saw 5sos a month ago, and i’m still in my post concert depression era 😔
Summary: Steve’s holding onto the memories he has of you, hoping desperately that you’ll come back to him from the prison your mind is trapped in.
WC: 5.4k
Warnings & What to Expect: reader is in the coma instead of max, mentions of hospitals, super quick needle mention, reader unable to move her body after waking up from the coma (similar to Max), brief descriptions of death, blood, and grieving, some horror elements, talks of having kids, season 5 plot but i have changed things around for the sake of the imagine, some details inspired by the song, lots of angst with a happy ending!
Peach’s (Jenn’s) Note: this is based off of this request 😭 it’s been quite a bit lovie, so sorry for the delay. writers block has beef with me rn. hoping you enjoy 🧡
“And then he made me sort the tapes. Again,” Steve huffs, head thrown back against the couch in frustration.
“That’s annoying,” you hum, carding a hand through his hair and pushing it back behind his ear.
“Right? You don’t think I’m being dramatic do you? Robin’s been giving me shit about it all week,” he whines, tilting his head to look at you.
“Not at all, baby,” you reply, dragging your free hand up the expanse of his chest to fiddle with the collar of his shirt.
Truthfully, you thought he was being a bit of a drama queen. But you weren’t going to tell him that when you were perched on his lap - curled up against him as he ranted on about how Keith was making his job at Family Video harder than it needed to be.
“He’s doing it on purpose too. The asshole wants to torture me into quitting,” Steve huffs.
“That’s so unfair,” you muse, shifting yourself closer to wrap your arms around his neck.
He continues to gripe about Keith being an asshole, Robin egging it on, and the never ending flow of customers who are rude to him.
And you’re trying to listen, really you are. But he’s looking particularly gorgeous today - clad in his light wash jeans that hug his thighs and the cute little polo shirt that peeks out from under his work vest. The first couple of buttons are popped open, exposing a small tuft of chest hair underneath that’s practically begging you to feel him up.
Your eyes wander to his lips as they move rapidly, then to his eyes that look dark brown in the moonlight and hazel in the shine of the daylight. You move on to tracking the unlimited amount of freckles and moles that dance across his skin, the same ones you swear you could count one day if he held still long enough.
God he’s a vision, and you just have to let him know.
“You’re so pretty, Stevie,” you grin, interrupting him mid rant.
Steve raises his eyebrows, “Oh you think so, honey?”
“Mhm,” you hum, pressing your lips along his jawline - giggling when you notice the kiss prints drenching his skin.
“Why’d you stop?” He frowns playfully, arms locking around your waist.
Your thumb rubs at the smudges littering along his jaw, “Lipstick’s getting on you.”
“Don’t wipe it off,” he complains, “I like being marked by you.”
The statement makes you bashful, and you can feel heat creeping up your cheeks.
“You blushing, baby?” He grins, which furthers the flush that you feel rushing to the tips of your ears.
“No,” you mutter, ducking your head.
He pouts, “Oh c’mon, sweet girl, don’t hide from me.”
Steve’s thumb and pointer finger hook under your chin, coaxing you to look at him.
But when you do, there’s something off about him. You can’t tell what it is, but it’s there - like a slight glimmer wavering around him, coating his being in something sickly that you don’t understand.
“Steve?” Your eyebrows furrow, trying to make sense of the image in front of you.
“Don’t hide from me,” his voice turns sour, becoming bitter and dark as it envelops you.
You try to move, desperate for answers, but something is tethering you to him - forcing you to stay still.
“It’s only a matter of time before I find you,” he sneers, face twisting and contorting - human flesh turning into grotesque veins.
You’re no longer in Steve’s living room, cozied up next to him while he frets about his day. Instead, you're in the lap of an all too familiar figure that you’ve been relentlessly trying to run from.
“Let me go!” You scream, fighting with every fiber to break away from his hold.
When it gives, you’re thrust backwards - landing in a puddle of remains, trying not to think too hard about whose they might be.
Your body is heavy, aching with exhaustion as you stare up into the abyss of the world you can’t comprehend, the one you’ve been trapped in since that fateful night Vecna consumed you.
You know you’re a target out in the open like this, a sitting duck for him to hunt down, but you’re tired of resisting - growing weary that you may never return to the physical realm.
And so you let yourself drift, succumbing to sleep from one world of nightmares to the next.
The combination of the bright fluorescent lights, low drum of machines whirring, and strong scent of disinfectant never failed to give Steve a headache.
It throbbed menacingly, a strong stinging sensation that felt like a bruise being poked over and over again - almost like it was warning him that each time he stepped into the miserable place of Hawkins Memorial, he’d be leaving disappointed.
But he would take a headache every damn day of his life if it meant you weren’t the one resting on the hospital bed in front of him.
“C’mon, honey. Need you to pull through this,” Steve mumbles, thumb stroking along the frigid skin of your hand that’s wrapped in his.
You’re unresponsive, as you have been for the past year and a half, and Steve’s never been more anguished than watching each day tick by without a sign that you could hear him.
“I don’t know how much longer I can do this without you. Things are,” he sighs heavily, shaking his head, “not great.”
He grasps onto your hand more firmly, threading his fingers through yours and brings your arm to his lips. He tenderly presses kisses to your skin - careful to avoid the needle digging into the tissue underneath your forearm that's connected to an IV drip.
“This quarantine is driving people stir crazy. The crawls keep leading nowhere. And your brother,” he trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.
Dustin had been a huge pain in his ass for the past few months. Steve knew the teenager was grieving - knew that he lost a piece of himself when he lost Eddie and couldn’t fathom the idea of having to live in a world without his older sister too. And he knew that Dustin also had far too much pressure thrust upon him than he should at his age.
But your brother was taking it out on Steve - constantly snapping, snarking, and throwing harsh quips his way.
Steve was nearing his boiling point over it - ready to open his mouth and release words of fire that he wouldn’t be able to take back. Each time he almost did so, he was reminded of you.
Reminded that he barely had time to say goodbye before you were ripped away from him, which ultimately always made Steve resist the urge to lob something hurtful back towards Dustin.
So instead of telling your motionless body that your little brother was being a raging prick to him, Steve simply says, “He needs you.”
Steve thinks about the night he lost you often, though it continues to rip open the wound in his heart again and again each time he replays it in his memories.
“You can’t,” Steve had protested.
“I can,” you replied firmly, thumb easing against the little wrinkle that formed over his brow bone.
Steve swallowed thickly, “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you have Nancy and Robin to fight with you. Dustin has Eddie to protect him. But Max and Lucas need one of us. I’m going with them, Steve,” you answered, set in your decision to not leave them behind.
“That wasn’t the plan,” he retorted, gripping your waist tightly.
“It wasn’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t let them go alone,” you countered.
Steve felt his throat tighten, felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fill his eyes, “I don’t want you to leave me.”
“Steve,” you cupped his face, fingers splaying out gently along the expanse of his neck, “I need you to trust me.”
“I do trust you, but I’m scared. You said it yourself, this time is different. Heavier. One of us might not make it out of this, and it cannot be you,” he implored, reaching up to grasp lovingly at your wrists.
You took a deep breath, “Steve, I love you, and-.”
He shook his head, cutting you off, “No. No, don’t do that to me. Don’t act like this is goodbye.”
“But it could be,” you whispered, “and I need you to know that you’ll be fine without me if something does happen.”
Steve scoffed at the thought, “I would never be the same without you.”
“You’d have to try. For Dustin. For me,” you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his.
He closed his eyes, let his hands slide down to your elbows - tried to ground himself in the moment, because if it truly was the last time he touched you, then he wanted to soak in your presence - bathe himself in these tiny pieces of yourself you were giving him before you were gone.
And when Steve heard the four chimes of that fucking clock a couple hours later, he thought Max was a goner - didn’t realize he was the one that would be brought to his knees at the sight of you, broken and bloody in her arms.
Steve still can’t shake Dustin’s cries that night - had to watch him scream his lungs out over Eddie dying before he repeated the same devastating noise at the sight of you.
He hears it in his nightmares, hears the screeching of the demobats, hears the own strangled sound of despair he let out when he saw you lying lifelessly in the aftermath of the battle.
The steady beep of your heart monitor drags Steve out of the horrific things that plague his mind, trying to focus back in on the sight of you in front of him - not moving, but at least you’re breathing.
“I need you,” he admits brokenly, forehead dropping down to rest against your thigh.
His palm lands against your knee, thumb brushing lazily over the thin material of the white cotton blanket that covers you.
“Please, honey. If you can hear me at all, find a way to show me,” he begs, feeling an overwhelming amount of agony from the lack of your reply.
A light knock at the door makes him look up to see Robin poking her head in, lifting her fingers in a brief wave to announce her presence.
She tentatively walks across the room towards Steve, quietly taking a seat next to him. She knows better than to ask if anything has changed at this point, and Steve finds her silence sickening, because god when Robin is silent - it meant that she thought things were bad.
“Steve,” she eventually says, placing a hand on his back.
He makes a rapt noise of recognition for her, but doesn’t take his longing eyes off of you - admiring your beauty even in the dullness that’s taken over your features from being stagnant for so long.
“When was the last time you showered?” Robin probs, no judgment in her tone - just pure concern for the well being of her friend.
“Dunno,” he mumbles desolately.
“Go home,” she presses, “take care of yourself. You know she’d be heartbroken if she saw you wallowing like this.”
Steve hates that she’s right, but still doesn’t move from his spot, “I don’t wanna leave her alone.”
“She won’t be alone. I’ll stay with her. Plus, I brought another visitor,” Robin tilts her head to the hallway, silently insinuating whoever came with her is out there.
“Dustin?” He questions.
Robin nods softly, “Yeah. The little twerp insisted he come today. Said he had a feeling she might wake up soon.”
“God, I hope so,” Steve admits.
“Me too,” she agrees quietly.
They sit in silence for a few minutes before he sighs, untangling himself from you before standing up.
“Gonna go home and freshen up, then I’m coming right back,” Steve declares while heading for the door.
Dustin’s leaning against the wall when Steve exits, “No updates?”
Steve closes his eyes briefly, disappointment washing over him at the question, “No. You doing okay, man?”
Dustin shrugs noncommittedly, “Could be better.”
“Yeah, same,” Steve replies dully.
He misses his friendship with the boy, hates the strained riff that hangs over their heads.
And he misses you. Misses how you could mediate things between the two of them. He often finds himself wondering if you never come to, if things will ever return to the way they once were between himself and your brother.
He places a soothing hand on Dustin’s shoulder, “I’m stepping out for a bit. Call me if you need me.”
Dustin nods solemnly, not bothering to bid Steve goodbye before walking into your room.
You wake up to the sound of Steve begging, watching as he clings to your frail body.
Please, honey. If you can hear me at all, find a way to show me.
His voice rings in your ears, the statement a loud roar echoing through your brain, but the sound of it is ripped away when you see the clouds beginning to shift - covering the vision in the hazy red of the sky.
“Steve!” Your throat feels raw from screaming his name, pleading for him to return to you.
You’ve lost track of how many times reaching him has been at the tips of your fingers, only for the illusion to fade - like a carpet being yanked from under you with nowhere soft to land.
Tears stream down your face as you frantically spin around, praying that you could see him one more time.
“No, please, no,” you cry, stumbling over a gnarled root that sticks out from the ground.
You land harshly on your knees, hands cutting open from the fall - nauseated by the blood that starts to seep out.
You squeeze your eyes shut, “It’s not real. It’s not real.”
The phrase is what keeps you going - playing on repeat because you know that your physical body is intact, have seen it when that blissful image of Steve appears in the thunderous clouds above you.
You’ve watched him hopelessly for months now, maybe longer, but time has been too hard to keep track of in this prison world that Henry has locked you away in. You’ve been hiding from him - somehow finding holes in his mind, and he lets you linger in pockets of memories that he won’t enter.
It feels like he’s toying with you sometimes, willing to let you go if you can play his game and find the way out. But as each day passes, you find it harder to distinguish what’s tangible and what’s not - slowly dwindling into madness.
The only thing keeping you from spiraling completely has been the glimpses of moments with Steve that flash in brief seconds before withering away.
You can feel one starting to creep into the crevices of your brain; the time you admitted you saw a future with him.
You were at Lover's Lake, watching the sun set across the horizon - fading into faint pinks and oranges as it drifted down.
The two of you were lounging on the hood of Steve’s Beamer, basking in the warmth of the summer evening - listening to the chittering of nightlife taking over.
Steve was leaning backwards, extending his legs to let your head rest on his lap, and his hand was combing gently through your hair.
“You’ve been quiet for a while, Stevie,” you mumbled, eyes growing heavy in content from his fingers working at your scalp.
“Hmm,” he hummed softly, eyes flickering towards you.
“I wanna know what you’re thinking about,” you rolled over, allowing yourself to look up at him.
If you could burn the image of him behind your eyelids you would, because the look on his face was one of pure adoration - staring in awe of your radiance.
“When I was younger, my parents would take me here during the summer,” he moved his thumb to brush gingerly along your jaw.
“Yeah?” You prompted, curious to know where he was going with that lead.
“Yeah. They were always distracted though. They’d be giving each other the silent treatment after an argument, or they were too focused on worrying about appearances in front of other families. Forced me to get really good at being creative since I didn’t have anyone to play with,” he continued, letting his index finger skim over the delicate skin under your eyes.
“There had to have been other kids there,” you remarked.
He shrugged, “There were, but uh, if you can believe it, I was kind of shy back then.”
Your heart faltered at the thought of him being a child and feeling the weight of being left out, even if it wasn’t intentional.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured, curling a hand into the fabric of his shirt.
“Don’t be. It made me realize that I won’t ever let my kids have to experience that,” he mused.
Your breath hitched, “Your kids?”
“Well, our kids. They’d have each other at least and-,” Steve cut himself off after realizing what he revealed.
His eyes squeezed shut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in embarrassment, “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
You watched him internally panic for a second, before pushing yourself up so you could relieve the tension that you saw settling over his shoulders.
“Hey,” you started, pressing a reassuring hand against his thigh.
“That was stupid, forget it,” he groaned, dragging a hand roughly down his face.
“What if I don’t want to forget it?” You refuted.
“You mean it?” He asked timidly.
You crossed your legs underneath you and wrapped a hand around his bicep.
“I’ve thought about it too,” you admitted.
His eyes grew glassy as he let out a sharp breath of disbelief through his nose, “Seriously?”
You released a quiet laugh, “Of course. I know we’re young, but I see a future with you, Steve. And I can’t see myself having any of it - kids, marriage, whatever it may be - if you’re not there with me.”
“Fuck, I think I’m falling in love with you,” he confessed.
You let your eyelids flutter closed - nose nudging his, “It’s about time, Harrington. Because I know I’m falling in love with you.”
Steve slotted his lips with yours, no longer able to hold himself back from proving to you the unadulterated affection he has for you - capturing your mouth hungrily in swift, greedy presses to emphasize his appreciation.
You pulled back just a fraction, “Plus, we’ve got practice carting Dustin around. He’s kind of like our trial run, isn’t he?”
Steve laughed against your mouth, giddily pressing his lips against yours until you were light-headed with want.
The memory jolts something within you, like numb limbs gaining strength after falling asleep, and suddenly you can see it; the picture of yourself opening up in front of you, nearly paces away.
A sudden burst of sentences reverberates throughout the inner workings of your being.
Fight for Dustin. For me.
I need you, honey. We all need you.
I can’t do this without you, baby.
Please, come back to me.
It’s the last one, spoken so rawly by your lover that it spurs you on, forces you to move your feet from a trudge to a sprint - recognizing that this moment is critical, the one that could change the tides and tip the scale towards your loved ones victory against the sinister world you’ve been bound in.
There’s only one name that echoes inside of you as you get closer to a taste of the world - the real one, the one that you’ve been separated from for far too long - and it’s Steve.
Steve.
Steve.
Steve.
Steve throws his keys on the kitchen counter, scrubbing his hands over his eyes, pressure building from yet another day without you waking up.
He leans against the cold surface, back digging into the granite as his eyes find the coffee cup that sits idle by the sink. It was your favorite to use when you spent the night at his place, and there’s a faint lipstick stain that’s wrapped around the rim - dust collecting inside the unwashed dish.
Steve can’t help but feel haunted by the ghost of you in his own home.
He lets himself pretend through the fragments of you he has left, because he’s starting to forget what your voice sounded like, what your touch felt like, what it felt like to be looked up and down by you when he wore your favorite yellow sweater of his. The same one he was wearing when you recognized that you were in love with him. Which was now gone, and yet another torturous reminder of his loss.
It’s why the coffee cup sits untouched, why he can’t sleep on your side of the bed, why he can’t bring himself to wash the last t-shirt you slept in. He swears there’s lingering traces of your perfume wafting through the air sometimes from it.
He imagines you dancing in the emptiness of his living room, twirling in his arms because if he lets himself sink into reality; he fears it means accepting that he’s lost you, that there’s no hope for you to return to him.
The first thing you notice when you come to is the darkness that reigns behind your eyelids. You can feel your muscles twitching, aching to move, but your body is not cooperating with the messages that your brain is signal firing.
You hear a sharp intake of breath, feel the warm press of someone’s hand slip into yours, the scrap of a chair indicating they’re moving closer.
The familiar rumble of your little brother’s voice infiltrates the room.
“Dusty?” You slur, tongue feeling heavy from not being used.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he squeezes your hand.
“Where, w-,?” You stutter, feeling an aggravating pain shoot through your vocal chords.
“Hey, take it slow. It’s been a while since you’ve talked,” Dustin reprimands.
“Steve,” you whisper, voice cracking - desperate to know where he is, eyes in a flurry of movement from trying to peel open.
Dustin slowly swims into your gaze, though it’s still blurry, and the intensity of the lights shining in your eyes causes streaks to glide across the room.
Another head comes into frame, and you recognize Robin’s voice before you can even see her clearly.
“Holy shit, Henderson. You’re awake,” she squeals, making your face pinch up in a wince.
“Robin,” Dustin seethes.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just so good to see you moving. Harrington’s going to be beside himself,” she says eagerly, voice lowering significantly.
At the mention of your boyfriend, you try to fight against the lethargy that’s taken over your body.
“Steve, I need Steve,” you croak, feeling like cotton’s been shoved in your mouth with how dry it is.
Robin jumps out of her seat, “I’ll call him.”
“Can you get the nurse after?” Dustin asks, and she nods her head before swiftly exiting the room.
You try to force yourself into a sitting position, wiggling around in frustration at the fact that you can’t seem to control your body.
Dustin places his hands on your shoulders, “You’ve been immobile for a long time. You need to stop before you hurt yourself.”
“Dustin, I need Steve,” you repeat, tears quickly filling your lash line.
“Wow, not even a hi for your favorite brother?” He jokes, reaching out to brush a stray tear of yours away with his knuckle.
“I’m so sorry, Dusty,” your head starts to clear, fog disappearing - realizing your only brother is the one here for you, and all you can think about is Steve.
“It’s okay. I just missed you, you know?” His throat constricts, leaning forward on his knees.
“I missed you too,” you utter, giving him a small smile.
Dustin catches you up to speed on the things you’ve missed - Eddie passing, Hawkins splitting open, El returning, searching for Vecna, and the list goes on.
“Steve brought me out of this. I don’t know how, but he did,” you murmur once he’s finished.
“That doesn’t surprise me. He’s been hovering over you nonstop. Usually isn’t gone for more than an hour at a time if he can help it,” Dustin grins.
“Really?” Your smile wobbles, heart swelling at the thought of him waiting for you.
“Yeah, he,” Dustin pauses, because it was once hard for him to believe his next words, “he really loves you.”
It’s then that the nurse comes in, paging for a doctor before hustling over towards you.
“It would be helpful if you stepped out so we could run some evaluations on her,” she instructs him politely.
“No way. I’m not leaving her,” Dustin scowls.
“It’s okay, Dusty. I’m okay. Just, get Steve for me, please?” You request weakly.
He sighs at your insistence, “If you need anything, have someone get me. Robin and I will be in the hallway.”
Robin frowns when she sees him step out of your room, “He’s not picking up.”
“He’s probably on his way back,” Dustin guesses.
The two of them sink into the chairs that line the hallway, feeling antsy at the span of time without being able to check in with you.
Finally the doctor leaves, sharing some brief updates about the stability of your condition - leaving to contact Claudia Henderson, who no doubt will be making her way to the hospital in record time when she hears the news.
Dustin stands, stretching out his arms, and Robin immediately seizes his hand - lugging him to crouch behind a medical cart that just happens to be big enough to hide them.
“Robin, what the hell?” Dustin yelps, and she swiftly covers his mouth with her hand.
She points down the hall towards Steve, who’s rounding the corner.
“Why are we hiding from Steve? We want him to know,” Dustin slaps her hand away.
“Because if we run into him, I’m gonna blabber about it and don’t you think it’ll be better for him to find out on his own?” She quips back, gesturing at the melancholy look on her best friend's face.
Dustin gives a hesitant pause, but ultimately concedes, “Yeah, guess you’re right. But I call spying on them from the doorway.”
Robin rolls her eyes, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Steve’s perfected the route to your room where he’ll avoid running into nurses that like to give him looks of pity each time he shows up.
He first stops by the vending machines to grab himself a shitty coffee and a snack for you. It’s a habit he can’t put down, buying something for you despite the fact that you can’t eat it right now.
There’s a whole box full of items that sits untouched in your hospital room - overflowing with expired food at this point, but Steve doesn’t have the heart to throw them out.
He trods up the back staircase, avoiding eye contact with anyone who could possibly stop him and ask where he was headed. Finally, he stops by your door which is now closed - probably Dustin’s doing he assumes, who likes to claim it keeps the noise level to a minimum. The walls are paper thin not matter what, but Steve doesn’t have the energy to debate him on it.
He swings the door open, and starts to chatter, which is his typical routine when he’s visiting you.
“Well, honey, I got you the regular M&M’s today. They were out of the peanut ones. Can you believe that shit? What kind of establishment runs out of the best type of-,” Steve’s rambling is cut off when he walks into your room and sees you, sitting up - on your own.
The coffee in Steve’s hands crashes to the floor, black liquid seeping across the vinyl flooring - soaking into the bottom of his jeans and coating his Nike shoes with the maroon swoops, arguably having just ruined his favorite pair, but it’s the least of his concerns.
His jaw drops in disbelief, blinking rapidly to decide if you were a figment of his imagination, wondering if his brain is making you up due to sleep deprivation.
“Hi Stevie,” you rasp, wishing you could throw yourself at him.
Steve’s frozen, planted on the spot he’s standing in, because hearing your voice - the same one that he swore he might’ve been forgetting - has just bloomed out of you, flooding his brain as it ricochets around the room.
“Steve,” you whimper, can’t help but let out a breathy sob at seeing him just a handful of feet in front of you.
The whine that escapes you knocks him back into motion, practically skidding through the spilled coffee and kneeling down by the edge of your bed - legs digging into the hard floor.
“Am I dreaming?” He asks, hands reaching out to you - stopping himself from touching you because he’ll surely be wrecked to find that none of this is real.
You smile faintly, “I don’t think so.”
Steve carefully lets his fingers glide across your palm, and when your fingers twitch - feebly curling around his own for the first time in ages, he can’t help but let the tears track down his face which sets off your own.
“God, I can’t believe you’re real. And here. How are you here?” His lips part, uncertainty still keeping him at bay.
You’re not ready to disclose the torture you’ve been through, so you simply lock your fingers through his and plead, “Hold me?”
Steve’s mouth flounders, letting himself finally believe he hasn’t somehow conjured up a replica of you, “Course I can, honey. C’mere.”
He scooches himself onto the bed, maneuvering your body to rest against him - back pressed to his chest, head tucked under his chin while his arms wrap tightly around you.
“I’m so sorry,” he groans, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, honey.”
“It’s okay, Steve,” you try to reassure him.
“No, I knew not to leave you today. Dustin had a feeling you'd come back to us soon. Little shit is always right,” he grumbles, hating himself for not being there.
Fragile laughter bubbles up within you, “He always is, isn’t he?”
“I’m so sorry,” he cries, tucking his face into the crook of your neck.
“Steve,” you tilt your head back just a fraction, the best you can do for now, “you have nothing to be sorry for, baby. I know you’ve been here every day.”
“Because I knew you’d come back to me,” he tenderly dots kisses to the back of your neck.
“And I knew you wouldn’t give up on me,” you murmur, sniffling as you feel the pressure behind your eyelids build again.
“Never,” his voice is warm, laid bare with honesty.
Steve continues to grace you with his devotion, mapping your body with his hands, and it’s intimate in a way you’ve never experienced with him before.
“Can’t believe you’re here,” he repeats himself, letting the phrase hang between you two as he continues to lavish you - nose grazing your jawline, lips attaching sweetly under your ear before catching the corner of your mouth.
You suddenly feel the wet droplets that roll down his pretty face and land on the slope of your collarbone, making you itch to wipe his tears away. You try your best to shift, but no matter how much effort you put into it, you can’t get your body to move, which makes you grunt in irritation.
“What’s wrong? Does something hurt, honey?” He implores.
You bite your lip in annoyance at not being able to comfort him, “No. It’s just, I can’t move yet, and you're crying.”
Understanding ripples across his expression - knowing you're aching to provide him solace. He brings your hand up to his cheek, guiding your fingers to wipe swiftly under his eyes, along the highs of his cheekbones, before trailing down to catch the tears that puddle under his jaw.
It’s messy, but a reminder that you’re miraculously here in his arms.
“I love you,” he rasps, inhaling sharply - still in astonishment that you haven’t slipped away yet, that you haven't dissolved like ice melting under the ray of the burning sun.
And when Dustin and Robin sneakily slide in the room later, pretending like they weren’t on the verge of crying themselves, giving you the space to open up about what you’ve experienced, Steve continues to keep you grounded - unwilling to let you go, declining the notion of letting you go for even a moment, because he’ll be damned if he has to dance with the ghost of you again.
well, this started as a part two to they don’t know about us because i had some requests for that, but it just didn’t feel the same. hence why there’s hints of similarities if you’ve read that imagine!
Steve Harrigton needs a date to his cousin's wedding and unfortunately for you, you owe your sister a favour.
pairing: steve harrington x mayfield!reader
words: 8.5k
contains: fluff, frenemies to lovers, (sort of) fake date, mention of precious king!steve behaviour, steve’s dad being a little awful, grief, guilt, mention of death of a sibling, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: ah so this one was so fun to write! i have never written a wedding guest fic before and oh, i just loved it! please enjoy
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Steve Harrington could not believe his luck—or lack thereof.
The day before cousin’s wedding, Juliet had called Family Video to cancel on him and so, Steve had naturally begun to panic.
He knew how much the wedding was costing his aunt Edith—the only family member who he actually really liked—and so he knew how a last minute cancellation like this would stress her and his cousin Daisy out. Especially as he had already begged his aunt to allow him to bring Juliet with him in the first place.
He had called Robin but she was unfortunately sick with the flu. He had called his last ten dates but they were all either busy or flatly refused to go out with him again. He had even debated asking Nancy but shook the thought, she was his ex-girlfriend after all.
“Wow,” Max Mayfield grins in mild amusement as Steve rattles off the list of girls he had asked to be his emergency plus one. “You really need to find a hobby.”
Dustin—who had stumbled into Family Video over half an hour ago alongside Max to try and convince Steve into letting them rent an R rated horror for the party’s weekly movie night—laughs loudly, causing Steve to groan into his hands before resting his head against the cool countertop in defeat.
“I’ll just go alone,” Steve grumbles against his arm. “I’ll just look like a sad, sad loser going to alone to a wedding and—”
“What about Max’s sister?”
Steve can’t help it. He lets out a snort of disbelief before standing up straight.
He doesn’t miss the look of annoyance Max shoots his way.
“What’s wrong with my sister, Harrington?” She asks pointedly and Steve’s ears turn red.
Of course, there was nothing wrong with you per se. In fact, Steve had very briefly considered asking you the moment that he had gotten off the phone with Juliet. But there was just one small problem—
“Nothing!” Steve says quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. “Absolutely nothing! She just—”
“Hates his guts?” Dustin offers.
Max rolls her eyes in exasperation, folding her arms across her chest as she looks from Dustin to Steve.
“She doesn’t hate you,” Max insists. “She just—she just thinks you’re an asshole and would prefer not to be in the same room as you.”
Steve swallows. Something that felt like shame swirls in his gut. Of course, you had every reason to dislike him and Steve would be the first to put his hands up and say he probably deserved it. You two had very much gotten off on the wrong foot after you had overheard him call Billy’s family—and by extension your family—’trash’. It had been in the heat of the moment and he had only said it because Billy had been pushing his buttons all day. The moment he had realised that you were within earshoot, he had regretted saying it. But because he was stubborn and, at that point in time, cared more about what others thought of him than doing the right thing, and so he didn’t take them back. He didn’t apologise.
He later tried, after the first dance with the Upside Down together, after you had stopped Billy from almost killing him in Byers’ home with a syringe but you had scoffed and walked away like you didn’t buy it. You had made it very clear that you didn’t want to accept his apology, that you had made your mind up about him despite the fact your sister could not care less about the comment. He understood why—you were her big sister and you were protecting your family. Especially after Starcourt, especially after Billy died.
And so, Steve wasn’t exactly convinced by Max’s insistence that you didn’t hate him.
“There is no way she’ll go with me,” Steve says with a shake of his head, arms folded across his chest. “She hates—”
“—she will,” Max says with a knowing smile. “She owes me a favour.”
Steve blinks, looking from Max to Dustin and back again, as if waiting for one of them to shout ‘April Fools!’.
When neither of them does, Steve raises a brow at Max.
“What for?”
“She broke my skateboard,” Max explains. “I was gonna make her buy me a new one but making her go to a wedding with you sounds more interesting.”
Dustin laughs and the corner of Max’s mouth twitches but Steve looks thoroughly unconvinced.
“Gee, thanks Max,” Steve mutters, eyes shifting down to the pile of tapes stacked in front of him that he was meant to be rewinding. “But I really don’t think she’ll agree.”
And so, Steve spends the rest of his shift rehearsing exactly what he was going to say to his aunt when he called her to tell him he would be attending the wedding tomorrow, minus his plus one.
Five minutes before his shift was due to end, Steve was carefully rearranging the candy selection just as the bell above the door sounded. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
Of course—it was just his luck that a customer had decided to waltz in five minutes before his shift ended. He would put money on the fact it was a group of teenagers who would refuse to leave, teenagers who would mess up the horror display he had spent forty five minutes rearranging, teenagers who pick up the tape for Body Heat to try and convince Steve that they weren’t fourteen.
“We’re closing in—”
“—in five minutes. I know. I can read a clock, Harrington.”
Steve’s stomach turns at the sound of your voice. His head whips around so quickly it was a wonder he didn’t hurt himself. He certainly dropped all of the bars of candy that he had been holding.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” Steve asks, blinking as he watches you approach the counter with a schooled expression. “Robin has the flu if that’s what you—”
“—I’m here to see you,” you interrupt, eyes flicking down to the peanut butter bopper still clutched in Steve’s hand before you look back up at his face. “Max told me about your—your plus one situation.”
“Oh,” Steve says, the tips of his ears reddening as he looks down at all the candy bars he had dropped, the ones he had been lovingly arranging for the past ten minutes. “Yeah um, that Juliet cancelled on me. She’s cat sitting or something so can’t um, make it.”
You quirk a brow and Steve can tell by the look on your face that you want nothing more than to make a comment, to crack a joke, perhaps even tell him that he had very clearly been stood up, that there was no way Juliet had actually cancelled on him to cat sit. But you don’t, instead you seem to take a deep breath before you say. “I’ll do it.”
The bopper in Steve’s hand falls to the floor. He scrambles to pick it up before looking back ar you.
“Seriously?” He asks, his eyes wide as he tries his best not to look too hopeful. “You—you’re not—this isn’t a prank, right?”
You frown slightly. “Why would I do that?”
Steve blinks before he shakes his head because really, he knew you would never do anything like that to him.
“I—I dunno—I just—you know this is a wedding, right?” Steve asks you. “Like I’ll be in a suit and you’d wear—”
“—a dress,” you finish. “I know, Max told me. I have a dress if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Steve swallows, the bopper that was back in his grip starting to melt in his sweaty grasp. “I’m not worried about that, it's just—are you sure? Like, are you sure about coming to this wedding—with me?”
You exhale, looking away from Steve momentarily to look around the store, almost as though you were bracing yourself for something big.
“Yes, Harrington,” you say finally. “As a favour to Max, I’ll go to this wedding with you.”
Steve looks back at you for a long, long moment, as if to make sure he wasn’t dreaming or that you weren’t going to tell him you were joking. When he realises that this wasn’t a dream and you say nothing, he starts to smile.
“Thank you,” he breathes. “Thank you so much. This means a lot. My family are—yeah—this is just, it’s really great of you to—”
“—but I’m not dancing with you,” you cut in quickly, fiddling with your hands as you look away from him. “Or doing anything remotely touchy feely. I’m just your plus one. That’s it. That’s all I’ll be.”
“That’s fine!” Steve says quickly, wiping his clammy hands over his jeans before setting down the bopper onto the countertop beside him, the wrapper crumpled and the chocolate inside a little gooey. “Makes sense. Yeah. Um, totally. No dancing. Limited touching. Ju—just my plus one.”
You look at him for a beat before finally, you nod. “Good. Glad we got that covered,” you say before you lean down to pick up one of the candy bars he had dropped and tear open the wrapper.
“You know you need to pay for th—”
“See you tomorrow, Harrington,” you say, smiling before taking a large bite from the chocolate bar and walking straight out of Family Video.
“Could you sit still? Just for two minutes?”
“Is this really necessary?”
Max looked back at you blankly in the mirror before shaking her head, returning her attention to your hair, ignoring you.
You huff but you don’t question her further.
You didn’t want to admit it to yourself but as it drew nearer to ten in the morning—the time that you agreed to be ready by with Steve late last night when he had called you in a slight panic, having forgotten to tell that the wedding was over an hour away—you found that you were starting to feel nervous.
The pale green satin dress you were wearing—the one you had been saving for Max’s graduation—hugged your body in a way that you weren’t used to. Max and your mom insisted that you looked beautiful but you didn’t exactly know how to feel about that. Especially knowing you’d be spending the day and most of the evening on the arm of Steve Harrington.
“Is it too late to back out now?” You ask Max hopefully, setting down the blusher you had been applying while she was focused on your hair. “I mean—I could say I got the flu from Robin or—”
“—absolutely not,” Max snaps at you. “Just give him a chance? Alright? He’s not the asshole he was in high school.”
You hum in acknowledgement at her words but you don’t respond. You had heard that sentiment plenty of times before, you just couldn’t allow yourself to believe it.
By some miracle, you were ready just before ten o’clock. After slipping on some silver kitten heels, you stand up straight and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror next to your bed. It was hard not to smile at how pretty you felt.
“Still wanna back out?” You hear Max ask from the door of your shared bedroom, one of your mom’s nice silver purses she only used for special occasions clutched in her hands.
You look over your shoulder at Max before your eyes flicker back to your reflection, at the hair Max had lovingly styled and the makeup you had delicately applied but mostly at the dress that gave you a fluttery feeling in your stomach.
“No,” you say with a small shake of your head before you turn to look at your sister. “I made a promise so I should stick to it.”
Max looks at you before she smiles. “You look really pretty, by the way.”
Your face warms a little at the compliment but you try to hide it, walking over to Max to take your mom’s purse from her hands. “Not bad for a last minute wedding.”
The corner of Max’s mouth twitches before she walks over to you to carefully adjust one of your hair clips. “You promise to be nice to Steve? Give him a chance to prove himself?”
“Max—”
Max cuts you off with your name and you look back at her carefully. “I’m serious. I want you two to get along. You’re important to me, he’s important to me.”
You feel yourself soften, just a little. Because if something mattered to your little sister, it mattered to you too.
“Just don’t—don’t tell him I said that,” Max adds.
You fight back a smile. “I won’t.”
It was five minutes later when there was a knock at the front door. Your stomach turned nervously as Max ran to answer it.
“You look great,” your mom smiles reassuringly. You smile back—not entirely knowing why you felt so nervous. This was just Steve. Just Steve—the guy who just last week you had yelled at for breathing too loud. Just Steve—the guy you were now going to a damn wedding with.
You take a deep breath before bidding your mom goodbye and following the voices of Max and Steve out of your room.
“—is the tie the right colour?” You hear Steve ask Max, a nervous edge to his voice. “‘Pale green’ was right of vague, I had to—”
“—you don’t need to match with her dress, it’s not prom, Steve—”
“—but I thought—”
You walk into the open plan living room and suddenly, Steve stops talking.
In fact, Steve Harrington seems to stop breathing as he looks at you.
He was looking at you in a way that took your breath away for a few short seconds before you remember just how infuriating you thought he was. But for a brief moment, you allow yourself to look at Steve—really look at him—and admire just how nice he looked. He had always been good looking, even you could admit that, but right now with his wide hazel eyes, parted lips and the suit he was wearing—the tie of which almost perfectly matched your dress—he looked stupidly handsome. The kind of handsome that made your stomach tighten.
The moment the thought enters your mind, heat spreads throughout your body. You determinedly ignore it.
“You’re late,” you say by way of a hello, hoping your voice doesn’t give any indication that you felt nothing but apathy for the man in front of you. “You know it’s rude to show up after the bride?”
Steve blinks, seeming to snap out of whatever momentary trance you had sent him in so that he could frown at your words.
“It was the tie! And there was some construction near the—”
“—still. You’re late.”
Steve seems to bite his tongue with whatever retort he had ready to go, his eyes flickering over to match who Max watches the exchange, thoroughly entertained.
“Ready to go?” Steve asks you, choosing to ignore your remark as he steps towards the door.
You nod, opening your mom’s purse to check you had your lip gloss and some extra hair clips before looking back at Steve. “Yeah. Ready to—”
“—wait!” Max exclaims and you know what was coming before she even opens her mouth. “Let me just go grab the camera. I want this moment framed.”
Neither of you stop yourself from groaning loudly at that.
