a blur of motion, Jack slips off his clothes before helping you out of your own. Glancing over to the side you watch your dad and Ashley do the same. Seeing Leon completely naked makes your clit pulse with heat. 

“Little pussy’s so wet already,” Jack praises, bending you over the bed and pushing you forward until you're on your hands and knees, mirroring Ashley’s position in front of you. 

“This one too,” Leon groans, “her cunt’s dripping all over the bed.”

You and Ashley whine, fingers tangling together to hold hands as each of your dad’s slide their fat dicks into your holes. 

“Aww look how sweet,” Jack mocks, “holding hands while we rail your sweet little pussies.”

Shuddering, you arch your back deeper, pressing against Jack as he pulls halfway out to thrust back into your cunt. A loud moan from Ashley pulls your attention back to the couple in front of you. 

“God your dad’s so big,” she whimpers, burying her face in the sheets as Leon hammers his cock deep into her pussy, balls slapping against her clit. 

“Yeah?” you mewl, eyes greedily watching as his slick shiny dick pulls out until just the head stretches her cunt open. 

“Yeah,” she repeats, shuddering as he bullies back into her soaked hole, “s’fat cock.”

You moan loudly and your dad’s dark blue eyes cut over to you; his gaze feels like a physical caress as he drags it down your body to see Jack splitting you open on his cock. 

“Your dad feels good, too,” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut as Jack bottoms out again, stretching you open deliciously, “oh god, Mr. Krauser, please.”

You watch as Leon fucks Ashley harder into the mattress, your own pussy fluttering wildly around Jack’s thick length as jealousy burns bright in your chest. You’re unable to stop looking at how his cock thrusts in and out of her wet pussy, the dizzying thought of wishing it were you making you leak more slick around Jack’s dick. 

“You like that?” a gravelly tone murmurs against your ear, “like watching your dad fuck my little girl?”

“Yes sir,” you whimper, knees spreading wider to arch your ass out, tits squished against the mattress as Jack presses his chest down along your back. 

“Bet you wish it was your sweet little cunt he was reaming, huh?” He chuckles meanly and bites your ear, “what a filthy slut, gagging for her daddy’s dick.”

Your loud cry gets muffled as Jack grinds his thick cock into the spongy spot along the front of your pussy while covering your mouth with his broad palm. 

“Be careful with her,” Leon growls out, eyes watching you two. 

Your pussy pulses and clenches around Jack and he groans. 

“Keep talking to’er and she’s gonna fucking cream all over my dick, Leon.”

Your dad grunts, hips losing their rhythm as he pounds into Ashley more roughly. 

“Is that true, sweetheart?”

Eyes rolling back, you squeal behind Jack’s palm as you grow even closer to cumming. 

“Yeah, daddy, you’re g’nna make me cum.”

Leon groans and pulls his cock out, hand tightening around the base so he doesn’t spill too early. 

“Daddy,” Ashley whines high in her throat, “wanna swap.”

Jack and Leon moan almost in unison.

“Swapping sounds good,” Jack grunts, eyes watching his daughter’s tits bounce as Leon fucks into her one last time before pulling out, “c’mon over here, princess, let daddy fill you up.”

Mewling, Ashley crawls forward as Leon grabs your arms to tug you over onto his side.

“Such a hot little cunt,” your dad moans, pushing your thighs up to your chest, “want daddy to split you open, baby?”

“Please, please,” you gasp, eyes rolling back when he smacks his cock down onto your clit, “please, daddy.”

“Fuck,” he bites out, notching the head at your drippy hole before sliding slowly into your snug walls, “fat fucking pussy needs dicked down, huh?”

“Uh huh,” you choke out a whine, “need it so bad.”

Another masculine moan echoes in the air as Ashley squeals. 

“Daddy, s’too deep,” she whimpers, “you’re going to f-fast.”

“But you’re pretty pussy’s taking it so well, princess,” he goads, laughing when he pulls out and bullies his cock back into her soaked cunt, “look at that, my pretty girl’s made for taking her dad’s dick.”

Listening to Jack fuck Ashley sends your arousal spiraling higher. 

“How’s that sweet hole, Leon? Good?” Jack grunts, hips snapping forward to bury himself fully inside his daughter. 

“S’good,” your dad sighs as he slowly thrusts in and out making you clench repeatedly around his fat length, “fuck, better than her mom.”

Jack laughs crudely, “Same here.”

You whimper up at Leon who smiles down at you. 

“My special girl,” he leans forward and kisses you messily, tongue licking into your panting mouth. 

You lose yourself to your dad’s tongue filled kisses as he grinds himself deeper into your cunt, leaking tip kissing your cervix and making you clamp down on him. The loud slap of skin meeting skin fades to white noise as you strain to listen to the little grunts and moans slipping from Leon’s mouth. 

Every now and then the squeals and whines from Ashley or low rumbling grunts from Jack will pull your attention, but it’s few and far between with the way your dad is rearranging your guts. 

“Daddy, ‘m close,” you whisper, tears beading your lash line as he rubs against your g-spot over and over again, “‘m so close.”

 “You’re gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna cream daddy’s cock and show’em how much you love this?” He croons nastily, fingers coming down to press against your clit, “gonna let daddy breed your soft little pussy?”

You head thrashes, hips bucking wildly before he presses down on your waist with his free hand to pin you down on the bed. 

“Tell me, sweetheart,” his voice hardens, “say it.”

“Want daddy to breed me,” you gasp out like it hurts to say, “want you to breed my pussy.”

A throaty groan slips out and he circles your clit with quick firm swipes of his fingers. 

“Of course, baby,” he smiles, all faux sweetness that sticks to your tongue like rotten honey, “daddy only wants to make you happy.”

Your pussy flutters and clenches around him as he continues to tease your swollen clit. Ashley’s moaning has you twisting your body so you can look back at her and Mr. Krauser. Jack has his daughter bent in a full nelson now, cock pistoning up into her cunt as slick drips all down her thighs and his balls. 

“Daddy, feels so good,” her toes curl as her eyes flutter, “love it so much.”

You watch her breasts bounce, nipples hard, while Jack hammers up into her sopping wet hole. She whimpers and tosses her head back against his shoulder and he growls down at her. 

“Looks fun,” Leon whispers against your ear, grabbing your attention back, “wanna try that next? After daddy stuffs your sweet little cunny.”

Body shuddering, the band of arousal tightens a fraction more as he pinches your clit and fucks into your pussy. 

“D-don’t call it that,” you plead, tears slipping from the corner of your eyes.

“Hmm? Don’t like cunny, sweetheart? Only like when I call it your pussy?” He laughs mockingly, “don’t think it matters. I’ll call it what I want since I own it. This is daddy’s little hole.”

More slick gushes around his cock and he laughs harder, hips rabbiting into your squelching heat as you cry, feeling too much but not enough— the need to cum overwhelming in its intensity. 

“The first time, I wanna watch your face as you cum around my cock,” he kisses the apple of your cheek, dichotomic from the harsh way he bullies his cock into your cunt.  

He pulls back to spit on the hood of your clit, fingers smearing it across the pudgy bundle of nerves until you’re keening high in your throat. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you pant, gaze trapped on his, “fuck, daddy, you’re gonna make me cum.” 

A few more grinding thrusts rubbing against the spongy spot at the front of your cunt paired with his slippery fingers on your sensitive clit is enough to push you over the edge, the band of arousal snapping and letting your orgasm overtake your senses. 

“That’s it, squeeze my cock, sweetheart,” he murmurs down at your twitching body, “daddy’s so close to breeding your hot little cunt.”

Your pussy clenches and pulses around his cock as he thrusts forward, never fully leaving your hole until he buries himself balls deep. With a low groan, he pumps his thick load into your cunt, walls milking him as thick spurts of cum fill your pussy until it’s leaking out around his dick. 

“Damn, haven’t nutted that hard in years,” he kisses you sloppily on the lips, “my sweet daughter’s got the kinda pussy that’s made for daddy’s creampies, huh?”

With another low chuckle, he pulls out with a loud squelch, hissing as his half hard cock rests on your mound, smearing creamy spend all over your pussy lips. He presses you down into the bed with his body as he kisses you, biting your bottom lip before drooling a line of spit into your open mouth. 

“Drink up,” he pats your cheek, “daddy likes it when girls swallow.”

Goosebumps break out across your skin, sucking Leon’s tongue into your mouth and swallowing the spit he gives you. Jack’s low groan pulls your dad’s gaze and in turn yours; he has Ashley on her back, cock buried in her pussy as she digs her nails into his shoulders. 

“Cumming, princess,” his hands flex on her thighs as he bucks against her, “take it, take it.”

With a low whine, Ashley scratches down Jack’s chest, “Feel so full, daddy. I’m g’nna cum again.”

Leon continues to kiss down your neck, biting and sucking the skin while you watch Ashley cum on her dad’s dick as he pumps her full of his load. When Jack pulls out, his cock’s covered with a mix of cum and slick, making your own pussy flutter around nothing. Your dad’s hot mouth suckles a hard nipple as he pinches the other making you cry out, drawing the attention of the other two. 

“Round two?” Jack asks, scarred face grinning as he gestures down to his half hard cock. 

Leon hums and raises up to face him, “Sure, but I’m using this little pussy all night.”

“We can swap some other time,” Mr. Krauser grins at him, smacking his cock down onto his daughter’s messy cunt, “I’m happy with this for now.”

Leon grins in return, “Me too.”

divider: @/firefly-graphics

[luxurychristmaspudding]

On Call | On Call

part ii

summary: sometimes, frankie wonders what he'd do without you. without your help, your laughter, your friendship, the lunches you pack him. and sometimes, when he's alone, he wonders what he'd do with you.

pairing: neighbour!frankie x f!babysitter!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. idiots in love, reader is good with kids. reader and frankie are both bi and have same sex exes. if that’s a problem for you, keep scrolling. fluff, plenty smutty thoughts, f&m masturbation. mentions of grief/dead parent, heartbreak, and biphobia/homophobia. brief competency kink, makin' a man some lunch (in a neighbourly way). drinking.

reader is a teacher, has hair, and there are some descriptions of outfits, but she is otherwise a blank slate :)

wc: 13.1k (normal length fic, my ass)

an: eternal love to @schnarfer for being a constant guiding light and the most wonderful friend. and further eternal love to @din-jarring and @toomanytookas who each make every day a little sunnier.

dividers from the glorious @saradika-graphics

She said call me now baby and I'd come a running If you'd call me now baby I'd come running

- on call, kings of leon

series masterlist | main masterlist

When Frankie gets home Thursday night, weeks later, you’re working at his dining table.

He checks his watch as he closes the front door gently behind him, looking back at the glimpse of you in the kitchen, brows furrowed. It’s late. Surely you should be in front of the TV, fighting sleep.

His footsteps are quiet down the hall, and he pauses in the doorway. You glance up at his soft hey, and he can feel how tired you are.

‘Hey, buddy.’

Your smile is quiet, kind. You watch as he moves to the sink, collecting two glasses, filling them with water.

‘How’d it go?’

You say it at the same time, and it breaks some of the stillness, both pairs of lips lifting in mirrored grins. 

‘Good,’ he says, ‘Glad to be home.’

He moves closer and takes a sip from his water, placing yours next to you, gesturing for you to go next.

‘Fine. Totally fine. She was out like a light after the second read. Best kid ever.’

You take a gulp of your water as he raises his eyebrows.

‘Second?’

Mhm.

‘I usually have to do at least four.’

You giggle, fluttering your fingers at him.

‘Magic touch,’ you whisper, ‘Plenty of practice reading kids to sleep.’

He shakes his head at you.

‘That’s not true.’

‘Mm. I’m sure my ninth graders would disagree.’

Frankie rolls his eyes, sitting down heavily next to you. He rubs his face, huffs a deep yawn as he slouches further down into the seat. You try not to stare, but he just looks so soft. You want to wrap him up in a blanket and lead him up to bed. Lay him down and press kisses to his cheeks.

‘She drew this,’ you say, pulling out a sheet of paper from beneath your piles of books. ‘Personally, I think it’s a good likeness.’

He laughs, properly, as he takes in the flourish of crayon across the page. It’s obvious where you’ve helped her - sketching the outlines of people, houses - and obvious where she took over - a mess of scribbles, rainbows of colour. The two houses, the fence, him and Lucia - Papi and me - and then the colourful tangle of you next door - Bug.

He traces the lines with his finger, gaze softening, heart swelling in his chest.

‘She hold you up, doing this?’

You smile at him, shaking your head. You fumble below the books again, pulling out a second sheet.

‘No. Looked so cute I drew one myself.’

You watch Frankie’s eyes light as he takes in your drawing. His and Lucia’s curls, the books under your arm, the oversized caterpillar in the grass. A tidier version of Lucia’s, one where you’re stood closer together. Like a family. 

He bites his lip, a sparkling swell of joy flooding his chest.

‘Masterpiece.’ He says. You shake your head at him, bashful. ‘Wanna put it on my fridge.’

You scoff at him.

‘Put Luc’s on the fridge.’

He holds your drawing away from you, pushing Luc’s over your papers.

‘Put Luc’s on your fridge,’ he says, ‘And I’ll keep this one. Deal?’

You suck your teeth, grinning.

‘Deal.’

He stands from the table, moving further into the kitchen. When he reaches the fridge, he takes an alligator magnet and pins your drawing to the metal. He steps back, folding his arms. You watch him.

‘Perfect.’ He says. You giggle.

‘You’re a soft bastard, Frankie Morales.’

He laughs, turning back to face you. 

‘Don’t tell anyone.’

You hold out your pinky, and he links it with his.

‘Promise.’

The heat from his hand, so close to yours, is almost irresistible. Your chest heats, and you want to pull him closer, see if he’s that warm everywhere. 

You drop his hand, standing on heavy legs. Your I should get going is muffled through a yawn, and he nods, helping you to gather your things. When you’re ready, he follows you to the door. 

This time, he pulls you into his chest. And he is warm, warm all over, and you could sleep here, suddenly, wrapped in his arms.

‘Goodnight, baby.’ he says, as you step out of his house.

He’s warm, and he’s so sweet. Baby, baby, baby running through your head as you make your way across the grass, smiling to yourself, still smiling when you turn on your porch, facing him stood on his own. Half of his body dimly lit by the glow within his house, shadows across his face as he makes sure you unlock the door and turn the light on safely. You raise an arm to him, and he does the same. You turn it into a flash of your middle finger, and he does the same - grinning to himself at the sound of your giggle across the lawn, cut off only as you close your door behind you. Goodnight, baby.

It still echoes in your mind as you’re pulled from the silken depths of sleep on Saturday morning by the whirring of a lawn mower. You huff, grumble, roll onto your back and press your forearm against your eyes. You have no idea what time it is, but you know for sure that it is too early for whatever this shit is.

Through the dim light behind your arm, you grimace. Your toes are a little cold, body achy like it needs to be stretched out. All fixed with more time spent asleep, except the buzz from outside comes louder now, more incessant. You roll yourself sideways, squinting in the sharper light coming from the window, mumbling to yourself as you sit and push up off the mattress. When you shuffle to the window and pull the curtain aside, you’re surprised. Frankie is up and out already - his front lawn cut into neat stripes - and now he’s gliding up and down yours doing the same. T-shirt clinging to his body, arms and neck shining with sweat. Cap on to keep the sun from his eyes, the curls at the base of his neck damp and dripping. He’s a sight.

 And there’s something about the way he does it, how easy he makes it look. The stripes, the handling of the machine. How he changes the oil of your car, how he can change the tire on his. The way he drives, hand at your headrest when reversing. How he lifts Lucia, how he chops and slices while cooking. So goddamn easy, brow barely even knotted, just his thick fingers working through any problem they come across.

Heat stirs in your cunt.

It’s not that you haven’t thought about it. Him. It’s just that doing so feels… weird. You try not to have detailed fantasies about your best friend next door, feeling disingenuous when you call your good mornings, but certain flashes of thoughts just aren’t so easy to ignore. Stupid ones, like licking his skin when he’s covered in grease, him eating you out over the bed of your truck. Stupid ones like him knocking on your door when he’s done with the grass, coming in to find you reaching for something at the perfect angle in a little summer dress. Thoughts like him bending you over the counter and fucking you stupid, sweat mixing on your skin, the smell of grass flooding your head, tits bouncing in his hands.

Idle thoughts. 

Ones that have you flopped back onto your bed, legs spread, one hand between your slick folds as you work yourself. Moaning and gasping into the heat of the morning, brief flashes of Frankie bursting behind your eyelids. The glimpse of skin and coarse hair you’ve seen when he reaches up to lift something, the shy look he gives you from below his lashes. How soft his mouth looks - what it would feel like on yours, what it would feel like to have him whisper against your thighs right now, telling you how pretty you look, watching your hands before he catches them in his and replaces them with his tongue.

It doesn’t take long before you’re cresting in an easy, all-consuming orgasm. Your back arches against the mattress, eyes squeezing shut as your cunt flutters and pulses, fresh slick gushing from between your fingers. Your thighs twitch as your circles ease, heart beat slowing in its thrumming as you swallow and pant. The mower is still whirring outside. He must be nearly done.

Frankie cuts the machine as he trims the very last patch of your grass to a lighter shade of green.

He peels his shirt away from his skin, flapping it in an effort to cool down. The cap comes off next, one hand swiped across his forehead, the other running air through his damp curls.

It’s warm. Unseasonably warm, and if he had any sense he wouldn’t have cut any grass today. But this Saturday suited him, and once he’s done his lawn, he may as well do yours. You don’t accept nearly as much as you should for looking after Lucia, so he’s taken to sneaking in more favours when he can. An oil change, lightbulbs you can’t reach, an Ikea chair you couldn’t find the time to set up. He knows you’ve noticed. Scowling slightly at how you can’t say no, quick to find a way to repay him. It’s become a welcome game of tag over the last six weeks. You won’t be outdone. In fact, if Frankie was a betting man -

‘Gotcha something.’

When he turns his gaze from the street, squinting slightly, he finds you bounding towards him. Barefoot, glowing with the remnants of sleep, and fucking poured into the most sinful sundress he’s ever seen. Like a teenager, he feels his cock twitch in his jeans, and he scolds himself for it.

‘It’s hot out.’ You grin, holding out a tall glass of something clinking with ice. His own answering smile speaks something of his relief, his gratitude.

‘Sure is.’

He takes the glass from you, giving it a sniff. You roll your eyes.

‘It’s lemonade. I’m not trying to poison you.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘Yet, anyway.’

He nods, as though you’ve confirmed what he’s long suspected.

‘’S the thought that counts. I don’t get a straw?’

You smack his bicep with the back of your hand as he takes a sip.

‘Dick,’ you grin, ‘I’ll piss in it next time.’

Frankie’s eyebrows shoot up, but he manages to swallow without spluttering it all over you. He considers for a moment, clearing his throat.

‘Nice piss.’

Your mouth pops open, feigning disgust.

‘I said next time, freak.’

He laughs, flashing you a cheesy wink.

‘You love it really.’

You giggle, spinning on your toes like a schoolgirl. He laughs with you, sipping the lemonade, eyes crinkly and affectionate, tracing your lips, the hem of your skirt.

You look up and down the lawn, impressed with his craft. Quiet satisfaction blooms in Frankie’s gut.

‘Looks great,’ you say, pressing his arm. ‘Thank you. You know, you don’t have to do this.’ 

He shrugs.

‘Was out here anyway. Just helping my favourite neighbour.’

You chuckle.

‘Whatever. But you still don’t have to.’

‘Fine,’ he says, pulling a face. ‘I’ll never, ever do it again. I’ll leave you to mow your own lawn, build your own furniture, set your car on fire…’

‘I’m not that bad,’ you laugh, giddy as you step around him. 

‘Bug,’ he says, fixing you in place with a firm hand on each of your shoulders. ‘Baby. I’m not convinced you even know what a wrench is.’

You gasp, genuinely offended this time, and he laughs.

‘Of course I know what a fucking wrench is, asshole. I’ll give you a fucking wrench.’

He laughs harder, and you reach up to swipe his sweaty cap from his head. Before he can grab at it, you’re off, flying in circles across the lawn. He sets his glass down and chases after you, hands slipping through the fabric of your dress. He’s not looking at the plush flesh of your thighs revealed at each stride. Not noticing the way your chest moves, definitely doesn’t see a peek of your ass as you whirl in front of him. He doesn’t, he didn’t, he didn’t. Certainly not on purpose. 

He blames the heat, his earlier exertion for why he can’t catch you. Can’t even try to grab you when you zoom by and scoop up his empty glass, when you round the curve of his fence and wait for him to follow you. He’s barely jogging now, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily. He’s almost at you, cap almost within reach, and then you plant the hand with it in on one of the pickets of the fence, jump, and swing your legs over.

‘That is playing so fucking dirty!’ He pouts, and you cackle at him. 

If there’s one thing you’ve mastered over the last year, it’s hopping the dividing fence. If there's one thing Frankie swears he will not do, it’s swing himself over. Something about his joints, something about his back. Yada, yada as far as you’re concerned.

‘What’d they teach you in Delta Force?’ You tease, ‘Surely it can’t have been any harder than that.’

He flips you off, hands on his knees.

‘You learn to do that in college? How many fences were you jumping?’

You throw his cap to him, waggling your eyebrows.

‘Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy.’

‘Weather boy?’ He wheezes, shaking his head. ‘Not even gonna ask. Christ, you make me feel old.’

You snicker at him again, hopping from foot to foot. He holds out his empty hand.

‘Good game.’

You step forwards, full of faux-graciousness. You take his hand, opening your mouth to snipe something back, but he’s pulling you in too fast for you to process.

And god, he’s wet. Slimy and gross and warm -

‘Get off me, Frankie!’ You howl, and he chuckles, nuzzling his soaked cheek against your forehead.

‘Come over for dinner tonight,’ he says as you squirm in his arms, ‘We’re making pizza.’

You jerk yourself free, and he lets you go, so fucking pleased with himself. You shake your limbs out, trying to erase the sweaty feeling of him.

‘Only if you have a shower first. You fucking stink, dude.’

He begins to back towards his house, and you do the same.

‘I’ll have a shower,’ he says, ‘If you bring a wrench.’

You snort at the bottom of your porch steps.

‘Fuck you, Fish. I ain’t bringing a wrench. And get your goddamn mower off my grass.’

He giggles, a boyish sound so unlike the burly man it comes from. It makes you giggle, too. 

‘See you later, Bug.’

‘If you’re lucky, Morales!’

You never do produce a wrench, but Frankie is always thrilled by the other magic tricks you have up your sleeve. He looks forward to the surprise when he comes home from flying - whole Lego cities in his living room, wonky origami in the kitchen, hama beads you’ve dug up from God knows where. The hama beads, he decides, he could live without. He found one in his sock the other day. 

He’s home from work earlier than he thought he'd be tonight. Lucia tucked up in bed, he’d tiptoed upstairs to crack her bedroom door open, watching the rise and fall of her back before stepping in and pressing a kiss to her plump, toasty cheek.

He’s just finishing making coffee when he glances across the kitchen to a mixing bowl that hadn’t been out this morning. Curious as the coffee brews, he moves closer to the pale blob inside, and pulls back the clingwrap. He sniffs the dough-like mass, but comes up empty for clues. 

He pokes a finger into it, grimacing at the damp sponginess before covering it again and wiping the digit on his jeans. He pours the coffee, adding creamer and sugar, before shouting over his shoulder.

‘Bug,’ he calls, ‘Were you making bread today?’

‘What?’ he hears you answer from the living room, and he smiles as he carries the coffee through to you.

‘I said, were you making bread?’

You’re still where he left you, tucked up on the sofa. You reach for the mug he offers with greedy hands, and he laughs.

‘Bread?’ you ask, taking it, brow furrowing before the confusion clears and you beam up at him. ‘Oh! No. I made playdough.’

‘Made playdough?’ He says, plopping down beside you.

‘Hell yeah, baby. Easy as fuck. Do you know it’s edible?’

‘Edible? You feeding my daughter playdough?’

You roll your eyes.

‘Obviously not. You’re a regular comedian, you know that?’

He chuckles into his coffee, blowing at the steam.

‘Did she eat it anyway?’

‘Not while I was looking.’

He hums at your answer, swinging your legs onto his lap and squeezing your calf.

‘What you watching?’ he asks. You shrug.

‘Some movie. This guy’s a detective tryna take down a drug ring. She,’ you say, flapping a pointed finger at the screen, ‘Is like, a burlesque dancer who’s actually an undercover agent, and he just found out. He’s feeling some type of way about it because he thought he was saving her from some kind of terrible fate, but it turns out she’s totally fine and is actually saving his ass.’

Frankie grins at you, and when you turn your head and catch his eye, you grin back.

‘What?’

‘Nothin’.’

You snort at him. He turns his attention back to the TV.

‘What’s the deal with the monkey?’

You jiggle your legs in his lap in excitement.

‘Oh! You’ll love this. He’s the gang leader. Everyone understands what he’s saying apart from the detective and this one guy who thinks he’s having the worst trip of his life.’

