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comatosebunny09 · 4 hours

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what’s done is done (and done again) | leon k.

summary: somehow, you figure you've been here before. and, somewhere far off, he knows you've been here before, too. genre(s): romance, drama, angst, modern au warning(s): female anatomy described, mentions of bodily fluids, dry humping, explicit language, profanity, praise kink, implied character death, mentions of decay and blood notes: it's a fuckin’ time loop. based off this post i made a little while ago. inspired by the time traveler's wife and happy death day. thank you for reading, darling! now playing: if you let me - alina baraz

You’re in the briefing room, fighting for your life.

Almost face-plant into your notebook a few times. Doesn’t help that it’s warm and dim, and you haven’t had your coffee.

Your supervisor decided it would be an excellent time to bore you all half to death as if you weren’t already constantly putting your lives on the line. Something about Operational Security violations running rampant throughout your organization.

Blah, blah, blah.

Of everything you’ve faced thus far, death by PowerPoint would be such a way to go.

“Long night?” bleeds in a voice from your right. Your savior.

You look at Leon, all wild-eyed, like you’ve been caught doing something nefarious. He smiles in reply, all boyish and unguarded. Watches you like you’ve said something funny or like he could just eat you up. Whatever the context, you enjoy the attention. You always do when it comes from your partner.

Your face begins to tingle with warmth. But you mask your embarrassment with a half-smile and an elbow to his rib.

“You would know,” you mouth back, careful not to alert your supervisor.

Leon smiles a little wider. Chuckles low and abrasive, leaning back in his chair with folded arms. Gives you a nice little view of the veins that live there and the muscle lurking beneath the cuffed sleeves of his shirt.

He catches you staring in his peripheral, and the smugness he radiates is palpable. No one’s the wiser when he grazes your leg with his under the table. Sets little goose pimples alight on your skin when he pitches himself forward to grip your quad.

You take to messing with some frayed edges of your notebook, tucking your goofy, lopsided smile within its pages. Mind suddenly colors with memories of last night. Labored breaths, sweat, heat, and your tongue coiled around his name.

Your body hums, and you pinch your thighs together to ward off the pleasant rush of endorphins between. He squeezes and winks, smile lines bracketing his mouth as he returns his attention to the mindless dribble of your boss.

What a long night, indeed.

“Dinner?” Leon simply asks over the blue light of your monitor.

It feels like more of a statement than a request. Like he knows you’d never deny him as he presses the lid of your laptop closed with a definitive click!

You sit back in an easy slouch in your rolling chair. Cross your arms, looking every bit of smug-read-annoyed, and you eye him warily.

“Only dinner?”

That grin is back. All dimpled and crinkly-eyed as he props himself against the oakwood of your desk. Bathed in the ethereal glow of the setting sun bleeding into your window, he laughs something guttural. You’re the cheekiest little shit when you wanna be.

“No promises,” he admits with a shrug. Exudes sex even without trying.

You regard him for a moment. Keep him on edge, though both of you already know the answer. Doesn’t mean you can’t make him squirm with the prospect of your potential rejection.

You clear your throat after a brief stare down. Feign indifference as you smooth out your sleeves and trousers.

“Your place or mine?”

Like you’d ever say no.

Your place.

It’s always your place, but you can’t complain. You live on the quieter side of town, tucked away from the cacophony of the city and your nosy-as-all-hell coworkers.

Besides, it’s all cozy inside. Decked out with mood lights and earth tones and enough plants to rival a greenhouse.

Leon likes it this way. How it distracts him from the bleakness of your jobs. The ever-looming premise of death and decay and corruption. So, you never bother to change it. It’s his little piece of heaven.

You’re his little piece of heaven.

Speaking of which—

“Stop it!” you half squeal, half giggle, spatula in one hand, a fistful of soft blonde in the other.

The sound of your collective merriment carries from the kitchen. Sepia-toned with smooth jazz leaking from the soundbar.

Leon’s chuckle vibrates your skin. Hands are a searing hot and homely pressure, perched on your waist. Lips blister kisses down the slope of your shoulder, and his hair tickles your neck.

“Can’t help myself. ‘sides, you had a little sauce on your neck. Had to—” Kiss. “—clean it up for you.” Suck.