The drive to the wedding venue took a little over an hour and the car ride with Steve was almost completely silent, save for the radio that seemed to be the saving grace of the journey.
It dawned on you that you hadn’t ever really spent one on one time with Steve before. Sure, you two had been through a lot together when it came to the upside down, but you had never hung out, not really. But now—you face the prospect of spending the entire day together. At a wedding, no less.
One thing you quickly learned about Steve was that he hummed while listening to music. A lot. Like it was beginning to grate on you kind of a lot.
“Do you have to hum while listening to music?” You ask him in a terse voice after almost thirty minutes of biting your tongue.
You watch Steve stiffen slightly out of the corner of your eye, watch the way his knuckles tighten around his steering wheel and you register the instant ceasing of his humming.
“It’s my car,” Steve points out. “I can hum in my car if I want.”
You open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him that his humming was incredibly annoying and to tell him to stop. But then you thought of Max, you thought of your promise to her that you’d try to be nice to Steve, that you would give him a chance. You find yourself pursing your lips, carefully considering your options before you decide to let this minor annoyance slip.
Baby steps.
But when Steve pulls his Beamer into a church car park that was swarming with pastel coloured dresses, fascinators and expensive suits, it felt more like diving headfirst into cold water than tentative baby steps.
“Are you ready for this?” Steve asks you gently, sensing your apprehension as you make no move to leave the safety of his car.
You swallow nervously, soothing down your dress as you nod because suddenly, you were acutely aware of the fact that your dress cost less than thirty dollars and that your heels were scuffed, owing to the fact you had bought them secondhand from a thrift store.
“Yeah,” you lie because Hawkins was over an hour away and both you and Max had put too much effort in your appearance to turn back now. But as Steve’s hand moves to open the door, you add, “it’s just—I’m not—I’m not great with family.”
Steve’s hand stops mid-air, inches away from the door handle as he looks over at you carefully before the corners of his mouth lift into something akin to a smile. “That makes two of us,” Steve tells you. “So don’t worry. My parents hate everyone. Just don’t take it personally and you’ll be fine.”
You almost laugh. Almost.
To his credit, the moment that you finally stepped out of his car, Steve was right by your side. His hand, though tentative, rests on the small of your back as you walk towards the church, gravel crunching beneath your shoes. You were already regretting the heels.
As you walk by throngs of Steve’s relatives, he gives you a very quick run down of who’s who while you try to keep up.”
“That’s my uncle Simon,” Steve tells you, nodding to a man in a suit that looked so expensive that you briefly wondered if you were even allowed to look at it. “Been married like three times. Doesn’t seem to understand what monogamy is.”
You bit back a laugh.
“That’s my great aunt Sara—”
“—great aunt?” You repeat, looking at the women Steve had subtly pointed to who did not look old enough to even be considered a great aunt. “Are you sure she’s—”
“—she had a face lift,” Steve explains and you nod slowly. “Well, we all suspect she’s had a face lift. She’s never actually said. She just keeps saying it’s because slathers herself in honey or egg whites every morning.”
Another laugh you had to fight back.
Steve was just telling you about some falling out between his grandmother and cousin as someone calls his name. Steve stops talking mid-sentence to look over at who had called out his name and smiles.
“And this,” he murmurs to you as a woman with a kind, heart shaped face and bright smile approaches. “Is my aunt Edith. She’s a bit much but—”
“Stevie! Oh, look at you!”
You watch in fascination as Steve Harrington—the guy who had been known as King Steve, the guy who had once held a keg stand record for almost three years—turns bright red.
“Edith—”
“—what?” Edith beams at the sight of Steve, carefully adjusting his blazer and fusing over his tie. “Is it a crime now to say hello to my favourite nephew?”
Steve doesn’t respond as even the tips of his ears turn red but his aunt doesn’t tease him any further, instead her soft eyes shift over to you.
“And who is this beautiful young lady?” Edith asks, her gaze so warm and friendly that you couldn’t help but smile at her. “Steve, is this your—”
“—friend,” Steve says quickly and with a quick glance over at you. “Just a friend.”
In any other circumstances, you would have corrected Steve if he referred to you as a friend but you let it slide. Baby steps.
“And a friendship is a beautiful foundation for a relationship,” Edith says to a blushing Steve before she looks back at you. “I’m only teasing him, honey. Don’t look so worried.”
You let out a breathy laugh before shaking your head. “No, go ahead. Tease away. I didn’t know he could turn that shade of red.”
Edith laughs and despite Steve rolling his eyes, he lets out a reluctant chuckle.
“Oh, I like her already.”
The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches before he tells Edith your name and you can’t help but notice the flash of recognition in her eyes when she hears Steve reel off your last name. You can’t blame her. The surname Mayfield and the names of your family had been splashed all over the newspapers after Starcourt, Billy's death.
But Edith doesn’t say anything, which you appreciate.
“You two should probably head inside,” Edith tells you with a nod towards the church. “Or you might be in danger of being run over by the bride.”
You let Steve guide you inside, his hand still on your back as you enter the church.
“Sorry about Edith,” Steve says as you walk towards the church pews. “She’s really—”
“—she was lovely,” you tell Steve. “Really. She wasn’t too much at all.”
Steve nods but you can see the look of quiet gratitude in his eyes.
You sit down in the pews beside Steve, becoming acutely aware of his thigh pressing against yours, of the way he was tapping his finger rhythmically against his thigh as his eyes darted around the church. You knew without asking that he was looking for his parents.
“By the way,” Steve murmurs after a moment, his eyes shifting back to you. “I forgot to say earlier but you look—”
But Steve was cut off by a sudden swell of music that signalled the arrival of the bride and whatever he was about to say dies on his tongue.
As Daisy met her soon to be husband at the altar and the ceremony began, you tried your very best to remain present. But as your eyes flickered around the church, something swirled in your gut. The realisation that the last time you had been in a church—albiet, nowhere near as extravagant as this—had been at Billy’s funeral.
Despite the fact you hadn’t been very close with Billy nor had you even remotely liked your step-brother, Billy’s death had affected you more than you cared to admit. It wasn’t just because of what had happened to your family in the immediate aftermath of Billy’s death, when your step-dad had left Hawkins and took every bit of stability you had left with him. It was also the immense guilt and complicated things that you found yourself feeling that had made Billy’s death difficult to navigate, guilt that you felt for surviving Starcourt when Billy didn’t, guilt for also feeling so much resentment towards Billy when he had been alive for making your and Max’s life miserable but deep down, desperately things had been different for him.
But most of all, the thing that had been the most difficult about Billy’s death? It was seeing how it had affected Max and the crushing realisation that came the moment you had heard her scream out Billy’s name—was that, try as you might, you couldn’t protect Max from everything.
And so, as you sat beside Steve Harrington in the pews you were barely listening to Daisy and her soon to be husband Dale exchange their vows. And you even miss Steve sniffling quietly beside you.
After the ceremony—of which, you remember very little—you and Steve make the short journey to the reception which would be held at a magnificent farmhouse outside of which there was a beautiful rose garden. You would have thought it a truly breathtaking sight if you still weren’t so in your own head, still thinking about Billy, of the funeral and Max.
Though he wasn’t saying anything, Steve could tell something was wrong. The small rapport you had built before the ceremony had vanished, you didn’t even complain when he had ordered you the wrong drink by accident.
“Okay,” Steve sighs, looking at your expression carefully after pulling you to the side of the bar. “You gonna tell me what’s up? Did I do something or—”
You blink, looking at Steve as though only just seeing him properly for the first time.
“I haven’t—I haven’t been in a church since—” you stop yourself, averting your eyes in favour of watching a few of Steve’s smaller cousins running around to distract yourself from the slight burn you were feeling behind your eyes.
You miss how Steve’s eyes soften, how his expression shifts and how he half raises his hand as though he had to stop himself from reaching for you.
“Oh,” he says softly, so softly that you barely recognise his voice and you have to look at him just to be sure it was really Steve. “I didn’t—I didn’t even think. I’m sorry. I—”
“—it’s okay,” you say quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as you look back at Steve. “I’m okay. It was a really beautiful ceremony.”
Steve looks at you and there was a brief moment where you thought that he was just going to drop it. That he wasn’t going to push you to talk but he said your name in that new, soft voice and you knew you weren’t going to get away that easily.
“—I know I’m not your favourite person in the world but you know you can talk to me about—”
“—Steven! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
You watch as Steve’s face almost completely drains of colour.
“Fuck,” Steve mutters to you as your peer over his shoulder to see a couple—who were undoubtedly his parents—striding towards to two of you. “Okay. It’s just my parent’s. It’s just my—”
“—oh, you must be Steven’s girlfriend!” Steve’s mother exclaims happily as both she and his father approach. You were so taken aback by the hug she pulled you into that you don’t even try to correct her on the fact you were not Steve’s girlfriend and Steve makes no attempt to correct her. Instead, his face reddens and he shoots you an apologetic smile.
That son of a—
“He had told us you were pretty but I don’t think you’d be—”
“—mom,” Steve mutters, his face now burning as he avoids direct eye contact with you, clearly not wanting to give away the fact that you definitely were not his girlfriend. But you didn’t care about it that much anymore, not when you had just learned that Steve Harrington had told his parents that you were pretty.
Steve introduces you to both his parents and, like Edith, you see the flash of recognition across their faces at your surname but unlike Edith, Steve’s parents didn’t let your name pass without acknowledgement.
“Oh dear,” his moms says kindly, placing a gentle hand on your arm that makes your stomach churn uncomfortably. “I thought I recognised your face. Billy Hagrove was your step-brother, right?”
You don’t trust yourself to talk and nor do you look at Steve as you nod.
“We’re terribly sorry for your loss,” his father says to you solemnly, though his expression does not change in the slightest. “Awful accident.”
You smile in acknowledgement but you aren’t quite sure what to say. Thank you? Everything you knew you should say when someone offered their condolences would sound insincere. Unnatural, even. But fortunately—or unfortunately—for you, Steve’s father continues talking.
“And for his father to leave the way he did, leaving your family, a single mother to struggle and live in a trailer park of all places—it must really be awful for your family. Being amongst drug dealers and god knows what else in that park!”
You swallow. It had been awful but you didn’t think much of Danny Harrington’s tone—of the fact he sounded more sorry that your family were living in a trailer park than grieving. You still had Max and your mom—even if she had started drinking to cope—and a roof over your heads. It was all you needed.
But before you could tell Steve’s father any of this, before you could even consider politely standing up for yourself, Steve Harrington got there first.
“Dad, let’s not—let’s not go there, okay?” Steve says, placing a hand on your back as if ready to steer you away from the conversation.
Danny Harrington, for a very brief moment, looks taken aback by his son’s words but had enough sense to understand the topic of Billy Hagrove and the Mayfield family was off limits.
“Very well,” he says with a small nod and a tight lipped smile. “Enjoy the evening, both of you.”
The moment his parents leave you and Steve standing at the side of the bar, you feel immense relief.
You breathe a sigh of relief, not even noticing how tense you had felt for the past two minutes as you turn towards Steve. “That was—”
“—I’m really sorry,” Steve cuts in, his hand leaving your back in order to scrub over his face. Before you could even ask what he was sorry for, he continues. “For making them think that you’re my girlfriend. I panicked a little and didn’t know what to say—”
“—Steve, it’s—”
“—and I’m sorry for butting in like that. I know you can stand up for yourself and you didn’t need me to—you know. I just—my dad he just—I couldn’t—I couldn’t just let him talk to you like that. Like he—”
“—Harrington.”
Steve swallows, looking back at you as though he was bracing himself, ready for you to yell at him for doing something for you that you were perfectly capable of doing yourself. But to his utter surprise, you start to smile at him.
“It’s okay,” you tell him gently. “I—I appreciate it. Really. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
Steve looks at you as if to make sure that you weren’t lying, his eyes on you making your stomach turn in a way that you weren’t used to around him.
“Okay,” Steve says with a grateful smile. “Okay. That—that’s good. I thought you were going to lose your shit at me for a second.”
“No,” you say, stopping yourself from smiling back at him. “But the girlfriend thing though, still undecided about that.”
Steve can’t help it, his face flushes a warm pink and before he knows it, he was laughing and you find yourself joining in.
Baby steps.
He says your name then and you look at him, the expression on his face as he looks at you makes the world around you feel a little fussy, makes your stomach flip and your cheeks grow hot.
“Yeah?” you reply in a voice that you hope doesn’t give away just how slightly flustered you were feeling.
“I wanted to—I forgot to say this earlier,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck as though he was nervous, despite the fact you didn’t think it at all possible for Steve Harrington to be nervous. “I think—you just—you look beautiful, Mayfield.”
You weren’t entirely sure why those words had such a monumental effect on you, but they did. Your breath hitches, your face feels ten times hotter and you were almost positive that Steve could hear your heart beating out of your chest because of those words.
“You look pretty good yourself, Steve,” you say with a small, barely there smile.
Steve blinks and then—
“You just called me Steve,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting.
You shrug, you pretend it wasn’t a big deal.
Baby steps.
It was hard not to smile watching Steve twirl not one but two of his little cousins around, especially when their laughter was full of unbridled joy as they begged him for just one more spin around the dancefloor.
You sat at the table you and Steve had been convening at for the past few hours. The table where you had sat for the reception dinner with a handful of his cousins, where you had struggled to hold back tears at the speech by the father of the bride and Steve had placed a warm, comforting hand on your arm. Your skin was still tingling from his touch.
“Please Steve!” the youngest of his cousins, maybe five or six, pouted up at him. “Just one more!”
“Later,” Steve promises with a quick glance over at you. “Later, I promise!”
You were fighting back yet another smile at their whines of protest, at Steve ruffling their hair to make them squeal before walking back over to your table.
“What are you smiling at?” He asks, sitting down in the chair beside yours before taking a long swig of his beer.
“Nothing,” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth of your cheeks. “Just—you’re really good with kids.”
Even the colourful disco lights couldn’t conceal the impressive shade of red that Steve had turned at your words.
“Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot of practice,” Steve murmurs. “Kids are much easier when there’s no Upside Down involved.”
You laugh, which over a few courses of dinner had become something of a common occurrence with Steve. He had made you laugh a lot, more than you wanted to admit. You were beginning to think that Max was right, that perhaps you had been a little too harsh on Steve over the past few years and you even started to feel bad for not giving him a chance sooner. Not that you would ever admit that.
It’s quiet between the two of you then. You watch Steve’s fingers gently drum against the beer bottle in his hands and as he glances over at the dancefloor. You can’t help but look over too, remembering that you had told him no dancing. You found yourself suddenly regretting that part of the deal.
“You want another drink?” Steve asks you, setting down his now empty bottle of beer. “I can get you another—”
“—do you want to dance?”
The words slip out before you could second guess them and you feel your stomach tighten in apprehension. If Steve said no then you would surely have to move far, far away and—
“Yes,” Steve says quietly and with a nod. “I’d love to.”
You look at him to see he was smiling at you and you hate the fact his smile makes your stomach feel a little fussy inside.
“Just keep your hands to yourself,” you tell him with a faint smile as you stand up from your chair, Steve mirroring your action only a few seconds later.
“I’ll be a gentleman,” Steve tells you with a smile that makes you wonder why you had ever disliked him in the first place. “Promise.”
The moment you and Steve were finally on the dancefloor together, the rest of the wedding faded into nothing. From Cyndi Lauper, to a-ha to Elton John, you and Steve Harrington danced until your feet began to hurt. He spun you around, he laughed when you stumbled over your heels and you laughed when a drunken uncle of his had spilled whiskey all over his blazer. Your laughter quickly died when Steve had thrown his blazer aside, leaving him in his white shirt that he had unbuttoned while loosening his tie, giving you a peak at the hair that adorned his chest. Your throat felt a little try at the sight.
“Do my eyes deceive me,” Steve begins, smiling at you as Heaven Is A Place On Earth fades into Come On Eileen, “or are you checking me out, Miss Mayfield?”
You laugh like it was funny despite the fact you definitely had been checking him out.
“No,” you deny it with a laugh that causes the corners of Steve’s mouth to twitch. “Course not, Harrington.”
“Oh? Are we back to Harrington, now?” Steve asks in a teasing voice that makes you feel so hot it feels as though your stomach was suddenly made from molten lava. “What did I do? I’ve been nothing but a gentleman to you, Mayfield.”
It took you a moment to realise that he was flirting with you and as soon as you did the heat in your gut began to burn.
“Just keeping you on your toes,” you tell him, your eyes seeming to sparkle in the light as you look back at him.
Steve hums, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face as he looks at you. “Misson accomplished.”
There was something in his eyes that seemed to hold you captive, you couldn’t move, could barely breathe and in that second, his eyes dip down to your lips.
“Mayfield, I—”
“—Steve!”
It was the voice of his younger cousins’, the ones he had promised another dance with. You watch as he has to force himself to look away from you, his eyes flickering back for a brief moment to apologise.
“It’s okay,” you tell him with a smile, ignoring the pang of disappointment that had taken refuge in your gut. “I’ll um, I’ll go get another drink while you—”
You gesture towards his younger cousins’ who were both tugging on his arms impatiently, demanding Steve’s attention. He shoots you one last apologetic look before he bends down to pick both squealing girls up with one only arm. You couldn’t deny the way your heart doubled in size at the sight.
You make your way over to the bar, passing by his parents who you avoid eye contact with while you order yourself another glass of wine and Steve another beer. You tap your nails against the wooden top of the bar, your eyes finding Steve dancing with his younger cousins’ easily.
“He’s always been great like that with kids.”
The sound of Steve’s Aunt Edith’s voice makes you jump, very nearly spilling Steve’s beer.
“Sorry honey,” she chortles, steading the bottle as you look away from Steve and over at her.
“It’s okay,” you say with a genuine smile because unlike Steve’s parents, Aunt Edith didn’t make you feel even remotely nervous. “Just took me by surprise, that’s all.”
“Becuase you were too busy staring at my nephew?” She offers with a wry smile.
Your face warms but you don’t even try to deny it.
“You know, I’ve seen my nephew with a fair few women over the years but I don’t think I’ve ever seen any who could make him blush like you have over the course of the evening,” she tells you.
You couldn’t stop the look of shock from passing over your face, your body buzzing with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
“I’m just saying,” she continues when you say nothing, your fingers still tapping nervously against the table, “that I think, as his favourite auntie, that you’d be pretty grear together.”
You weren’t quite sure what to say and perhaps Edith knew that because she smiled at you kindly before walking away.
Edith’s words play on your mind as you continue to watch Steve and his cousins. You couldn’t lie to yourself, couldn’t deny that the evening had made you see Steve in an entirely different light. It had also made you rethink the Steve you had been so rude to over the past few years; the Steve that always dropped Max back home without a second thought, the Steve that never drove off without ensuring she was safely back inside the trailer, the Steve that had some sort of stupid handshake with Dustin Henderson, the Steve that had brought you tea and made Max lumpy tomato soup after Billy’s funeral. Something inside you twisted as you remembered that fact you had never said thank you to him for doing that.
“You’re looking awfully pensive over here, Mayfield.”
The sound of Steve’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts but his presence does nothing to the swirl of emotions you were feeling.
“Just thinking,” you say finally, turning to face him with a small smile. “Here’s another beer, by the way.”
“Thank you,” Steve grins, taking the bottle from you. Your fingers brush against his and your body feels alive with something you had never had thought you would feel around Steve. “Need it after running around with those kids, I’m too old for this shit.”
You laugh and shake your head in amused disbelief. “You’re twenty one, Steve.”
“Twenty one going on seventy.”
You can barely contain your laughter at that and soon both you and Steve were laughing. You miss the way his eyes flicker down to your lips as you laugh, the way his cheeks flush a shade or so darker when you look over at him as the beginning notes of Heaven by Bryan Adams starts to play.
“I know you just got us some drinks,” Steve begins, setting his bottle down onto the bar and gently prying your own glass of wine from your hands. “But I really want to dance with my date.”
The way he said it, the look in his eyes, it was almost too much.
“Plus one,” you correct him, biting back a smile.
“Synmatics,” he says softly, smiling at you before he holds out a hand, palm up, for you to take. “Dance with me, Mayfield.”
There was no other answer but yes.
You let Steve pull you towards the dancefloor, the fluttering in your stomach making you feel almost dizzy as he wraps his arms around your waist while your arms loop around his neck. It was the closest you had ever been to Steve and all you could think about was how incredible he smelled, how you wanted to trace each and every mole that kissed his skin, how truly gorgeous he looked and how alive you suddenly felt in his presence.
“Ever thought that you’d be slow dancing with me?” He asks with a smile that very nearly takes your breath away.
“Not even in my wildest dreams,” you tell him, trying to cover up the fact your heart was beating so loud you were beginning to suspect it was trying to escape from its home in your chest. “But—I think today may have helped me change my mind about you.”
“Yeah?” He asks with a hopeful smile. “Or maybe you just finally realised how irresistible I am?”
You laugh and Steve smiles so hard that you were surprised that it didn’t hurt.
“Something like that.”
You and Steve didn’t leave the dancefloor for a long time after that. Even when the song changed to something more upbeat, you didn’t leave Steve’s arms. You slow danced to Madonna, Bruce Springsteen and Prince as guests left the wedding in their droves—the bride and groom sneaking away hours ago.
“You wanna head back?” Steve murmurs against your hair as you sway to Fleetwood Mac, the dancefloor around you significantly less busy as you pull back to look at him.
“Not really,” you admit quietly, trying to ignore how one of his large hands was resting on your lower back, how his touch had set your skin aflame. “But I think we’re about five minutes away from being kicked off the dancefloor.”
Steve chuckles, looking away from you for a moment to glance at the last few stranglers remaining with you two on the dancefloor. They were all incredibly drunk and you can see the amusement in Steve’s eyes as he looks back at you.
“C’mon,” he murmurs before he pulls himself away from you, though his hand remains on your back. “Let’s go for a walk.”
You follow him without hesitation, walking out of the farmhouse with Steve’s hand still on your back and your heart nearly beating out of your chest.
“I really thought you weren’t going to say yes, by the way,” Steve tells you as you walk over the path, between the red and yellow roses that were illuminated by the glittering lights strung up ahead. “To be my plus one, I mean.”
“I owed Max a favour,” you tell him. “Broke her skateboard. By accident.”
“She mentioned that,” Steve smiles fondly. “I think she thought going to a wedding with me was more tortuous for you.”
You shake your head as you stop in front of the soft pink roses to face him. “Twenty four hours ago, I might have agreed with her but, tonight—I have to admit, it’s been pretty good.”
“Just good?” Steve asks, head tilting to the side as he looks back at you with a smile.
“No, much better than pretty good,” you say. “Maybe something closer to…pretty incredible.”
“What? Me or the wedding?” Steve asks with a hopeful look back at you.
“Undecided,” you tell with a whisper of a smile.
Silence falls as you continue through the rose garden, the colourful flowers catching your eye as you pass by. But Steve’s eyes remain on you, thought you don’t see it—on the dress that he was sure to dream about, of just how fucking beautiful you looked and how glad he was that you had broken Max’s skateboard.
“For the record, I’m really glad you said yes,” Steve tells you, the hand on your back dipping lower for just a moment and making your insides turn to goo.
“Me too,” you admit. “I um—it made me realise how silly I was—for um, not giving you a chance before. And for you know, not being all that friendly with you.”
Steve says your name and you know by the look on his face that he wanted to tell you that it was okay, that it didn’t matter but you continued talking before he could do so.
“I think I’ve realised that Max may have been right when she said you really were a good guy. I just—I’m her big sister, you know? And—I get my back up a little when people talk bad about my family and I just—I struggled to let go of what you said.”
“Because it was cruel what I said,” Steve begins, slowing down until he stops walking completely, his hand on your back making you do that same. “It was cruel and stupid and I’m sorry. Like, really fucking sorry.”
“I know and—”
“—and if after this you want us to go back to normal then I totally understand and—”
“—Steve!”
“Yeah?”
You smile, shake your head and say, “I don’t want to go back to ‘normal’ after this.”
“Then what do you want?” He asks, hazel eyes twinkling beneath the lights.
You tilt your head to the side, considering him before you say, “another dance?”
Despite the fact there was no music, despite the fact you were in the middle of a rose garden and it was fast approaching midnight, Steve does not deny your request. Instead, he pulls you into his arms like he had on the dancefloor, his body so close to yours that there was barely an inch of space between you and you were very aware of his hand resting on your lower back.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look?” Steve asks in a voice so soft and gentle that you had to lean in to hear him.
“You did,” you whisper back with a barely contained smile.
“Well, I wanna tell you again. You look fucking beautiful, Mayfield. The moment I saw you I thought—fuck, this wedding is gonna be torture.”
Your face warms and you laugh, leaning into Steve so you could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest.
“Because I’m annoying?” You offer with a teasing smile.
“No,” Steve says quietly, one of his hands reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear carefully. “Because I’ve been wanting to kiss you all day, Mayfield. That’s why.”
Everything seems to slow around you. Time, the roses gently dancing in the wind beside you. You can barely believe the words coming out of Steve’s mouth but the way he was looking at you told you that this wasn’t a dream—that Steve Harrington had really admitted to wanting to kiss you.
And it was crazy because twenty four hours ago, you were tossing and turning in your sleep over the idea of today, of the prospect of spending an entire day with Steve at a wedding. And now, you were desperate to feel his lips against yours.
“Then kiss me, before I change my mind.”
Steve blinks, as if to make sure that he had heard you correctly before he pulls you even closer with one arm around your waist. The proximity to Steve makes you feel almost lightheaded, his woodsy, vanillary scent filling your lungs and the hand now cupping your cheek making your body thrum with need.
“As you wish,” he murmurs before he leans in and presses his lips against yours. That first brush of his lips against yours was so inviting, so intoxicating that you felt almost every nerve in your body come alive from the feeling. His mouth was warm, his lips soft and he was kissing like there was nowhere else he would rather be than right here in the rose garden with you.
You kiss him back with no hesitation, warmth seeping through your veins as he gently tilts your head back, coaxing your lips apart with his tongue and making you forget how to breathe. You could have kissed him all night, until the early hours of the morning if you could. Especially when his tongue brushed against yours, making you whine against his lips and tug him even closer.
“Fuck,” Steve murmurs against your lips, your mouths moving together in an almost desperate sort of way as your fingers curl into his shirt. “You’re gonna ruin me, Mayfield.”
You don’t know how long you stayed there, making out with Steve Harrington in the rose garden but all you knew as you finally pulled away from each other was that your lips were bee stung and his were wet and covered in your lip gloss. He had never looked so good.
“So much for keeping my hands to myself,” Steve grins as he reaches up to swipe his thumb across your swollen bottom lip. You roll your eyes and can’t help yourself—you pull him into another kiss that makes him groan against your mouth. The sound makes you feel incredibly glad that you had broken your sister’s skateboard.
It’s a primal feeling, something wedged deep into your bones, the descendant of ancestors who survived plagues and famines and perhaps, if you trace your lineage far back enough, saber-tooth tigers and wooly mammoth tusks through the ribs. It begins as an itch, tip-toeing across your skin, a slight suspicious feeling rousing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand erect like soldiers at Lexington and Concord. Easily ignorable. The water’s too hot.
Then, it’s a twisting, churning, sour-milk sensation bubbling in your gut like bad takeout on a hot summer’s day. Seasick on pudding legs. Inner-ear vibrations.
Maybe you hear footsteps, or maybe that’s your mind playing tricks on you, making you believe you’re hearing things that are only phantom figments tossed around like rocks at the back of your cranium. One, two, three. Counting sheep that hop over a fence and fall on spears.
Something utterly sinister.
A whisper.
Then a creak.
But was that your mind, or the door to the bedroom that needs its hinges replaced? An intruder or the stream of water hitting your drum at the perfect angle?
Do you turn the faucet off (and do what?) or do you let this play out like you’re some blonde Hitchcockian starlet, stabbed to death in a ceramic grave, embalmed in PVC and soapy loofah net.
You’d really hate to die all naked and wet like this. And unmoisturized. You make a mental note to include a full-body rub-down with petroleum jelly in your funeral plans.
You glance over your shoulder, seeing only em empty bathroom through the fog-stained glass. No Norman Bates waiting on the other side of the shower door with a sharp blade in his hand and a cheshire grin on his face. Apparently, it’s not your time.
Swallowing down your paranoia, you turn around to face the cascade of steam and blue-hot pellets that cleans your body of all its sins. Leon calls you ‘Lucifer’, the way you bathe in hellfire. ‘Hotter than a bullet’, he says. Whatever that means. You never ask those types of questions.
What did you see out there?
Where did that scar come from?
How the hell do you know bullets are hot?
You rinse the soap from your front, the suds from your hair, your eyes screwing shut as the shampoo runs down your forehead. And when you open them, now facing the shower door again, you see a heart drawn in the condensation.
Then, you blink and it’s gone, the heat erasing the dripping strokes you saw only seconds ago.
Your ancestors outran Malaria so you could be killed in the shower.
Or.
It’s midnight and you watched a slasher movie while being home, all alone. What did you think was going to happen? And it’s not your fault, really. It was just on the television, one of the few channels that wasn’t flooded with commercials about weight-loss meal plans and insurance claims.
Turning back toward the stream, you let the water prick your skin. And then, a pair of hands wrap around your waist.
You’re not imagining things this time around.
“Boo.”
You spin on your heel, grout and tile scratching the skin on your way around. Blonde, devilishly handsome, and just dim-witted enough to pull something as dumb as sneaking up on someone in the shower. He said he wouldn’t be home for another week. Now he’s here, naked as the day he was born, standing behind you in the shower, with his hands roaming your sides.
I love you, you’re back!
I hate you, you’re a beast!
A dilemma, indeed.
“Holy shit, Leon,” you gripe, heart beating so fast, it might break free from your chest and run a marathon down the street. “Not fucking funny.” As he laughs, you throw anything you can get your hands on at the clown: a loofah, a bar of soap, almost a shampoo bottle. He grabs your wrists, snatching the bottle from your grasp, returning it to the niche in the wall as he presses pause on his laughing fit to apologize.
An apology doesn’t carry the same weight if it’s followed up by ‘I had to’ and ‘I just couldn’t help myself’.
“You scared me, Leon. I thought I was about to be a headline on the news or show up on the side of a milk carton.”
He arches a suspicious brow, the mist from the showerhead catching on the dark, coarse hairs. “Bit old for the milk carton, aren’t you?”
You land a punch on his chest, knuckle digging straight into sinew. It hurts you more than it hurts him. He only winces so you don’t feel bad about being so weak. “Not. Helping. Asshole!”
“Come on,” he coos, wrapping you in his arms. It’s been nearly a month without seeing him in the flesh, and you’re not going to put up a fight if he wants to hold you, so you let him, sinking into his touch. His skin is warm, smelling like government-issued soap, skin-eating and putrid. It’ll be his second shower of the evening, and the only enjoyable one. “That’s more like it. Happy to see me now?” With his arms still wrapped around you, and yours around him, he smooths the damp hair at the back of your head.
“I would have been happier if you had a collar with a bell,” you say, retreating, letting your eyes fall to his form, drinking it up from the callouses on his toes to the tiny scrape on his forehead.
Another question you never ask: how do you know how to do that?
To sneak up on people without making a sound? Without so much as a strand of your hair being seen?
Dipping his chin, letting the water run down his head, drenching the blonde curtains, gluing them to his temples, he chuckles. It’s a dark, vibrational sound that echoes throughout the glass chamber, nearly knocking you off your feet.
He glances up at you, droplets coating his eyelashes, making his blue eyes all the more piercing. “For you, I’d wear anything around my neck.”
You pause for a moment, letting those words in their lewdness settle in your stomach. Then, you cackle. Like a witch on a broom, soaring through an inky, Halloween sky, across a big, butterball full moon. “You’re so cheesy, Leon.” His face falls and he rolls his eyes. You never let him off easy when he attempts to play these little games–one-liners and corny jokes to try and set the stage for what he really wants to say…
“Just let me fuck you, okay?”
There it is.
“That’s all you had to say.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He’s already pumping his half-stiff cock in his hand, it sitting heavy in his palm as it slides back and forth in his fist. “Turn around, princess.” His other hand is positioning you, molding you like a ball of clay, moving your body so that your tits are pressed up against the glass wall, your cheek turned and flat above them.
He presses his tip through your lips, shoving his length between them, gathering the slick of your arousal before thrusting himself into you, every punishing inch at once, leaving you no moment of reprieve before you’re forced to take it all. The stretch has you purring like a cat, your back arching to find the angle that guarantees almost instant pleasure–the euphoria that comes from feeling full, stuffed to the brim with his cock.
He pistons in and out of you, muttering a few sweet nothings about the way you feel around him, how much he missed you, how he thought about you and your angelic face every day he was out in the field. You’ve missed the feeling of him inside you so much that you become as drunk as a white-trash divorcée in a bar, singing bad karaoke, pissed off long island iced teas and revenge.
“So tell me, baby, did you miss me?” He asks, nose nuzzling into your cheek as he speaks in your ear. You fail to respond, far too focused on the slow build of your pleasure, hammering the nails into the roller coaster you’ll soon ride up, then down. Unable to shut his mouth for more than five seconds, he returns to your ear, nibbling the lobe before his voice reappears. “Happy I’m home?”
It’s distracting, sometimes. The way he incessantly pokes and prods while literally poking and prodding. The difference is, one feels good–really, sinfully, it’s-own-circle-of-hell good–and the other one makes that good go poof!
“Can you just stop asking me questions?” You ask against the glass, backing your hips up just an inch to meet his thrusts half-way.
He chuckles, the vibrations tickling your cheek, and his hands continue to roam your body, sliding down the sides of your torso, one settling on your throat, the other at the slope of your waist. His fingers just hold your neck, tethering you to him as he presses your front back to the glass, your spine now flush with the line of his abdomen. You can feel his quickening heartbeat against your shoulder blade, paying attention to the rhythm as it grows.
Leon adjusts the shower head so that the stream of water can cascade down both your bodies, now melded together as one. The sound of his hips slapping your ass as he plummets into you harmonizes with the sound of the wet sheets.
It takes a while for you to find your high, but once it’s within arm’s reach, you relax your hips and your abdomen, and let your body do the rest of the work. You scream out, crying Leon’s name as his grunts eclipse your whimpers, your walls clamping down on his cock, so tight he can hardly remove himself, and he doesn’t. He finishes violently inside you, growls hot on your neck as he spits out gratitudes to you, to the stars in the sky above, the deities that live among them, for returning him home to you once more.
“Fuck,” he curses as he finally slides out of your pussy, taking with him the evidence of your mutual ecstasy. “That was so good.”
Planting kisses on your droplet-mottled shoulder, he exchanges the chaste pecks for bites, then kisses again, working his way up the crook of your neck, the curve of your ear. You’ve yet to remove yourself from the glass wall, too jittery to trust yourself not to fall if you do. Plus, you don’t pass up the chance to stay pressed against a hard surface by Leon’s vast chest, savoring the feeling of your skins’ union.
His hands trail up and down the flesh of your arms, teasing you with the gentle scrape of his nails, the tickling pads of his fingers. Then, as if anything at all needed to be said to punctuate such a beautiful expression of your love, Leon speaks.
leon's been looking at his wedding ring more often, you notice. it's been a month since he's returned-- a miracle in itself.
you didn't know if he would, not this time. he's survived horror after horror, constantly on the verge of loss with infection running rampant in his blood, fought his way out of each and every part of hell-- and you wonder if he leaves behind a part of himself every time. there's a redemption found, maybe, somewhere, somehow, but there is also a forgiveness that is never granted.
it's been a month since he's returned. a month and the healing has only just begun, both in body and mind. the scars that adorn his skin hold some kind of hauntening, some kind of forsakening, and the nightmares remain unforgiving and unwelcoming in the late hours.
he still hurts, even if he hides it. still wonders if he's made all the right decisions. still sees the blood on his hands. still remembers those he saved and those he's lost.
you watch him, see that distant look in blues. you see it often nowadays, you think, and that's okay. he finds his way back home, even if it takes a moment or two. or three. you'll wait as long as he needs.
"...i'm right here." you murmur, offering a smile. it's a little genuine, a little teasing. but maybe it's a little forced, too. bittersweet. "the real thing is right in front of you, baby."
his gaze flickers, eyes a little bit wider before he relaxes. a huff of amusement, the softening of tired features. his fingers touch the wedding band-- gentle, sacred.
"took this off for a bit." he admits.
"yeah?"
"yeah."
you don't ask for an explanation ; you don't feel one is warranted, given the nature of his job. you sit next to him on the couch, basking in the peace and quiet of your home. he doesn't say anything, yet his mind speaks so loudly, but you are always there to listen. you don't push. you don't rush. you just rest your head on his shoulder, waiting. however long it takes, you'll wait.
a minute, maybe two. you don't know. you don't mind.
"...didn't want to lose it." a softer tone, almost nostalgic. remorseful, yet fond all the same. "first thing i did once everything was settled was put it back on."
"yeah?"
he rests his head against yours, lets out another small chuckle.
"yeah."
"...wouldn't have cared if you lost it." you tell him, hand finding his, fingers lacing together. "as long as you came back home."
"i know." a hint of finality in the still air, then quiet relief as he turns just the slightest bit to kiss the crown of your head. "there's nobody else i'd rather come home to."
re4r leon being so shy, his version of shy. his perpetual pouty face and twisting his wrist in his hand behind his back with a nervous huff while trying his best to ask you out to dinner but it comes out more as an ask if youre hungry because hes hungry. hes thanking whatever god there is or isnt that you said yes even if he fumbled so hard. at least you seem happy to spend time with him
its not until later when youre sitting at the hitop bar seats on the patio, a little closer than friends would because he wants so fucking badly to touch you. but he cant bring himself to. so he settles for being a little closer than usual and his elbow brushing yours every so often. you say a silly joke and it gets a genuine laugh from him that has him crookedly smiling at you. you suddenly cant look away and tug at the sleeve of his shirt to urge him a little closer before crashing your mouth into his. it just might be the first time youve seen him blush
Summary : One peaceful morning doesn't take long to turn into chaos, especially when yours and Leon's daughter is the very definition for little trouble.
