23-year-old Leon Kennedy, Umbrella's finest agent, is sent to Raccoon City in September 1998, during the night of the horrifying outbreak. He's told to secure a sample of the G-virus and to get rid of William Birkin, as well as to kill any of the re...
warnings: oral (f+m receiving), facesitting, dirty talk, this is the closest you'll ever get to switch!leon in this fic, lots of ANGST but we ain't gonna talk ab that, just be prepared for the worst bc this is sort of the end !
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You awake from a peaceful slumber around nine in the morning. Through the window, you see the sky is awfully cloudy, not a ray of sunshine to be detected. It's still bright outside though, so you'll take whatever you can get.
All you're hearing is Leon's slow breathing underneath your ear. With your head on his chest, you notice the white sheets draped around your waist is the only thing covering your naked bodies.
Normally, you hate waking up early, but now that you glanced at Leon in his sleeping form, you can't tear your gaze off him. From what you've noticed, he's a deep sleeper, with many dreams and even more nightmares, but he doesn't seem to sleep for very long. He only needs a few hours to be fully energized again.
Your brows scrunch up when he shifts a little. His eyelids open just the slightest bit, and he lets out a sigh. "Caught you staring."
"As if you mind it."
"Never said I did." He mentions with a lazy grin. Rolling your eyes, you turn to lay on your back, and Leon pulls you closer to him. "Did you sleep well?"
"I pretty much passed out after last night, so... yeah."
He snorts at the comment. "Don't look at me. You wanted me to fuck you like that."
"Well yeah, but now I won't be able to walk properly today, dipshit."
"Oh, so now she complains. Do I have to remind you of the way you begged me to go harder?"
"Please don't."
"It was cute though. 'Oh Leon, you fuck me so good, don't you dare stop'—"
Turning around to face him again, you put your hand on his mouth, jaw hurting from the embarrassed smile on your face. "Shut up!"
Now that you're not covered by the sheets anymore, he glances at your chest and raises his brow with a cocky smirk. He takes your hand off his mouth easily. "I made a mistake."
He sounds awfully serious, and you feel worried suddenly. "A mistake?"
"A grave one." He responds, nodding, and you wait in anticipation for him to elaborate. "I completely forgot to give you some hickeys."
Your worried expression turns to something resembling a glare. "Seriously?"
