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Leon sits on the edge of the bed, boots already laced up, knife strapped to his thigh. The house is quiet—too quiet. He can feel it in his bones: tonight’s the night.
He stands, walks to the closet. Pulls out a coiled rope—fiberglass-reinforced nylon, military grade. Not for show. For work.
Turns off lights as he moves through the house—the back door slides open softly behind him. There’s only the single light glowing orange above him at the back porch, his figure silhouetted.
The woods loom dark and dense beyond their backyard fence. The only other light filtering the yard is the moon.
You stand at the edge of the woods where the yard backs up to the tree-line, watching him in the light. Your chest rises with a shaking inhale as he nods his head, your fingers clenching into your palms at your sides.
You’re clad in only a nightgown—one that he’d picked out—a pair of underwear and house slippers. It isn’t likely you’ll be able to run fast in them, but you’re sure he’s banking on that. The bastard.
Leon’s eyes lock onto you the second he hears that breath. His jaw tightens—predator focus snapping into place like a tripwire triggered.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move fast either—not yet. Just steps forward, slow and deliberate, rope dangling from one hand like a serpent ready to coil.
The night air is cool, but his skin burns under his shirt. This isn't fantasy anymore—it's real flesh and blood about to run wild in the dark woods behind their home.
He sends you your little signal—two short nods—watching as you back silently into the woods, your eyes on him up until the moment you turn, darting off into the woods behind the house.
You’re in fairly decent shape. You’re not DSO and consistently training like he is, but he’s taught you pretty well and keeps you relatively up to date with it all, but it doesn’t mean that the idea of him on your trail isn’t picking at the back of your head. You take a sharp turn, slippers pounding against things and fallen leaves.
Leon watches you vanish into the trees—then, like a switch flipped, he’s moving.
No hesitation. No warm-up. Just pure instinct kicking in hard and fast.
He cuts left immediately, not chasing your path, but anticipating it. Knows these woods better than anyone; every trail, every rock cluster that slows runners down.
The slippers won’t last ten minutes on this terrain—and that’s fine by him.
Your lungs burn already as you push through dense undergrowth, the nightgown catching on thorns and branches. One slipper gets stuck in a root—you wrench it free with a sharp yank but lose precious seconds.
Behind you, there’s nothing yet. No snapping twigs, no heavy breathing. That silence is worse somehow—like he’s already calculated where you’ll go next.
“Fuck!” You spit out, shoulders heaving with breath, eyes wide and your vision attempts to adjust in the dark. Neither of you had really thought to bring flashlights or light a specific path out here in the woods, assuming the moonlight would be bright enough. It is, mostly, and it adds to the anticipation.
The moonlight cuts through the trees in silver streaks, painting your frantic movements in ghostly light. Every shadow looks like him—every rustle of leaves makes your heart slam harder against your ribs.
You stumble over a half-buried log, catching yourself on gnarled bark. The nightgown’s torn at the hem now, dirt smearing across pale skin as you push forward blindly.
Somewhere behind—far too close for comfort—a branch snaps under deliberate weight.
You close your eyes, fighting to even out your breath. The sound—footsteps clear and steady, evening out—come closer. Both hands come over your mouth, brows scrunched together.
No, no, no!
The footsteps don’t slow. Don’t hesitate. They close the distance with terrifying certainty—Leon isn't searching, he's tracking.
A low growl of effort escapes him as he pushes through thicker brush, the rope now tucked in his back pocket for quick access. His other hand flexes near his knife—not to draw it yet, but ready.
He smells sweat and fear on the air—and fuck if that doesn't make his blood roar hotter.
Your breath hitches as the footsteps halt—right behind you.
Leon doesn’t announce himself. Doesn’t warn you.
One second there’s space, the next his arm hooks around your waist like a steel trap, yanking you flush against his chest as he lifts off the ground slightly to counterbalance your squirming weight.
“No!” You shout out, wiggling against him as dirt and leaves fall from your nightgown, your back scraping against the jagged wood of the log you’d been hiding behind.
Leon grunts as you thrash, his grip turning vise-like—one arm locked around your waist while the other clamps over your mouth to smother the shouting. The log digs into both of you, but he doesn’t flinch.
