route 69

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/65542420.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Reader, Leon S. Kennedy/You
Character: Leon S. Kennedy
Additional Tags: Penis In Vagina Sex, Smut, Cop Fetish, ignorance/racism but not on
purpose, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Car Sex, Creampie, Barebacking, leon
woc fetish
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2025-05-14 Words: 3,029 Chapters: 1/1
 route 69
by retardgirl

Summary

“Listen, sweetheart, you seem like a good girl, girls like you, they're good in school, study
hard, doctors, lawyers, all that stuff—“ He makes a vague hand gesture that is neither here
nor there. “—So I don’t wanna give you a ticket or a court date, but, uh, that doesn’t come for
free.”

Notes

im scared 2 post this all I have to say is im a fat brown woman and um my belly fat is going
to shield me from any backlash.. this fic was much worse and then I changed it to di leon and
made it more of him being ignorant without realising n having a fetish. readers race/ethnicity
isn’t specified but since im south asian i did write it w myself in head .. reading this back it’s

familiar😴
very south asian actually wow. some bits r taken from my old n deleted fics if they sound
i’ve been writers blocked 4 months so this is clunky n disjointed,, feedback n
kudos always appreciated :3 UNEDITED!!!!!!!!
You get pulled over beside a cornfield—Where Leatherface met Sally.

Okay, sure, you were speeding, like, a little bit, but it’s not like there’s anyone to crash into,
there’s no schools around here so no kid is going to wander into the road and splat against
your windshield like a bug, and there’s no deers so you really don’t see the problem. This
road is long and winding like an unfurled spool of silver ribbon, it’s scary, and the only
source of light is the fucking moon, and while there’s probably only a 0.01% chance of
something happening to you—This is Midwest America you’re talking about - land of the
free, birthplace of literally every serial killer like ever.

They have it all here: killer clowns, rapists, somebody’s coworker, zodiac killers, night
stalkers, mommy’s boys and cannibals.

An entire carousel of freaks.

He’s just a cop, you tell yourself, some overweight, gun-slinging, bible-thumping degenerate
that has to pick on generally polite and law-abiding women like me to feel good about
himself.

You press your face against the wheel and try not to think of Jason and Michael Myers and
that terribly evil, big-nosed clown with his stupidly small top hat.

Tap, tap, tap.

You don’t even look when you roll down the window, not until he sighs deeply and gives a
pointed, “Ahem.”

Don’t look at him wrong. Don’t smile at him wrong. Don’t even breathe wrong. Don’t give
him a reason.

When you lift your head you're met with his crotch. It’s not exactly a sight for sore eyes, but
it’s not exactly unwelcome—You can tell by those hands and those thighs and—well—that
dick that you’ve got him all wrong. He’s not fat or ugly. He’s a hot gun-slinging, bible-
thumping cop, and somehow that’s even worse.

“Do you know how fast you were going—“ He adjusts his belt, probably shifts his dick from
one side to the other side of his obscenely tight uniform before he bends down to peer into
your window. “—ma’am?”

Oh god.

He’s like hot hot.

Somewhere between retired underwear model and vintage pornstar hot. His eyes are the type
of blue you'd like to dip your toes into, and his name badge says Kennedy.

“Fast enough to get your attention?” You smile at him hopefully, sitting up straighter and
shifting your body towards the window to show him your perfectly planted cleavage.
Officer Kennedy seems to take that into consideration, nodding thoughtfully while he looks
right down your work blouse and at the scalloped cups of your lucky lace bra. It’s always
been there to get you out of a pinch—like that presentation today, if you hadn’t stood directly
under that spotlight with that bra and that sheer blouse, you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be
getting a promotion and such a glowing recommendation.

When he’s done checking you out, Officer Kennedy asks for your license and registration,
you rifle around in the glove compartment and pretend not to notice a pack of condoms
falling to the ground.

He leans forward, peering through the open window, yoi catch sight of the ID clipped to his
shirt. “Think we might have a code M&M on our hands,” Officer Leon Kennedy says.

