1eonsk

Why choose between riding a cowboy, a stallion, or an Italian when you can have all three? In which you find competition for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost in the American West.

mdni holy shit. f / m, shameless smut just like pure filth. p in v, wild west au, TONS of christian imagery via metaphor??, mild praise + size kink, leon's a tease as usual

word count: 1.69k <3 // read on ao3

a/n: re6 leon turns my brain into illiterate mush and this is the proof. i wrote this 1 word an hour. i couldn't cope. ignore the half assed banner, half assed writing, half assed everything. listen to nessa barrett's song from the title. god bless you all.

God makes no mistakes: you’re on your knees in the back of an Arizona saloon, but you’re not exactly praying thanks. God is a vision in dirty blond as far as you’re concerned. How’d you end up here?

Enter Leon Kennedy: outlaw on the run.

He hadn’t gotten the memo when angels started coming down to Earth and wanted to give you the warm welcome you deserve. 

“Seriously?” You laugh; swirl your watered-down whiskey.

“I’ve always wanted to try that one out,” Leon grins. Cocky and magnetic, he takes your hand in his own calloused one and guides you to the dance floor. “But you haven’t seen my real trick yet.”

“And what’s that?”

“This.”

Every other beat of your heart finds you in a dizzying dip over the floor as Leon leads you in a dance akin to gunfights in Tombstone, except Leon is more than O.K. at what he does. He’s got you in a trance with his hands spanning your waist.

Sucking in dust and his woodsmoke cologne, you gasp, “Where’d you learn how to dance like that?”

“You’ve never been danced properly before?” Leon laughs. He spins you like you’re the moon.

“Not like this!”

“Oh darlin’, you don’t learn by talkin’ about it. Keep dancing and you’ll figure it out.”

Figure out a two-step you might not have, but you can figure just fine what Leon means when his hand slips up the hem of your blouse. A hungry thumb soon lines your brassiere right under the nose of the barkeep. 

“You’re crass, Leon,” you whisper.

“Is that a no? I’ll treat you right if you let me.”

God expects his servants to give and take, and you’ve done a lot of taking so far, no? You’ve been a little down on your luck lately. Can’t afford to tempt fate that way. So you pull Leon down by the collar, whisper back with your lips lined in devil red, “Make it my treat?”

His smirk glimmers in the dark. “Lead the way, doll.”

Quickly, quickly. Miracles disappear in the blink of an eye and Leon needs to take you before you can disappear into the night. Rope-toughened fingertips fly down your lined blouse, slip the silk off to unveil your sun-freckled shoulders behind the barkeep’s storage door. You’ve spirited Leon away for twenty minutes at best before the saloon closes and the workers come barging in. You’ve got to pay penance for this, haven’t you?

You sink to your knees. 

Leon hooks his hands under your thighs and sits you right back up on a crate, and gets down on his knees.

What.

You’re running on borrowed time, you can’t afford tweaks to this arrangement. “I thought we had a deal?” you scowl. 

But you forget God makes no mistakes. Leon is his creation, so causation, correlation, you do the math. Your anger dissipates at the first swipe of his thumb over your clothed slit. Wetness blooms at his touch, and Leon chuckles as your breath shudders. Genesis.

“Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly to let a lady do all the work.” He kisses the spot between your legs, looks up at you with eyes of oasis blue. “You know I take the lead.”

Your chest heaves. “I do.”

“I’m good at it.”

“...You are.”

"And I know this isn't your style. All I ask is that you let me earn my keep.”

Well, that goes without saying. And so Leon flips the script. 

He starts lining burning kisses down your thigh, entices you with an “Open for me”, sighs dreamily when your legs part of their own accord. A previously bothersome, soaked scrap of lace falls at Leon’s feet. 

“Oh, baby, you should’ve asked next time. Look at this mess. Wouldn’t’ve needed to be so quick, then.”

Try and look down, but Leon’s already latched his warm mouth onto your clit, sucking like it’s a Tootsie pop. You throw your head back in ecstasy. 