He drags you backward effortlessly, kicking a clear path through ferns until there’s enough room. Then he spins—slamming your back against a thick oak tree with enough force to knock air from lungs.
The rope is in his hand again in seconds.
You continue, wiggling and thrashing like a wild woman loose in the dark before a wicked thought crosses your mind. With a frustrated groan, you sink your teeth into the flesh of his palm.
This wasn’t exactly part of the plan—wasn’t something the two of you had necessarily talked about ahead of time, but…instincts kick in.
As the pain shoots up his arm, it’s enough to loosen his hold just enough, distracted for a long enough fraction of time for you to slip from his grasp.
Scrambling away from him, using the log as a partial boost, you don’t make it far before you’re kicking off your stupid slippers—you’re sure he’ll buy you new ones after this—and running as fast as you can, ignoring the twigs and rocks punching against the arches of your feet.
Leon hisses through clenched teeth as your teeth sink in—actual pain flaring sharp and sudden. His grip spasms, reflexively loosening just enough for you to wrench free.
For half a second, he’s stunned. Not at the bite—fuck, that stung—but at how goddamn feral you went for it.
Then he sees you bolt barefoot into the trees again. The rope drops from his fingers entirely as pure predatory rage ignites behind his eyes. His palm meets his lips for a moment, tongue lapping at the bit of blood where your teeth and broken through just slightly.
“Oh, no you fucking don’t.” he growls—and takes off after you like a goddamn missile.
Your bare feet slam against uneven ground—rocks, roots, the occasional damp patch of moss that makes you slip. Your nightgown is practically shredded at this point, torn fabric flapping behind you as adrenaline fuels your legs.
Behind, heavy pounding footsteps gain on you fast. Leon’s not playing nice anymore—not after that bite.
A low curse cuts through the night air as he pushes harder, closing distance with every stride. He’s faster than you, and he always has been. Years of training, years of chasing down the horrors of this world.
Leon lunges—closing the gap in three brutal strides. His arm hooks around your waist again, but this time he lifts, slamming you down onto a patch of moss-covered earth hard enough to knock the wind out of you.
Before you can even gasp, he’s on top—knees pinning your hips as he yanks the rope free with one hand.
“Shouldn't have bit me," he snarls—not angry, not really. Just fucking wild.
Dazed, you stutter, attempting to turn halfway onto your side and catching your breath. He doesn’t give you the opportunity, rolling you onto your back once more by the shoulders, crimson smearing there against your skin as he roughly throws the rope around your wrists. He knots them expertly, pulling them tight—leaving just enough for circulation to flow.
In a juxtaposition, Leon leans back, looking down at you with an adoration in his eyes, swiping the hair from you face. “Look real fucking pretty like this…helpless…”
His calloused thumb brushes your cheekbone—gentle despite the roughness of everything else. The contrast is dizzying: his voice gravel-rough with hunger, but his touch lingering like he’s memorizing you.
The rope holds firm as he secures it to a nearby tree root—not enough to choke circulation, just enough that struggling would only make the fibers dig in.
Leon sits back on his heels for a moment, drinking in the sight of you beneath him—disheveled, barefoot and bound. A slow smirk curls at one corner of his mouth.
Your chest rises and falls rapidly, wrists pulled taut above your head—tugging instinctively at the rope only to feel it resist. The dirt beneath you is cool against your skin, grass tickling exposed ankles.
Leon watches every little reaction—the way your breath hitches when he touches you, how your muscles tense under his gaze.
He leans down suddenly, hand reaching down to tug the knife from its sheath before he tilts your chin up. “Want you to promise you’ll be quiet for me. Think you can do that?”
Still working to get your breath back in order, you nod wearily.
Capturing one fistful of the torn fabric of the nightgown, Leon slices through it up the middle with ease. Not gentle. Not even close. The little bit of blood from his palm soaks into the ruined silky material as it crumples to the ground.
You gasp out—partially in shock, partially angry. Not so much at the fact that the gown was ruined, you were well past that, but now you’d have to saunter back through these woods naked when it was all over.
Leon doesn’t apologize—not even a glance at the ruined fabric as it falls open, exposing bare skin to the night air. His focus is laser-sharp on what comes next.