“Bullshit.”

“Mmmm, honest,” Leon drawls in a way that makes your knees shake, and you feel the sound of it pooling in your loins.

He proceeds to do terribly distracting things with his mouth on your neck whilst his hands embark on a journey down your thighs. They bunch up the lace of your dress on their excursion, making way for his fingers to tiptoe between your legs, gripping meaty thigh until your flesh craters between.

“Leon.”

You huff out something between a laugh and a pleasured sigh. An eager hand instinctively curls around his nape, and you find yourself mindlessly grinding against him. Eyes shutter closed, head falls back into the pocket of his shoulder. Around a smile, you breathe,

“I worked really hard on this. You don’t let me finish, I’ll kick your ass.”

That doesn’t deter him. Not in the slightest. Never does, and he snickers something sinister. Eases his grip on your thighs northward until the knuckles of his thumbs graze the seat of your panties. You shiver. Almost say, fuck dinner.

“Thought you were on the menu.”

You snort, gripping the counter’s edge for leverage and shoving back. Leon stumbles a few steps away, all blown wide pupils and a peachy color dusting his cheeks. Looks at you like a kicked puppy. That wobbly lip nearly does it for you.

“Later,” you promise.

Leon has a sweet tooth. You always give him dessert.

It’s a mire of sounds.

Your voice, high and light. Leon’s, deep and abrasive. Your collective laughter and pleasured sighs intermingle in your bedroom whilst music croons in the background.

He’s got you where he wants you. Straddling his lap on your bed like a good girl, swathed in the subtle moon glow of the room. Has his lips latched onto your throat and his hands eagerly mapping out the contours of your body.

Your dress is bunched around your hips. Straps spilling down your arms, head thrown back, lids shuttered. He has this way of whittling you down to incoherencies like no one ever has.

Who would’ve thought your goofy little Leon could be such a sex symbol?

He grips your waist, encouraging you to grind against him. Hard and heavy, and he radiates heat through the confines of his slacks. He feels so good and big, and you might just cum from the sensation alone. From the proximity. From the dangerous gravel of his voice as he murmurs every level of filth into your ear.

So good for me.

Already wet, and I haven’t even taken your panties off.

Naughty baby.

You might cum before I even get it inside.

You would fully surrender yourself to him—to his palms kneading your breasts and the calluses of his thumbs scraping pleasantly over your nipples—if not for a series of buzzing sounds emanating from your nightstand.

Again.

“God dammit,” you sigh, trying to catch your breath.

“Fuck that,” Leon husks, licking up the column of your throat. Desperation wades beneath the surface of his tone. Possessiveness. Desire. “Fuck the phone. I want you. Need you.”

It’s hard to argue when he gazes at you like that, with hooded eyes and furled lashes. And he’s drunk off the feel of you. Begging. Dipping his head down to close his lips around your pebbled nipple, and it’s like you’ve been struck by white lightning.

“Fuh-huck.”

He groans against your tit, matching the undulation of your hips with a roll of his own. You cling to him for dear life, your pussy leaking and swollen against the seam of his trousers, mouth parted, and lips shining with spit.

Try as you might to ignore it, the insistent humming of your phone leaks through the static of your brain.

“Fuck, Leon, I gotta…I gotta take this,” you gasp, scrambling for the nightstand. Whoever’s calling doesn’t know the meaning of peace.

Leon doesn’t relent. Has a mouthful of tit, flittering his tongue over your nip and eyeing you wantonly and fucking groaning like you’re the tastiest morsel to ever grace his tongue.

A familiar voice bleeds through the receiver as you bite your lips against a whine.

“Hey!” trills your coworker, all shrill and uncomfortably cheery despite the hour. Cheryl from HR. You should’ve known.

Play it cool. Though it’s exceedingly difficult with the object of your desires fucking you through your clothes.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Girl, I think I left my purse in your car.”

You blanch.

You picked her up for lunch. Of course, she left it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Think my ID’s in there. Can’t get into the office in the morning without it. You know they’re tired of me losing that thing.” Sigh.

A groan swells in your chest. You’re at odds with yourself. Slap a hand over your forehead, cursing whatever higher being decided to bless and punish you tonight.