Genre : fluff
ᥫ᭡.🍥⋆🐇་༘🌷.ೃ࿔ᥫ᭡.🍥⋆🐇་༘🌷.ೃ࿔ᥫ᭡.🍥⋆🐇་༘🌷.ೃ࿔
What Leon wished today was one peaceful morning, but maybe that was too much to ask for — especially when his five-year-old daughter had other plans for him.
And with you being away on a week trip with your friends, Leon thought he would have everything under control and he had confidently assured you that he could handle it all; more-over he did: or atleast he tried to.
"I'll handle it, baby. Don't worry. Just enjoy your trip," Leon had told you over the phone the night before; when you called him to ask if and Luna, your daughter and he had dinner, after letting you know they did and that he put Luna to sleep just a bit ago and also he read her favourite bed-time story, that makes you sigh in relief.
Though what Leon didn't tell you was that Luna had been an absolute menace without you, constantly getting into one shenanigans after another, because honestly he wanted you to have fun, and he knew you worked way toohard for this family for him, for everyone around — and you deserved every little or grand happiness in your life — and a little break every now and then.
But something in your gut told you there was going to be chaos. A lot of it at that, so you asked him again while confusion and doubts fills your thoughts and voice, "Leon... if you want, I can come back right away—."
But he only scoffed softly on the other end of the line, as if it was the most absurd idea he had heard, "Trust me, baby."
"I do," you replied immediately, without a second thought, your voice softening slightly, as longing slips in it.
A smile made its way into his tone and even without seeing his face you could hear it in his voice. "Then enjoy yourself. I'll handle everything, I'll take care of our daughter and I'll call you tomorrow."
You couldn't help but hum happily. "God, I love you so much."
"I love you too," he answered just as quickly, his voice dripping with honey as he said it.
Then, after one last quiet goodbye, and one last teasing conversation, he ended the call.
But what he didn't know was — he just had jinxed his entire day.
.
.
Don't get him wrong though, he absolutely adores his daughter. But what he conveniently forgets at times like this, is that she, takes after you completely and is an absolute menace who exhausts him daily: probably more than you ever had.
Yet, Leon loves every second of it, because he knows his daughter, his sweet little heart, isn't going to stay this little forever.
After all, one day she'll grow up, and these chaotic little moments will become memories that he'll spend the rest of his life missing.
So, next morning, after finally getting his daughter to eat breakfast in his bed, and convincing her that ice cream was, in fact, not a breakfast food.
Leon escaped to the shower, hoping for ten uninterrupted minutes of peace while his daughter happily ate her favorite white sauce pasta that he had prepared in quite a hurry. It had gotten slightly burnt, sure, but it was still edible — and, more importantly, it had been made with love. After all, he had taken a bite himself just to make sure it didn't taste terrible. Luckily for him, it actually turned out pretty good — but it was nothing like what you cooked. But hey atleast he tried.
Then he turned and strided towards the bathroom and after slipping inside it, he turned on the shower tap that sprinkled warm water all over his body and he lazily scrubbed away the exhaustion from his torso, while letting it all disappear down the drain.
Though after five minutes, or maybe it was ten, he honestly didn't know— there was absolute silence throughout the apartment.
That alone made him suspicious, because it usually meant his baby was up to something.
Thinking that a quiet chuckle of disbelief slipped past his lips, and without wasting another second, Leon wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom.
The warm steam still clung to his body after the shower, before it slowly dissolved into the cool air of the room, and his damp blond hair fell messily across his handsome face, while droplets of water slid down his forehead and traced the curve of his cheeks, making the entire moment look as though it had been lifted straight out of a movie.
Then he gave his head a small shake, sending a few more droplets scattering as he tried to dry the stubborn strands off his face, then as soon as he was done and suddenly lifted his gaze, the scene unfolding before him made him freeze entirely.
Because perched; precariously on top of the bathroom sink was his five-year-old daughter, with a can of shaving cream that sat open beside her, and half the can... was now covering her whole face, and Leon watched the entire scene through the mirror, then he blinked once, because maybe he imagined it? then he blinked twice but as rapidly, but the scene before him remained the same and seeing her daughter covered in shaving foam, genuine confusion settled across his features.
"Doll..." he began cautiously then he quickly crossed the room, catching her by the waist before she could lose her balance, while holding her steady against him, he looked down at her with equal parts suspicion and a bit of amusement, "What are you up to?"
Luna turned toward him immediately while his hands remained around her safely grounding her beside the sink, and her entire face lighting up the moment she felt her father's presence enveloping her, "Dadda!" she squealed proudly, throwing her tiny arms around his waist before looking up at him with bright, excited eyes. "Look at me!"
For a moment, Leon was absolutely speechless at the sight of his daughter. Then, at last, a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. Because god, she looked so tiny, with foam covering her entirely, then Luna frowned almost immediately seeing Leon laugh. "Do... do I look funny, Dadda?" she asked innocently, jutting out her lower lip as if she were seconds away from crying. Leon quickly shook his head, trying to hold back another laugh, because somehow she had managed to cover her cheeks, chin, nose, eyebrows, and even little strands of her hair in white foam.
"Why did you do it baby?", he asks, furrowing his brows at her, trying to look strict though he fails miserably at that.
She tilted her head like the answer was obvious then with a long dramatic sigh, she drawled out her words. "I wanted to look like you!" she chirped happily. Before Leon could say anything, she leaned forward and rubbed her foam-covered face against his bare chest in a proud little nuzzle.
Leon let out another laugh as he looked down at her, already knowing he'd have to bathe her all over again... and then clean himself up for the second time.
"Why did you wanted to look like me, doll?"
She let out another long, exaggerated sigh, already sounding tired of Leon's questions, but answered anyway. "'Cause you're handsome."
Leon's entire expression melted, as Luna said it, hearing his daughter say he looked handsome really did a number on him, because 'wow' you think your dad looks cool? He is... but you think so too?
"...Am I?" Leon finally said, pulling himself out of his thoughts.
She looked up and nodded enthusiastically at Leon , and his expression and posture softens completely, while his heart —which didnt just melt, it set itself on fire and turned itself into a puddle of nerves in his body. "Thats why I wanted to look handsome too."
Leon let out a small breath, because after all she was still a kid, he thought then he effortlessly lifts her off the sink and settles her in his arms, despite the shaving cream immediately smearing across his bare chest all over again.
Though he didnt care for it anymore — not really, because his little daughter's word were ringing in his ears that he looked 'handsome.' Was enough to send him to world of daydreams.
"You know," he murmured, pressing a kiss against the top of her messy head, "you're already the prettiest little girl I've ever seen. You don't have to do anything to look prettier."
She gasped dramatically, before bursting into fits of giggle into his arms, "am I even prettier than Mama?"
Leon smiled at her, his pupils softening at the mention of you from his little daughter's mouth. God, he loved those quiet moments when it truly sank in that you were his and he was yours— that together, you had created this tiny little girl who filled your home with so much love. "Hmm..." he hummed, smiling to himself, "Mama's beautiful."
"And me?" She asks.
Leon pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head before smiling softly. "And you're the best thing your mama ever gave me," he whispered to her. "And you're an exact copy of your mama beautiful, kind... and everything good in this world."
His daughter seemed to love that answer, because she laughed delightedly, 'teehee' before scooping up another handful of shaving cream from her own face, and with all the confidence in the world, she reached up, to his face, and smeared it across Leon's cheek with her little hands, "There." She nodded proudly, admiring her work with a crinkle in her eyes. "Now we match."
Leon sighed softly at that and looked at her with so much affection that his heart almost ached.
Then an idea suddenly crossed his mind, that maybe he should take a picture of the two of them like this and send it to you.
"Yes, we do," he murmured with a fond smile, already walking toward the living room with Luna in his arms. "Now come on, let's take a picture and show your mother the kind of shenanigans we've been getting up to."
✦ re9 leon or vendetta leon cuz i was watching vendetta as i wrote this hihihi
✦ not rly smut?, not rly proofread so sorry for any mistakes <333
A calm summer night sets around your apartment. Dim lights around your living room which is filled with the sound of your rushed footsteps.
The dim lighting does not calm the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
You were going in circles around your living room. your ¨summer pajamas¨, small tank top and some shorts that flutter around your thighs everytime you walk away.
You stop in your tracks, behind your couch, when you hear the door bell ringing.
Your head turns, facing the door, making your heart skip beat which causes you to let out a soft gasp. Your feet move faster than your mind.
Next thing you know your legs and arms hug Leon tightly. Your lips devouring his.
His jacket feels cold, due to the air conditioner of his car, against your skin. However his lips embrace yours in warmth and softness, his stubble often scratching your upper lip. Your hands find his face, grasping his chin to make the kiss even deeper.
Your quiet moans at pants hit Leon's lips, at the sparky sensation between your legs, while soft groans and hums left Leon's feeling his jeans grow tighter with each beating minute.
His arms were holding your legs, his cold palms pressed against the warm skin behind your thighs.
Leon sits down, with you still wrapped around him, on the couch. Never breaking the kiss. His hands moving up to your hips as you start to roll them over his lap.
Leon groans when he feels warmth emanating from your pussy though his pants. He bites your lower lip making you gasp as he catches your tounge and clamps his lips around it, starting to gently suck on it.
With your help, he throws his jacket across the living room. You felt his body warmth under his blue tatical shirt, the fabric brushing delicately your nipples every time you roll your hips forward. You didn't even know when it happened but your clothes were now decorating the floor.
Leon, for as long as he as known you, has loved kissing you. It's the best way to get you started, he says. And he wasn't wrong.
When he first meet you, in bar he frequented, you were enjoying yourself with your friends, freshly out of uni. Happiness all across your face, slight blushing because of alcohol, not just because of your makeup.
He built up the courage to walk up to you and invite for a drink. Which one thing lead to another... Messy making out outside of the bar, your back pressed over the cold wall of the street...
That led to him fingering you in his car. And that led to his bed, messy sheets, clouded mind and your bodies melting into each other.
By all means, yes you loved the way he made you feel but your heart broke a little bit when he said that he doesn't want a serious relationship with you. At first, those words would bring tears to your eyes, the first couple of weeks, at least.
But now? Yes, you long for him in everyway, but you still have him... Get to experience him, you both go out for dinner, watch movies, come over to each others apartments... Like a normal couple, right? Except you are not a couple.
You whined when his lips left yours to catch his breath. Panting, looking at you up and down, his shoulders rising up and down fast.
¨Missing me huh?¨ Leon says, with that hint of teasing in his voice that drove you mad.
You sigh and roll your eyes with a shy smirk as you lower your head to his chest, hearing his heart beating so loud and fast it will come out of him every minute now.
¨Maybe.¨ You shrug.
His arm resting lazily around your waist, the other carressing your back as his fingers often brushing against it making you shiver slightly.
An intrusive thought crossed your mind, making you lift your head and look at him. His hand lazily trailling your back, making his way back to your waist.
Your hands move to the nape of his neck, carressing his hair.
¨So... How's it going with that woman you told me about?¨
Leon raises an eyebrow at you.
¨Why you asking that, sweet girl?¨
¨I'm just curious¨ you say, swallowing the fear that now sits over your chest.
Leon exhales long.
¨Well... it's not going at all.¨
His mouth reaches to your neck. He's kissed gently by your scent, hint of lavender and vanilla. He inhales softly before planting delicate kisses all over. He knows how much you love when he kisses your neck, you confirm that with the small whine you let out, he uses that to his advantage... not really wanting to keep on with the conversation.
His lips didn't take long to find that sweet spot in your neck. Leon knows exactly where it is. Your body responds tilting your head to give him more space to suck in gently as your hand grabs the nape of his neck, pressing him against your skin.
¨Aww, why is that?¨
¨Mmh... I couldn't bring myself to give her what she wanted that night nor any other¨ He mutters between kisses. His hands come up from your waist, caressing your rib cage before grabbing your breasts.
¨What? Really? I've never seen that.¨ You say before bitting your lower lip as his fingers go around your nipples is a sweet circular motion.
Everytime, at anytime you wanted he'd be ready to thrust into you, pleasure you in any way you asked.
Key word: you.
¨Yeah... My mind was somewhere else completely.¨
¨Where?¨ You hum, his fingers still busy pleasuring you.
His lips wander from your neck to your breast, kissing as he goes down. He latches on your nipple, sucking hungrily. Leon’s hand squeezes the breast he slurps like a hungry man before he moves it down to squeeze your butt, leaving a fiery trail against your skin on his way down.
You throw your head back with a gasp, arching your back, opening your chest to do as he pleases. You grab the nape of his neck with both hands pulling him even closer as you rock your hips harder
¨You.¨ He murmurs with your senstive nipple between his teeth
You feel like you were pulled back to reality at his words.
You get up from his lap and take a few steps back, feeling vulnerable mentally and physically. You try to cover yourself as best as you could. Never once, since you met him, you felt uncomfortable being naked in front of him.
¨Leon...¨ You start.
Leon gets up from the couch and walks up to you slowly. ¨I know...¨ He shakes his head.
He knows he's the one breaking what he proposed months ago.
¨You said ´no feelings´, Leon... You!¨
Leon swallows hard that knot on his throat which makes it impossible to talk. He knows too damn well he's breaking his own rule.
But Christ... For a few months his mind keeps wondering back to you, in everyway. When he's alone he´s craving your touch, when he's at work or on a mission he's beating himself up to hurry up to come see you. He realized the way his heart skips whenever he sees you, how his touch gets gentler and gentler. When he finds himself calling you cute names more times than he actually uses your name.
¨Yes, I know. But tell me, please, and I will walk away.¨
Your heart drops to your feet to that sentence. The thought of him leaving clouds your mind and tightens your chest in a way that you hardly can breathe.
¨Tell you what?¨
¨If you've ever felt the same way about me?¨ His voice came out the most gentle and sweet in probably years.
Leon s kennedy was standing in front of you confessing his feelings. You look down at the floor, biting your lower lip nervously.
¨Yes, I did... and I still do¨ You admit, looking up at him.
Leon's shoulders relax and so does his jaw. He smiles softly when he meets your eyes.
Slowly, your arms drop to your sides as you reveal yourself to him again. Shyly you walk up to him, still looking at him with every step you take.
You rest your hands against his shoulders and you wrap your arms once again around his neck, standing on your tippy toes. His hands trace the curve of your ass down to your thighs. With a small hop you are wrapped around him again.
¨I got jealous when you said you were going out with that woman...¨ You admit shyly, your voice low.
¨I imagine.¨ Leon says sitting back down once again with you around him.
You melt into his body in a delicious way. He's warm and big. You bury your head on his neck as he plants soft kisses on your shoulder. His hands caress the curve of your back again.
¨Don't worry about anyone else.¨ He mutters against your skin, his voice close to your ear. ¨I only want you, baby.¨
heeeey divas, I had this draft kinda forgotten but yeahhh. I thought of posting something spicy to vary. But don't worry cuz i'm writting more spicy oneshots with older leon so yay.
summary . . . chief leon kennedy has a crush on the temporary receptionist of rpd. the receptionist in question is his wife, and he has made it everyone’s problem.
notes. 🎤 this just in… shikiyomizu writes another fic where leon kennedy is obsessed with his wife !! got this idea while i was driving to work today, also :( thank you guys we hit 400 followers the other day 🫶 y’all are the best
tags ──────── fluff, re9 leon kennedy x wife!reader. au, no zombie break out. takes place in raccoon city. leon’s doing everything but working. word count: 1.2k words
The receptionist of RPD was six months pregnant with her first child. Getting closer to her due date, she put in her time off. Once she got to eight months, she would be gone to prepare herself and stay out on maternity leave. That gave the station at most a month to find a temporary receptionist.
Chief Kennedy quickly found a solution. After you heard he told you about their receptionist during dinner, you offered to fill in the position while she was away. You didn’t work, the officers knew you since you’d come and visit Leon at the station on occasions.
The more experienced officers were more familiar with you and still remembered the day you both met.
Leon was late on his first day of work. Not a good look for an optimistic rookie. Then, he got thrown into traffic duty with Lieutenant Marvin Branagh, and had to write up a ticket to a girl they pulled over who was his type. He swore that someone didn’t want him to succeed as a police officer.
That’s right, you were the first person Leon ever gave a ticket to. But it made for a cute story, and the outcome was a marriage of 24 years.
When he proposed the idea, everyone quickly agreed. No officer would have to fill the position, they wouldn’t have to wait for an applicant, and they could trust you would get the job done correctly. Now what they didn’t imagine happening is the Chief of police suddenly not knowing how to behave.
The first few weeks, Leon checked up on you to make sure everything was going smoothly while you were being trained. You adjusted rather quickly. He’d stay by the desk, flirt with you for a couple minutes, and return to his office.
Then the following months, the visits became more frequent. He’d start dropping by multiple times throughout the day, and stayed longer than he was supposed to. He loved having you working at the station. He could see you and talk to you any time he wanted.
And although it was sweet, it threw off the function of the second floor where the officers really needed him to be. They took matters into their own hands and limited him to one daily visit.
That ended up backfiring as soon as the rule was implemented. They saw him heading downstairs, and made a note he was taking his daily visit. So, they minded their business and went back to working.
Hours passed, someone was on the phone to speak with him. The officer tried to ring him, but he wasn’t picking up. Unusual for him. She stood up from her desk and quickly rushed to his office, just to not see Leon there at all.
The man had the entire floor looking for him because the call was important. The bathroom, the library, the archive room, the weapons room. They were practically seething when they found him sitting behind the receptionist desk with you.
All he said was, “You said one visit, not that I had to come back.”
They didn’t blame you since you were actually getting your work done.
They were honestly debating whether or not they should enforce the whole no dating in the workplace rule again. But it didn’t make sense considering you two were married and so were Captains Chris and Jill Redfield of S.T.A.R.S.
So they found the only other solution.
The following work week, Leon got banned from the first floor.
He took it to the heart. He watched you from the second floor like some Victorian yearner until he got sent back to his office by one of his lieutenants.
He tried to sneak past them on several occasions. Sometimes it worked. Other times?
“Chief! Don’t you go down those stairs!”
Leon huffed. He was so close this time. He’d made it halfway down. He glared at the officer standing at the top of stairs. You were at the reception desk, going through mail the station received. He wanted to use the excuse that he was going to pick something up, but they’d just say they would bring it to him. He reluctantly turned around and went right back up.
He passed the sign holder by the stairs made for him that said, “Lunch is at 1PM. Shift ends at 6PM.”
It got bad enough that they assigned someone to keep an eye on him.
The new rookie that joined was so confused why they told him not to allow Chief Kennedy on the first floor under any circumstances besides lunchtime and when it was time to go. Plus, they didn’t even go into detail as to why the Chief was banned from the first floor. They said it so ominously, as if the world would end if he made it down there.
Technically, it was an easy task. His office door was always shut, no matter what. If it ever opened, the loud creaking would alert the rookie and he’d tell his superior the first floor was off limits.
Today, Leon opened his office door cautiously. His officers were overwhelmed at their desks, especially the rookie who was stuck babysitting him. Paperwork was due at the end of the week. Everyone was trying to get it done so they wouldn’t have to stay late on a Friday night.
Perfect. He slipped out unnoticed. He left the door at a crack. If he closed it now, it might catch their attention and he refused to lose this golden opportunity. He kept his body against the wall, heading in the direction of the stairs.
You were making copies of forms. While the printer did the task for you, you swiveled your chair to the computer again to check on an email. Just as you were doing that, there came your husband rushing down the stairs. Leon made it to the bottom step and walked across the lobby towards the reception desk.
Oh great. What was he planning now? Your hand hovered over the phone, ready to call one of the lieutenants. But you didn’t since your husband wasn’t staring directly at you, rather the staircase on your right. He dug his hand in the pocket of his pants and pulled out a slip of paper.
Leon carefully slid it across the counter, and continued walking without looking at you.
The paper was folded in half. You raised a brow. He was probably asking you to meet him in the filing room again. You grabbed the paper and opened it.
“What the…” You muttered.
Do you like me?
Two options. One box said yes, and the other box said yes. You furrowed your brows.
You looked to your right. Leon was leaning against the stair railing. He drew a heart in the air with his pointer fingers and then winked at you. Your eyes followed as he went up to the second floor.
Reminder: File a complaint.
You clicked your pen. Underneath the two boxes, you drew a third one. Right beside it you wrote, “No”, and checked it.
“Is he here?” You glanced up. The rookie was out of air after running down a flight of stairs. Poor boy was carrying the fate of the world on his shoulders and he refused to let it end. That or he thought he might get fired for not keeping Chief Kennedy in check.
“Honey, don’t worry. He’s upstairs. Besides, the only place he’s getting in trouble is at home.” You said. That helped ease his worries a bit. You folded the slip of paper again and held it out to the rookie, “Do me a favor. Can you give this to him when you see him?”
Summary: Leon has never liked the rain, for more reasons than just the annoyance of getting wet when caught without an umbrella. It went without saying that he was more than unhappy when the weather unexpectedly changed for the worse during your much-awaited vacation. But even the most chaotic of rainstorms can be lovely, and you wouldn't let him spend his good days lost in his past.
Notes: ~ 6k words. Fluff and humor. A tad suggestive. Established relationship (married!). Tons and tons of Leon being the goofy menace we know and love.
Credit: dividers by @/strangergraphics.
In your line of work, vacations were sadly very uncommon, particularly for someone with the status and experience of Leon S. Kennedy. Proper vacations that is. Ones that lasted for a straight week or even more with no interruptions or reminders of the responsibilities awaiting him at home.
Even you didn't have it quite as bad, despite your own status as a capable senior agent who could easily give him a run for his money. Needless to say, he was as excited as a ten year old on Christmas Eve when he finally received his well deserved full week of leave, and who were you to decline a spontaneous getaway with your overly enthusiastic husband? Extreme heat and tourist traps weren't really your ideal idea of relaxation, but if you got to see him smiling and having fun with no care in the world for once, you were ready to handle some sweating and crowding.
Though, judging by the irritated huff you heard from him as he checked his phone for all the ambitious plans he's laid out for you two for the week ahead, it seemed like something didn't go quite right after all. He tsked.
"-Story of my life. Finally out on a vacation with my beautiful spouse and the weather forecast shows nothing but rain for three whole days? Ever had a romantic getaway through a thunderstorm before, sweetheart?" Leon nudged your foot under the cool water, putting his phone right back onto the beach blanket, screen down, notifications turned off for the first time in a long, long while. You could hear his disappointment, frustration even. For as long as you knew him, he was never really fond of rainy weather, and he has been very eagerly anticipating his week of pure relaxation on the beach, complete with sunny skies, your warm touches, and a glass of iced, expensive alcohol to boot.
Not exactly possible with a thunderstorm on the horizon. You and he were sitting comfortably on a wooden dock just a few feet away from the main beach area. It was more your idea than his own. Crowded beaches could get a bit too overwhelmingly loud and stifling for your liking, but here, with nobody but him pressed snugly to your side with one arm draped lazily over your shoulders and a peaceful view of the ocean ahead of you, you could fully indulge in this little vacation of yours. You hadn't gone swimming with him just yet, satisfied to simply let your toes dip into the glistening, cool water below. However, on two occasions Leon did nearly drag you under with a sinister grin that could kill and a deceptively tight grip on your ankle.
You loved seeing him be his mischievous self with you, loved watching him enjoy the water and relax under the sun - only after you studiously applied a generous layer of sunscreen, of course. It wouldn't be long before you joined him properly, but for the time being, all you wanted was to simply take in these tranquil moments.
Although it looked like your plans would have to be shifted around a little.
"Can't say that I have. But hey, I never had any romantic getaways before, so I don't think a rainstorm or two will ruin your chances to impress me," you said, returning the nudge of his foot with your own, watching you two playing footsies in the water for a bit, a carefree smile pulling at your lips. You didn't need perfect weather or fancy plans to forget your problems. All you needed was him by your side. "-Besides, isn't my company enough to brighten up even the rainiest of days?"
After all, he wasn't the only one who could be cheeky. You weren't about to let him fuss and grumble his long awaited vacation away because of a few not-so perfect days ahead. And he was easy to please. A flirty comment or two and a kiss on the cheek were far more effective than one may think.
And just like clockwork, the subtle crease in his brows vanished immediately upon the contact of your lips with his freshly shaven jaw. He was always a sucker for your touch, you'd tease him about it if it wasn't so sweet to see the grumpiness all but melting out of him with just a little bit of affection. He moved his head towards you to chase after you before you could pull back completely, catching your mouth for a lingering, warm kiss that you had no qualms with reciprocating, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips into the soft exchange.
"Well... I did book this trip for dips in the ocean and drinking beers on a floatie, but if I can't have either? I'd say spending it tangled up in bed with you is pretty good compromise," he murmured quietly against your lips, your smile reflecting in his own. The ocean extended ahead endlessly in serene golden ripples beneath the overcast sunset, but the only view you needed was each other, regardless of how corny that may have sounded. Your lives were chaotic enough to justify indulging in the corniest of things as far as you were concerned. Leon leaned back and sighed, but not before giving you a peck on the nose for good measure. "...Still not my idea of a romantic getaway though."
With a lighthearted roll of your eyes, you pulled your feet up from the water, shifting to drape them over his lap in a relaxed, casual fashion you'd usually do back at home on your couch. You could feel his disappointment - and you couldn't say you blamed him for it - but you also didn't want him to spend all week moping about when he was supposed to be relaxing. And if you needed to come up with creative ways to pull him out of that? Well, you were prepared to utilize every weapon in your armory. Metaphorically speaking, of course. You wriggled your toes: "Well hey, I heard even storms can be romantic when you're near the ocean. ...Mostly."
"You're a bad motivational speaker, honey," Leon exhaled with a soft, fond laugh, his hands immediately going to caress and massage at your feet the way he always did whenever you put them there. Even as he entered his late thirties, he remained a massive lover boy. You've learned to appreciate that about him over the years and to reciprocate it in kind. For now, though, you just let him work his magic on your feet while you sighed contentedly with the sun setting and the ocean air caressing over your cheeks, dispelling any extra heat the sun may have brought.
You didn't have to look over to know that Leon wasn't exactly enjoying the view of the ocean the same way you did. But that's okay. After all, you ogled him more than enough for today while he was enjoying his time the water, wet hair slicked back and shimmering droplets of sea water clinging to his chiseled physique and all. You were even.
"...But I know you're smiling."
The first distant rumble of thunder far over the horizon was accompanied by shared laughter instead of groans of disappointment, and that's all the accomplishment you needed for today.
The first raindrops fell as you two were having an overpriced meal at a beachside restaurant. Some highly acclaimed Michelin star establishment with a name you two had way too much fun trying to pronounce in increasingly ridiculous ways on your way there. Even if you had all the money to compete, you most definitely didn't look like a high-end couple on an expensive outing amid all the well-dressed guests. Granted, you never really needed anything pricy to feel fulfilled, but Leon sure loved putting his hefty paycheck to good use, and that included going all out on his vacation. You couldn't call him an outright snob, though, unless it was about his precious motorcycles or firearms. Not when half the fun of picking out your meal options for the night consisted of you two snickering like children over stupid food puns.
But that's why you adored this silly, wonderful man. No one could make you feel as at ease as he did, and nobody could make you smile and laugh as easily as he did. He made life appear so simple just by being himself.
The dark, heavy stormclouds came on so quickly, it felt like a second ago they weren't even there, the large french windows stretching from floor to ceiling giving you the perfect view of the upcoming dark shape cloaking the last remaining rays of the setting sun that were still there, reminding you of the peace just from a mere hour ago. The wind had also intensified significantly, causing the row of palm trees that provided refreshing shade under the summer sun for the main path to sway beneath its might. For now, you were lucky to be inside, with fancy food and no rain. But you'd eventually have to leave. And something told you that you weren't coming back to your rented out cottage dry.
However, for the time being, you dismissed that forthcoming thought and instead concentrated on the pleasant and tranquil ambiance that was cultivated by the gentle pitter-patter of the first heavy raindrops against the windows. This atmosphere has only really added to your intimate dinner date. Leon swirled his glass of expensive whiskey - actual alcohol - not the cheap beach-bar swill from earlier. It felt cozy. In a weirdly luxurious way that you honestly never thought you’d enjoy. And seeing Leon genuinely having fun for a change was a relief in and of itself. You knew that his personal dislike for rainy weather went far beyond a simple preference for warmth and sunshine. You couldn't really blame him for connecting rainstorms with chaos: hurried evacuations, emergency calls back to the DSO whenever another crisis strikes, groans and explosions in Raccoon City's flooded streets, and so on.
But this? This was just… peaceful. And it was your pleasure to give him this peace.
He took a slow sip and glanced at you across the candlelit table. Soft amber light reflected in his gray-blues, his hair looking more mussed and puffed up than usual from his ocean dip an hour earlier. That, and his casually unbuttoned shirt, which gave you a brief view of his collarbones, made him a sight to behold. Though, you willfully reminded yourself to behave, at least until you got back to your cottage. Leon didn't need much to fly off the handle when it came to you, and you knew your resolve to act like a responsible citizen would fray the moment he caught on to you getting excited.
"I still can’t believe we're actually eating at this place without getting kicked out for being 'too casual.' I mean… look at me." He gestured vaguely to himself - his signature pair of dark jeans and a simple blue button-down with rolled up sleeves that also gave you a nice view of his corded forearms. No tie. Not even close to formal wear by five-star standards. Neither of you had the opportunity to put on formal attire.
You snorted fondly, reaching over the table to tap him on the nose. Although you would have preferred to kiss him properly, you still wanted to maintain at least a somewhat respectful demeanor toward the other guests enjoying their dinner. For now.
"That's because you're gorgeous enough to charm even the snobbiest of staff with just one signature Kennedy smile. Lucky me."
It was clear that you were just flirting, but you did also mean it with all your heart. Leon was one stunning man, in looks and heart alike. You must have been a saint in a previous life, because you had no idea what you did to deserve his company by your side for the rest of your days.
Leon chuckled softly, his gaze ducking a little the way it always did whenever you flattered him in one way or another. It was adorable how shy he could become after just a bit of sweet talk from you, just to turn into an absolute menace the next minute. He gently grabbed at your wrist before you could pull your hand back, bringing it up to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles, his breath scattering over the simple silver band adorning your ring finger.
"Well... My Kennedy charm is a powerful weapon of mass seduction I only ever use on my very hot spouse," he said all too proudly, making you chuckle in return before returning to your menu. You didn't want to keep the poor waiter waiting on you any longer for no better reason than your husband making you swoon and lose your concentration. Again. Nevertheless, Leon cleared his throat to catch your attention once more: "I say, if we're wining and dining in the rain, at least I get to do it with an iced glass of Ardbeg Traigh Bhan."
You raised your brows as you looked up at him, catching him grinning at you with a raised toast. He's cut back on his drinking significantly in recent months, which was a very good sign, but it was also lovely to see him enjoying a glass of whiskey for leisure rather than to block out the pain for once.
"...I have no idea what the hell you just said, and I can't even tell if you butchered that name or not," you deadpanned, trying not to make your amusement too obvious. Watching him pretend to be some whiskey connoisseur was sort of comical because you knew full well that he would prefer a greasy burger and a can of beer to dry aged steak and a glass of wine on any given day of the week.
Leon huffed.
"Oh c'mon now, I know a damn good whiskey when I see it," he protested playfully, swirling the rich, amber liquid in his iced glass before tilting his head at you. "Try and rate it out of ten. If I get a score higher than a seven, I'm putting whiskey specialist on my resume."
"A vital qualification indeed," you hummed, playing along with this charade of his. Acting like idiots was half the fun of being with him, after all. Granted, whiskey was never quite your choice of beverage, but a sip or two wouldn't kill you. Besides, even though you teased him, he was undoubtedly more knowledgeable about fine liquor than you were. "-But y'know I'll be biased, I'll always trust your judgement when it comes to drinks."
You took a measured sip out of his glass tasting the rich, smoky flavor that, while certainly not fitting for your own palate, was definitely far more intricate and complex than your average cocktail or a can of beer. At the very least, it didn't taste like cat piss, so you accepted that as proof of its quality alone. Somewhere in the distance, a rumble of thunder rattled through your chest, making you glance back out the window, licking your lips. It appeared that your hopes for a lighter downpour were not fulfilled after all.
"...Really is a shame about the weather," you murmured, more to yourself than to him, really, returning his glass. "Okay, I'll rate it... Eight point five out of ten. Just for that resume update."
"Cheers to my promotion then. Productive even on my vacation. Hunnigan will love it." He raised his glass again in a lighthearted toast, the ice cubes clinking as another rumbling of thunder shook the window. The sky has now gone completely dark from the looks of it, the ocean that has looked so clear to you back on the dock now seeming more like an endless black void. However, Leon was still grinning and concentrating on you rather than the raging downpour outside. You couldn't help but feel proud of him for that, especially considering how hard things have been for him just in the past few years.
It was always reassuring to know that he could still find joy in the smallest of things, even if he did occasionally need your assistance in reminding him how to do that.
You felt his foot lightly nudging yours underneath the table, pulling you away from your little sentimental reminiscing. However, the dim lighting in the restaurant made it difficult to concentrate on what he was saying because the sparkle in his eyes was so much more noticeable than usual.
"-Hey, for the record, I really don't give a damn if it rains for the whole week for all I care. I would still rather be here with you than anywhere else."
Your heart swelled in your chest.
Now who is a sweet talker?
As expected, the food and accompanied conversation about this and that were delightful, so much so that you could easily forget about the storm outside, the muffled sounds of it lost between the exchanged laughs and the soft live jazz music flowing through the restaurant. You both enjoyed a few more plates than you had intended, especially for dessert, and may have had one or two too many glasses to drink. For someone who proudly declared himself not a sweet tooth, Leon sure was eager to steal half of the fancy cheesecake you ordered for yourself. And given the small servings, that only meant one thing. More cheesecake.
It's not like you could stay here all night, protected from the rain, though. Eventually, you had to pay the bill and actually get ready to leave, pouring rain or not. Still, Leon's grin remained unwavering as he signed the bill, leaving a substantial tip in the small black folder to boot. And as he spoke with one of the waiters to hopefully negotiate an umbrella, you were left staring out at the dark clouds overhead. You were appreciative that he used his charisma to get you two an umbrella at the very least, and his proud smile was far too cute for such a little thing, but you weren't sure if it would be of any use to you at all or if it would even withstand the fierce sea wind. Granted, neither of you were strangers to getting drenched. Simple rainwater was far superior to pure sewage water or B.O.W. blood and guts; you'd be alright even if you returned home soaked to the bone. But that didn't mean you had to like it, either.
"...You think we might get lucky enough for the rain to magically stop once we go out?" You asked, a rhetorical question at best.
"Don't you worry, sweetheart, I'll hold you real close so you won't get cold. Your own personal heater. Handy, no?" He teased, all too eagerly offering you his arm in a way that was impossible not to chuckle at. When he was tipsy, he did always become a little more doting.
You gently shook your head and pressed a kiss to his cheek: "You're only saying that as an excuse to get all nice and cozy with me."
"You got me," Leon grinned, readying his umbrella in one hand and slinging his other arm over your shoulders, pulling you in close. He smelled strongly of his citrusy cologne and smokey whiskey, which made you smile subtly against his neck. It was a fresh change of pace for him to not smell of gunpowder and copper. You sensed him place a quick kiss on the top of your head, urging you forward with a small nudge: "C'mon."
Well, here goes nothing.
You stepped outside in unison, the cool sea air hitting you like a wall almost instantly. The rain was indeed still coming down in thick sheets, instantly pitter-pattering against the poor umbrella that did its best to keep up its defense against the relentless assault. A genuine trooper. Still, no magic love spells to save you tonight, you supposed. Leon moved the umbrella further over you, letting the rain hit his now exposed shoulder. You wished you could say you were surprised by the selfless gesture, but it merely made you let out a fond, knowing sigh and shake your head. This stubborn man has always prioritized you first, for better and for worse. By now, you knew better than to argue with him about this, unless you wanted to stand here for twenty whole minutes until his resolve would finally give way a little.
Besides, the cab that he called in would arrive in a matter of minutes.
As the car steadily approached the cottage, you pursed your lips into a thin line, the little coastal house steadily coming into view through the gray haze: cozy, white and blue shutters tucked between palm trees swaying violently in the wind.
"...We're gonna have to make a run for it."
Leon raised an eyebrow at you. You felt his hand that was faithfully resting on your thigh for the entirety of the ride give you a little squeeze. "You forgot about our little umbrella friend or are you just in it for the thrill of it?"
You huffed a little when you met his gaze: "It's barely a two minute run, what's the point of bothering with an umbrella arrangement?"
"-Yeah, two minutes of getting soaked. And that white shirt of yours is gonna be transparent by the time we get there. Unless that's your goal, in which case, hey, I'm not complaining."
You playfully slapped at his bicep, trying in vain to shush him, if not for decency sake - he certainly didn't have that when it came to you - then for the poor driver up in the front who had to patiently deal with you two being sickeningly flirty for a couple that was supposed to be mature enough to know better. But you knew you couldn't hide the smile on your lips, which was like adding more fuel to the fire when it came to him. He chuckled, raising his hands in surrender: "Look, I'm just saying, you mean we grabbed that fancy umbrella for nothing?"
You tilted your chin up: "Of course not, it'll be useful for any future client who might be just like us. Good karma never hurts."
Now it was Leon's turn to affectionately roll his eyes at you, but you could see that he was not going to argue any further on this. "Such a martyr you are."
Once the vehicle has stopped at the front of the cottage and the driver was paid off for all your troubles, he leaned over to plant a totally unnecessarily dramatic kiss to your cheek, quite clearly exaggerating the prolonged 'mwah!' sound for no other reason than to annoy you. But before you could get back at him, he was already throwing open the car door, the wall of rain instantly lashing in, cold and sharp, but still smelling of that sea freshness that served as a reminder that you were here for leisure, not life-or-death.
He had to raise his voice to be heard over the sound of the rainfall, shooting you a grin over his shoulder.
