STRICTLY BUSINESS !
ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader
tags. a lot of misogyny, sexual harassment, p in v, leon is a creep omg, dubious consent but she agrees ultimately 😭
note. HAII can’t bother to change my dividers despite the theme change .. not edited so please ignore mistakes! og re4 leon btw .. no other leon.. :3 honestly I will probably write a longer fic like this bc.. I didn’t make it fleshed out enough 😭 rbs and feedback so appreciated :3
tumblr has started to remove fics that for example use tw non-con and any nsfw tags in general from the tags. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.
Tuesday October 21st, 2004
“You’re kidding me, what a treat,” Leon Special Agent Kennedy still gets frisked when he steps foot into the BSAA headquarters. He’s done more for America than Washington ever did, and that guy’s on the dollar bill. You’d think that after rumours spread of you being bent over in the Oval Office, being the main suspect in a presidential affair, they’d give you more credit. “This is my favourite part.” He says, straight-faced.
“Kennedy,” Redfield’s smile is seething, more constipated than it is friendly, like the mere sight of Leon brings him immense pain. “Hands against the wall.”
“You want me to bend over too?” He asks, very seriously, because Leon is a good boy and he’ll do as he’s told. “I can bend over.”
“Think you’ve done enough of that.” Chris sees Leon as an invasive species of sorts. A snail that gets into the cabbage patch.
“You’re no fun.”
Chris calls out a name he hasn’t heard before, small hands land on his waist. It can’t be Redfield ‘cause his palms easily dwarf Leon’s waist, could wrap around it if they stretched far enough. He glances over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of whoever has the honour of feeling him up.
“Eyes forward,” A less bullish voice commands, “Um, please, sir.” This is a girl, not a woman, but a girl. Women are his favourite, but he can make do with a girl if she’s cute enough.
“Must be my lucky day,” Leon hums in delight as you pat him down, “Oooh, are we doing a cavity search?”
“Well…” You pause, hands lingering over his calf, “I’m not really sure.”
“No.” Redfield grunts in his primitive way.
“No, no cavity search,” You confirm, “I’m… sorry.” You tell him, and you really should be, Leon loves having his cavity searched. Oral, anal, if he had a vaginal cavity he’s sure he would have fun with that too.
“You can go lower, sweetheart,” Leon bites his tongue when you ghost over his belt loops, “Grab my balls while you’re at it, I don’t mind.”
“Knock it off, Kennedy.” His first real warning, ‘cause Chris speaks in his Captain voice not in ape sounds.
“I’m kidding, you can take it easy, big guy.” His mind wanders as you touch him up, getting to his chest in which you find a flask tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, it’s confiscated promptly.
“Are you stupid?” Hunnigan asks, as his handler or glorified babysitter, she must accompany him to every teensy, little task. Her question is rhetorical, obviously.
“She’s just so sweet to me, I call her Honeygan.” Leon tells no one in particular.
“No you do not, Leon.” She says, cerebral and unfrisked, which begs the question of why only he gets borderline harassed on BSAA grounds. Not that he’s complaining.
“Hi there, cutie,” He doesn’t smile often for ladies, they like the whole brooding thing he’s got going on, but he really can’t hold it back. All teeth and everything. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing here? Did you get lost, need help finding your mommy?”
“Kennedy,” Second warning, it goes unheard, or unprocessed, or rather Leon does not give a single shit.
“How old are you, sweetheart?” He puts his hands on his knees, like he’s crouched down talking to a toddler. “You look like a baby.”
“Twenty-one, sir.” Of course you are, lamb-faced and bright-eyed. That’s far too little. Then again, old enough to drink, old enough to suck dick. If a girl can knock back a shot, she’s likely to swallow - not spit.
“Oh, and do your Skechers light up, sweetheart?” You should be at home, burping a Baby Alive doll, pottering around an all-pink, plastic kitchenette. Doing things that girls do.