Waves of feel-good wash over you in all the colors of a pinkening sunset, gold at the edges and red hot at the center, your own overflowing with slick as Leon dips his tongue inside – oh, oh, oh, swirling the colors with each revolution around your sensitive pearl. Your thighs threaten to clamp around his head. He keeps you pliant, capping your knees with rough palms.

“Leon…” you can’t help but whine. 

“Just workin’ ya a bit. Think you’ve had enough?” you hear him groan from underneath.

You’re barely breathing. “Need…need more.”

“Don’t seem that way to me from here. God, you’re gorgeous.” Leon croons, sucking a tender bite a little ways from where you need him most, over the softest part of your inner thigh. A landmark so he can hope to find his way back. He taps your knee. “Time?”

The dusty clock on the barkeep’s desk reads ten minutes to twelve; you relay this with difficulty as Leon does his damnedest to render you incapable of speech. He hums, considering. The vibration shoots right up your core.

“I’ve been in tighter spots,” he eventually decides, shooting you a lopsided grin as he hefts you higher on the crate you’ve practically melted off the side of, “No offense, doll.”

You’d laugh if you weren’t so close. “Low-hanging fruit, Leon.”

“You taste sweeter nohow.”

Missing his mouth already, you pull him back into a kiss. His leather belt clinks in time with the glasses back inside the bar as he unbuckles it, and you take the time to appreciate how you’re level with him even perched atop a crate. Leon’s got height on you. 

Inches where it matters, too. His cock bucks in his hand when it finally springs free, and you bat your lashes up at him ‘cause it seems Leon’s been keeping secrets. He’s thick, ruddy and leaking, got a halo over the head of his dick in the light that creeps in from under the door, and you make a prayer to put your mouth on him if you cross paths once more. Your fingers barely go all the way around.

“Make a deal with me, cowboy,” you breathe. “I let you have your fun. Now, you let me.”

Leon cocks a brow. He’s antsy, understandably so. “What’s that entail?”  

Plywood burns the back of your jean skirt as you slide off the crate, Leon watching as you shuck off the denim, pool it underneath your feet. You reel him in by the collar just to shove him onto the barkeep’s high-backed chair. Leon’s eyes widen when your thighs bracket his and everything suddenly makes sense as you center your cunt tantalizingly over his painfully erect length. 

He’s rasping, needy. “This what you had in mind?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“You sure?”

You scoff haughtily, dragging a smile from him that’s all lynx. “Your wish is my command, miss.” 

Palms start gliding up your torso, thumbs rub circles on the undersides of your breasts. Leon’s collarbones collect moonlight streaming in from the open window and you want to lap it all up like milk, but you’re getting distracted. The clock is counting closer to midnight. Adrenaline makes you heady. Maybe you should tell Leon to get a good handle on your hips when you sink down on his dick – point blank. 

All the way to the hilt. 

He takes it in stride as best as he can. “Tight, doll, ah,” he hisses, head bobbing, “so tight. Gonna send me to heaven.” 

You shift your hips experimentally, whimpering at the stretch. You’re a lousy judge of character but an apparently worse judge of size because you have no idea how you’re going to do this. Leon’s thumb reroutes to your navel, North Star that it is, and travels down to wait over your clit. Technically, you’ve still got the lead. Everything’s still. So so still. You’re about to break.

The minute hand ticks.

“Leon, please,” you whimper.

“What’s that, doll?” 

You paw uselessly at his chest. “Need help.”

Leon clicks his tongue in sympathy. It’s hard to get mad at a thing like you no matter how tough you sell yourself. Smart mouth and pretty eyes, bubblegum sweet underneath, something he’s gotta help. Leon’s always been a sucker for the damsel in distress type.

So he calls down a miracle. “I gotcha, sweetheart.” 

You cry out in relief at the lifting sensation of his hands around your hips. This is another dance you’ve yet to learn, it seems. 

“I gotcha.” Leon’s voice is a psalm over the burn of his cock inside you. A familiar thumb sneaks in between where you and he meet; whiskey and mint on his breath intoxicates you when he murmurs, ”Did so good for me, darlin’. Doesn’t feel too great right now, does it?”

You sniffle. “Mm-mm.”

“Gonna let me make it better?”

“Please.”