He belly laughs this time, tipping his head against the back of the couch, and you watch, eyes sparkling, as the hoots of laughter leave his mouth. You lean forward and smack his arm, giggling too.

‘Shh, you’ll wake Luc up.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he splutters, still snickering, ‘I’m sorry. Oh my god. If there was ever a movie written for you, it’d be this one.’

You gasp.

‘I know. It’s insane. And the soundtrack is amazing. So many cool songs. And -’ you pause, waiting for the actress to pop back up on screen, ‘She wrote some for it. Can’t remember what her name is right now, but she’s in a band in real life.’

Frankie watches as the woman welcomes the detective into her dark apartment - pin boards full of pictures and maps, a wall that falls away to reveal all kinds of hidden weapons. She turns to face the other actor, and Frankie cocks his head.

‘She kinda looks like you,’ he says, and you make a noncommittal noise. ‘Sure you don’t have a long-lost sister?’

You chuckle, and the camera pans back to the man.

‘I don’t think so. But he looks like you. Just - maybe… a few years older.’

He drops his jaw, staring at you.

‘Just a few?’

You snort.

‘Yeah, Fish. Don’t worry. Old age comes for us all.’

He makes a hurt noise, fingers scrabbling for the bottom of your feet, and you shriek, holding your coffee far away from you as he tickles.

‘Stop!’ you cry, ‘Stop! Okay, I’m sorry! You’re so much younger than him. You barely even look thirty.’

‘Barely - even - thirty -’ he laughs, wrestling with you as he tries to stop from spilling his own drink. ‘Not only did you call me old, you’re a liar, too.’ he stops only briefly to put his coffee down, and you manage to do the same before he launches at you with renewed vigour. His hands are all over you now, finding any sensitive spot he can. You grab and dig your nails into his arms, kicking your legs against his lap, planting a foot against his belly to hold him away.

You speak only in squeaks, hacking coughs and muffled laughter. There’s a pressure building in your bladder, and it only makes your movements more desperate, more uncoordinated. You’re begging, pleading, almost in tears through your yelping, and then your heel digs lower than it should. Frankie’s movements cease as he doubles over your legs, grunting out a pained noise as you whip your feet away from him.

‘My - fuckin’ - balls.’ He gasps.

You try to suck your laughter back through your teeth, but it’s futile. You lean forwards towards him, your palm firm on his back.

‘I’m sorry,’ you wheeze, ‘God, I really - I swear I didn’t mean to do that.’

‘Oh, fuck off,’ he groans, cradling his crotch, ‘There was feeling behind it.’

You snort, pulling his shoulder back so he relaxes into the couch.

‘Come on. It was barely a tap. Lucia could still have a brother or sister.’

He groans anew.

‘I’m in no fit shape for any of that now.’

You giggle and pout at him.

‘Aw. Want me to kiss it better?’

The flush that reddens Frankie’s face is almost immediate, the same heat flashing through your cheeks. Your mouth works to find some kind of joke, something to take it back with, but you flounder. 

‘Keep dreamin’, bug.’

A ha! escapes your lips, and Frankie manages a bashful smile, a shake of his head. But your heart is lumbering in your chest, stomach gooey, and the tips of his ears are glowing. 

He’s not thinking about it. He’s not.

And neither are you.

So he says something stupid about the monkey, and you say something stupid back. Layers on layers of silliness until the giggles return and the nerves are tucked away.

You love this kid. You really do. But it’s been a shitty fucking day.

You’ve not cried in the staff toilets since your training, but today every vibe was off, as the kids say. You’d been about ready to head home, forget about any work you needed to do, pull on your pyjamas and crawl into bed. Instead, you’re trying to blink back stupid tears on your way to the elementary school across town.

You’re not mad at Frankie, not even upset. When he’d called to say there’d been a fire at work and he needed to stay to provide first aid, your stomach had dropped through the floor. Your are you okay? felt clumsy, rushed, pushed against his panicked panting through the line. But he was just as quick to reassure you - he wasn’t even close, but one guy had burns and they might need him to cover the last flight out.

And it wasn’t a problem - isn’t a problem. You love spending time with Lucia, want to be as much help as possible, but man. You just wish it wasn’t today.

When you pull up to the school gates, Lucia is waiting for you. Her tiny backpack clutched in her fists, bright smile as she chatters away to her teacher stood beside her. Miss Lopez, Frankie had texted you, just in case.

The car door is barely open before the curly-haired whirlwind is launching herself in your direction with an excited squeal, crashing into your legs. You laugh, squeezing her shoulders before dropping down to her level. 

‘Hey, baby bean!’

‘Papi said you’d come!’ She beams as you stroke her hair back from her face.

‘He sure did. You gonna come and hang out with me ‘til he gets home?’

She nods like her head’s on springs, and over her shoulder you look to Miss Lopez. She has the sweetest face, a lovely smile. You straighten out and offer her your hand. She takes it, palm soft and dry.

‘Sorry I’m late.’ You offer, and she shakes her head.

‘Not at all. You must be Mrs Morales.’ She says.

You choke on a laugh.

‘Oh - I - I’m not, actually. Family friend.’

Miss Lopez claps a hand to her forehead, grimacing.

‘Of course,’ she says, ‘The office did tell me. I’m so sorry. It’s just been one of those days.’

You chuckle, feeling Luc link her fingers with yours.

‘I know the feeling.’ You smile, and she smiles back. Miss Lopez crouches to Luc's level and gives her a gentle boop on the nose.

‘Be good, be safe.’ She says, and Lucia giggles, starting to pull you back to your car. Her teacher waves to you. ‘See you soon!’

You make sure to return it, ushering Luc to the car.

When she’s buckled in, she gently tugs the chain of your necklace.

‘I missed you.’ She says, eyes wide and earnest. Heat pricks behind your eyes again.

‘Missed you too, bean.’

It’s been a shitty fucking day, so you make cookies. 

It’s easy to do, and mostly for you, but Luc is fucking delighted. You make sure to dig out her little chef’s hat, and she whizzes around the lower cupboards grabbing a mixing bowl for you. She loves it, more than anything. She’s a star with shaping, mixing, tasting. On the same page as you about eating the dough, and very content to sit by the oven door to watch them melt and bake in front of her. Easy entertainment, and she’s in your sights as you grade your essays at Frankie's kitchen table. 

You know you’re not being fun. Not mustering the same kind of sunshine you usually do so effortlessly for her, not that she seems to notice. You try to keep a smile going when the cookies are done, packing a small box of them into your bag and eating two each before dinner. She might not finish the whole meal, but she looks at you like you hung the moon.

When you settle down to watch Frozen again later, her head starts to bob half an hour in. You let her fall asleep cuddled up next to you, and when another half hour passes, you extract yourself, gather her tiny body in your arms, and carry her to bed. 

You set her down gently, pull the covers up to her chin, and watch her snuggle down in the blankets, nuzzling into their softness. You feel so weak, so goddamn tired, so disappointed in yourself for not playing like you usually do, for not encouraging her to sing and dance with you, for not reading her her usual bedtime story. It’s important for development at her age, a nasty little voice reminds you, and it just feels like something else you’ve failed at. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, turn on her nightlight, and lean down to kiss her cheek. Her skin is so warm, so soft. You gently swipe the curls from her face.

‘Night night, little love.’

You’re still marking your essays when Frankie comes home. 

You know you shouldn’t be. You know you should have curled up on the sofa or in the guest room like he’s told you to before. Know you should be asleep, barely managing to keep your eyes open, but you feel so fucking miserable, and you’ll be damned if Frankie comes home to you crying wrapped in his duvet.

Your coffee is cold, and a sip of its chill only serves to spark irritation in your stomach. You begin gulping it down, wishing it gone, before spilling some on the sheet of paper in front of you. You curse quietly just as you hear his keys in the door, dabbing at the blotch on the page as he toes off his boots in the hall. Your pressing only seems to be making it worse, little flakes of paper coming off on your sleeve as he enters the kitchen. 

‘Hey,’ he says quietly, ‘I thought you’d be asleep.’

You give up, leaning back in your chair to look at him. 

‘How’d it go?’ You ask, throat tight.

He shrugs. 

‘Okay. Dylan has some burns and Eddie is pretty shaken up, but they’ll both be okay. Ended up taking Dylan’s last flight.’ 

You take a deep breath. 

‘I’m sorry, Fish.’

‘Why? You didn’t set fire to it.’

You know it’s one of his usual quips. You know he’s not trying to be smart, not trying to rile you up. But you can feel it happening, all the same. 

‘Are you okay?’

He looks at you, assessing. It’s not like you to not snipe something back, not like you to not take the joke further. 

‘I’m fine. Just took me by surprise, that’s all. I’ve seen worse.’

You nod. He frowns. He doesn’t like it when you’re quiet. 

‘Sorry I was gone so long.’

It hangs in the air for a moment. You clench your teeth, frustrated at yourself for the undeserved irritation. 

‘You were at work. ‘S not a problem.’

He’s staring at you. You can feel it as you lean forwards again, pen in your hand. The words in front of you blur. 

‘Whatcha reading?’

You should go. You should really pack up before this ridiculous anger bubbles over. It’s not Frankie who deserves it, not the kids who deserve it. You should sleep on it, get some perspective. Fuck, do some mindfulness or something. 

Frankie drums his fingers on the wood when you make no reply, and you glower at him as he moves around the table, eyes fixed on your pile of marked essays. He thumbs the corners, and you bristle.

‘Oof,’ he says, picking up the last paper you graded. ‘F for Fail?’

‘No,’ you bite, ‘F for fuck off, Frankie.’

His eyes flick to yours, surprised, and he’s greeted with a wall of fury which he’s never seen before. It shocks him enough to put him on the back foot. Show his belly. He whistles lowly, dropping the paper back onto the pile, and is rewarded with something akin to the gnashing of teeth. The pieces slot together in his head. The bags under your eyes. How short you’re being. 

‘Okay,’ he says, ‘I think that’s enough for tonight.’

‘Don’t patronise me.’ You hiss, and it’s like you’re an open book for him to read. The flame in your stomach roars to life at the look he gives you. You need to take a nap.

He pulls the rest of the papers away from you, and you try to claw them back, outraged. He grabs your hands, holding them away from your work, and your wrists twist in his grip.

‘Frankie,’ you seethe, ‘Let me go. I’m not fucking around.’ 

But he doesn’t. He’s seen you worked up before, knows you better than you think. Knows this isn’t just the result of a few bad essays, knows this is because of something more. Knows how to make you feel better. ‘Francisco Morales,’ you start, ‘Get your fucking hands off me -’ 

He tightens his fingers again and tugs you up off the chair. It squeaks across the floor as you stand. Something about your attitude sparks a flame south of Frankie’s stomach, and he swallows sharply. Nothing a good hard fuck couldn’t fix, and he blinks at himself, surprised. He drops your hands. Where the fuck did that come from?

‘Get off -’ you growl, and he points at you.

‘Sit your ass on the couch. I’ll be there in a minute.’

You set your jaw and glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. He watches as your mouth twists into a scowl before you turn on your heel and stomp through to the living room.

He takes his cap off, scrubbing a hand through his hair and exhaling through his nose before adjusting himself in his jeans. He tidies your papers, puts pens and markers back into your pencil case, closes your laptop, packs your bag. Moves to the cupboard for two mugs, busying himself with tea and coffee as he tries to push thoughts of your furious eyes from his mind. How he could kiss the frown from your forehead, the scowl from your lips, how he could take you apart with his mouth, his cock, make you forget, make you feel better -

When he steps into the living room, you’re sat with your back to him, crowded into a corner of the couch. He places your tea on the table behind you, and his coffee on the other at his end. He lowers himself onto the cushions, relaxing against the leather, watching you. Your shoulders are almost up to your ears, fingers picking at the skin around your nails, eyes on your lap. He waits, chewing his cheek, hands twitching at the way your nails dig into skin.

‘I’m sorry for snapping at you.’

Your voice is small, quiet. He rubs his eyes and sighs.

‘It’s okay, baby. I know you didn’t mean it,’ he pauses. ‘I’m sorry for - manhandling you.’

You huff a breath through your nose, scratch at your knuckle. Frankie feels the worried pit in his stomach start to yawn.

‘Bug,’ he says, softly, ‘Talk to me.’

You wipe your hands over your thighs, and Frankie wonders whether it’s him. Something he’s said or done. He knows he’s not been looking hard enough for another sitter - maybe you’ve just had enough. His gut twists.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing - just. A bad day, is all.’

Too fast. He can feel his eyebrows lift.

‘Because of the tests?’

You shake your head.

‘All of it. The whole day was wrong.’

Frankie waits again, resisting the urge to move closer to you. You need a moment, though everything in his body wants you near right now. The scratching at your knuckle is incessant, and Frankie observes the movement with his own growing anxiety. You clear your throat.

‘All my lessons were shit. Everything was shit. I forgot reports and data drops, and the kids wouldn’t shut the fuck up, and I yelled at my favourite class, and almost everyone in my tenth grade group failed their assignment, and I just - couldn’t smile enough, wasn’t good enough for Lucia, and I’m so tired,’ you rush out, pressure building behind your eyes and at the back of your throat. ‘I’m tired, Frankie.’ You whisper.

He’s nodding, hands clasping and unclasping over his lap. 

‘Bug, baby,’ he says, so gentle, ‘Please don’t worry about Luc. Don’t ever worry about not being good enough. You know she thinks the sun shines out your ass,’ he pauses, but there’s no giggle. ‘And I bet your lessons weren’t shit. You had a bad day - that’s all. That does not make them shit.’ He can see your head quirk minutely, hear the thought as though you’d spoken it aloud. Wrong. He keeps going. ‘And things get forgotten, but they’ll get done. Did anyone say anything?’

You shake your head.

‘No. Helen just said they need to be done as soon as possible.’

‘So no one was upset? No one yelled?’

You shake your head again.

‘So it’s fine. You won’t be the only one, bug. And kids never shut the fuck up. It’s annoying as fuck. You know how long I’d last in that classroom?’

‘Five minutes?’ You say, a tiny curl of amusement in your words.

‘Twenty fucking seconds. You’re a saint.’

He hears it, though faint. A small huh of a laugh. He continues, smiling a little.

‘And fuck the tenth graders. If they shut the fuck up, they’d have done it properly. They wouldn’t have fucked it up. They wouldn’t be making my best pal upset, here on my couch.’

You breathe out, shoulders sagging.

‘Maybe they found it hard, though. Maybe I didn’t do a good enough job of explaining it all -’

‘Ah,’ Frankie interrupts, ‘Maybe. But were they concentrating when you explained it? Or were they talking football teams and weekend plans?’

The scratching stops. Frankie counts the seconds by the tick of his heart beat as you pop your knuckles and sigh again. You still haven’t looked at him. 

You suck air through your teeth.

‘Football teams and weekend plans. But they still - the results are awful, Frankie. They’re gonna think I can’t do my job.’

‘They’re not gonna think that. They’re not. This is one bad day, one bad result. You’re doing all you can. But you can only do so much, bug. Today was just not your day.’

Your body is vibrating with tension. You link your fingers together, watching the way the skin shifts between the joints.

‘It just - it wouldn’t be so hard if they fucking listened to me,’ you say, still quiet, but angry again now. Upset in a way that makes Frankie’s chest swell. ‘And then I get to thinking - maybe it is me. Maybe I’m just shit at my job and nobody’s bothered to tell me yet -’

‘Enough. You’re not doing this. Of course someone would have told you. Bug, they’re kids. They don’t even listen to their parents when they’re told to defrost the chicken when they get home from school. You’re not doing anything wrong.’

In the low light, Frankie can see you bite your lip, chin wobbling.

‘Hey,’ he says, softly. ‘Hey. Don’t cry. If anyone should be crying, it’s them. You’re doing your best. The least they could do is meet you halfway.’

‘But it’s my job, Frankie. And I care.’

‘I know you do, baby,’ he says, finally leaning forward, squeezing your thigh, ‘I know you do. So - what can we do? You’re tired. Lots of sleep. Long lie in on the weekend. But there’ll be lots of things you can do to turn things around. What can you do for tenth grade?’

You look up, finally. He gets a glimpse of your eyes, panicked, worried, before you turn them away again. You swallow, nod.

‘I guess I could… break it down for them. When I give their marks back. We could write an answer together. And Lucy showed me a really good feedback grid I can print for them all so they know what to work on.’ 

‘Good. That’s good. Make ‘em write it again?’

You twist your fingers.

‘Yeah. I guess so. There’s time. And they could do with the practice.’

Frankie squeezes your thigh again, stroking his thumb against your pants. You huff.

‘There. See? Already fixin’ it. Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy.’

You quirk your head.

‘You’d think. More like - fuckin’ - difficult, difficult, lemon difficult.’

A slow smile spreads across his lips, despite himself. And when you look up, catch it, you fight to keep your mouth from doing the same.

‘You can laugh, bug,’ he says, ‘That was funny.’

A small giggle floats from between your lips, but it’s still watery. He can taste the salt in the air.

‘What else?’ he says.

You shake your head, retreating back into yourself again.

‘Bug?’

Your eyes are back down on your hands, fingers twisting, twisting, twisting.

Frankie holds his breath, heart aching in his chest. He can feel it radiating off of you, something deeper, painful.

‘I just - it made me think maybe I’m not cut out for it. Maybe I’m not as good as I hoped I’d be, and -’ you cut yourself off, throat tight. You swallow, and Frankie leans towards you. One of his huge hands reaches out to yours, and he gently pries his fingers between your palms, thumb stroking over your knuckles. The tears come without you realising, hot and quick, so many of them you’re startled. ‘And maybe - not as good as dad said I would be.’ You shrug again, wounded, vulnerable. Frankie shifts, the arm closest to you wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest. Your voice catches, fear and guilt straining against sound. ‘That was the worst part. I felt like I was letting him down.’

‘Letting him down?’ He says into your hair. You feel his lips against your scalp as he speaks. ‘My god, bug. How could you ever think that?’ He squeezes you tighter, and you fight the sobs clawing up your throat. ‘Every day, you go in there and you kill it. No one in that school has ever said a bad thing against you. And you come home with notes, drawings, emails from kids and staff and parents who tell you that you’re making a difference. That you’re helping them learn, you’re making them feel safe, feel like they’re worth the time you give them. Do you know how special that is? Do you know how many of those kids come to you for that?’

A broken noise escapes your mouth, and Frankie begins to rock you gently. 

‘I’m proud of you,’ he says, ‘And I know if I’m proud of you, your dad is watching you with his heart about to burst. You could never let him down. Look at you. You are so special.’

You hiccup against him, and Frankie nuzzles his face into your hair. Your tears are hot, damp through his t-shirt, but you can’t stop. You hold to his arms, breathing him in as holds you close. Your legs are going numb, head aching, and you don’t know how long you sit there like that with him holding you. He soothes you with quiet whispers, waves rushing in and out, and once your breathing is back to normal you pull away from him with a great sniff. You laugh at yourself, wiping at your face. He smiles gently back, little crow's feet ceasing the corners of his eyes. 

‘You okay?’ He asks. 

You nod. 

‘Yeah. Just gross. Need to blow my nose.’

He shakes his head at you. 

‘You’re never gross.’

You roll your eyes at him, and he chuckles. 

‘There she is.’ 

You shift on the sofa, stretching and popping your joints before hauling yourself up to go to the bathroom. 

‘Do you want anything?’ You ask shyly. He shakes his head. 

‘Nope. Take your time.’

You shut the door quietly behind you in the bathroom, stepping to press your head against the cool tile. You try to empty your mind, but your chest is heavy. Everything that Frankie said, everything that was so easy to share with him. You’d thanked your lucky stars many a time over the last year that he’d bounded out his front door the evening you’d moved in, but now there was something more to it. You roll your head against the cool ceramic and press your fists to your chest. Your dad was a man who believed in fate, in things happening for a reason. Here, in the quiet calm of Frankie’s house, you have a feeling that he pulled some strings. That he knew who you’d need. 

Lips almost pressed to the tile, you whisper to him. 

‘Thanks, dad.’

The words hang in the air, slung out the universe, met with warm silence. Your throat tightens again, and if you close your eyes tight, you’d swear he was at your shoulder. Like you could turn around and he’d be there. 

When the tightness passes, you inhale deeply and turn to the sink. You splash your face with cold water, blow your nose, and make your way back to Frankie. 

He’s right where you left him, the TV on quietly. You flop down into your usual position, and he makes motions for you. You swing your legs onto his lap, and he runs his hands up your shins. Gentle, tender care again. You tip your head back and speak to the ceiling. 

‘Thank you.’

He’s quiet for a moment. 

‘You don’t need to thank me, bug.’

You make a noise of dissent. 

‘You should know. You should know how much I appreciate you. How much I love you.’

You blink at the lights and shadows above you. How easily that slipped off your tongue. It’s never been difficult for you to tell your friends you love them. Hell, you even said it to the lady who served you at the store the other day. But something about saying it to Frankie feels… different. 

Your breath gets caught in your chest, and then Frankie’s thumbs dig into the flesh of your calves. 

‘Love you too, bug.’

You inflate your lungs at the same time as he kneads a particularly tense spot on your leg, and you loose a quiet groan. You’re not sure if you imagine the minute pause of Frankie’s hands before he thumbs the same spot again. 

‘Fuck.’ You hiss. 

This time, he does pause. He pauses and prays you don’t feel the way his cock twitched. 

‘Does that hurt?’

You pull your head back up and find him watching you with dark eyes. 

‘No,’ you say quietly, ‘Not really.’

He nods, studying your face at the next pass of his fingers. Your wince at the tension, but the relief that follows makes your eyes close. This time, he runs his knuckles over your muscles, and you bite your lip, eyes flickering open to meet his. You sigh. 

‘That good?’ He asks. 

You can’t say anything, nothing that wouldn’t betray the flood of warmth sparking in your cunt. 

Mhm. 

He nods, kneading further down your leg. Your head flops backwards again, lip clamped between your teeth, brow furrowed as you will your body not to betray you. You almost have it, almost, fingers flexing against the couch cushions, until he presses his thumbs into the arch of your foot and you moan. You fucking moan. 

You freeze, teeth releasing your lip as you gasp, but he keeps going. Running his thumbs over and over the sore muscles as you let out quiet little gasps, squirming against the couch, soaking your panties. 

‘Jesus Christ, Frankie.’

‘Relax,’ he says, ‘You’re fine.’

You are not fine. Every synapse in your body is firing, every nerve ending alight. You begin to panic, begin to wonder whether you could come from a foot massage alone. Your eyes find his face again, and he turns his head slowly to look back at you, digging firmly into a particularly sore spot. You whine, more pain than pleasure this time, and he presses harder. Hot hurt shoots up your spine, and you whip your foot away from him, breathing heavily. Like dawn breaking, Frankie’s face clears.

‘Fuck,’ he rasps, ‘Sorry, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?’

You wince, flexing your foot against the carpet. 

‘’S okay,’ you murmur, trying not to pant, ‘Just a little too deep.’

You can’t look at him. You’re so sure that this man does everything from the good of his heart, with the express intention of making you feel better, but you can’t ignore how your body is buzzing. He can’t possibly know how turned on you are right now. Just a friend comforting a friend. Just a friend. Jesus Christ.

You glance at your watch and curse, all but leaping off the sofa. Frankie stares after you, panicked.

‘Bug -’

You whirl around to smile at him, realising just how wet you are with your thighs pressed together.

‘It’s fine. You didn’t hurt me. I should just - I should really get going.’

He hasn’t moved from the couch, hands crossed in his lap like he’s afraid to move.

‘I’m sorry.’ He whispers. 

‘Don’t be,’ you say - too brightly, too quickly. ‘Don’t be. I - thank you. For everything. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

And you’re gone. Bag grabbed, barefoot, shoes in hand, flying out the front door, across your lawns, into your own house. Dumping the shoes and peeling off your clothes in the safety of your bedroom. You flick the bedside lamp on and yank open your bedside draw, rummaging around for your vibrator, pressing it to your throbbing clit before you’re even on your bed. 

Your body jerks at the sensation, knees giving out as you moan, long and loud, free hand fisting the sheets as you rock back and forth on your hands and knees. Something clatters through your mind, something confusing and guilty, some mix of emotions that stirs in your chest and in your gut, something that tells you you shouldn’t be doing this - again. Shouldn’t be this close to coming already, shouldn’t be so wet, shouldn’t be shaking this hard. Shouldn’t be moaning so loud, so desperately, shouldn’t be thinking of the way Frankie’s dark eyes bored into yours, the way he worked his fingers over your sore muscles, how he’d held you there so you couldn’t escape. What he’d think of you dripping all over his couch from just touching you through clothes. 