"-Alright fellow agent Kennedy! Operation: Dry Shirt is a go!" If there were still any chances remaining of you two maintaining a respectable image in front of the poor driver, they were officially shattered into pieces by your tipsy goofball of a husband. You didn't mind, though. His grin reflected your own as he tugged you out of your seat and quickly nudged you ahead with a completely unnecessary pat on the butt. "Go, go! I'll cover your six!"
You could've briskly made your way along the pebbled path without any needless fanfare. Perhaps even make it all sweet and romantic: hands clasped together, maybe even a jacket draped over you both to try and stay dry. Instead, you started running at full speed while laughing like nobody was watching, and in a way, it was accurate. It was hard to stop when you could hear his own laughter join you in the roaring downpour of rain coming down around you. Water splashed unceremoniously up your feet with each heavy step, and some of the cold water came from his feet pounding on the puddles beside you, too.
You've run alongside him many times over the years, in the rain or even heavy snowstorm included. However, it was never like this. Never feeling this free and careless in such a pure and childlike way.
Needless to say, you were both, indeed, soaked by the time you arrived at the front door, grinning like fools and breathing heavily despite the fact that this was one of the shortest sprints you had ever done. It was nice for your lungs to struggle for air because of laughter for once, not genuine physical exertion or pain. He unlocked the door and was ready to open it when you placed a hand on his arm. Lightning flashed somewhere overhead. Perhaps it was the alcohol, just enough to get you feeling free and tipsy, bolder than you'd otherwise be. Perhaps it was the warm sensation of delight that grew within you after witnessing so many smiles by his side today with no worries in the world. Or perhaps it was the realization that, for once, the rain did nothing to squander his good mood, that he could appreciate it for what it is, instead of what it was to him on many much darker nights before this one.
In any case, the next words that came out of your mouth were completely spontaneous and didn't require any thought on your part.
"-Hey, dance with me."
Leon paused, his hand still on the doorknob and a carefree grin still on his lips, his brows raising at you from under a mess of his windblown hair that completely decimated his usually perfectly styled bangs. You reached up to brush some of the long strands away, partly just as an excuse to touch him. His shirt was now clinging to his sculpted form, giving you a perfect excuse to appreciate some of the lines and dips you've known by heart for years now. However, you would never grow tired of appreciating him, whether he was disheveled and soaked or impeccably dressed up. And you knew the sentiment was mutual, his own gaze flickering over your drenched form with the same appreciative glint.
"...Dance with you," he reiterated, almost bemused. You couldn't blame him. That was rather cliche and sappy of you. However, he was never modest when it came to being shamelessly sappy with you before. His hand left the keys dangling in the door, finding its perchance on your hip instead and pulling you in close, wet clothes pressed together. "What, here?"
A low rumble of thunder could be heard again in the distance. It was the kind of sound that keeps on going and echoing for a while. Then there was a flash over the palm trees, and another booming sound followed. Leon didn't seem interested, though, his eyes solely fixed on you with that awaiting smile that made you feel young again. You rested your hands on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat under one palm through the thin, wet cloth and grinning to yourself.
"Yup," you said simply, one single word that was still purely affectionate in a way that even the most ferocious of storms couldn't dare to interrupt.
Leon caressed your cheek with his other hand, and as he leaned towards you in a stupidly handsome manner that only he could pull off so effortlessly, some of the rainfall dripped from the ends of his bangs.
"I know I'm the last person who should be saying this to you, but... It would be kinda reckless, no? I don't want you catching a cold on our vacation," he murmured, voice warm and teasing despite the responsible words.
You raised a brow: "We're already soaking wet."
To further drive your point home, you flicked some of the wet bangs off of his forehead, stifling a snicker when the strand stuck right back to his face. He let out a loud sigh, obviously giving in without making much of an effort to put up a fight. Not that his heart was ever even in it, evidently.
"Sometimes you give me a run for my money when it comes to being a smartass, hun. Alright, fine. One dance, you hear?" He grinned and leaned forward to nuzzle your neck, causing you to shiver against his chest. In a typical Leon fashion, he was absolutely shameless in the way his nose dragged down the curve of your neck, soon replaced by his lips as he pressed a warm kiss to your collarbone that contrasted wildly with the coldness of the rain. That was one way to maintain your warmth, you supposed. He glanced up at you, mischief in his eyes. "...But I get a reward, too."
You felt his hand that was grasping your hip slip upwards, his fingers sliding beneath your damp shirt and leisurely tracing up and down your spine. You didn't mind the attention, grinning to yourself as you nudged his head back up, not wanting him to get too distracted. At least not yet. "Deal."
And so, you took a step back, but only to chuckle and pull him along as you abandoned the safe threshold you ran so carelessly to get to, stepping back under the pouring rain with him in tow. You squealed and laughed again when the cold water hit you, and this time you resisted the urge to hide yourself from it, instead welcoming it with open arms. You weren't sure if you could call it a dance per se. To be fair, dancing was never really your thing, and even during your wedding ceremony, you likely looked pretty awkward despite all your preparation in advance. But it's not like anyone was insane enough to be outside in this downpour to see you two laughing and twirling around like preschoolers. However, Leon made it clear that he was intent to always have at least one hand on you, and if he had his way, you would most likely be pressed up flush against him. But for now, he was content with simply having his hand on the small of your back, doing his best goofy impression of a waltzing gentleman.
The initial burst of energy was brief, but it was still more than enough. And as you two slowed down for a more intimate and tender moment, you couldn't help but feel your heart skip a beat at the way the soft orange light from the night lamps on your front porch danced across his features. Sometimes you could swear he was a living marble sculpture or something. Carefully crafted and molded for many tiring hours to achieve that impossible level of perfection for many generations to admire. But he was no timeless statue; he was alive and warm, there for you to touch, and he chose you as his sole admirer on his own accord. So you touched him, swiping yet another stubborn wet strand of hair away from his eye, your thumb brushing over the apple of his cheek in a way that was utterly unnecessary. Despite being a drenched mess, he was still cheerful and grinning. You felt yourself grin, too, draping your arms over his broad shoulders and pulling him in close. You couldn't help but laugh when you watched his nose scrunch up from a droplet of rainwater slowly rolling down the slope, most likely tickling him. You solved his plight by leaning forward to nuzzle your noses together.
It was a fairly awkward approach, but you appeared to favor awkward decisions today.
"God you're cute," he murmured with a soft laugh, his own arms tightening their hold around your middle in that affectionate way he always did whenever he just couldn't get enough of you. "I must say, your idea of a 'romantic getaway' is pretty chaotic. I should up my game"
You shrugged.
"Maybe. But I made you smile, didn't I?"
Another lightning flashed somewhere behind the stormclouds as he gently nudged you back one careful step at a time until you found yourself leaning back against one of the pillars with a cold shiver. Despite the frigid, wet stone pressing to your back, his swift positioning in front of you, with one thigh pressing between your knees and his chest all but pushed up against you, elicited a shiver for a different reason altogether. The cold was quickly replaced by warmth, even as his cold lips pressed to the underside of your jawline. You exhaled a gentle laugh, one hand moving up his back to bury itself into the damp mess of hair on the back of his head.
"Yeah... You make me smile like the biggest, happiest fool alive," he murmured, softer now, lacking the usual playfulness his words were laced with on the regular. He meant it, you could tell. You sighed as you felt him travel down again, lingering at your shoulder with a trail of warm kisses. He hummed, low: "...Thank you. For always making me smile. Even in a literal shitstorm."
It made your heart melt a little. You knew his gratitude ran deeper than a simple ruined vacation day fixed with a couple of laughs and kisses. The rain had once flipped his life upside down in the worst way. He was thanking you for making him smile despite it. With you, he didn't have to think about the past, or even the approaching future. He had the ability to concentrate on the here and now, regardless of the time or the weather.
"You make me smile every day that you're with me," you returned, your fingers clumsily combing through his wet hair. It was your best attempt at affection at your current soaked state of things. His low hum on your shoulder said he appreciated it nonetheless. Cheesy or not, sometimes it was worth saying what was on your heart regardless. And he was the one person in the entire universe you could be your cheesiest self with with no second thoughts. "It's only fair I return the favor."
You felt him chuckle against your neck, his breath tickling you in the best of ways. When it came to being corny, as long as you could see that warm, almost boyish smile light up his entire face as he pulled back to look you in the eyes, you knew you'd never try to hide it away from him.
"I don't know about fair, sweetheart," he said, one hand traveling upwards to cup your cheek, making pleasant warmth from his palm seep into your chilled, wet skin. You placed a kiss on his wrist, sensing his thumb graze the skin beneath your eye. "...You give me everything and more."
At that, you couldn't help but huff, giving him a look. This again? You swore, you could be old and wrinkly sitting on your back porch in your rocking chairs, watching your grandkids playing in the pool, and he'd still find ways to bring himself down. Then again... you supposed, you also tended to put him up on a pedestal. Guess you were two peas in a pod when it came to that. Either way, you weren't going to let it slide. Not now, not ever.
"-And you don't? Cooking up my favorite meals on my bad days when I don't even say a peep to you, bringing me coffee just the way I like it even when I'm being a morning grouch, sharing your precious hair products when I forget to order mine again?" All of these things were so small in the grand scheme of things, inconsequential even, and you were being playful with him in big part. Nonetheless, they conveyed just how much he cared. Still cared, just as strongly as he did in your first crazy weeks together. It was just not as loud or flashy. Instead, it was a quiet routine built on respect and comfort between you two that has helped you both grow strong and steady together, like a sturdy foundation keeping the rest of the house standing strong through the seasons. You lifted your finger: "-And that's me purposefully ignoring the obvious 'gonna lay down my life for you' shtick we both agree on."
Thunder rumbled again and the echo followed suit. Leon didn't say anything in response, but when he eventually moved in to give you a proper heated kiss on the lips, you met him halfway and laughed against him as you tasted the cheesecake he had stolen from your plate on him. When he pulled back, he didn't try to hide his clear desire for more than just that, a way to show you the same kind of unconditional love and warmth you've shown him today. You'd let him, of course. You'd welcome it, even.
His tender touch contrasted sharply with the desire blossoming in his eyes as he rubbed your arms, adding warmth to your soaking body.
"Well, if we're even, then I better get my reward now, yeah? First order of business... Get you inside and out of these clothes," he placed a peck to your cheek, smirking warmly. "How's that sound?"
You grinned as you nudged him back towards the front entrance, hand on his chest: "What a coincidence... I was thinking the same thing."
leon s. kennedy finds his way back home to you after visiting raccoon city again ⌖𖦏
trauma. it gnawed at leon whilst he walked through the r.p.d. with the goal of rescuing the abducted grace. after 28 years, he never imagined walking through that damned city again.
not only that, but he finds himself infected with a dormant strain of the t-virus. just his luck, i guess. he has a long story to tell you when he gets home. if he gets home that is.
but finally, the mission concludes. leon's saving grace— elpis gets him up and ready to finally get a good night's sleep with you by his side tonight.
after saying his goodbyes with grace, shipping elpis to those who needed it— leon slips on his wedding ring and walks straight home to you.
fumbling with the keys of your shared house, leon heavily sighs before finding the right one. he blinks, twisting the knob open, and stumbles into the living room. it's late, yet after his conversation on the phone with you, where he pleaded with you to go to sleep before he gets home, there's a part of him that knows you didn't listen, as disobedient as you always were.
shoving off all his equipment and whatnot onto the carpet of the living room (with not a care for your scolds next morning), he goes into your shared bedroom, a bit expectant to see you up and awake just for him— but he was... wrong?
his expression drops slightly at the sight of you spread out like a starfish on the bed, taking up even his side. he huffs in amusement, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking in your look. eyes shut tightly, eyebrows slightly furrowed, and your mouth slightly ajar. you looked... amusing, to say the least. looks like leon didn't have to worry about you lacking sleep for tonight.
so, he prompts for a shower.
the warm water eases his body almost immediately, and the old man couldn't help but groan softly. his injuries still stung, but he knows you'd tend to restitch and sanitize them when the time comes. leon's definitely looking forward to that. secretly delusional, as he is, he smiles when he imagines the look on your face when he moves even the tiniest bit while you're stitching. your face would be scrunched up in exasperation, voice pouty as you chide him.
"why are you smiling, mister?" your voice cuts him off, and he feels his heart drop stronger than the first time he saw a zombie.
leaning against the now-open glass shower door, you raise an eyebrow at him. "i waited up for you all night," you mutter, crossing your arms.
"yeah, sure you did, honey." he retorts, turning off the shower water. he reaches out for the towel, but you're quicker, handing it to him yourself.
"are you doubting my love for you?" you narrow your eyes, and he huffs as he covers his lower part. "not at all," leon waltzes out of the shower now, heading for the sink. you hum, following after him. you gaze at him through the mirror, "so? where'd your mission bring you this time?"
leon looks back at you, eyes evidently tired, before he lets out a low scoff, leaning down to wash his razor. "you'd never believe it," he murmurs. "well, i'm intrigued," you answer, standing beside him now.
"raccoon city,"
it takes a few moments for you to process before a slow smile of sympathy reaches your lips. "really?" you softly say now, watching as he puts shaving cream on his face. you tilt your head, catching his eyes. "how was it?" you ask, and he glances at you for a moment before going back in the mirror. "it was... interesting," he answers.
"i'm going to need more than that, leon," you sigh in contempt, grabbing the razor and deciding to take matters into your own hands. leon clicks his tongue, but with feigned annoyance. he lifts you onto the counter, and you bite back a smile as he stands in between your legs. "you're quite energetic. can't you wait until the morning?" he grumbles, but you don't listen, shutting him up by slowly shaving his jaw.
"i can't live on a cliffhanger," you murmur, now focused on your work. "you tell me you go back to raccoon city, then stop there. it's unfair,"
leon sighs, but you hold his face in place— so he looks directly at you, thinking about what to say.
but he's distracted, to say the least. a part of him yearns to forget all about that investigation with all the deaths, zombies, viruses, and scary stuff, and enjoy some time with you. plus, you looked breathtaking. if he said it out loud, you'd beg to differ— but when did leon ever care about the way you looked?
"stop dozing off. is this a sign of age?" you put the razor down, an annoyed expression now etched on your beauty, but it makes leon laugh. before he knew it, you were already done with shaving. "really? you're going non-verbal now?" you complain as he washes his face. but you pat it with a towel as soon as he finishes.
"i'm just thinking, gorgeous." he says, muffled through the towel as he leans his hands against the counter, effectively trapping you. the towel is long gone now, and it was just you and leon.
just the two of you, as always.
he leans down, a soft sigh leaving his lips before he looks back into your eyes. no more playful banter, or whines and complaints. you set your hands on his shoulders, "talk to me, honey. what went through your head?" you softly speak, rubbing his skin comfortingly.
leon ponders for a moment, before he speaks up. "i met this girl, she was kidnapped by an ex-t-virus researcher from umbrella." he gruffly speaks, and you listen intently, "and she reminded me of well... me. from all those years ago."
your expression turns solemn, "rookie leon, huh?" you try to keep it lighthearted, caressing his cheeks now. he huffs, "yeah, definitely him."
leon continues, "and she was so desperate to help, to undo the wrongs she blames herself for." he takes a deep breath, and you sigh, feeling all his pent-up emotions. "and it all went down in raccoon city, of all the places."
"oh leon," you shake your head, empathizing with him. "come here honey," opening your arms, you invite him for a warm hug. something you know he needed.
as leon always was, he leans right into your arms, inhaling your scent after days of being away from you. his chin's placed on your shoulder, arms around your waist.
this was the silence leon s. kennedy yearned for— the sweetness of an embrace that he knows is waiting for him, no matter what. an embrace that could easily leave this veteran d.s.o. agent's heart defenseless. 30 years of fighting b.o.w.s, to this was more than a reward. knowing there's a place to go home to felt just right in leon's soul.
"tell me more about it in bed, baby," you whisper, rubbing his back with a smile as you pull away slightly to look at his face. "i wanna hear everything about it." you add, pushing his damp hair back gently.
leon grins, giving you a chaste kiss on the lips. simple yet effective, it gets both your hearts to flutter even after all the years of being together. the agent then hauls you up, bringing you back to your shared bedroom.
safe to say— you were the one who totally captured leon kennedy's heart.
𐙚────ᝰ.ᐟ₊ ⊹
a/n: heyyy! if you've reached all the way to the end, thank you so so much for reading <3
i thought i'd make a little au where reader is leon's wife and he comes home to them after the events of re9! no ship wars— his fandom is canonically his wife :P
also, mid-writing i remembered that elpis literally healed leon as a whole (if i'm not mistaken) so him having injuries might not be canon(?) idk i didn't bother changing it cause i thought the scene in the shower was cute.
anyways, if you enjoyed this work of mine, please do consider giving me a follow or reblogging! it would be much much appreciated baddies :D thanks again!
rhaenyra going into that council room at the beginning practically skipping with joy to tell everyone her long lost doomed situationship came to see her 😭😭
Summary: Leon comes home a little late on Father's Day.
Words: 900
Leon was already halfway through the front door before it was fully opened.
“--for dinner, because I am starving? Haven't eaten since–”
The rest of the sentence died. Leon stopped. The house was dark. Not dark-dark. Afternoon sunlight still filtered through the curtains, but it was quiet.
His keys disappeared into his pocket. The fatigue of a fourteen-hour workday evaporated. Years of training slid into place. There was no television, no music, no voices, no movement.
His heart began to pound.
"Sweetheart?" he called.
He waited, only for silence to greet him.
His jaw tightened.
The living room was empty. Kitchen empty. No sign of you
No sign of his daughter. The little shoes by the front door were gone.
Leon moved silently through the house, checking corners, checking sightlines, following the familiar ritual of a man who had spent most of his life preparing for terrible things.
The hallway.
Empty.
Dining room.
Empty.
Upstairs.
Still nothing.
The knot in his chest tightened. His mind was already constructing possibilities: an emergency, an accident, a break-in. Every terrible scenario his career had trained him to anticipate.
He reached the top of the stairs and paused, listening.
There was absolutely no sound.
And then, muffled, behind a door down the hallway, he heard a giggle. In the guest room.
Leon froze.
He heard another tiny sound. A whisper. Then frantic shushing.
Leon's eyes closed briefly as his shoulders sank and his head fell back.
Jesus Christ.
The guest room door burst open.
"SURPRISE!"
A tiny blur launched itself at his legs. Leon barely had time to react before his daughter collided with him at full speed. Construction paper exploded everywhere. Glitter rained across the hallway. A handmade crown landed near his shoe as a small body was wrapped around his waist.
"Daddy!"
For a moment Leon simply stood there, motionless and staring.
His daughter looked up at him expectantly, smiling with that smile that was missing two front teeth. Her hair was slightly crooked. Her face was covered in marker. She was holding what appeared to be a Father's Day card assembled entirely from glue and determination.
"Daddy?"
Leon swallowed. Hard. He crouched, scooped her up, and held on. The card crumpled slightly between them.
His daughter immediately began talking. Words poured out in a stream. About crafts, about surprises, about how Mommy helped but not too much because she did most of it herself, about breakfast, about decorations, about everything.
Leon didn't say a word. He just held her, one hand spread across her back, the other cradling the back of her head.
You appeared in the hallway doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame, your face softening because you knew that look. You'd seen it before on the rare occasions Leon was caught off guard by happiness. The moments that slipped through his defenses. The moments when the weight of everything he'd survived collided with everything he'd gained.
His daughter was still talking, still chattering happily, oblivious.
Leon lowered his face into her hair. His shoulders were still rising with a careful breath when you saw it.
A tear.
Sliding silently down his cheek.
Your chest ached. God. After all these years, seeing him cry still felt sacred.
His daughter finally noticed.
"Daddy?"
Leon laughed softly, a broken little sound, then kissed the top of her head.
"I'm okay, kiddo." His voice was rough. "So okay."
His crushing hug kept her from saying anything else, and then she forgot the words beneath the weight of her giggles.
You smiled, wiped discreetly at your own eyes, and decided the moment had become too emotional. Somebody had to save everyone.
So you stepped forward and cleared your throat.
You said quietly, "Mommy got you something too."
Leon looked up, still holding your daughter, still visibly wrecked.
You held out a card.
Simple. Blue. He liked blue. Slightly bent at one corner.
His eyes immediately softened.
"Yeah?"
You nodded.
"Yeah. Happy Father’s day."
He took it carefully, like it might break.
Your daughter twisted excitedly in his arms.
"Open it!"
Leon smiled and he opened the card. Inside, in your handwriting, were only a few words.
Coupon for one free blowjob.
Leon almost choked on a stifled laugh. His eyes moved lower.
Thank you for being the safest place either of us have ever known.
The hallway went quiet. Leon stared at the words. His thumb brushed across the ink.
His eyes closed.
A fresh tear escaped despite his best efforts.
Your daughter gasped dramatically.
"Daddy's crying again."
You laughed.
Leon laughed too, a helpless, embarrassed sound.
Your daughter wrapped both arms around his neck. You stepped closer and pressed yourself against his side.
And there, in the middle of a hallway littered with glitter and construction paper, Leon Kennedy stood surrounded by the two people he loved most in the world, holding his daughter, holding your card, believing finally that he had succeeded in making the world safe enough to make a difference.
At least for you.
A/N: sorry for the late upload on Father's day! I was busy celebrating my own husband. Nothing quite as adorable as your chosen DangerousMan™️ silently tearing up while holding your child.
⊹₊⟡⋆ cw —angst. hurt/comfort. leon x fem!reader. leon has a breakdown and really needs a hug. not proofread! ᯓ★
masterlist
sometimes the break between missions was worse than the actual mission.
leon was accustomed to the fallout that came after returning from missions. at the end of the day, when the BOWs and the new strain of whatever virus umbrella concocted were contained for few minutes, days, weeks, and leon could go home he didn’t relax— didn’t know how to. he might be able to breathe easier when his life wasn’t in immediate danger, but that doesn’t mean he’s at peace.
it’s been so long he doesn’t think he remembers what peace even feels like anymore.
he rarely found a time where his mind was quiet. it was always a raging storm of complex emotions and a constant replay of the more disturbing things he’s witnessed.
leon sat in his car, hands squeezing the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. he hasn’t even left the parking lot of the private airport. he’d watched government officials remove the remains of the BOWs he had managed to bring back. he was trying to make sure they were contained properly, but that just turned into him staring off at the blinking lights on the landing strip. little beacons in the night.
if he’d had a normal life he would’ve probably been in bed asleep with a wife curled up against him. maybe kids asleep down the hall from them. a modest home in a quaint neighborhood. that was the goal, right?
but nobody stayed very long, or leon just didn’t give them a chance to — except for you, but that ended months ago at this point.
the key to your house still attached to his key ring was a painful reminder of everything he couldn’t have. everything he lost. it mocked him when he’d return from missions.
leon never knew why you hadn’t asked for it back, maybe you’d forgotten that he’d had it, or maybe you let him keep it on purpose. like giving him an excuse to come back. or maybe you’d changed the locks and it didn’t matter if he had the key at all.
that thought stung the most. he knew you didn’t want him to come back, your words made it evident the day he was called in the middle of the night five months ago for an assignment.
he’d slipped out of your bed and packed his bag with his gear— he’d kept it all at your house because he was there more often than he was at his apartment at that time. leon had known for a while that you weren’t happy with his job, but that time was your breaking point. it was all so fresh in his mind. the things you said, how you’d begged him to stay, but his feet carried him to the door anyway. how your voice sounded when you told him not to come back after he was done with the assignment. leon had barely looked over his shoulder at you before grunting like it was a response then left without a word. he hadn’t even really given it much thought until he had returned from that assignment to find his stuff in a couple boxes on your porch. that was real.
the breakup didn’t stop leon from checking in on you. he’s gotten into a habit of parking in the street across from your house when he returns from assignments.
he tried to tell himself he wouldn’t do it anymore but he’s breaking. feels like he’s deteriorating, like his fight has been depleted. and he’s leon…he’s supposed to be strong, be the one who never quits because that’s how he was trained…
leon couldn’t explain why this mission had sent him over the edge. why this time he’d come back completely and utterly shattered. he didn’t think it was one thing in particular, but a culmination of everything he’s seen and been through over the years. that maybe after almost dying for the nth time he just couldn’t help it.
your porch light is on, the single bulb illuminating the front door. you’d gotten into a habit of leaving that light on whenever he was away, guess that hasn’t changed.
he knows it’s a mistake, knows he shouldn’t go to the porch, shouldn’t try to use the key.
but steps out of his car and across the street before he can stop himself.
everything feels like it’s too much, too heavy and dark. so fucking dark in his head.
leon just needs the one person that had been his only safe haven.
he stops at the door, unblinking as he stares at the light, watches how a couple months fly around it. he understands how they feel. trapped, stuck in this loop because they don’t know any better. does he know better?
his jaw clenches as tears collect in his eyes. he didn’t have the energy to stop them. he was strong, but he’s still human. and he’s seen so much bad.
when he works up the courage to slide the key into the lock he’s surprised the lock clicks and he’s able to open the door.
a brief worry about scaring you considering it’s the middle of the night and he’s not sure if he’s really welcome crosses his mind, but when he steps inside and lets the door close behind him, he’s enveloped in the familiar smell of you, your home— and it wrecks him.
his back hits the door with a thud, hands shaking and legs giving out as he slides down until he’s seated on the hardwood floor.
you had always been a light sleeper, so when you heard noise coming from downstairs you grabbed the metal bat you kept next to your nightstand and crept out of your bedroom. calling the cops would’ve probably been the logical reaction to thinking there was an intruder in your home.
you tried to rationalize the sound. it was just an animal or the wind. when you step off the stairs and poke your head around the wall you see the figure slumped against the door. even in the dim lighting you know it’s leon. you’d know it’s him regardless if you could see or not.
“leon! you scared the hell out of me.”
your voice cuts through the silence. sighing, you set the bat down and step into the hallway. it’s only when you get closer that you see how he’s shaking. his legs are pulled up to his chest and he just looks so small, so unlike himself.
“leon?” any irritation you were feeling about him just showing up after no contact for months was gone instantly.
you knelt in front of him. unsure of what to do or say. you’ve seen how his work effects him before, how he would get sometimes between missions. it’s why you asked him to stop, why you broke it off with him when he continued to leave. but you couldn’t recall a time that he was like this. never like this.
“baby,” the term of endearment slipped off his tongue broken, tinged with a sadness that never was there before.
“hey, talk to me,” you reach forward, gently placing your hand on his cheek, lifting his head.
the pain in his eyes is so clear. you know something happened, something must’ve happened for him to be like this.
“i should’ve listened to you,” the words came out with a sob, empty eyes meeting yours. he knew that you had been looking out for him and his well being when you asked him to quit, asked him to stop risking his life every single time the DSO calls him, and yet, he kept going back.
you watched tears slip down his face, he was clearly dealing with something you couldn’t begin to comprehend.
leon had shared some details regarding his job with you. he had to after he showed up bloodied, bruised and in a sling from dislocating his shoulder. that was all mild, thankfully, but he did end up having to tell you more than he wanted because of that incident.
“i’m so sorry,” his words were barely audible. he just couldn’t hold himself together anymore. he leaned into you, needing you’re warmth. he just needed tonight, that’s it, he’d leave in the morning.
you blink a few times, finding that you’re growing emotional over seeing him this way. tentatively, you wrap your arms around him, letting him lean against you fully.
leon pressed his face into the crook of your neck trying desperately to calm his breathing, quiet his torturous mind.
“please don’t apologize.”
“i should’ve listened—“
“no, it’s not your fault,” you press a kiss to the top of his head. trying to find the right words. “i should’ve handled things better.”
the love you have for leon runs deep. you’re unsure whether he knows it, but the breakup didn’t dull your feelings for him, nor his for you.
“just let me stay tonight,” it felt more like a plea than anything else. his hands weakly grab at your sides, he’s hanging on by thread. “please don’t kick me out again.”
your heart sinks at the pure desperation in his voice. the brokenness of his voice. how hollow he sounds.
you hold him tighter, threading your fingers into his hair. tears cling to your lashes as they begin to fall from your eyes as well. throat burning from the raw emotion.
you press your cheek against the top of leon’s head, cradling him against you, trying to comfort him as best you can. there’s no way you could ever push him out again, not after this, not now.
“you don’t have to go, this is your home too,” you whisper, it’s all you can manage now. if this is hard for you, you can’t begin to imagine how hard this is for him. you’re not the one who’s witnessed horrific things and been on the verge of death countless times.
you feel him relax then fall apart more, holding nothing back. the sobs that wrack his body are so powerful that you have to bite your lip to keep yourself composed. now isn’t the time for you to fall apart too. it isn’t until the shaking stops and his tears have run dry that you’re able to find your voice.
“we can talk in the morning. let’s…just get some rest for now,” you’re uncertain of what the conversation will bring, but you know now is not the time for it, it can wait until tomorrow or the next day. leon can’t, he comes first.
leon nods, lifting his head to see your face wet with tears like his. his lips brush against yours, a ghost of a kiss. he pulls back before either of you have a chance to do something emotion fueled. it’s evident neither of you are in your right mind.
you meet his eyes once more, and they are damning. they say more than he can put into words right now.
‘i can’t do this alone anymore, i need you, i need your strength’.
he leans on you as you both stand. silence passes between you two, there’s a million things you both could say right now, but none of them come. this is enough for now.
you flick off the porch light before wrapping an arm around leon, walking you both to your bedroom.
you’ll figure this out when day breaks because leon’s home, and he’s not leaving again.
anything along the lines of dad daughter dynamics or fauxcest is simply weird as FUCK!! and you need lobotomising if you produce any kind of smut relative to the aforementioned.
Leon had never realized just how small babies were until he finally held his own. As he rocks her back and forth, attempting to get her to fall asleep, he realizes that she’s almost as tiny as his hand. The tiny human that is half of him, yet not even one fourth his size.
She’s small, but she’s a little bundle of energy, he’ll give her that. As Leon’s eyes shut on their own, she looks up at him with wide eyes.
“C’mon, let’s go to sleep,” Leon says, hoping that she’ll magically understand. Yet she looks at him with wide eyes, absolutely full of energy. Leon swore he was a ball of energy until he had a baby– Now he knows what being sleep deprived truly is.
He closes his eyes, tilting his head to the side and letting out a fake snore to encourage her to sleep. It doesn't work in his favor, on the contrary, she giggles. Leon can’t help but chuckle at her reaction, kissing the top of her head and saying, “Guess that was funny, wasn’t it? I’m a pretty funny guy.”
“It’s late, honey. Won’t you let your daddy sleep?” he tries to argue, knowing that no amount of logic will get to her. “You seriously don’t want another baba? It’s three in the morning, honey.”
He looks down at her, hoping to see her eyes get heavy and a yawn escape her face. But no, she’s looking up at him curiously. He throws his head back, letting out a laugh in disbelief. He knows he won’t get any sleep tonight.
He just wants to get back to you and succumb to slumber, but it seems that his daughter has other plans for him. It’s fine though, she’ll never be this tiny ever again and he’ll make sure to enjoy every moment. He can’t think of a better way to lose sleep.
Summary: Sent on a mission with Leon, you unexpectedly run into Ada Wong, the woman he has loved for years. After being infected in a tense situation, only one cure remains. Who will Leon choose to save?
A/N: I love RE7, so I wanted to do that one Zoe and Mia scene, but with Leon. No, this is not an invitation for Ada hate; she is my wife >:( I just want to write angst lol. ADA AND LEON WOULD NEVER, just for this short fic lol.
TW: Emotional cheating?, OOC Leon and Ada, angst no comfort, grammatical errors, and Cringe?
Ada Wong, the woman who got your husband wrapped around her fingers. Honestly, who could blame him? She’s strong, smart, and drop-dead gorgeous.
Crossing paths with her while looking for your husband in this chaotic laboratory is definitely not something you expected. You and Leon got separated when a horde of undead rushed towards both of you, making you lose your way.
Now, in this cramped space where you both are surrounded by vials and probably something that can kill you, the two of you stared at each other. There she is, the woman in red.
“I did not expect a Kennedy to be out here,” she said with a teasing tone, slowly moving towards you with caution.
You gripped the cure in your hand, the reason why you both were sent here. “Ada right? heard a lot about you.” You spat, glaring daggers at her venomous figure.
Stopping her tracks in front of you, “If you give me that, I will let you walk away.” She said, a threat visible in her tone. You scoffed, but before you can retort, a sudden flash of movement rushes to both of you— claw grazing your bodies, making you and Ada stagger in pain and shock.
“What the fuck?” You breathe, clutching your arms that have visible claw marks. Looking to your left, you saw Ada doing the same, pain visible on her face.
There is a licker-like creature standing in front of you, but dark green liquid is pouring from its body.
“These damn things keep evolving.” Ada sneered, struggling to stand straight as a visible veins starting to form on her pretty face.
Grabbing your head in pain, you notice the creature moving. As you were about to attempt to shoot it with shaky arms, a quick round of bullets goes through its head, leaving it dead on the floor.
A tall figure rushed past you to the wounded lady, “Hey, Ada, wake up!” You heard a muffled voice, looking in their direction, something in you stirred in unease. It's Leon.
Ada lay in his arms, eyes shut tight. You frowned, but before you could succumb to self-pity. A sudden realization came. You reached into your pocket for the cure, but to your horror, you felt nothing. Colors drained from your face, “L-Leon, the cure!” You shouted at him.
He jolted at your voice, looking at your wounded state. He gently put Ada down as he rushed at your side, “Fuck, I did not see you, I'm sorry-“ But before he could finish apologizing, you clutched his arm, looking at his blue eyes with hope.
“Leon, the vaccine.” You rasped out, shaky hands holding his. He quickly nodded, taking out the case that he got before both of you got separated. However, his movement stopped, and you look at him, confused. “Leon?”
He didn’t answer, just kept looking at the open case. You looked inside, and you froze. There’s only one left, minus the one you lost.
As both of you sat on the ground, frozen, you heard Ada shift in her spot. “Leon?” She muttered, slowly sitting up, pain clear in her voice.
You kept quiet, slowly taking in the fact that you might die tonight. Leon has to choose, you or her? The stories you heard from Chris and his reaction a while ago. You already know who will be able to keep their life.
You frowned as hesitation formed on his face, but there’s a silent confirmation. He’s looking at her. A minute has passed, and he took the syringe from the case.
“I’m sorry.” He muttered to you with an apologetic gaze. Taking Ada’s hand gently, he pushed the needle into her arm. You look at them both with sorrow written on your face.
The man you have been with for ten years, married for five. Choose someone else to save, and it’s not you. You already know you are going to lose him if she’s there, but seeing it is more painful than thinking about it.
As your vision gets blurrier, you reach for your gun. You refuse to turn into those things; you also refuse to feel it anymore.
The headache, the pain all over your body, while the virus consumes you whole. The view in front of you hurts the most, the love of your life with his everything.
Lifting the gun to your head, your shaky finger placed on the trigger. You took a deep breath as you looked at them once again. Leon carefully attempts to clean Ada’s wound while she looks at him with her deep bronze eyes.
You closed your eyes, ready to pull the trigger.
Dividers credits to @/cursed-carmine
Pictures from: Ada and Leon
A/N: Sorry if it's cringe :(( I kinda wanna make a part 2 where Chris comes in and takes the reader, idk lol.
CHAPTER 2: touch
PAIRING: ghost!leon x fbiagent!reader
SYNOPSIS: When an overworked FBI analyst like you gets aggressively blindsided by a rogue box of data in a dimly lit archive room, you expect a splitting headache, not a face-to-face confrontation with a ghost. Standing over you is Leon S. Kennedy, a renowned agent who has been legally dead for five years and who is now trapped as an invisible phantom in the cold halls of the bureau. He had long since accepted his silent, numb eternity, but all of that calm acceptance goes right out the window the moment you open your eyes, point a finger, and thoroughly panic him by looking right at him, where the boundaries between the living and the dead begin to blur under the warm glow of forbidden feelings.
CONTENT WARNINGS: MDNI, afab!reader, spoilers for re6, post re6 leon, slight age difference (reader is in her mid 20s and the story takes place in 2018, 5 years after the events of re6 but leon is a ghost, so take that how you will lol), minor physical injury / blunt force trauma, depictions of isolation and loneliness, existential dread/numbness, grief and death, angst, lots of teasing from leon (sorry), leon calls you sweetheart, smut, soft dom leon, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (f receiving), slight temperature play, praise kink, porn with too much plot, aftercare, unestablished relationship, complicated feelings
WORD COUNT: 32.7K
AUTHOR'S NOTE: i definitely had a lot of fun with this chapter! i do apologize if the ghost mechanics are a bit weird! the next chapter may take a bit longer as I try to build a better structure of where I want the direction of the story to go. currently, the ending i had planned is a sad one, but i could make an alternative ending if that is something you guys want, so let me know! i can definitely do two endings to this story
MASTERLIST
CHAPTER 1: ghost in archives
To those who work in any sort of job, whether it be in corporate, the service industry, or any colored collared job, the one thing that many never look forward to is the alarm in the morning that annoyingly pulls you away from any dream world your consciousness has taken you to the night prior. The phone that sat on your nightstand buzzes, and if the ringing alone from the ringtone you had set for your alarm wasn’t enough to wake you up, the pure vibration from it was already annoying enough to get you to reluctantly stir from your slumber.
You turn to the side so that you face your nightstand, and your hand reaches out mindlessly to feel for the phone. You groan as the ringing continues, and finally, the tip of your finger finds the charging cord attached to your phone. Tracing it up to where your phone sat, you reach for it and bring it to your face, peeking one eye open to see where your hand was on your phone.
You shut off the alarm with a definitive tap of your thumb, plunging your bedroom back into a blissful, silent dimness. For a few agonizing seconds, you considered simply staring at the ceiling and letting the morning pass you by. Your body felt heavy, still deeply anchored to the warmth of the mattress, and your eyelids felt lined with lead. The reality of your job at the Bureau, the impending mountain of paperwork, the redacted files, and the grueling desk hours all loomed over you like a dark cloud.
With a long, dramatic groan into your pillow, you finally forced your body to move. You threw the heavy duvet off your legs, instantly shivering as the cool morning air of your apartment hit your bare skin.
