Almost three years since Spain, a weary Leon returns to the agency after a three-day leave, following a sabotaged mission that nearly cost him his life. He didn't expect to find a sea of new recruits. But most of all, he didn't expect to find Ashley Graham among them.
Leon slumped onto his bed, letting his body sink into the memory foam. He relished the way it molded to his aching muscles like a warm, tender embrace. Boy, did that feel like heaven.
If there was one good thing he got from this God-forsaken job, it’s the money that lets him afford quality stuff like this. He doesn't even need to give a fuck if it gets stained with dirt, blood, or whatever science-gooey shit he ends up getting soaked in during his missions.
Thankfully, for his luxury mattress, he’s not that kind of person. He had already thoroughly scrubbed the grime from his previous mission off back in headquarters. He’s the kind of guy who doesn't bring any trace of work home. After all, this apartment was one of the few things he had that brought him something close to solace.
It had been an excruciatingly long weekend.
The assignment was supposed to be routine. Sneak in, obtain the sample—a new T-virus variant—and sneak out. Simple. He was good at that, and he was confident he could finish within the day.
It was going smoothly.
Too smoothly.
Then everything went to shit.
Right when he thought he was about to bypass the security system, the code he entered–the code that was given to Hunnigan–locked him up inside the chamber that was holding the samples. Those samples turned out to be fake. It was a trap, and for once, they actually got him good.
The post-op investigation later confirmed a mole.
No… actually a whole fuck ton of them. Turns out they’d been tracking him for months, hoping to use him as a lab rat. To them, he was unique. Irreplaceable, they said, citing his history with the Plaga back in Spain. Hunnigan mentioned they’d already rounded up the bastards. The question now is if they got all of them. Apparently, they had already planted themselves deep in the government.
‘What bullshit have I gotten myself in now?’ he thought, sighing heavily. Once again, he had almost died. It’s terrifying how that's supposed to be normal.
“Just another day in the office,” he had joked before passing out from exhaustion when the evac team retrieved him right outside the laboratory... that was already up in flames.
They were left stunned, as always. How'd he get out of that hellhole designed to trap him? They could not even begin to imagine. They’d long decided that the man was simply a freak of nature to spare them the headache of wondering how he always managed to survive the most absurd missions.
He couldn’t even catch a break after all that.
The moment he reached HQ, he barely had time for a shower before being dragged into back-to-back briefings, interrogations, and mountains of paperwork. All the while, an IV drip had followed him. He was way too dehydrated.
Naturally, he had... 'asked' about a certain blonde during one of the interrogations. If they were targeting him because he survived the plaga, they might have been targeting her too. The bastard kept his mouth shut, which did not bode well with him. He would later ask Hunnigan to check on her for him as soon as possible.
“God, I need a vacation,” he muttered, defeated.
Feeling his eyelids getting heavy, he finally allowed himself to fall into a deep sleep.
-------
It was already noon when he woke up. He checked his phone and found a message from Hunnigan.
“I got the higher-ups to give you three days to rest. Sorry, I couldn't make it a week. Also, I'm still waiting for that update you asked for,” it said.
He replied with a simple thank you before turning off his phone. He lay there, unsure of what to do to make the most out of his rare three days off.
As if on cue, his stomach rumbled. Finally protesting after 2 whole days without a proper meal. Take-out would be good right about now.
He sat up, ordered some with his phone, then made his way to the bathroom.
The water hit his skin, making him flinch slightly. He sighed, welcoming the cold, allowing it to soothe his aching muscles. He let his mind wander.
First, what to do in the next three days. Chores, definitely. A good run would be nice too. Groceries maybe? Just a little bit of normalcy. He has until Wednesday before he gets back to work.
He sighed and pressed his forehead against the tiles. Work. Field. Missions. Lab. T-virus. Plaga. Spain. Ashley.
His breath hitched.
There was still no update. What the hell was taking so long? What if... she was actually in there?
“Alright, calm down,” he muttered to himself, trying to recount everything.
He had searched everywhere and everything in that place. The entrance. The first floor. The offices. Lockers, basement, laboratories, storage, attic, all the rooms thoroughly searched and looted.
Or did he?
He felt anxiety creep up as he continued to frantically search his mind, trying to remember if there was any trace of her back there before he blew the whole place up.
Oh God... he blew the whole place up.
He finished his shower and rushed to his phone to dial Hunnigan immediately. He needed to know, now.
“Hello?” a tired voice spoke through the phone. She must still be doing the paperwork, the poor thing.
“Sorry, Hunnigan. This is important. It's about–”
“Ashley Graham? Yeah, I literally just got an update about her. She's doing fine, Leon.”
He sighed, relieved. They never really had any contact for the last, what, almost three years? The last time he saw her was during dinner in the White House — a simple thank you for successfully saving the president's daughter (along with a huge promotion, of course). There was no way for him to contact her after that, except through his handler. Since Spain, she was rarely even mentioned in the news. He didn’t know where it came from, but a surge of excitement rose to his chest. “How is–”
“That's all the information I was permitted to tell you. Sorry, Leon.”
He closed his mouth, hit by realization. She's the president's daughter after all. Even through Hunnigan, only the most basic information was passed along to him. By basic, meaning: is the other person alive or not?
“Right. Thanks, Hunnigan. That's all I needed to know.”
“Alright. Rest up, will you?”
“You too,” his mouth moved before he could think.
His eyes paused, realizing what he just said.
Regret creeped up his spine, gnawing at him more and more as the silence between him and his trusted, tired, severely overworked handler stretched.
“...sorry...” he finally said.
-------
He arrived at the office three days later. His task was simple: verify Hunnigan’s final reports one last time before they were sent up the chain to the higher-ups. On his way to her cubicle, he noticed a shift in the air.
The usual surgical efficiency of the floor was gone. Instead, dozens of strangers, faces young and unfamiliar, skittered after his more senior colleagues, filling the room with chaos.
‘Trainees? I didn’t know we were hiring.’ He thought. Then again, it made sense. The recent purge must have left a massive gap in the workforce.
“Hunnigan,” he called as he made his way toward her.
She turned in her swivel chair, taking a slow sip from her morning coffee. At least she looked much better than she’d sounded on the phone three days ago.
“Oh, you're here early. Eager to work, I see,” she mused.
“Anything to get this shit over with,” he grumbled, pulling up the vacant stool next to her. A silent groan escaped him when he heard a loud thud the moment Hunnigan dropped a massive stack of encoded transcripts onto the desk with a heavy, soul-crushing thud.