Fitfully, you wrestle yourself free from Leon’s arms. Giggle as you stumble off the bed, and Leon lunges for you. You easily dodge, tiptoeing towards the entrance. Give him a placating smile halfway through the threshold, silently promising to finish what you’ve started once you’re done.

Hurry back, he mouths around a pout. The furrow of his brows almost makes you clamber back onto his lap. But you’re a Good Samaritan. Sometimes. And you’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t find Cheryl’s purse.

Soundlessly, you whisk through your home towards the garage. Ease into the driver seat of your car, the door slamming shut behind. You locate her purse on the passenger side floor with laser precision. Hard not to see it when it’s gaudy and pink like that.

You rummage through it, mindful of its contents. Find her ID soon after, turning over the cool plastic in your hand to confirm.

“It’s in here.”

She releases a weighted sigh on the other end of the phone.

“I can meet you at the front gate in the morning to give it to you.”

“Girl, thank you! You’re a lifesaver!”

You tamp down a smile. Tuck your bashfulness into your shoulder. Cheryl’s infectiously chipper. A nice change of pace to the depressing humdrum of your profession.

“Yeah, yeah. See you in the morning.”

“See ya!”

When she hangs up, you ease her purse into your glove box. Nestle it between pistol mags and your badge for safekeeping.

You glance at your phone. Squint against its brilliance, and it’s a quarter to midnight. Fuck. Another sleepless night.

A quiet smile crests over your lips when you catch sight of your Home Screen. Of course, it would be Leon. With an adorably cheesy dog filter, and he’s all baggy-eyed and uncharacteristically happy on the screen. You’ve gotta get back to him. Left him all hard and leaking in your bed.

You reach for the crisp door handle, mind abuzz with thoughts of Leon, Leon, Leon.

But then there’s an explosion of colors. Yellow and orange seeping into red. A sound that’s deafening and robs you of all thought. White hot pain wading over your skin. And then…

Well, then, there is nothing.

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comatosebunny09 · 18 hours

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comatosebunny09 · 24 hours

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Leon doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows you can care for yourself, so he doesn’t fret much if you fall or have a few bumps and bruises. Besides, he knows that you’ll probably kick his ass for treating you like something fragile, so he relies on you to hold your own.

He doesn’t consider you feeling some type of way when he shows “princess treatment” towards other women. Ladies you’re sent to rescue, women caught up in the crossfire of your missions, and other miscellaneous innocents.

Especially one beautifully unpredictable Ada Wong.

#leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #no ada hate #but i love a good jealousy trope

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comatosebunny09 · 1 day

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A fun fact about me is that my back hurts.

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comatosebunny09 · 1 day

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I think one of my favorite aspects of Leon's character is that although he's badass and highly capable, he's also still a human being. No amount of training is going to prevent him from being scared or apprehensive at times, especially in his line of work. He's not apathetic, nor is he devoid of emotion. He's actually quite expressive. Even though it's been pretty much stated outright in a few of the novelizations that he's afraid, worried, scared, etc., it's shown through his facial expressions too, especially in the moments where he's either alone or no one else is looking.

I've talked about it a few times, but I think this scene in ID really showcases it. He trails behind the group, looking around and seemingly increasingly uneasy as the guy starts to talk about how the part of the mission with the sub goes down. He stops to look at the sub and while he doesn't look happy about it, his face is more set or indifferent. And then the group gets further away nd Leon looks absolutely miserable,

And it's present in 4R too. He goes through the majority of the game with his brows furrowed and jaw set he's not devoid of emotion. Like the scene where he comforts Ashley-- he looks more concerned than anything. It's similar to the look he gives when Luis is explaining the plaga stuff.

There's also the shock mixed with hurt and disbelief when Krauser stabs Luis. Plus the sad defeat during Luis' final moments. Then there's the relief mixed with fear when he picks up the gun and realizes the only reason Ashley didn't shoot him (while being controlled by the plaga) was because she limp-wristed it, so it jammed. Also there's the sadness when he has to kill Krauser-- you get the point.

It's there in 2R as well, although it's a lot more obvious. The panic, fear, pain, etc. is written across his face more visibly because he has no reason to hide it.

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comatosebunny09 · 1 day

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what’s done is done (and done again) | leon k.