Sitting up on the edge of the bed, you paused for a moment just to let your brain catch up with your body. Your hair was a wild, bird's-nest disaster, completely disheveled from a night of restless tossing and turning, and your oversized t-shirt hung loosely off one shoulder. Dragging your feet, you slipped back into your plush slippers and walked toward your bedroom door, opening it the rest of the way to head toward the bathroom directly across the hall. You were essentially a zombie, your eyes half-closed and your shoulders slumped as you practically dragged your feet across the flooring.
Meanwhile, out in the living room, the peace of the morning had been shattered in a much more violent fashion.
Leon had actually managed to drift off. He hadn't expected to, since ghosts didn't need sleep, and for five years, his consciousness had remained permanently hyper-vigilant. But wrapped in the quiet comfort of your apartment, resting his head against the plush pillow with the soft aroma of vanilla in the air, his spectral form had settled into a deep, heavy state of rest.
Until your phone alarm went off.
Even through the cracked door, the sudden, sharp blare of your digital ringtone cut through the silence like a gunshot. Leon’s survival instincts, which had been hardwired into his soul through years of surviving bioterrorist hellscapes, had flared instantly. He bolted upright on the couch, his bright blue eyes wide and glowing with adrenaline, his ghostly hands subconsciously reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.
"What the—" he muttered, his deep voice thick and gravelly with sleep.
He blinked against the soft daylight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling window, his chest rising and falling in a rapid, phantom panic attack before he realized there was no threat. There was no ambush. It was just a standard, civilian morning.
As his heart rate settled, he heard the soft, dragging sound of footsteps. Turning his head, he watched through the hallway threshold as you emerged from your bedroom.
The sight immediately melted the last of his tactical tension, a soft, surprised look crossing his face. He had seen you as a sharp, guarded investigator, and he had seen you as a panicked, apologetic host, but he had never seen you like this. You were a complete, adorable mess. Your bedhead was definitely a sight to see, with strands of hair sticking up wildly in every direction, and your eyes were barely open as you blindly navigated the tiny distance to the bathroom door, completely oblivious to his existence in your half-awake state.
A low, rumbling chuckle escaped Leon’s throat, the sound rich with a sudden, overwhelming fondness. He leaned his shoulder against the back of the couch, watching you disappear into the bathroom with a lazy, amused smirk tracing his lips.
"Good morning to you too, sweetheart," he murmured softly to himself, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners as the sound of rushing water started up from behind the bathroom door. Seeing you so completely unshielded and human in your own space was quickly becoming his favorite part of the day.
You locked yourself away in the sanctuary of the bathroom, relying entirely on muscle memory to get you through your standard morning routine. You squeezed toothpaste onto your brush, mechanically scrubbing away the lingering sleep while staring blankly at the mirror. Next came a splash of ice-cold water to the face, a sharp, freezing jolt that finally forced your eyes to open fully and knocked the remaining cobwebs from your brain. Snatching a comb, you did your absolute best to tame the wild, gravity-defying bird's nest of your bedhead, smoothing it down until you at least looked presentable enough to face the world.
With a deep, cleansing breath, you unlocked the door and stepped back out into the short hallway. Your mind was already drifting toward your standard workday checklist, which consisted of grabbing the keys off the console, making coffee, and surviving the commute.
You rounded the corner past the kitchen island, heading straight toward the living room.
And then you froze.
Leon was sitting there. He had shifted from his panicked stance and was now lounging back against the cushions, his long legs stretched out casually, one arm draped over the back of your couch. Under the soft morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling window, the faint, otherworldly blue luminescence outlining his sharp jawline and broad shoulders practically glowed.
Your heart skipped a violent beat, a sudden gasp catching in your throat as your brain short-circuited. For one terrifying second, your survival instincts screamed intruder.
But then, the sheer weight of reality crashed into you, hitting you like a physical wave. The fourth-floor archive room. The falling box. The frantic drive home. The deeply emotional conversation on the couch under the amber lamp. It hadn't been a hyper-vivid, exhaustion-induced fever dream. You hadn't lost your mind.
There was quite literally an impossibly handsome ghost living in your apartment.
Leon watched the realization play out across your face in real-time, your eyes widening and your mouth parting in a small 'O' of shock. A slow, highly amused smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his bright blue eyes crinkling with pure delight.
"Morning, sunshine," he drawled, his deep, gravelly voice carrying that effortless, rhythmic charm that made your pulse do a frantic little dance. He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over your freshly combed hair and oversized t-shirt. "Glad to see you survived the involuntary stress test of waking up. For a second there, I thought I was going to have to remind you who I am all over again."
A hot, sudden flush of embarrassment crept up your neck, breaking you out of your trance. You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest as you walked past the threshold and into the kitchen area.
"I knew who you were," you grumbled defensively, though your voice lacked any real bite. You stepped behind the kitchen island, reaching for the coffee maker. "My brain just takes a business day and a half to process existential anomalies before 7:00 AM."
Leon let out a rich, rumbling chuckle that vibrated pleasantly through the open space. He didn't stay on the couch; instead, his weightless form fluidly rose, drifting over the back of the cushions to hover just a few feet away from the kitchen island. He rested his spectral forearms against the opposite side of the counter, leaning in slightly as he watched you scoop coffee grounds into the machine.
"Fair enough," he teased, his gaze tracking your movements with an attentive, warm focus that felt entirely too heavy for this early in the morning. "Though I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed. You tamed the hair. It had a lot of character five minutes ago."
You nearly dropped the coffee scoop, your eyes snapping up to meet him. "You saw that?"
"Oh, absolutely," Leon countered smoothly, his smirk widening into a devastating, boyish grin. "You dragged your feet over to the bathroom, looking like you’d just wrestled a typhoon and lost. It was adorable, sweetheart. Truly."
Your face burned a bright, furious crimson as you quickly turned your back to him, pretending to be deeply invested in pouring water into the coffee reservoir. You grabbed a skillet from the cabinet, trying to mask your racing heart behind the sudden, clattering noise of preparing breakfast.
"You're a menace, Kennedy," you muttered, trying to sound stern but failing as a small, helpless smile tugged at your own lips.
"Just keeping you on your toes, Agent," he murmured back, his voice dropping into a softer, lower register that felt incredibly close, wrapping around you like a warm blanket in the quiet morning air.
The soft, rhythmic click of the igniter filled the room until a ring of blue flame flickered to life. From the fridge, you pulled out a carton of eggs and a tub of butter, grabbing a slice of bread from the counter. The kitchen quickly filled with the comforting, domestic sounds of a normal morning, the rich, nutty aroma of brewing coffee, the gentle sizzle of butter melting in the pan, and the scraping of a spatula.
As the whites of the egg began to curl and whiten in the heat, you looked up, the spatula hovering over the pan. Curiosity, sharp and analytical, nudged at your brain.
"Hey, Leon?" you asked softly, glancing from the sizzling egg back to his translucent form.
"Yeah?" He tilted his head, his blue eyes capturing the morning light.
"Have you... I mean, since you became a ghost... have you ever tried eating anything?" You frowned slightly, trying to visualize it. "Can you even do that? Or does it just... pass right through you?"
Leon let out a soft, amused breath, leaning his chin into his hand. "Honestly? I have. Ghost mechanics are weird, sweetheart. I don't entirely know how the science works… Well, if there is any science to it, but I can technically ingest things. It doesn't just fall through my chest and land on the floor, if that's what you're picturing."
You paused, dropping a slice of bread into the toaster. "Really? Then what happens to it?"
"It just... disappears," Leon said, waving a hand vaguely in the air with a helpless smirk. "The second it passes my lips, it’s like it dissolves into vapor. I don't get full, I don't get hungry, and I don't really taste it the way I used to. It's more like a phantom memory of the texture. I tried stealing a fry off a junior agent's plate in the breakroom a few years ago just to see what would happen. It vanished, he got confused, and I realized I couldn't even enjoy the salt. Total waste of a fry."
A delighted laugh bubbled out of your chest. The mental image of a legendary, highly trained government weapon covertly stealing french fries as an invisible entity was entirely too much to handle.
"A total waste, huh?" you teased, your eyes crinkling with amusement.
You looked down at the skillet, then back up at him, a sudden, playful spark of curiosity lighting up your face. Without a word, you reached into the carton, grabbed a second egg, and cracked it right into the pan. You pushed down the lever on the toaster again, adding a second slice of bread.
Leon raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "What are you doing?"
"An experiment," you declared solemnly, though your lips were twitching. "You said you haven't tried it in a while. Maybe your ghost tastebuds have evolved. Besides, I need to see this firsthand."
"You're making a ghost breakfast?" Leon chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated pleasantly in the space between you. "I'm honored, sweetheart. Truly."
A few minutes later, you slid an egg and a piece of toast onto your own plate, and plated one up for Leon as well, pushing the plate across the kitchen island, right in front of him.
"Alright, Kennedy. Show me how it works," you said, leaning your elbows on the counter, resting your chin in your hands as you watched him with rapt attention.
Leon stared at the plate, then up at you, completely amused by your sheer fascination. "Alright, sweetheart, prepare to be amazed."
He reached out. Because he was actively focusing, his translucent fingers managed to wrap around the piece of toast, lifting it from the plate. It looked entirely surreal, a solid piece of bread floating in mid-air, held by a hand you could faintly see through. He took a small bite.
You leaned in closer, your eyes wide.
The second the piece of toast entered his mouth, it didn't drop down his throat. There was no chewing, no swallowing. It literally dissolved into a faint, microscopic wisp of vapor that vanished into his spectral form within a fraction of a second. The rest of the toast remained perfectly intact in his hand.
"Holy god of ghost physics…," you whispered, completely fascinated. "It literally just... Poofed."
"Told you," Leon said, a triumphant, devastatingly handsome grin breaking across his face as he set the rest of the toast down. He looked at you, his blue eyes softening with an unmistakable, quiet fondness that completely bypassed his usual playful defenses. "Still no taste, unfortunately. But I have to admit... having someone actually make it for me? That part feels pretty damn good."
Your heart did a sudden, chaotic flip against your ribs, the playful atmosphere instantly shifting into something thick, warm, and entirely too romantic for a Thursday morning. You quickly looked down at your own plate, taking a sudden interest in your eggs to hide the massive smile spreading across your face.
Leon took his time with the rest of the meal, methodically reducing the fried egg and toast into microscopic wisps of disappearing vapor. He didn't need the fuel, and his phantom senses still couldn't register the buttery, rich flavor of the yolk, but as he watched you enjoy your own breakfast across the counter, a completely different kind of fullness bloomed behind his ribs.
For five long years, he had been a cosmic afterthought, a non-entity drifting through a world that had moved on without him. Food had just been a cruel reminder of what he could no longer touch. But this morning, it wasn't about the taste. It was about the fact that someone had intentionally cracked an extra egg for him. Someone had toasted a piece of bread, plated it, and pushed it across a clean kitchen counter just to watch him smile. The simple, beautifully mundane act of being cooked for did something to his spectral chest that he couldn't scientifically explain. It made him feel heavy in the best way possible. It made him feel like a man again, anchored to a home, rather than a vapor floating in the dark.
He set the empty saucer down, a quiet, intensely soft expression smoothing out the sharp lines of his face. "You know, for an involuntary experiment, you're a pretty damn good chef."
"Don't get used to it, Kennedy," you teased, hopping off your barstool and gathering the plates. "The ghost catering service has a strictly limited menu."
The kitchen quickly filled with the comforting, domestic sounds of your morning wrap-up with the rush of warm tap water, the gentle sudsing of a sponge, and the soft, rhythmic clink of ceramic as you set the dishes in the rack to dry. Leon didn't move from his spot by the island. He leaned his weightless hips against the edge of the counter, his bright blue eyes tracking your movements with a lazy, content focus.
"Alright," you said, wiping your damp hands on a dish towel and tossing it onto the counter. "Give me ten minutes to look like a functioning member of the federal government instead of a couch potato."
Leon offered a slow, mock-salute with his translucent hand, his trademark smirk returning. "Take your time, Agent. I’ll just stay here and look hauntingly handsome."
"Emphasize on the hauntingly," you shot back over your shoulder, laughing as you hurried down the short hallway into your bedroom.
You closed the door to change, shedding the oversized t-shirt and loose sweatpants for your sharp, structured work attire. Stepping in front of the vanity mirror, you zipped your slacks, smoothed down the collar of your button-up shirt, and checked your hairline. The pink mark from last night's rogue box was still slightly visible, but a little bit of concealer did the trick. You clipped your hair back, took a deep breath, and opened the door, officially transitioning back into professional mode.
You stepped into the entryway, audibly running through your mandatory mental checklist.
"Keys?" You snatched the ring off the console table, the metal jangling loudly in the quiet space.
"Check," Leon’s deep voice answered from the living room threshold. He was already waiting for you, leaning casually against the wall with his hands shoved into his pockets, his glowing blue frame contrasting beautifully with the morning sunlight streaming through the windows.
"Work bag?" You slung the heavy leather strap over your shoulder, adjusting your blazer.
"Check," he murmured, his eyes sweeping over your uniform with an attentive, appreciative glint. "Suits you, by the way. Very professional."
"Flattery won't get you out of your ghost duties," you teased, reaching for your waistband. "ID badge?" You clipped the laminated Bureau credentials to your hip, checking your photo.
"Check," Leon drawled, tilting his head as he drifted a few inches closer, his gaze locked onto yours. "And what about your classified, supernatural stowaway? Did you double-check his paperwork?"
You looked up, a genuine, breathless smile breaking across your face as you met his bright eyes. Your heart did a sudden, cinematic flutter against your ribs, completely shattering the rigid reality of the workday ahead. Yesterday morning, you were just an overworked analyst dreading the daily grind. Today, you were walking out the door with a renowned agent by your side, a dead one on top of that.
"I think he's accounted for," you whispered playfully, your hand resting on the doorknob. "Just promise me you won't make faces at the director if we pass him in the hall."
Leon let out a rich, rumbling chuckle, stepping right up next to you, his translucent shoulder hovering just a hair's breadth from yours. "No promises, sweetheart. Let's go to work."
—
Entering the office building, the main lobby was humming with activity, a sharp contrast to the eerie, cavernous silence of the night prior. Agents in tailored suits, tech division staff clutching coffee cups, and security personnel created a bustling sea of movement. You spotted a few familiar faces near the elevators and offered them polite, practiced smiles and quick nods as you navigated your way toward the electronic badge readers.
Behind you, Leon followed suit. Because of the heavy volume of morning commuters, the lobby was a minefield of oblivious foot traffic. People walked straight through his translucent frame, entirely unaware that they were stepping through someone who once walked the very halls they did. Every time a hurried junior analyst or a frantic legal clerk passed through his chest, Leon would lightly dodge, throwing his hands up in mock offense or executing a dramatic, weightless sidestep to clear the way. The sight was incredibly endearing and more than a little funny, making you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing out loud in front of the front-desk guards.
Luckily, you were prepared. Before you had even turned off the ignition in the parking garage, you had slipped a single wireless earbud into your right ear, exactly as the two of you had planned last night. If you needed to talk to your supernatural shadow, passersby would just assume you were on an early morning briefing call rather than casually conversing with thin air.
"You know, a little heads-up would have been nice," Leon’s deep voice suddenly rumbled directly into your free ear with an earbud, rich with playful irritation. "That guy just walked through my left lung. I'm pretty sure his hot latte left a phantom burn."
You pressed your badge against the electronic reader, waiting for the familiar, high-pitched beep and the green flash of the light before pushing through the turnstile.
"Oh, stop whining, Kennedy," you murmured under your breath, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead as if you were listening to a highly serious legal deposition. "You're a lethal government weapon. I'm sure you can survive a run-in with a tech-support intern."
"It's a matter of professional dignity, sweetheart," Leon drawled back. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glide effortlessly past the security turnstile without scanning a thing, a smug grin plastered across his face. "Besides, I used to be the one commanding the room. Now I'm getting aggressively t-boned by a guy carrying a box of glazed donuts."
"Did he at least leave a phantom donut behind?" you teased, stepping into an open elevator cab and spinning around to face the doors.
Leon glided into the elevator right after you, occupying the small space in the back corner. As three other agents piled into the car, pressing the buttons for their respective floors, Leon shifted closer to you. The elevator cab was packed to maximum capacity, a claustrophobic cage of starch-stiff suits and heavy briefcases. As the last two agents squeezed inside, forcing everyone to shuffle backward, you found yourself pushed entirely into the back corner.
Because the living occupants couldn't see or touch Leon, they backed right through him, oblivious to who they were compressing against. But Leon didn't let himself simply dissolve into the crowd. Instead, he intentionally solidified his presence right where you were pinned, pressing his broad, translucent frame flush against your front to act as a protective barrier between you and the suffocating crush of the morning commuters.
Suddenly, you were completely trapped between the cold metal wall of the elevator and the ethereal, breathtaking expanse of Leon's chest. Even without true physical mass, the sheer proximity of his glowing blue frame sent a dizzying, thrilling spike of warmth straight to your core. He was so close you could trace the familiar lines of his toned body under his top… So close that his bright blue eyes seemed to capture every bit of ambient light in the small space.
He leaned down slightly, his jaw brushing past your free ear without the earbud, his deep voice dropping into an incredibly low, gravelly whisper that vibrated right through your bones.
"No donut," he drawled, a wicked, boyish amusement dancing in his eyes. "But if the Director gets in this elevator, I'm definitely hovering right over his shoulder. Give him a little haunting to jumpstart his morning."
You quickly looked down, your face burning a brilliant crimson as a helpless, radiant smile tugged at your lips. You tried to focus intently on your shoes, desperately trying to ignore the chaotic, frantic hammering of your heart against your ribs.
Then, the elevator lurched hard as it began its ascent.
Up at the front of the elevator, an agent shifted their weight abruptly to adjust a heavy box of files. The sudden movement triggered a domino effect in the tightly packed car, causing the crowd to surge backward. The unexpected weight of the person in front of you shoved against your shoulder, knocking your feet out from under you in the cramped space. With your work bag catching on your arm, you completely lost your balance, your heel slipping as you started to tumble sideways.
Before your brain could even process the fall, Leon reacted with the fast tactical instincts of a man who spent his life surviving the impossible.
His weightless hands shot forward, locking firmly around your waist. The moment his fingers met your hips, that strange, impossible magic of your connection flared to life. As to the rest of the world, he was nothing but air, but to you, his grip was entirely solid, unyielding, and powerful. With an effortless tug, he braced his core and hauled you back upright, anchoring your body securely against his chest until your feet found their footing on the elevator floor.
The crowd settled, completely oblivious to the near-catastrophe in the back corner, but your entire world had narrowed down to the phantom agent holding you together.
"Whoa—I've got you, sweetheart," Leon murmured, his voice losing every trace of its previous teasing edge, replaced by a sudden, fierce protectiveness. His hands lingered on your waist for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of your blazer with a reverence that stole the remaining breath from your lungs.
You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your work bag as you looked up, your eyes locking onto his. The raw intensity in his gaze was staggering, a beautiful, cinematic heat stretching between your souls in the absolute silence of your shared bubble.
Slowly, as he realized you were safe, the tight lines of his face relaxed, and that devastating, heartachingly handsome smirk crept back onto his lips. He leaned in just an inch closer, his eyes shimmering with a quiet, undeniable fondness.
"Careful, Agent," he teased softly into your ear, his breath a phantom warmth against your skin. "I know I’m hard to resist, but you don’t have to literally fall for me in front of the logistics division."
Your heart did a violent, spectacular flip, and you had to bite your lip to keep from letting out a breathless laugh as the elevator chime echoed, announcing your arrival at the fourth floor.
The packed crowd inside the elevator cab slowly began to thin out as the doors slid open on the fourth floor, people pooling away from the exit to allow the analysts and investigators to filter out. Once a clear path was made through the sea of dark suits, you stepped out of the suffocatingly close space, taking a deep, quiet breath of the cooler hallway air to settle your racing pulse. You walked down the familiar carpeted corridors of the Bureau, navigating the massive layout of uniform grey cubicles toward your own desk, with Leon floating effortlessly just a half-step behind you.
"Don't you dare scare anyone this early in the morning," you murmured, keeping your voice exceptionally low, barely moving your lips as your eyes remained fixed straight ahead. You adjusted the heavy strap of your work bag, treating the hallway like a tightrope.
Leon merely let out a low, amused huff, “Please, sweetheart. Give me a little credit. I’m a professional shadow. I only terrify people when the paperwork gets truly unbearable.”
As your specific cubicle came into view, you entered the small, fabric-walled enclosure and finally unslung your heavy leather bag, letting it settle onto your desk chair with a dull thud. You went right into your routine, trying to force your brain into strict, professional work mode to distract from the surreal reality of your new living situation. You organized your desk space, taking out your notebook, a couple of pens, and a tablet, laying them out in precise, orderly lines before you headed down the hall to the coffee room.
"Morning, Agent."
The cheerful, steady voice belonged to Daniel, your cubicle neighbor. He was currently settling into his own identical workspace just across the low, fabric-lined partition that divided your desks.
"Morning," you greeted back, forcing a polite, standard-issue coworker smile onto your face as you looked up.
“Morning, Danny-boy,” Leon chimed in smoothly. He didn't just stand there; instead, he fluidly crossed his arms and leaned his weightless hips right against the edge of your desk, invading your personal space with an effortless, casual grace. Of course, there was absolutely no response from Daniel. Your neighbor simply unbuttoned his suit jacket and hung it over the back of his chair, completely oblivious to the glowing DSO agent, the same one you and he were speaking of the day prior, practically hovering over his mousepad.
"Hey, any luck down in the archive closet last night?" Daniel asked, leaning back in his mesh chair and gesturing vaguely toward the eastern wing of the floor. "I saw your name on the late-night sign-out sheet when I logged off. Did you actually find what you were looking for in that dusty nightmare, or was it a total bust?"
Your hand paused over the cover of your notebook for a fraction of a second, your fingers tensing against the cardboard. You certainly hadn't found a standard paper trail, but you had found a ghost who was currently occupying your workspace.
"Oh, yeah. I found what I needed," you said, forcing your voice to stay entirely casual, even-toned, and unbothered. "Just a few old, misplaced files regarding the regional case backlog. I’m probably just going to slowly look through them over the span of the week so I can write up the summary report."
Thankfully, the heavy layer of concealer you had carefully applied in your bathroom mirror was doing its job perfectly, so Daniel didn't even blink at your forehead, entirely oblivious to the fact that a heavy cardboard box had aggressively blindsided you just the night prior.
“Oh, she found a treasure trove, Daniel,” Leon interrupted, his deep voice dripping with wicked, playful sarcasm. He shifted away from your desk, his translucent form gliding effortlessly through the fabric partition to stand directly in Daniel’s line of sight. “A highly classified, devastatingly handsome anomaly, to be exact. Though she did take a quick nap on the floor, courtesy of a storage box first. You should ask her about her highly rigorous stress test.”
You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you were surprised it didn't draw blood. Keeping your face completely stoic, you forced yourself to maintain steady eye contact with Daniel, even as Leon stepped directly into the space between your neighbor and his computer monitors.
Leon began pulling the most ridiculous, exaggerated faces which were not limited to crossing his eyes, sticking his tongue out, and mimicking Daniel’s exact, straight-laced, stiff-necked posture right in front of the man's face. It was a completely absurd, cinematic sight as a deadly government weapon that had survived global bio-crises, behaving like a chaotic toddler just to get a rise out of you. Your vision blurred slightly as you tried desperately to hold your composure, your knuckles turning white against the edge of your desk partition.
"That's good," Daniel nodded, entirely unaware that a phantom hand was currently hovering two inches from his nose, giving him a playful, weightless flick. "The Director has been breathing down our necks about the backlog from last quarter. If you need any help sorting through the older field reports or cross-referencing the dates, just let me know. I've got some free time before lunch."
“Yeah, let us know, Daniel,” Leon added, suddenly leaning his upper body completely over the cubicle wall. He brought his face inches from yours, his bright blue eyes dancing with pure, unfiltered mischief as he invaded your vision. “I can give you a firsthand report on how terribly boring your filing system is. Also, please tell him his tie is crooked. It’s physically hurting my eyes. Is that a clip-on? It looks like a clip-on.”
A tiny, choked sound nearly escaped your throat, a hybrid of a gasp and a laugh. You quickly disguised it as a quick, awkward cough, raising a fist to cover your mouth while shooting Leon a sharp, burning glare that you hoped Daniel would interpret as standard, pre-caffeine morning fatigue.
"Thanks, Daniel, I really appreciate it," you managed to squeak out, your voice remarkably steady considering the internal panic. "I think I've got a decent handle on the layout for now. I'm just going to go grab some coffee before I dive into the actual nightmare of reports."
"Smart move. Get a cup for me if the pot is fresh," Daniel joked, turning his attention back to his dual monitors, his face passing right through the edge of Leon's translucent sleeve.
The second Daniel looked away, you let out a long, silent breath, your shoulders dropping significantly as you snatched your mug from the desk. You turned around only to find Leon grinning victoriously at you, his chest shaking with silent, triumphant laughter.
"You are a menace," you hissed under your breath, spinning on your heel to march toward the breakroom.
“Hey, I told you,” Leon’s voice echoed warmly as his weightless frame glided right alongside your pace down the row of cubicles. “I have a duty to keep things entertaining around here. You're doing great, Agent. Your poker face needs a little bit of work, but I'll give you an A for effort.”
You rolled your eyes at him playfully, a soft huff escaping your nose as the two of you made your way down the quiet corridor toward the breakroom. Walking into the communal kitchen area, the atmosphere was exactly what you’d expect on any given Thursday morning. A couple of agents from the financial crimes division were huddled around the small dining table, silently chewing on their bagels while scanning the news on their tablets, entirely trapped in their own early morning zones.
But this time, you weren’t alone. You were accompanied by a lethal, five-year-old ghost story who was currently tailing you like a shadow, his glowing blue frame casting invisible ripples through the fluorescent-lit room.
You made your way straight to the counter where the coffee pot sat. A quick glance at the digital display confirmed it was freshly brewed, a rich, dark stream having just finished dripping into the glass carafe. The robust, earthy aroma filled the room, bringing a small, genuine smile to your face. You pour some into your mug, the steam rising up and warming your face. Remembering your promise to Daniel, you snatched a disposable paper cup from the stack, filling it up just as high. You grabbed a couple of individual sugar packets and a few half-and-half creamers from the spinning organizer, dropping them into your blazer pocket so he could adjust the sweetness to his own liking.
Turning back to your own mug, you added your usual morning fixings, adjusting it exactly the way you always did to jumpstart your brain for a long day of work.
Behind you, the heavy, rhythmic thud of polished dress shoes echoed against the linoleum floor. You didn't even have to turn around to know who it was. The sharp, overwhelming scent of expensive, suffocating cologne announced him before he even spoke a word.
Collins.
He was a senior investigator on the floor, notorious for his complete lack of a sense of humor and his agonizingly long-winded lectures about Bureau protocol. But more importantly, he was the guy currently acting as the entire floor's favorite joke. Ever since Wednesday morning, when he recounted how the fourth-floor archive room claimed a phantom had attacked him, he had been on a warpath to prove his sanity.
Leon, who had been lazily leaning against the vending machine, instantly perked up the second Collins stepped through the threshold. His bright blue eyes locked onto the senior investigator, a highly dangerous, devious smirk slowly spreading across his handsome face as he remembered the glorious moment he had shifted a thirty-pound box just to watch Collins jump out of his skin. He looked from Collins back to you, his eyebrows dancing in a silent, chaotic challenge.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Leon’s deep voice purred directly into your mind, wrapping around your senses with effortless clarity.
His spectral voice echoed right in your ear, rich with pure, unadulterated mischief, “Look who it is. My favorite customer was from Tuesday night. Please tell me I have permission to cause a little harmless workplace chaos. I think he’s finally recovered his dignity, and frankly, it doesn't suit him.”
You shot him a fierce, panicked glare, your eyes widening in a silent plea for mercy as you held your mug tight. You shook your head just a fraction of an inch, desperately trying to signal him to stand down before he made you burst out laughing and got you fired.
But Leon S. Kennedy didn't survive Raccoon City and global bio-terrorism by backing down from a challenge.
“Too late, Agent,” he whispered with a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated pleasantly against your consciousness.
Before you could even utter a breath of mental protest, he was already moving, his translucent form gliding effortlessly across the linoleum straight toward the unsuspecting, rigid senior investigator who was currently waiting for the secondary microwave to beep.
Collins was frowning at his plastic container of oatmeal, completely oblivious to the fact that the very same "ghost" from Tuesday night was now circling him like a shark. Leon glided right up behind him, peering over Collins' shoulder with a face of mock gravity, studying the oatmeal as if it were a highly classified bio-weapon dossier.
“You know, for a guy who takes himself this seriously, his breakfast choices are incredibly depressing,” Leon commented casually to you, tilting his head. “No wonder he’s so uptight. Hey, look closely.”
You desperately tried to focus on pouring the creamer into your own mug, but your eyes kept darting toward the microwave.
Leon braced his core, focusing his spectral willpower onto the physical world just enough to make an impact. He didn't move a thirty-pound box this time. Instead, he reached out a single translucent finger and lightly tapped the plastic clip on Collins' badge, which was attached to his breast pocket.
The badge flicked upward with a sharp snap.
Collins froze instantly, his entire body going rigid as a board. His eyes widened, darting down to his chest where the badge was still slightly swinging. The poor man looked like he had just heard a gunshot. He violently spun around, looking left and right, his hand instinctively flying to his hip where his holster sat.
"Who did that?!" Collins demanded, his voice cracking slightly as he glared at the financial crimes agents by the table, who just stared back at him like he had lost his mind.
Right in front of him, Leon was standing with his arms crossed, throwing his head back in a silent, ecstatic laugh, his chest shaking with pure joy at the man's sheer, unadulterated panic. He leaned right in next to Collins' ear, whispering, “Told you I’d hide your stapler next, Collins. Consider this a warning shot.”
You bit your lip so hard it went completely numb, forcing a cough to hide the breathless, choked laugh that threatened to explode from your chest. You quickly snatched up your mug and Daniel's paper cup, determined to flee the scene before Collins noticed your burning red face.
—
You managed to slip out of the breakroom before Collins could fully process his swinging badge, though you had to press your lips into a tight line the entire way down the hall to keep from bursting into a full, breathless laugh. Leon glided right at your shoulder, looking immensely proud of his morning’s work, his deep, silent chuckle vibrating in the back of your mind.
When you returned to your cubicle, you slid Daniel’s coffee onto his desk with a quiet, "Here you go. Cream and sugar are in the tray."
"You're a lifesaver," Daniel mumbled, already half-buried in an Excel sheet.
You gave him a quick nod and stepped into your own space, your demeanor shifting instantly as you settled into your chair. The lighthearted morning banter faded away, replaced by the heavy, familiar weight of Operation: Broken Mirror. You pulled a stack of physical, manila-folder archives out of your locked bottom drawer, the very files you had braved the fourth-floor storage room for the night before. After five years as an analyst, you knew the digital PDF versions were always the first to be scrubbed, sanitized, and stripped of context by the higher-ups.
You cracked open the thickest folder, the musty scent of old paper and fading ink rising into the cool air of your cubicle.
Leon’s playful smirk vanished the moment his eyes fell on the stamped header at the top of the page:
Lanshiang, China - 2013 // Task Force Report // Maximum Classification
The casual distance he usually maintained evaporated. His weightless form drifted around the back of your chair, his presence hovering directly over your right shoulder. He leaned down, his broad chest aligning just an inch behind your back, his head tilting close to yours so he could read the text alongside you.
Even though he was entirely composed of energy and air, the sheer, sudden proximity of him sent a fierce shiver down your spine. You could clearly see the faint, ethereal blue outline of his sharp jawline out of the corner of your eye. The space inside your small cubicle suddenly felt incredibly small, thick with a quiet, undeniable tension that made your pulse hitch.
"Look at the third paragraph," Leon murmured softly. His voice echoed directly into your consciousness, low and gravelly, so close that it felt like a physical breath brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. "The digital brief claims the local militia in the Poisawan slums was just a random anti-government uprising. But look at what the original field notes say."
You focused your eyes on the page, your pen hovering over your legal pad. You noticed that while the online PDFs had entire blocks completely blacked out, this original paper copy had only been lightly censored with a thin marker. If you held the page up to the harsh fluorescent light of the cubicle, you could make out the words underneath.
"It says the militia was actively organized by Neo-Umbrella," you whispered, barely moving your lips, tracking the words with the tip of your finger. "They weren't rioting for political reasons. They were intentionally infected with a pathogen called the C-Virus to create a massive, localized distraction."
"Exactly," Leon confirmed, his spectral form shifting slightly closer. As he reached out to point at a specific line on the page, his translucent hand casually brushed against yours.
A sudden, sharp jolt of warmth snapped across your skin. It wasn't the cold numbness you expected from a ghost because of the terrifyingly intense connection growing between you. His touch felt remarkably solid for a split second; it was a heavy, lingering pressure that sent a wave of heat straight to your core. Your breath hitched, your fingers trembling slightly against the paper. You looked up, your eyes locking onto his gaze just inches away. There was a sudden, heavy silence between you, a cinematic heat stretching between the living analyst and the weary ghost, before Leon softly cleared his throat and nodded toward the file, silently urging you back to the safety of the data.
"The distraction was meant to cover up their primary doomsday project," Leon explained, his tone turning clinical, though his eyes lingered on your face for a fraction of a second longer. "A global pandemic. My partner, Helena, and I were tracing Derek Simmons, the National Security Advisor at the time, straight into Lanshiang. He was working with a shadow cabal known as 'The Family' to orchestrate the entire outbreak."
You jotted down the names Simmons and The Family on your pad, your analytical mind quickly connecting the historic data to your modern smuggling pipeline.
"According to the public files, Simmons was killed, Neo-Umbrella was completely dismantled, and the C-Virus was suppressed using an Anti-C vaccine engineered from the blood of a man named Jake Muller," you murmured, cross-referencing your notes. "But if the virus were entirely eradicated, it makes no logical sense why my modern black-market investigations keep pulling up fragmented samples of it. Look at these customs raids from last month.”
You pull up multiple tabs on one of your monitors to show Leon the reports of the raids that were conducted and information and pictures of the samples of the vials that contain samples of the C-Virus: “These glass vials containing trace amounts of the exact same pathogen."
Leon leaned lower, his shoulder pressing lightly against yours as he studied the reports on your screen, then back down to your desk, which had modern portrait photographs you had spread out across the desk.
"Because it wasn't fully eradicated," Leon stated grimly, the lines of his face hardening as the dark memories resurfaced. "The Anti-C vaccine worked, but it had a zero-percent survival rate for anyone who had already fully mutated. It saved the uninfected, but it couldn't wipe out the genetic data. When Simmons died, he didn't just burn up. He was injected with an elite, enhanced strain of the virus…. Something engineered by a geneticist named Carla Radames using the old t-Veronica and G-Virus strains."
You looked up at him, fascinated by the sheer, terrifying complexity of the bio-weapon. "An enhanced strain?"
"Yeah. It allowed him to mutate back and forth into monstrous shapes without his cellular structure collapsing," Leon said, a bitter, humorless smile touching his lips. "And when the crisis ended, 'The Family' recovered its mutated corpse. They didn't bury him out of respect, sweetheart. They harvested his remains. They preserved the genetic blueprint of the enhanced C-Virus."
A cold dread settled deep in your stomach as the missing pieces of Operation: Broken Mirror finally began to click into a horrific, coherent picture.
"The structural firewalls," you whispered, your eyes widening as you looked at the complex financial labyrinth on your monitor. "The independent couriers, the anonymous forums, the shell companies that vanish overnight... It’s not a messy collection of small-time, independent criminals. Someone with massive infrastructure has been systematically cultivating Simmons' remaining genetic data and selling it off in fragmented, unviable pieces to rogue scientists across the globe."
"And they're making an absolute fortune doing it," Leon added, his blue eyes shimmering with a fierce, dangerous intensity. "But they ran into a problem. An undercover agent stationed in Hong Kong got too close to their marine transit network eight months ago. Right before he went dark, he managed to transmit those two lines to your database: Lanshiang, China. 2013."
You leaned back in your chair, your shoulder brushing fully against Leon's chest as you stared at the paper file. The official Bureau stance was that Lanshiang was a closed case. Simmons was dead. Neo-Umbrella was gone.
But looking at the raw evidence, and feeling the solid, protective presence of the agent hovering right behind you, you knew the terrifying truth. The historical matter wasn't settled at all. The U.S. government hadn't closed the case to protect the public… They had buried it to cover up the fact that a massive, wealthy shadow organization within their own borders was still actively profiting off the world's most dangerous biological weapon. And five years ago, when Leon S. Kennedy had tried to look too closely at the truth... they had made sure he became a ghost.
The revelation settled over you like a physical weight, cold and suffocating. You kept your gaze locked onto the manila folder, your eyes tracing the faded ink of the Lanshiang report without actually seeing the words anymore.
You didn't dare say it out loud. You couldn't. To utter a theory that massive, that treasonous, inside the very walls of an FBI field office would be a death sentence for your career, and maybe for you, too. Besides, it was still just a theory. A terrifyingly plausible, completely logical truth that fits every missing puzzle piece perfectly, but a theory nonetheless. You needed proof. Hard, undeniable, digital, or physical proof.
But God, the realization hit you like a punch to the ribs.
You looked down at your hands, resting flat against the desk. They were trembling slightly. You had spent years working late nights, drinking stale breakroom coffee, and sacrificing a normal life because you genuinely believed you were one of the good guys. You believed the Bureau stood between the public and the monsters of the world, even if they had their flaws in many other aspects of operation. But looking at this file, feeling the phantom warmth of Leon's chest pressing against your back, the ugly truth lay itself bare. The agency you wore a badge for wasn't just failing to catch the suppliers; they were actively obscuring the path to them.
They hadn't assigned you Operation: Broken Mirror to stop the pandemic. They had assigned it to you because you were a thorough, quiet analyst who would map out the small-time buyers and intercept the fragmented samples, keeping the contamination contained without ever looking high enough to see who was pulling the strings. Your literal job description was to chop off the outer branches while leaving the poisoned root completely untouched.