They knew the drill. They retraced every moment of the mission, every radio check-in, and every piece of information that might have been left out. They dissected everything from the second he breached the lab to the moment the extraction team hauled him out. It took them about twenty minutes to clear most of it. After years of the same song and dance, they've learned how to go through this efficiently.
A soft knock interrupted them, pulling them out of their shared flow state.
“Miss Hunnigan? I got the papers you… Leon?”
A certain feeling washed over Leon the second he heard that voice. It had been years since he heard it, but he would have recognized it anywhere. He whipped his head around so fast that he almost broke his neck. Suddenly, he found himself staring into a pair of familiar, wide green eyes. Never in his life did he expect to see them in this place.
“Ashley?”
She looked almost the same, but different. There was a certain air around her. She dressed more simply than the last time he saw her, wearing a blue button-up shirt with the collar left open, a black pencil skirt, and black heels. An ID badge hung from her neck with bold red letters that read TRAINEE. Her hair was longer now, pulled back into a low, sensible ponytail to clearly show her face. Her face was almost exactly as he remembered, but there was something in it that made her feel different this time.
He remained speechless for a good few seconds, unsure how to react. When he finally looked over at Hunnigan, fully expecting an explanation, he just found her sitting back, busy enjoying her coffee–and his confusion. She let out a small, knowing smirk over the rim of her mug.
Almost three years since Spain, a weary Leon returns to the agency after a three-day leave, following a sabotaged mission that nearly cost him his life. He didn't expect to find a sea of new recruits. But most of all, he didn't expect to find Ashley Graham among them.
Ashley woke up to a head-splitting headache, a tired groan escaping her lips as she fought down the sudden wave of nausea rising in her throat.
‘God… when was the last time I got knocked out like this?’
She tried to piece together what she could from the night before, but the sheer mental effort only made the throbbing behind her eyes worse. Squinting against the blinding, aggressive brightness of the room, she tried to take in her surroundings, but nothing looked familiar. She had absolutely no idea where she was.
She didn't have ivy wallpaper, nor did she keep any kind of plant at all. This wasn’t her couch. This wasn’t even her shirt. Is that a cat?
Her eyes widened in horror as her gaze dropped from the feline back down to her own body, the realization finally hitting her like a freight train: she wasn’t wearing her own clothes.
‘Oh my God… did I hook up with someone?’
Panic set in instantly, forcing her to bolt upright—a move she regretted the exact second she did it as the room violently spun.
“Oh. Morning, sunshine,” a familiar voice greeted.
Ashley turned her head slowly, holding her breath until she spotted the speaker. When she did, she heaved a massive sigh of relief.
“Hi, Gina,” she exhaled, instantly collapsing back down against the pillows. “What time is it..?”
Gina stepped toward the couch, holding a bottle of blue Gatorade in one hand and a small plate containing a few plain crackers and a single aspirin on the side. She set them down gently on the coffee table. “It’s around… eleven-thirty-ish in the morning.”
Ashley muttered a raspy thank you, blindly reaching out for the pill sitting beside the crackers. She popped it onto her tongue and downed it with the Gatorade, chugging the sweet, cold liquid like her life depended on it. She gasped as the bottle finally left her lips as she slumped deeper into the couch.
“How are you not having a hangover right now?” she groaned, her voice muffled against her arm.
Gina shrugged. “People call it alcoholism. I call it liver training.”
Ashley laughed softly but instantly winced in pain, so she stopped herself before she rattled her brain any further. She closed her eyes and grabbed one of the throw pillows to smother her face with it, desperately craving total darkness. Even with her eyelids squeezed shut, the beams of the morning sunlight felt like they were actively drilling holes straight into her skull.
“Stay in for as long as you need,” Gina said, crossing the room to fill up her cat's food bowl. The feline let out a little “mraw?” and trotted eagerly towards its owner.
“I thought I ended up hooking up with somebody…” Ashley sighed, relief evident in her tired voice.
Her friend chuckled. “Who said you didn't?” she teased, only to have a pillow thrown straight to her face.
~~~ A week later ~~~
“How is your training going, Ashley?” Her father asked across the dinner table.
Ashley was back at their family estate for the holidays. The dining room was modestly decorated with Christmas decor – green and red ribbons wrapped around lit candles that filled the room with warm light, while a majestic green tree stood in the corner, adorned with red and golden globes, wrapped in silk ribbon, and topped by a golden angel.
She swallowed her food and offered a small smile. “I'm doing well, Dad. I haven't killed any agents so far, at least.”
President Graham chuckled warmly. “So I've heard. Agent Kennedy seems to be as sharp as he's ever been. They said you helped him succeed in his previous mission.”
Ashley's fork stopped midway, a bitter, fleeting smile crossing her lips. “No… they're exaggerating. He was more than capable on his own,” she replied quietly.
Her father did not miss the sudden shift in her demeanor. He had always been aware of how his daughter viewed the man he sent to save her. He had dismissed it as a simple crush before, but now that they were working close together, he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of dread. “Ashley… As much as I know how capable Mr. Kennedy is, it would be wise to–”
“Dad… I don't know what you've heard, but there's nothing like that between us,” she assured him, still holding a small forced smile. “It's Christmas Eve, Dad. Let's just enjoy our meal.”
The president wanted to press further, but realized his daughter was right. It had been rare enough to see her ever since she graduated from college. Looking back, he remembered how he watched her do her absolute best to do whatever she could with her life – a fire that he noticed she had carried ever since she came back from Spain.
He sighed softly, deciding to keep the lectures to himself for now as he offered her a warm nod. “You're right, sweet pea. You'd better still have room for dessert.”
~~~
Leon lay motionless in his bed, his thick sheets a bunched-up mess by his feet after hours of just tossing and turning. Luckily, no one had asked him out for a drink tonight, leaving him to do what he wanted with his rare free time: sleep. And sleep he did, alright, for the past 14 hours. Now, he's faced with a new problem: he couldn’t sleep any more.
He looked at the clock. 11:55 pm. He sighed, bored out of his mind. A jog would be good right now.
He forced himself up, pulled on a dark long-sleeved shirt, and wrapped a scarf around his neck to fight the winter chill a little. Five minutes later, he was standing in the foyer, pulling on his jogging shoes, when his private phone buzzed against the table with an incoming text. Sitting back on his heels, he reached for it and flipped the screen open.
“Merry Christmas. I hope you're not drinking too much.”
Sender: Ashley Graham.