You’re in the briefing room, fighting for your life.

Almost face-plant into your notebook a few times. Doesn’t help that it’s warm and dim, and you haven’t had your coffee.

Blah, blah, blah.

Of everything you’ve faced thus far, death by PowerPoint would be such a way to go.

“Long night?” bleeds in a voice from your right. Your savior.

Your face begins to tingle with warmth. But you mask your embarrassment with a half-smile and an elbow to his rib.

“You would know,” you mouth back, careful not to alert your supervisor.

What a long night, indeed.

“Dinner?” Leon simply asks over the blue light of your monitor.

It feels like more of a statement than a request. Like he knows you’d never deny him as he presses the lid of your laptop closed with a definitive click!

You sit back in an easy slouch in your rolling chair. Cross your arms, looking every bit of smug-read-annoyed, and you eye him warily.

“Only dinner?”

“No promises,” he admits with a shrug. Exudes sex even without trying.

You regard him for a moment. Keep him on edge, though both of you already know the answer. Doesn’t mean you can’t make him squirm with the prospect of your potential rejection.

You clear your throat after a brief stare down. Feign indifference as you smooth out your sleeves and trousers.

“Your place or mine?”

Like you’d ever say no.

Your place.

It’s always your place, but you can’t complain. You live on the quieter side of town, tucked away from the cacophony of the city and your nosy-as-all-hell coworkers.

Besides, it’s all cozy inside. Decked out with mood lights and earth tones and enough plants to rival a greenhouse.

You’re his little piece of heaven.

Speaking of which—

“Stop it!” you half squeal, half giggle, spatula in one hand, a fistful of soft blonde in the other.

The sound of your collective merriment carries from the kitchen. Sepia-toned with smooth jazz leaking from the soundbar.

Leon’s chuckle vibrates your skin. Hands are a searing hot and homely pressure, perched on your waist. Lips blister kisses down the slope of your shoulder, and his hair tickles your neck.

“Can’t help myself. ‘sides, you had a little sauce on your neck. Had to—” Kiss. “—clean it up for you.” Suck.

“Bullshit.”

“Mmmm, honest,” Leon drawls in a way that makes your knees shake, and you feel the sound of it pooling in your loins.

“Leon.”

“I worked really hard on this. You don’t let me finish, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Thought you were on the menu.”

“Later,” you promise.

Leon has a sweet tooth. You always give him dessert.

It’s a mire of sounds.

Your voice, high and light. Leon’s, deep and abrasive. Your collective laughter and pleasured sighs intermingle in your bedroom whilst music croons in the background.

Your dress is bunched around your hips. Straps spilling down your arms, head thrown back, lids shuttered. He has this way of whittling you down to incoherencies like no one ever has.

Who would’ve thought your goofy little Leon could be such a sex symbol?

So good for me.

Already wet, and I haven’t even taken your panties off.

Naughty baby.

You might cum before I even get it inside.

Again.

“God dammit,” you sigh, trying to catch your breath.

“Fuck that,” Leon husks, licking up the column of your throat. Desperation wades beneath the surface of his tone. Possessiveness. Desire. “Fuck the phone. I want you. Need you.”

“Fuh-huck.”

Try as you might to ignore it, the insistent humming of your phone leaks through the static of your brain.

“Fuck, Leon, I gotta…I gotta take this,” you gasp, scrambling for the nightstand. Whoever’s calling doesn’t know the meaning of peace.

Leon doesn’t relent. Has a mouthful of tit, flittering his tongue over your nip and eyeing you wantonly and fucking groaning like you’re the tastiest morsel to ever grace his tongue.

A familiar voice bleeds through the receiver as you bite your lips against a whine.

“Hey!” trills your coworker, all shrill and uncomfortably cheery despite the hour. Cheryl from HR. You should’ve known.

Play it cool. Though it’s exceedingly difficult with the object of your desires fucking you through your clothes.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Girl, I think I left my purse in your car.”

You blanch.

You picked her up for lunch. Of course, she left it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Think my ID’s in there. Can’t get into the office in the morning without it. You know they’re tired of me losing that thing.” Sigh.

A groan swells in your chest. You’re at odds with yourself. Slap a hand over your forehead, cursing whatever higher being decided to bless and punish you tonight.