Leon indulges you. Taking advantage of the slick velvet he’s wrapped in, he glides you up just the tiniest bit, revealing the inch of his length you’ve covered in your arousal. You watch transfixed as he lifts your hips up and down. Baby steps. Stomach flips. You leave him coated in stardust like you’re made of it.

Leon’s in awe. “See that?” 

But you’re too far gone to take notice of anything but the embers in your stomach, seconds away from crumpling onto his chest. You were once sitting proudly upright. The extent of your desire hits like a revelation once your insides finally mold around him, like it was all prophesized, and you can’t tell up from down when Leon starts to piston you on his lap.

Five minutes 'til it’s all over: You’re tender and boneless and about to explode. Leon is relentless. Sweat drips from his brow like holy water. He kicks the barkeep’s chair to barricade the door because you were right, there’s no way you’re making it out here alive.

Your thighs ache with exertion, steering you on their own.

Four minutes: “Can’t take it, Leon!” You’re going under. The flood is no myth.

“Tell me where,” he grits, desperate.

Three. 

You want him to pull up the ladder.

Two.

“Where, doll, where?!”

One.

“Inside.” 

And God, you burn brighter than the sun.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

Got some re2r puppy smut on twt✨

Is it possible for you to expand on your overworked series w Leon? I actually loved it sm

first request !! of course lovely, hope you like it! <3

masterlist | first part | previous part

NOT SO MESSY

✮‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🧸 ⋅ ˚✮

college student! leon x college student, eldest daughter! reader

summary: things get difficult- they pile up, and the harder things get, the further you start to drift. Luckily, Leon isn’t pushed away so easily.

cw: realistic depictions of depression, reader is overwhelmed with everything, abandonment issues if you squint (not that hard tbh) leon being a very good boyfriend :)

a/n: been having a bit of a rough time recently and when this request came in i knew what i had to do

hey!! so this fic deals with realities of depressive episodes and how the room(s) we live in reflect that. i have had depression most of my life, so I’m drawing on personal experience. That being said, if you are bothered by the mentions of “gross” depressive behavior in this fic, i.e not showering, dirty plates/moldy coffee in the bedroom, or not brushing teeth, and plan on leaving a comment about how “depression is just an excuse to be gross” just don’t. scroll on past, this fic isn’t for you :)

✮⋆˙₊⋅ ୨୧ ᝰ.ᐟ

You’re hiding from Leon.

Not a good idea in the long run, because one, he always manages to find you —always— but two, when he does inevitably sniff you out, he’ll be upset for two reasons— because you’d let things get bad and because you’re hiding it.

Your room is a disaster. It’s always the first sign. Well, the first sign is usually the general unwillingness to do anything but get out of bed, sleep, or binge watch tv, but still. Half-empty water bottles litter every available surface, accompanied by papers —both unimportant and important— and dirty dishes. You don’t even want to look at the coffee cups.

It’s disgusting. You know it is. Actually, truly disgusting. There’s mold on some of the plates for Christ’s sake. And all you have to do is stop whining and just do it. But you can’t.

You can’t.

Because letting everything else get this bad is the only way you’ve managed to keep your grades intact during this episode. Something had to give— you didn’t have the energy to give to anymore. So your room fell into complete and utter disarray and you haven’t been eating well like Leon wants and you don’t even want to talk about your shower routine.

It’s bad. Everything is bad. You hate going home to your dirty, gross room, and you’re tired of being too tired to do nothing but homework, and you’re afraid of how upset Leon is going to be when he finds out.

And you’re so frustrated. Because you’re not that girl— you can’t be the girl with the dirty, messy room and the unkempt hair and the bags under her eyes who doesn’t leave the house. You can’t— you’re more than that. You’re you. You’re that girl. The girl. Beauty and brains. You just don’t know how you let it get this bad.

And you don’t know how to climb your way out.

—

Leon hasn’t been by in… awhile.

This of course, is not his fault. Over the course of this episode, as things got worse and worse, you got better and better at keeping him away.

At first, you were ashamed. You were doing so good for awhile, before everything got bad again. And then, you started worrying— you’re pushing him away, hiding everything from him, and once he realizes, he’s not going to be happy. You’re scared of losing him because you can’t keep it together.