He checked the clock, and it read 12:00 am. It was officially Christmas Day. The small smile that quickly graced his lips disappeared just as fast, replaced by a frown as he felt a hollow ache in his chest. He was the one who had hurt her, yet she was the one who reached out to him first.
His free hand flew to his forehead, letting it slide down to pinch the bridge of his nose as a wave of guilt washed over him. “I'm such an asshole…” he muttered to himself.
He stared at the glowing screen for a moment, his thumb hovering over the keypad, unsure of how to reply. Finally, he settled on keeping it brief.
“Don't worry. I'm not,” he typed. “Merry Christmas.”
And send.
It wasn't even a moment later when his phone buzzed again.
“Good. Hangovers are terrible,” it read.
Leon stared down at the screen, a soft, dry huff escaping him.
“Speaking from experience?” he texted back.
As he waited for a reply, he remembered seeing her completely hammered right when he was about to leave the bar. He had hesitated for a long while, realizing that none of the trainees probably knew where she lived. He had only left once he overheard that her female friend was taking her to her own apartment instead.
After a minute passed with no response, he went back to tying his shoes, figuring she must have fallen asleep. He had just finished tying the laces when his phone buzzed again.
“Why are you still up, anyway?”
He chuckled. “Changing the subject, I see,” he typed. “Couldn't sleep. Going out for a jog.”
“In the cold?”
“A little snow doesn't hurt me.”
“Okay, Superman.”
He chuckled again, his voice echoing across his empty apartment, realizing he was enjoying their little banter a little too much. Then his smile faded. The warmth seeped out of his chest, replaced by that familiar, heavy weight the reality tends to bring.
‘Here I go again…’ he thought, a wave of self-reproach hitting him. He shouldn't keep leading her on, and he shouldn't keep letting himself fall.
Snapping himself out of it, he typed his final text message for tonight.
“Heading out now. Go get some sleep.”
It took a long while for her to answer back. Leon stood by the door. The cold handle was already in his grip, but his gaze remained fixed on the screen as the seconds ticked by in the quiet foyer.
Finally, the phone buzzed one last time.
“Alright. Be safe out there.”
Leon stared at the words, the simple wish seeming to wrap around his rapidly beating heart, like it was enough to protect him against the chill waiting outside. He didn't reply. Flipping the phone shut, he slid it into his pocket, opened the door, and stepped out.
~~~
Monday came along quickly, violently pulling everyone back to reality. The quiet, empty offices of the headquarters were suddenly booming with life. Across the halls, trainees were being yelled at for misplacing forms, screaming matches threatened to explode, telephones rang back-to-back, and paperwork was practically flying off the desks as employees scrambled to catch up on three days’ worth of backlog.
And it was only 10 am.
After all, the threat of bioterrorism never stops. Not even for the holidays.
“Here are the logs, Miss Hunnigan. A-and these are the proposed revised formats for next year,” Ashley hurriedly said, her heels clacking frantically against the polished floor as she rushed to the cubicle.
“Thanks, Ash,” Ingrid replied, smoothly taking the stack from her hands.
Ashley collapsed into her seat, exhausted. She sat up slightly to rub her aching feet. She had been running around the building in her heels for the past two hours.
“I'd rather do a post-op report late at night…” she mumbled. Ingrid hummed in agreement.
Suddenly, a sharp knock interrupted them both. They turned in their seats to find a courier in a rumpled suit, looking just as exhausted and frantic as everyone else in the building.
“Hunnigan. Agent Kennedy is to be deployed tonight. Be sure to notify him ASAP,” the man said with clipped urgency, already pivoting on his heel to sprint off toward his next task.
Ashley looked to her mentor in horror, finding her slumped even further in her seat. Not only did they have to finish the mountain of standard paperwork required by the end of the day, but a sudden deployment meant they would also have to get the intensive, additional post-op reports done by tomorrow morning.
“I… am so sorry. I jinxed us both…” Ashley squeaked, pulling her hands away from her aching feet as guilt washed over her.
Hunnigan rubbed her temples, a severe tension headache already tightening behind her eyes. She shook her head, letting out a weary breath. “Well… nothing we can do about it now. It’s not your fault, Ashley.”
~~~
Ashley took a long, deep breath, finally finding the time to rest after a full four hours of rushing back and forth across the building. Slumped at her desk, she brought one of her legs up to rub her calf and heel, desperately trying to relieve the throbbing pain before she had to do it all over again the moment the clock struck one.
“Rough morning?”
Ashley turned around to find Leon standing by the entrance of the cubicle, a folder tucked under his arm and two cups of takeout coffee held in his hands.
She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how their new dynamic is supposed to be now. But then she let out a soft breath, a small smile gracing her lips. “Pretty brutal, to be honest.”
He chuckled, a hint of relief evident in it. “Yeah… happens every year after the holidays.” He stepped forward and held out his hand, offering the drinks. “Here. For you and Hunnigan.”
She gratefully took the cups from him, trying to ignore the sudden jolt of nerves when her fingertips brushed slightly against his. “Thanks. We badly need this.”
He smirked, leaning his shoulder against the edge of the cubicle partition. “Sorry for bringing you into this. They just had to pick me of all people... Again.”
Ashley let out a breathy chuckle. “The cons of being good at your job, I suppose. Thanks to you, Miss Hunnigan, and I are bound to our computers for the rest of the night.”
She took a long sip of her drink and felt her entire body instantly relax, the warm liquid tasting like sweet nectar. “Oh, that’s so good…” she sighed, leaning back into her chair.
Leon’s smirk softened into something a bit more genuine as he watched her. The brief silence that fell between them felt nice. It was warm. Comfortable. The complete opposite of the one they had shared at the bar. Ashley felt it too, her heart beating at a steady, peaceful rhythm as she cradled her warm drink.
As her fingers traced the smooth rim of her cup, a quiet realization washed over her. ’Maybe things could turn out fine after all... Maybe being just friends really was for the best.’
A soft, relieved smile silently made its way to her face. Looking up at him, she broke the silence. “You’re here early.”
“Yeah, I have a briefing later about tonight’s mission,” he replied, gesturing to the folder tucked in his arm.
Ashley let out a soft oof, her eyes squinting. “Must be a long one since you’re being called this early…”
He shrugged. “Nothing I’m not used to.”
Silence lingered between them again, and he took it as his cue to leave. “Drink your coffee before it gets cold, okay? I’ll see you guys tonight.”
“See you,” she replied softly.