“What…?” You glance over at Chris cluelessly.
With this, he’s guided very forcefully by the scruff of his neck, his popped collar, to where the meeting is taking place. Chambers is there, and she’s grown within the last few years. She stretches back in her seat, her tiny tits jut out when her back bows. She hasn’t grown in that sense. You stand guard at the door in tactical gear, it’s like putting a spiked collar on a puppy and passing it off as a guard dog. He’d once thought of the BSAA to be pragmatic, they talk rationally while STRATCOM talk a lot of fancy shit in their Italian wool suits, but to put a young girl in charge of such a strenuous task? Leon takes it all back. They’re a bunch of brutes, hunched over sucking the meat from animal bones, girl bones even.
“Focus.” Valentine, bold and busty, sits beside him “She’s twenty-one.” Back off, is what she means. They’ve had brief encounters, but she’s a woman of few words, her sneer keeps him away as it does most men. She could use some dick.
Leon is well aware of your age considering you told him an hour or so prior. Like he said before, he likes women, not girls, but you’re certainly cute enough. “I know, too young.”
“She’s capable,” Jill shrugs, “Real brave kid,” This is the problem, it’s not bravery, it’s stupidity and Leon of all people knows the difference. Jill stands up when the meeting comes to its end, she’s the first to leave, pats your head on the way out.
The room clears out, you stand still and upright as he approaches. “After you, sir.”
“That’s not how it works,” Leon chides, “Ladies first, sweetheart.”
“After you, sir, I insist,” You’re getting impatient, antsy, “And please don’t call me that.”
“What would you prefer? Babe, baby, honey, babycakes, sweetpea,” All the classics, “Sugartits?”
“With all due respect, sir, fuck you.” You look at him with such discontent it makes him hard.
“Girls shouldn’t talk like that.” Leon stumbles slightly as you barge past him and exit. He finds it funny, he cracks another smile, shame no one’s here to see it, it’s quite beautiful really. His eyes follow the movement of your hips, the swell of your ass that’s hidden beneath those bulky cargos as you stomp off into the distance.
Monday November 1st, 2004
It sits on your desk like a harbinger of doom. A threat that signifies the end of the world, which is everyday in your field. This is the end of your life. No one else’s. This ostentatious display of affection is where it all starts.
“Nice flowers,” Piers comments, and it’s a totally innocent remark, because initially you had thought the exact same thing. How thoughtful, right? Flowers, tons of them, in all shades. You’re not a flowers kinda girl, but you’re not rude, you appreciate the gesture. That’s just how you’ve been raised, the vase mom bought you hasn’t been put to good use either.
You made the mistake of reading the card attached. In barely legible handwriting, all the swoops and loops throw you off, is that an E or a 3, it’s scrawled in leaky black ink that smears easily, crumpled it up the moment you saw who signed it off.
From his cokewhore nose to his insoles, you have no intentions of liaising with Agent Kennedy, much less going on a date with him. He might be charming from afar, but the moment he opens his mouth— oh, how you wish you could sever his tongue and put it in a jar. Might even go the extra mile to pickle it and feed it to him.
The note gets tossed in the trash, you attempt to dispose of the flowers the same way, stuffing them down into the bin beneath your desk. An incinerator would be preferred, but this will do for now. You’re shaking as you rid of them, rolling back your shoulders to relax, you can’t get him off of you. The scent of his biting cologne is in the back of your throat. It stings. He hasn’t done anything as of now, there’s just something about Leon that makes you uneasy.
Thursday November 4th, 2004
Stupid girl. You’re a stupid girl for thinking it was ever over, men like him persist until they wear you down, grind your bones into dust. Today it’s a box of decadent chocolates, you have to admit, they look good. Wasting food makes your gut ache with guilt so you place them on a table in the staff room.
“That’s not very nice, Godiva’s expensive.” Tight-lipped and repulsive, Agent Kennedy stands in the doorway. Why he’s here? You have no clue.