You rummage through it, mindful of its contents. Find her ID soon after, turning over the cool plastic in your hand to confirm.

“It’s in here.”

She releases a weighted sigh on the other end of the phone.

“I can meet you at the front gate in the morning to give it to you.”

“Girl, thank you! You’re a lifesaver!”

You tamp down a smile. Tuck your bashfulness into your shoulder. Cheryl’s infectiously chipper. A nice change of pace to the depressing humdrum of your profession.

“Yeah, yeah. See you in the morning.”

“See ya!”

When she hangs up, you ease her purse into your glove box. Nestle it between pistol mags and your badge for safekeeping.

You glance at your phone. Squint against its brilliance, and it’s a quarter to midnight. Fuck. Another sleepless night.

You reach for the crisp door handle, mind abuzz with thoughts of Leon, Leon, Leon.

But then there’s an explosion of colors. Yellow and orange seeping into red. A sound that’s deafening and robs you of all thought. White hot pain wading over your skin. And then…

Well, then, there is nothing.

103 notes · View notes

comatosebunny09 · 2 days

Text

what’s done is done (and done again) | leon k.

summary: somehow, you figure you've been here before. and, somewhere far off, he knows you've been here before, too. genre(s): romance, drama, angst, modern au warning(s): female anatomy described, mentions of bodily fluids, dry humping, profanity, praise kink, implied character death, mentions of decay and blood notes: it's a fuckin’ time loop. based off this post i made a little while ago. inspired by the time traveler's wife and happy death day. thank you for reading, darling! now playing: if you let me - alina baraz

You’re in the briefing room, fighting for your life.

Almost face-plant into your notebook a few times. Doesn’t help that it’s warm and dim, and you haven’t had your coffee.

Blah, blah, blah.

Of everything you’ve faced thus far, death by PowerPoint would be such a way to go.

“Long night?” bleeds in a voice from your right. Your savior.

Your face begins to tingle with warmth. But you mask your embarrassment with a half-smile and an elbow to his rib.

“You would know,” you mouth back, careful not to alert your supervisor.

What a long night, indeed.

“Dinner?” Leon simply asks over the blue light of your monitor.

It feels like more of a statement than a request. Like he knows you’d never deny him as he presses the lid of your laptop closed with a definitive click!

You sit back in an easy slouch in your rolling chair. Cross your arms, looking every bit of smug-read-annoyed, and you eye him warily.

“Only dinner?”

“No promises,” he admits with a shrug. Exudes sex even without trying.

You regard him for a moment. Keep him on edge, though both of you already know the answer. Doesn’t mean you can’t make him squirm with the prospect of your potential rejection.

You clear your throat after a brief stare down. Feign indifference as you smooth out your sleeves and trousers.

“Your place or mine?”

Like you’d ever say no.

Your place.

It’s always your place, but you can’t complain. You live on the quieter side of town, tucked away from the cacophony of the city and your nosy-as-all-hell coworkers.

Besides, it’s all cozy inside. Decked out with mood lights and earth tones and enough fauna to rival a greenhouse.

You’re his little piece of heaven.

Speaking of which—

“Stop it!” you half squeal, half giggle, spatula in one hand, a fistful of soft blonde in the other.

The sound of your collective merriment carries from the kitchen. Sepia-toned with smooth jazz leaking from the soundbar.

Leon’s chuckle vibrates your skin. Hands are a searing hot and homely pressure, perched on your waist. Lips blister kisses down the slope of your shoulder, and his hair tickles your neck.

“Can’t help myself. ‘sides, you had a little sauce on your neck. Had to—” Kiss. “—clean it up for you.” Suck.

“Bullshit.”

“Mmmm, honest,” Leon drawls in a way that makes your knees shake, and you feel the sound of it pooling in your loins.

“Leon.”

“I worked really hard on this. You don’t let me finish, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Thought you were on the menu.”

“Later,” you promise.

Leon has a sweet tooth. You always give him dessert.

It’s a mire of sounds.

Your voice, high and light. Leon’s, deep and abrasive. Your collective laughter and pleasured sighs intermingle in your bedroom whilst music croons in the background.