With one last nod, he turned on his heel and walked out of the cubicle, disappearing into the busy hallway toward the briefing rooms.
~~~
She hummed a random tune, trying to pass the time faster until it was ready to eat.
Much to Ashley's surprise, things didn't get quite as hectic as they had been in the morning. There was still a bit more work to be done compared to a usual Monday, but at the very least, she somehow managed to score some quiet time in the office breakroom. She grabbed a cup of instant noodles, filled it with hot water up to the line, and sat down at one of the tables, waiting patiently for it to cook.
“Mind if I join you?”
Ashley turned around to see who it was. “Liam,” she said, offering a warm smile. “Of course not.”
He didn't waste a second, walking toward her enthusiastically and taking the seat across the table. “Tough morning, huh?”
She let out an exhausted chuckle. “Brutal,” she sighed, leaning her weight into her hand. “Plus, our agent's getting deployed tonight, which means…”
Liam grimaced in sympathy. “Post-op reports.”
“Yep,” she replied, peeling back the foil lid of her noodles to check if they were done cooking. She hummed happily when she realized they were, and began stirring them around with her fork.
“The disadvantages of having a seasoned agent, huh?”
Ashley laughed. “Yeah, that's exactly what I told him!”
Liam's eyebrows shot up. “He's here?”
“Mh-hm,” she replied around a mouthful, sipping a few strands of her noodles. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. “Been up in the briefing room since noon.”
“Yikes…” Liam hissed.
For a while, Ashley's sipping of her noodles, and Liam's awkward tapping on the table were the only noises that cut through the silence that fell on them.
“Say…” Liam started. “What… do you think of him?” He asked cautiously.
Ashley looked up from her very late lunch, thoroughly surprised by the sudden direction of the conversation. “You mean Le– I mean… You mean Agent Kennedy?”
He nodded, his posture turning entirely rigid, eager to get an answer.
She blinked, staring down at her cup as she thought about it. “Well… if you mean aside from him being incredibly good at his job…” Her voice trailed off for a second. “He's… impossibly kind. And considerate.”
Liam’s shoulders slumped slightly at the praise, a flash of insecurity crossing his features.
“And a total jerk. All at the same time,” she suddenly added, a wry smile touching her lips. “Somehow.”
Liam blinked, his face twisting into a mix of confusion and amusement. “What?”
“Well, he—” She cut herself off, stopping before she could spill anything else.
There was nothing left for her to be angry about anymore. She couldn't let her lingering frustration or her temper get the better of her now. She didn't want to dwell on the past, especially since things had finally begun to look up for the two of them, even if they were only ever going to remain as friends.
“Never mind,” she said softly, shaking her head. “It's nothing.”
Liam leaned forward, his eyes searching hers. “Then… Do you like him?”
She froze, taking a long moment to answer before letting out a quiet sigh and shaking her head. “Nothing's going to happen, even if I did.”
“But… do you?”
“Liam… why are you asking me these things?” she asked, forcing a light laugh to mask the growing annoyance creeping into her chest at his persistent questioning.
He tensed up, like he was caught red-handed. “Sorry, I just… I wanted to make sure it would be okay if I asked you out.”
Ashley's eyes widened, her fork freezing mid-air. “What..?”
Liam chuckled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as a distinct shade of pink dusted his cheeks. “I… I like you, Ashley. For… quite some time now.”
Ashley could only stare at him, her mind going entirely blank, completely at a loss for words. “Liam… I–”
“I know… you probably just went through something heavy recently,” he interrupted gently, misinterpreting her silence. “So you don't have to give me an answer right now. But… I just wanted to at least let you know.”
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the breakroom. Suddenly, the sharp ring of Liam's phone cut through the air, making both of them jump in their seats.
“Uh… ‘scuse me, it's my mentor,” he said, frantically scrambling to his feet.
Ashley watched in a daze as he slowly backed his way toward the door, juggling his buzzing phone. “Um… just… think about it. Let me know what you think. Soon. Yeah? Sorry, I gotta…” he stammered, his face bright red as he quickly stepped out into the corridor and let the door swing shut behind him.
In his blind rush, he seemed to have immediately bumped into someone in the hallway. Through the wooden door, Ashley could hear his muffled voice pipe up: “Ah, sorry, man,” before he quickly answered his call and hurried away.
Left entirely alone, Ashley turned back to her noodles, trying desperately to process the absolute whiplash of the last five minutes. She just sat there, staring blankly at the steam rising from the cup.
There were just too many things happening today. Her brain was already spread thin from the morning rush, her heart wasn't even fully healed yet, though it was finally starting to feel better—but now this?
Letting out a defeated sigh, she leaned forward and sprawled out completely across the cold metal table, pressing her burning cheek against the surface, trying to seek a small bit of comfort from the cool surface.
Unbeknownst to her, on the other side of the door, Leon had stood frozen in place.
His chest tightened, a cold sense of dread suddenly settling deep into his stomach. Slowly, impulsively, he reached out to the handle, nudging the door open just enough to create a tiny, almost invisible crack.
Peering through the sliver of space, he found her, sprawled across the table in the most adorable way possible. A faint, involuntary smirk tried to touch his lips, but it vanished before it could even form.
This was exactly what he had wanted, wasn't it? He was the one who had drawn the line at the bar. He was the one who insisted they remain friends. Now, he was getting exactly what he asked for. She was moving on. She was shutting down any possibility of them, right as other men were lining up to take his place.
Knuckles turning white against his folder, Leon silently let the door click shut. He swallowed the lump in his throat, adjusted his jacket, and walked away into the shadows of the hallway.
Almost three years since Spain, a weary Leon returns to the agency after a three-day leave, following a sabotaged mission that nearly cost him his life. He didn't expect to find a sea of new recruits. But most of all, he didn't expect to find Ashley Graham among them.
Leon slumped onto his bed, letting his body sink into the memory foam. He relished the way it molded to his aching muscles like a warm, tender embrace. Boy, did that feel like heaven.
If there was one good thing he got from this God-forsaken job, it’s the money that lets him afford quality stuff like this. He doesn't even need to give a fuck if it gets stained with dirt, blood, or whatever science-gooey shit he ends up getting soaked in during his missions.
Thankfully, for his luxury mattress, he’s not that kind of person. He had already thoroughly scrubbed the grime from his previous mission off back in headquarters. He’s the kind of guy who doesn't bring any trace of work home. After all, this apartment was one of the few things he had that brought him something close to solace.
It had been an excruciatingly long weekend.
