Nah Im Not Gonna Write This I Have Iiyb To Write And Then The Fairy Tales Shit So Like Hahaha.. - Tumblr Posts

hear me out. nsfw mentions ahead

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re6 leon in which the events of re2 never happen, he doesn't become a police officer until chris recommends it to get over a break up, smth abt finding your purpose or fuck tht

he's got no idea what he's doing in the goddamn room, six months of training later, but theres a shiny new badge on his chest and a can do attitude that disappears as soon as he twists over his shoulder to check out his t.o.

shit, you must be at least, what, a decade younger than him? he has to hold back a scoff when sergeant dismisses the room, and suddenly he's left alone with your silent, wide eyes looking up at him.

you keep him behind you in your quick, clicking steps, allowing little time for the questions he asks, trying to pry that little shell of yours open. but you're unrelenting, in the way that he is, in your serious posture and his amused demeanor.

a demeanor that "has no place on the force", you tell him a week later, just after he's turned the corner and tripped over the felony you handcuffed just seconds ago.

he huffs and puffs on the ground, but he knows that you're the big bad wolf in his story. and he's not about to swap roles to become little red riding hood.

so after crashing at chris' penthouse with a cooler full of cold beer, a recovering heart and heavy thoughts, he realizes that he can do so much better. become what you expect.

and the man that walks in the day after? well, he's not the same old man whose back you were snickering behind when he got the captain's office and the locker room mixed up, courtesy of your fellow cops.

you feel more like a cheetah around its prey than a partner to him, especially with the snarky banter that flows easily, the subtly thrown smiles and winks during an ambush, his awkward yet sweetly charming demeanor.

and guess who can really judge a book by its cover? well, in this case, you suppose by its age.

to be honest, the only thing stopping you from pouncing is the number printed next to his name on the file that's two months late, sending all you've known about him into a loophole.

it appears that sometimes, the force of objects thrust into motion cant be stopped, and the events that ensure one night during a late night study of the rook book ends up with a pair of boots tangled in his sheets.

the thrill of getting caught is delicious, hell, its the reason you became a goddamned cop. but you've been denied that thrill all your life, and when it finally comes to you in the form of this glorious man, you should've realized there would've been some kind of problem.

your crazy big hint was the sun-crinkled eyes, salt and pepper stubble and old man advice, but that's hard to think about when his mouth is buried between your thighs, and even harder is to remember the question he asked beforehand, now somehow expecting an answer as he smothers your hips in wet, sticky kisses. blissfully broken and gazing at the book with glazed eyes.

because how the fuck are you supposed to memorize how to identify a gun when that was the best head you've gotten in years? but when he finally sinks into you with a groan, you realize that there is one gun you will always be able to identify on sight.

better pray that doesn't show up on the quiz though.