Through The Looking Glass

Leif Garrett 🩵

just can't get enough

part 2/series masterlist

Pairing; Rookie!Virgin!Leon S Kennedy x fem reader

Summary; Leon's fresh out of the academy and into the Raccoon City police department-and he's still a virgin. Not only that, but he has almost no idea what what sex even is. Then he meets you, and his body starts wanting things. Or, the first 3 stages of Leon Kennedy learning about his body.

Warnings; 18+ minors dni or I'll set nemesis on u! there's dirty thoughts, lottttttta boners, a wet dream, male masturbation, fantasies, porn watching kinda, cold showers, can't remember what else so!

(a/n) uh basically everyone is ooc v sorry bout that, idek what chris is doing in this, leon is 21 and reader is like 20/21? idk lets say everyone is in their 20's yeah? leon is like. utterly clueless in this. like he knows NOTHING! lets also ignore all the biological stuff and how he would have learned abt this beforehand and that he would prosb have more wet dreams in general if he wasn't doing anything like stfu this is just what happened to fall out of my mind- title is Just Can't Get Enough by Depeche Mode

Word Count; just under 8.7k

stage 1

The moment Leon steps into the station, his eyes land on you. Sitting behind the front desk, chatting to a man and laughing as you play with a pen. It’s like something in him locks onto you just then, like his mind fixates on you and suddenly he can’t see anyone else. 

The man showing him around doesn’t notice Leon’s distraction. Simply talks to him about the water coolers and the break room while Leon nods along, humming in agreement at all the right times as he stares across at you now typing away at your computer. 

He can see you’re not a cop, evidenced by the white blouse, silky satin fabric molding over your skin, and the black pencil skirt hugging your figure. He’s never been one to let himself get distracted by a pretty face or fall at a woman’s feet-there’s a reason he excelled at his training while other students became preoccupied after all, but he finds himself distracted nonetheless. 

It makes something in his gut stir, makes it drop strangely and he suddenly needs to be near you. His fingers twitch ever so slightly, envisioning his grip on your waist, before he blinks and realises you’re staring back at him, amused curiosity painted all over your features. 

His cheeks flush instantly, blooming with heat as he bites his bottom lip embarrassedly and fidgets with his gun holster in nervousness. 

His guide sees him not paying the slightest bit of attention and follows his gaze, but instead (thankfully) assumes Leon must be focused on the cop standing a few feet in front of your desk. He’s the classically handsome type, and Leon realises that this is the cop you were talking to only a couple of minutes ago. 

“Oh Chris? He’s accomplished alright, more arrests than anyone here and the highest records for pretty much anything you can name-best in the shooting range as well, until you showed up I guess-”

Leon feels a burst of pride, still partly feeling like he’s in the academy and trying to be the best, accomplish the most. The pride is quickly replaced with embarrassment when he realises that he also selfishly somehow wants you to see that he’s better than this man. That he’s beaten Chris’ record, and that Leon could be the one standing by your desk as you laugh and smile instead of this big burly officer. 

His cheeks flush even more, glowing red as he tries to figure out what the heck is going on with his body and his mind. He’s never been this enamoured by a pretty face before-he appreciated the beauty of some of his fellow cadets, recognised his vague attraction to some classmates, but he can’t remember a time he was ever struck dumb by the sheer presence of someone. An after effect of being raised in a fairly religious and abstinent environment, he supposes. It still makes him feel odd though, makes him wonder why he feels so hot and nervous all of a sudden. What’s even more baffling is why his stomach keeps flipping when you adjust your bra strap, why his gut feels tight when your skirt rides up ever so slightly as you cross your legs. 

Leon’s guide is still talking about Chris, saying what a man he is and how he treats everyone the same, what a perfect officer and all round good friend and coworker he is. Again, Leon questions himself. Why so bothered?? Why suddenly so annoyed about a man I’ve never met and by all accounts seems to be an upstanding citizen?

His brows furrow confusedly when you smile at Chris and wave as he walks past, and his stomach suddenly doesn’t feel so good. The feeling is baffling, he doesn’t even know you. He hasn’t even met you yet, has only stared at you from across the room-and yet you’ve done something to him. You’ve made something happen to his body, given him an odd feeling that he doesn’t know how to get rid of. One that makes his uniform feel two sizes too small and the station feel humid.

As his guide moves on to the bullpen next door he tries to bury the feeling and ignore whatever is happening with his body. It’s more difficult than he anticipates, especially since he doesn’t actually know what’s happening. 

The heat and the tension eases slightly when you’re out of view, but there’s still that tugging feeling within him where his pulse is oddly loud and present and he just craves your presence. How weird. 

The rest of his day is spent meeting his fellow officers and superiors, eating the cake they bought to welcome him and setting up his things at his new desk. The heaviness within him fades after a little while, and you don’t appear again for a few hours so he relaxes again. Focuses on making some friends and familiarising himself with the computer systems instead of what you did to him. 

Chris and a few guys insist on taking him out at the end of the day, want to take him to the bar down the street and get him drunk and get him laid. 

Leon flushes brightly yet again at their words and wonders if you’ll be joining them. Then he immediately scolds himself for thinking so boldly about a woman he wasn’t even introduced to-he doesn’t even know why he has this urge to meet you so badly, doesn’t even know what the feeling in his lower belly was and why he kept thinking about the colour of your bra strap. Inappropriate, Leon. Get a grip and start being respectful, be good, like you were taught. 

He manages to stick with just a couple of beers when they get to the bar-you didn’t join them and he felt something that he couldn’t tell if it was relief or annoyance-and pretend he’s getting tipsy as the other men get drunk. 

With devoted religious parents, he can truthfully say he never really rebelled or experimented. Many kids would go the opposite way and act out, drink and smoke and steal and fuck-Leon often wonders if he should be proud or possibly ashamed that he didn’t particularly go either way. Simply figured out his parents life wasn’t for him and slowly stopped going to church, focused a little more on the end of his high school days and on getting into the academy. 

The only part that bothers him is his lack of…knowledge. 

It pains him that there’s many facets of regular life that he’s almost completely unaware of. Things most people were taught about in school or by their parents just passed him by, weren’t deemed important or were considered sinful by his church and his parents. He’s somewhat made his peace with drinking, though for a few long years he struggled with the onset of shame that would floor him whenever he picked up a drink. 

He’s never gotten drunk. Only slowly works his way through pints as his companions go hell for leather. He’s never had any desire to smoke or steal either, never had any desire to cloud his mind or dull his senses and committing any kind of crime seems outrageous if you’re trying to become an accomplished member of the police force. 

One thing that still baffles him though? 

Sex. 

Even purely just the logistics of it. 

By the time his parents passed and he’d stopped going to church, he was way past the point where most teens learn about sex. And being raised in an abstinent, premarital-sex-is-a-sin, masturbation-is-a-sin household, well, there weren’t many opportunities to learn about such things. 

Other students weren’t exactly telling him in detail what happens when you have sex either, after all why wouldn’t he know?? 

By the time he got to the academy it seemed odd and embarrassing to ask. 

What would he even say?

What’s sex? How do you have sex? How do you get laid? What happens when you have sex???

No, it ended up being easier to just smile and laugh when his fellow cadets joked about ‘hitting it from the back’ and pretend he was just a little more shy than the rest of them, rather than admitting that he has no fucking clue what they meant.

So when Chris asks if he has his eye on any of the women sitting at the bar, he flounders for a second. Buys some time looking around carefully and smiling while he thinks about how much Chris has drunk, whether he’ll remember much of this in the morning. 

Leon furrows his brow and chuckles a little, placates Chris by drinking some more of his pint and then shaking his head a little. 

Shrugs and says, “Too tired for that Redfield, can’t be bothered with that fuss when I’ve got a nice pint here-”

Knows from experience that he’s most likely to be left alone if he makes a demeaning comment about women rather than dodging the question. It settles uncomfortably in him whenever he does it, but is vastly preferable to telling a bunch of grown men that he’s out of the police academy and has still never had sex. That he doesn’t even really know what it is, only pecked a girl on the lips once when he was about six, that he’s never watched any kind of pornographic content and that he doesn’t even know how to go about touching himself. No, much easier to make a little uncomfortable comment and leave it to the other guys to change the subject. 

The evening doesn’t go on for much longer and before many more drinks are consumed Leon finds himself supporting Chris as they all stumble out of the bar. Leon manages to pour him into a cab and shut the door on him as he rolls around in the backseat and scrabbles drunkenly at the car window. 

With a lot of effort, Chris manages to roll it down and hangs his head out, beckoning Leon closer and wearing a wide grin. 

“Dude-dude you should-you gotta go back in there-you see the-that blonde chick at the-at the bar? Yeah-yeah man you gotta-dudeee you gotta check that shit out! First day at the station man! Gotta-gotta go-gotta get your dick wet, rookie!”

Leon holds back a laugh when the cab starts driving away and ‘rookie’ is dragged out as Chris’s head gets pulled backward, leaving a ‘rookieeeeeeeeee’ echoing around the busy street. 

His walk home is relatively uneventful, just thinking over the events of the day and his new colleagues. It’s an odd feeling, knowing he’s just met men who will depend on him to save their lives at some point, and that he might rely on to save his one day. At least they’re amiable, he thinks, at least they seem like fun and he’s gotten along with them so far. And at least no one realised how naive he is. 

The only spanner in the works was you. 

He still doesn’t know what exactly happened to his body when he saw you, it wasn’t like when he saw criminals or perps and instinctively knew they were no good, and it wasn’t like when he saw men like Chris and thought they’d make suitable friends. It was just…something else. 

-

Leon’s sober again by the time he reaches his apartment, the limited two pints and cold night breeze working fast. 

He methodically goes about his routine, dropping keys into the bowl by the door, towing his shoes into the rack, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, walking to his room and slowly stripping his watch, holster and badge off onto the dresser. 

And still, he thinks of you.

First day at his new job, fresh out the academy, new friends, new apartment-and you’re on his mind. 

He starts his shower and lets it run for a few minutes, holding his hand under it briefly before turning the temperature dial to his preferred. Loosening his tie, his mind wanders back to the way you leaned back in your chair. How he’d seen you stretch your arms a little around the back of your chair as you’d frowned at your computer screen. It makes him frown, the memory making his heart beat a fraction faster just like it had when he’d seen it. 

As he unbuttons his shirt he thinks of yours. The white fabric, sleek satin flowing over your figure and shifting with every slight movement. It occurs to him with a jolt that he took in much more about you than he thought he did at the time. He hadn't realised he’d paid so much attention to the way the sleeves were rolled up and sitting comfortably above your elbows. But now, his gut feels tight again as he remembers the colour of your bra ghosting through your blouse, just barely there but apparently visible enough to do something to him. 

His shirt is thrown into the corner of his bathroom with a little more force than usual, frustration pawing at him as he tries to decipher what he’s feeling. When his fly is undone he pulls his socks off and shucks his trousers and underwear down in one, wincing as the material brushes past his cock. It slaps up against his stomach, obscenely red and sensitive as the tip brushes his abdomen-Leon sucks in a sharp breath and scrapes his hand through his hair at the feeling. 

Breathing out slowly, he steps into his shower and winces again when the water hits him and makes his cock twitch. He ignores it though, just picks up his shampoo and tips his head into the stream of water to rinse his hair thoroughly. 

Unsurprisingly, his mind drifts again. 

He absentmindedly spreads body wash over his torso and under his arms as he thinks about your smile. How you’d appeared as though you were trying to hide it while Chris talked, like you were trying not to let on how amusing he was being. It was a sweet sight, he remembers. Knuckles resting against your jaw as you pressed your lips together and spun a little to each side in your chair. 

Consumed by his memories, Leon doesn’t notice he’s been washing his bicep for a full minute. He just stares at the tiles opposite as his hand scrubs back and forth methodically, yet in his mind his eyes are drifting over your hidden smile and down to your crossed legs. 

The image of your supple skin below the hem of your skirt is crystal clear in his mind, and his cock jumps again as he relives the moment the material rode up when you moved. 

He sucks in another breath at the sensation and his hands drift down his stomach to his lower belly, scratching gently along his happy trail. Leon thinks back to the one and only time he was ever remotely educated about…relations, and turns in the shower to rinse away the suds from his body. 

It was a short affair, an encounter which pretty much consisted of being told that he’d meet a nice young woman, marry, and conceive beautiful babies. He was told that he and his wife would have sex the night they married, that that would be his first time unless he wished to commit a great sin. There was a brief comment-more an allusion than anything-about using his…privates, before they laughed and said “Well, you’ll know what to do when it happens!” 

The sentiment hasn’t been particularly helpful, Leon thinks as he remembers the countless comments he’s just had to smile and laugh at, nod and brush off because he doesn’t know what people are talking about. All the times he’s opted out from drinking games, trivial ‘never have I ever’ rounds because he’s done nothing. He’d chosen to stay away from encounters like that after he’d sat through a game where he’d just looked confusedly around at people putting fingers down for things like ‘choking’ and ‘bareback’. 

What the hell either of those things had to do with sex, he’d never found out. 

Leon had only survived that evening by bowing out early, excusing himself with the lie of too much alcohol and the pretence of ‘don’t kiss and tell’. Which is how he survived most of his academy years, actually-sadly. 

Leon blinks and pulls out of his memories. Tipping his head down, he tries to focus on the rivulets of water streaming over his cheeks and running off his jaw, rather than the pulse he feels in his member. His hands lift momentarily and pause a few inches away from his stomach, trembling ever so slightly as he debates what to do. 

The urge to put his hands on himself has never been very strong with him, his body has never ached this much before-it’s always been slightly bothersome when this happens but relatively easy to ignore. Besides, he didn’t even know what to do; much simpler to just wait out whatever the feeling was in his gut. 

Tonight though, he can just feel so much. It feels as though he’s on fire, like his heart is beating in every part of his body and like something is going to happen. 

After what feels like a painfully prolonged amount of time-though is only a few seconds-his hands fall to his hips, rubbing nervously over bone and still shaking as he thinks of your fingers sliding under the strap of your bra. 