The assignment was supposed to be routine. Sneak in, obtain the sample—a new T-virus variant—and sneak out. Simple. He was good at that, and he was confident he could finish within the day.
It was going smoothly.
Too smoothly.
Then everything went to shit.
Right when he thought he was about to bypass the security system, the code he entered–the code that was given to Hunnigan–locked him up inside the chamber that was holding the samples. Those samples turned out to be fake. It was a trap, and for once, they actually got him good.
The post-op investigation later confirmed a mole.
No… actually a whole fuck ton of them. Turns out they’d been tracking him for months, hoping to use him as a lab rat. To them, he was unique. Irreplaceable, they said, citing his history with the Plaga back in Spain. Hunnigan mentioned they’d already rounded up the bastards. The question now is if they got all of them. Apparently, they had already planted themselves deep in the government.
‘What bullshit have I gotten myself in now?’ he thought, sighing heavily. Once again, he had almost died. It’s terrifying how that's supposed to be normal.
“Just another day in the office,” he had joked before passing out from exhaustion when the evac team retrieved him right outside the laboratory... that was already up in flames.
They were left stunned, as always. How'd he get out of that hellhole designed to trap him? They could not even begin to imagine. They’d long decided that the man was simply a freak of nature to spare them the headache of wondering how he always managed to survive the most absurd missions.
He couldn’t even catch a break after all that.
The moment he reached HQ, he barely had time for a shower before being dragged into back-to-back briefings, interrogations, and mountains of paperwork. All the while, an IV drip had followed him. He was way too dehydrated.
Naturally, he had... 'asked' about a certain blonde during one of the interrogations. If they were targeting him because he survived the plaga, they might have been targeting her too. The bastard kept his mouth shut, which did not bode well with him. He would later ask Hunnigan to check on her for him as soon as possible.
“God, I need a vacation,” he muttered, defeated.
Feeling his eyelids getting heavy, he finally allowed himself to fall into a deep sleep.
-------
It was already noon when he woke up. He checked his phone and found a message from Hunnigan.
“I got the higher-ups to give you three days to rest. Sorry, I couldn't make it a week. Also, I'm still waiting for that update you asked for,” it said.
He replied with a simple thank you before turning off his phone. He lay there, unsure of what to do to make the most out of his rare three days off.
As if on cue, his stomach rumbled. Finally protesting after 2 whole days without a proper meal. Take-out would be good right about now.
He sat up, ordered some with his phone, then made his way to the bathroom.
The water hit his skin, making him flinch slightly. He sighed, welcoming the cold, allowing it to soothe his aching muscles. He let his mind wander.
First, what to do in the next three days. Chores, definitely. A good run would be nice too. Groceries maybe? Just a little bit of normalcy. He has until Wednesday before he gets back to work.
He sighed and pressed his forehead against the tiles. Work. Field. Missions. Lab. T-virus. Plaga. Spain. Ashley.
His breath hitched.
There was still no update. What the hell was taking so long? What if... she was actually in there?
“Alright, calm down,” he muttered to himself, trying to recount everything.
He had searched everywhere and everything in that place. The entrance. The first floor. The offices. Lockers, basement, laboratories, storage, attic, all the rooms thoroughly searched and looted.
Or did he?
He felt anxiety creep up as he continued to frantically search his mind, trying to remember if there was any trace of her back there before he blew the whole place up.
Oh God... he blew the whole place up.
He finished his shower and rushed to his phone to dial Hunnigan immediately. He needed to know, now.
“Hello?” a tired voice spoke through the phone. She must still be doing the paperwork, the poor thing.
“Sorry, Hunnigan. This is important. It's about–”
“Ashley Graham? Yeah, I literally just got an update about her. She's doing fine, Leon.”
He sighed, relieved. They never really had any contact for the last, what, almost three years? The last time he saw her was during dinner in the White House — a simple thank you for successfully saving the president's daughter (along with a huge promotion, of course). There was no way for him to contact her after that, except through his handler. Since Spain, she was rarely even mentioned in the news. He didn’t know where it came from, but a surge of excitement rose to his chest. “How is–”
“That's all the information I was permitted to tell you. Sorry, Leon.”
He closed his mouth, hit by realization. She's the president's daughter after all. Even through Hunnigan, only the most basic information was passed along to him. By basic, meaning: is the other person alive or not?
“Right. Thanks, Hunnigan. That's all I needed to know.”
“Alright. Rest up, will you?”
“You too,” his mouth moved before he could think.
His eyes paused, realizing what he just said.
Regret creeped up his spine, gnawing at him more and more as the silence between him and his trusted, tired, severely overworked handler stretched.
“...sorry...” he finally said.
-------
He arrived at the office three days later. His task was simple: verify Hunnigan’s final reports one last time before they were sent up the chain to the higher-ups. On his way to her cubicle, he noticed a shift in the air.
The usual surgical efficiency of the floor was gone. Instead, dozens of strangers, faces young and unfamiliar, skittered after his more senior colleagues, filling the room with chaos.
‘Trainees? I didn’t know we were hiring.’ He thought. Then again, it made sense. The recent purge must have left a massive gap in the workforce.
“Hunnigan,” he called as he made his way toward her.
She turned in her swivel chair, taking a slow sip from her morning coffee. At least she looked much better than she’d sounded on the phone three days ago.
“Oh, you're here early. Eager to work, I see,” she mused.
“Anything to get this shit over with,” he grumbled, pulling up the vacant stool next to her. A silent groan escaped him when he heard a loud thud the moment Hunnigan dropped a massive stack of encoded transcripts onto the desk with a heavy, soul-crushing thud.
They knew the drill. They retraced every moment of the mission, every radio check-in, and every piece of information that might have been left out. They dissected everything from the second he breached the lab to the moment the extraction team hauled him out. It took them about twenty minutes to clear most of it. After years of the same song and dance, they've learned how to go through this efficiently.
A soft knock interrupted them, pulling them out of their shared flow state.
“Miss Hunnigan? I got the papers you… Leon?”
A certain feeling washed over Leon the second he heard that voice. It had been years since he heard it, but he would have recognized it anywhere. He whipped his head around so fast that he almost broke his neck. Suddenly, he found himself staring into a pair of familiar, wide green eyes. Never in his life did he expect to see them in this place.
“Ashley?”
She looked almost the same, but different. There was a certain air around her. She dressed more simply than the last time he saw her, wearing a blue button-up shirt with the collar left open, a black pencil skirt, and black heels. An ID badge hung from her neck with bold red letters that read TRAINEE. Her hair was longer now, pulled back into a low, sensible ponytail to clearly show her face. Her face was almost exactly as he remembered, but there was something in it that made her feel different this time.