“A what?” You dig out your insurance papers and hand them over, fingers trembling when
you go to get your license from your card wallet—You haven’t done anything bad, you went
over the speed limit, it’s not like you’re lying about your papers, it’s not like you have a body
in the trunk—It’s just the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s speaking to you.

“Y’know, Mexican or Muslim—Aw, don’t look at me like that, it’s just a joke, don’t make me
feel bad about a joke.” He clicks his tongue like he’s embarrassed. “I’m not like that,” Leon
continues as he squints at your license, “I don’t have a problem with anyone or anything, it’s
just how we talk down at the station.”

You just blink at him. What are you even meant to say to that?

“Tough crowd.” He shrugs and hands everything back to you, for just a moment you think
you might be able to get away with a slap on the wrist, but you don’t go to his church, you
don’t sound like him, you don’t wave around little flags on the Fourth of July, you’ve never
even had a casserole, and you most certainly don’t look like anyone he would call a friend.
“Here ya go.” He sticks his hand through the window, waving around a fine.

“I can’t pay that,” you blurt out, and you want to be smart and tell him that you know
speeding doesn’t cost that much, he could just give you a point on your license and it would
all be fine and dandy, but you’re panicking.

“Didn’t think so.” Leon gives you a pointed look—Like, like he planned this, like he’s setting
you up, and he is, he so is—You’re tired and upset and wary about the gun he’s wielding on
that belt. “You know,” he sighs, glances at your strategically unbuttoned shirt, “there’s
something else you could do for me.”

Okay, this is good, it sounds more like the start of a bad porno than a horror movie and you’re
alright with that. You can do porn, you can take dicks, but you can’t take chainsaws or hooks
or needles or anything of the sort.

To be coy, you blink at him slowly, tears beading your lashes like morning dew. “I have a
boyfriend, Officer.”

“Ah…” Leon seems to take it seriously, like abusing authority is fine as long as a woman’s
single—but the moment she’s taken? He’s got morals. “Arranged marriage, huh?”
You blink at him. Again. And again. And again.

“No…” You say slowly—Oh, what the hell. “Yeah, forced marriage, it’s a whole thing, if I
don’t make it back tonight I'm in for a beating—That’s why I was speeding actually, officer, I
just want to get home before it’s too late.”

“Damn shame.” Leon shakes his head, the gravel crunching under his boots as he shifts.
“Treating a pretty girl like that…Nice skin, pretty hair, big eyes—That’s just not right.”

So he’s like that - the type to call you a princess in bed and a terrorist at the airport, the type
to fuck you and let you know that his buddies can’t find out about this, he doesn’t change the
radio station when a rap song comes on when he drops you two blocks away from your
house.

“Listen, sweetheart, you seem like a good girl, girls like you, they're good in school, study
hard, doctors, lawyers, all that stuff—“ He makes a vague hand gesture that is neither here
nor there. “—So I don’t wanna give you a ticket or a court date, but, uh, that doesn’t come for
free.”

“I understand, officer.” You bat your lashes at him, biting back a smile. This isn’t so bad, you
got a promotion and now you’re getting laid. There’s no axe murderers or rapists in sight, just
a cop with his dick in the right place.

“Good girl.” He nods, pleased, and then he switches off his radio. “So, you do that for that
prick at home or me?” Leon’s eyes drift to your cleavage, to your thighs in that short skirt, it
keeps riding up the more you squirm in your seat.

“I like uniforms,” you tell him innocently, “can’t help it.”

Leon laughs, slow and knowing. “I bet you do.” His fingers brush his belt, not to reach for his
gun, but to unbutton them. You poke your head a little further out the window, his hand finds
the back of your head, guiding you to his dick. His gun-slinging, bible-thumping dick that
you fully intend to put in your mouth - you’ve made your bed and now you're kneeling in it.
“I don’t have a breathalyser with me, so this’ll do.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as your warm mouth closes in on the tip, he’s big, but not
in the way that makes your jaw ache—If he wanted to do that he’d find better luck shoving a
gun in your mouth.