When he’d seen it you’d been pulling it back up your shoulder, but before Leon knows it his mind conjures up the image of you pulling it down, down over your arm and slipping your hand from it. 

With a gasp he jerks his hands away and grabs the temperature dial, wrenching it to the coldest it can manage. He immediately flinches at the freezing water before closing his eyes and letting it wash over him, knowing this always helps him feel normal again. Gets rid of the strange throbbing that pulses through his body when he wakes up like this sometimes. 

When he steps out of the shower and towels himself off, there’s an oddly bereft feeling in him as though his body is craving something. Leon swallows down the uncomfortable feeling and tugs some briefs on before going about his nightly routine and sliding under his covers. 

He doesn’t sleep for hours, tossing and turning under the covers while his skin feels sensitive and uncomfortable, like he’s not wearing it right, like his body can’t sort itself out. He slips into unconsciousness in the early hours of the morning, mind exhausted and body strung out-you still manage to throw a wrench into his mind yet again, making him think of your hidden smile right before he falls under the blanket of sleep. 

-

stage 2

Leon wakes up with a moan on his lips, spilling out as his thighs flex and his hands fist in his sheets. 

His eyes shoot open immediately and he gasps at the onslaught of sensations he can feel. Abdomen tight, gut twisting, hips jerking and toes curling. The most prominent thing he feels, however, is the tip of his cock caught between his stomach and the waistband of his briefs. It’s red and angry, swollen with need and almost weeping onto his abdomen. 

Leon plunges a hand into his hair and uses the other to rip the covers off of his body-they’re soaked in sweat anyway. His briefs are grey and he suddenly wishes he’d put on black ones so he couldn’t see the small wet patch of something growing by the top. His hands tremble like they did in the shower the night before, and as he goes to move his leg he whimpers, feeling the material chafe along his sensitive shaft. 

It hits him a little just then, makes his eyes well up as he tries to reconcile with the fact that he doesn’t even know what’s happening to his own body, the fact that he’s never felt so much, how it’s too much and not enough and his body craves more but he’s so scared of what will happen if he moves again. The sensation borders on painful, body so strung out every movement feels a thousand times more. 

With a muffled sob he pushes his head back into his pillow and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to stay as still as he can until it all just goes away-until his body stops throbbing. 

It’s a painful few minutes, hiccups escaping every so often as his hips reflexively move and he has to bite his lip to stop more sobs spilling out, but eventually his body calms somewhat, he softens a little and can manage to slide off his bed and stumble to his bathroom. He turns on his shower and sets it to freezing immediately before leaning on the counter and braving a look at himself in the mirror above his sink. 

The reflection makes him flinch a little. There’s a splotchy red flush spreading across his chest and up his neck, painting his cheeks alarmingly. Eyes red as well, pink rimmed and slightly bloodshot with heavy waterlines still-some of his hair sticks up in odd directions but Leon’s gaze is stuck to his abdomen. 

It floors him for a minute as he stares at himself, lips parted in surprise at his own appearance. 

There’s a dark splotch on the waistband of his grey briefs, uncomfortably wet against the tip of his cock. His eyes are glued to the space just above though. A dribble of something decorates his skin, pearly white and slipping slowly down to seep into his briefs. 

He swallows uncomfortably as he thinks back to his teenage years, back to the few rare mornings where he woke up almost like this-skin painted with something he doesn’t know and mind hazy with some sort of endorphin rush. 

He’d never asked anyone about what it was, never googled and tried never to think about it again. 

Was it meant to happen? Was it normal? Should it happen more often? Never? Did all guys do it? Was it needed? Did it happen during sex? 

Questions he figured he’d never get the answer to. 

His cock is still half hard and pressing weightily against the fabric of his underwear, but he ignores it in favour of slowly lifting his hand toward his stomach. Involuntarily his eyes narrow a little, squinting so he doesn’t have to watch clearly what he’s doing. Tentatively, he presses one fingertip into the puddle on his skin and instantly retracts it. 

His gaze hesitantly drops down, as though he thinks his reflection is lying to him somehow. Vaguely, his mind registers that his hand is trembling yet again, but he can’t see anything apart from the liquid collected on his index finger. 

Pressing his lips together, he turns the tap on and runs the water over his finger, washing away the evidence of his morning. 

He peels his briefs off delicately, wincing all the while at his sensitivity and throwing them in his hamper before stepping into his cold shower. He starts shivering as soon as the water hits him, and briefly wonders if this is how it’ll be from now on. If something happened when he met you and now he won’t be able to control his body. It seems as though that’s the way it’s going. 

It’s a somewhat pitiful couple of minutes, just standing there in the freezing water as he waits for his body to relax fully. After a short while he turns the temperature up-but still just stands there. Eyes closed, head hanging down and hands resting on the tiles in front of him. 

-

He doesn’t see you today.

A wave of relief washes over him when you’re not on the front desk as he walks in, followed immediately by a wave of curiosity and anxiousness. 

Are you just not at your desk? Are you not in the building at all? Are you sick? Weirded out by Leon staring at you yesterday?? Oh god what if it was him-

He does his best to banish all thoughts about you as he sits down at his desk and grins at Chris-who’s slumped back in his chair, sunglasses propped crookedly onto his face and snoring lightly. Hiding his smile, Leon opens and slams a desk drawer shut, watching Chris bolt upright and wince as his glasses topple off his nose and clatter to the floor. 

“Rough night?”

For a second all he receives is a groan in response before Chris looks his way, frowning and squinting at him. 

“How-you’re not dead. Why aren’t you dead like the rest of us rookie? Traitor-” 

His smile falters for a split second as he remembers last night and this morning's showers, before shrugging at him and grinning again. 

“First day on the job? Thought it might be best not to kill myself with alcohol poisoning. You do you though, it was pretty impressive to be fair Redfield-”

Chris just groans again, takes a full minute to reach down and pick up his sunglasses before sighing and slipping them back on-upside down. 

“Yeah yeah, whatever rookie-might have liver failure but I got a girls number so ain’t it worth it-”

He falls back asleep in his chair almost immediately after he finished speaking and Leon finds himself glad, relieved that he doesn’t get asked about any women or numbers or getting laid or more things he doesn’t have the first clue about. 

An uneventful few hours go by, but he meets Jill and gets given a shit ton of paperwork so he can ‘get used to the computers’. The man who gives him the stacks of files looks disappointedly at the evidently hungover officers dotted around the room before he tells Leon this, who he takes one more look at Chris (who’s elbow slips off the arm of his chair and makes his head thwack down onto the wood, before he gives up and falls asleep there instead) and chooses to just take the papers. 

About an hour later he’s made some decent progress, but gets jerked out of his focused trance when he hears a yelled ‘MORNING CHRIS!’ come from the opposite end of the room. 

The pen he’s using jerks up out of his hand onto the floor and his face takes less than two seconds to flush bright red again. 

You. 

You again. 

You making his cheeks flare with heat, heart stutter and gut tighten. What have you done to me?

He can’t help staring as you stroll into the room, evidently stifling a laugh at Chris’ dishevelled state and holding a stack of files in your arms. You’re wearing the skirt and the blouse again, but the bra Leon can ever so slightly see behind the white fabric is a different colour to yesterday. 

He wishes he hadn’t seen that because his pulse picks up the instant that registers in his mind. It gets worse still when you stop to talk to Chris and rest the files on your hip gently, leaning to one side slightly and accentuating your figure. 

Leon swallows before looking back down at his papers. But the outline of your body is printed on his eyes like he’s looked at a light bulb for too long and he can’t resist looking back up at you. 

His heartbeat quickens dangerously and his uniform feels hot all of a sudden when you look up, catching his eye and smiling as you make your way to his desk. With a thump, you drop your files onto the stack next to him. 

Leon hesitates when lifting his face to yours because he just knows how bright his cheeks are, he can feel the heat and is sure you’re about to be set alight from it. After a few seconds he does so-and finds himself struck dumb yet again by the sight of you smiling. Except this time his jaw goes a little slack because you’re smiling at him. Not at Chris, not at Jill, not anyone else. You’re smiling directly at him, just for him. Not a polite society smile either-a genuine warm expression that makes him realise how dry his lips are. His tongue darts out to wet them as he tries to think of what to say to you, but then you’re bending and picking up the pen he’d accidentally thrown into the air when you walked in. 

Still silent, he reaches to take it when you hold it out to him-smiling all the while god help him-and his fingers brush yours. Unexpectedly, his cock twitches behind his zipper and he has to work quickly to school his features. 

And then you offer him a soft ‘nice to meet you, Leon, let me know if you need anything-’ before walking back the way you came and leaving him sweating with a dry throat, red cheeks and uncomfortable tightness in his uniform trousers. 

“Pretty ain’t she?”

Chris’ words shock him out of his trance and make him splutter a little as he tries to think of an answer. 

He struggles somewhat, because his mind is distracted by the fact that yes, that’s what it is-he thinks you’re pretty. Really pretty, some kind of pretty he hasn’t seen before. 

With the other cadets and students he’d spent the last few years with, he appreciated their looks sometimes, could recognise their beauty but was never exactly attracted to them per se. Never really had a desire to act on anything or try something new-and now, for what he thinks is the first time in memory, he finds you really pretty and wants to do something about it. What that something is, he’s unsure. Unfortunate, yet not surprising. Sadly. 

He gives Chris a vague ‘mhm’ in response as he looks back down at his desk, attempting to focus back on his paperwork but failing.

“Don’t give me that rookie, know you were thinking it. We’ve all tried-”

That makes his head shoot up again, eyes widening as he looks at Chris (unsuccessfully) holding back a smirk. His heart speeds up slightly and he thinks quickly-does that mean you’re with someone? Is another officer appreciating your pretty smiles and seeing them more than Leon ever will?

“Everyone’s-what? You’ve all what?”

Chris laughs at that, bold and loud as he slips his sunglasses up onto the top of his head.

“Oh don’t look all innocent and wide eyed like you weren’t thinking of it mate-but yeah everyone has-”

He sighs as he finishes speaking before turning his head and muttering a little, “Everyone says that dude on the desk over there got closest but it was me I’m tellin ya-”

It makes Leon’s stomach flip uncomfortably, the thought of you and Chris together. He suddenly feels a little sick, when he imagines you sending sweet smiles to him, perching on Chris’ desk and letting him see more than just ghost of your bra through your shirt-

Leon blinks himself out of his spiral, gasping quietly with his second unsettling realisation of the morning. That he wants to see more of you, see what others haven’t. 

He curses himself when he sees that his hands are trembling again, overwhelmed by the connections his mind makes-that he knows you need to be attracted to someone to have sex with them, and you need to be somewhat nude. That he is attracted to you and wants to see more of your body. His leg jogs under his desk a little, bumping against the wood every so often.

He’s felt pent up before, felt like he was about to burst with energy and like he just had to do something-but he’s never felt like this before. It confuses him somewhat, the heady mix between that and of the overwhelming need he felt this morning. Shakily, he picks up his pen again and prays he won’t see you for the rest of the day, in case he loses the rest of his sanity at one glimpse of your smile.

-

Days pass almost the same way.

He wakes up sweating and gasping, unable to move because he doesn’t know what will happen. He takes a cold shower, finds himself unable to look at his own reflection. He goes to work and can’t decide whether he wants to watch you work all day or if he hopes he won’t see you at all. 

And each day ends with him going back to his apartment and wishing he spent more time with you, that he talked to you and saw your smile and the blouse you wear and the face you make when Chris tells a bad joke. You’ve consumed so much of him, make him think of you when he sees certain characters on TV, make him picture the way you frown at your computer when he picks up his laptop.

After a couple of weeks of this, of feeling his entire body pulse and heat with the smallest comment from you, he wakes in the middle of the night.

A quick look to his left tells him it’s just gone three in the morning and he wonders why he even woke at all. His neighbours aren’t playing loud music as they have an annoying habit of doing, there’s no motorbikes outside, not an intruder or even something falling over in his flat. He furrows his brow and moves to slide out from under his covers.

He barely makes it a centimetre before a whimper is forced out of him though, suddenly all too aware of the sticky mess saturating his briefs. His head is thrown back against his pillows as he gasps, letting his hips jerk up instinctively before forcing them back down to the bed.

Leon snakes a hand under the covers and over his stomach, but he hesitates when he reaches his abdomen. His skin is wet and coated in something, much like the morning after he met you-but it’s everywhere, covering his toned muscle and soaking his underwear. He pulls the sheets back and winces at the sight, wet patch covering the front of his briefs and stomach painted with a glistening sheen of something, smeared ropes all over his skin.

Absentmindedly, he registers the cloud of pleasure that hangs over his thoughts, the immense satisfaction flowing through his body. The fabric of his underwear is plastered wetly to the outline of his shaft and he reaches down again to brush his fingers over it. He accidentally traces the thick vein on the underside of his member and whimpers again, thighs trembling at the slightest bit of stimulation. 

He remembers his teen years and the few times this happened to him. He’d just brushed it off back then, taken a shower and forgotten all about it. But now he can’t. 

He can’t because all he can think of is that he’s pretty sure he was dreaming of you just before he woke up.

In his mind is the vague image of you without your blouse, lying back on his bed and teasing the cups of your bra with your fingertips. The thought makes his cock twitch and his breath hitches as the tip brushes the sodden material. His mouth drops open as he gently pulls the material away and tugs it down to his thighs, and he thinks of the pleasure he felt when he woke, unable to stop lowering his hand and rubbing his thumb over the sensitive head of his dick.

Something in his gut tightens and he lets out a broken moan when his member twitches at his touch, the tip leaking onto his skin again and adding to the mess he’s already made. 

He stumbles into his bathroom and almost falls into a cold shower, not knowing what to do apart from this. 

It feels a little like the only respite he has these days, the only thing that has managed to return his body to normal over the past couple of weeks. 

He doesn’t sleep very well for the next few hours, wondering what the next day will bring when he sees you.