He remained speechless for a good few seconds, unsure how to react. When he finally looked over at Hunnigan, fully expecting an explanation, he just found her sitting back, busy enjoying her coffee–and his confusion. She let out a small, knowing smirk over the rim of her mug.
Please don't fall victim to internet misinformation. There is no floating head. It's a regular horse, it's neck is just hidden due to the position of the camera. I made an image to help you understand the what's actually going on.
Almost three years since Spain, a weary Leon returns to the agency after a three-day leave, following a sabotaged mission that nearly cost him his life. He didn't expect to find a sea of new recruits. But most of all, he didn't expect to find Ashley Graham among them.
By half-past eight in the evening, people had already begun to trickle into one of the city’s dim, neon-lit dive bars. A senior agent had recommended the tucked-away spot, swearing by its cheap drinks and surprisingly great food. By the time nine o'clock rolled around, the quiet hum of the bar had completely transformed, packed to the brim with a rowdy, blurring mix of fresh-faced trainees, seasoned agents, and everyone else in between, all eager to drown the week's stress and celebrate the weekend.
Ashley was already settled at a round table with Gina and three other trainees, chatting away and laughing loudly over the Metallica songs playing on the stereo. A massive bowl of nachos, easily large enough for at least six people, sat in the center of their group. She picked up a few loaded chips, downing them with a swallow of her beer. She grimaced slightly at the heavy, bitter aftertaste, silently regretting her choice of drink.
The table practically exploded with welcoming cheers when Liam finally arrived. Ashley looked up to the entrance and found him enthusiastically greeting almost everyone he passed on his way through the crowd. The others called out his name, waving their arms to get him over to their table.
Then a familiar figure came into view, entering the threshold right after Liam.
Ashley's smile vanished.
Leon paused briefly, catching her stare through the haze of the room. He offered her a small, polite nod. Ashley recovered just enough to give him a faint wave in return. Her eyes followed him as he navigated the crowded room toward a corner where most of his fellow agents were gathered. He greeted whoever had greeted him along the way, but he didn't linger. Instead, he smoothly settled onto one of the leather stools at the far end of the bar counter—a quiet, isolated area where he would often go specifically to avoid conversation.
She pursed her lips, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs as she clenched her knuckles tightly under the table. A debate had raged in her head. Part of her wanted nothing more than to march right over to that corner and finally straighten things out between them once and for all.
Meanwhile, the other part of her was terrified of the thought that if she did, things would never be the same again. No more banter. No more of his ridiculous jokes. This part of her thought that maybe… just maybe… it wouldn’t hurt too much to keep herself deluded. To believe that there was still a chance. That, against all logic, they could be something more.
Still, she knew that wouldn't be right.
“Fuck it,” she muttered under her breath. She grabbed her bottle and took a heavy swig to borrow some sort of courage from her cheap liquor before tapping Gina's shoulder and quietly telling her that she would be right back. She stood up, shimmied her way out of their crowded booth, and marched straight to where Leon was. Liam called out, asking her where she was going, but his voice was instantly lost to her, completely swallowed by the loud music and the deafening, frantic beating of her own heart in her ears.
~~~
Having known Leon as one of his regulars over the years, the bar owner had already gotten to work making his usual whiskey on the rocks. Leon muttered a quiet “thanks” when the lowball glass was placed in front of him. He lifted it, taking a slow, measured sip to acclimate his palate, and let out a soft sigh, relishing the familiar burn of the liquor.
"Hey," a familiar voice called out softly. "Mind if I sit with you for a bit..?"
Leon paused, turning around to face Ashley. He took a deep breath, knowing exactly what was about to happen. He had been dreading this conversation for the past few hours, unsure of how they should even talk about it. Still, he nodded at her and offered the seat right beside him.
Ashley promptly sat down, her eyes averting to the drink in her hands. They sat in silence for a while, neither of them knowing how to start.
Leon glanced at her hands and found them fidgeting with her beer bottle, her thumbs mindlessly tracing the condensation on the glass and picking at the edge of the damp paper label. The ice in his glass clinked softly as he waited.
Then… she took a long, heavy breath.
"About... last night..." she started, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes remained stubbornly downcast, staring at the dark grain of the wooden table, unable to meet his gaze lest she falter. "What... was that..?"
Leon slumped his shoulder slightly, letting out a silent sigh. "Ash..."
"I-I need you to be straight with me. Please..." she stammered, still refusing to meet his eyes. "You... are so good to me. Why?"
Ashley waited for a moment, hoping he’d have an answer. When she realized that her question was only met with silence, she continued.
"You... drive me home when it's late, even when you're tired... You even wait for me to clock out even though it's two in the morning,” her voice began to tremble, but she fought hard to keep it still. “You talk to me like I'm someone precious. You... look at me as if…”
She stopped herself, second-guessing whether she should even dare to say it out loud.
She swallowed hard. She had completely lost count of the nights when she would lie in bed wide awake until dawn, replaying whatever he had done for her that day, endlessly debating and dissecting what his actions had meant. The afternoon when she had blinked awake from a nap to find his heavy jacket draped over her shoulders. The nights she would find him waiting down the dimly lit hallway, exhausted and beaten up from a brutal mission, yet stubbornly refusing to leave until she did. The moments when she thought she had caught him stealing quiet glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. Yet, the second they got too close, he would suddenly pull away. Just like last night.
She decided that now would be the only chance for her to say everything she needed to say.
“As if... there is something deeper... between us," she said, her voice dropping to a soft murmur when she muttered the last two words.
Leon gripped his glass a little tighter. Every single thing she said hit home.
“Then... just when I thought...” she paused, her mind reluctantly recalling the events from last night. Their conversation. The tension. That electric thrill she felt right before he had just up and left her feeling embarrassed, and all the more confused. She swallowed the lump in her throat, finally forcing out the one question that had kept her awake all night. “What... are we..?”
A heavy silence filled the space between them, completely drowning the noise of the bar around them. She finally looked up to him, slowly, still terrified. When his eyes met hers, he found beads of tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over, the bar's dim light making them glisten beautifully against her skin.
His chest instantly tightened at the sight. He looked down at his glass, utterly unable to answer her yet, forcing himself to think as the silence stretched between them.