Going beyond that... digging into the shadow cabal that weaponized the government's own oversight... That wasn't your job. It was a line no sensible analyst would ever cross.
But as you stared at the paper, a quiet, fierce resolve began to burn away the initial shock. You weren't doing this for the Bureau anymore. You were doing this for the man hovering over your shoulder. Leon had given his entire life to protecting people, only to be betrayed, erased, and left to wander these halls as a forgotten spirit. He deserved justice. He deserved to have his name mean something again, even if you were the only living soul who knew the truth.
A heavy silence stretched between you, the air thick with a raw, unspoken emotion. Leon seemed to sense the sudden downward spiral of your thoughts. The spectral weight behind you shifted, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw his expression soften from his usual hardened, tactical mask into something deeply human, weary, and remarkably gentle.
He didn't know exactly what you were thinking, but he knew the toll this realization took on an idealist. He had been there himself, decades ago, when he first discovered what Raccoon City really was.
Slowly, his translucent hand moved, hovering just a fraction of an inch above yours on the desk. He didn't close the gap, knowing that the sudden jolt of energy might startle you, but the proximity alone cast a comforting, steady heat over your fingers.
"Hey," he murmured softly, his voice a low, gravelly hum that vibrated directly behind your ear. "Don't let the weight of it crush you. I know exactly where your head is right now. It’s an ugly picture when the mirror finally cracks, isn't it?"
You forced your breathing to steady, squeezing your eyes shut for a brief second before opening them and staring straight ahead at your monitor. You didn’t want to say anything that may be out of the blue that didn’t sound like a conversation you typically have on a phone call or a meeting out loud with Daniel sitting just a few yards away, but you took a slow, deliberate breath, letting your shoulder lean back just a fraction of an inch more against his spectral chest, a silent sign of solidarity. A silent promise.
I’m going to find them, Leon, you thought fiercely, hoping whatever tether connected your minds could carry the weight of it. I’ll follow the samples like they want. But I’m not stopping there.
Leon’s presence seemed to expand, a protective barrier closing out the low hum of the office fluorescent lights and the distant sound of Daniel tapping away at his keyboard. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of his lips.
"Alright," Leon said quietly, his tone shifting back to the steady, reliable rhythm of a man who had survived a dozen hells. "If we’re going to find the people supplying these vials, we have to look at the money trail. The Bureau thinks they’re buying these C-Virus fragments with standard cryptocurrency, but 'The Family' doesn't use public blockchains. Look back at the customs raid from last month. Let's see how those buyers actually paid for the cargo."
"Copy," you whispered under your breath, a tiny, teasing smirk finally breaking through the heavy tension wrapping around your chest.
It was a field command you had picked up during your few rare excursions outside the office walls, those long, exhausting trips where you were deployed to document the aftermath of major operations, stepping over yellow tape and photographing evidence in the wake of the primary field agents. Hearing the crisp, tactical jargon over the comms had always made you feel a little detached as an analyst, but saying it now, directly to a past operative like Leon? It felt right. It felt like a declaration that you were in this fight together.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Leon’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, a soft, genuinely amused chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Copy? Look at you, getting fluent in the lingo," he murmured, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners.
Your fingers flew across the mechanical keyboard, cutting through the heavy atmosphere as you pulled up the financial audit reports from last month's customs raids. You bypassed the surface-level ledgers that the Bureau’s automated system generated and dug straight into the raw, unredacted banking data.
As you traced the currency flow, your brow furrowed. "You weren't kidding," you muttered, leaning closer to the monitor.
The transactions were masked behind a dizzying labyrinth of ghost servers and shell corporations, but the real dead-end came at the routing numbers. They were completely fabricated; they were ghost strings designed to look like legitimate European institutions that simply didn't exist when you pinged their databases. The money vanished into a black hole.
But as your eyes scanned the shipping manifests paired with those ghost transactions, a clear, rhythmic pattern began to emerge from the chaos.
"They aren't just sporadic, desperate deals," you murmured, your analytical brain locking into place. "Look at the timestamps, Leon. This cargo is moving on a strict, bi-monthly schedule. At least twice a month, like clockwork."
Your mouse hovered over the most recent delivery log, and your breath caught. The destination wasn't some far-flung international black market.
"The next drop is happening right here on the East Coast," you whispered, tracking the GPS coordinates on the manifest. "A private, industrial port in a city just two hours away. And according to the bi-monthly timeline... the next exchange is scheduled for this weekend."
Leon leaned in so close that your hair slightly shifted from the kinetic energy of his movement. His eyes narrowed as he memorized the terminal number and the name of the shipping vessel. "A local port means localized distribution. If they're moving live pathogens that close to a major metropolitan area, they're getting confident. Or sloppy."
A sudden, reckless spark of adrenaline flared in your chest. This was your chance. You couldn't expose the entire shadow government from behind a desk in a cubicle, but you could catch the suppliers in the act. If you could physically get to that port, intercept the exchange, and secure a physical sample or a piece of local hardware before the Bureau's clean-up crews arrived to sanitize the scene... you’d have the undeniable proof you needed.
"I need to get out there," you thought fiercely, the decision hardening inside you before you could talk yourself out of it.
You clicked open the Bureau's internal portal and brought up a blank Form 202, which was a Field Operations Request. If you played your cards right, you could frame it strictly within the boundaries of Operation: Broken Mirror. You could tell your superior and director that you picked up a localized anomaly in the shipping data and needed a temporary field clearance to conduct a preliminary, on-site physical audit of the port's digital logbooks. They thought you were a compliant, thorough paper-pusher, so they'd likely grant the routine clearance without a second thought, completely unaware that you intended to go way beyond checking a few barcodes.
You began typing out the request, your fingers steady as you drafted the formal justification.
Beside you, Leon’s expression grew intensely serious, a heavy mix of protective instinct and grim pride darkening his features. "Going out into the field after a live bio-weapon isn't a joke," he warned softly, his voice dropping into that commanding, gravelly tone he used when a mission turned lethal. "It’s messy, it’s unpredictable, and if those suppliers realize someone is watching, they won't hesitate to pull a trigger. Are you ready for what happens if this goes sideways?"
You didn't look back at him, keeping your eyes locked onto the glowing screen as you hit Submit on the clearance request, but you let out a slow, resolute breath that carried all the unspoken weight of what you were willing to risk for him.
"I'm ready," you whispered.
You finally turned your head, breaking your gaze from the monitor to look directly into his bright blue eyes. A small, tentative but entirely real smile touched your lips. "Besides, I'm not exactly going out there blind anymore. I’ve got a seasoned DSO agent by my side. Even if you're a ghost... You can be my guide."
Leon’s breath caught in his spectral chest. For a moment, the hardened tactical mask he had worn for decades completely slipped, leaving behind an expression of profound, quiet awe. To hear you place that kind of unyielding trust in him, not as a historical footnote, not as a haunting inconvenience, but as a partner, it anchored him to the living world more than any spell or science ever could.
Slowly, the surprise melted away, replaced by a devastatingly handsome, deeply fond smirk. He leaned down, his face hovering just inches from yours, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a thrilling, electric heat straight to your core.
“Copy that, Agent,” his deep voice rumbled directly into your mind, thick with a fierce, protective warmth that made your heart skip a spectacular beat. “If we’re doing this, then I’m not letting anything happen to you. Consider me your personal eye in the sky. Now, let’s see how fast your director signs off on that paperwork.”
—
The steady, mechanical hum of the office began to shift as the clock crept past 5:00 PM. Around your small cubicle, the collective exhale of the fourth floor was almost audible as analysts and investigators began packing up their briefcases, shutting down their monitors, and pooling toward the elevators to escape for the weekend.
You, however, remained firmly glued to your desk.
The last several hours had passed in a blur of focused intensity. Outwardly, you looked like a model employee deeply engrossed in a standard data-entry backlog. Inwardly, your world has become a private, high-stakes tactical briefing. You and Leon had spent the entire afternoon quietly mapping out the logistics of the East Coast port facility, logging vessel schedules, and cross-referencing security guard rotations.
But mostly, Leon had been teaching.
With his weightless form casually draped over the top of your cubicle partition, looking entirely too relaxed for a dead guy, he had spent the last two hours running you through essential field pointers. His deep voice, echoing directly into your mind with absolute clarity, had stripped away the rigid, sterilized theories of your textbooks and replaced them with the raw, brutal reality of survival. He taught you how to read the shadows of an open shipyard, how to blend into the background of a bustling industrial terminal, and how to spot a counter-surveillance team by the subtle, unnatural way they checked their mirrors.
“When you're on a cold floor like a shipping dock, your eyes are your life insurance,” Leon murmured, his bright blue eyes fixed on you with an intense, unwavering focus that made your chest tighten in the best possible way. “You don’t look at people; you look at their hands. You don’t watch the perimeter; you watch the exits. And if things go south, you don’t think about the protocol—you think about the nearest piece of solid steel you can put between yourself and a muzzle flash.”
You jotted down a quick, disguised shorthand note in your ledger, a small smile playing at the edge of your lips. "Understood, coach," you whispered under your breath, pretending to clear your throat as Daniel walked past your desk to say his goodbyes.
Once the footsteps faded and the floor fell into a quiet, after-hours hush, Leon fluidly shifted, sliding down the partition to sit cross-legged on the edge of your desk. He leaned forward, resting his translucent forearms on his knees, his face suddenly dropping into a deeply amused, slightly challenging expression.
“Alright, Agent. We’ve covered the mental tracking,” he drawled, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “But let’s talk about the physical side. If a supplier catches you poking around a container and decides to make it personal, what exactly am I working with here? How are your combat skills?”
You leaned back in your squeaking office chair, crossing your arms defensively as a sudden flush of heat warmed your cheeks. "Hey, I'll have you know I survived Quantico. I am a fully certified federal agent."
Leon raised a skeptical, perfectly sculpted eyebrow, his blue eyes shimmering with pure, unfiltered mischief. “Quantico, huh? The legendary Basic Field Training Course. Twenty weeks of intensive residential fun in Virginia. Break it down for me, sweetheart. How did the analytical track handle the pressure?”
"I handled it just fine, thank you," you shot back playfully, leaning your elbows on the desk and lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "We spent a massive portion of our time in the classroom doing academics and intelligence tradecraft. I passed both of my comprehensive legal exams on constitutional law and rules of evidence without breaking a sweat. I can draft a flawless search warrant in my sleep."
“Fascinating,” Leon teased, leaning in just an inch closer, his face hovering tantalizingly near yours. “So if a bio-terrorist attacks you, you’re going to read them their rights and slap them with a beautifully formatted subpoena?”
"Shut up," you muttered, a breathless laugh escaping your throat as your heart did a sudden, chaotic flutter against your ribs. The sheer, effortless comfort that had bloomed between the two of you over the course of a single day was staggering. The initial fear and shock of his existence had completely evaporated, replaced by a warm, intoxicating domesticity that felt entirely too natural. When he leaned in like that, his glowing blue frame casting a subtle, thrilling heat over your senses, it took every ounce of your analytical willpower to remember how to breathe.
"We did practical exercises too," you defended, trying to regain your composure. "We spent weeks operating inside Hogan’s Alley. I ran the mock town, dealt with the professional role-players, built case files, conducted surveillance, and made tactical arrests. I even survived the Moot Court testimony."
Leon chuckled, a rich, rumbling sound that resonated deep within your chest. “Hogan’s Alley is a good controlled environment. But what about the operational skills? The heavy lifting?”
"I spent over a hundred hours at the firing range, Kennedy," you said, tossing your head back with a tiny, triumphant smirk. "I qualified on the Bureau-issued handguns, the shotguns, and the carbine rifles. And I did the defensive driving courses, the high-speed pursuits, evasive maneuvers, the whole nine yards."
Leon’s smirk widened into a slow, intensely attractive grin. He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over your structured blazer and the sharp line of your collarbone before locking back onto your eyes with a lazy, heavy focus that felt incredibly intimate in the quiet, empty office.
“And the defensive tactics?” he asked softly, his voice dropping into a lower, slightly gravelly register that made your pulse do a frantic little dance. “Hand-to-hand combat? The grappling, the boxing, the weapon retention? How did you do on the Physical Fitness Test right before graduation?”
You opened your mouth to answer, but the words momentarily caught in your throat under the sheer weight of his gaze. You swallowed hard, shifting slightly in your chair.
"Well..." you mumbled, your confidence suddenly turning into a self-deprecating chuckle. "Let's just say I met the baseline. I did my maximum sit-ups in a minute, survived the 300-meter sprint without collapsing, hit the required number of continuous push-ups, and dragged myself across the finish line for the timed 1.5-mile run. I passed… Barely.... I’m an analyst, Leon. My brain is my primary weapon. I’m built for spreadsheets, not a twelve-round boxing match with a J'avo."
Leon let out a soft, incredibly fond laugh, his expression melting into something so deeply tender it made your lungs ache. He reached his translucent hand out across the desk, hovering his fingers just a fraction of a millimeter above yours. The proximity alone casts a heavy, comforting warmth over your skin, a silent, electric current linking your souls.
“Hey. Meeting the baseline at Quantico is still a hell of an achievement, sweetheart,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that completely bypassed his usual playful defenses. “And you’re right. Your brain is brilliant. The way you mapped out this entire pipeline from a mountain of redacted garbage is incredible. Don't worry about the heavy lifting. Like I said... you've got a seasoned agent by your side now. If anyone tries to put their hands on you, I’ll show you exactly how a DSO operative breaks a wrist, even from the passenger seat.”
Your heart thudded violently against your ribs, a radiant, helpless smile spreading across your face. The subtle, flirtatious edge to his voice was intoxicating, sending a thrilling shiver straight down your spine. You were completely trapped in his orbit, the empty cubicles around you fading into absolute nothingness.
Ping.
The sudden, sharp electronic chime of your computer inbox shattered the silence, pulling you abruptly out of the trance.
You jumped slightly, your eyes snapping back to the dual monitors. You clicked open the blinking notification at the bottom of the screen, your breath catching in your throat as the official text populated the window.
FROM: Office of the Director
SUBJECT: Form 202 - Field Operations Request
STATUS: APPROVED
MESSAGE: Request for temporary field clearance and localized digital audit at Sector 4 Industrial Port Facility is hereby granted, effective immediately for 7 days. Maintain standard operational boundaries. Report all physical discrepancies directly to leadership.
You stared at the screen, the reality of the situation suddenly washing over you. The paperwork was signed. The clearance was real. This weekend, you were leaving the safety of your desk behind.
Leon leaned over your shoulder, his eyes scanning the approved mandate before a sharp, confident smirk returned to his handsome face.
“Well, look at that,” he whispered directly into your ear, his breath a phantom, thrilling warmth against your skin. “Pack your bags, Agent. We’re going to the field.”
—
The drive back to your apartment had been a quiet, meditative blur. The Thursday evening traffic crawled along the asphalt arteries of the city, a sea of glowing red taillights that usually would have frayed your nerves after a long week. But tonight, you had barely noticed the delay. You had simply focused on the road; the cabin of your sedan had been filled with nothing but the comfortable, low hum of the engine and the quiet, occasional observations from the passenger seat. Leon had spent the ride simply watching the city pass by, his profile illuminated by the rhythmic flash of streetlights, looking content just to watch the world move.
Now, back within the safe, secluded walls of your apartment, the stifling veneer of the federal bureaucracy could finally be shed.
You had gone straight to your bedroom to wash away the day, peeling off the restrictive, stiff layers of your work blazer and slacks. After a long, hot shower that eased the tight knots in your shoulders, you changed into an oversized, worn-in grey sweatshirt and a pair of soft fleece shorts. Your hair, still slightly damp at the ends, fell loosely around your shoulders, the pieces of hair framing a face that looked significantly less guarded than it had a few hours ago.
Stepping into the living room, you found Leon exactly where you expected him to be. He was waiting by the couch, but he wasn’t lounging on the armrest or hovering mid-air this time. He was already sitting down on the plush cushions, his broad shoulders relaxed against the backrest.
When you approached, you didn't choose the opposite side of the sofa like you had the night prior. Without a single word, you walked over and sank into the cushions right next to him.
The distance between you had shrunk drastically. Your thigh was resting just a scant fraction of an inch away from his leg. Because of the impossible, magnetic tether pulling your souls together, you could feel the distinct, heavy radiation of his presence, which provided a profound, comforting warmth that seemed to seep right through the fabric of your sweatshirt. It wasn’t a physical heat, since he is cold to the touch as a ghost, but rather a deep, emotional resonance that settled over your nervous system like a heavy blanket, instantly grounding you.
You leaned your head back against the cushion, letting out a long, slow sigh as you stared up at the ceiling. "I think my brain is officially fried," you murmured into the quiet room. "Three weeks of digging through data, and today felt like a marathon."
Leon shifted slightly, turning his head to look down at you. In the dim, ambient glow of your living room lamp, his translucent features looked remarkably soft, the sharp, hardened lines of his jaw and brow relaxed into an expression of pure tranquility.
“You survived,” his deep voice rumbled, echoing softly within the quiet chambers of your mind. “And you walked out with an approved field clearance. I’d say that’s a win for the analytical division.”
You let out a soft, breathless chuckle, turning your head on the cushion so you were looking right back at him. Up close, the sheer depth of his blue eyes was dizzying. Internally, your heart was doing that familiar, erratic flutter, a sweet, aching tension tightening in your chest. You were hyper-aware of how close you were sitting, hyper-aware of the fact that twenty-four hours ago, he was just a ghost story, and now, he was the only person in the world who truly saw you.
"I still can't believe I used a field command," you admitted, a small, self-deprecating smile touching your lips as the embarrassment of that moment finally caught up to you. "I must have sounded ridiculous to a guy who actually ran black ops."
“Hey, I told you, I liked it,” Leon murmured, a slow, incredibly gentle smile spreading across his face. He shifted his arm, resting it along the back of the couch behind your shoulders. He didn't actually touch you, but the weightless boundary of his sleeve was close enough that the static energy of his presence tickled the hairs at the nape of your neck. “It showed intent. You were locked in. Honestly... watching you work today? It brought back a lot of things I thought I’d completely buried.”
"Like what?" you asked softly, your voice dropping into a quiet, intimate register.
Leon looked away for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the dark windows where the city lights twinkled in the distance. He let out a soft, phantom breath, a wistful, contemplative shadow crossing his features.
“I’ve been drifting through those hallways for five years,” he explained quietly, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly hum. “When you're a ghost, time doesn't really move the same way. Days bleed into months, and after a while, you start to forget the rhythm of being alive. You forget what it feels like to have a destination. To have a morning routine. I’d completely forgotten what it felt like to actually go to work normally.”
He paused, a faint, humorless chuckle vibrating behind his ribs. “Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of things I definitely do not miss. I don't miss the stale, burnt coffee from the DSO office’s breakroom. I don't miss the stifling, passive-aggressive emails from HR. And I absolutely, under no circumstances, miss the mountains of agonizing paperwork I used to have to fill out after a mission. If I never see a post-operation budget ledger again, it’ll be too soon.”
You laughed quietly, the sound rich and warm in the small apartment. "So you're saying you didn't miss the bureaucracy?"
“Not even a little bit,” Leon agreed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked back down at you. But then, the teasing glint in his eyes softened, replaced by a raw, heavy sincerity that made your breath catch. “But experiencing it with you today... watching you cross-reference those files, seeing the way your mind works when you're chasing a lead... It made it all completely enjoyable. I spent my whole career dreading office days. But today? Today was the most fun I've had in five years. I actually looked forward to seeing what you'd do next.”
Your heart swelled, a sudden, powerful wave of emotion rushing through you. You kept the feelings tightly locked inside, too nervous to let them show on your face, but internally, you were reeling. To know that your mundane, ordinary workspace had given a legendary hero a sense of purpose again was entirely overwhelming.
You wanted so badly to reach out. Your eyes darted down to his hand, which was resting on his knee just inches from your own fingers. The urge to close the gap, to feel that strange, solid spark of his energy against your skin again, was a physical ache in your chest. You didn't do it—too afraid to break the fragile, perfect safety of the moment—but you allowed your body to relax completely, leaning just a fraction of an inch closer until the warmth of his spectral frame felt like a protective shield against the rest of the world.
"I'm glad I could make the paperwork exciting for you, Kennedy," you whispered playfully, your eyes locked onto his.
“You make a lot of things exciting, sweetheart,” Leon countered softly, his voice sliding into that low, flirtatious register that always sent a delicious thrill straight down your spine. He leaned his head down slightly, his bright blue eyes holding yours captive in the dim light. There was a thick, heavy heat building between you on the couch, an unspoken, electric pull that had nothing to do with the case or the Bureau. It was just the two of you, tucked away from the world, learning how to be close.
He let out a soft, contented sigh, the tight lines of his broad shoulders relaxing completely as he settled deeper into the cushions next to you. “Tomorrow, we worry about the logistics of the port… Tomorrow, I will teach you how to handle a live extraction. But tonight... let’s just sit here for a while. Tell me more about those terrible legal exams at Quantico.”
A radiant, helpless smile broke across your face. You shifted slightly, pulling your knees up onto the couch so you were completely facing him, your shoulder resting securely against his as the quiet, comforting rhythm of his voice filled your mind, carrying the two of you deep into Thursday night.
"You really want to hear about code annotations and administrative law?" you teased softly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
“Sweetheart, after five years of listening to fluorescent lights buzz, I would gladly listen to you read a refrigerator manual,” Leon murmured, his eyes crinkling at the corners with that heartaching warmth.
As the conversation flowed into the late hours, a sudden realization hit you, bringing a wave of profound relief. You glanced down at the illuminated screen of your phone to double-check the calendar. "Oh, wait. It’s Thursday."
Leon tilted his head, watching the tension drain from your shoulders. “And that means?”
"That means tomorrow is Friday, and my division has a mandatory work-from-home policy on Fridays," you explained, a genuine grin spreading across your face. "I don't have to go back to that building tomorrow. I just have to log in to my laptop, answer a few emails, and clear my desk for the weekend."
Leon let out a rich, rumbling chuckle that vibrated right through your bones. “No morning elevator crushes? No dodging hot lattes from tech interns? Sounds like a luxury.”
"Exactly. Which means..." You tapped your fingers against your knee, an idea rapidly forming in your mind. You pulled up your apartment building’s resident app, clicking over to the community amenity tracker. "We have the perfect window. My building has a private resident gym on the second floor. According to the daily traffic logs on the app, it completely empties out after the morning rush. By 10:00 AM, everyone is either at their offices or working locked away in their units. We’ll have the whole place to ourselves."
You looked up, your eyes locking onto his. "You were asking about my baseline combat skills earlier. Tomorrow, after I finish my morning check-ins, you can take me to the gym. You can give me a real physical walkthrough. A warm-up. Just in case I actually need to pull out any tactical skills if things go sideways this weekend."
The playful, teasing look on Leon’s face slowly shifted. The casual, relaxed posture he held on the couch grew subtly more rigid, his broad shoulders straightening as the professional operative within him instinctively took over.
Internally, a complex storm of emotions flared behind his bright blue eyes. A part of him, a dormant, locked-away part that had been starved for five long years, he felt a sudden, electric spark of pure adrenaline. The mere prospect of action, of a mission, of planning a live extraction and analyzing a hostile perimeter, made his spectral heart race with a familiar, intoxicating rush. It was the thrill of the hunt, the reason he had survived for so long. For the first time in half a decade, he wasn't just a passive observer of life; he was a participant. He was a protector again.
But right alongside that fierce excitement came a heavy, suffocating wave of anxiety.
His eyes swept over you, taking in your cozy, oversized sweatshirt, your soft hair, and the gentle, innocent vulnerability of your features. You were a brilliant analyst, yes. You were sharp, intuitive, and brave enough to defy a shadow government for him. But you weren't a hardened combatant. You hadn't seen the horrors he had seen. You hadn't watched partners die in the mud, and you hadn't faced the unfathomable, brutal ruthlessness of the organizations that traded in viral samples. The thought of a live pathogen being moved on a cold, dark shipping dock just two hours away made his protective instincts flare to a near-deafening pitch.
If anything happened to you because he encouraged you to chase his ghost... He would never forgive himself.
He leaned down a bit closer, his face coming so near that the ethereal blue light of his frame cast a soft glow over your skin. The flirtatious smirk was gone, replaced by a raw, heavy intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.
“A training session, huh?” he murmured, his deep voice dropping into a low, fiercely protective register that resonated straight to your core. “Alright. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. I’m not going to give you a light cardio workout, sweetheart. If you’re stepping onto that dock this weekend, I need to know exactly how you move. I need to make sure your muscle memory is locked in.”
He paused, his gaze dropping to your hands before locking back onto your eyes with a weight that felt entirely physical.
“I’ll admit... A part of me is itching to get out there. It feels good to have a target again,” he confessed softly, the raw honesty in his voice laid bare in the quiet room. “But you need to understand something. I’ve lost a lot of people in my life to weapons like the C-Virus. A lot of good agents who thought they were ready. I’m going to be hard on you tomorrow. Not because I doubt you, but because I’m going to ensure, with everything that I am, that you walk off that port completely safe. Do you trust me?”
A powerful, emotional ache bloomed in your chest at his words. The sheer, unyielding scale of his protectiveness wrapped around you, making you feel safer than you ever had in your entire life. You didn't flinch from the intensity in his eyes. Instead, you leaned an inch closer, your back pressing fully into his arm that rests behind you on the head of the couch.
"With my life, Leon," you whispered honestly.
A soft, breathless sigh escaped him, the fierce tension in his jaw melting into a look of profound, quiet reverence. He didn't move away, letting his spectral presence envelop you completely on the couch, the silent promise of partnership anchoring the two of you together as the night finally settled into a deep, peaceful quiet.
You pulled your gaze away from his, your face feeling incredibly warm as the gravity of your words hung in the quiet space between you. To break the sudden, overwhelming intensity of the moment, you reached over the arm of the couch and grabbed the soft throw blanket you had left out for him the night prior. Unfolding it, you shook it out and draped it across your lap, naturally pulling it over his legs too—even if he couldn't technically feel the chill of the room, the domestic gesture felt entirely right.
Reaching for the remote on the coffee table, you clicked the TV on, flipping to a random streaming channel just to get some ambient background noise into the apartment. A crime procedural show started playing, the low hum of dialogue and dramatic television scores filling the silence.
As you settled back against the couch cushions, your body instinctively sought out the comfort you had just found. With your knees still tucked securely against your chest, you leaned back, letting your shoulder and the back of your head rest fully against the broad, steady boundary of his arm draped behind you.
The moment you leaned into him, a heavy, almost suffocating wave of awareness crashed over the small space between you.
You had meant the gesture to be comforting, but now that the immediate adrenaline of discussing the mission had passed, the physical reality of your positioning set in. You were practically tucked into his side. Because he had solidified his presence to brace you, the sensation of his upper arm pressing against your shoulder blade was intoxicatingly real. He was massive compared to you, his chest broad and his frame imposing, completely eclipsing your smaller frame against the cushions.
Underneath the shared blanket, you could feel the distinct, magnetic vibration of his leg resting a mere hair’s breadth from yours. Your mind, usually so disciplined and analytical, was completely derailed. You found your eyes tracking the sharp, rugged slope of his jaw, the way the dim blue light of his form caught the casual mess of his hair, and the distinct, powerful shape of his shoulders. A sudden, unbidden thought flashed through your mind, a vivid, entirely inappropriate wonder of what it would feel like if he were completely flesh and blood right now, if those heavy, capable hands on his knees actually reached down to pull you onto his lap. Your chest tightened, your breath hitching as a sharp, tingling pull of desire bloomed deep in your stomach.
Leon wasn't faring any better.
The moment you leaned back against his arm, his entire frame caught a sudden, electric jolt. He kept his eyes glued to the television screen, but he wasn't processing a single frame of the show. All he could focus on was the soft, delicate weight of you resting against him. He could see the gentle rise and fall of your chest beneath your oversized sweatshirt, the faint scent of your shampoo from the shower drifting up into his phantom senses, and the absolute, unbothered comfort in your posture.
For five years, he had been a weapon without a hand to hold it, a soldier with nothing left to guard. But having you this close, wrapped in a blanket with him in the dark, stirred a fierce, primal hunger that he hadn't felt in a lifetime. His eyes covertly darted down to your lips, dark thoughts clouding his mind. He wanted to shift his arm, to slide his hand down the slope of your shoulder and cup your face, to lean down and find out if the impossible magic of your bond would let him taste you. The sheer, torturous frustration of his spectral existence flared up, mixed with a deeply possessive, primal urge to anchor you to him completely before you ever set foot onto that dangerous dock.
He swallowed hard, his jaw tight as he forced his gaze back to the TV screen, though his fingers twitched against his knee.
"You, uh..." Leon cleared his throat, his voice dropping into an incredibly low, gravelly pitch that vibrated right through the cushion and directly into your spine. "You think the detective is going to figure out the blood splatter pattern, or should we call it in for them?"
You let out a shaky, breathless laugh, your fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket as you tried to suppress the chaotic hammering of your heart. You didn't move away from his arm. In fact, you let yourself sink just a fraction of an inch deeper into his warmth, your eyes fixed on the screen while your entire universe remained centered entirely on him.
"I think they're doing a terrible job," you whispered, your voice slightly strained from the thick, dizzying tension in the air. "They clearly didn't look at the routing numbers."
Leon let out a soft, low chuckle that sounded entirely too close to your ear, the deep rumble of it sending a spectacular, delicious shiver straight down your arms. "Yeah. Amateurs," he murmured softly.
Neither of you looked at each other, both completely aware of the heavy, intoxicating pull stretching between you under the cover of the flickering television light, the silence of the apartment growing thicker and sweeter by the second.
You stared intently at the television screen, where the fictional detectives were currently arguing over a fingerprint lift, but your brain was running a completely different, wildly unscientific simulation.
Now that your shoulder was pressed firmly against Leon’s arm and his leg was practically touching yours under the blanket, your hyper-analytical mind did what it always did when faced with a brand-new anomaly: it started calculating the logistics. Except this time, the logistics were so profoundly, deeply inappropriate that you felt a sudden spike of panic.
You began to ponder the sheer physics of your situation. Could a ghost even... Well… Fuck?
Your mind spun out of control, throwing up questions that absolutely no FBI manual or Quantico training seminar could ever prepare you for. To the rest of the world, Leon was nothing but air, but to you, he had mass. He felt cool, almost chilly to the touch on the outside, yet every time he solidified his presence near you, it sparked a roaring, intense heat deep within your chest. So, if your connection could make his hands solid enough to haul you upright in a crowded elevator, what did that mean for the rest of him?
Your eyes darted down toward the blanket for a fraction of a second before you violently forced your gaze back to the TV. Is it even anatomically possible for a ghost to get an erection?
The thought hit your brain like a freight train, and a sudden, violent wave of heat rushed straight to your face. You bit the inside of your cheek so hard it hurt, your knuckles locking white as you gripped the edge of the throw blanket. You prayed to whatever higher power was listening that ghosts didn't have telepathic powers, because if he could see inside your head right now, you would have to pack your bags and move to a different hemisphere immediately.
You tried desperately to maintain a completely blank, professional face. You were a federal analyst. You dealt with cold, hard data. You do not sit on a couch on a Thursday night, wondering about the spectral anatomy of a renowned black-ops operative, especially not when technically he would be considered your senior by his status, even if he were alive.
But the imagery was already there, vivid and entirely unbidden. How would it even feel? Would it feel like that heavy, electric static warmth that currently tickles your skin, or would it be completely, breathtakingly solid? Your chest felt incredibly tight, your breathing shallow as a deeply localized, furious blush crept up your neck, painting your cheeks a brilliant, undeniable crimson. You were practically radiating heat, the sheer embarrassment and dark curiosity turning you into a walking radiator.
Leon, who had been trying his absolute best to focus on the crime show, suddenly caught the drastic shift in your temperature. He didn't even have to look at you to feel the sudden wave of heat coming off your skin, or the way your breathing had gone from a steady rhythm to a short, frantic hitch.
He slowly turned his head, his bright blue eyes dropping down to study your face. When he saw the rich, vibrant pink dusting your cheeks and the way you were staring at the television with a rigid, near-comical intensity, as if your life depended on the dialogue, a slow, knowing amusement began to curve his lips.
"Hey," Leon murmured softly, his deep voice dropping into a teasing, gravelly rumble right beside your ear. "You alright over there, sweetheart? You look like you're about to combust. If the air conditioning is broken, you can just say so… Though it is the fall and not that hot around this time of year."
Your heart did a violent flip against your ribs, and you had to squeeze your eyes shut for a brief second to force the scandalous thoughts out of your mind before looking up at him.
You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes trained forward as you managed a tight, squeaky nod. "Fine. Just... a little warm, yeah. The building's radiator must be acting up."
"Right. The radiator," Leon murmured.
He didn't push it, turning his face back toward the television screen. But outwardly cool as he seemed, Leon was currently fighting a desperate, losing battle inside his own head. If you had even the slightest inkling of what was running through his mind right now, you wouldn't just be blushing, you'd probably jump right off the couch.
His thoughts were entirely, unrepentantly impure.
The moment you had leaned your head back against his arm, letting your smaller frame sink completely into his side, a severe jolt had gone straight through his system. For five years, he had been completely numb. He had forgotten the basic, human sensory details of proximity, the way a woman's weight felt shifting against a cushion, the delicate scent of clean skin and shampoo, the soft friction of cotton clothes. But with you, it wasn't just abstract phantom logic. You were warm. Unbelievably, beautifully warm.
And right now, that warmth was seeping straight through his translucent frame, bleeding directly into his core.
He didn't want to move his arm. In fact, he had to actively restrain himself from tightening his grip, from sliding his hand down the curve of your shoulder and hauling you flush against his chest just to absorb more of it. He wanted to bury his face in the crook of your neck, to feel the frantic, fluttering pulse he could see beating against your skin, and to find out if his hands would feel solid if he slid them underneath that oversized sweatshirt of yours.
The realization hit him like a physical blow… He hadn't thought about a woman like this in a lifetime.
As a ghost, his desires had been stripped down to the barest, most basic psychological survival needs, which consisted of the hunger for a voice, a glance, and a simple acknowledgment that he existed. The primal, raw sexual appetite of the man he used to be had long since gone dormant, locked away in the dark. But sitting here with you under a shared blanket, the sheer proximity was violently dragging those instincts back to the surface.
Then, he felt it. A sudden, undeniable pooling of heavy, throbbing heat trailing sharply down south.
Leon froze, his entire body locking up in a state of sheer, unadulterated shock. His blue eyes widened slightly as he stared blankly at the TV. No way, he thought, a sudden spike of internal panic flaring through him. That shouldn't even be anatomically possible. He was a spirit, a manifestation of energy bound to a case file. He didn't have blood flow. He didn't have a pulse. And yet, the impossible bond of your connection was defying every law of the supernatural universe. The hard, heavy ache growing beneath his waistband was entirely, shockingly real.
He let out a slow, silent breath through his nose, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle ticked. He adjusted his legs under the blanket, shifting slightly to try to conceal the sudden, highly inappropriate predicament he had found himself in.
He was a renowned DSO operative. He had kept his composure while staring down mutated monsters, corrupt dictators, and collapsing buildings. He could handle a little sudden friction on a Thursday night. But as he covertly glanced down at the top of your head, watching the way your hair caught the light of the screen, he knew he was completely lying to himself. He was in deep trouble, and the weekend hadn't even started yet.
"Yeah," Leon cleared his throat again, his voice dropping into a register so thick, low, and gravelly it was practically a growl. "Must be... a really strong radiator."
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with an unspoken friction that seemed to dry the very air in the room. On the television, the crime show had faded into a commercial break, the flashing colorful lights illuminating the quiet apartment in rhythmic waves, but neither of you was watching anymore.
You could feel the sudden, rigid tension in the arm resting behind your head. Leon’s entire posture had turned stone-still, his jaw clamped tightly shut as he stared straight ahead. It wasn't the relaxed, casual stance of the ghost who had been teasing you all afternoon; it was the hyper-focused, coiled stillness of a man trying desperately to keep himself under control.
The heat radiating between you beneath the shared blanket was getting unbearable, blurring the lines of logic your analytical brain usually clung to. You knew it was crazy. You knew the parameters of this reality were completely off the charts. You were 26, a living, breathing analyst with a career and a future ahead of you. Leon was a piece of history, a man who had technically lived to 41 but had been frozen in this spectral, 36-year-old prime for five years. He was a ghost. A phantom tied to a case file.
But right now, looking at the sharp, rugged edge of his jaw and feeling the massive, protective weight of his presence, none of those numbers mattered. The age gap, the line between life and death—it all felt completely trivial compared to the agonizing pull dragging you toward him.
And yet, a sharp spike of hesitation pierced through the fog of your desire. We only met last night, your internal voice reminded you, trying to claw its way back to rationality. It was insane to feel this intensely, this quickly, for a spirit you had only known for a little over twenty-four hours.
Your mind frantically cataloged every single interaction you had shared with him since he materialized in your living room. From that very first, heart-stopping moment he appeared out of thin air, there had been an undeniable, magnetic gravity between you. It was there when he playfully lounged on your office cubicle partition today, completely invisible to the rest of the world while pushing your buttons. It was there in the crowded elevator when he solidified his presence just enough to steady you against the crushing morning rush. Every look, every low-timbered tease, every brush of his spectral energy had been building a silent, cumulative pressure. You had been caught in his orbit from the second your eyes lay on his in the closet, and no matter how much your logical mind screamed that this was moving too fast, your body and soul were already miles ahead.
Leon was fighting an identical battle, his internal timeline feeling just as warped and dangerously fast. He knew the logistics. He knew he had just arrived in your life last night, a literal specter from a dark past disrupting your neat, organized world. By all accounts of his old training, he should be keeping his distance, maintaining the professional boundary of a partner on a case.