-

stage 3

Leon feels his heart beat faster the moment he steps inside the station, but you’re not behind your desk. 

He reluctantly acknowledges the pang of disappointment he feels and shakes his head lightly as he walks to his desk, trying to rid himself of the distraction you inevitably cause. When he sits down he must have a frown on his face because Chris takes one look at him and tells him you had to accompany the captain somewhere-Leon feigns disinterest as he clears his throat and logs into his computer for the morning, but his fellow officer just raises his eyebrows and turns back to his own files. 

Given that you’re not there, Leon makes it through the rest of the work day without any trouble. Except for one incident. 

Unsurprisingly, it involves sex. 

It happens when he’s in the break room, using the battered coffee machine and soon wishing it worked a whole lot quicker. But it refuses to listen to his silent pleas and churns slowly, makes Leon wait for his drink while he listens to an officer-he might have been called Dave?-talk about what he did on his weekend. 

Well, more like who he did. 

Leon opens the cupboard above him, hiding his head from the officers, but his hand hesitates when he goes to grab a coffee cup. 

“Man you should’ve seen this girl-pornstar tits I’m tellin’ you-”

His eyes widen as he slowly grabs a mug. 

“No fuckin way don’t believe you-you’re always makin shit up like this-”

“I’m serious this time, god it was insane-coulda stared at those tits all day and I’d die a happy man-”

“You just stared at her? Little guy fall short did he?”

Leon closes the cupboard and sees the first guy whacking his friend on the bicep, and turns the words over in his mind, trying to figure out what they mean. 

“Course I fucked her, man-can’t see a mouth and an ass like that and be expected to not stick my dick in one of ‘em-”

Her mouth?!? Why would that happen what does her mouth have to do with it?

The other officer throws his head back, laughing loudly. 

“Aight aight, she fuck like a pornstar too then?”

Maybe this would be easier to follow if I’d seen porn. Should I? Oh god am I going to watch porn?!?

“Fuck man you bet your ass she did-you ever back shot a girl? When I pul-” 

“Oh gross man I don’t need to know about your jizz get the fuck outta here-”

They both walk out of the break room laughing and muttering to each other while Leon stands at the counter, slowly stirring his coffee. 

As he walks back to his desk, he feels a little as though he’s in some sort of daze. His mind keeps overturning what he heard, just confusedly cycling through ‘backshot’ ‘pornstar tits’ ‘little guy fall short’ and ‘jizz’. He didn’t think he’d heard so many things he was unaware the meaning of since he’d been in school. 

And it’s not like he has a teacher to ask about why he’d put his dick in someone’s mouth.

But. 

There is porn. 

His cheeks heat a little as thinks about it, and he realises he’s been staring at the wall for a few minutes. Blinking, he comes back to himself and tries to carry on with his paperwork. 

The rest of the day isn’t very productive though, as he spends it all distracted by the thought that he’s made up his mind. He’s going to watch porn, for the first time ever, tonight. 

-

When he gets home he’s jittery, like he drank too much coffee-even though he only made the one cup and then was so distracted he forgot to drink it. 

He’s torn by the urge to grab his laptop and finally learn what he should have years ago, or to try and relax first. Make dinner, have a shower, watch some tv and then…experiment. 

Leon makes dinner first and settles onto his couch to watch some tv, but unsurprisingly finds himself unable to focus for very long. His eyes keep darting to the side, flicking to where his laptop lays on the sofa beside him. A few minutes after he finishes eating, he swears quietly and gives in, grabs his laptop and tugs it onto his lap. 

He watches the tv for a few seconds before steeling himself and opening up the browser. 

Slowly, he types,

porn

And presses enter. 

He squints at his screen slightly to dampen whatever he’s about to see, and hesitantly scrolls through the page of search results. Sighing and going back to the top, he settles further into his sofa as he reads. 

pornhub

The mouse hovers over the first result. 

That’s what guys use, right?? I swear I’ve heard people mention pornhub?

With a click, he’s suddenly taken to a black background and dozens of thumbnails for various videos. 

As soon as he looks at the first one, he jerks his hands away from the keyboard and feels his eyes widen, cheeks flushing once again as he takes in the image of a woman with her mouth wide open, tongue hanging out and just the tip of a man’s cock in view, laying on the flat of it. Leon’s cock throbs painfully in his sweats, aching and pulsing as he stares at his screen. 

Clearing his throat, he tentatively looks along to the next thumbnail-an image of a woman lying back on a bed, legs spread open and exposing herself. His cock twitches as he looks at the space between her thighs, hardening rapidly as he realises that whatever coated his stomach that morning is…leaking out of her. 

A pop up flashes up on the screen, asking if he wants like minded singles in his area (anna is only 3 miles away and wants to do sex with you!) and it jerks Leon out of his trance. With a start, he shuts his laptop and shoves it onto the coffee table in front of him, leaning back and breathing heavily. His sweatpants are tented, bulge showing prominently and a small patch is dark grey, as though a droplet of something has landed on it-or soaked into it. 

He reaches a hand down, knowing exactly what’s going to happen. As expected, the moment his fingers brush over his bulge, his hips buck up and he tries to stifle the whimper that crawls up his throat. 

Dropping his hand back to the couch, he grabs his laptop again and opens it, keeping his gaze squarely focused on the top of the screen where he presses the back arrow to return to the search bar-and away from the images that make him tremble and throb. 

He decides it might be easier to take it a little slower, to actually learn some things before plunging into the deep end. Which is why he finds himself typing ‘how to touch-’. He quickly backspaces and deletes it though, scoffing at the idea that he’d have to look at some sort of sex-ed for kids/teenagers. 

Then he frowns, and realises he probably actually knows less than the average teenager. Sighing again, he types. 

how to touch myself

Wincing at his ignorance and the phrasing of his search, he presses enter and tucks a leg under himself to scroll comfortably. 

Most articles he finds are for people with vaginas and he attempts to ignore the constant ache in his member every time he reads something about a woman pleasuring herself. After a few minutes of browsing, he finds an article that seems to have what he needs. 

It’s rather clinical to begin with, but he supposes it’s what he needs, given that he barely even knows what happened this morning let alone how to touch himself when he’s conscious. 

From the first few paragraphs, he learns about orgasms and that he ‘came’ while he was asleep-also called a wet dream! He learns that it happens to teenagers a decent amount and ‘is nothing to be ashamed of!’ which immediately tells him that most people are embarrassed, and therefore makes him feel ashamed anyway. 

He learns all the clinical technical words for things, feeling slightly overwhelmed by all of it-and he also finds out about some slang and more casual words for things. He finally reads what the word ‘jizz’ means, and thinks back to earlier in the day, trying to figure out what the men were talking about. 

Clearing his mind once more, he looks back to his screen and keeps reading-next the article details how different people find different things erotic, how he might like to be touched in different places, he might not like to be touched at all, he might like someone else to touch him. It’s rather impressive, the way his mind only takes a split second to picture you. He thinks of when you handed him his pen and your fingers brushed his, the brief sensation of your skin against his and he decides just then, thinks firmly that yes, yes he does want to be touched by someone else. He really wants to be touched by someone, and he really wants it to be you. 

His mind drifts for a minute, eyes almost glazed over as he wonders what it would be like. It’s so fucking intense already when he wakes up already hard, or when he trails his fingers over himself, and he can barely even imagine what it might be like with your hands instead of his. Your smile directed at him as your fingers trace over the sensitive veins on his cock. With a quick glance down, he sees the wet patch on his sweatpants has grown slightly bigger, and he turns back to his laptop. 

After a few more minutes reading, he also learns that it will likely feel better lubricated with…something. The article suggests lube, spit, lotion-or, if he’s with a partner, their bodily fluids. Leon grimaces at that, before thinking back to the first articles he flicked through and remembering what will happen if he’s with a woman and, somehow, manages to arouse them. Even though he’s alone, he lets out a small ‘oh’ and hunches further over his laptop, still attempting to ignore how hard he is. 

Reading on, he learns a little about how to use his hands on himself, how sensitive his balls can be, that he can play with his nipples if he likes-by the time he reaches the part about trying anal his head is swimming from the overload of knowledge and he closes the tab, leaning back into the cushions and staring across at the tv. It’s playing some cooking show, but he wouldn’t be able to focus on the chef chopping spring onions if he had a gun to his head. 

By now, the way his cock is throbbing is almost unbearable, constantly jumping behind the material of his sweats and leaking obscenely from the tip-something he now knows is called precum, as a matter of fact. 

Slowly, but with a racing heart, he places his laptop on the table and leans back once more, fisting one hand in a cushion next to him. His left hand tugs at the strings on his sweats and he undoes the bow, slipping his fingertips into the waistband before pausing and thinking it’ll feel better with his right hand. 

He swaps the cushion over to have something to grip, and pushes his right hand into his trousers. 

The second he touches his member he lets out a moan, long and loud and he trails off into a gasp. Slightly clumsily, he wraps his hand around his shaft and whimpers out a quiet ‘fuck’ at the intense feeling-hastily, his hips buck up to fuck himself into his grip. 

The wave of pleasure he felt this morning rushes up at him again and he pulls his hand from his sweatpants, panting and looking down to where the flushed head of his cock peeks out under the waistband. Precum beads at the tip and he watches intently as it drips onto his abdomen, gradually sliding into the v of his hips. He briefly thinks back to the article, to how it said it might feel better with something to help him along, and he raises his right hand a little, spits in his palm and pushes it back into his sweats. 

The feeling makes him whimper and jerk again, thighs trembling and eyes squeezing shut as he spreads his spit along his cock. He flattens his hand out and slides his palm along the underside of his shaft, feeling the veins against his skin and how the heel of his thumb brushes against his weeping tip every so often. 

It barely takes twenty seconds before he’s letting out a stream of moans, whiny ‘oh oh oh’s echoing around his apartment, accompanied by the lewd squelchy noise of his spit and precum mixing. 

It almost hurts, how much he feels right now, the onslaught of pleasure that’s suddenly hitting him after all this time-and the fact that he knows now, he knows what to do and what’s going to happen, he knows he’s trying to make himself come, that god willing one day someone will do this to him, that he might be able to come inside someone-

Fleetingly, his mind pictures the woman from the second thumbnail with her legs open and come dripping out of her-but it’s you suddenly. Your face contorted in pleasure and your legs he’s seen peeking out from under your skirt, and it’s his come, his warm seed spilling from you because he’s just fucked you, just had his cock inside you and it just happens, his eyes fly open and his lips part as he moans obscenely loud. It echoes off his walls, high pitched and whiny again as he feels his cock throb, ropes of come splattering across his stomach and over his fingers. 

Without thinking he moves his hand again, sliding his palm wetly over his length once more before gasping and pulling it away, unused to the stimulation. 

Leon lays there, panting, for a few long minutes before he can even bring himself to lift his head up. What he sees makes his eyes widen-his abdomen and his hand and the top of his sweats coated in his own come, just like this morning but he made it happen this time. He touched himself for the first time, touched his dick and and knew what he was doing and knew what he was making happen, and to the thought of you no less. 

A burst of shame fills him as he remembers how he thought of you, before he tries to banish it and take things one at a time. First-a shower is in order. 

He stumbles when he pushes himself off the sofa, stabilising himself on the arm of it as he winces at the material chafing his length. With slow steps he manages to get to his bathroom and into the shower, smiling a little when he realises he won’t have to have cold showers every morning and evening now-he can just…touch himself. He knows how to now, and, quite frankly, he already feels a little desperate for the rush of pleasure it gave him again. 

When he gets out and towels himself off a few minutes later he’s still smiling somewhat, until he remembers he’ll see you tomorrow. He’s going to have to work in the same space as you for hours and hours, all while knowing the pleasure he can so easily give himself to the thought of you. 

It’s gonna be a long day, that’s for sure.

part 2

plzzzzzz reblog or comment or send something if u like this so I know and also cause likes don’t count as interaction they won’t promote my content :(((((

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hii 💕 i have a leon oneshot request!

basically leon has been gone on a mission for much longer than expected and reader is soso worried it is eating them alive. and then one night in the middle of the night reader hears the door open so theyre scared because god knows who it could be so they go to check and its leon! theres then crying from the reader and lots of love and comfort that eventually leads to sweet comfort sex 💓

idk if you take requests on specific versions of leon but og re4 is my favorite version 😋 if you dont thats fine <3

Of course I take requests for specific versions of Leon!

I haven't written for OG RE4 Leon before but I tried my best to capture his sass/surliness. So here's what I think comfort sex would look like for him :)

Lmk if you want anything changed! I'm super happy to edit it as much as you'd like so it better suits your vision~

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

OG RE 4 Leon Kennedy x f!reader

Synopsis: Leon comes home after a prolonged mission.

Tags: 18+ (smut), MDNI, hurt/comfort, established relationship, re4!Leon, AFAB reader, oral (m receiving), p in v, cowgirl position, missionary position, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, mutual comfort sex (Leon has feelings, too!)

WC: 6,270

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

You’d tried everything to quell your roiling stomach: chamomile tea, peppermint tea, shots of apple cider vinegar, a whole bottle of Tums consumed over the course of three days (which, now that you think about it, could have actually worsened your condition). You’d gone on walks to distract yourself. You’d taken a yoga class with a close friend. You’d taken pilates with a not-so-close friend. And in an act of utter desperation, you’d called your mom to make small talk about the weather and her current hobbies just so you wouldn’t have to stew in your own thoughts. 

But your anxiety hadn’t been assuaged, not even remotely. In fact, it festered, kept alive and well-fed by your incessant tears and the late nights spent hunched over the porcelain bowel of a toilet. Like black mold clinging to the back of your kitchen cabinet, it thrived on your misery, on the dampness of your cheeks, on the way your breathy screams humidified the gelid, sterile air of your bedroom when you had yet another gruesome nightmare. 

Leon had been gone for almost two months now and he hadn’t called. Not once. Not a singular call wherein he’d sit silently on the line just so you could hear him breathe. Not a singular email or text or goddamn smoke signal to indicate that he was still alive. 