Of course, Leon knew exactly why it got to that point. He knew the reason why he had to drive her home, no matter what ungodly hour it was. He knew why he couldn't bear to see her shivering from the cold. He knew why he had been bringing his car instead of his usual bike to work lately, and it had absolutely nothing to do with road safety.
At first, he thought it was some sort of lingering obligation to protect her–a reflex to desperately keep the very few people he had saved in his cursed job safe. For weeks, it had been like that for him.
But you don’t change yourself for something like that. You don’t willingly wait until late just to drive them home. Your chest isn't supposed to tighten so much that it physically hurts when you hear them laugh echoing across the hallway. You don’t just come undone every time she offers a smile.
He knew what he felt for her.
And he knew what she felt for him.
But... he also knew that he couldn’t have her. That he shouldn’t be feeling this way. He knew what kind of life she would be forced to live so long as she was with him. It would be a lonely life. A life where she would spend her days consumed by a suffocating anxiety, constantly wondering whether he would be coming home to her alive or in a box.
He could never ask anyone to do that for him. Not anyone. Not her. Especially not her.
“Last night,” he started, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.
She breathed in sharply, her chest hitching as she waited for his reply.
Leon pursed his lip briefly, already tasting the bitterness of what he was about to say.
“Last night... was a mistake.”
Ashley's heart sank, plunging into a cold, hollow void that left a lingering, constant, stinging pain. But she didn't dare let her tears fall. Instead, she drew a shaky breath in, slowly, forcing the air into her tight lungs as she fought with everything she had to steady herself after the heavy, crushing blow of his words.
"I shouldn't have done that. I... should have stopped it before it started. I’m sorry," he said, his voice low, filled with guilt.
"It was in the heat of the moment," he continued, pausing as the word just threatened to choke him. "Nothing more..." he lied.
His head remained stubbornly down, eyes locked onto his drink, utterly terrified to look up and witness just how much he hurt her.
“... Nothing..?” she asked, her voice smaller now, a fragile whisper that practically begged him to take it back, to give her any other answer.
"... Nothing.”
Ashley looked down at her fingers, watching them tremble slightly. "I see..." she said.
She took a few deep breaths, holding the suffocating weight of the truth. She blinked her tears away. She would rather die right then and there than let him see her cry. Then... with everything she had, she forced a smile onto her face.
“Thank you,” she said, her tone completely genuine despite the pain she couldn't entirely mask in her voice.
Leon looked up, confused, finally forcing himself to meet her eyes. His heart instantly sank to the pit of his stomach when he saw them filled with a profound, quiet pain. Pain that he knew he had caused. But right along with the hurt, he saw something else. He saw acceptance. And for some reason... it made him feel a thousand times worse.
He would rather she scream at him. He would rather she throw a drink in his face, make a scene, or call him out for the absolute asshole he was. Her anger would have been easier to bear.
"Thank you for clearing things up," she said, a small, fragile smile tugging at her lips.
Leon hesitated. "Yeah..." he finally forced out, nodding slowly.
Silence again.
It was a new kind of silence. The silence they shared so far always had something in it–anticipation, comfort, longing. This silence wasn't familiar.
It wasn't even awkward.
It was just… empty.
Leon looked at her again, his gaze dropping as his eyes landed on the bottle of cheap beer she had barely touched. Desperate to break the suffocating feeling they shared, he cleared his throat. "How do you like your beer?"
Ashley only chuckled softly, the forced sound hollow, her smile not even coming close to reaching her eyes.
"Hate it. I should've gotten some mule instead," she replied, a fragile attempt to throw a bit of humor into the space between them.
He huffed, his smile not reaching his eyes either. "Yeah... that's cheap beer for ya."
"Hey, Ash!" A voice called out from the crowded booth she shared with her colleagues.
She looked back over her shoulder, finding Gina waving her over with an energetic grin. "Come on, we're doing shots!"
"Be right there!" she called back, her voice remarkably steady. She glanced at Leon one last time, the finality of the evening settling between them. "I... should probably get going."
Leon simply nodded, his arms resting heavily against the wooden counter. "Have fun.”
Ashley gave him one last, fleeting smile before turning on her heel and making her way back to her table. He watched the exact moment her face forced a bright, seamless smile to greet her colleagues, and the way she easily took the shot glass that was offered to her. She swallowed the liquor with gusto, not even bothering to touch the chaser they held out to her. She yelled a wild “Whoo!” as she slid back into the booth, instantly allowing herself to get lost in the rowdy noise of the rest of them.
Leon chuckled lowly at the sight—a dry, humorless sound—before turning back to nurse his own drink. He swirled the liquor around in his glass, staring heavily at the way the liquid sloshed against the crystal, the deep, golden color painfully reminding him of a certain someone.
~~~
The party was in full swing by now. Somewhere across the room, a group was rowdily playing pool, a few people were already passing out in the corner booths, and bursts of loud laughter exploded through the bar from time to time. Leon remained in his isolated corner, silently nursing his newly refilled drink. He decided that the moment he finished this glass, he’d finally head out, finding that there was absolutely no reason for him to linger any longer.
“Mr. Kennedy?” a voice called out.
Leon turned his head, his sharp eyes instantly assessing the man standing beside his stool. He recognized him immediately as one of Ashley’s colleagues, a charismatic young man with neat brown hair and bright, easygoing eyes.
“Yes?” Leon replied, his voice clipped.
“Mind if I take this seat, sir?” the young man asked, gesturing to the vacant stool. Before Leon could answer, the trainee politely extended a hand. “I’m Liam Johnson, by the way. Ashley’s colleague.”
Leon furrowed his brow, his sharp eyes dropping to the offered hand. He wasn't sure what a trainee would want from him, but his inherent professionalism won out. He hesitantly took the handshake, giving it a brief, firm squeeze before letting go.
After a beat of hesitation, Leon gave a solitary nod toward the stool. “Go ahead.”
Liam offered a grateful smile and sat down, immediately flagging the bartender to order some finger food, likely to bring back to their table later.
“Great operation, by the way, sir,” the young man started, leaning an elbow against the bar as he tried to strike up a casual conversation.
Leon looked at him blankly, evidently exhausted, but still too inherently polite to simply shut down an excited junior.
“It kind of made its way down to the trainees,” Liam laughed sheepishly. “Everyone’s still talking about how incredible you were out there.”
Leon shook his head slightly, his gaze dropping back to the amber liquid in his glass. “It was Ashley’s help that got me out of there.”
“Right, of course. She's amazing,” Liam agreed quickly, nodding with genuine respect. “Everyone’s talking about how she’s on the fast track for a major promotion anytime soon.”