“Fuck, wait.” He lets out a soft grunt and pulls his cock from your mouth, smudges of red
lipstick and strings of spit keeping his tip and your lips together.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him, heart thumping out of your chest—Did he change his mind?
Did he have, like, an epiphany? Was it bad? Oh god, what if someone saw you? What if there
really is a murderer out here and everybody knows they always go for you when you’re
fucking—

Leon opens the back door—You were worried about murderers and hillbillies but your doors
weren’t even locked. “Get in the back.”
“Oh.” You let out a breath of relief, climbing over the handbrake and losing a heel on the way
over to meet him. He braces an arm against the roof of your car as you kiss the tip off his
cock, letting dribbles of pre wet your lips.

“Fuck,” Leon groans, one hand rests atop your head, “you’re trouble, I should’ve cuffed
you.”

“I would’ve liked it,” you mumble around a mouthful of fat cock, you should be ashamed of
soaking through your poor thong, but you’re not. That ticket would feel a hundred times
worse than a sore throat.

“Speak English.” He gives you this cheeky smile when you let out a noise of surprise, but
you’re too concerned with taking him deep in your throat to start an argument—So he gets
away with it like he has a million times before. If it were any other day you'd give him a
piece of your mind. Really, you would. Honest. Once his tip knocks the back of your throat,
you start speaking his language, gagging wetly as you swallow around him, one hand trailing
down to grasp his heavy balls. You feel him pulse, and he curses under his breath. “That got
you going, huh?” He snorts, amused and all sorts of turned on.

When you pull off with a pop, you go straight to licking up the seam of his balls. “You having
fun down there, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” It’s muffled as you take one into your mouth and then the other, you like to play with
your food, and sucking up (read: off) took you so far in school.

“C’mon, enough of that,” Leon hums, pushing you off gently like you’re a kitten clawing at
the hem of his trousers. You go to whine and then wonder what your parents would think of
this and zip your mouth shut. Your grandmother came to America for what? For this? For you
to let any old pig put his dick in your guts? Whatever. Whatever. He’s a hot pig. He’s like the
cutest guy you’ll find for miles, and you’ve already gone to college, you’ve got a good job,
why can’t you indulge? “Scooch over.”

You shuffle back, skirt hiking up your thighs until it’s more of a belt, he wedges himself
between your thighs—Your legs dangle out the door, and you're still worried something or
someone is going to come out of the cornfield waving around a scythe and cut up both your
bodies like a canvas, but you’re wet and he’s on top of you and there’s no going back now.

“Wait—Keep it on,” you gasp softly as he lifts the hem of his uniform shirt.

“Why? You like it?” He asks, blinking at you with those big blue eyes, they’re clear like a
summer afternoon.

Obviously.

“I dunno…I kinda like it, feels wrong.” You take his hand in yours once he drops the
bunched up fabric, bringing it to feel how wet you’ve gotten.

“What? The badge? The uniform?” He looks smug, like you're some kinky act of rebellion
for him—Well, you don’t really have the right to speak on things like that.
“The gun,” you say softly, flashing him your sweetest smile.

“You're dirty,” he tells you with a groan, lining up his cock with your soft cunt, dragging the
fat head up and down your folds, letting it brush over your throbbing clit just to see you
writhe.

“Hurry,” you whine, digging your nails into his biceps, you want him to split you straight
down the middle. “Wait—Are you married?”

“Does it matter?” Leon asks before he pushes in with one single glide, you're so wet there’s
no resistance, just the slight stretch of a pleasantly big dick, tip nudging your cervix.

“Oh my god.” You drag your nails down his back, legs going rigid as pleasure prickles your
spine. “I was just—just wondering.” You bet there’s someone. Blonde, short, small, the kind
he can bring home with no judgement.