The knife gets tucked away again—he won’t need it for this part. Instead, his hands slide up your thighs, rough and claiming.
“Should’ve known you’d fight dirty," he mutters—almost fondly—before yanking you closer by the hips. “Little bitch.”
Your body is halted by the rope protesting against the root, wrists tugging against it. “Yeah, well—“ You choke out hoarsely, lungs burning. “Taught me self defense. Thought you liked it when I bit you.”
Leon laughs—a dark, breathless sound as he drags you flush against him. His teeth graze your shoulder in retaliation, not hard enough to break skin but enough to make his point.
“I do," he admits roughly. “Fuckin’ love it when you fight back."
A beat—then his hand slides between your thighs without warning, beneath the flimsy fabric of the underwear he’d picked, calloused fingers pressing where you’re already wet from the chase.
You let out another broken sound, hips shifting desperately against his fingers as they gathered your slick, dragging the pad of his middle finger up your center.
“Lee..”
He circles your clit once—slow, deliberate—just to watch you squirm. The rope holds your wrists taut; the only movement you’ve got is the helpless jerk of your hips.
“That’s it," he rasps, voice gone wrecked already. “Sound so pretty for me."
Then he pushes two fingers inside without warning, curling them just right on that first thrust.
Your back arches hard off the ground as his fingers fill you, stretching in a way that’s sudden and overwhelming after running so hard. A whimper punches out of your throat before you can stop it.
Leon works his fingers with brutal efficiency, scissoring them inside while his thumb presses down on your clit. He watches every twitch of your face like it’s scripture.
“Gonna come like this?" he challenges darkly. “Or do I play with my prey a little more first?"
The words, mixed with the way his fingers curl upward, make your eyes roll back into the back of your head. Your heels dig into the dirt, trying to steady yourself as his fingers fuck into you hard, unrelenting.
Leon feels your walls fluttering around his fingers—the telltale clench that means you’re close. He doesn’t slow down, just angles his thrusts deeper, hitting that sweet spot with every drive of his knuckles.
“Yeah," he grits out, “There it is."
His thumb circles faster on your clit as he adds a third finger—stretching you obscenely wide while fucking into you like the world’s ending.
Leon leans down, his sweat-slick chest pressing against your bound body as he growls directly into your ear—
“There you are…You gonna come on my hand like the desperate little bitch you are?”
A brutal twist of his wrist grinds the heel of his palm against your clit.
“Wanna feel you pulse. Wanna watch tears leak outta those pretty eyes when I ruin this cunt."
Your walls tighten around his fingers, thighs trembling as your climax pulls a string of breathless whines from your lips, parted and slick with split.
Leon feels it—the way your body locks around his fingers as you shatter. Your cunt pulses violently, milking his thrusts like a vise while he keeps pumping through the orgasm.
“Fuck—" His own control frays at the edges watching you come undone beneath him, your back arched and toes curling in the dirt, watching the way you gush around his knuckles.
He doesn’t let up until your hips stutter from oversensitivity.
Leon pulls his fingers from you, wiping them haphazardly on his thigh before sucking the rest of your slick off of his fingers.
He leans over you, nudging his nose against the edge of your jaw just beneath your ear. “Got you in my bloodstream now, baby…gonna be able to hunt you down in these woods for the rest of my life.”
Leon’s tongue drags over his fingers—slow, filthy—before he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. His breathing is ragged against your skin.
The words are half-feral possession, half-sweet nothings. The kind of shit he only says when the predator in him has been thoroughly fed.
He shifts lower without breaking contact—kissing down your throat while one hand works at the button of his tactical pants.
Your body is still thrumming with the aftershocks of your orgasm, but Leon doesn’t give you a second to recover.
He shoves his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock—already hard, already leaking. The head nudges against your slick folds as he lines himself up, teasing, relishing in the soft whimpers and the way you tug at the ropes.
With a breathy chuckle, Leon sinks into your pussy. His eyes fall shut, groaning out with a deep rumble in his chest as he pulls your legs together, lifting your ankles up onto one shoulder.
Your cunt is soaked, still so pliant from coming that he slides in effortlessly. The stretch burns just enough to make you gasp, his cock thicker than his fingers.