He’s a callous man, though, not one to share his emotions so openly. He’d improved with you; he’d developed a heart when you’d sobbed and half-heartedly beat his stupidly toned chest with the sides of your fists the last time he’d been gone for a while. He’d developed a habit of calling you at least once a week. Sometimes he’d speak, but most of the time he’d just let you do all the talking. That was enough, usually, and he never complained — well, not after you’d given him a proper tongue lashing for his total lack of sympathy. 

Leon’s apology had been sincere. He’d gotten you flowers, taken you to a lavish dinner, and showered you with expressions of deep remorse. He’d made up for it in the bedroom, too, and how could you really stay mad at him after that? 

Easily, you think now. You can easily stay mad at him. He’ll have to do a lot more than bring you to climax a couple of times to make up for this — if he’s alive, that is. 

You let out a small sob. He could very well be dead now. He could very well be dead and you’ll have no way of knowing. It’s not like you two are married — you’d been dating for a while, but nowhere near that level of commitment. You wonder if the U.S. government paid courtesy visits to girlfriends. He didn’t have family, and all of his friends were also government employees, so they’d certainly know well before you did if he’d made it out alive. 

You remove the heating pad sitting on your stomach, roll out of bed, and pad over to Leon’s dresser. You’re close to exhausting his supply of t-shirts, so you’d taken to rationing them like some kind of doomsday prepper. They’re now reserved for nights you’ll predictably get little to no sleep, but when was the last time you’d slept through the night, anyway? No wonder you’re down to his last three shirts. 

It still smells like him, like leather and whiskey and cedar wood. You take off the shirt you’re currently wearing—it’s also his but his scent isn’t as pungent—and slip the new one on over your aching body. You bring the collar to your nose, inhaling deeply. Tears prick your lids. God, how are you not out of tears yet? But a muffled jingling of keys and the distinguishable sound of the front door unlocking breaches the silence that had befallen your apartment these past two months. 

Your blood turns to ice as you hear the door creak. It’s shut with painstaking care. You tiptoe across the room, and extract a baseball bat from underneath your side of the bed. You return to Leon’s dresser, reach into the drawer, and silently sheath the length of the bat within one of Leon’s socks. 

There’s shuffling coming from the other room. Heavy boots on hardwood make minimal noise as they creep into—are they in the kitchen? You want to laugh; you’ve never before had a hungry burglar. Cabinets creak open and shut. The fridge door, sticky and always more difficult to open than one would assume because Leon had fucked with its hinges when he was trying to be “helpful”, opens a second later. Its dim yellow light is visible through the crack in the bedroom doorframe. You can faintly see a broad silhouette standing before it. 

Leon’s apartment isn’t large. The bedroom feeds directly into an open plan living room and kitchen. You could use this opportunity to sneak up on the intruder. Judging by their stature, they can’t be too much taller or stronger than you but you’d be foolish to assume you could beat anyone in hand-to-hand. And what if they have a gun? 

You resolve to stay put, to stay hidden. They’re likely to come into the bedroom anyway. You’ll get the jump on them as they enter. You take a deep breath, bat clutched tightly between two hands, and ready yourself behind the door. You’ve never killed anyone before; you hope you won’t have to do so tonight, especially with a bat. That just sounds preposterously messy. 

The fridge door is closed. A plate is dropped in the sink. A stream of curse words are emitted in hushed tones. Your breath hitches at the familiarity of the voice but you shake your head and chalk the resemblance up to your own pathetic optimism. Leon would’ve called. Leon would’ve given you a heads up. Leon would’ve—

The footsteps grow closer. Your heart is practically in your throat. Shit, you curse to yourself, shit shit shit shit shit. You press your back against the wall, bat clutched tightly between white-knuckled fists. You try to make yourself as small as possible, to shrink to the point of imperceptibility, and as the door opens, you hold your breath. 

Your draw blood as you bite the inside of your cheek; its metallic tang inspires waves of nausea. The door slowly closes. You clench your teeth, and flex your taut fingers along the handle of the bat. Your heart is in your throat. The intruder pauses after closing the door, glancing curiously around the room. And just before they’re about to turn around, you bring the bat down over their head. They somehow manage to catch the it before it makes contact. 

“—Wait, stop,” they shout. 

You can hardly hear them over the roaring of blood in your ears. You pull the bat toward you, subsequently unsheathing it and leaving the intruder holding only the makeshift scabbard. You swing it horizontally with as much strength as you can muster. It makes a sickening whack as it collides with the person’s stomach. They stumble backward, one arm wrapped tightly around their abdomen. The other arm is outstretched, in search of something along the wall next to the door. 

And before you’re able to ready a third swing, the lights turn on in the bedroom, and you come to the realization that the intruder isn’t an intruder at all — it’s Leon. 

You gasp and bring your hands to cup your mouth. The bat falls to the ground with a resounding thud. 

“LEON?!” 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he manages to choke out in between retches. He’s heaving; the collision had winded him entirely. He slumps against the wall and slides down to sit on the hardwood flooring. “That was a—that was a good swing.” 

“Leon, oh my god,” you shout, rage replacing your initial shock. “Leon, what the fuck are you doing here?!” 

“It’s my apartment.”

“That’s not what I fucking meant, asshole. How are you alive?” 

Leon lets out a labored chuckle and rests his head back on the wall, “Believe it or not, I’m good at my job.” 

“Clearly,” you spit. “Clearly you’re so fucking good at your job that you managed to stay under the radar for two months. I haven’t heard from you in two months, Leon. I thought you were fucking dead.” 

“Which is why I expected a warmer welcome. Fuck me, I guess.” 

The anger flaring in your chest abates as you finally take him in — bruised, battered, bloody, and filthy. His clothes are ripped, his lip is swollen. He must have come straight home, you realize. He hadn’t stopped to so much as sign his name on a report. He won’t look at you—can’t look at you—when your irises hold such ire. You take a few steps toward him, fists curled tightly at your sides. “Yeah, fuck you,” you spit. 

“Fuck you, Leon,” you repeat, voice cracking slightly. 

Tears cascade down your cheeks in fat rivulets now. “Fuck you.”

You collapse to your knees at his feet. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, Leon Kennedy.” 

But your tone lacks conviction; syllables spill from your chapped lips in an unprotected free-fall. Your words are slurred, garbled by the tightness in your throat. You grab fistfuls of his shirt, and bury your face in his chest. It’s quickly soaked through, but Leon doesn’t dare move except to gently cradle the back of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” 

“You s-should be,” you hiccup. “I thought you were dead.” 

“I know.” 

“I was fucking worried sick.” 

“I know.” 

“I called my mom, Leon. I called my mom, and spoke to her for an hour because I hadn’t heard from you in weeks.” 

“Shit,” Leon chuckles, “that bad, huh?” 

A wet giggle escapes your throat, “Yeah, asshole. That bad.” 

He holds you tightly, sore arms coiled around your shoulders. You want to squirm out of his hold, to recoil at the feel of his calloused hands through the thin t-shirt. You want to revile his absenteeism, his negligence, his indifference. A scream bubbles in your chest, a simultaneous cry of apostasy and piety now that he’s home. The acrid sting of bile kisses the back of your tongue. You choke it back; you choke back your anger, too, because it’s irrelevant now. It’s petulant. It’s ungrateful. 

He’s home. He’s home and he’s holding you. He’s home and he’s holding you and you’re holding him. 

You pull away to look at him more fully, as if in disbelief that this isn’t yet another nightmare. But then the scent from his soiled clothing wafts in your direction as if affirming his existence.

Your nose crinkles as you say, “You smell awful.” 

“Two months in the middle of nowhere will do that to you,” Leon chuckles. 

You inspect his shredded knuckles and the healing gashes along his forearm. “Middle of nowhere do this to you, too?” 

He catches a stray tear with a hooked finger, “Classified, sweetheart. You know that.” 

All you can do is nod. You bite the inside of your cheek. He cups the side of your face, and brings your forehead to meet his. 

“I missed you,” he whispers. “I thought of you every night, if that helps.” 

“It does… and it doesn’t.” 

“You’re fickle.” 

“You’re unreliable.” 

Leon exhales humorously through his nose. “I’m trying my best not to be.” 

“I know,” you whisper. “I know it’s not your fault, too.” 

Leon’s shoulders drop. He swallows thickly, frustration scrabbling for dominance in his aching chest. It doesn’t win out, though, and he clenches his jaw as the tear he’d been suppressing for the better part of his conversation splashes onto his scabbed hand. You kiss away the subsequent tears. He notices the dryness of your lips, but doesn’t mind. You’d been through it — he’d put you through it. His stomach flips at the thought of you writhing in bed at night, at the thought of you weeping into his pillow, utterly alone. 

You stop kissing his tears when they become overwhelming, when he starts sobbing into your shoulder and uses your shirt as a catchall instead. 

“Leon,” you sigh, “Leon, it’s okay. You’re home. You’re safe.” 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he manages to choke out. “I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart.” 

“I know you are. It’s okay. Don’t cry; I’m here.” 

It takes a few minute for Leon to regain his composure but you don’t mind. You’d gladly spend the rest of the night pulling him into your chest, coiling around him like a snake just to ensure that he never left again. You run your fingers through his matted hair, gently untangling the knots riddling his chestnut tresses with each pass. You lightly scratch the nape of his neck. He hugs you more tightly when you do; it’s his favorite. He kisses your neck as a show of gratitude. You refrain from kissing his cheek — it’s coated in a thin layer of dirt. You’ll need to bathe again. Leon’s the first to pull away. 

“You know,” he sniffles, “that’s not what this sock is for.” 

He holds up the sock you’d used to sheath the bat with a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“No shit, it’s a sock.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Your brows furrow first in confusion, then in disgust. “God, Leon,” you grimace, pushing at his shoulders.

He wraps his arms around your waist, and works to keep you locked in his embrace. 

“Let me go!” You shout. 

“Were you not just crying because you missed me, sweetheart?” 

“I changed—my mind. Go away—forever,” you giggle between pathetic tries at freedom.

“So fickle,” he laughs. You shriek with laughter as he blows a raspberry into your neck, and tickles your sides. You fall onto your back in your forlorn attempt to escape; he follows suit but he’s unrelenting in his assault. He kneels between your legs, swatting away your taloned hands with ease. His laugh is rich albeit hoarse and gravelly from weeks of overuse; yours is similar in tone. 

Panic rises in your chest as his tickles continue. Your ribs are growing sore, your lungs are screaming for air. In desperation, you prod his stomach with your foot. Thankfully, he takes the hint, and stops. Leon places his hands on your knees. You sit up on your elbows, melting beneath the warmth of his gaze. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you sigh, nodding toward the bathroom with a small smile. 

He reciprocates your smile then helps you onto your feet. His hands don’t leave yours as you walk to the bathroom, or as you start the shower. He lets you undress him, lets you lower yourself onto your knees and make quick work of the laces on his boots. He watches as your fingers furl around the tattered fabric of his compression shirt, gingerly remove his belt, and undo the buttons on his fatigues. You don’t make eyes contact. You don’t think you’d be able to finish without crying if you did. 

Leon’s thankful, of course. He wouldn’t have made it through without crying either. He wasn’t lying when he told you he’d dreamt of you every night. He hadn’t been trying to placate you with empty platitudes — you’d occupied his every thought. 

It had been his most strenuous mission thus far, the most physically and emotionally taxing. Only his horrific sense of humor—your words, not his; he thinks he’s hilarious—and the prospect of coming home to you had kept him alive. Maybe he’d tell you about it someday. Unlikely, but he so desperately wants to share this part of himself with you. He’s sick of walking through the world feeling unknown, like a fraction of a human or wandering specter whose soul is tethered to both realms. 

His fingers find the hem of your—his—t-shirt, and pulls it over your head with aching, uncharacteristic geniality. You step out of your panties, eyes fixed on the extensive bruising along his torso. You run a tentative finger along the length of a particularly deep wound. He suppresses a wince, terrified of worrying you further. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart,” he croaks. “You’re not that strong.” 

You snort. “I should focus upper body next time I’m at the gym then. That way I can give you what you actually deserve.” 

He gives you a soft smile, cupping the nape of your neck. “You wouldn’t prefer that I train you instead?” 

“So I can hear quip after quip about how weak I am? Absolutely not.” 

“Ouch,” he rasps, “you have no faith in me.” 

“None at all.” 

His lips ghost over yours. “Then why is it my name you always scream when we’re having—?” 

“They’re curses, Leon, not prayers,” you sigh.

The nails on Leon’s free hand dig into the plush of your hips. “Right,” he affirms, voice low and gravelly, “they’re curses when you’re on your back, but prayers when you’re on your knees.” 

He walks you back into the glass door of his standing shower. You gasp as your fevered skin makes contact with the cooled glass. He nips your earlobe, and presses gentle kisses along your jaw.

“Then what’ll it be tonight, sweetheart: curses or prayers?” 

“Neither if you don’t get in the shower,” you gasp. “You smell like a fucking sewer.” 

He tosses his head back in laughter. “I’d’ve preferred the sewers in all honesty. But fine,” he kisses your cheek, “I’ll be good and listen.” 

“For once.” 

“Only once,” he confirms, stepping into the steady stream of hot water. His hands find yours once more as you step in after him. His voice soften when he asks, “Don’t let go of me, yeah?” 

“I won’t.” 

Leon hums in approval, his hold on your hands tightening as he closes his eyes. When he’s confirmed that you’re here, you’re present, you’re real and with him, he allows his head to loll back and the water to drench his neglected scalp. 

Your fingers trail up his torso, his chest, his neck, and weave into his hair once more. Your lower lip tucked nervously between your teeth as you usher him out from beneath the shower head. You let go of his hand. His chest rises as a breath gets caught in his throat, and falls once he realizes what you’re doing. 

“I’m going to let go, but just to get the shampoo,” you say. “Ready?” 