You tilt your ass up further, resting your forehead on your arm, feeling sweat gather on your hairline. In your mind, Frankie’s hands are climbing up further than they were before, kneading up your thighs, squeezing and rubbing, all the way until his thumb grazes the edge of your panties. You can imagine how his eyes would get darker as he felt the slick there, so wet it made the closest press of your thighs damp through the fabric. How you’d hold your breath and his gaze as he slipped two fingers beneath the gusset, how he’d sweep them through the wetness there, just spreading it, teasing, enjoying how wet and ready for him you were before slipping both digits inside, easy, so easy -

You clench your teeth against the cry that seeks to force its way past your lips, breath stuttering in your lungs as your body seizes and pulls, cunt clenching and pulsing with your orgasm. Your head slips off your forearm onto the sheets and you curse quietly, betrayed by how easy it had been to come. 

You stand on shaky legs, turning the vibrator off with a click before leaving it on the duvet. You kneel and survey your room, the unread books, the pile of laundry, the freshly ironed shirt ready to wear tomorrow. The window across from you, bare of curtains, looking straight through to - fuck. For fuck’s sake.

Frankie’s bathroom light is on across the dark expanse of midnight grass. You freeze, naked, terrified for a moment that you will see him step into frame and catch you red handed. As if he’d know. As if he’d be able to tell, just from the look on your face, that you’d come so quickly, so easily, to the thought of him slipping his hand beneath your panties. 

But he doesn’t. With an arm over your chest, you whip the curtains over the gaping glass, and get ready for bed. 

Frankie can taste blood.

He barely even registers it, lip clamped between his teeth as he fists his dripping cock in the bathroom mirror. 

He’d sat for a few minutes on the couch after you’d left, trying to will his arousal away, terrified you might have forgotten something and come flying back through the door. Terrified Lucia might be rattled awake and find him to ask what the noise was about. 

When neither had happened, he’d unzipped his fly to relieve some of the aching pressure. He’d turned off the TV and all the lights, something swelling in his chest at the sight of the plate of cookies on the counter, piled high, and hauled his ass upstairs. The movement had made it worse. 

The friction against his cock at every step of his tired feet made him ache fiercely, and he’d forgone his bed, heading straight to the en-suite, where he’d  whipped his t-shirt off and pulled himself out. 

He’s trying to be quiet. Trying so hard as he draws his fist over his tip, spreading the precum down his length, as he twists and tightens his hand. His heart is racing, body thrumming with desire. He’s trying not to think of them, but those sweet, desperate little sounds you made are flooding his mind. He’s fucked. So fucked. 

And he’s weak. 

Weak at the knees at the thought of you laid out on his couch. At the thought of his hands drifting higher, at maybe finding your panties soaked. With his eyes closed, he can imagine your face - shocked, desperate, aching for him the way he is for you. He’d swipe his fingers along your slick slit, and he’d taste them - fuck, he’d give anything to know what you taste like. And when you begged, he’d strip you down and spread you out. He’d lower himself between your legs and kiss every inch of skin he could find. He’d breathe in the scent of you, nose the crease between your thigh and cunt, and he’d eat you. He wants to know what other sounds you make as he takes you apart, wants to lick you from your hole to your clit. Wants to hold you down as you squirm, wants his fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet. And he wants to make you come. Wants to drink you down as he feels you twitch and pulse beneath him, and then he wants to fill you with his cock. 

He tightens his fist again, barely muffling his groan. He wants to feel you stretched out, gasping as he pushes in. Wants to lean his forehead against yours as he whispers how beautiful you are, how good you’re being, letting him take care of you like this. Wants to see you cry for a different reason, wants to taste the salt on your skin and know it’s him who’s making you feel this good, that it’s only him who can fuck you like this.  

Wants to make you his, wants to feel you come around him, watch your eyes roll into the back of your head - 

He moans as he spills into his fist, cock kicking and jerking with every spurt of milky release that escapes him. Blood roars in his ears and he strokes himself until he whimpers at the sensitivity, panting hotly. 

His mouth is bloody and raw in the glass, eyes wide and guilty. He turns from his reflection in shame, ripping toilet paper and cleaning himself gently, trying not to think of your hands, your mouth, how you might look with his spend leaking from between your legs. 

He throws the paper in the toilet, tucking himself in and pushing the lever. 

He turns after flushing the evidence of his fantasies away, and is fixed with the disapproving eyes of the Star Wars duck on the edge of the bathtub. He pulls a face at it and flips it off.

‘Don’t look at me like that. I bet you do it when she’s not watching, too.’ He says, pointing to the sparkly gold one beside it. 

The duck glares back at him, accusatory, and he sticks his tongue out at it as he swings the door open, flicking off the light before stepping out. He closes the door firmly behind him, and leaves the ducks to their domestic.

Frankie snoozes his alarm the next morning, eyelids fluttering against his pillow as he wraps his arms around his tangle of duvet. He’s warm, limbs languid, still in the haze of a sweet dream, a familiar scent hiding behind the edges of sleep. 

He���s almost passed out again when he jerks awake, adrenaline flashing through his veins as he stumbles out of bed and into Lucia’s room. She’s asleep still, groggy as he gently stirs her, mumbling into her teddy about not wanting to go to school. And despite his best efforts, they’re both sluggish, slow, running late as he dresses her and then himself, as he makes breakfast, as he packs her bag, as he reaches into the refrigerator to grab her lunch - 

Shit. Her lunch. 

He throws a frantic glance at the clock, muttering a fuck too quiet for his daughter to hear as she waits behind him with her shoes, ready for him to put them on. He turns and kneels in front of her, placing one foot on his thigh so he can finish getting her ready. He makes a calculation that includes stopping to get her something from the store on the way to school, but there’s just not enough time -

He whips the door open so quickly it startles you, your hand flying from where it was about to knock. Your stomach is churning, heat crawling up your spine with how fucking weird you must have been last night. 

Frankie looks just as surprised to see you as you are him. 

‘Bug?’ He says, paused in the doorway with Lucia hitched on his hip. 

‘Bug!’ She crows, delighted with the early morning visit, oblivious to her father’s rush. You beam back at her, greeting her with a mornin’, mini Morales, before looking back at Frankie. Something in his chest goes gooey. 

‘I made lunch for you both,’ you say shyly, quickly. Frankie’s eyes drop to the two bags you have held out. ‘I didn’t think you’d have time last night. And I wanted to apologise. I didn’t mean to give you shi- a hard time when you got home. And I’m sorry I ran out so fast.’

Frankie sucks a breath through his teeth, heart rate settling. 

‘You’re a goddamn angel,’ he says, ‘You know that?’

You chuckle a little, looking down at your feet. His heart swoops, and he knows he shouldn’t, knows he won’t, but he wants to ask. 

He wants to ask you why you flew out the way you did. Wants to know why your bedroom light was on so late. Wants to know if there’s some wild possibility you were caught up the same way he was. But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he pulls you in for a one armed hug, and with all the gratefulness he can muster, says -

‘Thank you, baby. Luc, what do you say?’

Lucia grins at you with all her teeth. 

‘Thank you, bug.’

You giggle. 

‘I packed you extra cookies.’ You whisper conspiratorially, and Luc claps her tiny hands. 

You smile up at her, and she reaches out for the bags. You make sure she’s got them handled before turning your smile to Frankie, and he’s sure his heart stops. There’s worry in your eyes still, and it takes everything in him to not swipe a thumb along your cheek, to not press the fullness of his mouth against yours. 

‘We’re going to the beach on Sunday,’ he says, ‘Do you wanna come?’

Your smile brightens, widens. Relief washes over your features. 

‘Please!’ Lucia joins, ‘Pleasecometothebeach - we're gonna build sand castles and bury Papi and swim and eat ice cream -’

Frankie clasps his hand over her mouth, and she cackles against it, legs swinging against his hip.

‘I’d love to.’ You say. 

The beach is a raging success. 

From the moment you’d felt the silky sand brushing between your toes, it was like the stress of the week had melted away. 

Lucia had grabbed your hand as soon as Frankie had dropped the cooler in the best spot he could find, squealing and running all the way to the ocean with you beside her. Frankie had laughed as he ran to catch up, hitting the waves just after you, sweeping Lucia up in his arms as she shrieked with laughter, swooping her low so her toes swept through the water. You swam and paddled together for a while, Frankie only leaving to grab a ball so you could play piggy in the middle in the shallowest shallows.

Now, laid out on the blanket you’d brought, with the sun warming your skin, you close your eyes. 

Everything feels slow - the tick of your heart, the carousel of your thoughts, the way you drag your fingers through the sand at your side. You’re drifting into the arms of sleep when there’s the soft snick-crack-fizz of a can beside you, and then you’re suddenly thirsty.

You peek through one eye at Frankie beside you, and like he feels it, his eyes flick to yours. He offers you the open soda before reaching into the cooler for another. You sit up, groaning a little, twisting to look for Lucia.

She’s still slumped on the sand throne you and Frankie had built her, now fast asleep. Legs planted, arms settled on the armrests like a stately little Lord. Her head tilted back, tiny sunglasses and flowery sun hat on. You can’t look at her for too long before you get the giggles, it’s so fucking cute.

Frankie follows your eyes, mouth lifting in amusement, raising his eyebrows at you.

‘We should take a picture. One for her 18th.’ 

You giggle, and he takes a sip of his drink before flopping down beside you. You take a long pull from your own can before doing the same, turning on your side to face him. Frankies fights to keep his gaze steady, something he’s been trying to do all day. Trying to avoid the skin that had been revealed to him today, trying to avoid how soft you look, how comfortable, how gorgeous. How your skin would taste, how it would feel against his. He closes his eyes.

You watch him. The strong sweep of his nose, the fullness of his mouth. The scruff of his beard, the bare heart-shaped patch before the line of his jaw. Your eyes sweep lower - the wide expanse of his chest, golden skin that seems to go on for miles and miles. It makes your mouth run dry. 

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless before in the hot Florida summer, but up this close, it’s different. The soft band of his belly, the smattering of hair above the waistband of his trunks. The silvery bud of a scar above his hip. 

When you glance back to his face, he’s watching you. Your eyes dart down again.

‘Mexico,’ he says, ‘2016.’

You nod, and reach out your hand. Slowly, softly. Frankie holds his breath, stomach tensing.

You run the tip of your finger along the puckered edge of the scar, and he shudders. You pause, untacking your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Does it hurt?’

‘No,’ he reassures, ‘Just - tickles.’

It’s a half truth. 

It doesn’t hurt. It does tickle. And there’s a burst of heat beneath his skin where your fingers graze him.

‘Was it bad?’

He smiles slightly.

‘Just a scratch.’

You hum quietly, swiping your thumb against it tenderly. He watches you, mouth parted, heart burning. It doesn’t look like a scratch, but you’re not one to pry.

The moment is broken by a soft coo behind you, and Frankie’s eyes lift to it. You roll onto your back.

A woman flashes you and Frankie an apologetic smile.

‘Sorry,’ she says quietly, gesturing to Lucia, ‘She just looks so cute.’

You smile breathlessly, a little flustered. She’s gorgeous. So tan and smiley and stunning.

‘Gets all her looks from me.’ Frankie jokes, and you roll your eyes. The woman smiles.

‘I think you mean her mama.’ She says, nodding to you before continuing on her stroll. You’re still too taken aback to correct her, trying to loosen your tongue before Frankie takes any offence. He laughs beside you, and you roll back to him to apologise -

‘You are literally no better than a man.’

It’s not what you were expecting, and the shock of it makes you laugh, too. You land a soft punch to his arm, a grumbled shut up shot from where you bury your face in the sandy blanket.. But it feels good, the ease at which the jokes come. 

To think, there’d been a night on your porch not long after you’d moved in when you’d mentioned the name Annie and clammed up, panicking about what questions would follow next. The name of your ex-girlfriend - ex-fiancee - had been something which only really existed in your mind at the time. Known, of course, to the friends you’d left back home; friends who had loved her, loved the two of you together. But soured by the reaction of your extended family, the people who had voiced their disgust at who you'd loved, who had been so quick to turn their backs in the face of your happiness, the first you’d found since your dad’s passing. It had made your stomach twist. 

You’d been worried about Frankie’s reaction, couldn’t bear to think of the first friend you’d made - your neighbour - having the same look of distaste - or worse - intense curiosity. 

But he’d done neither of those things. Had marked it with a quiet oh before asking what she was like, where she was, what had happened. You’d told him how you met in college but weren’t brave enough to ask her out until after graduation. How she was an engineer on the east coast - kind and funny and eager to watch you succeed. 

You’d been sparing with the details about how it ended. The breakup had still been a raw nerve, something you had no real desire to discuss. Something which you only found to be the case more and more the longer you spent around Frankie. And then he gave you further reason to be less afraid of what he’d think, whether he had the want to judge.

‘Sounds like my ex,’ he’d said, ‘We were friends first, too. Benny.’

You’re snapped back to the present by Frankie rustling around in the cooler.

‘Have something to eat,’ he says, ‘You’re looking a little shaky.’

You’ve been asleep for most of the way home. 

Hair blowing in the wind of the journey, cheek pressed against your shoulder. You look so peaceful, so beautiful, and something about this - the three of you in Frankie’s truck, Lucia babbling to herself in the back - feels so right.

He’s loathe to wake you. Wishes he could bottle this moment; the sand still clinging to your skin, Luc’s bright smile in the rearview mirror, but you stir all the same when he slows and pulls into his driveway. 

You stretch your arms and yawn, smiling sleepily at him before twisting to look back at Lucia.

‘How you doing, bean?’ You ask.

‘You were asleep!’ She chirps back, and Frankie chuckles.

‘Sure was,’ you grin, ‘Can’t keep up with you.’

You insist on carrying the cooler into his house while Frankie unbuckles her. He holds her hand around the side of the car before she pulls free of him, clattering into the house after you in her sparkling sandals. She passes him in the hall, arms full of toys as she speeds back out to the grass out front, and you smirk at him around the doorway of the kitchen. He shakes his head at you.

‘I don’t know how she does it.’ He says. You grin.

‘She’s four. Give her a few more years.’

He chuckles as he swoops in behind you, pinning your body between his and the counter. He digs in the cooler as you close your eyes against his body heat.

‘Want a beer?’ He says against your neck before pulling away.

‘Thought you’d never ask.’

When you’re settled on his porch, Lucia mimicking the sounds of the dinosaurs she has splayed across the lawn, Frankie bumps your shoulder.

‘You should have asked for her number.’ He grins. You turn to him, still a little sleepy.

‘Whose?’

‘The woman. On the beach.’

You roll your eyes at him despite the heat rising in your cheeks.

‘They’ll get stuck like that, you know.’ He says.

You nudge him back, a little harder.

‘You should’ve asked,’ you chuckle. ‘Gets all her looks from me.’

He snorts.

‘Nah. I wasn’t even on the field. Think you mean her mama.’

‘Should have given her the old I’m the babysitter line.’

He laughs. 

‘God. Imagine. Maybe that’s what I’ll have to tell the guys the next time they ask if I’m seeing someone.’

Your blood heats, a soft pounding in your ears. Imagine. Imagine.

You roll your head on your shoulders.

‘Are you?’ you ask tentatively, ‘Seeing anyone, I mean.’

Frankie shrugs beside you like it’s no big deal.

‘No,’ he says, ‘I kind of… swore that all off after Benny. Didn’t wanna go through it all again. Wasn’t good for me, wasn’t good for her,’ he says, gesturing towards where Lucia is playing on the grass. He’s quiet for a moment. ‘Just don’t think I’m cut out for it. Getting my heart broken again.’

You know how it ended - before it had really begun. A tentative feeling between friends; Frankie falling hard, Benny unsure about the new step. Caught up with the nerves you remember so well in the new turn of discovering himself, scared by the ripples caused within the tight knot of their group of friends. It had been hard on Frankie. Not made difficult by his brothers in arms, who, to all intents and purposes, had seen it coming - but because he was so clearly a man who loved hard. With all the goodness in his heart. It’s obvious in how he talks about him now, in how he talks about Lucia's mother. Love that lingers, that still sees the light.

You watch him as he speaks. The soft sunlight illuminating his curls, turning them golden, chocolate brown, little streaks of grey peaking through. His eyes are bright and flecked with hazel, his lips soft and full. When he talks, they are shaped with sound, with emotion. Expressive and beautiful, moving with the crinkles at his eyes, the frown lines on his forehead. Something pulls in your chest, and you reach out to hold his wrist just above his beer bottle. He squeezes your hand with his free one, and turns to look at you. So soft, so warm, eyes so kind and yet so sad sometimes it takes your breath away.

You can’t ever imagine breaking Frankie’s heart.

He licks his lips, eyes flitting to your parted mouth before resting back on yours.

‘Are you?’ He asks.

You breathe a laugh, something breathless in the sound. You retract your hand and look away from him, back to Lucia, watching her toddle around with her dinosaurs. He studies you, and it makes something spike at the back of your throat. You hate when he gets you like this; like he can see you better than anyone else ever has. 

‘No,’ you say. When you look back at him, his brows curve in a furrow at the sight of your sparkling eyes. You offer him a small smile, take a deep breath. ‘Think I’m the same as you,’ you shrug, ‘Not built to get my heart broken again.’

Frankie dares an arm across your back, squeezing the shoulder furthest away from him. He pulls you into his chest, palm pressing your bicep in comforting sweeps.

‘I’m sorry.’ He says into your hair.

‘Don’t be,’ you reassure him, ‘I’m not - cut up about it like I was.’ You sniff and pull away from him a little to look in his eyes. ‘It just stays with you, like you said before. The hurt and the shock. Everything you had planned. I think it’s just… hard to remember you won’t have that. Hard to not have that future, hard to feel like you’re enough again.’ You smile softly, and he answers with his own. He knows, he understands. ‘Just… really thought I was gonna marry her,’ you whisper, looking down at your hands. ‘Day I asked her, every time I saw that ring on her finger, thought we were gonna spend the rest of our lives together. And it made me so… happy.’ Frankie swallows thickly beside you. The feeling of it, of what you’re telling him, so painful, so raw for both of you. ‘And when it happened, when it fell apart… it wasn’t big. She just told me - real kind, real patient about it - that she didn’t love me anymore.’ Frankie breathes deeply when he hears the catch in your voice, the sting of it. 

Your eyes are on Lucia, but you’re so far away that it worries him. He wants you here, safe, having beers with him on his porch, giggling on the steps.

He can’t ever imagine breaking your heart.

You quirk your head, sighing. ‘Spent a long time tryna figure out what I did wrong, but there was never an answer,’ you shrug. ‘I’m glad she ended it, though. Despite it all. I’d have never forgiven her if she’d stayed.’

A strained hum pulls itself from Frankie’s throat as he watches you lean forward to pick at the grass by your feet. He clears his throat, studies your profile carefully.

‘Do you still love her?’ He asks, voice low and hoarse. He finds, to his surprise, that he’s terrified of the answer.

You frown, slowing your pulling.

‘No,’ you say. ‘I have love for her, but we don’t speak. I don’t want her in my life, but I wish her the best. I just found it… hard to rebuild.’

He thinks back to the day you moved in next door, the bright smile that he hadn’t realised didn’t quite reach your eyes, how you’d been a little thinner, looked so tired. How you’ve changed over the year since, so warm, so full of love and light and energy. How you tear around the lawn with Lucia, how you laugh at his kitchen table, how you fit into his side when you’re watching movies. 

Something swoops in his gut, something so huge and unbalancing that his breath comes shallow, that his ears buzz and his vision blurs. A feeling that makes so much - too much - sense.

Fuck.

He swallows, closes his eyes.

When he turns to look at you again, it’s with a heart that knows - really knows. He sees everything you are, everything you’ve been, everything you will be. Knows you for all your good days and bad days, has seen you at all hours, could hold every piece of your fractured heart in his hands and meld it back together again if you let him.

Your eyes find his. He watches your brows raise a fraction at his expression, watches them push together in a question. 

His mouth is dry, but he speaks.

‘You are,’ he says, ‘You are enough.’

Your eyes don’t leave his.There’s a pressure behind them, a pull in your gut, a skip of your heart. Something on the tip of your tongue. 

Frankie’s eyes slip to your mouth. Your breath catches in your throat, and the world stills. The sounds of the evening, Lucia playing, fade to almost nothing.

If you tip your head, you think he might kiss you. 

A small, wild ball of energy crashes into Frankie’s chest, and the moment slips through your fingers. Frankie lets out a quiet oof, wrapping his arms around his daughter. A giggle bubbles out of your mouth, and he grins at you, but his eyes linger. Lucia turns her tiny face up to him, and Frankie rolls his eyes goodnaturedly.

‘Whaddya want, mija?’

‘Strawberry laces.’ She whispers, and you both laugh.

‘Strawberry laces, what?’

‘Strawberry laces, please, Papi.’

‘Alright,’ he says, shifting her out of the clutch of his arms and onto the step beside you, ‘Sit tight, mi amor. I’ll be back in a minute.’

The front door isn’t even closed behind him before Lucia is crawling her way into your lap, wrapping her arms around you. You tuck your hands against her back, pulling away to look at her.

‘How’s it going, mini Morales?’

She beams up at you.

‘Good. The bugs are winning.’

‘Winning? Against who?’

‘The dinosaurs.’ She says, gravely. You nod, just as serious, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

‘That’s good. Bugs have a lot going for them.’

She leans back to consider you for a moment, her face scrunching up in the low lying sun.

‘Miss Lopez called you Mrs Morales the other day,’ she says, ‘Does that mean you and Papi are married now?’

Your heart lurches in your chest, head spinning a little. You laugh, disbelieving. From the mouths of babes.

‘No, baby,’ you say softly, and her face falls. 

‘Why not?’

You can feel your heartbeat in your toes. You pray Frankie is struggling to find those strawberry laces.

‘We’re - we’re just friends, Luc. People who get married are usually a bit more than friends.’

Lucia frowns.

‘But you are more than friends,’ she insists, ‘You’re best friends. And you love each other.’

Jesus Christ. You squeak out a hm, trying to remain noncommittal. Lucia begins to fiddle with the charm on your necklace.

‘How do you get married?’

‘Well,’ you swallow, ‘Usually you have a big party. With lots of friends and family there. And you have to ask each other first.’

‘Have you been married?’

You wince. How is she doing it?

‘No, bean. I haven’t.’

She nods, thoughtful.

‘Neither has Papi. He could ask you.’ 

You choke out a laugh. Frankie’s eyes on yours, on your mouth. The moment caught in time.

Idle thoughts.

‘He could. But I don’t think he wants to.’

Her wide, brown eyes shoot to yours, hands stilling on the chain of your necklace. A feeling creeps up the back of your neck.

‘He does,’ she says quietly. ‘You’re his favourite person, apart from me. He told me s- Papi!’

She cuts herself off in an excitable screech, and you scrunch your face at it. Luc is wriggling in your lap, lips open wide in a toothy grin. Her hands reach out in fists as Frankie rounds your shoulder, the plastic packet of strawberry laces crinkling in his hand. 

‘Open your hand,’ he says, and Lucia obeys, her fists flattening to palms face up. Frankie drops a small handful of the sweets onto them, and she dances on top of your thighs, shoving two in her mouth at once so she can chew them up like snakes disappearing between her teeth.

She flashes you another grin, red blended with white, and wriggles backwards, running off back to her dinosaurs. 

Frankie settles next to you again, offering you the packet. You take it, fingers scrabbling for sugar as the two of you watch her. For a second, it’s like you’re a family. Like you can feel the weight of a ring on your finger, a ring that was supposed to be there some time in the last six months. You shake your head. A silly thought.

Frankie licks his fingers beside you, and you turn to watch him. The sound of the pop as he releases them from his mouth, the smile that dances across his lips as he watches Lucia, the crows feet at the corners of his eyes. An involuntary smile crawls across your own lips.

‘Got another favour you can do for me,’ you say, still chewing. 

‘Hm?’

‘Sink’s a little leaky. Think you can take a look?’

You hold the packet of strawberry laces out to him, and he takes one, lowering it into his mouth. You giggle at the way his tongue curls around it. He grins back at you.

‘Sure can, baby. Luc is at a sleepover Friday night. That work for you?’

‘I think it might, Morales. I think it might.’

[fictionalslvr]

SYNOPSIS: Leon hated you, but even more, hated himself. The pure anger growing because of his selfish mind. He was just jealous, jealous you were younger and prettier. But his chest couldn't help himself. Not on this case.

PAIRING: Vendetta¡Leon x Younger agent¡Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.148k.

WARNINGS: Age gap, but reader is +18! (Not really Enemies) to lovers, not use of y/n, based on the lyrics of "Cigarette Daydreams - Cage the Elephant"

Vorfreude:(n.) The joyful, intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures.

NOTES:: I'm trying really hard to get out of this writer block, so I'm writing slowly. This is just the start of what can turn into a series, so tell me if you guys like to motivate me to continue writing!

“You can drive all night…”

Leon really could. On nights like this, when the stars aren't visible in the obscure sky, his hands would grip on the steering wheel and drive towards nothing. He's definitely wrong for doing that. Driving while being drunk. Barely recognizing anything on the road, the semaphore lights look like a beam that irritates his eyes. Those same eyes who used to shine brighter than that. Those damn eyes who used to look bigger. Those same eyes who are now tired, exhausted, spent, worn out, every single synonym you could search up for to describe those parts he couldn't recognize anymore on himself. He's now nearly forty, and he never imagined this. The younger and pure him would always thought that forty was the age of success, where he would be resting all day, without work to do, without people in his mind, without worries, nothing to worry about. Silly him for thinking that.