“Sir,” You fix your posture reflexively, “I appreciate it, I’m just not… a fan.”
“You don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart.” Leon cocks his head to the side, the lack of mirth in his tone is chilling. “I waited for you on Monday.”
“I never accepted, sir.” You tell him, “I’m flattered, but I didn’t have time.” And you never will have time for a man like him.
“You didn’t show, I looked like an idiot, that sweater makes you look kinda big by the way,” He says breezily, slips it in seamlessly with his complaint.
You don’t register it, blinking at him dumbly. “I hardly think this is appropriate.”
“Sweetheart,” Leon cups your cheeks, his fingertips are icy on your burning skin, “I don’t go on a lot of dates, so you should count yourself lucky.”
“Sir, what're you doing here?” You question, trying so badly to bypass the system failure that’s taking place in your frazzled brain.
“I have some business, but that’s none of your business is it, cutie?” He taps your nose, “I think you’re too little to get it anyway. Y’know, you take orders well, I thought you’d be a good girl.”
“I’m not a dog,” You scowl.
“Smile, sweetheart, shouldn’t pull faces like that.” Leon pats your cheek, then he turns on his heels and leaves as quickly as he came.
Friday November 5th, 2004
Agent Kennedy is on the premises again, this leads to you ducking into doorways, turning sharp corners into endless corridors— Anything to escape his gaze unscathed. Unfortunately, running has never been your strong suit, it requires some agility, you’re a no-nonsense kind of girl, face the issue head on with your bare hands. You’re capable. So capable. You’re strong, and you have a gun. When your fists fail you, your gun sits cold on your hip. Not that shooting Leon S. Kennedy would ever be a good look in someone’s dossier, but it provides you with some relief.
“There you are,” Quiet, he emerges from the shadows like he materialised right then and there, Agent Kennedy is stealthy, you suppose, “I missed you,” He’s hot on your heels, the bitterness of his scent begins to cloud your mind, “You look good from back here, should wear a skirt more often.”
Don’t speak. Don’t speak. Don’t speak. As much as you’d love to give him a piece of your mind, you fear he’d take it in stride, entertained by your outburst. Leon feeds on attention. He follows you for the entirety of your journey to the ladies room. “Sweetheart, speak to me.”
You’re a fool for thinking he has the decency to wait outside, let you do your business, and then once you return he can begin sweet-talking in your ear once more. Of course, Leon shoulders the door when it shuts on him, he jams his leg in the cubicle door when you try to lock him out. Too slow.
“Did you want to watch me piss, sir?” You ask, putting on your bravest face, as if your heart isn’t about to fall out of your ass and land on the floor with a wet smack. He scares you more than any virus-addled nutcase ever has.
“No,” Leon frowns, and it’s the first time he hasn’t had a witty remark, “Do you think I want to see that shit?” Oh, that offended him.
“I’m sorry for assuming, sir, but it’s just that you are,” You make a mild gesture at the toilet, “In the women’s restroom.”
“I know,” He’s still frowning, and you don’t like it. “I need something from you, babe.” Babe. Holy Mother of God, that’s worse than sweetheart, it sounds infinitely more sleazy.
“What can I do for you, sir? You got a kink?” Once more, you point to the toilet, the scumbag bites the inside of his cheek. His tongue wets his bottom lip as he hunkers down to press his pointy nose to yours. You hear him sniff around in the crook of your neck, like he’s chasing white lines without a straw.
You’re brave. You’re capable, so capable, Miss Valentine has told you the same. What would she do? What would she do? Quick-thinking, improvising, it’s not your thing— Your fingers itch to take out your gun and press it to his temple. Your own temple at this point.
Leon isn’t stupid, he takes your hand, brushing your knuckles with his lips, then he forces you to face the wall. “Hands on the wall, babe, it’s my turn.”
“Sir,” The argument dies as quickly as it comes to mind, fizzling out on your tongue.