You don’t dare to admit it outside the safety and comfort of your own mind, but you’ve really come to rely on Leon. He’s always there for comfort when you need want it. Even when you don’t know. He knows. He always does.

A hand on your thigh, squeezing to distract you from picking on your hangnails during class. A large, warm arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tight to him. That deep rumble in his chest when he’s telling you something, his voice low and sliding around in your brain, making all your thoughts stick together.

And you’re not allowed to miss him. You pushed him away. You told him he was distracting you. You told him you didn’t want him at the apartment.

You’re not allowed to miss him. But that doesn’t stop you from doing it anyway.

You’re sitting on your bed, staring at the slivers of floor you can see and wishing it would all go away so you’d stop feeling so bad. You hate staring at the mess, hate seeing it— but you can’t bring yourself to look away. The shirt you’re wearing probably smells —you haven’t kept up on your laundry so you’ve been cycling through the same three shirts for around the house wear— and you can practically feel the tangles you’re getting in your hair from not washing it. You haven’t showered in awhile either. Your skin feels grimy.

Your gross. This is gross.

A loud knock sounds on your door and you snap your head up, frozen.

Only one person knocks like that on your door.

“Shit— uh, coming!”

You pick your way across the floor, stumbling over clothes and hangers and seriously, how many disposable water bottles can one person drink?

You finally reach the door and crack it open the tiniest sliver.

Leon’s staring back at you, his expression unreadable.

That’s not good. You can usually read them, nowadays.

Your eyes catch what he’s wearing- his uni sweatshirt and one of his favorite pairs of old, worn flannel pajama pants.

That’s not good either. If he’s wearing his comfortable clothes, it means he’s not leaving for awhile.

You stare at him through the crack in the door for a little while, unable to break the silence. He shifts his stance, rocking back onto his heels and putting his hands in the pockets of his pants.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

You don’t respond. You begin to chew anxiously on your lip, hands going white-knuckled on the door-frame.

“Princess,” He says, and you can’t tell if his voice sounds fondly annoyed or just annoyed when he says it, “You wanna tell me what’s been going on?”

You shake your head.

“Oh? Not talking today?” He relaxes his stance a bit, “Is the reason you’ve been avoiding me the same reason you won’t let me in your room?”

You resolve begins to crack. It always does that when he’s right in front of you, every part of you longing to slot yourself into place next to him, safe and protected.

You stamp down the urge.

“I’m just busy right now Leon. I’m not avoiding you.”

“Sweetheart, I stopped believing that the second you started wearing the same sweatshirt for a week straight. You’re not well.”

“So? What does that matter to you?”

“Do you really need me to answer that?”

It becomes a competition then- who’s gonna look away first. Leon’s staring into your eyes, clearly cataloguing your face, that unreadable expression still in place. You meet his gaze right back, wondering how long it will take to get him to break.

He doesn’t. He must find whatever it was he was looking for in your face though, because he smirks, crossing his arms and leaning back.

“You’re not going to outlast me, princess.”

You sag, frustrated. “I just…”

You suck in a breath, rushing all the words out at once.

“I’m ashamed and I don’t want you to see it.”

He blinks. “Your room?”

You nod. “It’s… really bad. I let it get really bad.”

“No,” He starts slowly, taking a step towards the door. “You don’t let things happen, baby. Sometimes we can’t help how bad things get.”

“But I—“

“No but’s. You’re overwhelmed. Of course some stuff is gonna fall through the cracks.”

You scrub a hand over your face and immediately regret it, the feeling of your unwashed skin grating on your already frayed nerves. “It’s gross. I haven’t showered and there’s mold in the coffee cups—“

“Don’t care.”

“But you should. It’s disgusting, Leon. I’m—“

“Hey now,” He says, voice hardening. “Don’t finish that sentence. Now, answer one question for me: do you want to keep living in your room like this?”

“No! But I can’t—“

He shrugs. “Then I’ll help you clean it.”

He says it so easily. Like it’s not a gross, hard task that he shouldn’t have to do.

You shake your head. “You don’t have to, really—“

“I want to.”