“Lookin' for the answers in the pourin' rain…"

He never had his answers, never even had one. He would always question himself, like why he's alive and most of his friends dead. This wasn't a bit fair, and not a single fair for that big rounded younger Leon. When he looks to the past, he hopes he gets blind to not see those things again. Forget everything that happened, the days he spent in pure automatic, the bad things he said, the disgusting things he saw and had to participate in. Leon used to think that things would get better, when it didn't.

“You wanna find peace of mind

Lookin' for the answer

If we can find a reason, a reason to change

Lookin' for the answers

If you can find a reason, a reason to stay

Standin' in the pourin' rain…”

That poor old dog had his reasons to stay. Some reasons even seem foolish, like taking care of his dog. He always thought what his dear four-legged friend would do without him, he would probably die, and he can't let this happen. The big Irish Setter called Luis was a gift from Ashley after some years, she said it was to help them to deal with what happened in Spain. The blond was septic at first, and refused to call a damn dog as Luis. But they were very similar. Those eyes followed him everywhere, the way his fur looked like his hair, and soon…he found himself calling him that way he promised not to. It was stupid. But that stupid act helped. Leon felt like Luis was with him all the time, that his friend were there on his side. And he caught himself chatting with the animal, telling him how the day was tiring, and he seemed to understand everything, practically paying attention to his words. He would sniff Leon, place his snout below his hands to earn some caresses and help him forget the subject quickly. He sure is a clever dog, and he rapidly got attached to the pet, or better saying, his friend. Now, the man would enter his house and found the old dog running to him, jumping on his legs to earn his attention. And that futile act would take out a sincere chuckle out of him, only he could do that.

Old as he is now, he asked the D.S.O to work less. And as he worked so much for them, they granted it. Letting him do little jobs, more like a detective. And that only earned him more headaches. Specifically saying, one headache of a woman, his partner that he despises so much. That voice of yours would get into his brain and annoy him.

—”You drank last night again, right? I can see you're not looking well.”

That got him rolling his eyes up every time, groaning in bitterness. Why would you care about him that much? You never did, and he knows it. You were so much younger, so much brighter, so much like him in the past, and he hated this. You were always such a tease, that damn smile plastered on your face like he wasn't worthy of that happiness. Leon hates you. With the depths of his heart, his repugnance about you is real, and he knows himself enough for that. He just doesn't understand. But he thinks he does, and silly him for thinking that.

His true impliccance to you is your happiness. You can't be happy if he isn't, that's obvious. He started to dig why you're happy and he's not. In the serious cases you were alongside with him, you never took it one hundred percent seriously, you would make jokes all the time and he would just ignore. But deep inside, he was holding himself not to laugh.

—”Damn, where's everyone going?” — Leon looked behind, watching you circle on your place, searching for human sights.

—”Bingo.”

And his answer came out of nowhere. So suddenly you didn't expect it. That took a single giggle of you, your eyes squinting as you shook your head to it.

—”Yeah, okay old man.”

He found himself proud, proud that his same old joke made some effect. Even if it was on someone he hated it. Leon sighed softly, turning back to his place and wondering if you would find his other jokes funny. You were always laughing, so it would be easy to make you laugh. But that wasn't the time for it, and neither was important. Leon quickly got back to his serious face and focused on the mission. But you, you were surprised to see such a side of him, even a fraction of it. He never was the one talking to you, and you just thought he was the serious old man you heard of. And honestly, you heard a bit of his story, of his mades and how impressionnant he is. But you would never admit it, because that would be invasive, and you're not prepared to understand his pain.

But Leon is a bad liar, a really bad one. And he couldn't lie to himself, couldn't lie when his hurt hung to each other, not when his pupils dilated without his consent every time, not when his hands started to sweat or the words slipped out of his tongue incontrollably. He knew this was love, in the most bad time to come in, and the most bad person to fell in love, but there's no denial. The problem is, Leon Kennedy is also not going to accept it easy, so that's a big problem from now on. Even bigger if the problem is you, the so annoying rookie that's he's slowly wishing you two are on the same mission, the same rookie that laughs of his stupid jokes, that rookie that brings some desserts some times and he pretends not to like. That damn rookie.

[syluscore]

Workplace Romance

~ID! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Word count: 7213

Content warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-con, dub-con, serial killers, murder, leon's a major asshole and mean to reader, lots of arguing, confrontation, drugging, kidnapping, use of shock collar, degrading, pet names, serious bodily harm, forced self-harm, crawling, descriptions of blood/pain/body mutation, forced blowjob, cum swallowing, piss, reader pisses self, removal of an appendage/body part, capital punishment, death row, lethal injection, masturbation, very little comfort, no happy ending

the content warnings are a mess, but i think i included everything.

!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!

Agent Leon Kennedy. A name you weren’t familiar with until a few weeks ago. Now, he’s the leading cause of all your headaches.

He’s a renowned FBI agent. Not only is he an excellent detective, but an expert in serial killer psychology.

He’s successfully led in the investigations and captures of eight serial killers and helped in the convictions of upwards of a hundred murderers.

He’s spent years studying the minds of serial killers. He can find the smallest bit of information and utilize it to get inside a killer's head. He’s the FBI’s serial killer specialist and if there’s ever a suspected serial killing, the case files land right on his desk.

And that’s what’s brought the two of you together.

You had just made detective at the Raccoon City Police Department, but the training was subpar. Any case that goes through this department is almost guaranteed to go unsolved. It’s not the station's fault, but the lack of funding and resources that has led to its downfall.

You’re up to your neck in cold case files. And crime that needs any sort of investigation is immediately your obligation. You’re a one person department and absolutely set up to fail.

When the FBI finally shows interest in the series of murders taking place throughout the city, you’re honestly relieved. Anything to ease your heavy workload. But it all changes when you meet him.

Agent Leon fucking Kennedy.

He’s a cocky bastard who undermines your department, which is solely you, constantly. He is unimpressed with the investigative work done on the case and won’t hesitate to insult your abilities as a detective.

And the man is basically untouchable.

He’s the FBI’s golden boy who can do no wrong. Everyone in the station worships the ground he walks on because he’s here to save the town, like a superhero. He’s the best of the best and everyone is expected to tolerate him. No exceptions.

It doesn’t help that he’s absolutely gorgeous. Always looking so well put together, a calculated appearance that never falters. Men and women alike gawk at the man. Whether they want to be with him or be him, you’d be stupid to not acknowledge it. 

A brown fringe cascading around his face. Pretty blue eyes matched with a prominent nose and jaw line, a dimple centered in his chin. Even the stubble lining his jaw is flawless. His eyebrows are knitted together in a permanent scowl. He looks like he despises the world and it makes him that much more enticing. 

And it pisses you off entirely. If he was just some mediocre, average looking man, it’d make hating him so much easier. But of course the jackass is incredible. It makes you wanna pour acid in your eyes just to give you your peace of mind back. Seeing is believing, right?

Without a single break in the case and no solid leads, you’re happy to take a step back from the case. It doesn’t mean you don’t care, but the crime rate in town has been steadily rising and you know you can help better elsewhere.

You walk into the station on what you thought was a typical Tuesday morning. But you’ve barely made it through the front door when you’re met with chaos.

People are running around, coming in and out of the station. The noise level is atrocious and has you wishing you’d caught the fucking plague because it would be less exhausting than this.

You barely make it five paces into the station when one of the coworkers you actually bother with appears at your side.

“It never stops, does it?” Jill says breathlessly.

You shake your head before replying, “What’s going on now?”

“Wait, you don’t know? Shouldn’t you be the first to know, actually?” She stops dead in her tracks, which in result causes you also to abruptly stop.

“Considering I don’t know what you’re talking about, I have no idea.” You cross your arms over your chest and turn to face her.

She sighs and places her hands on her hips. “They found another body early this morning. Everything matches up with the previous ones, so it’s basically confirmed to be one of his.”

“Another body? This will be his tenth fucking kill.”

“Thank God we got the FBI on it then?” Jill quirks an eyebrow at you, causing you to roll your eyes in response.

Jill is one of the few people seemingly in the world to not care for Leon’s bullshit. She can’t stand the man and isn’t afraid to voice it. She’s your number one defender and isn’t shy about arguing with the dreaded FBI agent.

“Maybe he’ll finally be good for something other than making my life a living Hell.”

Jill reaches out and squeezes your shoulder as she shakes her head. “But at what cost? Let’s hope the sweet, tender boy can magically solve the case and fuck back off to wherever he flew in from.”

Another coworker comes up and pulls Jill away from you. As she marches away behind the man, she turns and waves at you. You hate that you instantly wave back, but it’s Jill. You’ll look like a dork over and over for her sake.

You lower your hand and sigh, but before you can even begin walking again, a presence takes shape beside you.

“What are you doing?” An unmistakable snarky voice calls out to you. Your muscles instantly tense up in his presence, like your body is physically rejecting him and his aura.

You scoff as you begin walking again. “None of your business, Leon.”

You’re annoyed when Leon meets your big strides, keeping up with you pace for pace. You both remain silent as you quickly arrive at your office door.

You go to close the door behind you, but Leon pushes past, welcoming himself into your office. You’re frozen in place for a second in your confusion, but you quickly snap out of it and sink into your desk chair.

“What’s up?” You fold your arms over your chest and lean back in your chair. Being around Leon is exhausting and you can already feel this conversation draining you.

Leon doesn’t take a seat, instead choosing to stand tall above your desk, looking down at you.

“None of your business.” Leon mocks you in a shrill voice. 

“What’s up?” His eyes meet yours, locking in an intense stare.

“You need to address me properly. Agent Kennedy, not Leon.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the sudden authority in his voice. When he doesn’t speak up again, it prompts you to instead.

“Okay. But I would appreciate it if you addressed me properly too, Agent Kennedy.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

You quirk your head to the side, shocked by the pure audacity of this man. The audacity to demand respect when he can’t even give it. It’s infuriating.

“Well, Leon, I don’t appreciate being disrespected in my own-“

“Earn it.”

You shake your head in exasperation at his interruption. Yes. Infuriating is the best word to describe this man.

“What?” You release a heavy sigh, already exhausted from the few words exchanged.

“Respect is earned. Earn respect and you will receive it.”

“You haven’t earned-“

“I’m the FBI’s best asset when it comes to convicting serial killers, not to mention all of the side work I’ve done in homicide prevention and precaution. I’ve earned goddamn respect and I expect it, no exceptions.”

He slams his hands down on your desk, causing you to jump, your chair screeching across the floor as you put more space between you two.

Your voice is shaking as you throw your hands up in the air, “Fuck! Okay! Sorry, Agent Kennedy.”

He gives you a final death glare before backing up and causally stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. It remains silent as you two stare across the room at each other.

“Anyways, I needed to talk to you.” He finally sits in the chair and your shoulders visibly relax. You hate yourself for being so visibly nervous in his presence currently, but it was out of your control.

“What about?”

He clears his throat. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but my bosses have instructed me to take you under my wing. Teach you what I know. And it’s my obligation to follow those orders and I think it’s in your best interest to do so as well. It would be very beneficial to you.”

Your eyes fall closed as you barely manage to hold back a groan. Your head falls back, scalp connecting with the back of your chair.

“You just made detective, correct?”

You sigh and look back up at him, “Yeah. Not even a month ago.”

“Then let me help you. There’s no one here to train you on how to be a good detective, a good investigator. I know a thing or two. You just have to let me help you. Also, it’ll be better on my conscience if I leave here confident in this station's sole detective.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m being serious. I have a lot to teach and you have a lot to learn. You’d be stupid to not take full advantage of this opportunity.”

You remain silent, lost in your own thoughts. You were confident with your abilities as a detective. Confident with your capability to solve cases, but he has the experience that you don’t. But he’s also Leon Kennedy and that alone is almost enough to make you say fuck no.

“How many people have died at the hands of this killer? That we know of so far.”

“9 I believe.”

“10 after the discovery this morning. And there could be more we don’t know about. You don’t wanna solve this case? Wanna bring this sick fuck to justice?”

“Well, of course-“

“Then work with me. How many more innocent people need to die?”

You release a heavy sigh. “Alright, alright. We have a deal or whatever.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Weeks have passed and Leon’s arrogance has only gotten worse.

The belittling, the undermining, just everything he does has you raging. You’ve given up on helping with the investigation because anything you do is scrutinized. You found a solid piece of evidence that could have easily been looked into, but he rejected it and told you to disregard it.

No matter how hard he tries to make you feel like it, you’re not an idiot. You’re a great detective and nothing about this situation is right. His behavior, his attitude, his methods of operation are all suspicious as hell, so how could you not look into him?

You’re not exactly sure what you were looking for. Maybe a sign that he was taking credit for work he didn’t actually do? Or maybe a sign of him planting evidence?

Why couldn’t you have just minded your goddamn business?

You’re the only two left in the station, working late on the case. To say things are tense is a fucking understatement if you’ve ever heard one. 

“Can I ask you a question, (Reader)?” 

Your head shoots up from your computer screen. The way he says your name has chills running down your spine, has you struggling to swallow. 

“Um, yeah. What’s your question?” 

His elbows are on the table, his chin resting on the backs of his clasped hands. “Did you find what you were looking for?” His tone is accusatory and it confuses you.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?” 

“Don’t play stupid.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why were you looking into me?” He brings his hands down to the table and leans in closer to your side of the table. “Did you find what you were looking for?” 

Your heart is in your throat as you struggle to find the words to explain yourself. “What kind of detective would I be if I didn’t?”

He snickers. “Answering a question with a question. Classic. But I’m not interested in beating around the fucking bush, so how about you just tell me what you were looking for.” 

You take a deep breath before straightening your spine and feigning a confidence you definitely don’t feel. “Okay. You’re suspicious as fuck. And I don’t trust you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“And what did you find?” He snaps at you. You don’t understand why he’s taking such offense to a detective doing detective work? He didn’t anticipate this? 

“Nothing. I didn’t find anything.”

“And do you still have your suspicions about me?”

“Yes.” You answer his questioning immediately. You’re not sure what compels you to do so, but your mouth moves faster than your mind. “I still don’t understand why you act the way you do.”

He looks away from you, pulling a file out of his briefcase and flipping through the papers inside of it. “What were you hoping to find?”

“I-” you’re once again stumbling over your words. No one has ever made you so nervous, no one has ever triggered your flight or fight as much as he does. Alarms are constantly going off in your head about him and you hate it. “I just wanted some answers.”

“Then fucking ask.” He slams the folder shut and tosses it down the table. “Ask me your questions. Don’t be a baby about it, going behind my back to find them. You’re a big girl. If you want answers, come and get them.”

“Why are you such a dick?”

“Because I can be. Next question.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Obviously.”

“We’re getting nowhere. Nevermind.”

“Wait!” You yell at him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist as he goes to stand up. “I’m sorry. You just piss me off.”

He pulls his wrist from your grasp with a disgusted look, but he doesn’t get up from his chair. He stares at you silently, which means he wants you to speak up. He’s so fucking entitled, you have to refrain from going off on him for the billionith time. 

“Why do you brush me off constantly? I bring you solid, concrete leads and you treat them like they’re nothing. You’re leaving so many loose ends. We’re not any closer to solving this case. Why?”

He hums at you like your question is invalid. You don’t know what you expected. Of course he was just going to be a prick like he always is. 

“That’s your perspective on it. A false perspective, but one nonetheless.”

“What does that mean?” The offense is obvious in your voice. More belittling, more brushing off your valid concerns. Of course. Of fucking course.

“Because I’ve followed every last lead and every little piece of evidence. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up.”

“Bullshit!” You’re both surprised at your outburst. You can’t hold it back anymore. You can’t stand the lying and fucking diversions anymore. “I’ve been watching you, Leon. I haven’t seen you investigate shit. You pick and choose where you pay attention. This is the FBI’s very best? It’s fucking pathetic.”

He keeps his expression blank and neutral. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck it is you do that’s so fucking incredible that you’ve solved so many cases. Are you taking credit for other people’s work? Are you planting evidence? That’s the only thing that makes sense. You’re an opportunist. It’s like you’re just silently waiting to find the perfect person to blame. Is that it? You frame people to make yourself look better? What is it?”

Your voice is desperate and it’s genuinely embarrassing. But you are desperate. And you don’t wanna sit by anymore, not with the terrible suspicions constantly plaguing your exhausted mind. 

“You think I’m covering up for serial killers? You realize how crazy that sounds, right?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. It’s not that fucking farfetched.”

“Why would I do that?”

You let out a noise of frustration, “I don’t know! To make yourself look better? Everyone worships you for the work you’ve done. Maybe it’s for the praise and glory, to stroke your ego.”

He smirks at you and it only enrages you more. 

“You told me to ask you questions!” you yell at him, “Now give me fucking answers!”

“I don’t give a shit what people think. You think I would cover up for serial killers to make myself look better? That’s stupid.”

“Then maybe you have another reason!”

“Like?”

“I don’t fucking know! For all I know, you’re the serial killer and you just frame people to cover your own ass. Your job would be the perfect guise wouldn’t it?” It’s just word vomit pouring from your mouth at this point, but something about what you’ve said has Leon jumping to his feet.

Before you even have time to react, he’s leapt across the table. His hand wraps around your neck, pushing you back in your chair until you go crashing to the floor. You cry out in pain as your skull connects with the ground.

Your vision is fuzzy from the impact, but you slowly blink your eyes until they focus back in on Leon’s body hovering over yours. With the grip he has on your throat, you can’t speak. All you can do is look up at him and the unhinged expression on his face.

Leon shifts and there’s a sudden sharp, burning pain in your neck. Your arms shoot up and your fingers connect with the syringe in your neck. Your eyes widen in fear.

“Good detective work, baby. You’ve figured it out. Congratulations! You found your guy!” His smile is huge and combined with his crazy eyes, has you shaking beneath him.

The muscles in your body quickly start to tingle as you lose control of them, slowly going limp beneath him.

“Goodnight.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you pass out.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re awake, your eyes are open but your brain still isn’t able to process anything. You stare blankly as you try to actually wake up. The room is a blur and you can hear a voice calling out to you, but you can’t make out what it’s saying.

Sudden white hot pain has your consciousness finally catching up with you. You’re gasping for air as you finally take in your surroundings. 

The room is dirty, trash littering the floor around you. The only object in the room is a chair on the other side of the room.

“Good morning. Thought that’d wake you up.”

You push yourself up into a sitting position as Leon appears in front of you. He gently pats your head causing you to cower away from him, but he just laughs at you and walks over to the chair. Every step he takes makes a loud crunching sound as his shoes connect with the debris covering the floor. The only cleared spot is the space surrounding you, just enough for your body to lay in.

You try to speak, but all you can manage to do is cough. Leon sits leisurely in his chair as you struggle through your coughing fit.

The second it passes, while you’re still gasping for air, you call out to him, “Wha-what are you doing? What do you want?”

“Crawl to me.”

You look at him like he’s insane, and in all honesty he is, but he only smirks at the look you’re giving him. He leans back in his chair so casually, legs spread open as his left hand dangles between them. It pisses you off that he looks so good like this. Maybe if he hadn’t just kidnapped you, you would be more willing to appreciate how good the view definitely is.

“I said, crawl to me.” His voice is filled with venom as he points to the ground between his legs. He cannot be fucking serious right now.

You look at the stretch of floor between you two. It’s littered with broken glass and who knows what else. It’s obviously been intentionally spread around. This house may be old and abandoned, but the sharp shards are too clean and perfect to have been sitting here long at all. 

He wants you to crawl through shattered glass on your hands and knees to him. Kidnapping you wasn’t enough. Having complete control isn’t enough, he has to exercise it.

“Leon…” you struggle to find the right words, because what are you supposed to say? It’s obvious that you don’t want to crawl across this fucking floor. “Please don’t make me-”

You gasp as your body goes tense from a sudden, unfamiliar pain. It feels like several wasps just stung your neck, and as quick as it hits, it’s gone. 

Your muscles finally loosen and your hands shoot up to your neck, feeling some sort of rough fabric with a rectangular plastic box at the front of your throat.

“What the fuck is this?” Your voice is strained, still panting as you try to recover from the pain.

He chuckles at you. “You will address me as sir and you will crawl to me.”

Your fingers are still fiddling with the device strapped to your throat, trying to find some way to take it off. But it’s complicated not being able to see what you’re doing. Just when you think you might be able to slip a finger under the tight, firm fabric, the pain comes back.

The stinging pain is more intense this time and longer. You’re about to collapse, unable to keep yourself in a sitting position, when the pain once again subsides. 

You can’t stop the tears pouring down your cheeks, body still shaking and in shock from the intensity of the pain to your neck.

“Now. Stop fucking with your collar and crawl to me.” 

Your head shoots up to him at his choice of words. “Collar?”

He licks his lips while a look of amusement lights up his face. “Yes, dumb little bunny. A shock collar. To help you behave.”

The hand that’s been lazily lying between his legs flips around to reveal the remote in his palm. Your eyes widen as your pain riddled brain slowly catches up to the present. A fucking shock collar. He put a shock collar on you like you’re some fucking dog.

“Crawl. To. Me. Now.” He spits out angrily, his tone sending chills down your spine.

When you don’t make any movement, he makes a big show of fiddling with the remote. Taunting you, warning you. 

You let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, shit okay. I’ll crawl to you.” 

“Crawl to who?”

You push yourself up on your knees and lightly bring your palms to the ground, gently sitting them over top of the shattered glass. “You, sir. I’m going to crawl to you, sir.”

He relaxes in his chair once again at your answer, seemingly pleased with it. “Go on then. What’re you waiting for?” 

You take a few deep breaths, attempting to will yourself to move forward. You know you have to do this, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to make the first move.

“Unless you need some more motivation. We could make good use of that collar.”

Your eyes shoot up and look up at him pleadingly, “Please, no.”

“Then fucking move.”

Leon’s patience is completely gone and you don’t want to see what other lengths he’s willing to go to to punish you. 

You reach out with your right hand and your right knee slowly follows. You hiss out as your skin connects with some of the shards.

“That’s it, being such a good girl right now.”

Your breathing stops for a moment as a blush creeps up your neck at the praise. You’re so mad at yourself for your body’s reaction to his words. This is already fucking humiliating, how much worse can it get?

You move your left hand forward, breathing through the pain as it connects with the floor and your left knee follows. You’re going slow, being careful not to cut yourself up worse by being hasty. 

You move your right hand carefully, blood already spilling from the cuts and onto the glass covered floor. It’s making shards stick to your skin and making everything that much more slippery. 

Your right knee connects with the floor, right as the stinging pain returns to your throat. The sudden shock has you digging your knees, hands, and toes in the floor, heightening the pain you were already in.

The pain in your neck is once again gone and you’re left shaking and sobbing as blood puddles around your hands and knees.

“You know how to crawl. Go faster before you piss me off.”

You don’t know why you’re surprised he wants you to crawl faster, causing worse damage to your body. Of course he does. Why would you ever expect to be granted mercy?

You take a deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. At least you won’t have to see the glass you’re crawling into.

You’re still crawling fairly slowly, but a lot faster compared to your previous pace. You’re whining and groaning in pain and you feel the glass embedded deeply in your skin connect with even more glass. Your lower legs and toes are dragging glass behind you.

You feel the burning pain throughout your hands and legs, but you focus on moving your body forward. 

“Open your eyes.”

You ignore his demands. You’re doing what he’s asking of you and he has the audacity to ask for even more.

“Look at me when you crawl to me. I will not tell you again. Unless you’d like another… shock of encouragement.”

You raise your chin up from your chest and shakily look up at him, opening your eyes. He smiles at you for listening to him and you wanna rip his fucking face off.

Your heart sinks when you realize you’ve only crawled half way so far. The pain is absolutely nauseating and you’re choking down the bile that keeps rising in your throat. 

You begin crawling once again, vision blurry from the tears that are continuously falling.

All you feel is the agonizing pain as you force yourself to Leon’s blurry figure. You’re on the verge of passing out from the pain when you finally place yourself between his legs.

He runs his fingers through your tangled hair, almost soothingly. And you want so badly to jerk your head away, to run from his movements, but you can’t help but give yourself over to the gentle touch. His comfort somehow pulls you back down to Earth from your pain induced robotic state.

“Show me your hands, bunny.”

You go to push yourself up but red hot pain rages through your hands and knees, causing you to scream out in pain. Your body goes to collapse from the sheer exertion, but Leon is quick to catch you, steadying you and forcing you on your knees with your wrists in his hands.

You’re shaking as the glass embedded into your knees is forced deeper into your skin beneath your newly distributed weight. You take deep breaths as you adjust to the new level of pain. Bile fills your mouth, but you’re able to force it back down, the burning sensation of it only adding to your misery.

Your eyes open again after shutting in response to the pain. Your vision clears and you find Leon studying your destroyed hands.