“I won’t hurt you, babe, I know you’re little.” He almost coos, fingers tracing over your shoulder blades, then your spine, then his thumbs slot into your back dimples. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, it doesn’t look right, holding guns and shit— You’re too pretty for that, I bet it hurts your arms, don’t it? Oh, you poor thing. I really care about these things, I’m a feminist, sweetheart.”
No. No, you’re strong, you’re well trained— You’re the best Captain Redfield has to offer. “Mr. Kennedy, please, I’m sorry about the date.” There’s a warmth that presses to your back, “It was an honest mistake—“ His dick, he’s got his fucking pig dick on your back. “Get off of me.” Yes, you’re trained in combat, but against him, admittedly you have nothing on him. And it pisses you off more than his dick does.
“Cool it, babe,” Leon takes your wrists in his hand, keeping them behind your back, you hear him spit on his cock from above. The shlick, shlick, shlick of his wet dick being pumped has the acid in your stomach reacting badly with your lunch. “You’re hot, you ever think of going into porn?” Agent Kennedy is whiny during sex it seems, his voice gets airy, you take some amusement in that. As much amusement as you can in this type of scenario.
“I think you’re disgusting, sir,” Wetness splatters over the back of your sleeveless turtleneck, it soaks into the fabric. Leon kisses the nape of your neck, he tucks his cock away, wipes the sweat from his brow and leaves like he was never there in the first place.
The panic sets in a good five minutes later. He’s made you dirty, in a frenzy, you tear off your shirt in the public restroom, dunking it under the sink to wash it clean. A few ladies filter in and out, ask if you’re okay when they see you in your bra, scrubbing like a mad woman.
You smile your best smile, it’s your worst smile. The hand dryer does little to help you out, even when you wring and ring the fabric into the sink basin, all excess water and cum running down the drain, it’s weak. It’s hard to care in this state, hands trembling as you put it back on, the wetness only reminds you of him, it’s black so unless someone has the pleasure of bumping up against you - it’s likely no one will notice.
Visiting HR is new to you, the elevator dings and you step out onto a floor that’s entirely alien. With a foggy mind it’s harder to navigate the rooms, the people, the desks. A pretty lady leads you to the right place, an even prettier lady sits behind a desk. Her face is weathered, slightly mean, but she’s kind when she smiles.
“I’d like to report… I’d like to report,” Your hands are braced flat on the desk, slumped forward, “To report… I want to…”
Her smile is kinder this time, laced with sympathy, “Take your time, sweetheart,” No, don’t call me that, she takes note of how you bristle, “Take a seat and calm down, alright?”
“No,” You shake your head, insistent on getting it out here and now, “Special Agent Kennedy, Leon Kennedy, Leon Scott Kennedy, I want to report him for… I want to report him for— “
“Sweetie,” The lady, sympathetic once more, takes your hand, “I’m afraid I can’t do anything about that.”
“What? Why? You don’t understand, he—“
“Agent Kennedy, he doesn’t work here, he’s not in our database, and taking it up with STRATCOM, well, that’s a whole ‘nother issue.”
“Right,” How stupid can you be? Stupid fucking asshole. It isn’t even a loophole, it’s just totally legal, you can’t do anything. “Right, of course, I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
“Babe, there you are,” Leon revels in your jumpiness, it’s cute. Girls are cuter when they’re shy, when they need a big, strong man to keep ‘em safe. Stoicism doesn’t suit you, anxiety does, it makes your eyes glimmer in the same way Botticelli angels do, your lashes have no end to them. “I missed you.”
“Aren’t you busy saving the world and all, sir?” Still feisty, if it were up to Leon, he’d fuck you silly. Get it all out of you.
“You’re funny,” He says dryly, lips forming a line, “How about that date?”
Rather than exasperation like he had expected, there’s astoundment. “Are you… Are you serious?”