The words go straight to your chest. Warmth begins to pool and spread where they struck, tendrils curling around your fingers and throat.

“Why?” The word is lodged in your throat- you barely manage to get it out.

“Because you’re my girl,” He says, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his warm ones brushing your chapped in a kiss so gentle you almost wouldn’t feel it, if not for the press and heat of his face. “And when my girl needs —or wants— something, she gets it. Especially when it comes to help. Okay?”

Tears begin to well unbidden in your eyes. “Okay.”

You open the door wider, stepping back and letting him see into your room. It all feels raw— you’re like an open, exposed nerve. Letting him see your room is a bit like cracking your chest open and letting him see all the messy, bloody, ugly bits that keep you going.

He steps into the room. Pauses. Looks around. Looks at you.

“You wanna do this?”

You nod, biting your lip and hunching in on yourself as he takes in the mess.

“Baby,” He says slowly, stepping into your space, sliding his hands across your waist, “What do you need from me?”

You press your face into his shoulder, breathing in deeply.

“Come on. Use your words.”

“Can you just—“ You step back, “Can you please just… sit? On the bed? I just, I just need—“

He strokes a hand over your cheekbone. “You need me to sit on your bed and tell you you’re doing good?”

You can’t help the whine that builds in your throat. Not really.

“Mmm. My poor baby.” He presses a light kiss to your forehead then walks away, sitting and immediately making himself comfortable on the sliver of open space on your bed.

He reaches for your bedside table, opening a drawer and pulling out the headphones he knows you keep there.

(You keep them there because he bought them for you. Your old headphones were falling apart but did the job just fine —most of the time— but Leon wouldn’t stand for it. The next day, you’d opened your door to a brand new, incredibly expensive pair of headphones you’d brought up wanting maybe once. So when you’re not using them for studying or walking to and from classes on campus, they live there. Safe.)

“You know listening to music makes you more productive,” He says, extending them out to you, “Leave one side off, so you can hear me.”

You take the headphones, sliding them on and powering them up- though not without leaving one ear uncovered. You put on one of your more upbeat playlists- something to keep you moving.

It’s slow going at first. Since the trash and dishes are what makes the room feel the grossest, you start with them first. Wrangling the dirty coffee cups and water bottles and other various forms of trash into the trash bag is an arduous promise, and more than once you have to tell Leon he might want to cover his nose.

He remains where he is, scrolling idly on his phone and occasionally putting it down just to watch you clean. After a few moments of staring, he’ll pipe up with a comment:

“Keep it up, princess.”

“You can do it.”

“I’ll be right here if you need a anything.”

The last one is by far the most tempting offer.

Once you’ve finished getting all the trash and dishes out —the room not only feels and smells one hundred times better already— you move on to the bigger part of the project: the clothes. They’re everywhere. And they probably all need to be washed, but doing that many loads of laundry is—

“I’ll take them to the washing machine if you sort them.”

You jolt, not noticing him standing next to you.

“You don’t—“

“Start with that pile over there. It’s the biggest. Everything else will feel easy once you finish that part.”

While you (begrudgingly) begin tackling the pile, he cues up a t.v show on your laptop, then hooks it up to your monitor so it plays on a bigger screen. Then he leaves the room, giving your shoulder a squeeze as he walks by you.

(He’d given you the monitor too. He’d told you that he upgraded and didn’t need his old one anymore, but the monitor was in suspiciously good condition. But you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, no matter how guilty the amount of money he spends on you makes you feel.)

You slip your headphones off, putting them back in the drawer and use the ambience of the show you’ve seen ten-thousand times and the now available space on the bed to sort clothes in a relatively timely fashion.

You’re starting to slow down a little, a headache beginning to form behind your eyes right when a delicious smell hits your nose and the door opening signals Leon’s return.

“I bring sustenance for the princess.”

He holds two plates of grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches. One with ketchup, and one without.

You snatch the plate with ketchup and devour the sandwich in seconds, making a grabby motion for the water bottle tucked under his arm.