Blood is still oozing from your countless wounds, shards of glass sticking out of your palms and fingers. Your hands and forearms are covered in blood, you can barely see your skin tone through the mess. Your hands are unrecognizable. 

He tsks as he continues to look over them. “These are useless to me now. Shame.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his words, not sure what the implications of his words are. He releases your wrists and you let your hands fall limply into your lap. When his hands move to his belt and he starts unbuckling it, you gasp and try to move away from him but are instantly met with sharp shooting pains in your legs from your injuries.

You’re stuck in place and there’s nothing you can do about it. Anything you could possibly need to do will require Leon’s help. Just how he planned it. 

Rope, duct tape, or any other typical restraints are so boring. Glass being embedded into your skin as you sit in your own blood? Now, that’s new and fascinating. You’re a cute little test subject for his vile thoughts and ideas.

He slides the zipper down his pants and you finally look down at what he’s doing. 

What the fuck? He’s hard, not just hard, but really fucking hard and about to pull his dick out right in your face.

Your throat is raw from your previous wailing so your words come out scratchy. “What, what are you doing?”

“Oh, baby… Look how hard you’ve made my cock. It’s only fair that you let me cream that tight, hot throat in return.”

“What?”

“Oh don’t be such a fucking prude.” He rolls his eyes as he stands before you, sliding his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to pop out, his tip poking your lips. You attempt to pull your head back, but his hand is quick to grab onto your hair and push your face into his cock. You’re frantically trying to turn your face away from him, but it only has him gripping your hair impossibly tighter.

“Now, now. You don’t need another shock of encouragement do you?”

“N-no. Please.”

“Then start sucking. And don’t try anything smart because I am more than happy to shock your annoying little ass again.”

Before you can even prepare yourself, he’s pressing his fingers into your cheeks and forcing your mouth open, immediately shoving his cock into the back of your throat. You’re instantly gagging. And you’re already so close to throwing up that you’re certain you’re going to puke all over this man's dick.

“See, princess? You don’t want me to do it my way. So fucking behave and don’t stop until I’m creaming that fucking mouth.”

He pulls his dick out and you’re immediately running your tongue up and down his tip. You’re ready to do anything to keep him from choking you like that again. 

“Make me cum in less than two minutes and maybe I’ll consider sparing you.”

You suck his tip into your wet mouth, the taste of his precum flooding your taste buds.

“There ya go. You’re so hot, all dirty and bloody for me. Fuck, I’m gonna cum so fast. Pretty bunny has such a good mouth when she’s not running it.” He chuckles at his own words as you quickly bob your mouth up and down on his dick.

“Just like that. You ready to taste me, baby? Need to cream this throat.”  He speaks quickly as he starts to thrust, meeting every bob of your head. His grip in your hair tightens as his hips still and he holds his tip against the back of your throat.

You resist the urge to gag and cough as you feel his cum fill your throat. You think he’ll never be done when he finally pulls himself from your mouth and stuffs his cock back in his pants. He refastens his belt and turns to walk away, but stops and looks down at you.

“Here.” He grabs your shoulder, causing you to gasp, as he pushes you down to the floor, until you’re laying on your back. “I’ll spare you.”

And then he’s quickly leaving the house, confident that you’re not going anywhere anytime fast. You realize you’re in less pain being off your hands and knees and breathe a sigh of relief. Your weight is distributed better over the glass, so your back and legs only tingle and sting slightly.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re not sure how much time passes as you drift in and out of sleep, but when the front door finally opens, you can’t mask your excitement at Leon finally returning.

“Leon?” You call out in a happy, relieved voice.

“Hi, bunny. How are you doing?” His tone is lighter than you’ve ever heard it before and it fills you with hope.

“I’m gonna piss my pants, can you take me to the bathroom?” The back of your legs are getting badly cut up because you can’t keep your body still as your bladder throbs and aches.

“Sweetheart, you’re so silly.”

His tone is mocking. “What?” You're obviously confused and it has him shaking his head.

“That’s not my problem.”

“I can’t get up.” You whine out, praying he’ll give in and help you.

“I know,” he coos at you, “You’re gonna have to just piss yourself then. But don’t worry, I’ll stay here and watch.”

“What?” 

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It hurts so much.”

“And you know exactly what will relieve you of that pain don’t you?”

“But I can’t get myself up.”

“That’s too bad.”

You’re so fucking confused. You don’t understand what his game is here. It has to be about control, the humiliation it’ll bring you. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and try your best to pretend this isn’t happening, but the pain is only getting worse and worse.

“Bunny… Just relax. You’ll feel better if you just relax.”

“Fuck no, Leon. No fucking way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” You open your eyes and give him a dirty look. “I’m not going to lay on the floor in my own blood and piss! What’s wrong with you?”

He smiles as he shakes his head, “You don’t have a choice, baby.”

You don’t know what to say to him. What can you say? Beg for his help? Hope he actually cares? It’s all so useless. You find yourself squeezing your eyes shut and clenching every muscle in your body. This is so stupid, so fucking stupid.

“You really want my help?” Leon breaks the silence, pulling you from your thoughts.

You look up at him once again, “Please.”

“Okay, I’ll help you.” You breathe a sigh of relief. He’s going to help you, there’s some sort of hope. If he can find it in himself to help you now, maybe you’ll be okay. Maybe everything will fall into place.

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a familiar remote. Your eyes widen in shock, realizing what he’s about to do. “Wait, Leon, don’t-”

But you aren’t even able to finish your statement before the shocks are shooting into your body and every muscle tenses up in resistance. A few seconds feel like minutes before the pain stops and your body goes limp on the ground. Every muscle in your body softens.

Before you can even process what’s happening, before your mind even comes back to yourself, you register a warmth growing on your thighs and ass. The warmth spreads further as you come back to yourself.

The second you realize what’s happening, you wish you’d remained oblivious. You try to stop it, but your body is so weakened that you have no more control. 

You lay on the floor in your dried blood mixing with your hot piss. You’re no longer peeing, but the humiliation has tears welling up in your eyes.

The liquid starts to cool quickly in the chilly air and it has you shivering on the floor. It has you wishing you were dead.

Suddenly, Leon’s petting your head and hushing you. “You’re a good girl, you know that? Did such a good job for me.”

Your eyes dart up to his face. “What?”

“So pretty like this. All wet and helpless.” Your thighs clench together at the praise, furthering your humiliation. Leon notices immediately and smirks down at you. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

You whine as he lifts you in his arms. You’re slack in his arms because of the extensive injuries to your body. You feel your piss soaked body pressed against him and knowing your piss is getting on him makes you wanna vomit.

But that’s not the only thing you feel. This time it’s a lot less surprising, but doesn’t make things make any more sense. His erection pressed against your ass and you don’t have the energy to point it out or try to push yourself away from it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Thankfully, not a whole lot of glass is embedded in the skin of your back, so you can happily lay in the blankets piled on top of the mattress without causing yourself any more pain.

You lay with your arms against your sides, avoiding making contact with your hands. Every time you look at your hands, your stomach twists and turns at the deformed skin. They’re cut to shit and glass shards stick out haphazardly all throughout the skin.

“Are you comfortable?” Leon asks as he runs a cold, wet washcloth across your forehead.

“As comfortable as I can be.”

“Good, good.” Leon gets up and walks across the room. You let your eyes fall shut, your body crying out for blissful sleep.

You hear Leon’s footsteps approach your bedside, not bothering to open your eyes. You’re not even sure you could open your eyes if you wanted to.

“Baby, keep your eyes shut for me, alright?” You nod as he softly caresses your cheek, pushing your hair from your face. 

“Can you stick your tongue out for me? I got a surprise for you.” You hum in response, too tired to question him. But you couldn’t help the hope growing in your stomach at the thought he might finally give you some water or food.

You lol your tongue out as far as you can and feel him grab it with his thumb and pointer finger. He grips it tightly. You’re not sure why he’s doing it, but once again, you’re too exhausted to question him or resist it.

“This will be quick.” 

You make a “huh” sound as best as you can with your tongue in its current position, and that’s when you hear a disgusting snip sound followed by squelching. 

You start screaming as excruciating pain sets in. Your screams are cut short as you start choking on your own blood, the liquid pouring from the wound and slipping down your throat.

Leon grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you into a sitting position, allowing the blood to pour down your chin rather than your throat. Your body is shaking from the pain, you’re on the verge of passing out, feeling the darkness creeping up on you, awaiting to consume you completely.

“There you go, baby. I got rid of the thing that causes you the most trouble. You’re perfect now.”

Your tears pour down your face, mixing with the blood coming from your mouth. You look down at the bedspread in front of you and the sight of your severed tongue has your vision going foggy. You let out one final cry before passing out from the pain and blood loss.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It’s been fourteen years, but you still remember it like it was yesterday. You relive those events every fucking day of your miserable existence. It doesn’t help that you have optimal time to think about it in your small prison cell on death row.

Of course he handed you over to the police with some elaborate story on how he found you out and when he confronted you, you went crazy and mutilated yourself. And of course, you can’t properly defend yourself, considering he took your fucking tongue. You could write out your claims of innocence over and over, but how could you possibly convey it with words alone?

Leon framed you for all of the murders. Planted all the evidence at your apartment and in your car, “finding” all the overlooked leads in your office. It was a pretty open and shut case. Took the jury less than an hour to find you guilty and for you to get sentenced to death.

Tomorrow’s the day. You’ll finally get the lethal injection and be free from your own personal purgatory. You’re confined to a prison cell by yourself 24/7 considering if you show your face outside of it, other inmates are instantly on you. You’re America’s most brutal female serial killer, how could they not want to kill you?

It’d be too easy if the prison would just let the other inmates go through with it. Just put you out of your misery and throw your body into the prison’s graveyard. But no. No amount of suffering will ever be enough to pay for “your” crimes.

You hate yourself. You look at your unrecognizable, mutilated hands and all you can do is sigh as you slip one down between your spread thighs to relieve the ache you feel between them.

In your line of work, you were well aware that trauma could cross wires in your brain. You can’t control your trauma responses. But the fact that your pussy is always soaking wet when you think about his dick in your mouth and the praising words he spoke to you is torture in itself.

You try to think of anything else, anything else at all. Even when your fantasies don’t revolve around that man, you can’t get yourself off without thinking of what he did to you. 

As you lay in bed, shirt stuffed between your teeth to silence your sounds, you feel your climax grow closer and closer and his face above you is all you can see. And no matter how many times you go over it with yourself, telling yourself it’s a trauma response, you know the truth. You know that deep down you loved what he did to you and the only thing that makes you so angry is the fact that he put you here.

Here in this cold, lonely cell to waste away for the rest of your days. Leaving you with a heart, soul, and cunt that aches for him. You know what he’s done and you hate it, but you can’t bring yourself to hate him.

And as your wetness runs down your fingers, coating your palm in the proof of exactly what he does to you, all you can think about is that fucking day. You’re going to die tomorrow and here you are touching yourself to the man that put you here.

Your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a shaking and shivering mess in your threadbear sheets on your paper thin cot. It’d be so much easier to hate him, but you have the curse of hating yourself instead. 

Tomorrow you will die and pay for your crimes. And maybe the crimes you’ll be dying for aren’t yours, but you still deserve to pay for being so fucked in the head. So you’re happy, almost giddy to be dying tomorrow. 

Maybe you’ve gone mad, or maybe you were always mad to begin with and it took him coming along to pull it out of you. Either way, not like it fucking matters. You’ll still be dead and he’ll still be a free man. But you caught the killer and for that, you’ll always be a good fucking detective. 

~masterlist~

[mo0nfairy]

Bro when they remade the game of re4, Leon made me want to just....do anything for him. He's just- so- AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH.....You know? And thinking of him as a yandere made me giggle and kicking my feet

part 2. part 3. part 4.

tw :: yandere!leon, obsessive!leon, alcohol, kidnapping, drugging blood, being chained up, insinuations of suicide.

⸺ ommgggg !!! i've been playing the game bit by bit in my free time and im actively going batshit over this man. so here are some of my thoughts……………….

you met leon during the events of RE2 in raccoon city. you ever heard of scary dog privilege? that was basically him with you the entire night. your personal bodyguard, your guard dog. he saved your life over and over and over again until you both practically lost count. however, once you both survived the night and the sun arose, you went your separate ways (much to his dismay). law enforcement and the government were attempting to track down survivors, due to their theories of them having links with umbrella. you had absolutely nothing to do with it, obvi. so, to avoid it all, you vanished. and for 6 long, insufferable years, leon has lived without you. countless therapy sessions, solace in alcohol, and numerous partners who didn’t last longer than a month, nothing could make him forget you.

now (knowing your luck), you just so happen to be one of the missing hikers the police officers speak of in the very beginning of RE4. you were taking a daily stroll through the woods to meditate before you were kidnapped and brought into the los iluminados cult. fortunately for you, you managed to evade being infected. however, you have still spent the last week in sheer misery. running from the village-folk, dodging hidden bear-traps, and scavenging for any crumbs you could consume. you can only dream of the shower you'd take after this nightmare, where you can scrub your skin of the grime, blood, and god knows whatever substances have stained your form. you did befriend a lone wolf, however, so that's a plus!

leon just so happens to be in the same area you're in, only with intentions of saving the president's daughter. he had hoped that by becoming a secret agent, he would be able to manipulate the provided resources and find you. before he knows it, leon soon wakes with a gasp, finding his hands above his head and his wrists chained together. he yanks the chain down, only to hear a quiet voice whisper "hey, quit it!" that voice. leon springs to his feet and turns to verify his suspicions, the sudden movement behind you scaring you into doing the same. he gasps your name in disbelief, before he falls into awed silence while staring at you in complete captivation. you have no fucking idea how much he missed you. all these years of searching for you, dread satiated through him at the possibility of you being dead. leon knows in his heart he would not have the strength to live if you had truly been gone forever. but now, there are no worries. the light of his entire life is alive and by his side! exactly where they belong.

on your end, however, was a complete different story. that night 6 years ago was now an entire blur. umbrella had managed to hunt you down mere days after the event, drugging you with a variety of different remedies. their efforts succeeded and had caused you to almost completely forget that night. your brain has only been able to scrutinize the blood, the death, and the groaning and screaming of undead figures around you. weekly visits with your therapist are helping you disinter forgotten pieces, but leon wasn't present in any of these newfound memories. so, when this stranger whispers your name into the air and stares at you as if you had just descended from heaven itself, you aren’t able to connect the dots.

a smile, one that could rival the sun, breaks out on the face of the mysterious blonde. tears brim in his honeyed gaze. "oh, god. you have no fucking idea how happy i am to finally see you!” holding his hands out, he takes several long strides towards you to engulf you, to where you take several steps away from him.

"who the fuck are you?" his world shatters, "how do you know me? are you the one behind this shit?" your eyes are full of confusion and uncertainty. a major contrast to the look of heroism and gratitude you gazed at him with ages ago.

without another breath, leon pulls the chain towards him, causing you to spring forward. your wrists are tied above your head and your feet are practically dangling off the floor. there are now mere inches in between you and this man. and the look of sheer horror on his face is unforgettable.

"look at me…” his eyes feel like bullets stinging into you, tears spilling down his cheeks. “it- it's me, angel! it’s leon! leon scott kennedy, i worked in the RPD that night 6 years ago.” his breath hits your face as he desperately recounts the worst night of your life. “y/n, i saved your life. and you saved mine. don't you remember?"

leon’s hand cups your face, skin hovering over yours, almost as if he were afraid to fully touch you. his face scrunches up from the sobs racking through his body.

“don’t you know how much i still love you?”

you finally have the revelation that whoever this 'leon scott kennedy' is was with you that night in raccoon city. you also conclude that you are most definitely not getting away from him so easily.

n e ways.... i went wayyyy to overboard with this, but like i said, i've been having some THOUGHTS about re4 and our golden boy. also some other characters too, hehe…………

if you'd like to see more, pls don't be afraid to send some asks in !!

[bl0odyh3art]

I got you.

warnings: incest, older brother Leon, reader gets easily scared, real brother Leon, re2r Leon in mind for this fic, p in v, unprotected, virgin reader

this is dead dove/dark content. if are uncomfortable with this kind of content or don't like it, then do not interact.

a/n: ummm first full fic? 😭 but older brother re2r Leon!!! not my best work tbh. I think this sucks

The loud lightning and thunder, making you shake and all stirred up in your bed, the constant flashing of the lightning.

Even at your age, it was still scary and loud to you... Leon was finally back from college and just wanted to relax before moving out fully. Obviously, you'll miss him. He's your older brother. He's always stood up for you and helped you....maybe he wouldn't mind his little sister coming in to get him to help you to relax…

You tiptoed to his room, holding tightly onto your pajamas and your feet that were covered with little ruffled socks shuffling against the floorboards as you made your way to his room. He's asleep, of course, he's always sleepy. You walk up to him and lightly shake his shoulders.

"Leon....wake up.... I'm scared.....please..." you almost cried. He woke up a couple of seconds later.

"Hm?...hey, what's up?" His voice was groggy and a bit raspy. You looked away from him and sighed. You always thought liking your brother was weird, but he's fit.... I mean he was only in his underwear. His fit body and cute face...he stared at you, waiting for an answer, or he'd just go back to bed without a care.

"All the thunder and lightning is scaring me…." you looked down, honestly embarrassed and ashamed of yourself, but Leon sighed and looked at you, making space for you on the bed and moving over, so you could tuck yourself in next to him.

"Come on…such a baby." he softly chuckles as you get into bed, and he presses a kiss on your forehead, groaning like an old man as he lays back down. His warm back against yours and just the fact that he's almost naked makes your face flush a bit. You turn your head to look at him.

"Leon….can-.....can you umm….comfort me?" he didn't answer for a bit, but you heard his sigh and nod, he turned around, so he could hug you, cuddle you. He's chin resting on the top of your head and his arms wrapped around your body, softly rubbing your back with his thumbs as you hear his heartbeat. 

"I got you." he whispered softly. "But there's no way you're still scared of the weather like this", he grinned.

"Yes, I am…. It's stupid… I know" you muttered against his shoulder and thought for a while. Looking at his face as he looked down at you, he was so fucking handsome it made you sick to your core. His stupid blue eyes and jawline, those cheeks and body. fuck. Mindlessly, you grabbed his face and kissed his lips, which made him pull away quickly.

"What the hell was that?" he looked at you as if you were some disgusting creature. 

"I- um…look…. fuck, Leon…. I really like you, and it's not my fault you're so handsome," you mumbled quickly. 

"You're my sister. I'm your brother….we can't ... .we can't do that shit! That's gross!....you know what mom and dad told us when we were little." he wiped his mouth as your hands squeezed his biceps.

"Leon, come on…just one time?...just a kiss." you look at him, your head tilted slightly to get a better look at him in the moonlight. 

He sighs and closes his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath. 

"Then will you do it for me?" his eyes trailed up your body and face.

"I can… I can…suck you off when you need it." you shrugged.

"No…not-...you know what, fine. fuck." he grabbed your face and gave you a sloppy, wet kiss which made you fall on your back on the bed. He grabbed at your hair and moaned at the kiss, his hands trailing up your body and underneath your pajamas. 

"fucking stupid, sister." he groaned as he ripped open his shirt, the buttons flying across the room. 

You gasped and grabbed at his shoulders. "Not my fucking shirt!" slapping his arm slightly. 

He had you on the bottom, getting his dick wet with his spit, his eyes flickering back and forth at you and his dick. He lined himself up at your entrance. 

"Tell me once it hurts" he muttered against your cheek and his, up just the tip in, making you squirm and dig your nails in his shoulders. 

"Stop, stop, stop." you breathed out, and he waited for a while.

"Okay…umm, I guess you can keep going…" 

He slowly rocks his hips, his dick pushing more and more into your pussy, your hole fluttering around him every time he pushes inside you. 

your legs were shaking a bit already and he groaned. "So fucking tight….going to chop my dick off", he laughed dryly. He really didn't know what to say while fucking his own sister and neither did you. 

He rubbed your clit to ease the pain a bit and your hips jumped up, letting out a moan and gasping. He picked up the speed a bit and his moans started coming out. You swore it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever heard.

"Ahh…fuck, taking your brother's dick so good, huh? Waiting just for me?" he slapped your clit, making you squirm and whine a bit. 

You nodded as he pounded into you, you were so close already, your legs shaking and moving your hands to his giant ass man tits. 

"Close already?" he cooed, his other hand gripping your tit and sucking the nipple, rubbing your clit faster as he felt himself get closer, feeling the tip of his dick reach that spongy spot in your pussy. Your mouth hanging open and gasping.

"I'm gonna-....ahh!" your hole fluttering around his dick and he railed you through your orgasm, panting and strangled moans left Leon's mouth as he got closer, grabbing your hair to kiss you as he filled you up.

"Oh…fuck, aha…..you did good…" he panted and flopped over on the bed. You had already forgotten about the storm outside and had focused more on Leon. He was pretty much on the verge of passing out close he held you close and kissed the crown of your head.

"I got you, sweetheart."

[navstuffs]

Emptiness

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Summary: You are dead, and Leon wonders why he is still alive.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, long one-shot, leon is suicidial, suicide attempt!!, leon is depressive, MAJOR ANGST, abuse of alcohol, some usage of y/n, cigarettes/smoking, leon is a mess, SAD SAD SAD!!!, leon is suffering a lot, lots of pain, NO HAPPINESS!, dates in italic count since reader's death

Author's Note: idk, except i am sorry i like to make the characters i love suffer and share that on the internet? i made my husband read this, and he doesn't care about leon whatsoever, and he ended up upset for him at the end so you can imagine how this goes. i have more happy leon's fanfics, you can check it out here!

PLEASE, PROCEED CAREFULLY, AS THIS FANFIC DESCRIBES SUICIDE, SUICIDE ATTEMPT, DEPRESSION, AND ALCOHOLISM.

If you have been struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts, you are NOT alone! Here is a link for tumblr support for some helpful information, depending in what country you are! Seek help, you are loved, you are strong, you are wanted!

3 months, 27 days, 3 hours, 5 minutes

The first thing Leon notices when he wakes up is that he is cold. He isn't wearing a shirt, and for some reason, the blankets covering his body look dirty with some unknown substance. He groans, throwing the blanket on the floor. He still wears the jeans from last night, has no shirt on, and doesn't smell well.

The second thing he hears is his phone's ringtone. It had to be Chris. Or Claire wondering if he is alive. He sits up, his hand rubbing his face as a way to make the headache less.

The third thing Leon notices is his hand resting in the empty space of the bed. Your empty space on the bed. He gulps because he hasn't touched that part since returning to the house. He raises his hand as if Leon contaminated the area, the last pieces he had of you.

Leon glimpses under your pillow a very familiar black shirt. One of the ones he gave to you. Leon doesn't remember grabbing it last night. He holds it, checking if he got dirty, but the shirt seems clean. Leon takes the shirt to his nose, smelling it. 

His phone rings a second time breaking his trance. He gets up from the bed and sighs when he sees the nightstands filled with beer cans. You would have hated that.

When he finally finds his phone on the bathroom floor, Leon's headache worsens when he sees Chris's name.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck Leon, I was on my way to your house right now. You scared me, man."

"What do you want?" Leon isn't in the mood to talk, especially with Chris.

"Claire told me she went by your house last night, and you weren't there. She says the motorcycle wasn't there. Have you been drinking and driving again?"

Leon rolls his eyes. As if drinking and driving was a big problem for him now.

"Okay, mom, if that is all, then."

"Look," Chris sighs, and there is a long pause before he speaks again. "There is a mission. If you are still interested."

Finally, Leon thinks. He has been begging for one for weeks now, and Chris has always said "no," "next time," or "we shall see" due to his mental health situation.

"Yeah. When?"

"I will send you more details when I have it. Look, Leon, I just don't think you should—"

Leon hangs up without letting Chris finish. He scrolls through his lost calls, mostly all of them being from Chris and Claire. A few from Jill when she was trying to help. It got too much for her as well. Leon scrolls down even longer, finally finding your name.

Almost four months ago. Has it been that long? Two last calls.

As a ritual he repeats every morning, Leon clicks on your name, hearing the call go straight to voice mail. Precisely as he wanted.

Hi, this is Y/N, you tried to reach me, but I can't take your call now! Leave me a voice message, and I will contact you as soon as possible!

Beep.

-x-

 4 months

Jill Valentine is sitting in front of Leon inside the jet. She hasn't looked at him once inside the plane as they are being taken to a contamination site. Her eyes are distant, her form is tense, and Leon maybe thinks that time can't cure it all.

"Preparing to land," They hear in their radio communications. Leon rechecks his gun, wondering without significant interest if any of that would ever end. When he looks up, Jill is observing him.

"You ready for this?" She asks with a mild tone of curiosity in her voice.

You knew Jill longer than you knew Leon, actually. You were her best friend before becoming his lover. Jill had given Leon all the solemn talk of "Don't fuck up with my best friend, or I will kill you." After your passing, Jill had become somewhat like a ghost in his life. She tried, Leon wonders, if not for you, to give him support in the first two weeks, but Leon knew deep down she blamed him.