“Duh,” Leon nods, “I thought about it, cutie, I’m happy to give you a second chance.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking— Do you seriously think I would ever say yes to you?” Your brows furrow, they need a clean up, nothing some tweezers can’t fix, he’d have to sort out those forehead wrinkles too, you’re much too young for that.
“Nobody says no to me,” Leon responds with ease, “I don’t know why you wouldn’t, sweetheart, I really thought we had something.” His lips twitch, it’s painfully easy to rile you up. The temper is funny short-term, but long-term not quite as much.
“We,” You point at him, then at yourself, “We have nothing, sir, and if you touch me again, I swear on my life I’ll—“
“What will you do, sweetheart? Cry to your mommy about it?” He edges closer to you, till your sides are warm in his hands, “Little girls shouldn’t talk big, you don’t get to call the shots.”
“I’m not, I’m not a little girl, but you’re a fucking creep, and I will tell Captain Redfield, I will tell him.” And he’ll deal with you, Leon guesses. Stupid little girl, as if Mr. President would let a prick from the BSAA land a hit on his most prized possession, other than First Daughter Ashley Graham.
“See, baby? You can’t handle anything on your own, you’re too little.” He smiles, if your balled up fists say anything, it’s obnoxiously smug, “Oh, are you getting angry at me, baby? That’s no good, why don’t you smile for me?” Leon uses his thumbs to forcefully stretch your cheeks upwards, “C’mon, babe, smile for me.”
“Get off of me,” You twist out of his grip, pumps click-clacking as you desperately try to escape him, but it’s clear you’re new to them, getting the heel caught in each crack— Leon could do better.
“They make your legs look great,” He whistles, never less than a step behind, “Think you should wear ‘em everyday, field work ain’t all that, y’know? I could get you a job over in my building, filing and shit, could wear a skirt everyday.”
“Sir, do you ever shut up?” Comes your shaky yet clipped reply.
“I got plenty more where that came from, babe,” Leon says shamelessly, “Let me take you home, sweetheart, I’ll show you a good time.”
You shiver at the mere thought, shoulders lifting to your ears as you shake yourself off. Leon grabs you from behind once more, this time he’s got a handful of your tits. Without that bulletproof vest, you’ve got a great figure, shit made you square. This pencil skirt and turtleneck combo is flattering, and Leon has to admit, he’s always had a thing for office wear.
To your credit, you put up a good fight, a few more years of training and you would knock Leon flat onto his ass. That’s why he’s gotta save you while he can, girls shouldn’t get to that point. Especially not ones like you. “I’ll leave you alone, sweetheart, if you just give it to me once.” His lies are convincing, he takes your silence as consideration to his offer.
“Once,” You repeat, “Just once?”
“Just once.”
“I’ll bite it off.” You claim.
“Sure you will, babe.” Leon snickers, and because he’s Special Agent Kennedy, he gets his way. Through determination, blood, sweat, tears and a load of cum.
“Keep those on,” He tells you, nodding his head towards your heels as the two of you enter his apartment. “Take that off, and the skirt too.” Leon instructs, and you do as he says, “Good girl.”
He gives you a once over. Not bad. There’s always tweaks that could be made, while all women are beautiful to him, it comes natural to most, they could still be better. Perkier tits, shapely legs, nicer ass— Y’know, you could work on it.
“C’mere, cutie,” Leon pats his lap, begrudgingly you oblige, the mattress sinks with your combined weight. He snaps your bra strap, it pings back on your supple skin, then he reaches back to unhook it. Yeah, Leon can do it one go, you might not look impressed, but he knows you are deep down. “Look at that.” These tits, they have no room on the battlefield, seriously. He squeezes them, the fat spills past his fingers, the BSAA can’t be risking such valuable assets.