Your dress is bunched around your hips. Straps spilling down your arms, head thrown back, lids shuttered. He has this way of whittling you down to incoherencies like no one ever has.

Who would’ve thought your goofy little Leon could be such a sex symbol?

So good for me.

Already wet, and I haven’t even taken your panties off.

Naughty baby.

You might cum before I even get it inside.

Again.

“God dammit,” you sigh, trying to catch your breath.

“Fuck that,” Leon husks, licking up the column of your throat. Desperation wades beneath the surface of his tone. Possessiveness. Desire. “Fuck the phone. I want you. Need you.”

“Fuh-huck.”

Try as you might to ignore it, the insistent humming of your phone leaks through the static of your brain.

“Fuck, Leon, I gotta…I gotta take this,” you gasp, scrambling for the nightstand. Whoever’s calling doesn’t know the meaning of peace.

Leon doesn’t relent. Has a mouthful of tit, flittering his tongue over your nip and eyeing you wantonly and fucking groaning like you’re the tastiest morsel to ever grace his tongue.

A familiar voice bleeds through the receiver as you bite your lips against a whine.

“Hey!” trills your coworker, all shrill and uncomfortably cheery despite the hour. Cheryl from HR. You should’ve known.

Play it cool. Though it’s exceedingly difficult with the object of your desires fucking you through your clothes.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Girl, I think I left my purse in your car.”

You blanch.

You picked her up for lunch. Of course, she left it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Think my ID’s in there. Can’t get into the office in the morning without it. You know they’re tired of me losing that thing.” Sigh.

A groan swells in your chest. You’re at odds with yourself. Slap a hand over your forehead, cursing whatever higher being decided to bless and punish you tonight.

You rummage through it, mindful of its contents. Find her ID soon after, turning over the cool plastic in your hand to confirm.

“It’s in here.”

She releases a weighted sigh on the other end of the phone.

“I can meet you at the front gate in the morning to give it to you.”

“Girl, thank you! You’re a lifesaver!”

You tamp down a smile. Tuck your bashfulness into your shoulder. Cheryl’s infectiously chipper. A nice change of pace to the depressing humdrum of your profession.

“Yeah, yeah. See you in the morning.”

“See ya!”

When she hangs up, you ease her purse into your glove box. Nestle it between pistol mags and your badge for safekeeping.

You glance at your phone. Squint against its brilliance, and it’s a quarter to midnight. Fuck. Another sleepless night.

You reach for the crisp door handle, mind abuzz with thoughts of Leon, Leon, Leon.

But then there’s an explosion of colors. Yellow and orange seeping into red. A sound that’s deafening and robs you of all thought. White hot pain wading over your skin. And then…

Well, then, there is nothing.

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comatosebunny09 · 2 days

Text

The fact that Microsoft Word has to be a subscription is upsetting. I already paid for it why do I have to pay again

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comatosebunny09 · 2 days

Text

Now to edit even further for AO3. 😭😭😭

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comatosebunny09 · 2 days

Text

You only truly grow as a woman when you realize that other girls are not, and never have been, your competition.

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comatosebunny09 · 2 days

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reblog or the gods of glo up will not bless you

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comatosebunny09 · 2 days

Text

what’s done is done (and done again) | leon k.

You’re in the briefing room, fighting for your life.

Almost face-plant into your notebook a few times. Doesn’t help that it’s warm and dim, and you haven’t had your coffee.

Blah, blah, blah.

Of everything you’ve faced thus far, death by PowerPoint would be such a way to go.

“Long night?” bleeds in a voice from your right. Your savior.

Your face begins to tingle with warmth. But you mask your embarrassment with a half-smile and an elbow to his rib.

“You would know,” you mouth back, careful not to alert your supervisor.

What a long night, indeed.

“Dinner?” Leon simply asks over the blue light of your monitor.

It feels like more of a statement than a request. Like he knows you’d never deny him as he presses the lid of your laptop closed with a definitive click!

You sit back in an easy slouch in your rolling chair. Cross your arms, looking every bit of smug-read-annoyed, and you eye him warily.

“Only dinner?”

“No promises,” he admits with a shrug. Exudes sex even without trying.

You regard him for a moment. Keep him on edge, though both of you already know the answer. Doesn’t mean you can’t make him squirm with the prospect of your potential rejection.