And she was right.

"Yeah," He answers.

Jill nods. The last time she had seen Leon, he was miserable. With the longest beard Leon has ever had, bloodshot eyes, hair a mess, drunk, and the smell of cigarettes around the house. She told herself she would try for you, but it wasn't easy to see Leon like that. And after she said you would hate it if he smoked inside their house and Leon grunted that you were dead and never coming back, she left without looking twice.

She never understood why Chris and Claire continued. Maybe because they knew him longer than they knew you.

The plane finally lands in a safe space, and they exit. It is in an abandoned industrial area this time, and they might have survivors who live nearby and might need help.

"Do not fuck this up," Jill warns.

"I won't."

-x-

1 month, 1 week, 2 days, and 5 hours

Claire Redfield is knocking on Leon's door. It is way past dinner time, but she brings pizza. From your favorite place. Claire knows he won't have eaten anything since Chris kept telling her Leon is losing weight. Since your death, Claire has tried to help Leon out as much as she could because she knows that is what you would have wanted, to no avail.

"Come on, Leon, I have pizza! I know you haven't eaten today!" She announces.

That's when her sixth sense starts beeping. All house lights are off, which is strange: Leon either left the TV or any light on. Leon didn't like the darkness. Claire tries to open the door but is locked. Leon never locked the door since he was back for this house. With her heart racing, Claire goes to her bag and grabs the reserve key. She shares one with Chris, and they both trade every week. Leon doesn't seem to care, not that he cares about many things lately.

She enters the apartment to complete silence. No sight of him anywhere.

"Leon?" Her voice is distant, as her hands are looking for her gun. Maybe someone invaded and got him? Perhaps something else—?

The air escapes from Claire's lungs when she sees Leon. Hanging from the ceiling.

"Leon!" She screams, running fast to hold his legs. She doesn't know what she is doing, she is calling for help, she is trying to get a chair, she is trying to hold his legs up so he can breathe. Claire doesn't dare to look up.

With one sudden decision, Claire gets her gun and shoots three times at the rope. Leon's body drops, and he is pale as a ghost. She kneels near him, feeling his pulse. There is still one, very light, but there is one.

Without thinking twice, Claire starts CPR, Stayin' Live by Bee Gees, in her head. She knows Leon will hate her for this, but she can't fail this. She would have hated herself, you would have hated her.

"Come on, Leon, come on." She begs desperately as she compresses his chest with all her strength. When Leon finally breathes, a small vigorous one, Claire is sweating on her clothes. She sighs, relieved, sitting down on the floor, drained.

She grabs her bag and finds her phone to call the emergency number, asking for an ambulance. That her friend attempted suicide. She gives them Leon's address, checking for his breathing. When Leon opens his eyes, he is confused. The last thing he remembers is kicking the chair away, the air escaping slowly from his lungs. He looks around, finding Claire's face in his peripheral view. She seems to be crying, her hands on his chest.

His blue eyes find hers, and Leon looks with hatred in her direction for the first time that Claire doesn't recognize him. She feels tears form in the corner of her eyes, and her lips shake, but she holds them back.

"I have called an ambulance," Her voice shakes, and Leon's stare carries so much weight that she must look away.

-x-

1 month, 3 weeks, 8 hours, 2 minutes. 

The hospital door opens, and Leon exits, carrying his duffel bag. After staying confined for almost two weeks, he inhales the fresh air. Those two weeks, instead of helping, just made him feel worse. Much worse. With no alcohol, no cigarettes, nothing, Leon had no way to forget. He woke up and went to sleep with your face on his mind.

Going through what he did wrong. What he could have done right.

He feels the pain sting his soul, thinking about your smile. Fuck, he needed a drink. He needed some sort of dubious mixed-up cocktail. The stronger, the better. When he looks to his left, he sees Chris Redfield standing.

Sighing, he walks toward Chris. Leon knows he won't be able to run away. Chris has a worried stare as he gets closer. To be honest, Leon thought he should have hated after what he did to Claire, but no, Redfield still manages to give him a small smile when Leon gets close.

"Hey."

"Who told you I was going to leave?"

"Mhm, the hospital? You are in my care for the next couple of weeks."

"I am going home." Leon starts to walk away from him, but Chris's arm stops him.

"No, you are not. As I said, you are in my care. And if I need to drag you to my car and make a scene in front of all those people, I will. What do you think?"

Leon hates how Chris can look like you so much regarding his care. Always to drastic measures, you both could say. Pretending to have given up, Leon holds his hands up as a sign of defeat and follows Chris to his car.

"Is...Claire okay?" Leon mutters as Chris starts the car. Leon can see Chris hold the wheel stronger than he should, but the moment passes, and Chris answers.

"She is worried sick about you. She has been...busy, that is all."

Leon knows that is a lie. He had seen Claire on one of the visitations day, and she seemed upset like she had been crying every day since she found him. Leon felt guilty Claire was finding him (he thought someone else would) and was outraged when she saved him. And he ended up lashing out at her. When Claire tried to argue during the visitations that is what you would have wanted, Leon roared that he never wanted to see her again.

To be honest, Leon is relieved. One less person for him to hurt. Chris, well, that one was hard. Leon knows he isn't giving up that easily. Especially after the last thing he said to you was that he would protect him during a mission.

"No, no, Chris, you don't understand, he bikes around without a helmet and thinks that is super cool? I mean, how old is he again? You better keep your eye on him, if I am not around. Got it?" You asked, winking in Leon's direction. He knew you were teasing him, but Chris's tone was serious when he answered.

"Loud and clear."

In the first three weeks after your death, Chris was there. He rummaged through the house, taking everything Leon could use to harm himself. Leon's guns were the first to go, Leon didn't know how he discovered the password, and honestly, he didn't care. He just woke up a day with them gone. Knives? Gone. It was like Chris was baby-proofing the house. 

Leon would have lost much more weight during that time if it wasn't for Chris insisting on him eating. Or hydrate. Warning if he got too weak to take care of himself, Chris would have made sure to strap him to a bed and kept him there against his will.

"There are cigarettes in the glove's compartment," Chris says, cutting his line of thought.

Leon looks at him with suspicion before opening. Chris wasn't lying. There is even a lighter there.

"You smokin' now?" Leon asks out of curiosity.

"No. I bought those for you."

Leon lights up a cigar, opening the window. The rest of the car ride goes silent, and when they finally arrive at Chris's house, he turns off the car, sighing.

"Look, Leon. I am not very good at this, and you know it. You will stay with me as long as you want, but I can't keep you a prisoner in my house."

Leon observes him, and Chris takes the courage to finally say it.

"No one wants you dead, Leon. What happened to Y/N, it wasn't your fault. And you need therapy."

Leon gives a humorless laugh, opening the door of the car.

"You are not bad at this, Chris. You are terrible at this."

-x-

4 months, 1 day, 5 hours

Ada Wong is good at her job. She does what she is paid to do when she needs to do it. No feelings attached, except, well, when Leon Kennedy is involved. It had been like this since the events during Raccoon City.

And then, suddenly, you appeared on his side during the events in Spain. You were something else, for sure. Standing by his side, remaining strong, although that was your first mission, or so Ada heard. And facing up her, determination in your eyes. Ada found you adorable, perfect for Leon. The loyalty, in your eyes, was something she could never demonstrate.

The man in front of her now was just what once was Leon Kennedy, her..."ally" from the other side. Ada had to admit she was shocked when she first saw him, barely recognizing him. Leon had big dark bags under his eyes, not as strong as he once was. And there was...no life in his once vivid blue eyes. Nothing.

"Ada Wong. Doing something for yourself again?" Leon asks, his voice monotone.

Ada was used to his hostility, mistrust, and even anger. But not that complete apathy, a complete lack of emotions. Leon Kennedy was dead, she was confident, and he died when you did.

"You know I don't share my secrets, big boy," She says, her tone the same as always. "But we can always find common ground, as we always do."

Leon nods, and Ada tells herself she shouldn't care, she shouldn't ask. But she has never seen it like this, and this Leon frightens her.

"I have heard about Y/N. My condolences."

Leon's eyes go wide with surprise. He looks at Ada as if she has just arrived from outer space.

"Is this one of your schemes? 'Cause if it is, cut the crap, I am not in the mood."

"It is not. I heard about what happened." Is Ada Wong really showing empathy? Leon blinks, surprised, but he shakes his head. No, it has to be one of her tricks. Since when did Ada start caring about him?

"Shut up, Ada. Do not mention this ever again. We are here for a mission, nothing else, nothing more. Stop pretending you fucking care." Leon's voice is low, and Ada doesn't say anything as she watches him walk in the dark corridor before her. She has known him long enough to know when he is being serious, and she knows he is threatening her life now.

Ada sighs. The Leon Kennedy she once knew, was gone. You left a carcass behind, a damaged man for the rest of his life. Ada still remembers the last thing she said to you, before she disappeared.

"You are truly special. Take care of him."

-x-

1 minute

"Is Mr. Leon Kennedy speaking?"

Leon stops when he answers his phone to a strange voice. 

"Yes? Who is this?"

"Mr. Kennedy, this is from McKenney Hospital. Could we speak with you in just a moment? Are you busy or driving?"

"No. Hospital, you say? What is going on?"

"We just need a moment of your time. Do you know Y/N L/N?"

Leon's heart starts bumping against his chest.

"Yes. What about it?"

"Y/N L/N was involved in a car crash today, sir. At this moment in time, they are doing surgery on them."

"What? No, excuse me, ma'am, this is some mistake."

The gentle voice behind the phone silences as she listens, Leon saying you weren't involved in an accident. It was impossible. You were coming to have dinner with him later, you were going to forgive him, you were going to be back together just fine. When Leon shuts up, the voice speaks again with much more compassion.

"You are tagged as their emergency contact, Mr. Kennedy. How long can you get in here—"

"I just fucking told you, lady, that is impossible, they are coming to have dinner with me, we are supposed to reconnect, and you aren't listening to me!" Leon screams the last part, punching the counter before him and making all the glass bowls in the counter jump. 

The compassionate voice waits to speak again in a much more determined tone.

"Mr. Kennedy, I suggest you come to the hospital, not alone. Come with a friend. We will answer all your questions and concerns when you get here. Just don't come alone."

Leon turns off the call, pissed. How can the lady be so stupid? He told her over and over again you were on your way to his house, your house. Leon had been cooking the whole night, preparing your favorite dinner. After that, he would never let you away from him ever again. He breathes deeply now, trying to ease the tremors on his hands, when he lets his eyes wander off to the TV, a news broadcast about a terrible accident that happened. Some drunk driver caused this accident that involved a with a truck oil tank, and five people were killed. Many injuries reported.

Without thinking twice, Leon grabs his motorcycle's keys.

He doesn't know how he got in one piece in the hospital. Something inside him tells him to call Jill, Claire, Chris, or someone, anyone, but he doesn't. The hospital's entrance is chaotic, with most victims being taken there since it was the closest location.

Leon asks your name to the front receptionist, and they say they are operating you now. The lady points to the waiting room area, where Leon waits. Leon had felt fear many times in his life, but nothing compared to this. He knew you were strong. Stronger than him, actually. You were brave. You were getting out of this.

Because he didn't know how to live without you.

Leon observed families getting good and bad news for what seemed an eternity. The death toll climbed to more two people, a mom crumble in the doctor's arms due to the loss of his son and husband. Leon was praying, begging for some higher force or anything for you to live.

He would never drink again. Leon Kennedy would never let the darkness inside him win and let you go. He would never doubt himself or his ability to love. No, Leon would love you even more intensely than he already did, more than anything in his life.

Leon takes a while to get up when the doctor finally calls his name. He feels sick, his stomach is twisting. He counts nine steps until he gets to the doctor, a lady with scrubs and an indecipherable face.  

"Mr. Kennedy, do you want me to take you to a more private room?"

"Tell me."

The doctor sighs, looking directly into his eyes when she says. 

"We did everything we could, Mr. Kennedy. I am sorry they didn't make it."

No. 

"I am sorry, Mr. Kennedy, I truly am."

No. NO! NO!

"Mr. Kennedy, please, don't, I am sorry. Can I get some help over here? Please, don't do this!"

It takes six or seven security guards to stop Leon from destroying the waiting room or even hurting someone. He is crying, he is begging, he is losing himself. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. It was unfair: not after everything he had done or everything you went through together. He always told you he needed to die first because Leon knew damn well he couldn't live without you. Leon has a hole in his chest that will never close again. He feels someone pull his sleeve up, a pinching sensation, and Leon falls into darkness. 

[gor3-hound]

i apologise if you feel something

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dead dove, domestic abuse, possessive leon, toxic behaviour, heavy non-con, choking, p in v, improper prep, blood as lube, creampie, physical assault, crying, BRIEF murder threat, guilt, very brief praise n degradation mixed in

a/n: hiii! this is written w re2 leon in mind!! pls be aware there are quite graphic depictions of co-dependency n abuse in this one. it's late, so pls ignore typos !! title from bmth song of the same name

word count: 1.8k words

Leon wasn't the same man you knew before Raccoon City. When he first came home after his first day, he was clingy. He wouldn't leave you alone, following you around like a lost puppy. You didn't know the extent of what he went through at the beginning, but he slowly began to open up about the horrors he saw.

You were there for him. Of course you were. You let him stay at your place now his new apartment was left in ruins after the bomb hit. Not that he could stay in that godforsaken city, anyway. He still dreamt of the infected most nights, waking up in a cold sweat.

You could have handled that, if it was all it was. You wanted to be there for him, help him recover as best he could. You loved him, and you wanted him to be okay more than anything.

But he started changing. You couldn't so much as try and leave for the store without him crowding you against the wall, demanding to know exactly what you needed. If you were out and didn't answer his texts, he'd make sure to let you know you fucked up.

He wasn't above hitting you, gripping your throat until you almost passed out. Anything to keep you under his thumb, to make sure you wouldn't leave him. He'd seen too much death so early in his life.

He wasn't going to lose you, too.

You couldn't take it anymore. He controlled every aspect of your life. It was getting to the point that you'd flinch anytime he moved too fast. You hated being scared in your own apartment.

You tried bringing it up gently, tell him it just wasn't working out for you. After all, he'd be leaving for military training soon, and you needed to finish up your college studies and think about building a career.

You regretted it as soon as the words came out of your mouth.

“You think you get to leave me?” He says with a dry, humourless laugh. He stalks towards you like a lion cornering its prey, backing you up against the wall. He cages you in with his larger frame, looking down at you with a dark glint in his eyes.

“That's cute, baby. Really. You think you get a fucking choice?” The words are punctuated with a harsh grip on your throat, squeezing you so hard that your airflow is instantly cut off. You can feel the blood rushing to your face as you try and suck in a breath, your hands clawing at his wrists to try and get them off.

Your nails draw blood, and that just pisses him off even more. He yanks you towards him slightly by your neck before slamming you back against the wall, your head hitting it with a loud thud.

Pain shoots across your system, your vision blurry with the unshed tears forming. He lets go of your throat after another minute, watching with a sadistic glee as you crumple to the floor at his feet. He squats down, watching as you choke in air to fill your burning lungs.

“You're the only good thing left in my life, baby. You don't get to leave me.”

“You're crazy…” You gasp out, pushing on the floor to attempt to stand up again. He was dangerous. You needed to get out before he killed you.

His eye twitches at your words, and a foot goes flying for your stomach before you can even register it. You fall to the floor once more, sobbing as you curl in on yourself in a pathetic attempt to protect your body from more hits.

“I'm crazy?” He says quietly, an eerie sense of calm in his voice. He stands over you, placing his foot on your wrist before grinding the sole of his boot into your wrist, making you cry out in pain.

“I'm crazy?” He repeats louder this time, almost yelling at you. He yanks you up by your hair, dragging you into the bedroom and throwing you onto the bed. “You're the crazy one! You think this is bad, sweetheart? I can make you disappear.”

"You want to leave me, huh?" His breathing is hard and fast. "I'm crazy, huh?" The veins in his neck are bulging out, his hands fiddling with the buckle of his belt.

"I'll show you crazy."

Your entire body is shaking, but you have to get out. You have to get to your phone. You look at the door, and that was your worst mistake. In a flash, he's slapping you across the face hard enough that your ears ring, blood filling your mouth.

“Cute. Real fucking cute.” He hisses, grabbing your jaw roughly so you're facing him. He seems to get even angrier when he sees how terrified you look.

“Aww… baby. You're scared?” He coos, a mocking pout making its way to his lips. “You should be grateful. I'm keeping you safe. You have no right to be scared. If you knew what I've seen, what I've been through-”

He pauses to suck in a shaky breath through his teeth, images of the horrors he'd endured during Raccoon City flashing through his mind and making him feel nauseous.

“You should consider yourself lucky.” He says in a low tone, his expression hardening as he looks down at you. “You haven't been exposed to anything worth being scared of, princess.”

“Don't worry, though. I understand. I'll just have to fuck some sense back into you, hmm? Remind you of who's been by your side since day fucking one, keeping you safe.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and it seems to renew your fight. You struggle against him all over again, crying as you push and kick at his torso, thrashing as he pins you down on the bed. “Leon… Leon, no, wait… babe, fuck I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, m'so sorry, just…”

He shoves three fingers into your mouth, the tips jarring your throat and making you sputter and choke. There's a steady stream of tears running down your face at his point, your breaths heavy through your nose.

“Do you ever shut up?” He grunts, tugging down your pyjama pants and underwear, frowning when he sees you're not wet for him. That's new. Oh well. Wasn't gonna stop him.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, coated with a mix of your blood and spit. He uses that to ease his way into you, pushing two fingers in straight away and spreading them inside of you to stretch you out for him.

“Leon, stop… that hurts.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut and kicking your legs out weakly. He's not doing this for you. Doesn't try to hit your sweet spot or rub your clit to ease the discomfort like he usually does.

“One more word from you, and I swear to god, I'm going to break your pretty fucking neck.” He grunts, yanking his fingers out of your pussy to free his cock from his jeans.

You're nowhere near prepared enough to take him. You cry out in pain as he bottoms out in one thrust. He doesn't give you a second to adjust, nothing. He just starts thrusting, chasing his own high as he fucks into you.

Either you're getting wet, or you're bleeding. Whichever one it is, slick lines your pussy and makes his thrusts easier. He groans as he continues to rock his fat cock into your cunt, his head thrown back in pleasure.

His hands grip your thighs as you try and close them, holding them wide apart so he has full access to fuck you as much as he wants. You give up, going limp as he takes what he wants from you.

“There we go… shit, you feel so fucking good. Even when you say no, she sucks me right in.” He moans, his hips rabbiting even faster against you, the sounds of slapping skin filling the room.

“Such a… god.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Perfect little slut for me… pussy always squeezes me so good…”

His eyes flutter open, and he tilts his head down to take you in. He finally looks at your face and sees how much you're sobbing, the pure terror in your face. His brows furrow, and he frowns. He looks down further, trailing your body and noticing the bruise forming on your stomach. When his gaze reaches his cock and he sees the blood coating it, a look of panic flashes across his face for a second.

He seems to realise what he's doing, his expression switching to one of worry in an instant. His hips stutter, but don't stop. He pulls out just enough to spit on his dick, trying to make it hurt less for you. He starts to sob, his hands cupping your cheeks and caressing them softly.

"Fuck, baby. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me." He says quietly, voice cracking halfway through the sentence. He feels sick when he sees your blood coating his length and has to swallow down the bile that rises in his throat. Doesn't make him stop, though. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"I didn't mean it. I swear. I just love you so, so much. I have nobody. Can't lose you, too." He breathes out, dropping his head against your shoulder as he ruts shallowly into you. “My pretty baby. Such a good girl. Don't wanna hurt you… hate seein’ you cry.”

You don't know how you end up comforting him, promising him it's okay even as your whole body aches and your insides burn with every thrust. It hurts to see him hurting. You'd rather take a beating than see him this broken. All it takes for him to cum is for you to say you love him, too.

He pulls out carefully, pressing kisses down your neck. You don't move. Don't speak. You couldn't, even if you wanted to. You're limp in his arms as he picks you up, cradling you carefully against his chest.

He runs you a bath, gently placing you into the hot, soapy water. He peppers kisses all over your face as the water washes away the blood and cum, soothing your aching muscles.

He keeps saying he's sorry, his eyes filled with remorse. He promises he won't do it again, but you know he will. As soon as you step a toe out of line, he'll snap again. You know you should leave. You'd be dead if he kept this up. But seeing that pain on his face, the way he trembles as he washes your hair tenderly…

You'd stay one more day. Just one more day…

[clitorphosis]

PINK CELLPHONE

Incel Leon S. Kennedy x OnlyFans reader | 18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, INCEST, smut, female reader, reader is a little bit mean, creampie, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, teasing, Leon is submissive, nipple play, tits sucking.

notes: uhm, i didnt proofread this so... i want to remind you that english isnt my first language :3 also i imagined re2 og Leon, but whatever! also reblogs and any kind of feedback is really appreciated

tags: @withonly-sweetheart

There was something fundamentally wrong with Leon in female’s gaze.

Maybe he is unlucky or those girls are blind. Really hoping it is the latter, cause it is not flattering when guys with migrated hairline can get cute girls, while he can’t. And 4chan doesn’t help either, those advices aren’t useful when he can’t even talk to a real girl.

Yes, they are blind. He is going to set on that.

So after many years of solitude, his only company has become the blue gleam which most night was the only source of light in the room, while air was full with low noises coming from the old, poor laptop. Trying to survive after years of not being turned off correctly. Multiple tabs on his laptop’s screen, he doesn’t bother to close them anymore, hoarding them like some kind of treasure - Leon doesn’t give a shit anymore.

This century is perfect for a man like Leon, internet may be the second Library of Alexandria. A real paradise, so much colorful and vibrant sites with cute girls showing their bodies if he pays for that content.

Thank god Onlyfans exists. And he is a nice guy, supporting cute and sexy girls.

Paying for limited content can be considered as supporting women, right? Even if he was motivated due to his selfish reasons - to get attention and limited content. Something special for him. It was embarrassing how long he could browse a fair share of accounts and get or even interact with some girls without being rejected and they would not know him. There are a lot of them, all cute and nice, and they acted even better when he tipped them, so they would interact more with him, calling him a ‘pretty boy’. At least it made him feel special for a while. Still, not his fault that their, too perfect, videos or photos led him to lose his interest - their content felt lifeless, without passion or love put in it. Boring. It has become a routine already, finding an account - jerking off until he loses his interest and the cycle returns to browsing the site for someone new to obsess over.

Your account was like a treasure when he found it. Leon got attracted to it like a magnet, comparable to find a needle in the haystack. Sweet thing, really sweet, if he was ever to interact with you he wouldn’t be able to hide his grimace. But that was attracting, he doesn’t know how much money he has spent on your content. Your face was always hidden or cut out by the position of your camera, but there was no need to see your face when people paid to jerk off.

It was nice while it lasted.

Pink cellphone. The little pink cellphone he got his sister, after she nagged him about wanting it, that ended up left alone and not used. You have this pink cellphone, the furniture and a lot of things were identical to his little sister’s room; posters of her favorite bands or that specific blanket she had all her life, but this was quickly brushed off at first, almost all girls like cute stuff and this could be a coincidence. Also that not the first thing a guy notices when he is ready to jerk off. Leon isn’t sure why after seeing that pink cellphone it clicked so quickly, the guilt and shame fill him to the brim, coiling around his neck like a loose invisible tie knot.

This is wrong, wrong like touching his sister’s breast. Your breast. Instead, he was jerking off to your boobs for months. Imagining how they would fill his palms nicely.

The room is the same as before, but now it hits different to be here after discovering what you have been doing here all this time. It has the same smell as always, sweet and too much like you, tightening the invisible knot around his neck. He wants to throw himself out of the window, this is sick and he doesn’t understand why his legs brought him here after work, still wearing his uniform. There are plenty of almost empty and few full bottles of perfume he had bought you during one of shopping trips, while you were nagging him and begging for them. He eyes such little and useless items that in any other situations he wouldn’t notice, avoiding to look at you. His efforts were useless, he is a weak man after all and there is nothing to do other than to stare at your frame; sitting on the bed, confused at his behavior and expecting something - a reason to explain why he is acting like that, staring at you, almost fucking you with his eyes. He doesn’t need Freud to tell him that he wants to fuck his own sister. Were you preparing to do new content for your followers? The thought made his pants tighter, wanting to pull at the fabric to ease it but this would only bring your attention, wouldn’t it? Maybe he wants it.

“You look like shit.”

“Excuse me?” Did he hear that right?

“You look like shit, Leon” you repeat before raising an eyebrow “stop staring, you are going to dig holes into my face. What do you want?”

What a bitch, he would say, but,

“Uhm…” is the only sound he was able to let out, getting closer to your bed and sitting down on the edge. You scoot closer to him as you always do. A sweet habit he always liked, sometimes you even hug him. “Not lady-like, sweetheart. I wanted to talk”

You roll your eyes. “About what?”