He can’t pinpoint your exact feelings, there’s irritation on your face, but when he lays you down, spreads you open, there’s a wet patch on your panties that’s telling of your true nature as a girl. It’s just primal instinct, right? Getting wet when there’s a handsome man groping you. “Aw, I told you we’d have fun, baby.” Leon takes your limp legs, tossing them over his shoulders, he slips your panties off, disappointment floods his system when he sees you’re not shaven bare. He’ll have to skip giving head then. Which is a shame, ‘cause most times it’s fun to see girls squirm on his tongue.
The pad of his thumb meets your clit, he dips downwards past your folds to gather some slick, smears it back over your bud. Part of him wants a taste, his fingers aren’t enough, Leon wants it straight from the source itself. Though it’s totally against his code of conduct, his tongue laves over your spread pussy once. He doesn’t let himself get carried away.
Instead, Leon opens you up around his fingers, scissors them into your tight hole to stretch you out. He keeps his thumb rubbing over your clit, he’s good at multitasking, and it’s the only thing that gets you whimpering, though most of it is muffled into your fist. He deems you wet enough, or he’s just very impatient, and it’s definitely the latter, Leon can admit it.
“You ready, babe?” Leon asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer as he slides into you, to the hilt, and raw. You let out a shuddering gasp as his cock knocks the fleshy opening of your cervix.
Then, you have the gall to ask, “Is it in yet, sir?” Despite the fact that you’re still trembling, shaken up by the sheer size of him. Leon can be humble, he knows it’s not that big, but for inexperienced little things like you it must be a real challenge. You take to it well, after the first few thrusts, the discomfort seems to fade, and your back arches against your will. A real cockslut born and bred.
He fills you up, fucks you like he wants to tear a hole through you, “You need to shut your mouth sometimes, sweetheart. I don’t know who raised you, but girls shouldn’t talk back like that.” Leon grips your jaw tight, forces it open so he can spit down your throat, much to his dismay you send the ball of spit hurtling back towards his face. He closes his eyes, hips stilling within you, then he brings his palm down on your cheek. It’s encouragement to behave.
You’re stunned, yelping sharply as he hits you once more, grinding deep into your wet cunt, the squelch gives you away. The way you’re sucking him in, like you’re a glutton for dick, how your hip bones smack into his each time you raise ‘em up— it's so clear you’re enjoying it. You like this, you like him, just needed a man to show you, to put you in your place.
Leon’s kind enough to keep pressing down on your bud, when he pulls out, your pussy clenched tight around the fat head of his cock, it begs him so sweetly to fill you up once more. He bottoms out, you jolt, legs slipping from his shoulders and wrapping around his waist. It’s then he’s reminded of your heels, they dig into his back, and your little hands come to rest on his ass to force him deeper and deeper, which Leon isn’t all that fond of, but you’re an unruly girl.
“Look how bad you want it.” Leon licks into your mouth, sucks on your tongue, “I knew it, baby, I knew you wanted it.” He drives his hips into you with such force, pussy gushing around him, your release trickles out of you with each thrust. “Messy girl.” He taunts, abdomen wet and his cock wetter.
You’re hit with aftershocks as he continues to pump into your sensitive pussy, clit twitching, he has enough sense to pull out. Leon isn’t an idiot. His cock rests heavy on your stomach, he urges you to take it in your hand, and you do. His hand wraps around yours, helps you jerk him off like you should’ve been glad to do in the restrooms earlier. “That’s it, you’re getting good at it, baby, you’re learning.” Leon’s load is sticky, shooting ropes of pearly white over your fingers, dripping down your wrist.
“Sir, this is it now, isn’t it?” You get down to business fast, acting like your pussy wasn’t springing a leak on his cock, “You’ll leave me alone now? If you don’t, I really will tell him, I will do something about it I swear on my fucking life.”
He says yes, but Leon is already thinking of what to send you next week. On Monday it might be a teddy bear, the ones that hold stuffed hearts in their stuffed arms. Tuesday, another bouquet, or a dress, a tight one that brings out your eyes. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, he has plenty of time to chase you again.
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