You clear your throat after a brief stare down. Feign indifference as you smooth out your sleeves and trousers.

“Your place or mine?”

Like you’d ever say no.

Your place.

It’s always your place, but you can’t complain. You live on the quieter side of town, tucked away from the cacophony of the city and your nosy-as-all-hell coworkers.

Besides, it’s all cozy inside. Decked out with mood lights and earth tones and enough plants to rival a greenhouse.

You’re his little piece of heaven.

Speaking of which—

“Stop it!” you half squeal, half giggle, spatula in one hand, a fistful of soft blonde in the other.

The sound of your collective merriment carries from the kitchen. Sepia-toned with smooth jazz leaking from the soundbar.

Leon’s chuckle vibrates your skin. Hands are a searing hot and homely pressure, perched on your waist. Lips blister kisses down the slope of your shoulder, and his hair tickles your neck.

“Can’t help myself. ‘sides, you had a little sauce on your neck. Had to—” Kiss. “—clean it up for you.” Suck.

“Bullshit.”

“Mmmm, honest,” Leon drawls in a way that makes your knees shake, and you feel the sound of it pooling in your loins.

“Leon.”

“I worked really hard on this. You don’t let me finish, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Thought you were on the menu.”

“Later,” you promise.

Leon has a sweet tooth. You always give him dessert.

It’s a mire of sounds.

Your voice, high and light. Leon’s, deep and abrasive. Your collective laughter and pleasured sighs intermingle in your bedroom whilst music croons in the background.

Your dress is bunched around your hips. Straps spilling down your arms, head thrown back, lids shuttered. He has this way of whittling you down to incoherencies like no one ever has.

Who would’ve thought your goofy little Leon could be such a sex symbol?

So good for me.

Already wet, and I haven’t even taken your panties off.

Naughty baby.

You might cum before I even get it inside.

Again.

“God dammit,” you sigh, trying to catch your breath.

“Fuck that,” Leon husks, licking up the column of your throat. Desperation wades beneath the surface of his tone. Possessiveness. Desire. “Fuck the phone. I want you. Need you.”

“Fuh-huck.”

Try as you might to ignore it, the insistent humming of your phone leaks through the static of your brain.

“Fuck, Leon, I gotta…I gotta take this,” you gasp, scrambling for the nightstand. Whoever’s calling doesn’t know the meaning of peace.

Leon doesn’t relent. Has a mouthful of tit, flittering his tongue over your nip and eyeing you wantonly and fucking groaning like you’re the tastiest morsel to ever grace his tongue.

A familiar voice bleeds through the receiver as you bite your lips against a whine.

“Hey!” trills your coworker, all shrill and uncomfortably cheery despite the hour. Cheryl from HR. You should’ve known.

Play it cool. Though it’s exceedingly difficult with the object of your desires fucking you through your clothes.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Girl, I think I left my purse in your car.”

You blanch.

You picked her up for lunch. Of course, she left it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Think my ID’s in there. Can’t get into the office in the morning without it. You know they’re tired of me losing that thing.” Sigh.

A groan swells in your chest. You’re at odds with yourself. Slap a hand over your forehead, cursing whatever higher being decided to bless and punish you tonight.

You rummage through it, mindful of its contents. Find her ID soon after, turning over the cool plastic in your hand to confirm.

“It’s in here.”

She releases a weighted sigh on the other end of the phone.

“I can meet you at the front gate in the morning to give it to you.”

“Girl, thank you! You’re a lifesaver!”

You tamp down a smile. Tuck your bashfulness into your shoulder. Cheryl’s infectiously chipper. A nice change of pace to the depressing humdrum of your profession.

“Yeah, yeah. See you in the morning.”

“See ya!”

When she hangs up, you ease her purse into your glove box. Nestle it between pistol mags and your badge for safekeeping.

You glance at your phone. Squint against its brilliance, and it’s a quarter to midnight. Fuck. Another sleepless night.

You reach for the crisp door handle, mind abuzz with thoughts of Leon, Leon, Leon.

But then there’s an explosion of colors. Yellow and orange seeping into red. A sound that’s deafening and robs you of all thought. White hot pain wading over your skin. And then…

Well, then, there is nothing.

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