He clenches his jaw then nods. It devastates you, how tense he grows in the absence of your touch. You lather the eucalyptus shampoo in your hands. It’s his favorite scent, the only one that soothes him when he returns from missions. You delicately work it into his hair, paying particular attention to the nape of his neck, and his temples. His deft thumbs mirror your ministrations, tracing circles along your pelvic bones. 

“Okay, rinse,” you instruct softly. 

He listens, leaning back into the water. And you repeat this process, not once compromising the fragility with which you slough off the dirt and grime from his tired body. It melts off him like second skin, collecting in muddy puddles around your feet. Once he’s clean, he returns the favor: he lathers minty smelling soap along your arms, your legs, the valley of your breasts. His unoccupied hand trails after the fluffy loofah, kneading your soft skin in grounding, almost as if he’s committing your body to memory. 

You’re cleansed from the pain of the past two months, scrubbed raw and vulnerable and anew by the same hands that had caused it. His marred body tells the most unholy of tales, but you’d done your best to dispel the horrors it had endured. He appreciates it—appreciates you— and the effort you expel to wash away as much of his sins as possible. They’ll never go away, the scars. He wishes they would, wishes he could flush them away as easily as you had scoured the debris and filth from his wounds. They serve as a constant reminder of his culpability, of his part in your misery.

But then you kiss the winding scar tissue bisecting his chest. It had healed improperly, leaving the skin gnarled and warped and puckered at its pink seams. He’d sustained the injury shortly after deployment. He’d worried endlessly about the way you’d react. He’d ruminated on the possibility that you’d reject him, that you’d find him utterly repugnant. He’d mulled over every possibility except this. 

And it nearly does him in. 

His chest collapses the closer your lips come to his heart, and once he feels your gentle kisses settle over the muscle with stinging finality, it collapses, too. He grips your wrists; your hands flex in surprise. 

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“I love you,” he returns, peppering the insides of your wrists with warm kisses. You watch him intently, curiously. He winces as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. Your eyes widen; he strokes the sensitive flesh of your wrist with a calloused thumb in dismissal. 

“Did you hear me,” he asks with a chuckle. “I said I love you.” 

“I know,” you giggle. “I was just making up my mind if I’ll be cursing or praying to you.” 

“Oh? What have you decided?” 

“Wouldn’t you rather me show you?” 

“Absolutely,” he grins. He flinches harshly as he reaches behind him to shut off the water. You grab his waist reflexively, worry grappling at your chest. Leon gives you a sheepish smile. You give him a pointed look in reciprocation before stretching your arm past him, and turning the knob. 

You usher him out of the shower, push past him, and retrieve one of the plush white towels hanging from behind the bathroom door. You dry each other off, unhurried touches taking on different meaning as the towel and curious hands graze over sensitive skin. You let out a small whimper as he cups your breast and his lips leave slow, fevered kisses along the column of your neck. 

“Bed,” you gasp. He hums in approval.

You stumble backward through the bathroom door, body still warm and damp from the shower, but before collapsing onto the bed, you flatten your hand against Leon’s chest. 

“Curses,” you breathe. “But they won’t be mine tonight.” 

He arches an eyebrow in question, so you guide him onto his back in wordless explanation. His eyes soften as realization dawns. 

“Sweetheart—“

“Please let me, Leon. Please.” 

And how could he say no? He can’t very well argue, not when your eyes glitter in supplication and excitement. But he can’t acquiesce to your desires right away. That would be wholly uncharacteristic.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he says with a facsimile of a pout. He places his hands neatly behind his head, and gives you an expectant smile, eyes flicking from your mouth to his half-hardened cock. Your immediate frown dissolves into a warm smile as his breath stutters, shattering the facade. 

You take his length in one hand, and with agonizing care, stroke him from base to tip. He swallows thickly, cock twitching in anticipation. God he’d missed this. He’d missed the feel of your soft hands working him into submission. His eyes flutter shut, breath hitching as your lips find the gruesome scar defacing his muscular chest once again. 

“I’ve missed you so much, Leon,” you whine, hand quickening in its ministrations. “I’ve missed you so much.” 

He hardens in your hands, a sharp juxtaposition to the way his muscles relax the closer your mouth comes to his throat. You suck on the delicate flesh, nip it until it flushes red, then lavish it with apologetic kisses. The love marks you leave behind are meant to compensate for the violence shown to the rest of his body — it desperately needs reminding of how deeply you cherish it. 

You capture his lips with your own, slip your tongue into his mouth and pour as much affection, as much frustration and relief and adoration into it as possible. He returns the action in kind, hands leaving the base of his neck to cup your face. He pulls you closer, kisses you more deeply, and litters your neck with bruises of his own. 

Arousal spreads like spilled sunshine in your lower abdomen, warming you from within. You feel yourself grow damp as he palms your breasts, as he rolls a pert nipple between two fingers. He cups your cunt with his free hand; you can’t help but keen at the contact. 

“God, you’re fucking soaked,” he rasps. “Did you touch yourself at all while I was gone?” 

“No,” you admit, heat rising to your cheeks. You whimper as he parts your lips, and coats his finger in your essence. “No, it doesn’t compare.” 

“Damn right it doesn’t,” he groans as you swipe your thumb across the tip of his cock. “Am I going to get to taste you tonight?” 

“Later,” you keen. “For now, just lay back, okay?” 

He doesn’t listen immediately, too reluctant to retract his hand from between your legs. You have to pry him from you, beg for him to let you make your longing known. Smiles spread across both of your faces at the playful struggle that ensues: Leon pinches your nipple, you squeeze his cock, and urge him to lay back by threatening to cease all ministrations until he obliges. He chuckles sweetly as your expression softens, as you resume pumping his length, and trail wet kisses down his torso. 

You bat your eyelashes at him coquettishly as you reach his pelvis, fingernails sinking into the flesh of his thighs. He emits a small grunt of approval, hips bucking in anticipation. His eyes grow glassy, unfocused in his lust for you. He tries to close his eyes but the attempt is met with a sharp nip to his upper thigh. 

“Eyes on me, Leon.” 

He opens his mouth to protest, retort on the tip of his tongue, but it’s drowned out by a guttural growl. You drag your tongue along the underside of his cock, eye contact unwavering. You take him in your mouth slowly, inch by inch, the salty tang of his precum sending waves of desire through your system.

Your pace is slow at first, hesitant more than self-assured. It grows quicker as you acclimate to his size. You hadn’t forgotten how large he is — in fact, you’d been looking forward to the day when he’d mold you to himself once again, to the day he’d stretch you so thin you’d see sparks behind your fluttering lids. But your lungs can’t keep up with the pace with which you take him and soon enough, you see the blackened wisps of asphyxiation enter your periphery. You slip a hand between your legs, and rub tight concentric circles along your clit. You use your free hand to compensate for what your mouth can’t reach.

You moan around him as your orgasm builds; he moans in return, savoring the way the sound reverberates through his system. He cradles the back of your head, strokes it lovingly as you take him deeper, deeper, deeper. The coil in his stomach tightens — he’s so close. He can tell you’re close, too, based on the arrhythmic tempo with which you take him.

An overwhelming need to take you, to hold you, to make you his once again grapples at his chest. It had been so long since he’d had you, so long since he’d showered you with praise and affection. He feels his consciousness slipping, mind growing fuzzy as his arousal reaches a fever pitch. He wants to tell you to keep going; he need to tell you to stop. But his words come out as garbled nonsense the more you tighten your lips around his length and the more you hollow out your cheeks.

Unable to control himself much longer, he thrusts up into you. You’re taken aback, gagged as the head of his cock collides with the back of your throat. You give him a warning glare, pausing halfway down his cock, tears pricking the inner corners of your eyes. He could come from the heat of your scowl alone. 

“S-sorry,” he chuckles as the fog slowly lifts, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.

He sits up to caress the back of your head. You mirror his posture, removing his cock from your mouth to press your forehead to his. He’s mesmerized by the way your chest rises and falls as you try to catch your breath. 

“I just… didn’t think we’d get the chance to do this again,” he whispers through a choked sob.

And you heart shatters. You take his face in your hands. Tears threaten to spill forth, threaten to snuff out the heat building between your legs, but the gentility with which he holds you, the heaviness of his breathing, the ease with which he sweeps you onto his lap, stokes the fire nonetheless. 

“I need you,” he whispers, “I need to feel you. Please.”

“You have me, Leon,” you keen, softly rolling your hips along his length. “You have me. I’m here. Let me take care of you.” 

You readjust to straddle him more wholly, knees caging in his eager hips. You roll your hips gently along his length, coating him in your essence. His head slumps forward into your breasts. You stroke his hair. 

“I love you, Leon. I love you so much.” 

“God,” he rasps, “God, I fucking love you, too, sweetheart.” 

He admires the way the plush skin along your hips bubbles beneath his grip. You’re so soft, so sweet, so lush and comforting. His chapped lips latch onto the junction of your neck and shoulder, stifling a lascivious moan. Leon urges you to keep moving, keep gyrating along his aching cock. You’re happy to oblige, meeting the steady pace he’s setting with his hands. 

“Inside me, baby,” you gasp, “I want you inside me.” 

Leon lifts your hips just long enough to align the head of his cock with your entrance. Your hold on his hair tightens as you feel him push the tip inside, You clench your teeth, and shut your eyes in anticipation, only to receive a sharp, playful slap to you ass. You glare down at him, eyes alight with indignation, mouth agape. 

“I need your eyes open, sweetheart,” he growls, tightening his hold on your hips. “I want you to look at me while you fuck me. And I promise—,” he bucks his hip up into yours, “that I”ll return the favor.” 

You let out a filthy moan as Leon thrusts his cock into you. Your cunt is so tight, so wet after two months of neglect. He slips right in, from tip to base, without much struggle. But the dampness of your cunt and the depths of your arousal don’t negate the blinding pleasure you feel from being stretched to your breaking point. You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, you pull at his hair, you try to cling to something—to anything—in a desperate attempt to stay grounded. But through it all, you don’t dare break eye contact. You don’t dare look away from his darkening irises — once a startling blue, now a deep, sensual indigo. You don’t dare deny him the opportunity to watch you come undone.

“Leon,” you keen. “Fuck, Leon, it’s s-so much.” 

You press your forehead to his again, and work to match his bruising pace. He takes one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking and lapping at your pert nipple while he watches your pupils widen. 

You’re so stunning like this, he thinks, so sweet when your lips have turned a startling crimson, swollen from his kisses. And he can’t help the elation rising in his chest when you moan his name or when your pussy, dripping with arousal, tightens around his cock. He’s the only one who can make you feel like this, the only one who could bring this out of you, and that knowledge nearly sends him over the edge. 

White spots blossom in your vision the head of his cock kisses your cervix. You grind on him. You gyrate and bounce and roll your hips in your frantic search for release. His cock twitches within you. His grip becomes bruising. His thrusts sputter. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “Fuck your pussy feels so good. God, I’ve fucking missed this pussy so much.” 

It’s all so much messier than usual, so much less rehearsed. You’d both fallen out of practice, and it’d be dishonest for you to say that you aren’t the smallest bit relieved. The way he fucks you feels primal, carnal, like a deep-seated hunger that has long demanded satiation. It’d been a while since you’d both felt this desperate for release. 

He sucks at your neck. You toss your head back to grant him further access. 

“Leon—fuck— Leon, I’m going to—“ 

“Do it, baby, come on my cock. Please fucking come on my cock.” 

And you’re swathed in rolling waves of euphoria. Realty splinters, your consciousness is swallowed in brilliant pyrotechnics as your orgasm crashes down around you. Leon wraps his arms around you instinctively, allowing you go to limp in his embrace. He fucks you through your climax, relishes the way his name spills from your lips in fragmented syllables. Before you’re able to come to, Leon flips you onto your back. 

You coil your legs around his waist, and your fingers find purchase on the slats of your headboard before he drives his cock into you. You let out a sinful moan on impact. Leon reaches between your legs. He pressurizes your clit, rubs tight circles with a calloused finger, and the friction in tandem with the unrelenting bucking of his hips catapults you straight into another shattering orgasm. 

Leon’s not too far behind. It takes a few more strokes, long and deep, for him to come undone and when he does, he swears he’s never felt pleasure quite like it. An immeasurable sense of peace washes over him as he feels your cunt tighten around him, as he feels you pull him to your chest and pepper his cheeks with loving kisses. The feel of your hands, of your lips, of your heartbeat pounding against the thin walls of your chest is akin to heaven. 

“Leon,” you cry, “Leon, Leon, Leon.”

An incantation. A promise. A psalm recited at his altar. A hymn sung between a smattering of kisses.

His name is symphonic as it leave your mouth, grounding as it tethers him back to this plane, this apartment, this bed. He’s so underserving of your love. He’s so undeserving of your patience and kindness — he’s learned that long ago— but he’d be damned if he ever gave it up for anything.

Leon manages to regain lucidity long enough to remove himself from between your thighs, and lay on the empty side of the bed—his side of the bed. It’s cold, he realizes, colder than he’d ever remembered it being. But before sadness can burrow into his bones once more, you envelope him in a disarmingly warm embrace. 

He hugs you to him, kisses your temple, your cheeks, your lips, and audibly laments over all of the nights you’d spent apart. 

“It’s okay,” you placate. “You’re here now, and that’s what matters.” 

“I know,” he whispers between kisses, “I know.” 

He kisses away the tears that fall from your tired eyes. You manage to say, “I love you so much.” 

“I love you more,” he croaks, choking back tears of his own.

Silence befalls the bedroom once more, but for the first time in a long time, it does’t unsettle you. You take comfort in the slowness of Leon’s breathing, in the slowed beating his heart. You nuzzle into his neck. He lightly scratches your back, and traces hearts and stars with dull nails. 

“So,” he says after a period of comfortable silence, “those didn’t sound like curses to me.” 

Your snort in amusement. “They sure as hell weren’t prayers.” 

“Weren’t you on your knees for most of them, though?” 

You smack his shoulder playfully, and giggle as he pulls you closer to his chest. 