But five years of absolute sensory deprivation had made him weak against a force as bright as you. From the moment you had looked him in the eye last night after the panic had settled within you, you were face to face with a literal ghost, not with horror, but with fierce determination to help him. Since then, he had been sliding down a frictionless slope. Every time he teased you today, watched you work, or felt your stubborn resilience, the tether anchoring him to you grew thicker and more terrifyingly real. He didn't just want to protect you anymore; he wanted to possess you, and the sheer speed of that realization was making his protective instincts war violently with his primal desires.
Slowly, deliberately, you turned your head on the cushion, breaking the safety of the television screen to look up at him. "Leon," you whispered.
The sound of his name split the quiet room like a lightning strike.
Leon’s head turned instantly, his bright blue eyes locking onto yours. The gaze he leveled at you was dark, heavy, and completely stripped of his usual playful defense mechanisms. He saw the rich blush still painting your cheeks, saw the slight, inviting tremble of your lips, and the sheer, unadulterated desire pooling in your eyes.
A deep, troubled shadow crossed his features. He didn't move away, but his fingers twitched against his knee, the internal battle raging behind his eyes entirely transparent.
"Sweetheart," Leon said, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly register that was so thick it sent a violent shiver straight down your spine. He didn't look at you like an elite agent right now; instead, he looked at you like a man who had been starving in the dark for five years, suddenly staring at the sun. "You need to be careful. If you keep looking at me like that, I'm... I'm having a real hard time remembering my manners."
"I don't care about manners," you breathed, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. You shifted on the cushions, uncurling your legs from your chest and turning fully toward him, the blanket pooling around your hips.
"Right now, every second since last night feels like an eternity," he confessed, his voice dropping into a fierce, raw whisper. "I spent five years in a vacuum, sweetheart. Then I wake up in your apartment, and you're treating me like a human being. You're fighting for me. Every time you look at me, every time you laugh at one of my terrible jokes... it feels like I'm being dragged back to life by my throat. I know it's fast. I know it's crazy. But I am down so incredibly bad, and I don't know how to slow this car down."
Your heart did a violent, spectacular flip in your chest at his honesty. The sheer vulnerability of his words stripped away the last of your hesitation, the lingering fear of the quick timeline melting into the background light of the television.
"I don't want to slow it down either," you whispered back, the admission final, locking the two of you into the inevitable crash.
Leon’s breath hitched, a sharp, ragged sound breaking from his chest. The teasing, confident agent who had spent the afternoon lounging on your office partition vanished, replaced by a man looking down at his own hands with a profound, agonizing hesitation. The space between you on the cushions suddenly felt tightly coiled, heavy with a historical weight that neither of you had explicitly named until now.
Behind his quiet exterior, a violent storm was tearing through him. Every single instinct he possessed as a man was screaming at him to close the distance, to pull you against him and drown in the intoxicating, vibrant warmth you were offering so freely. He craved it—God, he craved you with a terrifying, primal hunger that scared him to his core. For five years, he had been a ghost, a hollow echo trapped in the freezing void of isolation, but looking at you right now, the dormant, passionate fire of the man he used to be was roaring back to life. He wanted to feel the soft friction of your skin, to hear your breath hitch because of him, to find out if the impossible magic of your bond could bridge the gap between life and death completely.
But a crushing weight was holding him back, wrapping around his throat like iron.
It wasn't just the fact that he was dead. It was the devastating reality of who he was compared to who you were. He looked at your bright, beautiful face, young, brilliant, with a whole lifetime of possibilities stretching out ahead of you. You had a future. You had a career, a heartbeat, a life to live in the sun. And what was he? He was a 36-year-old phantom whose memories were stained with blood, ash, and betrayals. He was a weapon that had finally shattered. The protective instinct that defined Leon S. Kennedy was turning inward, weaponizing his own guilt against him. He was terrified that by reaching out, by letting his selfish desires win, he would taint your innocence. He didn't want to become a parasite, draining your vitality just so he could feel alive again. He didn't want to anchor you to a graveyard.
He swallowed hard, the internal battle raging behind his eyes entirely transparent as he forced himself to look back up, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle ticked fiercely beneath his stubble. The angst in his chest bled through the cracks of his composure, raw and bleeding, yet the desperate pull of your proximity kept him completely anchored to your side.
"Look at me," he murmured, his voice laced with a raw, emotional ache that seemed to vibrate directly through the fabric of the couch. "Look at what I am. I’m 36 years of scar tissue and bad decisions, and I don't even have a heartbeat anymore. You're 26, you're alive, and you have your whole life ahead of you. I shouldn't be... I shouldn't be wanting to drag you into the dark with me."
"You're not dragging me anywhere," you countered fiercely, your eyes burning into his, refusing to let him retreat into his usual protective isolation. "You're the only warm thing in this entire building, Leon. Ghost or not. Please."
As you stared up at him, your heart ached with a profound, consuming intensity that completely drowned out his logical protests. You could see the immense weight of the universe he carried on his broad shoulders. You saw the deep, weathered tiredness that had carved itself into the fine lines around his bright blue eyes and the tense set of his jaw, the physical manifestations of a lifetime spent fighting losing battles for a world that ultimately betrayed him. To the rest of history, he was a hardened agent, a cold myth frozen in time. But to you, he was just Leon. A man who had given everything until he had nothing left but the crushing, absolute silence of these apartment walls.
And you didn't care about his ghosts. You didn't care about the blood on his hands, the decades between your ages, or the impossible boundary separating the living from the dead.
Looking at the tragic, beautiful contour of his face, a fierce, maternal, and fiercely protective instinct flared within your chest alongside the heat of your desire. You didn't want to run from his darkness; you wanted to pull him entirely into your light. You wanted so desperately to wrap your arms around his massive frame, to pull him down against your chest and hold him so tightly that the five years of freezing, hollow isolation would finally melt away. You wanted to lean up and gently kiss every single one of those tired lines on his face, to trace the rugged edge of his jaw with your lips, and remind him of what it felt like to be cherished. He had spent his entire existence protecting everyone else, discarding his own humanity in the process. He deserved to be held. He deserved to feel the profound, unyielding warmth of another soul, the exact warmth he had been starved of for far too long.
You leaned an inch closer, your knees shifting beneath the heavy throw blanket as you tilted your chin up, completely baring your throat and your heart to him in the dim, flickering light of the television.
"I don't care about the dark, Leon," you whispered, your voice a soft, trembling vow that shattered the final remains of the quiet room. "Let me show you."
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked fiercely beneath his stubble. When he opened them, the blue was darker, stripped of all the safe, ironic distance he used to shield himself. He didn't close the gap between your lips yet; instead, he leaned down just enough that his face hovered a mere inch from yours, forcing you to look at the sheer, terrifying intensity of his focus.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he whispered, his breath a phantom, tingling current that brushed against your mouth, mocking you with its lack of physical heat while sending a violent spike of adrenaline through your veins. "There is no manual for this, sweetheart. If I touch you—if I let myself actually take what I want right now—I don't know how to do it halfway. I don't know how to be a casual distraction."
The guilt in his voice was thick, a heavy layer of old grief and a sudden, terrifying possessiveness that he was actively trying to crush for your sake. He was trying to give you an exit, trying to be the disciplined professional, but his broad shoulders were already leaning over yours, his massive frame completely blocking out the flickering, colorful light of the television. He was casting you in his private, electric shadow, and your body was responding to the trap with a desperate, hammering pulse.
"I don't want a manual," you breathed, your knees shifting beneath the blanket as you angled yourself completely toward him, your throat tight with a desire that felt entirely reckless. "And I don't want an exit, Leon. Stop trying to protect me from yourself."
"I've spent five years being nothing," he rasped, his eyes dropping to your mouth, tracking the slight, inviting tremble of your lower lip with a hunger that was borderline dangerous. He raised a hand, his large, calloused fingers hovering just half an inch from your jawline, the static energy radiating from his palm making the small hairs on your neck stand on end. "Just a whisper in a hallway. And now you come along, looking at me like I'm still a man, treating me like a human being... It's making me selfish. If I let myself feel how soft you are, I'm never going to want to let you go back to that desk."
The air between your lips was dizzying, thick with an intoxicating friction as you both danced around the terrifying reality of what was happening. Neither of you was asking what this meant for tomorrow, or how a living agent and a dead operative could ever find a baseline that didn't end in heartbreak. You were just two people trapped in a room, entirely consumed by a quiet, mounting panic of want.
"Then don't let me go," you challenged softly, your voice dropping into a quiet, breathless plea.
That was the absolute breaking point. The final, fragile thread of his legendary restraint snapped entirely.
"God help me," Leon growled, the last of his hesitation melting away into pure, unbridled instinct.
He finally pressed his palm firmly against your jawline. The contact was explosive. A sharp jolt of static heat erupted where his skin met yours, turning entirely, breathtakingly solid beneath his touch. His hand was large, his fingers rough from a lifetime of holding weapons, but the way he cupped your cheek was so unbelievably tender it made a whimpering sigh escape your throat. His thumb stroked over your cheekbone, his palm cool against your burning skin, yet sending a wave of absolute fire straight down to your core.
Leon let out a low, primal groan at the feeling of your skin against his, his fingers tangling into the damp strands of your hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head up to meet him. "You are so beautiful," he rasped, his face descending, his eyes darkening to a dangerous, midnight blue. "So beautiful, sweetheart. I'm done being good."
You reached up, your hands instinctively flying to his chest, your fingers bunching into the fabric of his dark shirt, shocked by how firm and real his muscles felt beneath your palms. You pulled him down, closing the final, agonizing inch between you.
When his lips finally met yours, the universe outside the apartment completely dissolved. It wasn't a soft, ghostly brush because of the sheer intensity of your shared desire. The kiss was heavy, deep, and fiercely demanding. His mouth slid over yours with a practiced, devastating hunger, his lips parting yours with a low rumble that vibrated directly into your chest. The cool, electric rush of his energy mixed with the roaring, desperate heat of your body, creating a dizzying, intoxicating friction that left you completely breathless as he pulled you closer into his solid, unyielding embrace.
That last thread of his restraint didn't just snap; it disintegrated entirely.
With a low, ragged growl that vibrated from deep within his chest, Leon reached out. His large, calloused hands slid under the shared blanket, locking securely around your waist. The sheer strength in his grip was breathtakingly solid, anchoring you completely as he effortlessly lifted you up and pulled you straight onto his lap. Your legs naturally draped over his thighs, your knees tucking into his sides as your hips pressed flush against his broad, firm lap.
The heat between you flared instantly into a roaring blaze.
Leon didn't waste a single second. His hands, hungry and desperate after five years of hollow numbness, began to slide hungrily over your body. His palms traced the soft, smooth curves of your waist, dipping into the narrow contour of your lower back before expanding over the flare of your hips. Every dip, every soft line of your body beneath the oversized sweatshirt was a revelation to him. He squeezed your waist tightly, his large fingers molding to your skin through the fabric, pulling you so close that there wasn't a single inch of space left between you.
His mouth chased onto yours hungrily, completely abandoning the hesitant caution from before.
The kiss was heavy, deep, and utterly intoxicating. To Leon, your soft lips felt like a miracle. For five agonizingly long, freezing years, he had tasted nothing but static air and absolute silence. But now? The rich, sweet taste of you, warm, living, and entirely yielding to him, was driving him completely out of his mind. He drank you in like a dying man stumbling upon an oasis, his tongue sliding against yours with a practiced, devastating hunger that left you completely dazed. Every soft gasp you let out against his mouth only fueled the fire, making him groan into the kiss as his lips fiercely chased more and more of your taste, completely intoxicated by the sheer reality of you.
You whimpered into his mouth, your senses spinning in a dizzying blur of electric static and roaring heat. Your left hand flew to his broad shoulder, your palm flat against his firm, unyielding muscle, feeling the rhythmic, desperate hitch of his chest as he held you. Your other hand shot up, your fingers tangling desperately into the messy, soft strands of his hair at the back of his neck, pulling him down even closer to ensure he couldn't pull away.
Leon’s lips softened for a fraction of a second, shifting from a fierce, demanding hunger into a kiss that was deeply, achingly tender. It was a silent, desperate confession of how much he needed this, how much he needed you. He cradled your jawline with his thumb, his lips sliding over yours with a slow, heavy pressure that made your entire core ache with a furious, throbbing desire, the flickering light of the television completely forgotten as you both drowned in each other's touch.
Your mind was completely shattered under the sheer, tactile onslaught of his presence; nothing in your 26 years of life could have prepared you for the reality of being held by him.
To you, it felt like the laws of physics were rewriting themselves just to accommodate the desperate intensity of your connection. Beneath your thighs, his lap was entirely solid, a broad and unyielding foundation that felt safer than any fortress you had ever known. You were completely enveloped by him, drowning in the heavy, electric static of his energy. He felt cool against your skin, but the internal heat he ignited inside you was a roaring, beautiful fire that melted away every shred of your carefully constructed discipline.
You felt one of his massive, calloused hands slide up the side of your torso, the rough texture of his palm dragging over the soft fabric of your oversized sweater. He mapped out the curve of your ribs with a reverent, heavy pressure, his touch firm enough to leave you breathless. But it was his other hand that truly made you come undone. Because you were wearing soft loungewear shorts, the skin of your thighs was completely exposed, and Leon’s large fingers slid down to wrap around the soft flesh of your upper leg. He squeezed, his fingers sinking into your warmth with a possessive, grounding grip that made a jolt of pure, liquid desire shoot straight to your core.
At the same time, his older, scarred hand came up to cradle your face. His thumb stroked over your burning cheekbone with an agonizing, heartbreaking tenderness, holding you as if you were the most fragile, precious thing he had ever laid eyes on.
You completely melted against him. The sheer emotional weight of his touch, the raw, desperate worship from a man who had been starved of affection for a lifetime, all overwhelmed your senses. A soft, breathless whimper broke from your throat, followed by a quiet, uncontrolled moan as his thumb brushed the sensitive skin beneath your ear.
The sound echoed in the quiet, dim living room, and a sudden flash of self-consciousness flared in your chest. You instinctively tried to pull back, your lips parting from his as you ducked your head, trying to swallow the embarrassing noises. Your face burned with a fresh, deeper flush. You were an adult, a professional, you weren't supposed to be making such raw, needy sounds.
But Leon wouldn't let you hide.
His hand on your face tightened gently, his thumb anchoring your jaw to keep you close. He didn't let you turn away. Instead, he leaned down, his forehead resting gently against yours as his bright blue eyes locked onto your face with an intensity that was dizzying. His breathing was ragged, a rough, gravelly sound that vibrated directly against your lips.
"Hey," Leon murmured, his voice dropping into a register so low, thick, and devastatingly tender it made your heart ache. "Look at me, sweetheart. Don't."
He kissed the corner of your mouth, a soft, slow brush of his lips that felt like a quiet plea. "You're so good for me," he rasped against your skin, his thumb wiping away a stray tear of sheer sensory overload from your eyelid. "So beautiful. God, you have no idea what you do to me."
He slid his hand down to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling back into your dark hair to gently tilt your head back up. His blue eyes swirled with a dark, heavy affection that completely laid his soul bare.
"Don't hide those sounds from me," he whispered, his gravelly voice thick with a fierce, protective warmth that anchored you entirely to his frame. "I've been in the dark for years, listening to nothing. Hearing you... Knowing I'm making you feel like this? It's the only real thing I have. Let me hear you, baby…"
The raw honesty of his words shattered whatever defenses you had left. The vulnerability in his expression, the sheer, profound gratitude of a man being brought back to life by your touch, was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
You let out a shaky, emotional breath, your fingers tightening convulsively in his hair as you pulled his face back down to yours. When your mouths met again, the kiss deepened into something deeply sacred, a soft yet fiercely hungry exploration. You opened up to him completely, your soft whimpers spilling directly into his mouth as your tongues tangled in a slow, intoxicating rhythm. He drank in every sound you made, groaning low in his chest as he held you tightly in his unyielding embrace, the two of you completely anchored together in a universe that existed only on that couch.
“My room… please,” you managed to whimper out between his relentless attacks on your mouth. He was leaving you utterly breathless, barely granting you a single second to catch your breath before his lips would claim yours all over again, desperate and consuming.
Without a word, driven by the sheer, unadulterated need to stay connected to you, Leon reacted. His large hands trailed smoothly down the backside of your thighs, his grip firm and secure against your bare skin. Swiftly, and with that effortless, terrifying strength you were quickly growing used to, he lifted you up into his arms. Your legs instinctively wrapped tightly around his waist, locking you against his broad torso as he stood up from the couch.
Even as he moved, he didn’t break the connection. He kept his mouth pressed fiercely against yours, carrying you down the short, shadowed hallway of your apartment by memory alone. He navigated the turn into your bedroom with a soldier's spatial awareness, his heavy form casting a massive, protective silhouette in the doorway.
Stepping into the room, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The ambient, chaotic glow of the living room television was replaced by the warm, dim amber of your bedside lamp. It cast long, soft shadows across the walls, making the secluded space feel infinitely more intimate, like a sanctuary tucked away from the rest of the world.
Leon walked over to the side of the mattress and carefully leaned down. With the utmost gentleness, a stark, heartbreaking contrast to the raw power vibrating through his frame as he lay you down onto the bed.
As your back sank into the soft mattress, he finally, slowly pulled his mouth away from yours. The sudden separation of his lips from yours felt like a cold shock, a tiny whimper escaping your throat at the loss.
Leon propped himself up on his forearms, hovering directly over you, his massive chest completely eclipsing your view of the ceiling. In the soft lamp lighting, he looked completely breathtaking. The warm amber glow caught the messy, golden-brown strands of his hair falling into his eyes, and the intense, midnight blue of his gaze swirled with a possessiveness that was entirely intoxicating.
He stayed perfectly still for a long moment, his chest heaving with a ragged, heavy breath as his eyes slowly swept over your face, committing the sight of you to memory.
You were a beautiful, chaotic mess beneath him. Your lips were slightly swollen, a deep, flushed crimson from how deeply and hungrily he had been kissing you. Your hair was delightfully disheveled, fanning out across the soft pillowcase. Your face was painted with an obvious, radiant blush that crept all the way down the exposed skin of your neck, your breathing just as shallow and frantic as his.
A slow, profoundly soft look crossed Leon's rugged features; the hardened edge of his face was completely melting away into the vulnerability of a man entirely in love. He leaned down just a fraction of an inch, his thumb reaching out to gently trace the contour of your lower, swollen lip.
"Look at you," Leon muttered, his voice dropping into a thick, gravelly register that was barely more than a rough whisper in the quiet room. "Look what I did to you, sweetheart. You are so beautiful like this. Completely ruined for me."
He leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your burning cheekbone, his breath a warm, tingling current against your skin. "So perfect. You have no idea how long I've dreamed of having someone look at me the way you're looking at me right now. You're too good for me, sweetheart... Way too good."
He was settled heavily between your legs. Even with his forearms propping his massive upper body up to keep from completely crushing you, the solid, undeniable weight of his lower half was pressed firmly against yours, his hips locked you down against the mattress.
Driven by the torturous, throbbing ache building deep in your core, you shifted. You wiggled just slightly beneath him, an instinctive, desperate attempt to create any sort of friction you could to ease and tend to the roaring arousal pooling between your legs. Your hips brushed against his, and the sudden, electric spark of contact made your toes curl into the sheets.
Leon noticed the tiny, restless movement instantly. He froze for a fraction of a second, his entire body tightening over yours as a heavy, primal surge of satisfaction rippled through his frame. He found the sheer, unbridled need in your body incredibly endearing. A low, rich chuckle vibrated deep in his chest, a sound so thick and dark it sent a thrill straight down your spine. He leaned down, pressing a row of soft, lingering kisses along your jawline, his stubble scraping delightfully against your sensitive skin.
“Please… Leon…,” you pleaded, your voice breaking into a breathless, desperate whimper. You threw your head back slightly, sinking deeper into the pillow so that he could get better access to the smooth expanse of your neck.
Immediately, Leon was on it. He didn't need to be told twice. He buried his face in the crook of your shoulder, his lips trailing a path of fire across your skin. He left a chaotic mix of bruising kisses and soft, deliberate bites here and there, precisely marking the sensitive spot right where your neck met your shoulder. Every time his teeth grazed your skin, a sharp gasp left your mouth, your fingers tightening convulsively around the hard muscles of his upper arms.
The hand that wasn’t propping his weight up began to move, trailing slowly up from your bare thigh. His large, rough palm glided over the soft fleece of your shorts before reaching the hem of your oversized sweater. He paused there, his fingers hooking into the fabric.
With a heavy, ragged breath, he broke away from your neck, lifting his head to look down at you. His bright blue eyes were dark, blown out with a dangerous, intoxicating hunger, yet they held a profound reverence that made your lungs lock up.
“Can I…?” he asked softly. His voice was a rough, gravelly murmur, completely stripped of all his usual agent bravado. He was asking for your permission, needing to ensure you were entirely with him in this lawless, uncharted territory.
Your chest heaved as you looked up into his beautiful, tortured face. You couldn't even form words if you tried, so you simply nodded, your eyes locked onto his in absolute, unyielding approval. The moment you consented, Leon’s gaze darkened to midnight. His hand slid fluidly beneath the hem of your sweater, his broad palm making direct contact with the bare, sensitive skin of your stomach.
His skin was cool; it was cold to the touch compared to the feverish heat radiating from your body, and the sudden, stark contrast made you jolt violently against the mattress. A soft, high-pitched squeal escaped your throat at the delicious shock of it.
But the sound was instantly absorbed by Leon. He swooped down, his lips finding their way back onto yours with a sudden, fierce, demanding hunger. He caught your cry directly in his mouth, tongue sliding deep past your lips to claim you all over again, while his hand traveled higher up your torso, mapping the soft curve of your ribs and erasing the chill with the roaring fire of your shared desire.
Moving his hand higher, his broad palm glided over the smooth expanse of your ribs until his knuckles gently met the underside of your breast. He froze right there, his fingers curling slightly, not daring to fully shift his hand up onto the soft weight. Even consumed by the roaring hunger driving him crazy, the protective, deeply respectful soldier in him refused to force a single boundary. He wanted to make sure anything and everything he was going to do was completely, undeniably alright with you.
Feeling exactly where his hand had stalled beneath the heavy fleece of your sweater, your own hand came up over the outside of the fabric. You felt for the distinct, firm outline of his large hand beneath the cotton, locking your fingers over his. Slowly, deliberately, you guided his palm upward, pressing his calloused hand directly over your breast, letting him know with absolute certainty that it was okay to touch you in any way he wanted to…
“Please touch me, Leon…” you assured him between breathy, fractured kisses, your heart hammering wildly against his palm.
That was all the reassurance he needed. Leon pulled back from your mouth with a sharp, ragged inhale, his eyes dropping to the hem of your top. Sensing his intent, you sat up slightly on the mattress, your hands coming up to help him pull the oversized sweater up and over your head. He threw it blindly into the shadows of the room.
As you settled back onto the pillows, your hair fell in a beautiful, disheveled manner around you. Leon stayed perfectly still, his breath catching completely in his throat. Because you had gone straight into your loungewear after your shower, you hadn't worn a bra. You were entirely topless in front of him, your skin flushed a delicate, radiant pink under the warm, amber glow of the bedside lamp.
Leon took a heavy, silent second just to admire the staggering beauty in front of him. His midnight blue eyes swirled with a mixture of raw, possessive heat and a profound, quiet reverence that made you feel completely worshipped. To him, you looked like an absolute masterpiece, your soft curves and vulnerable posture anchoring him to the living world more than any case file ever could.
"God, sweetheart..." he rasped, his gravelly voice thick with awe as his gaze tracked the slow, frantic rise and fall of your chest. "You are absolutely perfect."
Unable to tolerate a single layer of separation between your skin and his any longer, Leon backed off his knees slightly. His large hands flew to the buttons of his own dark shirt. With an impatient, fiercely focused energy, he stripped off his clothes, pulling the shirt over his broad shoulders and unbuckling his belt, pulling it off his pants, discarding them somewhere onto the floor without a second thought. He didn't care where they landed.
When he loomed back over you, completely bare to the waist, the sight of him made your breath hitch. His chest was massive, a rugged expanse of hard-earned muscle and distinct, silvered battle scars that told the tragic story of his past. But in the dim, intimate lighting of your bedroom, those old wounds didn't look frightening; they just looked human. The impossible, electric warmth of his bare torso hovered inches from yours, the sheer, raw proximity of his naked skin sending a thrill of pure, lawless anticipation straight down to your core.
Seeing Leon with nothing but his pants on, his bare body completely exposed to you, left you utterly breathless. He was so beautifully sculpted, his broad shoulders tapering down to a lean, rigid waist, every muscle honed by a lifetime of survival. It wasn't fair. The sheer, devastating sight of him only made the heavy, throbbing heat at your core so much more unbearable.
Pushing yourself up off your pillow once more, you couldn't stay apart from him for another second. You leaned forward, pressing your bare chest directly against his. The contact was an absolute shockwave of sensation, the cool, electric static of his skin meeting the feverish, burning heat of yours.
Slowly, hesitantly, you lifted a hand, your fingers tracing the pale, jagged line of a silvered scar cutting across his ribs. You leaned in closer, your breath hitching as you pressed a soft, lingering kiss right against the marred skin.
Leon froze entirely. His whole body went rigid, his breath hitching in a sharp, fractured gasp that rattled deep within his chest.
For a man who had spent his entire life being treated like an unbreakable weapon, being handled with such tenderness and care was completely disarming. He was used to his scars being examined by medical staff, or ignored in the dark, or weaponized against him as reminders of his failures. No one had ever looked at the map of his trauma and treated it like something sacred.
You didn't stop at just one. You slid your hand up to the hard contour of his shoulder, tracing another faded mark from a long-forgotten mission, before pressing another soft, adoring kiss there.
"I want to kiss every single one of them," you whispered against his skin, your voice trembling with a raw, emotional intensity that shook him to his very core. "I want to take care of you, Leon. All your ghosts, all your worries... let me carry them for tonight. You don't have to be anyone else or anything for anyone… just you…"
The words shattered him. The unyielding restraint of Leon didn't just break; instead, it completely dissolved into the warm, amber light of your bedroom. He was down so incredibly bad for you, completely defenseless against the overwhelming tide of your affection.
A low, shaky groan escaped his throat, a sound thick with a raw, emotional ache he couldn't possibly conceal anymore. The rigid, coiled tension in his muscles completely melted under your touch. He collapsed forward slightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his forehead resting heavily against your shoulder as he let himself sink entirely into your warmth. He felt practically heavy in your arms, anchoring himself to your living, breathing frame as if you were the only thing keeping him from drifting away into the dark.
"Sweetheart..." Leon rasped, his voice breaking, rough and heavily strained as his large hands came up to wrap around your waist, pulling you so close that your hearts might as well have been beating as one. He squeezed you, his fingers digging into your hips with a desperate, possessive reverence. "God... you're killing me. You have no idea what you're doing to me."
He lifted his head, his midnight-blue eyes in the darker setting of your room, swirled with a fierce, intoxicating mix of desire and profound gratitude. He looked at you like you were his salvation, his large, calloused hand coming up to cup your jaw with a trembling tenderness. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a slow, achingly deep kiss that tasted like a quiet surrender.
The slow, achingly deep kiss lingered between you, a heavy and quiet surrender that seemed to suspend time itself within the amber-lit sanctuary of your bedroom. The boundaries of reality had completely blurred; there was only the frantic, rhythmic hammering of your heart against your ribs and the solid, intoxicating weight of Leon pressed over you.
Reluctantly, Leon pulled his mouth away from yours, though he didn't go far. His breathing was a ragged, shallow rhythm against your skin as he looked down at you, his eyes darker than midnight, brimming with a fierce and desperate need. He could feel the residual warmth of your lips where you had kissed his scars, a phantom heat that was sinking deeper and deeper into his soul, making him ache for a closeness that went far beyond the physical.
Slowly, deliberately, he shifted his weight, his large hands sliding up from your waist to gently grasp your shoulders. With a quiet, reverent pressure, he guided you back down onto the soft sheets, your head sinking into the plush pillow. You looked up at him, your bare skin flushed a delicate, radiant pink under the lamp's glow, completely exposed and completely trusting under his gaze.
"My turn," Leon rasped, his voice dropping into a thick, gravelly murmur that sent a spectacular shiver rushing down your spine. "Let me look at you. Let me feel you."
He loomed over you, a massive shadow of hard-earned muscle, completely eclipsing the rest of the world. He wanted to learn from you. He wanted to memorize the soft contours, the subtle dips, and the breathtaking warmth of your body as if it were a sacred text, engraving every detail into his memory so deeply that even death could never erase it.
Leaning down, he buried his face in the sensitive crook of your neck, his lips pressing a slow, heavy kiss against your skin. You let out a quiet, trembling whimper, your hands instinctively flying to his broad shoulders, your fingers digging into the firm muscle to hold him close. Leon let out a low groan at the sound, a primal vibration that you felt directly against your pulse point. He began to trail his mouth downward, his kisses turning hotter, more demanding as he mapped the elegant slope of your collarbone.
As his lips chased the taste of your skin, the hand that wasn’t supporting his weight slid down the expanse of your stomach, his rough, calloused palm a delicious, thrilling contrast against your softness. His fingers traveled higher, tracing the curve of your ribs until his hand securely cupped the underside of one breast. He didn't hesitate this time as his fingers squeezed gently, massaging the soft flesh with a heavy, possessive rhythm that made your breath hitch violently.
A ragged, breathless moan escaped your lips, echoing softly in the quiet room. The sound was raw, filled with an unadulterated longing that drove Leon completely out of his mind. He caught the sound with a low, answering rumble in his chest, his mouth migrating from your collarbone down to the soft, aching slope of your other breast.
The atmosphere in the room turned thick and heavily intoxicating, charged with a profound, lawless lust that was beautifully tangled with emotion. You were entirely consumed by the static, electric energy radiating from him, melting beneath a touch that felt both incredibly tender and fiercely hungry. Your back arched slightly off the mattress, your hips subtly shifting against his in a silent, desperate plea for the friction you couldn't quite reach yet.
Leon’s tongue flicked against your skin, tracing a slow, agonizing path toward your peak, making you gasp out his name into the dim light. He wanted to remember the exact sweetness of you on his tongue, to drown out the five years of freezing, hollow silence with the beautiful, chaotic symphony of your soft sighs and whimpers. Every touch was an anchor, and every sound you made was a vow, locking the two of you together in a deep, intoxicating rhythm where the line between the living and the dead simply ceased to exist.
Leon’s mouth closed over the aching peak of your breast, his tongue swirling against your skin in a slow, wet rhythm that made your entire body shudder. A high, fractured gasp left your throat, your fingers tightening convulsively into the golden-brown strands of his hair, pulling him closer as he licked and suckled against you. He was relentless, his hunger entirely unchained now, drinking in the sweet taste of you as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
While his lips and tongue worshiped one side, his other hand kept up its heavy, possessive massage on your other breast. His thumb brushed over the sensitive skin with an agonizing, slow friction that had you weeping into the quiet room.
Then, slowly, deliberately, that large, calloused hand began to creep downward.
His palm glided over the tight contour of your ribs, tracing the dip of your waist before his fingers hooked firmly into the elastic waistband of your sweat shorts. At the exact same moment, the torturous ache between his own legs became too much to bear. Driven by pure, unadulterated instinct, Leon shifted his weight, his broad hips pressing down to grind slowly, heavily against your core.
The friction was electric. Through the thin fabric of your shorts, you could feel the unmistakable, massive ridge of his arousal. It was thick, throbbing, and shockingly hard underneath his pants. A loud, desperate whimper broke from your lips as your back arched completely off the mattress. The sheer reality of his desire, the impossible, solid heat of him pressing right where you needed it most, sent a wave of liquid fire straight down your spine.
Leon let out a low, ragged groan against your skin at the contact, his chest heaving as he fought to keep from losing his mind completely. He broke away from your breast, lifting his head so he could look down at you. His face was flushed, his jaw clenched hard, and his blue eyes were completely blown out with a dark, primal lust that made you tremble.
His hand remained hooked in your waistband, the static energy radiating from his fingers making your skin tingle.
"Sweetheart," Leon rasped, his voice dropping into a register so thick and gravelly it was practically a plea. He didn't just want to take, even now, down this bad; he needed to know you were completely with him. "Can I take these off? I need to see all of you."
You were so dazed, your mind so thoroughly melted by the sensation of him grinding against you, that you could only manage a frantic, desperate nod against the pillow.
But Leon stayed still, his gaze burning into yours, demanding more than just a silent gesture. "I need to hear it, baby," he murmured, his thumb rubbing a comforting, heavy circle against your hip. "Tell me it's okay."
Shyly, your voice trembling with a mixture of raw vulnerability and overwhelming desire, you forced the word past your swollen lips. "Yes... Please, Leon."
The verbal approval snapped the final thread of his control.
"God, you're so good for me… Good girl," he whispered fiercely.
Slowly, reverently, his large hands gripped the elastic, dragging your sweat shorts down past your hips in one smooth, deliberate motion, taking your underwear along with them. He slid them down the length of your thighs and over your knees, tossing the fabric somewhere on the floor of the bedroom. When he loomed back up, settling his thighs between yours, you were left completely bare under his heavy, worshipful gaze, the warm amber light painting every soft curve of your body just for him.
Under the unyielding intensity of his gaze, a sudden, overwhelming wave of vulnerability washed over you. The raw reality of being completely bare beneath him, with the warm amber light exposing every soft curve and flushed inch of your skin, suddenly felt incredibly loud in the quiet room. Instinctively, a defensive reflex took over; your elbows tucked in as you crossed your arms over your chest, and your knees began to tremble, shifting inward to close your legs and shield yourself from his piercing blue eyes.
But Leon wouldn't let you retreat into the safety of your shell.
Before your thighs could snap shut, his large, calloused hand slid down the smooth line of your inner thigh to wrap firmly around the curve of your knee. With a gentle but entirely unyielding pressure, he held your legs apart, anchoring your lower half in place and completely blocking your attempt to hide from him. His touch was an absolute shockwave, a violent, thrilling jolt of static heat that rippled straight up your legs, leaving you entirely open, exposed, and vulnerable under his shadow.
Leon’s breath hitched completely, a sharp, ragged sound rattling in his chest as his gaze traveled downward. In the dim, golden glow of the lamp, his eyes locked onto the glistening wetness of your core. You were weeping for him, your body practically aching for any shred of touch or attention, and the sight of how thoroughly undone you were for him drove him completely out of his mind. A deep, primal growl rumbled in the back of his throat, the muscles in his broad shoulders flexing as his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked fiercely beneath his stubble.
He leaned forward, shifting his massive weight so his bare torso hovered just inches above yours, the intoxicating scent of him, leather, rain, and pure, electric energy, enveloping you entirely. His other hand came up, large and heavy, to gently but firmly pry your crossed arms away from your chest. He didn't use force, but the sheer, commanding presence of his touch made you give in instantly. He slid his fingers down to lock with yours, pinning your wrists softly to the mattress beside your head, spreading you wide for his eyes.
"Hey," Leon murmured, his gravelly voice dropping into a register so thick, low, and devastatingly tender it made your heart ache. "Look at me, sweetheart. Don't hide from me. Please."
Your eyes locked onto his, your chest heaving with shallow, frantic breaths as you looked up into the swirling midnight blue of his gaze. The safe, playful agent from the afternoon was entirely gone; this was a man laid completely bare by his own desperate need.
"I want to see everything," he whispered fiercely, his thumb beginning to caress the ultra-sensitive skin of your inner knee, tracing slow, heavy circles that made your core throb in a desperate rhythm. "Baby... Let me have this. Let me commit every single inch of your beautiful body to my memory, so no matter what happens, I never have to be in the freezing cold again."
The raw, aching honesty of his words completely shattered the last remains of your embarrassment. His words weren't just compliments; they were a worship, a confession of how much power you held over him. He looked at you like you were his salvation, his eyes tracing the soft slope of your stomach, the curve of your hips, and the wet, glistening heat between your thighs with an expression of absolute reverence.
"You are so stunning, baby," he rasped, his face descending into the crook of your neck. His lips brushed against the sensitive skin just beneath your ear, his warm, tingling breath sending waves of goosebumps cascading down your spine. "So perfect. Look at how wet you are for me... look at how much you want me. You're driving me absolutely crazy, sweetheart. I can feel you trembling."
His heavy, low praises and the deep, possessive rumble of his voice acted like a direct match to a fuse. The lingering shyness melted into pure, liquid heat, replaced by a desperate, throbbing surge of lust that turned your core into a roaring furnace. You let out a soft, broken groan, your head rolling back into the pillow, your hips instinctively hitching upward against the mattress as his words pushed your arousal over the absolute edge, leaving you shaking and entirely at his mercy.
His free hand traveled down once more, leaving a trail of agonizingly slow, lingering touches along your inner thigh. His eyes tracked the path of his large, scarred hand, watching the stark contrast of his rough, calloused palm against the sensitive skin of your leg.
The closer his fingers got to the center of your heat, the more your mind completely unraveled. Unable to take the torturous tease any longer, your hips buckled blindly off the mattress, a desperate, instinctive tilt of your pelvis reaching up in a silent plea for his hand to finally close the distance and touch your aching core.
Leon let out a low, rough growl of approval at your compliance, his fingers sliding fluidly into the slick, dripping heat pooling between your thighs. Slowly, deliberately, he gathered the slick, his two fingers gliding upward to spread the slick heat entirely across your sensitive clit and the opening of your core.
The direct, heavy friction made your entire body short-circuit. You let out a loud, unbridled moan, throwing your head back into the pillow as a wave of pure, unfiltered bliss crashed over your senses. Your fingers tangled desperately in the bedsheets, your toes curling as he used your own slickness to massage the throbbing center of your pleasure with an expert, agonizingly perfect pressure.
Leon paused for a fraction of a second, his head snapping up to look at you. His breathing was incredibly ragged, his chest heaving as he drank in the beautiful, chaotic sight of you completely undone beneath him. He watched the tight arch of your back, the deep flush on your chest, and the needy, breathless sounds tearing from your throat, hoarding them like a man who had finally found water in a desert.
"Let me taste you, baby..." he whispered, his rough voice cracking with a raw, desperate reverence that made your heart flip.