He holds there for a second, his head hanging back as he grinds deep, letting you feel every inch his cock. His biceps flex where they cage your knees to his chest—the ropes creaking with the tension of your wrists above you.
“Fuck," he breathes. “Always so tight."
Leon starts moving—slow at first, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in with a filthy grind. Every thrust punches a punched-out moan from your lips, your body jolting with each snap of his hips.
He can feel how drenched you are—your arousal smearing onto his thighs as he fucks into you deeper, harder. The slap of skin echoes through the trees.
“Gonna fill this cunt up," he growls—promise and threat tangled together. “Mark my territory."
His hips punch up into you as he pulls your knees apart settling one leg on each shoulder. As you let out a loud moan, Leon surges forward, his hand clamping down hard over your mouth once more.
Leon’s palm muffles your cries as he hammers into you—every brutal thrust jostling your bound body against the tatters of your nightgown in the dirt. His other hand grips your hip hard enough to leave bruises, anchoring you in place so he can fuck up into that sweet spot relentlessly.
The sound of his hips smacking against yours is obscenely loud out here—the wet slaps mixing with his ragged breathing and the occasional growl ripped from his throat.
You plead out against his hand, brows knitted together, and the way his tip feels dragging along your walls is enough to have you trying to use the leverage of his shoulders to bounce on him from below.
Leon feels the way you try to fuck yourself on his cock and it nearly breaks him. His hips stutter—just for a second—before he regains control, slamming down harder.
“Ah-ah," he grits out, pinning your shoulders with one forearm to stop your movements. “I’min charge of this."
He lifts your legs higher onto his shoulders, bending you near in half as he starts pistoning into you with punishing rhythm—the angle making every thrust hit deep, that spot inside guaranteed to wreck you.
The sudden sharp punch of his cock inside you has you crying out against his hand, lips and mouth covered in sweat, tears and spit, eyes wide and gleaning with a thin layer of tears. A mess.
“There you are baby…there you fuckin are..”
Leon loves seeing you cry like this—loves the way your body clenches around him when overwhelmed. His thrusts turn downright feral, chasing his own release now as he feels that telltale coil in his gut.
“Gonna come," he warns through clenched teeth—no buildup, no warning beyond those two guttural words before his hips jerk erratically.
A hot rush fills you as Leon groans low and long—the first pulse of cum shooting deep inside while he grinds to milk every last drop.
Leon pumps his load into you with rough, grinding thrusts—each one milking another thick rope of cum from his cock. Your walls flutter around him, still oversensitive but taking it, squeezing every last drop out.
His hand moves from your mouth, allowing you to suck in a breath on the end of a raw moan. Your cunt grips him so tightly it almost hurts, legs wrapping around his middle.
He doesn’t pull out until he’s completely spent—just keeps rutting shallowly, chasing the aftershocks as his release spills hot between your thighs.
A final groan tears from him when he finally collapses over you, sweat-slick chest pressing down on yours while he nuzzles into your neck. The hand that was muffling you shifts to cradle your jaw instead—suddenly so fucking tender for a man who just ravaged you in the dirt like a pair of animals.
Leon kisses your jaw, your cheek—anywhere he can reach without having to lift his full weight off you. His breathing is still heavy, but slowing now.
“Fuck," he mumbles against your skin. “That was…"
He trails off, too wrecked for eloquence, too spent to keep up that predator persona much longer. Instead, he reaches around for the knife to cut through the rope from the tree root first—gentle with his fingers as they brush over your wrist where the fibers had dug in.
You sigh out as his fingers work to into you, spent and tired, bloodied in some places, bruised in others. “That was…insane…” You breathe out, squeezing your eyes closed.
Leon lifts you in his arms—one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back—as he starts the walk through the woods. Moonlight filters through trees, casting silver streaks over tangled limbs and sweat-slick skin.
He pauses only to kick aside a stray branch blocking their path, his steps steady despite carrying you. The house isn’t far now—the warm glow of lights visible between trunks.
“Gonna clean you up," he mutters against your hair. “Then we’re sleepin’ for a week."
“Sounds good…” You murmur, curled up against his chest and already well on your way.