“Probably should’ve asked before you sucked my dick.” Leon huffs out a breath as he shifts
his hips, angling deeper, making you sniffle as he drops his sweaty forehead to press against
yours. He’s so deep you feel him everywhere, you can’t escape him and you don’t want to.

His cock drags in and out of your slick cunt, one of his hands is by your head and the other
settles on your tummy, trailing down until he finds your swollen clit. The pad of his thumb
rolls over the soft bud as he fucks into you, pussy clicking wetly with each sharp thrust.

If you had any dignity left, if you weren’t twenty seconds away from gushing all over him,
you'd probably be embarrassed by the noise. The wet squelch each time he bottoms out, the
smack of his balls on your ass, the way you’re whining like a fucking, boot-licking idiot.

“Wait—Wait, I can’t—“ You push at his abdomen, wanting him to ease up as you feel the
pressure build deep in your gut, there’s no time to feel guilty when it feels so fucking good,
when your cunt tightens and he presses down on your clit and your poor Honda Civic—She’s
been subjected to a lot tonight.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, sweetheart.” Leon cups your cheek, his hand is softer and smaller than
you expected, gentler than the one that’s pinching your clit and making you sob into your fist.
“Go on, good girl.”

You think you black out when it happens, and you don’t know why. It was good, sure, but it
wasn’t, like, deserving of a pornstar reaction, and you just gave that—Boosted his already
huge ego, made a fool out of yourself, disappointed whoever in your line of ancestors
decided the shift to America was a good idea.

“You do that for your husband?” His voice is strained, his thrusts are sloppy, his mouth is
hanging open as he ruts into your messy cunt.

“I don’t actually have—It’s the uniform.” You think about the box of condoms on the floor
and hook your legs around him, digging one kitten heel and one regular human heel into his
ass to keep him from running away.
Leon’s eyes go wide, he opens his mouth to protest, and then you squeeze his dick so tight it
empties his brain and his balls. He even looks good when he cums. Adam’s apple bobbing,
lips parted, a perfectly timed rivulet of sweat drips down his temple as he fills you up.

The quiet after all of it is said and done kind of makes you wish you did hear a chainsaw
revving somewhere in the distance. He buckles his belt as you pull your thong back into
place, dried cum sticking to your thighs, dripping onto your poor old car. You have driven a
million relatives back and forth in this little thing, you take your mom to the doctors and your
grandma to the grocers and now she’s ruined.

His radio is switched back on, you find both your shoes and place them on the passenger seat.
You can’t drive in this state, not when your legs are wobbling so bad you wouldn’t be able to
step on the brakes. Maybe that’s what you need to do. Drive head first into a wall.

“I can drive you home,” Leon offers after he watches you stare at the windshield blankly,
“Can get somebody to bring your car over in the morning.”

You accept and wonder who he voted for as he drives. His pinned radio stations are all some
sort of rock, but there’s no country and that makes you feel a little better.

He grabs your wrist before you get out, all blue-eyed and earnest. “I hope…I hope I didn’t
get you into trouble with your folks, I know how they get, your people, I don’t want, uh,
anything to happen to you.”

You look at your house. All the lights are off. There’s not a single car parked in the drive.
There’s nothing because you live with no one but yourself. You thought cops were meant to
have deductive skills.

“And if your husband gives you any trouble, you can call me, for real this time—Not, not for
that, but for help,” he finishes clumsily, like he didn’t raw you in the middle of an open road
while he was on fucking duty.

“I don’t have…” You look at him, like really hard, remnants of red lipstick on the collar of
his blue uniform, his seed staining your panties white. “I’ll tell you if he gives me any
trouble,” you say, only because you know he needs a reason to come and see you, he couldn't
be casual with somebody like you. He’s going to knock on your door with a warrant just so
he can fuck you into your mattress.

“Okay.” He nods, lips twitching into a smile. “I’ll bring the handcuffs next time.”

I’ll bring a fucking veil next time so I can hang you or myself, maybe an anklet or two if
you’re into that officer.

You fix a smile onto your face. “Goodnight, Officer.”