He chuckles, but obliges, sitting down at your desk to tuck into his own sandwich. You go back to your folding, headache miraculously waning and energy renewed. Go figure. After a few minutes, Leon disappears with the plates and then reappears with an empty laundry basket.

You wordlessly point to a pile, engrossed in the show he put on as “background noise”, folding and sorting clothes as you go.

And so bit by bit, your room gets cleaner, and cleaner, until Leon’s taken the last of the loads down to the washing machine and you’re making your bed and you’ve got an entire season of the show under your belt.

It’s long been dark outside, and you’re making your bed now, fluffing your pillows and laying your plushies in their respective spots.

Leon comes up behind you, draping his body over your back, hands over your shoulders and chin resting on your head.

“Looks good in here, princess. I think you deserve a little reward.”

You hum, leaning back into him. “For what? Needing help to do a basic thing?”

“For being vulnerable,” He drops his head to your shoulder, burying your face into the crook of your neck, “So proud of you, baby. You were so brave.”

Your stomach is doing backflips. “You don’t have to baby me.”

“M’ not babying you. You were brave. And I am proud of you.”

He wants to curl up in bed with you and keep watching t.v, but you insist on showering first. You’re gross and you just washed your sheets.

Feeling happy, you grab one of your nicer, cuter pairs of underwear, taking your time to lather your good smelling body-wash and enjoying the warm spray. Your enjoy the shower once you’re in it. It’s just getting in that’s hard.

When you get out of the shower, you notice that the oversized shirt you were going to wear was replaced with Leon’s sweatshirt. The one he spent all day in.

You smile to yourself, throwing the clothes on and rushing out to cuddle up in bed with Leon. The second you touch the bed he’s dragging you to him, face finding the free inch of space between your neck and the top of your sternum. He takes a deep breath, warm air fanning over the soft skin there.

“You smell so fucking good.”

“Mm,” You hum, already growing sleepy in his hold, “Your sweatshirt smells like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s really good. And comfortable. I’m sleepy.”

He chuckles, pulling the blankets up over the both of you and planting a soft kiss to your forhead.

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

You fall asleep surrounded by warmth and safety. It’s the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

ˑ . . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁

Re4 but happy and Luis survives and Leon and Krauser make up and Leon and Ada be happy together and everyone’s best friends and they all go to the mall with Ashley and have the best time ever

leon’s spanish slaycation doodle dump

apologies all, i havent written on tumblr in an embarrassing amount of time but ill learn how to properly tag my shit lol

yaaas lets go!!!! genuinely surprised myself w how good the smut is just for you pookie!🫶🏼(i never know how to end these things i hope this is okay)

tw for: intimacy (yuck!) creampie, nicknames (doll, angel, my love), unprotected sex, LEON LETTING THE BATHWATER RUN COLD, eating pussy, fingering, boob touchin n shii

Re4r Leon getting home from spain to your shared apartment, his clothes are tattered and he smells like ocean and sewage but you embrace him anyways. You’re half-asleep as he arrives in the earliest hours of the morning. You know and reprimand him as he should’ve gone straight to the base to get checked out, but he says nothing. He grabs your hand tightly as your voice breaks, gasping for air. You kiss his lips and tears fall from your eyes, he doesn’t say anything but he holds you tightly. An arm wrapped around your wait and the other holding your head, pulling you close.

You lead him to the bathroom and draw him a bath, crying softly. He won’t speak but he holds you the entire way, invading your space in the most pleasant way. He keeps you in front of him the entire time, you can feel that he’s still on edge. Still in agent mode, and you stop every step to kiss him whispering to him “you’re safe, you’re home. It’s just us, just me.”

Leon has his head bowed in the bath, even as you wash his hair. He looks at you once, and even though you’ve completed your nightly routine, you join him in the bath. He doesn’t let you rinse his hair or wash his chest, just holds you until the water turns cold. After cleaning yourselves, he notices you’re only his t-shirt and underwear. His pajamas you’ve gave him smell like you, his eyes water but he doesn’t cry. Still doesn’t speak, just turns his head so you can’t see just how hurt he is. He hates leaving you.