Without waiting a single second, Leon shifted his weight, his massive frame sliding down the length of your body. He pressed hot, wet kisses down the center of your chest, trailing his mouth along the soft slope of your ribs and down to the trembling expanse of your stomach. Every brush of his lips sent a violent shiver through your core, your lower half twitching in frantic anticipation as he moved lower and lower.
Finally, his broad shoulders parted your thighs completely, and he landed right between your knees, hovering directly above your weeping core. He propped himself up on his hands, his head tilting up just enough so that his eyes, blown out with a dark, consuming, and lawless hunger, were locked entirely on your face, waiting for the exact moment his tongue would bring you to life.
You let out a desperate, broken plea, the words tumbling past your lips as a breathless command for him to finally continue. You couldn't handle the agonizing distance for another second.
Leon didn't hesitate. With a smooth, practiced shift of his massive weight, he hooked your legs up, draping your thighs over his broad shoulders. His powerful arms came around your legs, one hand locking securely behind your thigh to hold you completely open and anchored in place under his gaze. His other hand traveled forward, his large, calloused fingers finding the throbbing center of your pleasure and beginning to rub heavy, deliberate circles over your clit.
Then, Leon leaned down, and his tongue finally licked upward against your weeping core.
A loud, unbridled moan tore from your throat, your back arching violently off the mattress. The sensation was an absolute shock to your system. Because his spectral body was naturally cool, the sudden, cold contact of his tongue meeting your feverish, burning heat created a sharp, electric contrast. A violent, delicious shiver rippled straight down your spine, your toes curling tightly as the temperature play sent a jolt of pure, liquid adrenaline straight to your core. It was a freezing fire, an impossible sensation that made your head roll back against the pillow in sheer, unadulterated bliss.
Leon groaned low in his chest against your skin, the vibration of his voice sending a thrilling pulse through your sensitive flesh. He lifted his head just a fraction of an inch, his midnight-blue eyes burning into your face to watch your reaction. Seeing your eyelids flutter, your lips part in a needy gasp, and the deep flush spreading down your throat only fueled his hunger.
"God, you're so hot, baby," he rasped, his voice a gravelly whisper in the quiet room. "Look at what you're doing to me."
He buried his face back into your warmth, completely devouring you. His tongue swirled and lapped against your slick opening in long, heavy strokes, drinking you in greedily while his fingers maintained that relentless, torturous rhythm on your clit. He was eating you alive, mapping out every sensitive fold with a fierce, ravenous devotion, using the cold edge of his touch to drive the feverish heat of your arousal to an absolute, maddening peak.
One of your hands shot down desperately, your fingers tangling into the soft, messy strands of his hair, gripping tight as if to anchor yourself against the tidal wave of sensation. Leon didn't care in the slightest as the sudden tug only seemed to fuel him, driving him to go down on you like a starved man finally given a taste of life. He lapped at your core with a relentless, heavy devotion, his cool tongue moving over your burning, oversensitized skin in deep, soaking strokes.
Your other hand shot upward, your fingers clawing at the fabric of your pillow for any shred of support as your back arched completely off the mattress. You felt like you were flying apart, the electric, freezing-hot friction of his mouth threatening to snap your remaining sanity. You tried to shift, to twist away from the sheer intensity of it, but Leon's effortless strength kept you perfectly in place. His powerful arms locked your thighs against his broad shoulders, anchoring your lower half firmly against his mouth so you couldn't escape a single second of the pleasure.
Soon, he shifted his angle, pressing closer until his lips parted and he slipped his thick, flat tongue directly inside your weeping pussy.
The sudden, deep invasion made your entire body short-circuit. You felt a tight, heavy pit instantly forming in your lower abdomen, that delicious, agonizing ache that signaled you were rapidly approaching the point of no return. The impossible contrast of his cool, smooth tongue moving inside your feverish, tight walls was too much to bear.
"Leon... Leon!" you cried out, your voice breaking into raw, loud moans of his name that echoed through the quiet room.
You whimpered, your head thrashing against the pillow as he began to mimic a slow, rhythmically deep thrusting motion with his tongue, simultaneously using his thumb to ruthlessly pressure your throbbing clit. You were completely, utterly ruined beneath him, stripped of all control and reduced to a shaking, desperate mess as he relentlessly drove you closer and closer to the edge of a shattering climax.
“Let go on my mouth, baby… please…” Leon pleaded against your skin, his gravelly voice muffled and vibrating directly into your slickest folds.
The desperate command was the absolute end of your restraint. Your hips buckled violently, lifting entirely off the mattress as the tight, heavy pit in your lower abdomen suddenly ruptured into a shattering, blinding climax. You fell apart completely, your body tightening around his tongue in fierce, rhythmic spasms that flooded his mouth with your heat.
At this point, Leon could have been suffocating beneath the sheer, desperate pressure of your thighs locking against his face, but he didn't care in the slightest. He was already a dead man, a ghost anchored to this world by nothing but the raw intensity of your connection. If it were possible, he would have gladly remained trapped between your legs forever, drowning in the taste of your surrender.
Instead of backing off to let you breathe, your release only drove his hunger into overdrive. He stayed locked against you, his powerful arms keeping your legs securely draped over his shoulders as he continued to ruthlessly lick and suckle through your orgasm. He swallowed every drop of the sweet, slick heat pouring out of you, his cool tongue lapping against your overly sensitive pussy with a heavy, possessive rhythm that turned your final moans into high, breathless screams of pure bliss.
You were completely ruined, your hands shaking in his hair as he devoured your release, anchoring you to the bed until the very last tremor rippled through your body.
“T-too much, Leon—” you whined, your voice breaking into a high, breathless sob as he continued to lap at your throbbing heat. Your release had left you painfully, exquisitely oversensitive, and every slick swipe of his cool tongue felt like an electric shock straight to your nervous system. Your legs shook violently against his broad shoulders, your fingers weakly tugging at his hair to pull him away from the agonizing pleasure.
Leon finally took mercy on you, slowly pulling his mouth away from your dripping core. He slid his body upward, the heavy, solid weight of his torso settling back between your trembling thighs. He hovered over you for a long moment, his chest heaving as he watched your breasts rise and fall in frantic, shallow pants. His blue eyes were dark, completely blown out with an unholy mix of pride and raw hunger as he drank in the sight of you catching your breath from the high.
Leaning down, he captured your lips in a deep, wet kiss, deliberately letting you taste the sweet, intoxicating trace of your own release on his tongue. You let out a soft, dazed whimper into his mouth, your hands migrating up to grip his sculpted biceps for balance.
As he kissed you, his large hand glided down your side, his palm rubbing soft, grounding circles over the curve of your hip before dipping lower. His long fingers brushed against your sensitive clit, gathering the rich slickness coating your skin, and slowly... he pressed the pad of his finger against your opening, testing your compliance before sliding one thick digit entirely inside you.
“So tight, baby… relax for me, can you? My good girl… so good for me,” he cooed roughly against your ear, his gravelly whisper vibrating through your entire body as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your flushed cheekbone.
You let out a low, strained groan at the sudden invasion. It had been a long time since you had done anything with anyone, and the sheer thickness and coldness of just one of his fingers felt massive, enough to tear you completely apart. His finger felt so much longer and broader than your own, stretching your tight walls and hitting a deep, heavy ache in your lower abdomen that made your hips instinctively twitch.
You whimpered, your fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders as you forced your muscles to uncoil, slowly relaxing around him under the soothing weight of his praise.
Leon noticed the exact moment you gave in to him. A dark, satisfied rumble started in his chest as he began to slowly pump his finger in and out of your tight warmth. The slick friction of his movement created a series of loud, incredibly lewd squelching sounds in the quiet room—a vivid, acoustic reminder of exactly how thoroughly ruined you were for him.
“So wet for me, baby… you’re sucking my finger in so well, look at that…” he murmured, his eyes dropping down to where his hand was rhythmically disappearing inside you, watching your slick flesh clamp desperately around his finger with every slow, deliberate stroke.
His eyes were entirely on you, his pupils so completely dilated that the brilliant blue of his irises was reduced to a thin, sharp ring of electric color. He looked at you with a consuming, single-minded focus, tracking every hitch of your chest, every desperate flutter of your eyelashes, and the way your lips remained parted, breath rushing past them in needy, fractured gasps. There was no room for anything else in his universe right now; he was fully submerged in the intoxicating reality of your body reacting to his.
Slowly, deliberately, he pressed the tip of a second finger against your oversensitized opening. You let out a warning whimper, your hands tightening instinctively on his broad shoulders, but Leon just cooed low in his chest, a soothing, deep vibration meant to unlock your tension. With a steady, practiced ease, he slid the second digit inside, scissoring you open for him, stretching your tight walls to accommodate the thick, unyielding length of his fingers.
You groaned out loud in pure, unadulterated pleasure. The sensation of him opening you up, stretching you so thoroughly while the spectral, electric chill of his skin sent waves of goosebumps rippling through your core, was almost too much to process. The lewd, wet sounds between your legs grew louder, heavier, echoing in the quiet bedroom as he began to pace his movements, curling his fingers slightly to hook against your most sensitive, aching spots.
The atmosphere in the room had shifted into something incredibly thick, heavily charged, and dangerously lustful. Every breath felt weighted; the very air was saturated with the scent of your shared arousal and the raw, electric static humming off Leon’s bare skin.
As he continued to pump his fingers inside you with a heavy, rhythmic focus, his lower half shifted, and the obvious, massive tent in Leon's pants pressed firmly against the outside of your thigh. It was completely unbearable now. The thick, throbbing length of him was rigid, straining desperately against the fabric of his trousers, radiating a heavy, demanding heat that told you exactly how close he was to breaking. He was completely at your mercy, driven to the absolute brink of his sanity by the tight, wet vice of your body clamping around his fingers, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumped violently in his cheek as he fought to keep himself from losing control completely.
“Please, I need you, Leon… inside me, please… need your cock…” You whined out in utter desperation, the last of your filters completely burning away in the heat of the moment.
His fingers felt incredibly good, stretching you so perfectly, but you wanted to be greedy. You wanted more from him; you wanted the unyielding reality of him completely filling the empty ache between your thighs.
Leon let out a low, rough chuckle against your skin, the dark sound vibrating with a heavy, possessive pride. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled his fingers away from your wet core. The sudden loss of contact left you feeling instantly cold and empty, a sharp whine escaping your lips as your hips instinctively hitched upward to chase his hand.
"Patience, baby," he murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper.
He pulled back, his powerful frame shifting as he slid off the edge of the mattress. Standing beside the bed in the warm, amber glow of the lamp, his eyes never left yours as his hands flew to his waist. You watched, your breath catching in your throat, as he unzipped his pants and dragged them down along with his briefs, kicking the clothing carelessly into the shadows.
When he stepped back into the light, he was completely bare, walking back toward the bed with a slow, confident stride. His hard-on was now in full view, and you found yourself completely taken aback by the sheer size of him. A sudden spike of nervous anticipation hit you, your eyes widening slightly as your mind tried to process how you were going to take all of him.
Leon caught that cute, overwhelmed expression on your face, and a soft, incredibly tender chuckle rumbled in his chest. The dangerous, ravenous look in his eyes softened into something deeply protective, though the dark pool of lust remained.
"Don't worry, sweetheart... I'll take care of you," he murmured, his voice thick with an absolute, unwavering devotion.
He climbed back onto the mattress, his massive, sculpted weight settling right back between your trembling thighs. The raw, electric proximity of his bare skin made your core throb instantly. Reaching up, he cupped your jawline, his thumb rubbing your cheek lovingly to soothe the nervous tension in your shoulders, grounding you completely before he took you to the edge.
Leon leaned forward, his massive frame shifting as he propped himself up with one arm right next to your head. The sheer proximity of him was overwhelming, a heavy, protective wall of muscle completely eclipsing the rest of the bedroom. Your own arm on that same side came up instinctively, your fingers wrapping around his thick bicep, bracing yourself against his solid weight as your eyes locked entirely onto his.
The air between you was thick with an agonizingly sweet tension. Leon looked down at you, his midnight-blue eyes soft, swirling with a profound, quiet reverence that made your throat tighten. Even with his hard-on straining desperately between your thighs, his ultimate focus was entirely on your comfort, his protective instincts overriding the primal hunger clawing at his chest.
"Hey," Leon murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that brushed against your skin. He paused, his large hand coming up to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from your forehead. "Is this okay? Still with me, sweetheart?"
You could only nod, your chest heaving in shallow, rapid breaths as the raw reality of the moment settled over you.
Leon didn't move yet. He needed more than a nod; he needed to be absolutely certain he wasn't pushing you too fast. "Are you sure you want to continue, baby?" he asked, his tone dropping into a deeply tender, serious register. His thumb stroked your cheekbone, grounding you. "We can stop right here if you need to. Just tell me. I mean it."
The utter selflessness of his words, especially when you could feel just how hard he was pressing against your thigh, completely shattered any lingering hesitation. You didn't want him to stop. You wanted to be filled by him, to anchor his spectral soul to your living warmth.
"No... don't stop. Keep going, Leon," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. To assure him, you tilted your head up slightly, pressing a quick, soft kiss against his lips, a sweet, lingering vow of your total trust in him.
Leon let out a low, shaky breath against your mouth, his eyes darkening with a fierce, intoxicating gratitude. "God, you're so perfect, baby…" he breathed.
Slowly, deliberately, he shifted his weight, his lower half moving directly between your open, trembling thighs. He reached down between your bodies, his large, scarred hand closing around his length, guiding the thick, rigid length of himself downward. He pressed the smooth tip against your wet, glistening entrance, slowly smearing it against your sensitive folds, coating the crown in the hot aftermath of your climax that had been mixed with some of his own spit.
The sheer, raw proximity of his bare cock right at your opening made your pussy throb violently, a desperate whimper escaping your throat.
Leon looked back up, his eyes locking directly onto yours, wanting to read every expression on your face as he took the final step. Holding your gaze, he began to slowly, carefully ease the tip of his cock into your tight, weeping core.
As the thick width of him began to part your walls, your face instinctively frowned, a soft gasp tearing from your lips. It was a complex, overwhelming sensation, the slight, stinging burn of being stretched open after so much time, beautifully tangled with the unnatural, spectral coldness of his body. The electric chill of his skin meeting your feverish, burning heat sent a violent shockwave straight up your spine, making your hips subtly tense beneath him.
The moment your breath hitched, Leon stopped completely. He froze, keeping just the tip inside you, refusing to push a single millimeter further until he knew you were adjusting.
"I know, I know... just breathe for me, baby," Leon cooed softly, his voice an incredibly tender whisper in your ear. He leaned down, his lips pressing a warm, lingering kiss against your flushed cheek, then another along your jawline, distracting you with his mouth. "You're so tight, sweetheart. Just relax for me. Let me in…"
Your fingers dug deeper into the hard muscle of his arm, your heart hammering against your ribs as you focused on his voice. The comforting weight of his body and the soft, adoring words he muttered against your skin acted like a balm to the slight ache. Slowly, deliberately, you let out a long, shaky breath, allowing your thighs to loosen and your tight walls to uncoil, melting around the cold, thick invasion of his presence.
Leon felt the exact moment you relaxed for him, a low, rumbling groan of absolute bliss vibrating deep within his chest. He looked back down at you, his features softened with an overwhelming amount of affection and desire. "That's it, my good girl," he whispered reverently, his lips brushing against yours as he prepared to slowly slide the rest of his length inside you. "So good for me..."
Once he had bottomed out completely inside you, Leon let out a low, gravelly grunt, a deep sound of pure, unadulterated relief that seemed to shake his entire frame. The thick, unyielding length of his cock filled you to the absolute brim, stretching your tight walls so thoroughly that your breath caught in your throat, your fingers tightening convulsively into the hard muscle of his back.
He didn't move. Despite the agonizing, demanding throb of his arousal, Leon stayed completely still inside you, anchoring his hips down to give your body time to adjust to the massive, stretching fullness. Slowly, his upper body collapsed forward, and he melted into the crook of your neck, his heavy forehead resting against your shoulder as his ragged breaths fanned across your skin.
He buried his face into your skin, inhaling sharply, taking in your scent, the sweet, familiar fragrance of your soap mixed with the intoxicating, musky heat of your shared arousal. To a man who had been a literal phantom, a frozen piece of history lost in a sensory vacuum for five long years, the radiating, feverish warmth of your body was an absolute miracle. It made him feel completely, undeniably grounded. Through the tight, pulsing vice of your pussy clamping around him, he wasn't a ghost anymore; he was alive, anchored to the earth by the living, breathing woman beneath him.
"God, you feel so good," Leon rasped against your skin, his voice cracking with a raw, emotional vulnerability that sent a violent shiver down your spine. "So warm. Wrap your legs around me, baby. Hold onto me."
You did exactly as he asked. Your trembling thighs lifted, your legs wrapping securely around his broad waist, locking him flush against your pelvis. Your arms came up to hold him tight, your fingers tracing the hard ridges of his spine, offering him the same silent, fierce assurance he was giving you. You wanted him to know that you were right here, that you weren't going anywhere, and that you wanted every single bit of him.
For a long, tender moment, the two of you just held each other in the amber light of the bedroom, your hearts beating a frantic, synchronized rhythm against each other’s chests. The initial sting of his size completely dissolved, replaced by a deep, pulsing ache that demanded movement.
"I'm gonna move, sweetheart," Leon whispered reverently, lifting his head just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. "Tell me if it's too much."
"Don't stop," you whined softly, your hips subtly twitching beneath him in a silent plea. "Leon, please... move."
The tender restraint in the room instantly cracked, the tone shifting rapidly into something intensely sensual, dark, and heavily charged with pure, unadulterated lust. Leon let out a low growl, and with a slow, deliberate pull, he withdrew his length until he was almost entirely out before plunging back in, burying himself deep within your weeping heat.
The sensation was absolutely intoxicating. Because of his spectral nature, the contrast between the feverish, burning heat of your tight walls and the smooth, electric chill of his cock created an unfamiliar feeling of friction, yet it felt so good. Every time he slid out, the cool air hit your oversensitized flesh, only for his thick, rigid length to plunge back in, bringing a wave of liquid fire that made your head thrash against the pillow.
The wet, lewd squelching sounds of his rhythmic thrusts filled the quiet bedroom, a loud, acoustic testament to how soaked you were for him. Leon began to pick up the pace, his thrusts losing their initial caution as the overwhelming tide of lust took complete control. He was driving into you with a heavy, possessive rhythm, his hips slamming against yours with a bruising, desperate hunger.
"Look at you... " You're taking all of me so well, baby," Leon groaned, his pupils completely blown out as he watched the breathless, ruined expressions crossing your face. He reached down, his large hand finding your throbbing clit and ruthlessly applying pressure with his thumb with every downward stroke of his hips.
The dual sensation of his thick cock stretching you from the inside and his calloused thumb frictioning you on the outside pushed you completely over the edge of sanity. You let out loud, unbridled moans, your voice echoing in the room as you got utterly lost in him. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, your back arching wildly off the mattress as he ruthlessly devoured your mouth, catching your breathless screams into a wet, deeply possessive kiss. There were no boundaries anymore, no logical parameters, no line between life and death, as there was only the wild, chaotic symphony of your bodies colliding in a desperate, beautiful attempt to consume one another entirely.
The rhythmic, friction-filled heat between your thighs was reaching a breaking point as Leon’s pace widened, his thrusts turning deeper, longer, and utterly relentless. His eyes had darkened into a shade so intense they were practically black, completely consumed by an unholy, lawless lust. The tender caution from before had burned away entirely, leaving behind a raw, primitive hunger that hung heavy in the air. The bedroom itself felt stiflingly hot, the atmosphere thick with the intoxicating, musky scent of your shared arousal and the static, electric energy radiating off his bare skin.
Every time his thick, unyielding length bottomed out inside you, a high, fractured sound was ripped from your chest.
"Ah—ngh! Leon... Leon!" you wailed out loud, your voice echoing in the quiet room as your head thrashed against the pillow. Your toes curled tightly, your fingers clawing at the bedsheets as the friction of his smooth, spectral chill sliding against your burning, feverish walls sent sharp jolts of liquid fire straight to your brain.
Leon let out a low, guttural grunt in response, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumped violently beneath his stubble. The breathless, ruined sounds you were making were driving him completely insane. His words lost all restraint, turning deeply sensual, dark, and raw as he leaned down to whisper right against your ear.
"You like that, don't you, baby? God, look at how loud you're screaming my name," he rasped, his gravelly voice dropping into a dirty, possessive murmur that sent a violent shiver down your spine. "Tell me how good it feels. Tell me how much you need me to ruin you."
His talk acted like a direct match to gasoline. Hearing this rugged, typically stoic man completely undone, speaking to you with such unbridled desire, made your core throb with a renewed, desperate intensity. You let out a broken, pathetic whine, your hips instinctively bucking upward against his to chase the heavy, bruising friction. "F-feels so good—ah! Please, harder... harder..."
Leon groaned fiercely at your compliance, a low, primal rumble vibrating in his chest. Needing to take you even further, he suddenly pulled his upper body back up, his powerful arms sliding under your knees. He gripped the smooth, soft backside of your thighs and pushed them forward, folding your body slightly and pinning your knees closer to your chest.
The adjustment completely changed the angle. As he lunged forward again, his cock plunged in at a devastating slant, driving much deeper into your tight, wet pussy than he had before, hitting a deep, electric spot that made your entire vision go white.
"Oh my god! Ah—ah—ngh!" you moaned out, your back arching violently off the mattress as your tight walls clamped around him in a desperate, suffocating vice.
Leon didn't stop. From his elevated position, his gaze dropped down, locking entirely on the raw, beautiful sight of where your bodies were violently connecting. In the warm, amber light of the lamp, he watched the glistening wetness of your open core tightly swallow him down, coating the entire length of his cock in a heavy layer of your clear, dripping slickness with every relentless stroke. The lewd, wet, splashing sounds echoing between your legs were incredibly loud, an undeniable testament to how thoroughly soaked you were for him.
"Look at you, baby... look at you," Leon praised, his voice a dark, rough growl of pure, unadulterated lust as he stared down at your dripping heat. "You're soaking my cock... you're drowning me in it, sweetheart. You're so wet, it's making so much noise for me. You're stretching so perfectly around me."
The dirty, heavy praises, combined with the impossible, deep stretch of his angled thrusts, pushed you completely over the absolute edge of sanity. A tight, heavy knot formed instantly in your lower abdomen, a roaring furnace of pleasure that rapidly built up toward your second climax. You were completely helpless, entirely ruined under his weight.
From his view, Leon drank in every single micro-expression of your undoing. He watched your eyelids flutter shut, your lips part in a high, trembling whine, and the deep, beautiful flush spreading across your chest and throat.
And from your dazed, blurred view looking up at him, Leon looked like an absolute god of hunger. His golden-brown bangs hung down in messy, sweat-dampened strands around his face, framing features that were sharp, tense, and utterly consumed by desire. He didn't look away from you for even a fraction of a second, his eyes locked onto yours with a terrifying, beautiful intensity as he continuously, ruthlessly pounded into you, using his effortless strength to hold you folded open as he drove you straight into a shattering, blinding explosion of release.
"That's it, cum for me, baby... let it go," Leon rasped, his voice a gravelly, commanding whisper that cut straight through the haze of your pleasure. He didn't slow down for a single fraction of a second. Even as the first violent tremor of your second climax ripped through your core, his hips kept up their heavy, bruising rhythm, continuously thrusting deep into your tight, pulsing warmth.
Your walls clamped around him in fierce, desperate spasms, flooding him with a fresh wave of your hot release. You were coating the entire thick, rigid length of his cock with your release, the frictionless heat between your thighs creating a loud, incredibly lewd splashing sound that filled the entire room.
You were so utterly overstimulated, your nervous system completely short-circuiting from the relentless, deep friction of his smooth, spectral chill. Every single stroke felt like a shock straight to your spine, pushing you past the brink of sanity, and yet Leon was still going, ruthlessly riding the wave of your orgasm. Your head thrashed wildly against the pillow, your fingers weakly clawing at his shoulders as you tried to process the pure, overwhelming fullness of him.
"S-so... full... ah! L-Leon... so much—ngh!" you whined out in sheer desperation, completely lost for words, your analytical mind reduced to nothing but raw, fractured syllables. You couldn't even form a coherent sentence, your voice breaking into breathless, needy whimpers as he continued to pound into your oversensitized flesh.
Suddenly, a shocking gasp left your lips as you felt an abrupt, freezing emptiness. Leon pulled his length completely out of you, the sudden lack of contact leaving your dripping core twitching and weeping in the cool air.
Before your dazed mind could even form the question to ask him why he stopped, you felt his large, calloused hands grip your waist. With a surge of his effortless, terrifying strength, Leon flipped you around on the mattress as if you weighed absolutely nothing. In one smooth, dizzying motion, you found yourself pressed face down against the sheets, the soft fabric cool against your flushed front.
Leon didn't give you a single second to recover. His massive hands locked onto the curves of your hips, his fingers digging possessively into your skin as he pulled your lower half upward. He arched your back, forcing you into a vulnerable position with your face down, ass-up , completely exposing your trembling, wet core to his dark, hungry gaze.
Standing over you, his bare thighs framing your hips, Leon didn't hesitate. He guided the heavy, dripping crown of his cock right back against your opening, which was still pulsing and slick from your recent release, and with one heavy, merciless lunge, he reentered you completely from behind.
"G—God… Fuck!"
A loud, unbridled shriek of pure, scandalous pleasure was ripped from your throat, your muffled face burying into the pillow as he bottomed out inside you at this new, impossibly deep angle. The thickness of him stretched your walls to an absolute breaking point, the sudden, fierce re-entry sending a violent shockwave straight to your heat. It was incredibly raw and completely lewd as your hips were pinned firmly in his iron grip, completely at the mercy of his heavy, dominant thrusts as he began to ruthlessly drive into you from behind, the loud, wet slaps of his pelvis colliding against your backside echoing through the quiet bedroom.
The sheer filth of the bedroom was completely intoxicating now, the air thick, hot, and heavy with the scent of raw, lawless lust. Pinned face-down against the mattress, your hips held in a brutal, iron grip by his massive hands, you were completely at the mercy of Leon’s relentless, punishing pace. He was driving into you from behind with a terrifying, primal rhythm, his pelvis slamming heavily against your backside with loud, wet, echoing slaps that filled the quiet room.
"Ah—ah—ngh! Leon…!”you screamed into the sheets, your voice sounding completely ruined, broken down into nothing but breathless, needy wails.
At this angle, his cock was burying itself deeper than humanly possible, ruthlessly reaming out your pussy. Every single downward lunge hit a deep, electric spot that made your entire body shiver violently, your internal walls clamping around him in tight, desperate spasms that were slicked entirely with the heavy torrents of your own release. The lewd, squelching sounds of him plunging in and out of your soaked flesh were incredibly loud, an acoustic sin that told him exactly how thoroughly ruined you were for him.
Leon was reaching his own high now, the tight, suffocating vice of your body pushing him straight to the absolute brink of his sanity. His veins were pumping with pure adrenaline, his chest heaving as his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked fiercely. As his climax began to build up, his words turned completely explicit, his gravelly voice dropping into a low, commanding growl right above your ear.
"You want it, baby? Want me to fill you up?" Leon rasped, his breath hot and tingling against your oversensitized skin as he gave a particularly deep, bruising thrust that made your hips buckle. "Want me to stuff you completely full, baby? Tell me."
You let out a loud, pathetic whimper, your fingers clawing desperately at the bedsheets, your mind too thoroughly melted by the friction of his smooth, spectral chill to form a single coherent thought. You could only let out a breathless, desperate gasp. "L-Leon—ah! Please—"
"Use your words, my good girl," he commanded heavily, his large fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your hips, anchoring you in place as he continuously, ruthlessly pounded into you without a single shred of mercy. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do to this tight, wet little pussy of yours. I need to hear it."
Driven entirely mad by the agonizing fullness and the sheer, wicked weight of his words, you forced the words past your trembling lips, screaming your surrender into the mattress. "Fill me—ah! Stuff me, Leon… I want it inside me, please!"
A dark, triumphant growl erupted from the depths of his chest, the final thread of his control snapping entirely at your verbal submission.
"Yes... yes... keep saying my name... you're mine... all mine, baby," Leon groaned out, his voice a lawless, gravelly rumble as he picked up the pace to a terrifying, blinding speed. He was pounding into you with everything he had, his broad shoulders flexing in the amber light as he ruthlessly used your body for his own pleasure, drinking in the loud, wet, scandalous sounds of your bodies colliding. "You're my good girl... fucking taking all of me, stretching so perfect for me, god, you're so tight, baby, you're milking me so fucking well..."
You were completely lost in a blinding haze of pure bliss, your vision going white as his filthy, possessive praises pushed you into a chaotic, drifting high. You couldn't think, you couldn't breathe,you could only feel the impossible, massive ridge of his arousal ruthlessly driving into you, claiming every single inch of your warmth as he prepared to completely lose his mind and stuff you full of his own desperate release.
The relentless, punishing rhythm of his hips didn’t slacken for even a fraction of a second, driving his thick, rigid length into your thoroughly wrecked core with a primal, lawless focus. Leon’s gravelly voice remained a constant, wicked murmur against the shell of your ear, his words turning into a stream of pure, unadulterated filth that completely dismantled whatever remained of your sanity.
"Look at how you're taking it, baby... so fucking deep," he growled, his hands anchoring your hips with a bruising, possessive intensity as he ruthlessly reamed you out from behind. "You're squeezing my cock so tight... you're trying to drain me, aren't you, sweetheart? You want every single drop."
The sheer, wicked weight of his dirty talk, combined with the impossible, deep slant of his thrusts, acted like a direct current to your nervous system. Your internal walls, already raw and incredibly overstimulated, began to tighten in violent, rhythmic tremors once more. A sudden, blinding wave of heat erupted in your lower abdomen, and you let out a high, broken shriek into the mattress as you crashed into your third climax.
Your desperate sounds continue to be pulled from your lungs as your body short-circuits entirely, as your tight walls clamped around him in an agonizingly sweet, suffocating vice.
Your fierce, pulsing release was the absolute end of his restraint. Leon let out a loud, guttural roar of pure, animalistic surrender, his chest heaving as the tight, milking contractions of your core snapped his final thread of control. He gave one last, deep, desperate lunge, burying himself to the absolute root inside you, and finally finished off too.
As he completely emptied himself into you, a shocking sensation rippled through your body. Though his body had been defined by a striking, electric chill throughout the entire encounter, the feeling of his release filling you up was surprisingly, beautifully warm. It was a sudden, thick rush of heat that flooded your sensitive, aching depths, creating a stark, breathtaking contrast against his cool skin that made your toes curl, and your eyelids flutter heavily.
Leon stayed completely still inside you for a long, heavy moment. His powerful frame was entirely draped over your back, his chest rising and falling in violent, ragged pants against your shoulder blade. A low, exhausted groan rumbled deep within his chest, a sound of total, blissful defeat as he held his hips firmly pinned against your backside, letting the last of his pulsing release coat your internal walls.
Slowly, reluctantly, he began to shift his weight. He let out another rough sigh as he carefully pulled his length completely out of you. The sudden, freezing emptiness made your core twitch in a lingering spasm.
Without the support of his iron grip holding your hips up, your knees gave out completely. You collapsed onto the mattress, your limbs heavy and completely spent. With a weak, involuntary whimper, you rolled over onto your side, curling your knees slightly toward your chest as you lay there, utterly ruined. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath from the high, and your cheek pressed against the cool fabric of the pillow.
Leon didn't move away immediately. Still hovering on his knees beside your hips, his eyes, slowly returning from the dark, lawless void of lust, dropped down to trace the lines of your body. In the soft, amber glow of the lamp, he watched as a thick, milky trail of his own release began to slowly drip out of your open, weeping entrance, glistening against the flush of your inner thighs. The sight alone was incredibly, outrageously lewd, the vivid, physical mark of exactly how thoroughly he had possessed you, how deeply he had stuffed you full of his need. A dark, fiercely satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a muscle in his jaw finally relaxing as his heavy breathing began to even out.
As the frantic adrenaline of the encounter fully simmered down, the atmosphere in the room underwent a profound, beautiful shift. The lawless, ravenous ghost from moments ago vanished completely, replaced by a version of Leon that was so attentive. His protective instincts roared back to life, his gaze softening into an expression of such profound, tender devotion it was almost overwhelming.
Seeing your eyelids flutter, barely able to stay open as the exhausting weight of three climaxes pulled you under, Leon leaned down. He pressed a soft, lingering, incredibly gentle kiss against your flushed cheekbone.
"Stay right there, baby," he murmured, his gravelly voice dropping into a thick, comforting whisper that brushed like velvet against your skin. "Don't worry about a thing. I've got you."
You let out a faint, dazed hum, your eyes already seconds away from closing completely. Your mind was a soft, drifting cloud of bliss, your muscles feeling like lead as you yielded entirely to his care.
Leon slid off the bed, his bare feet making no sound against the floor. He walked into your bathroom, the soft glow of the light filtering through the door as he grabbed a clean, soft towel and ran it under the faucet, ensuring the water was perfectly warm.
When he returned to the bedside, he knelt down beside you with an almost sacred gentleness. He began to wipe you up, using the warm, damp cloth to carefully clean the sticky, glistening moisture from your inner thighs and your sensitive, aching core. He was incredibly meticulous, his hand moving with a light, feather-soft touch to ensure he didn't aggravate your overstimulated skin. Every stroke of the towel was an assurance, a silent apology for how ruthlessly he had treated you just minutes before. Once you were clean, he quickly and efficiently wiped himself down, tossing the towel aside.
Climbing back onto the mattress, Leon settled himself beside you. With an effortless, practiced ease that made you feel completely safe, he slipped his arms under your waist and shoulders, shifting your heavy body into a far more comfortable position in the center of the bed. He guided your head to rest gently on the plush pillow before reaching down to grab the heavy comforter.
With a smooth, sweeping motion, he pulled the covers all the way up over the two of you, instantly sealing in the radiating, feverish warmth of your bodies and shutting out the cool night air.
Leon immediately shifted closer, his large frame bracketing yours from behind. He slid one thick, powerful arm underneath your neck, letting you use his bicep as a pillow, while his other arm came around your waist, his large palm resting flat against your stomach, pulling you flush against his chest. Even through the fabric of the sheets, the contrast of his cool, solid front against your burning, relaxed back felt incredibly grounding.
By then, your eyes were completely shut. The soothing, repetitive rhythm of his steady heartbeat against your shoulder blades was the ultimate lullaby, and you were already drifting deep into a peaceful, unbroken sleep.
Leon, however, remained wide awake. He had no desire to close his eyes just yet. Holding you tight against his chest, he rested his chin lightly on the top of your head, his midnight-blue eyes completely soft as he just admired your features in the quiet, golden light. He watched the peaceful rise and fall of your chest, the soft, relaxed curve of your parted lips, and the lingering, beautiful flush on your cheeks. He traced the shape of your face with his gaze, hoarding the sight of you like a man who had finally found his home after a lifetime in the dark, entirely content to just hold you in the quiet warmth until the morning came.
He stayed awake a while longer, the quiet ticking of the clock on the nightstand the only sound breaking the silence of the room. You had already completely drifted off to sleep, your body heavy and totally relaxed as you held onto him, your small hand resting loosely against his chest.
The radiating, feverish warmth of your body was something he had yearned for during those five long, agonizing years in the dark. It was a tangible, beautiful heat that he would gladly fight a whole lifetime to protect. But as the frantic adrenaline of their passion fully faded, leaving only the soft, amber glow of the lamp and the steady rise and fall of your chest, a familiar, cold ache began to creep back into the hollow of his chest.
Holding you flush against his frame, Leon couldn't help but wonder what any of this even meant now.
He was a ghost. A phantom tied to this earth by a violent end and an unresolved past. While the sheer force of his desire and your undeniable connection allowed him to feel solid, to hold you, and to fill you up with a surprising, temporary warmth, the harsh reality of his existence never truly vanished. He was an anomaly. A spirit anchored to a world he no longer truly belonged to.
Worse than the mystery of his current state was the terrifying uncertainty of the future. He could stay a ghost forever, trapped in this liminal space, or he might just... disappear. He didn't know if one day he would simply cease to exist, fading out of the world entirely without a single trace or warning. All ghosts went somewhere eventually; the universe didn't let things out of place remain that way forever.
As his hand gently smoothed over your hair, tracing the soft strands damp with sweat, a heavy wave of guilt washed over him. The thought of leaving you absolutely devastated his soul. He was pulling you so deep into his world, letting you fall for a man who didn't even have a heartbeat, and if the day ever came when he vanished into thin air, he would be leaving you behind to mourn a phantom. He knew that solving the case, uncovering the dark, buried truth of how and why he died, was the ultimate goal. But a dark, terrifying instinct warned him that the truth would come with a steep price. When the mystery was finally unraveled, the anchor holding him to this earth would shatter, and he would disappear from your life forever.
Leon’s jaw clenched tightly, a fierce, suffocating grief rising in his throat as he looked down at your peaceful, sleeping face. You looked so innocent, so entirely safe, wrapped in his arms, trusting him completely with your body and your heart. The thought of being the source of your eventual heartbreak cut him deeper than any blade ever could.
But as he looked at the soft curve of your lips and felt the steady, trusting rhythm of your breathing against his skin, the agonizing doubt in his mind began to solidify into a fierce, unwavering resolve.
Whatever time he had left, whether it was a few days, a few months, or a fleeting echo of a second, he promised himself he would use every single breath to keep you safe. He would help you in any way he could, pouring his spectral strength into being your shield. He wouldn't let anything or anyone hurt you. If he was destined to fade into the freezing cold of the after, he would make damn sure that while he was here, you were wrapped in the absolute safety of his shadow.
Leaning down, Leon pressed one final, agonizingly tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your warm skin as if trying to imprint the sensation directly onto his soul.
"I've got you, baby," he whispered into the quiet dark, his voice a barely audible, fractured promise as he pulled you just a fraction closer against his chest, holding onto his salvation for as long as the universe would allow.
DIVIDERS' CREDIT: @uzmacchiato
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