“Fine, they’re prayers” you acquiesce. “Though I don’t know what I’d be praying for now you’re home.” 

“I didn’t know you prayed at all.” 

“I don’t,” you state flatly, “But I… I’d’ve done anything if it meant you coming home safe.” 

He clenches his jaw, and kisses the top of your head. “Well, I’m home now. And I don’t think I’ll be leaving again any time soon.” 

You sit up at that, “Really?” 

Leon melts at the optimism in your tone. He guides you back onto his lap gently, delicately as though you were made of glass. The kiss he places on your lips is sweet, docile, genial, so unlike the hunger with which he’d ravished you before. 

“Really,” he affirms, smiling into another kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, smiling exuberantly at the possibility of having Leon to yourself for an indiscriminate amount of time You start to make a mental checklist of the new restaurants that you’d discovered in the past two months, the pop ups and farmers markets that had taken root in his absence. But your planning is disrupted as Leon’s half-hardened cock grinds up into your cunt. You gasp as its head grazes against your swollen clit. 

“Have I told you how much I missed you?” He whispers in a voice so husky, so rough that it shoots arousal straight through your core. 

God, you’ve missed him, too. 

warm-bodied | leon k.

genre(s): erotica, romance warning(s): female reader, soft dom leon, choking, clothed petting, mentions of bodily fluids, language, light dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, size kink, brief somnophilia, dry humping, stream of consciousness, lowercase, not proofread, written while under the influence now playing: some days - stella jang

he prefers you like this.

without the knit of your brows or the upturn of your lips. defenses buried beneath the gravel, your voice soft with sleep. no sharp quips, no biting comebacks. just your lids dancing and your mouth parting slightly with each exhale.

he likes it best when he can get away with stroking your cheek with the flat of his nails as you dream of pretty things. when he can root his nose into the curve of your shoulder and inhale.

you smell like earth and heady things, and you shift the slightest bit in his arms, nuzzling further into the safety of his body. cling to the fabric of his shirt like a grabby child, and the notion makes his lips—and dick—twitch.

the rain taps a steady rhythm on your makeshift shelter—a tarp he fashioned between two trees to shield you from the elements. 

you needed the rest, your bones shaky with fatigue. leon insisted after you reconvened following a split-up to gather intel. after you stumbled into his back when he took the lead to resume your search for the president’s daughter. wasn’t like you to be so out of sorts. so naturally, being the good partner leon was, he herded you to safety—or some semblance of it.

you allowed him to hold you beneath the veil of night. to ward off the insistent chill because you were soaked to the bone, your clothes sticking to you like a second skin. and he was warm and so very big, and…

well, he was just helping out his partner, right? definitely not swelling with something feral at the sight of your body wrapped snug in his coat and you burrowing into his armpit like a scared little bunny.

besides, it isn’t often he has you like this. in the clench of his arms, his fingers meandering along the skin of your neck. dragging further downward towards the divot between your collarbones, grazing over your breasts. further still, on an unhurried excursion to your nipples pebbling beneath your shirt. from the cold or his touch, he isn’t sure. but the sight of them makes him bite his lip as he chokes on a groan.

you stir when you feel him. clear the phlegm from your throat, your lids still heavy with sleep.

“leon,” you warn, voice rivaled by the patter of the rain overhead.

“i know.” humor hangs in the depths of his voice, interweaved with something sensual. something disarming. “just tryna help keep you warm, is all.”

snort. “we don’t have time for the nonsense.” 

leon scoffs. feigns hurt, his ministrations never faltering. sure, danger looms between each crackle of a tree branch. between every hoot of an owl in the distance, every whisper of wind, but—

a well-placed nipple pinch invokes a bitten-off growl from your throat. and he smiles at that, sighing hot and open-mouthed against the space behind your ear.

“we’ll make time, sweetheart.”

a promise clings to the air like the oaky aroma of petrichor, and he doesn’t miss how your thighs clench at the rumble of his voice. how you arch the slightest bit, pushing your breasts into the calluses of his hands, still feigning sleepiness. give him the go-ahead to touch you more, and he’s every bit of smug now as he kneads, plucks, and flicks his fingernails over your pretty, pretty nipples.

and, oh, how he wants to taste them; roll them over the bumps and grooves of his tongue, between his teeth. but given the angle and the timing, he’ll have to settle for this.

“gonna take care of you,” he huffs into the delicate hairs at the nape of your neck. hands dip a little further down, coasting over the ripples of your rib cage, massaging the meat of your belly, melding to your hipbones. “promise.”

you shudder, growing a little boneless, legs instinctively parting. and leon heeds the invitation, his nails raking up and down the inner sanctum of your thighs, all honey slow and teasing. and he intentionally nudges your meaty outer labia with the knuckles of his thumbs, and they’re swelling and fat in your pants, pulsating with each touch. he coos alongside you, infatuated by the beautiful noises he invokes upon touching you there.

you shiver again, a cute whimper easing past your lips. the sound shoots straight to his cock, painfully hard.

“want me here?” he croons. you nod all too quickly, earning a chuckle from him.

leon needs no further goading, taking to massaging your pussy through your pants with a cupped palm and artful fingers. revels in those breathy little sounds leaving your mouth and how your head falls back against his shoulder. and he’s there, mouthing over your carotid, sinking his teeth into whatever flesh he can reach.

his name drifts from your lips in a gentle cadence—in a dulcet supplication that makes his head spin, and he unconsciously grinds in tandem with the steady undulation of your hips. mind filled only with you you you. with getting you off. with tasting the briny tang of your cum. with being buried deep in the searing clench of your pussy, and the notion makes him nip at your shoulder to mask the pathetic little whimper burbling in his throat.

“right there?” he dotes at a particular buck of your hips, and your thigh craters beneath his fingers as he squeezes to anchor you down, keeping your legs spread so he can play at the seam of your pussy. “keep ‘em open for me, baby. yeah, just like that. gooood girl.”

he’s breathless now, sweat beading on his temple, because watching your resolve wither away has him leaking pre-spend and rutting into the cleft of your ass like a beast in heat. you burn hot as he shackles your neck with his hand, unraveling you little by little, your cunt so very wet and warm and weeping into his palm. and his hold on your throat tightens until he feels your pulse beat violently against the lines of his palm and your breath hitches.

“oh fuck, leon! so—so close! i’m gonna…i’m gonna—”

“yeah? gonna cum, baby? want you to. so bad. fuck. please.”

like a frayed bowstring stretched taut beyond its limits, you snap. topple as quickly as leon built you up, your slick saturating his fingers through the thickness of your cargo pants. and fuck fuck fuck, it’s embarrassing how quickly he cums after, drawn to his peak by the erratic stutter of your hips and that sinful tongue of yours curling around his name. he soaks his pants like an overzealous teen, fighting against his labored breaths and the urge to push you onto your back to fuck his cum into you.

but as the dust settles and the rainfall filters back in through the static of his mind, you look at him with a lazy smile. with a quirk to your brow, your gaze all-knowing and swimming with exhaustion.

“well, that’s one way to keep a girl warm.”

to which leon snorts, tugging you back into his arms, lips pursed and tender on the crown of your head.

masterlist

City Lights

You belong to the Port Mafia and after Oda informs you that he is worried about Dazai's behavior, you both set out to try to find him.

Contents: afab!reader, mafia Dazai (but he acts more like ADA Dazai), fingering, cunnilingus on the edge of a building, praise, consensual, mentions of a possible suicide attempt, he calls you Bella, Donna and Belladonna, handjob, blowjob, unprotected sex, pull out.

Word count: 6.9K

+18 MDNI—Explicit content

A/N: this is my first time writing here, I just wanted to try and see what happens. English is not my first language so I apologize if there are any mistakes in my writing.

You ran desperately throughout the building, as much as your legs would carry you, opening every door that came your way, ignoring the screams and threats of the individuals inside the rooms once you determined that he was not there, only then did you leave the place to continue with your search, it was like a game of hide-and-seek in which someone's life was probably at stake and that someone was Dazai.

Once you made sure to check the entire place, you got on the elevator, taking the opportunity to try to regulate your heavy breathing. After pressing the number for the next floor, you took your cell phone out of your pocket to check if you had any messages from Oda, while you searched the upper floors he searched the lower ones, the first one to find him had to notify the other.

This search method was frankly tiring you out but Mori wouldn't let you see the cameras unless the mafia was in danger and unlike the two of you, no one else seemed really worried about the brunette, clearly, him thinking about making an attempt on his life was not something that surprised anyone. Normally not even the two of you would take it so seriously but Oda mentioned that he was uneasy about Dazai's behavior after a night of drinking, you just couldn't let it go and that's why he had told you, maybe because he knew you were the only person who would care as much as he did.

You weren't sure when he had time to get so deep into your heart but you weren't going to be calm until you saw him. If Chuuya realized you were so concern about Dazai he would most likely make fun of you but you would worry about him later.

If you were Dazai where would you be? You pondered that question a couple of times, getting frustrated in your attempt to find an answer, the one with chocolate eyes was simply too smart for you to be able to think like him, if he didn't want to be found no one would find him, that was a fact. Whenever you tried to think like him you ended up coming to the same conclusion, maybe he was on the roof but it didn't make sense to you, he wasn't such a typical person who just wanted to end his life anyway, Osamu wouldn't jump off the roof because the end could be physically painful and he felt rejection towards the pain. However, after having just that one idea you found yourself going back to the elevator and pressing the number for the top floor, skipping the other ones and ignoring everything in that place to go straight to the stairs that led to the roof.

The door was half open, letting in the outside air, you pushed it slightly and looked out realizing that your hunch was correct. There he was, standing on the edge of the building, one wrong step and it would be a fatal fall. He was wearing only his white shirt and black pants, without his black trench coat, his shoes lay next to him perfectly placed, he had his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on the view in front of him.

You let out a sigh of relief and text Oda immediately, you told him to go home and that this time you would take care of him, he didn't seem as serious as you thought after all. You closed the door behind you softly and slowly approached him.

"Could you come down from there?" You asked him in a calm voice, a bit of softness to speed up the process, frankly you were too tired to stay there all night.

"Belladonna, have you seen how beautiful the city looks from here?" He asked without turning around, he didn't need to do it to know who was behind him. You weren't surprised that he had noticed so easily, maybe he knew from the beginning that you would come. "It's like a painting in motion... I wonder how many of the people down there have something to hold onto."

"Something to hold on to?" You asked, your gaze traveling from his body to what was in front of him, the city. Modern buildings, some unnecessarily tall structures that cost a fortune to build, the entire place was filled with bright lights interrupting the night with its light pollution and the unmistakable noise of the crowd below overshadowed the calm sound of the wind.

"Something that makes them wake up every morning and be grateful for being alive, their family, friends, a pet or even a love... it may not even be a living being for some of them," he explained, turning calmly, his feet touching the edge of the abyss for a second making your heart skip a beat. "People cling to work because they need money, I think they will also have something that makes them subconsciously cling to life, something that makes them happy enough to want to continue living."

You couldn't be sure if all this speech was coming from his alcohol intake, probably not, those words could perfectly well come out of the mouth of a completely sober Dazai, Oda said that he had drunk more than normal but surely he wasn't even drunk, he was just saying whatever was on his mind.

"Do you have something to hold on to Bella?" He asked, placing one of his hands on his chin, narrowing his eyes as he looked directly at you, as if he could read your mind. "Let's not go too deep... you have something to make you cling to the mafia?"

"You know I have it" you responded, looking away from him again.

Anyone with half a brain in the mafia could guess the answer to that question.

The same reason you had joined the mafia was the reason you clung to it, Nakahara Chuuya. Since you had joined the sheep you swore loyalty to the redhead and unlike the rest of your friends that loyalty remained even after the rest betrayed him, no matter what they said, if he had collaborated with the Port Mafia he would have his reasons, if he had joined them he would have his reasons for that too and as long as he allowed you to accompany him you were going to be by his side no matter what happened. Even in the mafia your loyalty was not really to Mori but to the gravity manipulator, if Chuuya's loyalty was with that man then yours would be too.

"Chibi-chan is lucky" the brunette assured, smiling, hiding sadness in that gesture, not even bothering to hide it enough so that you couldn't notice it. Did he hope that he was the reason why you clung to this place? Or maybe it just affected him to think that he was the only one who had nothing to hold on to.

You almost never understood him, mainly his fixation with death gave you chills, his way of acting seemed confusing and his intellect was overwhelming but there was something in particular about him that kept catching your attention, that aura of a writer in pain, which he carried as if it were his eternal luggage. You can't help but feel that he was suffering as only artists knew how to suffer and that made you want to pay attention to him every time he entered a room. His suffering was poetic and intriguing, you wanted to know what was really behind all that, what was behind Dazai Osamu's mask, that's why you had let him get so close to you, dig an egg in your heart and get into it as much as he felt like it.

"Come and dance with me," he said, extending one of his hands gently, his flirtatious expression now replacing that hurt smile.

"I'll dance with you if you come down from there." You assured crossing your arms, he pouted at your response.

"But if you dance with me here we can have a better view" he tried to convince you, put both hands in the air pretending that he was placing one of them on someone`s shoulder and holding their waist with the other, humming a song that you didn't know he began to move gracefully over the edge of the building, dirtying his feet with the dust accumulated on the cement, the way he carelessly turned on the tips of his feet seemed like he was dancing with death.

He winked at you before making another spin, staggering enough to scare you so you ran up to him and pulled one of his hands making him fall to the opposite side of the chasm, accidentally taking you with him, falling on your back while he landed next to you on one of his shoulders.

"You're an idiot" you mentioned, getting up when you heard him laugh from the ground, he lay down on his back, crumpling and dirtying his white shirt, not that he cared anyway. His eyesight no longer appreciated the city lights but the sky above your heads.

"You should stop hanging out with Chuuya, you're starting to sound like him." He put both hands behind his head and used them as a pillow, he didn't seem ready to get up yet. "You came to stop me, didn't you?"

You nodded and he let out a sigh.