You lead him back to the kitchen, taking out one of his prepared comfort meals and warming it before feeding him. You can see the exhaustion on his features as he eats, his deep blue eyes remain on yours the entire time. Just watching, making sure it’s real, making sure you’re really in front if him. You whisper, “we’re just at home. We’re safe, just us. I love you Lee.” He nods and takes a deep breath, not allowing himself to cry.

After he eats he coerces you into forgetting about the dishes for tonight. The first words he says to you being, “Please just leave ‘em Doll, I’ll clean up tomorrow.” Your lip wobbles but you hold back your tears, his voice making everything feel more real.

It’s 2:30am by the time you both lay in your bed, and he pushes his face into your chest. Holding you close, breathing quick and uneven. You comb your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. You sniffle and cry a bit longer, and every time a small whimper leaves your lips he kisses your chest, holding you even tighter.

You don’t know how long you lay there before he lifts himself to face you, your hands locking on his neck. He gives you a small smirk before opening his mouth, his bright blue eyes filled with mischief, “You look good in my clothes Doll, let’s get you out of them.”

You nod quickly, the two of you removing all your clothing. He kisses you deeply, nearly removing all the air from your body. His hands everywhere, he moves to kiss your neck. He nips and sucks at your neck, only stopping when you plead and whine quietly, “Just-C’mon Leon please?” He smiles and chuckles softly, moving to touch you.

His hands rub softly at your clit whispering, “So good, so wet for me Doll. Missed seeing you, missed having you like this- fuck.” You keen and whine, having been without him for what feels like years. He uses his fingers to pry you open, still touching soft. Almost too delicate, too careful. It’s nearly unlike him to touch you this way.

He moves to use his mouth on you, movements becoming quick and dirty. Lewd in every way, he spits and nips at your clit, fingers still working their way into your hole. You finish quickly, his mouth and fingers remain working.

Overstimulation forces you into moaning loud, gasping and pulling at his hair. Leon moans and you feel it. Whining and pleading, “Y-your cock! Need it Leon please? I’ve been s-so good!”

He lifts himself up, still smirking. He looks proud of himself and it makes you blush, even after being with him for so long. He positions his cock at your hole, pushing in slowly while kissing your lips. A secret message there just for the two of you. You wrap your arms around his neck, breathing quickly, a small whimper leaves your lips. He presses your foreheads together, every emotion hitting you at once as you begin to sob. He holds your face between his hands, pressing his forehead to yours, “I know, I know. I’m so sorry yn. My poor angel, I love you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I know my poor girl, I love you.”

You speak quietly through sniffles, looking up at him through your lashes. “Need you to move, please Lee?” And how could he refuse his girl, his everything. His thrusts start smoothly, delicate. Like you’ll break if he goes too far. You wrap your legs around his waist, throwing your head back with a small grunt as his quickens his pace. Cock reaching the depths of you, the sound of skin slapping and his grunts filling the air. His head bowing, he takes ahold of your breast pinching and pulling at your nipple. You whine, and he lifts his head to look into your eyes.

“C’mon, you have another in you. I can feel it. There ya’ go that’s my girl. My yn, my love. So wet for me, fuck- s-so good Doll.” You whine and keen and writhe underneath him, gripping at his biceps and feeling them flex under your small hands. You pull him to your breast again, his suckling and nipping becoming harsher. You feel his hand move to rub at your clit, a shout leaves your mouth.

“That’a girl yn. My perfect Doll, cum for me. Cum for me angel.” You finish at his words, body tensing and hole tightening. Leon moans, “Good girl baby. My girl feels so good inside, can I finish inside princess? Please- Fuck so wet, tight little cunt just for me. Fuck!” You beg and plead for him to finish inside, Leon finishes with a shout. Shooting himself inside you, kissing you hard.

He pulls out quickly and cleans you up, hands gentle and soft whispers of praise leaving his mouth. “My good girl, my yn. My perfect girl. I love you, love you so much Doll.”

good morning leon enjoyers i will be writing more today‼️ do we have requests???

mmm... babygirl shaped

Hello 👋, I hope you're doing well..

My name is Mahmoud, and I'm a 17-year-old from Gaza. The ongoing war has devastated my city, destroyed my school, and made daily life incredibly challenging.

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