“A friend of mine, he sent me a link of a girl, doing porn” his lies flow so fast and easily from his mouth, trying to shift this to someone non existent. “Her face isn’t visible but… her room and she had a pink cellphone, identical to yours… so I was wondering—“

“Maybe you are imagining things. Many girls have similar room to mine” you cut him, your hand lays on his shoulder. Perhaps this is hell, hell would feel like you mock him by pretending that account isn’t you, like those moans he heard weren’t yours while a guy or a dildo was pleasing you, making Leon envious and sour - why not him? The corners of your lips tug up, something good got into your head. “So you are paying for that stuff, huh? Jerking off to a girl similar to your little sister, you are so weird”

“Huh? No, I am not” Yes, he is, that’s actually his favorite hobby.

“Cut the crap, Leon. There is no friend. You probably imagined me, yeah?” He did, he won’t deny this - it would be a lie leading to another rejection, this time by his sister - and he is man, a desperate one. Also poker has never been his strong point nor he can lie well with his hard on. “Nasty, nasty boy”

His blue eyes linger on your mouth as you spoke, watching your tongue rolled sensually and slowly. Your tongue clicks, before applying more pressure on his shoulder with your hand, pushing him down. He is like a rag doll under your touch - his back hits the softness of your bed and now all he can see is your face looking down at Leon before finally sliding on his lap. Your legs straddle his hips, so nicely pressing down on his crotch and making this much harder than it should be. His cock is already painfully hard, straining against the warmth of your pussy which can be felt through thin fabric of your shorts. God bless them. He bucks up his hips, as his hands reach to hold your hips and press them harder against his aching cock while he tries to dryhump you needy - too bad that’s not on your list, slapping away his hands like it is a disturbance which makes him frown.

“Ah-ah, big bro. Don’t touch me” you purr as your head dips lower to press hot heated kiss on the skin of his neck, leaving soft bites and wet trail behind whilst your tongue traces around those bites, like a soothing touch before it starts going up down and up in torturous motions. Until you stop on his Adam’s apple to bite it softly to leave a red spot, your hands dive under his shirt, pushing it up to expose his stomach and making it easier to reach his chest - fingertips brush against his nipples, before rolling and pinch them to force more moans from him. A grown man getting already painfully hot and bothered over little touches and kisses there and then, this causes you to chuckle under your breath - don’t want to hear him complain how you hurt his ego. Man’s ego is more fragile than soap bubbles or the glass, one poke and he would not shut up and fuck your brain instead of your pussy. That won’t do. Your eyes dart up to look into his face - to see that sweet and needy expression, begging more than just teasing caresses from you. Your hips sit so well against his, sometimes creating some friction when one of you move and it feels like he is going to die if his dick won’t be buried in your pussy any time soon.

“I don’t like dirty hands on me” you add eventually with the same purring voice. What can be better than a man being submissive and shattering over nothing?

“Can you just… oh shit!” his sentence gets cut abruptly, when your lips reach to his earlobe, nibbling playfully and it would be really humiliating if he cum here cause of how his ears are sensible. Deep inhale, before speaking again, trying to keep himself at check and not to be so meek while you keep rolling his sensitive nipples in between your fingers. His next words are breathless and voice is shaky, almost at the edge to sound pathetically. Not really manly, but still your clit throbs, only now noticing how your panties are soaked now, uncomfortably clinging to your pussy lips. “…fuck me?”

You stop your assault over the skin of his neck to look down at him better, your hips press against his hard dick forcing a breathless whimper to escape. This little plea, he begs. Your clit throbs again, so uncomfortably wet, you want to dryhump him until he cum in his jeans like a virgin. Instead, he is one. If he was any other men you wouldn’t consider this good enough to comply but the sight in front of you is too much to ignore.

“Fuck.. you?” You echo his words, feigning a confusion, your eyes widen to emphasize the act. A cheap one, cause your hand already tugged down your shorts, leaving you in panties, he has seen them so many time on those videos and photos, his hips buck to press himself to your, still, clothed pussy. His attempt isn’t really successful, your hand unzips his jeans to free his cock. And finally to look at it. “you are so weird… I dunno, to ask that from me, don’t you have any shame in this body of yours, huh?”

“I don’t give a shit, just fuck me” he groans, looking down as you palm his cock, it twitches in your hand, already leaking with pre-cum and you can even notice a little stain on his boxers.

A light urge to roll your eyes arises deep down when you looked down, but it was quickly put down. Rather disappointing as a size, if someone would have asked you, but not everyone can have porno dick or customized one. You can still fuck with that. Leon swallows hard, taking a deep breath in again as he looked at you briefly - your tits are more interesting right now. He hopes you let him to suck on them. His fingers twitch, wanting to reach for your panties and tug to the side, to fuck you, but he is a gentleman. A nice guy.

Your hand pumps his dick, smearing his pre-cum along the flesh before tugging your panties to the side, your glistening pussy is fully exposed to his gaze and Leon almost choked on his saliva when you pressed your slick cunt on his cock. It is a torturous game, feeling you rub slowly along his aching length leading to drip more of pre-cum. You are so wet and warm, your slick coats his dick with every stroke of your pussy against it. This makes his eyes widen briefly at the sensation, he isn’t sure if he would be able to last long inside you. If it ever gets to that, of course.

“Please..?” Leon groans, bucking his hips to get more and press himself tighter for more friction than it is even possible right now. His sounds only encourage you to mess with him.

“What? I don’t understand” you taunt him with a light pout, another long and slow stroke, his cock’s tip was so close to slide into you. “Use your big-big words, Leon”

Your pussy kept grinding, enjoying the way his cock head bumps against your clit and making you wetter, forcing some noises from you too. Your fingers tug on his lower lip playfully - just to tease and annoy him. But he doesn’t let you withdraw your hand by grabbing hold of it. His lips catch your finger, sucking and nipping on it.

“Use me… please” like one of yours sex toys, Leon wanted to add, but, alas his dignity was still in tact, holding barely together by the tiniest thread. And as much as you want him to cum without even a penetration, to embarrass him, your own selfish urge to fuck him is much stronger.

“What a pretty face you have, right, big bro?” Also it is hard to ignore such sight in front of you, with blushed cheeks, his chest raises heavily as he let out breathless groans. “Pretty and pathetic, you would be a perfect sex doll”

Your wet slit kept rubbing, but this time savoring with the last stroke, before finally hovering over his cock - feeling his leaky tip nudging against your slick hole, begging to sink down, before his cock finally slides into you. He watched how your pussy swallowed his cock slowly inch by inch, before Leon thrusts up to meet your downward movement, forcing yours to slam against his, quickly burying himself as deep as he can right now. You moan at the rough motion, now ignoring how his hands reach to grip tightly your waist, not really caring anymore and now nothing stops him by touching you. Your slick inner walls wrap around his cock nicely, tightly clenching and he doesn’t think twice before bucking his hips again as yours started to roll against his - driving him deeper into your soaked hole. His dick hits the g-spot so sweetly, making you gasp and moan with him. His teeth catch the fabric of your shirt, trying to tug it down and expose your boobs to him - and you are nice enough to help him by pulling it aside, a clear permission to bury his face in between them. Sloppily kissing and biting on the flesh of your tits, while you are bouncing on his dick. His lips repeat your name as a prayer, catching a hard nipple into his mouth, his tongue brushes and rolls against the sensitive nub - sucking at it, nibbling messily and leaving wet marks before darting to give attention to another nipple, causing your pussy to flutter around his dick more, tightly engulfing deeper into the slick walls as the wet sounds mix with the skin slapping ones every time your hips meet after every deep and quick stroke that his cock drag against your walls.

“I-I want to fill you with my cum, please”his voice is breathless at the edge of whine even though he tries his best to not appear so desperate, but the plea behind his words is clear. His grip gets tighter, his fingers knead your ass as he grinds his dick against your cervix to intensify the pleasure for himself while his pelvis rubs against your clit as a nice touch. He really hopes you wouldn’t try to be a bitch and let him cum, if not then he is probably going to cry. “Please, please, let me cum… I need this, sis”

“You sound so fucking ridiculous” your voice is breathless too, but seeing him so needy and desperate for his release making this even better. Your hand tugs his hair, pulling away from your tits to look at his face even better - his lips are glistening with his own saliva and parted. Your clit throbs even more, aching for attention, velvety walls clench around him when you reach down to press your fingers on your clit, rubbing rough circles. “Come on, fill your little sister if you need this so much”

He whimpers disappointedly when he was pulled away from your sensitive and abused tits, but it was quickly changed into a moan when your pussy to wrap him tighter after adding your fingers in action. Your hips roll harder to meet his thrusts and wanting to see more of his stupid faces. Leon grinds up against sweet spot at every opportunity and every time it gets messier and messier as his balls tightens. His eyes slide shut briefly, now wetly meeting yours and looking more pathetic. What a freak, not like you are better than him.

Your orgasm approaches quickly as you kept rubbing your clit in rough circle motions, making your walls wrap harder around his cock. You arch as the flowing pleasure hits your body hard, having harder time to use your fingers to prolong your orgasm. Your pussy flutters at every erratic and messy thrust he kept making as he chase his own orgasm. It didn’t last long for him either, already a wonder he didn’t cum after sliding into you.

“Fuck- fuck” he slammed in to the hilt one final time, burying it deep and rubbing against your cervix before finally erupting deep inside you. Thick ropes of cum painted your insides in white, as your dripping cunt was milking his cock. Your body fell down against his chest, breathing heavily together and shivering.

“You stink like a wet dog, get out” you complain weakly, trying to push yourself away from him but it is effortless - he buries his head in the crook of your neck, again. His soft cock is still inside you, he won’t let you go. “and unsubscribe from my OnlyFans, creep”

“Later” Leon mumbles absently.

No, he is not even going to unsubscribe. In another life.

[stuckinthesun]

TW // panic attack

You can’t do this. Huddled on the floor and breathing erratically, tears start pouring down your face. Your lungs burn from overuse and you think you hear someone calling your name, but it’s muffled through your heart pounding in your ears.

There are people, disfigured and should be dead people, eating other people. You’ve been chased around by a very large man in a fedora trying to kill you, and you’re only companion is a rookie cop who’s only been in this city for a couple hours.

Leon has been extremely helpful, and you will be forever grateful for him if you actually manage to escape this, but right now in your panic state you can’t help wishing that he was at least a local.

How could this be happening? You’re mind shows you all the horrors you’ve seen in the last hour alone, like some sick slideshow, and you let out a sob.

You feel two hands grab your shoulders suddenly and you scream, thrashing your body, trying to get out of the monster’s hold.

That’s when the voice that’s been trying to get through to you finally registers, “Hey! Hey, it’s just me! It’s Leon! Relax, it’s just me! I’m not gonna hurt you! Look at me!”

Leon grabs your face then, forcing you to look at him, and even in your panicked state you can see he’s worried.

Once you’re looking at him, he opens his mouth and for a moment you think he’s going to say something. Something cliche like, “I’m here,” or “We’re going to make it,” to try and cheer you up, but instead Leon takes in a breath and…

Makes a goofy face at you.

Leon used his inhale and puffed out his cheeks, closing his eyes and scrunching his nose to add to the effect.

You just stared, stunned, at the sight in front of you.

A moment of silence passed, and the air in Leon’s cheeks began to deflate, slipping through his lips and making a raspberry sound.

That is what broke you.

A startled laugh broke from your chest, panic completely forgotten, and making Leon open his eyes. He smiled at you, and you returned it with a disbelieving one of your own, “What was that?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never had to calm someone down from a panic attack before.”

“Clearly,” You laugh again, shaking your head.

He huffed at you jokingly, “Hey, it worked didn’t it!”

You rolled your eyes and held your hand out. Leon took it without hesitation and helped you up, keeping his hands in yours until he knew you were okay.

“Yeah,” You mumble, straightening yourself looking at him with determination, “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

Leon smiled at you and nodded, raising his gun, “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

It wasn’t until later, on the underground train, with your fingers intertwined with his, that you thanked him for being there for you.

[sooniebby]

Sooooooo let's Go!

The reader would be Ashley's brother, and would be sent along with Leon to rescue her. But, the reader has knowledge about weapons and espionage, for being an agent (your choice of his affiliation), and throughout the mission Leon and the reader begin to fall in love with each other. So after rescuing Ashley, they arrange to meet and what happens next is up to you!

When Ada appears, the reader is with Leon, which makes him feel a little jealous and maybe Ashley helping them get together, pls?

ఌ 𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐘

꧁ 𝙇𝙚𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

Word count › 3.4k

Rating › SFW

Warnings › none

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＢＥＧＩＮＮＩＮＧ

Maybe it wasn’t smart. Sure, (Name) had the skills to fight and kill. But never alone. He had never been alone before but here he was. In some random village. He was cursing himself in his head. His gun was empty as well. Ammo gone.

Only a knife as his only weapon of choice. He knows how to fight. But these aren’t… people.

He can’t even fight dirty! They don’t go down like normal people. Sure, he had heard about zombies but these felt so different. He was a fool to think he could ever save Ashley. His father was right on him not thinking before reacting.

But hearing his baby sister was kidnapped, how could he not panic? They don’t know what these people are. And after running into just two of them, he knew he was right to be afraid.

Checking his rounds again, as if some would magically appear, he shoved his gun back into his holster. He wanted to give up but decided he was too far ahead. The church he had heard those things talk about had to have Ashley in it.

It was mainly a guess but guess were all he had right now.

He was lucky enough that most of the villagers were already dead whenever he passed by. But that also caused him to worry. Who the hell was killing them? It looked to be gunshots, so he was hoping it could’ve been some regular army guy but he didn’t know if they would want to work with him.

The church in front of (Name) was mainly deserted. He saw two bodies on the floor as he walked to the entrance. It was already open. He slowly stepped inside, brandishing his knife.

It was a longer blade than most knifes but it was getting old. He forgot to grab a much newer one.

He was silent, just to hear if there was anyone else until he heard Ashley’s voice. And some unknown man’s. His sister screamed at first but then it was silent. (Name) panicked and quickly ran up to the ladder.

With only his adrenaline pumping, he was on the second floor in record time to see the man in front of Ashley. From his view, all he could really see was that he was holding a gun.

(Name) crept over, ready to attack the man until he turned around. A sudden squeak left his mouth, he would very much deny it, and he dropped onto the ground.

Ashley sighed in relief. “(Name)!” She rushed over to him despite the other man’s protest. “How’d you find me?”

“Oh, uh, I stole some… stuff.. it doesn’t matter. We gotta leave,” (Name) moved to stand up until a sudden cough was heard. The siblings turned their attention back to the man with the gun.

“This family reunion is cute and all but I need to know how you got here,” he said.

“Why? Who are you?”

“Leon Kennedy. I was sent by her.. your father to rescue Ashley. He didn’t tell me his son would be here as well.” Leon said, eyeing (Name).

“Well he doesn’t know.”

“Not a good thing, is it?” Leon asked, raising an eyebrow. (Name) bit his lip. Okay, he was right. It wasn’t a good idea to come here without telling someone. If he hadn’t found out where Ashley was and ended up being killed, no one would’ve known where he was.

Ashley sighed. “Okay, we can worry about this later. We need to get out here before—”

The sound of chanting interrupted her as the trio looked over to the window. It was the villagers with pitchforks and weapons, ready to do anything to keep Ashley from leaving. Leon cursed as he began to reload his gun.

“Alright, we’ll talk later. I’m sure you can fight, yeah? Don’t gotta worry about you?”

(Name) rolled his eyes. “No shit. I wouldn’t have been able to survive this long if I couldn’t.”

“It didn’t seem like it by that mouse squeak you let out earlier. But prove me wrong.”

“Guys.” Ashley groaned.

“Sorry…” (Name) muttered.

(Name) did not like this Leon Kennedy.

But he couldn’t lie at how cool Leon was fighting against the villagers. (Name) didn’t have to do much at all. He mainly focused on keeping Ashley away from any villagers that tried to grab her.

“We have a helicopter coming, we just have to reach the location before the weather.” Leon said, leading them to the supposed location.

(Name) felt weird following some random guy but he seemed legit. Ashley seemed to have no problem so he didn’t say anything. If this guy did have a helicopter for them to get out, he’d better take it.

Ashley elbowed his arm. “(Name), what were you thinking? Dad would’ve sent someone for me. You didn’t need to come.”

“Yeah, but, I was worried.”

“Worrying is fine but thinking would be nice.”

“Would you not have tried to come rescue me if you could?”

“Maybe but I would’ve had a plan or at least some people to help. Not go it alone. We’re lucky Leon is here.”

“I could’ve saved you without mister pretty face.”

“Thanks.” Leon suddenly said.

“Huh?” (Name) remembered that Leon could obviously hear them. He wasn’t exactly whispering when he said that.

“Mister pretty face? Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment…” (Name) muttered but got no answer from Leon. Ashley simply laughed.

The walk to the location was cut short when they ran into a few villagers. It felt like an ambush as they popped out from every side, effectively blocking them from leaving. (Name) pushed Ashley behind him, holding his knife out as some sort of warning.

He heard a chuckle from beside him but he decided to ignore it. Leon had no business laughing at him in a moment like this. The villagers began to attack as Leon started shooting.

(Name) payed more attention to Ashley the entire time, maneuvering her anything a villager grabbed at her clothes. But all this attention on her left his wide open for a swing at his head. He dodge the first time, much to his shock but was swiftly overtaken by one that stabbed his hand.

He cursed, watching as one of the much bigger ones grabbed him with ease and slung him over his back. Ashley screamed out, as another tried to grab her but was killed by Leon. He aimed his gun at the one holding (Name) but was swiftly attacked by another villager.

It gave the one holding (Name) enough time to walk away. (Name) used his knife to slash at the kidnapper but was unable to phase it. This wasn’t like the other villagers. It had a hat with a long coat. A stature that felt inhuman.

“Relieve yourself to God, my child. For it is the only thing for your salvation.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

(Name) could feel faint. His tiredness was getting to him. Fighting against two villagers earlier with just six billets and a knife tired him. He also didn’t pass by with no hits from that fight. They got him a couple of times. It didn’t bother him then, he had built a tolerance of pain but he could feel himself bleeding.

He didn’t have the adrenaline to push through anymore.

At least Ashley was safe with someone.

ꕤ

“You will be a great sacrifice. Abandon any struggling or doubt and give this fruitful body to God.”

The feeling of something cool against his skin shook (Name) awake as he tried to open his eyes. They were heavy as he heard the murmur of prayers. He wasn’t dead? A slice at his skin caused him to scream out, pulling at the chains that held him. He didn’t know where the hell he was but he could certainly tell someone was carving something into his back.

The sound of them walking away was when he finally got the courage to open his eyes.

He then tried to look around but only saw a dark cave. Only a lone candle light on a floor near the wall and the moonlight seeping through the cave opening was his only sense of light. He could feel blood trailing down his back as the blood was pulled away from his skin.

(Name) didn’t want to know what was carved into his back. He wasn’t sure what was happening but he knew he would die tonight. It had to be a human sacrifice. This cult already tried to kill him before.

He glanced around, to see if there was anything he could free himself with. His shirt was torn open seeing he still had it one technically. There were too lazy to fully strip him shirtless. His pants were still there but covered in mud and dirt from his falls earlier.

His knife.

His knife was on the table with the candle. He couldn’t even kill himself to not deal with whatever this shit was. (Name) whined. He wanted to just die.

Not have to deal with whatever the fuck this was.

He didn’t want to die here but it seemed most likely. Shit. (Name) hoped Ashley was fine. She had Leon at least. He sighed. The feeling of being lightheaded taking over.

“Oh wow. Didn’t think you’d be here.”

(Name) glanced up to see a woman in a red sweater dress in front of him. An odd choice to wear in a situation like this but he didn’t question it. The woman kneeled down in front of him, looking over his body with pursed lips.

“You feeling okay? You look a little woozy.”

“No…” (Name) couldn’t finish his speech. He groaned.

“You’re Ashley’s big brother, right? You came to come save her yourself? How cute.”

“I…”

“Well, it seems you’re in a bad position so I’ll help you and you’ll help me later, alright?”

“Hm.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Ada Wong.”

“(Name) G….” (Name) felt his head fall down to the ground as the chains holding him up released him. He groaned out in pain but soon felt himself fall asleep.

He wasn’t sure he’d wake up.

ꕤ

“How’d you find him?”

“I’d put the gun down if I were you. The only thing that kept him alive was me. I see you lost Ashley though.” Ada said.

(Name) groaned as he looked around at where he was. He could feel that the carvings in his back certainly did happen. It was a fucked up dream. But what he didn’t feel all to there at all.

“He’ll be a bit stupid for an hour. It’s just the drugs.”

“I don’t have an hour.”

“Well you do now, Leon. Unless you wanna just leave him here, where anyone can just walk into this house. I mean, he isn’t your mission anyway.”

(Name) could hear voices outside of the room he was in. It looked to be the master bedroom with how spacious it was. He couldn’t think straight. A giggle left his lips as he tried to sit up only to collapse back down on the bed.

“He’s awake. Make sure his stitches don’t open. We’ll talk another time.”

The creek of the door caught (Name)’s attention as he watched Leon walk in. He looked angrier than the last time he saw him but his more blank expression took over once he saw (Name) stare at him.

“Ashley..?”

“Gone. She ran away. But I know where she is. It’s the castle.”

(Name) only grinned. “When’d you get so manly Ashley?”

“… excuse me?”

“Oh, wait… you’re not Ashley.” (Name) reached up his right hand to touch Leon’s face only to see it bandaged. “Ah! What happened?”

“How are you feeling? Any pain?”

“Hmmmm, no? I feel sleepy.”

(Name) moved to lay on his side, using his hand to reach out towards Leon. Leon looked more preoccupied with whoever he was talking to in his ear piece. (Name) wasn’t sure. He felt hazy.

He used his non bandaged hand to grab at Leon’s belt, playing with it. Leon pushed his hand away but that only made (Name) reach for it again. The only answer after that was a grunt before Leon just left him to it, more worried about who he was talking to.

The sound of thunder outside caught (Name)’s attention. In the back of his head, he worried for Ashley. Just when he had her, he lost her. He couldn’t help the whimper he let out, pulling away from Leon’s belt.

He failed her.

Tears streamed down his face as he tried to curl into a ball onto cry out in pain instead. He felt a hand grab his arm and looked up at an angry Leon.

It seemed the only thing he did for Leon was make him angry.

“No sudden movements. Those stitches aren’t professional. They can’t withstand much before breaking.”

“Sorry…” (Name) whispered. So pathetic. He should’ve just stayed home. Maybe he wouldn’t have caused such problems. His father was smart, he could’ve handled it.

Leon simply hummed before pulling away. (Name)’s face was still fresh with tears and they wouldn’t stop. He turned his face away from Leon, not wanting him to see him like this.

He did have some sense of pride on not being seen as weak. His military training was for nothing if carvings on his back killed him like this.

But he never really tried to fight whatever those things were.

(Name) stiffened when he felt Leon’s hand on his head. He waited for a moment, his breathing slowed as Leon awkwardly rubbed his hair as if he was a dog. Then Leon simply pulled his hand away.

He didn’t say anything before walking away, muttering about making sure no one had found the house. (Name) sniffled as he thought about what just happened. He was been used to people not touching him. That’s what he was.

An untouchable guy who killed with ease as a veteran at such a young age. Making his pops proud. Only Ashley really tried to get him to open up. Stop relying on his skewed view of a man to make himself feel better.

He was still crying. But it was for something else. The touch of someone other than Ashley felt nice. It felt good. No matter how awkward it was.

Maybe Ashley was right calling him a touch starved mouse. Though she only called him a mouse because of how he sounded during jump scares in horror movies.

(Name) wiped away his tears. He could worry about his mental problems later. Ashley being alive mattered more. But he couldn’t exactly move.

“Leon.” He called out.

Much to his shock, Leon was immediately there. He looked a bit panic at first before calming himself when he noticed that nothing was wrong.

“What?”

“You should go to Ashley. We don’t know how much time she has left.”

“No can do. I can’t leave you.”

“I’m not your mission. I came here on my own accord. I’ll meet you guys later.”

“Meet us later? You can’t even bend. How can I know you can fight? Let alone run.”

“Ashley matters more.”

“Ashley won’t be pleased to hear I had you and then lost you just as quickly. She’ll be happier and more likely to listen to you than me.” Leon said.

What he said felt final. (Name) didn’t feel like he could rebuttal him. Maybe it was the way he said it. His stance. His eyes. But he was a bit scary to argue with so (Name) shut his mouth. That seemed to please Leon as his anger was gone as soon as it came.

He looked out the window, possibly looking out for anything before checking how much ammo he had left.

“Where’s your gun?”

“Dunno. They took it maybe. My knife isn’t here either.”

“Okay. In an hour or two, we’ll head straight to where Ashley is. I’ll handle any heavy lifting.”

“The weather?”

“It should be clear soon. But if not, we may have to just go. They won’t stop their plans just because of the weather.”