"If you keep worrying so much about me I'm going to start thinking that you like me, Bella." From his tone he sounds like a little boy who just wants to annoy, it's like he expected that comment to make you angry but you don't even take him seriously, he wanted to provoke you like he did with Chuuya but that behavior was nothing new for you and unlike the redhead, you could let Dazai's attitude go.

Ignoring his comment, you walked until you rested your hands on the edge of the building, getting a better view of the landscape that he adored a few minutes ago. He was right, it was a painting in motion. You could understand how anyone would be struck by that interesting urban chaos.

The brunette sighed, his body still resting on the ground, one of his legs crossed over the other, his hair disheveled and his eyes left the starry sky to rest on you, admiring your figure. Although he knew that you and Chuuya didn't have a physical or romantic relationship, he couldn't help but think that the blue-eyed boy was lucky. Osamu was almost sure that you would never mind him touching you, from your body language he deduced that a part of you really was attracted to the gravity manipulator but he was too distracted to notice. And although Dazai himself had tried to make him seen it several times, he always told him to shut up. His obstinacy was sad, a true waste of a beautiful lady's interest.

Why were you wasting your time waiting for someone too clueless to notice you?

If it were him, Dazai, he would have realized it in an instant and would never have wasted your time, whatever you wanted from him he would have gladly given it to you. He wasn't Chuuya but he did suffer because of how much he wanted to touch you, run his fingers over your smooth skin, caress every corner of you that he could reach. Your body was what he occasionally craved more than death.

Eternal rest had enchanted him, it had seduced him a long time ago and he couldn't wait for destiny to let him fall into its arms, but he was clear that he would escape from it if you gave him the opportunity to try you at least once. To get rid of the doubts he has, how sweet your essence would be, how drunk would he be if it spilled on his lips, how much your silhouette would hypnotize him in the middle of his hands full of sin. You made him wonder so many things that he could rarely sleep when you got into his head at night.

"Chibi-chan is lucky," he repeated to himself, part of him cursing that the redhead would let the wind take away that ticket to happiness that the world had carefully laid at his feet.

"If you repeat it so much I'm going to start to think that you're envious of him," you mentioned without turning around, as a joke, assuming that he would defend himself with some childish comment, bringing out that immature behavior that the mere mention of the gravity manipulator caused in him. However, Dazai was not in the mood to play children's games that night.

"Maybe a little," he admits with a shrug, getting up from the ground and approaching you with his hands in his pockets.

You frowned in confusion at what you had just heard, turning to find him just a few steps away from you. "What could you envy about Chuuya?"

This was that type of behavior that always surprised you, he usually spent his time getting the redhead out of his mind as much as he could, teasing him, making fun of him, provoking him in every way he could think of, but now he calmly revealed that a part of him envied Nakahara. Dazai Osamu was quite a puzzle.

He took a few more steps towards you and you instinctively backed away until you collided with the edge of the building, he stopped inches from you, tilting his head down to carefully observe your face adorned with bewilderment and confusion.

"The way you look at him" he sighed "I don't know if I'd call it jealousy but I definitely wish I was in his place."

You froze for a second, he sounded sincere but frankly you weren't sure how much you could trust what Dazai was telling you, after all his intelligence surpassed yours, he could probably make you believe whatever he wanted, although it was not clear to you what he would gain from what he was telling you.

"Stop joking, Dazai," you warned him, fixing your eyes on his, trying to make him understand through your serious look that you weren't in the mood for that kind of games, not when he got so into character.

"I promise you I'm not joking" he clarified, raising both hands in a sign of innocence, he didn't feel like playing with that topic either, at least not now. The way the city lights illuminated you from below gave you an aura worthy of admire for him, he couldn't play with you at a moment like that, when you looked so especially charming. "I can prove it to you if you want," he offered as naturally as he would offer you a glass of water, although it was not clear to you what exactly he was offering you.

"Prove it to me?" you asked, bewildered. His hands returned to his pockets and he nodded slightly. "Prove what to me, Dazai?"

Without making any sudden movements, he took his hands out of his pockets again, being aware of how uneasy he had made you feel by his sudden confession, he slowly brought his hands closer to one of yours, taking it to bring it to his mouth and after lightly licking his lips, he planted a small kiss on the back of your hand, hoping to calm you with his gentle gesture. He proceeded to explain himself "I would like to prove to you how much I want you to look at me the way you look at Chuuya."

You could have sworn that you had felt your heart skip a beat and you froze for a second, repeating his words in your head over and over again, processing them to make sure you weren't imagining things, that proposal had really come out of the brunette's mouth, he was actually in front of you, ensuring that he meant what he said.

You blinked several times when Dazai's lips crashed into yours after accepting his request. Beyond how much everything that was happening seemed strange to you, it intrigued you after all, like everything that had to do with him. You didn't know where he wanted to go with all this, what exactly he hoped to achieve or what feelings towards Chuuya he was referring to but you were willing to take the risk because you were interested in that brown-haired man after all. More in a general way than romantically, however you didn't want to let go the opportunity to get closer to him and discover what awaited you in his proposal.

His lips were thin, soft, gentle at first, the taste of what he had drunk still lingered on them but you didn't dislike it. His hands went delicately to your body, confidently placing one on your waist, bringing you closer to him while the other cupped your face, his thumb barely had contact with your cheek, his touch was respectful of you, he moved forward timidly while he made sure you felt comfortable with him and then he took you as if he didn't want to let you go.

With your eyes closed, you sank into the kiss, your hands slowly passed through his chest until they surrounded his neck and buried themselves in his scalp, allowing you to play with his soft brown hair while you gave him access to your mouth. You didn't expect him to melt you for him so easily but it wasn't a surprise to you either, he was naturally skilled at everything he put his mind to, this wouldn't be an exception. He won the battle for dominance of the kiss without problems and he explored your oral cavity anxiously as he took even more of you, desire growing inside him every time he got more, everything was better than he had imagined.

Your body reacted so perfectly to him, to the passage of his palms, it was not as if you were made to fit with him but rather as if you molded to his taste, as if your body told him where he should go but at the same time took him where he wanted to go. He was sure that your mouth was the place he would return to without thinking about it, it could be his eternal vice and he would never get tired of the sweet and addictive feeling of your lips against his, if he had to receive the kiss of death he hoped it would come from you, he couldn't resist anyone else kissing him from now on. He went down to your neck and your aroma filled his nostrils, making him wish his pillows smelled like that. Sleeping every night with that comforting smell sounded like paradise. Now he would never want to be separated from you, not after you made him obsessed with you this way.

"You are exquisite Belladonna" he whispered, bringing his lips to your ear, slowly licking your earlobe causing your entire body to tingle, his arms wrapped around your waist, curling even more as he took another step closer, pressing his body against yours, slightly tucking one of his legs between yours. "I wonder how far you'll let me go."

He raised his knee a little, until his thigh made contact with your clothed cunt, he applied pressure lightly getting a gasp from you and unconsciously your thighs tightened around his leg preventing him from moving, which drew a smile on Dazai's lips.

The brunette's hands were filled with audacity and slowly left your waist to travel to your ass, he stopped for a moment to wait for a slap from you, one that never came, that was the proof he needed to know that he had now intoxicated you so much in him that he had you where he wanted. He gave your cheeks a gentle squeeze, a gasp escaping your lips while a satisfying hum escaped his own, every part of you was too alluring not to place his sinful fingers on it, he took the time to enjoy the contact between his finger tips and every centimeter of your body.

"I think I've proven enough" he whispered in your ear as a warning, letting you know that he was about to walk away, thinking that if he had achieved his goal you would immediately stop him and just like that, you did it, you didn't understand exactly why or how but now you needed him. You couldn't let him walk away now that he had stolen a little of your breath and a little of your common sense.

Your grip tightened slightly, you didn't say anything but it was easy to understand the meaning behind that, you didn't want him to move away. And that's how Dazai understood it, complying with the implicit order you had given him, he joined his lips with yours again, carrying this second kiss with more lust than the previous one.

He gave your ass another squeeze, harder this time, and leaned over you, his height trapping you completely between him and the edge of the building, at any other time you would have yelled at him to get away because it could be dangerous, but now there was something exciting about having the bright lights of the city behind you while the brown-eyed man's lips moved down your neck, sucking your skin with desire and the need to record every part of you in every part of himself.

You knew that Chuuya would judge you for this, your mind would probably go blank when he asked you where the hickeys that Dazai was leaving so passionately on your neck had come from, so you would have to hope that the redhead didn't find out that it was precisely Mackerel who skillfully unbuttoned your shirt while you sighed for him every time his knee pressed on that special place between your legs. The one with blue eyes would never leave you alone if he knew that you had let Osamu put his eyes on your breasts and he would recriminate you for the rest of your life if you told him, that you allowed him not only to place his hands but also his lips on them. Nakahara would be a pain in the ass if you admitted that your panties got wet for no one else and no other than the youngest leader in the history of the Port Mafia.

Dazai, on the other hand, was fascinated with you, with your breasts and the soft sounds that escaped your mouth every time he ran his tongue over what wasn't covered by your bra, but although he was delighted with it, he didn't take long to take the next step and let one of his hands went down your abdomen, caressing your soft skin until he reached the button on your pants, which he got rid of in a matter of seconds to slide his hand between your panties.

"Oh, 'Donna, what do we have here?" He asked rhetorically as he felt the wetness in your pussy, a teasing tone and a smirk plastered on his face caused your cheeks to burn. A sudden stroke of shyness because of his comment attacked you and you wanted to push him away, putting your hands on his chest but before you could do it he started making circles on your clit making you moan. "Beautiful, come on, sing more for me."

It was music to his ears, an unmatched melody, it was like a delicacy that he could taste every time he heard it, delicious. He wanted more, he needed more and that was what he got by accelerating his rhythm, a series of moans, sweet, desperate, it made his skin crawl and his member throb in his pants.

The brunette bit his lower lip when you threw your head back, eyes closed and lips parted, your eyebrows furrowed slightly every time you sighed and the expression of satisfaction on your face could easily be worthy of a museum if you asked Dazai. The representation of beauty appeared before him, you were like a muse and he was definitely a lucky man, how could he not consider himself one after what he was experiencing.

He abandoned your clit and his finger slowly slid to your folds, he kissed your collarbones sweetly and began to insert his digit, delighting in how good your walls felt surrounding him, your warmth welcoming him as he had been longing for so long. It was like a dream but it felt real, although nothing real had ever felt so good to him before, he could almost give up his death wish if you asked him, with your voice shaking and your eyes covered in desire. He could kneel before you if you asked him to and he did, even though you didn't ask him.

You whimpered when he took his hands off of you and then opened your eyes, you saw him smile at you, what you would describe as an mischievous smile spread across his face when his hands went to the hem of your pants, he winked at you and his eyes told you to trust him, so already too invested in that situation, you trusted.

Without your pants being a problem he placed one of his hands on your lower abdomen, gently pushing you until you were lying on the edge of the building, there was barely enough room for your torso, your head was hanging off the edge and you could see the city lights, you got lost in them for a second while the man with chocolate eyes slid your panties down your legs until they fell to the floor.

Dazai placed your legs on his shoulders, holding your thighs with his arms to make sure he didn't let you fall, he would never forgive himself if he did. Osamu didn't know which he loved more at this point, the view of the city from the edge or the view of your wet cunt, probably the latter since he was the only one who could see it. He moved closer and you could feel his breath hit your entrance, he licked his lips before placing a kiss on your clit.

That he was a messy eater didn't surprise you, it was almost expected, what you would never have expected was how good he was at it, eager to please, to listen to how you succumbed more and more to his charms. All the slurping, sucking and wet sounds he caused were lost in the wind along with the lewd sounds that escaped your mouth.

You two were lucky no one came up to the roof.

You started to get dizzy, being upside down was starting to affect you but with how good he made you feel you didn't want to move, not only was your entire body gripped by lust but you had a beautiful view, how were you supposed to want to stop this?

With his tongue between your folds he pumped his head at a steady pace, tongue fucking you, occasionally switching to giving a few quick licks to your clit. Your wetness covered his mouth and he was happy about it, he went against you like a hungry man, ready to satisfy himself with you, he wanted to taste as much of you as he could as if you were his favorite candy, one that if he didn't eat now he didn't know when he would be able to eat again. This was his chance, now or never, he had to take advantage while he could or he would regret it later.

"Dazai, feels so good" your hands went to his scalp and buried themselves in it, you brought him closer to you almost as if you didn't care if he runs out air, god knows he didn't care if he did. What could be better than dying between your legs? Thinking of himself as Shakespeare, he would say that it would be like finding heaven without even entering it, he would definitely brag to the demons and bother the angels by claiming that his heaven is better than theirs.

Your legs trembled around his head and your back arched, it was too much, your orgasm crawled up to you, a knot in the lower part of your stomach that threatened to unravel at any moment, you warned him with heavy breathing. You asked him to go slower but he couldn't allow himself to do that, not when you were so close to the climax he was dying to witness.

His hands held your thighs tightly, avoiding digging his nails into you because he wasn't looking to hurt you, he wouldn't forgive himself for that, he wanted to please you, not hurt you, he couldn't hurt you, especially now that he knew how well his name sounded on your lips when you moaned it.

The lights of the city disappeared as your eyes closed when you felt like you were going to touch heaven the second you came on Dazai's face, your fluids dripping down your thighs and onto his chin but that didn't stop him, he licked your folds until you finished riding your high.

"That was beautiful, Donna," he said, getting up from the ground and pulling you by the waist, he helped you sit down. You barely knew where you were. Your half-open eyes focused on him and he joined his lips with yours, making you taste yourself. "You're lovely."

He helped you stand up, he was afraid that you would fall if he didn't take you away from the abyss, one fall from there and he would lose you, death would not forgive you after you took away the man who wanted her most. The brunette was sure that she was a jealous being.

"Do you think you can help me with something?" He whispered in your ear as if he was afraid the city behind him could hear him.