Leon sat down on the bed as he contemplated about what to do. He never planned on having to worry about two people. This mission was going wrong at every turn. He hadn’t mentioned to Hunnigan about (Name) being here.

It wasn’t exactly a good time earlier and the quick call with her just a moment ago ended abruptly. It must’ve been done by the mole or the weather. But now he had no connections to anyone.

He was on his own.

“Leon… I’m sorry.”

(Name) felt himself flinch when the blonde glanced over at him. His face was unreadable. He didn’t say anything, as if waiting for (Name) to explain himself further.

“For coming. Here, y’know. It wasn’t smart. I wasn’t known for my brains anyway.”

“I’m not your daddy. You can explain yourself to him when you see him later,” Leon grinned. “Just rest for now. You’ll be moving nonstop later.”

(Name) watched as he walked away. He felt an odd sense of relief. Yeah, he would be seeing his ‘daddy’ later to explain himself. He wished he could get grounded again.

Maybe feel like a kid that he never got to be.

ꕤ

The plan to leave in an hour or two was swiftly forgotten when (Name)’s stitches came undone when he got up to use the restroom. He cried out in pain, leaning on the wall as Leon ran to him.

Now he was here, on the bed with his back facing Leon as he tried his best to redo the stitches. Whatever Ada had done was clearly done to just stop him from bleeding out. She hadn’t really taken the time to clean it out. The feeling of wet wipes on his back was not comfortable.

He continuously grunted in pain, wishing he hadn’t gotten this hurt. He just felt so weak. Leon was silent the entire time, stopping whenever (Name) let out a particularly painful cry.

It was better being unconscious when the stitches were done.

(Name) wasn’t sure if it was the blood lost, the drugs, or the touch of Leon’s hand on his back—he felt a sudden rush of blood in his penis. He hadn’t really ever been touched. Which is no shock.

Who would touch a veteran who had been groomed into acting out the worst traits of toxic masculinity. He had stopped two years ago but it still put a damper on any relationship he could’ve had.

Maybe that’s why the touch of Leon was making him act this way. Like a teenage boy who was getting touched by his crush. The hands moved around before lowering down a bit. It made (Name)’s whole body twitch.

Leon’s hand lingered on his lower back, gently rubbing the dip into his ass. The only skid I’m the room was (Name)’s heavy breathing as he tried to calm himself down.

“Leon…—”

A loud bang caught their attention as Leon maneuvered (Name) to hide in the closet. (Name) was sure Leon was about to close it but he was wrong as he joined him inside, closing it shut. Their bodies were pressed together, (Name) only reaching Leon’s shoulder.

He hesitantly rested his head on his shoulder, hoping Leon would be too focused on the intruder to care about him acting this way.

Unbeknownst to (Name), Leon was looking at him from the corner of his eye. He wrapped one arm around his waist, tugging him close. Using his free hand, he kept it on his gun, ready to shoot if anyone tried to open the closet door.

Leon tried to ignore (Name)’s growing erection. At least he wasn’t the only one having physical attraction to the other. He made sure his hand on (Name)’s waist didn’t dip any lower than it needed to be. Even if (Name)’s more… plump ass was right there to squeeze.

A shadow from the outside covered the crack in the closet. Leon was ready, hovering his finger over the trigger as the door was swung open. He aimed his gun at the person’s head only to realize it was Luis.

“Wow, hey! Don’t get all trigger happy on me, Leon!”

“What the…?”

“Oh, who’s this?”

(Name) felt tired. He simply sighed and felt himself fall asleep, tucked into Leon’s arms.

He’ll handle this new weirdo after his Power Nap.

“Uh, did he just fall asleep?”

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＥＮＤ

Changed some things… ended up with a full on plot 🤭 I got carried away lol hope I did Leon justice <3

Pt 2? Smut would happen next time. I tried to do it here but it just didn’t make sense right now—gotta go through another near death then you fuck, fanfic rules

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @chill-guy-but-cooler @kiiyoooo @mello-life69 ( @dabisbratz bcs I know you love Leon)

[yourgentlegirlfriend]

Apple Pie

——————

hi my angels!!! Apple pie part 2???!!! Now listen… there’s no smut PLEASE don’t be upset. I really wanna make this a series i have a lot of stuff planned out especially for the next chapter </3 i hope you guys like it.

DISCLAIMER: IF YOU WERE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH NSFW/DARK CONTENT OR ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT WITH MY BLOG. MUAH.

Warnings: Panic attack, mentions of cleaning and bandaging wounds, accidental injury and mentions of blood. Leon is lowkey obsessed but hates it, so he shut it down.

Word count: 2,444

————————————-

Nine o’clock.

Does he show up early? Does he come a minute late?

Leon stares at himself in his mirror, sighing when he feels he doesn’t look.. acceptable.

Was he a creep?

Like, hey, you made me a really fantastic pie, and you watered my lawn while I was out of town, and now I watch you from my living room while you’re in your kitchen.

It’s weird. Yet he found so much comfort in you living this ordinary life, baking pies and watering plants and checking on your strawberry bush daily as if they’d grow overnight. You were simple, and oh, how he craved simple.

His arms tugged at the t-shirt he slipped on, just a plain blue one. But he couldn’t help but run his fingers over the forming scabs on his wrist and arms; with you a distraction he had forgotten he had come home from a mission. He groaned in frustration as he tugged the t-shirt off, slipping on a black long sleeve. It was going to have to do.

Shit, he had no flowers to give you? Nothing? He leaned himself back, peering out his bedroom window to see you in your kitchen still, swinging open the oven door and the smoke piling out, making your glasses fog up as you attempted to reach for the dish inside without sight. He couldn’t help but laugh to himself as he grabbed his keys; just a quick trip to the grocery store for some flowers for you.

————————————-

White roses? No red, pink? Tulips? No..

He stood clueless in front of the flower cart, looking at all the neatly wrapped bouquets before him as he rubbed the back of his neck in confusion.

“What’s she like?”

An older woman asks Leon, leaning heavily on her cart for support as she looks at him. Leon cleared his throat as he looked at the tiny woman, shrugging as he laughed defenselessly.

“That’s the thing, she’s my neighbor. I hardly know her.”

The older woman couldn’t help but smile cheerfully at Leon as she walked over to the cart, handing him the mix of yellow roses and white daisies. She nodded her head as she tapped his hands

“She will love those, trust me. I was young once being given roses by a handsome man.”

Leon watched the woman walk away, tapping the flowers against his arm before he walked to the register, the teenager giving him a dead-tired stare as he scanned the code for the flowers.

“Twenty-four seventy-nine.”

His monotone voice almost caused Leon to convulse as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the one hundred dollar bill and a fifty. He hands the money to the young man, who stares at him, confused

“An older woman is walking around here; you’ll notice her, you’re the only register open. Please pay for her groceries with that money.”

The teenager sighed as he slipped the bills under the register, looking back to Leon’s

“Receipt?”

And before Leon could even respond with his quick no thanks the kid cut him off, sighing as he started scanning the following customer's items

“Great. Have a good one.”

———————————

Leon’s hands were so overly sweaty, and why? He cracked his neck as he parked in his driveway, his eyes shifting to his dashboard to see it was nine ten. Shit. He practically ran to your door, his fist colliding with the white door. He squeezed the flowers in his hands before the door opened, your apron around your waist as you smiled at him. You were a mess, but he couldn’t help but admire it.

As he walked into the house, the instant smell of food hit him. He saw your eyes shifting back and forth to the flowers as you untied the apron from your waist before he awkwardly handed you the flowers.

How did he know? You held the flowers in your hands as he followed you into the kitchen, where you had dirty dishes thrown around, but all the food was prepared and ready.

“It’s funny because I tried to grow daisies for almost three years and I gave up because I stopped having the time for them.

You laugh as you grab the slim glass container, leaning over your sink and turning it on for the water.

“Yeah?”

Leon asked as he leaned against the door frame, his eyes tracing your every feature as he looked you up and down as you were so distracted with the flowers.

You set the vase on your window seal, smiling at the gorgeous flowers.

“Well, thank you Leon, they're beautiful.”

Leon nodded his head as a you’re welcome as you pointed to the table

“Please sit, let me serve you.”

Leon stared at you, confused as you pulled the pretty white plates from your cabinet.

Serve him?

Leon walked towards your dining room, how cute you set up all the glasses and silverware.

He pulled his chair out to sit down, noticing the slight creak of the chair as he scooted himself closer to the table. His ears pick up the sound of you hissing, your feet tapping against the floor from burning yourself. His head leaned back in concern before you walked out of the kitchen, two plates in your hand. He never really noticed what you wore, the light denim jeans and the baby blue t-shirt, that gorgeous gold necklace around your neck that he would surely ask about later. He didn’t mean to stare, you leaned over the table and placed the plate in front of him before you walked to the other side of the table, sitting down. Your foot brushed against his leg- did you mean to do that?

“Do you cook like this every night?”

Leon was shocked at your cooking capability just by the apple pie alone, but the plate in front of him was set so perfectly with mashed potatoes, chicken and a mix of fresh vegetables, it’s probably from the garden you mentioned.

“I usually eat at work, actually. A lot of my vegetables were just harvested today, so you just got lucky.”

You always eat leftover noodles from work, always too focused on other things to prepare yourself dinner most of the time. You don’t know what came over you but you knew you had to cook Leon dinner. Maybe he looked too tired, or perhaps you just felt bad for him, you didn’t know.

The silence between you two was slightly awkward, your eyes occasionally glancing up at Leon who seemed to really be enjoying his food.

“What do you do for work?”

The question made Leon’s chest hurt as he swallowed the chicken in his mouth, wiping his mouth with the napkin. How does he answer? Yeah, I work for the D.S.O. against counter-terrorism. Did I mention I've fought literal zombies?

“I’m an agent for the local police department.”

Good save.

“Oh wow, really? Guess that explains your wrist?”

Leon frowned in confusion before he looked down, seeing that his injuries were just past his wrist.

“Right, I never feel them so thanks for pointing them out.”

Leon chuckled as he followed your actions, sipping his wine. He almost choked on the red liquid as you reached forward, grabbing his hand, your soft fingers tugging up his sleeve.

“It’s swollen around the area, see?”

His eyes follow your finger as you trace the red around the wounds, the cool air finally hitting them made them hurt worse than he thought it would. Leon just nodded his head as you stood, grabbing his plate and walking to the sink putting the dishes back.

“Don’t move!”

You call out from down the hallway. You opened the closet door, clicking your tongue before you hummed in satisfaction at the sight of your first aid kit. Your body turned the hall and walked into the dining room, smiling at Leon as you sat down the first aid kid, clicking it open.

Leon wasn’t a man who bandaged his wounds unless it was vital. A little road burn or a small burn wouldn’t kill him, just wash it with soap and it should be good. You stood beside him, your glasses resting against the very tip of your nose as you poured alcohol onto the small wipes. You gave him a friendly glance before you began wiping at the red skin, Leon clearing his throat in discomfort as you continued to wipe at his skin. You placed the wipe down onto the table and grabbed at the antibiotic ointment, squeezing some onto your pointer finger and rubbing it against the edges of his burn. You hummed a soft tune to yourself as you began wrapping his arm in the white bandage, smiling as you finished, pushing your glasses up your nose.

“All done.”

Leon’s fist clenched and unclenched as he looked at the bandage, he couldn’t help but let a slight smirk grow on his face as he looked at you.

“What, you’re a doctor now?”

Your eyes rolled as you shoved everything back into its container and shut it, your body turning to walk away.

Why did he suddenly feel so angry? His chest bubbling with an unnerving pain as he pressed his fist into the table, the noise of you rambling on about something filled his ears and it became muffled as he stared down at the table, he stood up, pushing his chair in before he stormed down your entryway and clear out the door.

You shut the closet door the same time Leon slammed the front door, the pictures on your wall shaking causing you to run down the long hallway, looking into the dining room to see Leon not in the dining chair. You took a few long strides to your kitchen, peering out to the window to see Leon walk into his house, his window shaking as he slammed his door too.

You stared at all the dishes in the kitchen, scattered everywhere. Your hands were shaking, why? Just clean up. Don’t cry, you don’t even know him? Why would you cry, You don’t even know Leon and he didn’t know you. You stared out your front window, stuck in your own mind as you scrubbed viciously at the dishes, a hiss leaving your lips as you looked down at your white sink, now painted with your blood.

“Fuck..”

You whispered as your shaking hand dropped the knife, running towards the bathroom.

—————————

Leon’s door slamming made even him flinch. He couldn’t even pinpoint his anger, his fingers ripping off the bandage on his arm, throwing it into the small trash can in his bathroom as he turned his shower on, his breath heavy as he tugged his shirt over his head, dragging his pants down his legs. His face was flushed a deep red, he briefly caught a look at himself in the mirror. His arm glistened slightly from the medication you rubbed into his skin. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he still struggled to catch his breath, stepping himself into the shower, an instant sigh of relief poured from him as the hot water trickled down his skin.

His mind was racing, his head dipping into the water and wetting his hair. He stared at the water swirling down the drain, he was too scared to close his eyes. He was always afraid to close his eyes. Leon never sleeps and when he does he wakes up angry, and frustrated.

Leon slipped on the plaid pajama pants, his hand combing through his hair as he looked up in the mirror. His eyes scanned the scars on his chest and torso. His footsteps were slow as he walked toward his living room. He can sit on the couch forever, his eyes hooded as he watches the random news channel. No matter what was on the TV, he couldn’t help but look over at your window. His throat felt like it was closing as he watched you staring out your window, he almost jumped up when he watched you wince and run off out of his view. If he knocked on your door right now, you’d slam it in his face. And somehow out of all the things invading his mind, you were again the main focus.

——————————-

Waking up the following day was more challenging than usual, the deep gash in your hand wrapped tightly. It’s already nine, you were thankful you had the day off. You somehow pulled yourself out of bed, still in your pajamas. You never really were your own first priority. You opened your front door, hair still messy as you filled your watering pot to the brim. You set it down carefully by your bushes, dragging your hose towards Leon’s lawn. You were still half asleep so you were just stuck in your habits, your finger pressing into the hole of the hose as you watered his bushes, your other hand coming up to rub your eyes.

———————————-

Leon grumbled incoherently as he sat up, that sore pain in his spine making itself well aware as he did so. The noise of running water made his brows frown as he walked into the kitchen, turning his sink on. He kneeled down and rubbed his face with the cool water, a quick breath of sudden adrenaline leaving his lips as he held at his sink. His eyes squinting as he sees you, standing in your pajama shorts on his lawn, rubbing at your tired eyes. You did cut your hand, the bandage getting a bit wet as you moved your hose around his yard.

“Jesus Christ.”

Leon mumbled as he pushed himself off his counter and to the front door. You obviously didn’t hear him walking onto the porch, his arms crossing over his chest as he watched you.

“Good morning.”

Leon’s voice snapped you awake, the hose splashing up at you, misting your face. You pushed your finger back into the hole of the hose as you cleared your throat. Was he always this handsome? Leaning against the frame of his porch, his arms against his chest and his muscles being shined on perfectly by the sun.

Yet he could say the same about you, your hair tangled so slightly, the cute cat sweater lifted so slightly, your stomach showing.

“Hey, Leon. I’m sorry, I guess I’m into old habits.”

You laughed as you pressed your foot into the hose to cut the stream. Do you ask him about why he stormed out? The way he was looking at you made you want to just run back into your house, close all your blinds and just go back to sleep.

“Stop watering my lawn.”

Leon’s voice was stern, his hands dropping to his sides as he walked back into his house, your face yet again meeting the auburn door.

[syluscore]

Using You

~Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Word count: 2177

Content warnings: smut, sexual content, somnophilia, non-con bc leon's asleep, female masturbation, assisted female masturbation, praise, choking

!!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!!!!

You woke up less than gracefully. You jolted awake harshly, your body covered in a cold sweat. Thankfully Leon’s arm had you held down firmly in place. Or maybe not so thankfully after the dream you’d just woken from. Every cell in your body felt overly sensitive and on edge as you were slowly becoming more and more aware of each inch of your body that was in contact with your boyfriend. You were beyond aroused. You daydreamed of all the things Leon could do to your body, the wonderful fucking things he could make you feel. It wasn’t enough for you, now you had to dream of it as well.

You were so happy that Leon could trust you and your home enough to take sleeping medication when he was in desperate need of sleep. Most nights he was restless, constantly worrying himself about when another outbreak could occur and how to keep you safe and shielded from the true horrors of the world. His sleep brought you comfort because you were always so worried about him. He also looked so handsome with his hair messy, lips slightly parted, small snores slipping past his lips, which was a definite bonus. You stirred around beneath his arm, shook him, whispered to him, you even tried clearing your throat, but nothing was getting this man to budge.

You sighed in defeat, accepting there was no way you were going to pull him from the deep slumber he was in. But your cunt was so needy, begging to be touched. You needed to be touched, there was no way you’d be able to fall back asleep with the state you were in. Although, resuming the filthy dreams you’d been having all night didn’t sound so bad. Being pressed between Leon and a wall, his lips sucking gently on your neck, his hand slipping lower and lower-there’s no way you’re falling back asleep.

The position you two were laying in was a bit weird. You both were laying on your backs, your right shoulder tucked under his left one. His left arm was sprawled over your body, his hand resting on your left hip. Your right leg was thrown over his left one, your legs spread wide open, which wasn’t helping matters considering any movement in the air could be felt on your clothed cunt. The only clothes covering your body were panties and a big t-shirt, the blankets long thrown to the side. Cuddled into Leon was your favorite way to sleep, but fuck did that man produce so much body heat, he could heat the house in the dead of winter if you found a way to contain it and push it through the air vents.

You tried to reach down to touch yourself, but with Leon’s arm keeping you laid flat out, you couldn’t scrunch your body or angle your arms quite right to reach. Your hips kept involuntarily rising in search of friction and you were growing extremely frustrated. You were half tempted to grab his hand and use it to play with yourself. It’d finally give you the leverage to reach the parts of yourself in desperate need of attention.

You wouldn’t do that though, it would be wrong considering you’d never discussed it before. Leon had woken you up countless times with his hand or mouth between your thighs, his cock rubbing against you, his fingers pinching your nipples. It was, without a doubt, your favorite way to wake up. Would Leon really mind if you used him to help yourself? Would he find the idea as arousing as you always had when he’d done it? Fuck, why hadn’t you two ever discussed this before?

You knew the right thing to do would be to lift his arm off of you and climb out from underneath it. Sneak off to the bathroom for just a moment to get yourself off and then come back to bed when the job has been completed. Like a horny teenager. You accepted your fate and began to lift his heavy arm off of you.

That was the plan at least. His limp fingers grazed over the skin on your tummy causing goosebumps to rise up on the sensitive skin. You slowly moved his hand further and further down to where you wanted it most. Eventually, his big hand rested over your clothed cunt and you couldn’t help yourself as you grinded up into it. Soon, whimpers were slipping through your lips, it just felt so fucking good. Your hand was over his, fingers almost intertwined with how tightly you held it, pressing it firmer against yourself.

Your panties were coated in your arousal, it was soaking right through them and you could feel your essence on yours and Leon’s fingers. You’d only do this for another minute, then you’d roll out of the bed and head to the bathroom to finish yourself off. Time quickly passed and you tried to reason with yourself to get up and go, but your pleasure filled brain was anything but reasonable.

You just couldn’t fucking help it, you needed more and you needed it now. You managed to slip your panties down to your mid thighs and Leon’s hand was finally making direct contact with where you desperately craved him. Using your fingers, you guided him directly to your sweet bundle of nerves and sparks were instantly shooting through your entire body. You let out a long, pathetic whine that would’ve embarrassed you in any other scenario, but there was no one even here to witness it, so you allowed yourself to get lost in the pleasure.

At least that’s what you thought. With the constant movement of Leon’s arm, he slowly gained consciousness from the disturbance. Thanks to his job, he’d woken up in many bad situations. He was able to give no indication of being awake as he became aware of his surroundings and the situation he was in. He was thoroughly surprised to be woken up with you controlling his fingers, giving yourself pleasure and his growing erection was solid proof of his enjoyment of the scene playing out right next to him. Or rather the scene playing out with him.

He watched as your head thrashed around on the pillows and your little noises of pleasure grew as you continued to use his fingers to get off. He could feel your wetness on his fingers, he could hear the sounds your wet pussy was making as you worked yourself up more and more. As much as Leon was enjoying the show that was playing out in front of himself, he also couldn’t help himself.

“Mmmm, what are you doing there sweetheart?” he asked you, voice still husky and deep from sleep. You jerked back at the sudden noise, gasping as you stopped your movements completely, blush creeping up your face. 

“F-fuck, Leon. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing, I just, fuck,” you nervously spoke out, guilt consuming you. How could you let this continue on for as long as you did? The man was asleep, you had no right to do this to him. 

“Sorry for what? Using my fingers to touch your greedy little pussy? By all means, don’t stop on my account. Keep going,” he said as he rolled onto his left side. His lips were peppering kisses across your jaw and neck. The new position gave you much better leverage to use his hands. His words had your pussy clenching around nothing. He loved you using him like this. He had so much control over you that you had to use his fingers to get yourself off? Yeah, he was very into it.

You continued running his fingers through your folds, teasing your clit over and over again. He mumbled all sorts of good girls, just like thats, and other praises against your ear and neck. You’d never been so worked up in your entire life. Every single little touch felt so fucking good, but you needed more. You needed his fingers deep in you.

“Leon, can you put your fingers inside of me, please? I need it so bad,” you pleaded with him, but he only chuckled at you.

“If that’s where you want me, then put me there. You’re just using me, baby girl. If you wanna get off, you’re gonna have to make it happen yourself,” he told you, not once moving his fingers himself. You halted your movements and whined at him, giving him your best puppy eyes. He didn’t relent at all as he stared back at you.

“Fine, fuck, okay. We have to move positions, I can’t get the leverage to do that from here,” you spoke and he nodded. He sat up against the headboard and brought your back to his chest. You could feel his erection pressing into your back and you moaned at the feeling. You wrapped your legs up and over his, your panties slipping off somewhere in the process and your cunt spread open even more than before.

You brought his hand down to your wet hole and ran his fingers all around it, gathering up the wetness pooling there. You were spread so wide that both of your hands fit comfortably between your legs. You intertwined your fingers with his again, leaving your middle fingers straight out and pressed together as you slowly pushed them inside of yourself. You threw your head back into his chest as you moaned loudly at the stretch.

Leon’s free hand slowly ran along the side of your body, before bringing it to your breasts and teasingly running his fingers around your nipples. “You’re doing such a good job sweet girl, so wet for me,” he murmured into your hair. He began playing with your nipples as you started to slowly pump yours and his fingers in and out of yourself. 

You pulled your fingers out, straightening out your ring fingers and rubbing the now four fingers around the outside of your hole. You knew it was more than you were ever used to taking, but you needed to be full so badly. You wanted your cunt stretched out around yours and Leon’s fingers desperately. You knew you were wet enough to take it.

You pushed the sets of fingers into yourself and started pumping them again. You’d never felt anything quite like this before. You don’t know if it was the actual stimulation or knowing how you were using Leon’s fingers to get off, but you were so fucking close and all you could think about was moving your fingers and cumming.

“Leon, I’m close, I’m gonna cum, fuck,” you said, increasing the pace of your fingers. The whole situation currently playing out was so unexpected, but so fucking erotic at the same time. Leon removed his hand from your breasts and brought it up to your neck. He tightly wrapped his hand around your throat, cutting off the oxygen supply to your brain.

“That’s it baby, make yourself cum like a good little slut,” he whispered into your ear as your brain became more and more foggy. A few more thrusts of your fingers and you were screaming out as your climax crashed through you. “Fuck you’re gripping me so tight, keep screaming for me baby,” Leon spoke and he needn’t say anymore. You couldn’t help the screams and wheezes coming out of you. The only coherent word leaving your lips being Leon’s name. 

Leon released your throat as your fingers stopped their movement. Your heart hammered in your ears and throughout your whole body. You were breathing so heavily as you tried to climb back down from cloud 9. All Leon could do was run his hand through your hair and leave kisses across your cheek. He loved the way you were shaking and clinging to him.

Your breathing finally returned to normal and as the reality of what you’d just done set in, little laughs fell from your lips. Leon couldn’t help but laugh with you. He gripped your jaw and turned your head to face him as he brought your lips to his. The kiss was slow and gentle, post-orgasm exhaustion making it hard to concentrate, but Leon was happy to guide you. 

You pulled away from his lips and whispered, “Sorry for using you like that.” You looked into his eyes and hoped he could see the sincerity in yours. He may have been okay with what played out, but you still felt guilty for doing what you did.

“Fucking hell sweetheart, use me anytime you want. Best way I’ve ever woken up I promise,” he assured you before capturing your lips again. He ground his hips into your back and his erection brushed up against you. “I gave you a hand,” he smirked at you, proud of his corny joke. All you could do was roll your eyes at him. “Maybe you could help me next?” he suggested, raising his eyebrow at you. Suddenly, you’re wide awake again. 

~masterlist~