"With what?" You asked between the dizziness and the intensity of your climax, between the dopamine and oxytocin, the feeling of well-being was too good to allow you to concentrate on anything.

"This" taking one of your wrists, the one with brown eyes took it until he placed your hand on the bulge in his pants, it was painfully hard, he let out a sigh as you cradled him, stroking him slowly as you watched him bite his lip.

You started very clumsily but Dazai didn't pay much attention to that, it was a matter of time before your other hand helped you by going to his belt, you thought you had understood what he wanted you to do. The sound of the buckle hitting the ground interrupted the wind for a second as you knelt in front of him, undoing the button on his pants, your thumbs pulling down his boxers just enough to free his member and one of your hands wrapping around him, he gasped and threw his head back. You began to make slow movements along his length and he pushed his hips a little, motivating you to go faster, he was beginning to get desperate.

His tip, aching red, began to drip with precum so you used your thumb to spread some, you licked your lips settling down on your knees which were scraping lightly on the cement of the floor, some dust on your skin but you weren't paying attention to the dirt of the place but to Dazai's reactions, his soft sighs and the way he pushed his hips against your hand every now and then.

You opened your mouth, your head moving unconsciously towards his cock. Feeling your breath on him his gaze turned to you, you almost took his breath away when you timidly placed your lips on his tip, he cursed in a whisper, the surprising sensation of pleasure that ran over him made him gasp harder than before, his nails dug into his palms and he had to stop himself from grabbing your head and pushing himself until he hit your throat and made you choke on him, it wasn't the time for that but he would definitely save the idea for another day. You pumped your head a little, just focusing on the head while your hand worked on the rest at a similar pace, his eyes couldn't stop looking at the way his dick was slowly disappearing in your mouth. How was it possible that you looked so angelic and seductively sinful at the same time?

A small but unexpected thrust on his part made your gag reflex worse for a second so you had to separate for a moment, you coughed but quickly composed yourself, although you wanted to take him again he stopped you, he couldn't let everything continue to focus so much on himself when he was dying to have your legs wrapped around his waist and your eyes with dilated pupils focused on him while he slam into you.

"We have many days for you to finish that." Of course, now that he knew the paradise you were, he would claim you as his own. "Would you mind lying down for me?"

The stars of the late night were the spectators of how you did what he asked you, lying on your back, your legs were bent but the shame that you had not gotten rid of yet forced you to keep them together, tenderly he knelt just before open them with the same delicacy that he used at the beginning.

Even with your open blouse on and your bra you felt very exposed when the brunette took a second to appreciate you from head to toe, kneeling in front of you, his gaze felt heavy, it was like the one of a predator, he would intimidate you if you showed him weakness for a second, perhaps that's how those who feared him felt, however, unlike with them, that look did nothing more than silently praise your body. Of course you still didn't learn enough about him to notice that difference.

Dazai took place in between your legs, with his member in one of his hands, he ran his tip up and down your folds, filling it with your fluids, enjoying your sighs of satisfaction and despair at the same time. You didn't know what he was waiting for, you thought maybe he wanted some kind of approval but when you were about to give it, he entered your pussy in one thrust, unexpectedly stretching you out, your back arched and you both moaned in unison.

"Oh, you take me so well." He said with relief, satisfaction radiating from his face.

You surrounded him with your legs and held on to his biceps when his hands rested on either side of your body, contrary to what you expected considering his first thrust, he started calmly, giving you time to get used to it. Although it didn't take you long to do so, soon you were saying his name as if it were a prayer, asking him to go faster and clearly your wishes were orders to him. His pace not only became more constant but he began to bury himself harder inside you, your walls around him could easily be his downfall and he would never complain.

He looked at where the two of you joined together, he wanted to engrave that image in his head, it would serve him so well when you appeared in his thoughts and you weren't around, he would have something that would help him entertain himself, calm his cravings and the possible erection that he remembering you would cause him. Your walls tightening around him, your nails digging on his skin, your legs on his waist and your breasts moving every time he thrust into you, a perfect combination for him, that motivated him to go all out but not as much as your shaky voice that was occasionally interrupted by moans.

His hips against yours generated the unmistakable sound of flesh against flesh, his balls collided against your ass and you could feel him so much deeper each time, making a pleasurable current spread through your body, your toes curled, your breathing was extremely irregular, you were losing yourself too much in your satisfaction again and the last straw was when Dazai hit your cervix.

"Too deep," you whimpered.

You had never felt anyone so deep inside you, this was a new experience. You felt full, totally, and it was glorious.

Without saying anything, the one with brown eyes move your bra away and brought his lips to one of your nipples, stimulating you even more, between that and the rough way he went against you, it seemed like he was trying to make you faint by giving so much to you, you could barely deal with it all that. Your entire body bristle and your eyes even watered a little. From how well you were stretching for him, Dazai guessed that it was a matter of time before you came around him and the simple idea of it made his member throb inside you, he was close too.

With the slight sound of a 'pop' he left your nipple to start sucking the other, he was becoming messy again, he cover your breasts with his saliva and his thrusts became clumsier, he was almost reaching his limit, was closer than he would like to admit, so he continued with a more unpredictable rhythm, rearranging your guts as he pleased.

Dazai couldn't help but think that maybe pleasure was the apple that God told Adam and Eve not to eat. Perhaps the fruit was nothing more than a metaphor for the other's body, but for them the exquisite view in front was too tempting, the snake could simply be the representation of the lust that was in them, of the desire to sinfully touch the other for more than only reproductive purposes. At this point nothing makes more sense than abandoning paradise for this kind of overwhelming, delicious, sinful joy.

You started panting heavily, your vision blurring slightly thanks to the tears that fell from your eyes, there were only two but they held so much satisfaction that they were proof of how much Dazai wanted you to look at him the way you looked at Chuuya, all the pleasure he gave to your body was the fair and necessary proof that what he had said was not a joke at all.

A high pitched moan escaping inevitably from your lips was the prelude to your orgasm, although you knew it was coming, it caught you by surprise taking complete control of your body, causing your eyes to narrow, your legs tightened around his waist imprisoning him, holding him close as your walls clenched hard around his member, covering him with your fluids and triggering his own orgasm, barely giving him time to get out of you. The brunette let out a grunt and pulled out of you in one quick movement, coming into your stomach, covering your skin with thick ropes of his cum as he panted, almost complaining about having to leave your warm interior.

"I have to say, you are addictive Belladonna." He smirk and winks at you with a loving and tired expression plastered on his face.

You chuckled at his comment, too tired to say a word as you tried to compose yourself after your climax.

Dazai threw his head back while breathing heavily, he looked exhausted, beads of sweat had accumulated on his forehead and his hair was completely messy but he looked more relieved and alive than ever. His eyes were on the starry sky as he gathered the energy to move, which took him a couple of minutes.

You didn't think you would say this, and you probably wouldn't really say it out loud, opening your mouth to admit that Dazai Osamu had turned your entire world upside down was giving him too much power over you that he couldn't possess for one simple reason, it would raise his ego and God have mercy on the Port Mafia if that happens. Although you didn't admit it, you did ask him for a favor, to keep this between you two and although he assure you that his lips were sealed, nothing would stop him from bragging a little without giving too many details.

"Oi, Chuuya" Dazai hummed, lengthening the 'a' as he entered the blue-eyed man's office where the two of you were reviewing the details of a mission.

The redhead rolled his eyes, not wanting to even speak to him at this moment since his head was hurting already, he just massaged his temples and pointed to the door as a way of telling him to get out, something the brunette clearly had no intention of doing.

"I have a question, have you ever fucked?" The indiscreet question from the youngest leader of the Port Mafia not only made you almost choke on your own saliva but also made Nakahara automatically look at him with hatred, he didn't know where this was going but he knew beforehand that it would irritate him.

"What the hell is that question about, Mackerel?" Chuuya barks at Osamu, both confused and annoyed by the brunette's unnecessary and clearly unexpected interruption.

"I was just curious, I thought maybe your anger problems are because you need to release some tension with a woman... or a man, if that makes my dog happy so be it." said the one with brown eyes, letting himself fall carelessly into one of the chairs in front of the gravity manipulator's desk. "There is nothing more satisfying than directly seeing the pleasure in the eyes of the person you make love with, don't you think?"

Although Dazai was talking to Chuuya you could feel that he was directing his words to you, he had a malicious smile as if he enjoyed indirectly showing off to the redhead in his own way what he had done. It was Dazai's way of giving the blue-eyed man a small clue that he intended to steal you from him.

soft sex with sukuna ♪🪽

for all the lovies who have asked for soft sukuna in my asks, here<;3

“ryomen..”

you mewl out, extending your arms for any sort of physical touch from your boyfriend. really, as if he isn’t currently balls deep in your slick cunny.

“shh, shh,”

he takes ahold of your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. his left arm sprawled above your head, allowing you just to feel a tad bit closer to him.

you loved this. you loved him; when the room is toasty, and the lights are dim, your head is laid on the soft of your stuffed animal, as your boyfriend makes you take him softly from below. it’s what you’ve always wanted, it’s what you needed.

he pumps into your cunny with strokes so deep you feel it in your throat, a small squeeze to his hand which is accompanied with a squeal everytime he bottoms out in you.

it’s so sweet, he thinks,

“r..ryo.. love you.. love you n.. love your c-cock..”

you say through watery eyes, your throat dry from the gasping and moaning you’ve elicited as he continues to fuck you.

“i know, i can tell,” he smirks, “you take it so fuckin’ pretty, fuck. all mine.” he growls.

you love the rasp in his voice, how his voice drops an octave as he claims you. he knows what he does to you too, he knows really well when he feels the sweet clench of your cunt around his cock; what a weak hearted girl you were for his praise.

though he would never admit it to you, never, ever, admit it to you, but he is weak for you too.

missing you

literally just giving leon head after he gets back from a mission, that's it. no plot, just porn fr. mdni (not proofread). credit to image owner; found it on pinterest. anyways expect rebecca content soon bc i love her.

you practically pounced on leon when he entered your shared apartment. he had been gone for what felt like forever and you had missed him so much. you had so much planned for him but first you needed him to know just how much you missed him.

leon had found himself in bed, he had barely been home for a few hours at this point and you had him right where you wanted him. he was completely naked except for his boxers which felt unbearably tight around his cock.

you were hovering above him. your lips were busy, you left a trail of hickeys down his neck to his collarbone. he was at your disposal, desperate for any touch from you as you had been teasing him for hours now.

you palmed him through his boxers. he whimpered out, his hips bucking into your hand. you had teased him enough. your fingers toyed with the hem of them before pulling them down, freeing his hard cock.

some precum was leaking from his tip, which you licked up. leon shut his eyes as he gripped the sheets under him at the sensation of finally getting touched.

"keep your eyes on me," you ordered him. immediately his eyes opened up, catching your gaze. you began with soft kisses, trailing down from his pink head to the veins on his shaft.

he squirmed under you, whimpering out. finally you gave in, taking his entire length in your mouth. tears welled in your eyes as he hit the back of your throat, his head falling back with a loud moan. he quickly snaps back not wanting to lose your gaze.

you hollow your cheeks as you continue to suck off his cock. his knuckles are white on account of how hard he's gripping the sheets, he doesn't know how long he can last with how amazing your mouth feels around him. his hand moves to grip your hair as he begins to fall apart.

the room is filled with the sounds of leon's moans and whimpers accompanied by your gags. you moan around him as he tugs your hair, causing his hips to buck into your mouth. slipping a hand down, you begin to cup his balls.

this sends him over the edge, he finds himself reaching his climax. cum shoots down your throat, you gladly swallow as he pushes your head down. he lets go of you as he catches his breath. you mouth leaves his cock. he shudders at the sudden lack of warmth before he leans towards you, pulling you into a kiss. he can taste himself on his lips. god he's missed you.

Yandere Kakashi impregnating ophaned female student so they drop put of the ninja program and become his cute little house wife

tw: dub/noncon, age difference, manipulation, power imbalance, breeding, impregnation, domestication

All characters depicted are 18+

Kakashi usually doesn't get too invested in his students, seeing it as dangerous to become too close with someone who could die in battle anyday, but when Kakashi gets a student that is not only adorable, but has no parents or family to depend on for guidance, Kakashi becomes very invested in this cute little student of his.

He wants to take advantage of her almost right away, and worming his way into the life of someone as vulnerable as an orphaned young adult isn't very difficult, not to mention he's able to use his position as her teacher to get her alone without drawing much suspicion.

Kakashi will start off slow, taking her to his home under the guise of a private training lesson, eventually sitting her down on his bed and beginning to touch her body over her clothes while complimenting her curves and her cute face.

She's obviously uncomfortable with his advances towards her, but Kakashi is easily able to talk her into things, using the lack of affection she's had throughout her life to manipulate her into allowing what he's doing. But regardless of her answer, he's taking what he wants anyway.

"Don't worry, this is a normal thing for teachers to do... now be a good little student and let me give you a nice, long anatomy lesson..."

Once he eases himself inside of her, he'll start moving, thrusting his cock in and out of her virgin cunt while she squirms and writhes underneath his bigger body, occasionally whispering words of comfort and encouragement when she's struggling too much to take him fully.

He's definitely going to cum inside of her, and multiple times at that. Kakashi wants to make sure that she belongs to him forever, and the best way to ensure that is to fill her up and make her carry his babies.

It'll take him hours before he's finally done with her, tucking her fucked out and barely conscious form into his bed and letting her rest before making the arrangements to have her removed from the Shinobi program, there's no place for a pregnant woman in such a dangerous profession after all.

Once she's broken settled into her new life as his submissive housewife, he'll keep giving her "lessons", since he wants to ensure that she'll stay happy and obedient, and he'll be able to get off whenever he wants by using her as a means to do so.

"Good girl! See? I told you this would be an easy lesson. I'm sure you'll make a good little mommy for our children, won't you..?"

Kakashi enjoys his new life with his adorable little housewife, he finds it troublesome to do cooking and chores after missions, so luckily he can rely on her for all those girly things from now on.