Leon huffed, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Wouldn’t be surprised,” he said. His voice was laced with pride. But right beneath it lay a hint of hurt.
Liam’s smile faltered slightly when he picked that up.
An awkward silence settled for a while.
“So um… about Ashley…” the trainee hesitated, shifting his weight on the stool as he carefully weighed his next words. He cleared his throat. “You seem… fond of her.”
Leon narrowed his eyes at him, unsure where this was going. “What are you getting at?”
“Oh, um, I was just wondering if you two…” Liam trailed off, hesitating again and looking thoroughly terrified of offending his senior. He didn’t have to finish the sentence for Leon to understand exactly what he was implying.
“No,” Leon answered flatly, his voice devoid of any emotion. “We’ve only known each other for a long time. That’s all.”
Liam couldn’t stop the sudden, audible breath of relief he had been holding in. “Oh, good,” he blurted out before he could think better of it.
Leon glanced at him sideways, a single brow shooting up with a dangerous sharpness.
Realizing how that sounded, Liam's eyes widened, and he frantically waved his hands. “Oh! That’s– that’s not what I meant, sir! It’s just…” He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as he forced up the courage to look Leon in the eye. “There wouldn’t be a problem if I... asked her out... right?”
Leon’s glass stopped halfway to his lips, his entire body tensing up for a fraction of a second as the words registered. He slowly lowered his glass back to the counter, taking a long, deliberate beat before he forced out an answer.
“No,” he said, the simple, one-syllable word leaving a foul, bitter taste in his mouth.
Liam smiled, visibly relieved, his shoulders dropping. “I’ll take care of her.”
“Do what you want,” Leon replied flatly, raising his glass once more and taking a sharp sip of his liquor to wash away the sting of his own words.
As if on cue, a fresh bowl of nachos landed on the counter in front of Liam, the dull thud of the plastic signaling that it was time for him to go. He quickly paid the bartender, muttered a polite thank you to Leon, and slipped off his stool, eagerly heading back toward their table.
Leon eyed him across the crowded room and caught a glimpse of Ashley. Her face had turned a vibrant, flushed red, and she was giggling nonstop at whatever Liam had just sat down to tell her. He gulped down his whiskey, the burning liquid barely registering as he came dangerously close to slamming the empty crystal glass down onto the wooden counter.
Across the bar, a gruff, heavy sigh cut through the music.
Leon looked up, his sharp eyes meeting those of the bar's owner. The older man, who had apparently been listening, was slowly shaking his head, a deep frown carving lines into his weathered face.
Leon held his gaze for a second before sliding the empty glass forward. “I need another refill.”
The owner huffed, grabbing the bottle of whiskey. “That, you do.”
~~~
Short chapter for today! I’m finally halfway through my finals (started May 18th, and ends on June 18th FAAHH)
I’m not sure if I can upload next week cuz our exams are progressively getting harder :(( Still, I’ll do my best!
Almost three years since Spain, a weary Leon returns to the agency after a three-day leave, following a sabotaged mission that nearly cost him his life. He didn't expect to find a sea of new recruits. But most of all, he didn't expect to find Ashley Graham among them.
[Uploading this a day early cuz I gotta lock in for my finals! Please pray for me :')) ]
“Condor One, you are approaching the secondary bulkhead. Thermal scans show three hostiles up ahead. Advise caution.”
Ingrid Hunnigan’s voice cut through the low, ambient hum of the control room, her voice controlled and commanding. She sat perfectly upright, her headset resting against her dark hair, her eyes tracking the flickering telemetry on the main console.
Beside her, Ashley’s fingers flew across her own secondary terminal. Her own microphone was completely dead, the toggle switched firmly to Mute per training protocol. It had been a little over two months since she was granted clearance into the inner sanctum of the comms hub. This wasn’t the first time she had assisted Hunnigan during Leon’s missions, but this was her first high-stakes one. She breathed deeply, not letting the anxiety get to her.
With a swift tap of a key, Ashley isolated the facility's structural schematics that Leon was currently infiltrating, highlighting a ventilation shaft that bypassed the patrol. She silently pointed at her screen, catching Hunnigan’s eye.
Hunnigan gave a nod of approval.
“Correction, Condor One,” Hunnigan spoke into the live mic, her thumb hovering over the toggle. “Support has mapped an alternate route. Look up and to your left. There’s an access duct that will clear the patrol zone entirely.”
Through the audio feed, the sound of his heavy boots hitting the metal floors echoed off the facility's walls. Then came his voice–deep, gritty, and filtered through digital static.
“Copy that,” Leon’s voice crackled into their headsets. “Good eye. Moving to the duct now.”
Ashley’s chest tightened, feeling a thrill race through her veins. She quickly looked down at her monitors to hide the small smile on her face, bringing up his biometric vitals. His heart rate was elevated, hovering at 112 BPM. He must be feeling so much adrenaline right now.
She heard a thud as he exited the vent and dropped to what seemed like concrete. Suddenly, a violent crash of shattering glass and a guttural, inhuman roar echoed through the audio feed from Leon’s end.
“Got a problem,” Leon grunted, his breathing instantly turning heavy as the rhythmic bang-bang-bang of rapid gunfire erupted over the comms. He cursed under his breath.
Giant footsteps echoed loudly, getting closer, and closer. Suddenly, the floor beneath him crumbled, which was the last thing they heard before the audio line cut into a deafening burst of static. On Ashley’s screen, Leon’s biometric flatlined.
Ashley’s breath caught violently in her throat. Her hands froze over the keyboard, her eyes locked onto the terrifying, flat gray line of his biometrics. She clenched her knuckles until they turned white against the edge of the desk, clamping her jaw shut.
Beside her, Hunnigan didn't even flinch. Her expression remained stoic, though her fingers moved across her console with lightning-fast, practiced urgency.
“Condor One, this is FOS. Do you copy?” Hunnigan’s voice was steady, but authoritative. “Signal dropped. Re-routing telemetry through the western satellite array now. Condor One, status report.”
Static. Five agonizing seconds of pure, empty static.
Then, Leon’s sharp coughs cut through.
“...Damn it.” his gravelly voice bled back into their headsets, accompanied by the heavy, rhythmic thud of him kicking a piece of debris aside. “Floor gave out. Took a nasty drop. Looks like I’m in the sub-basement, but I’m alright. This fat, overgrown son of a bitch cushioned the fall for me.”
On Ashley’s monitor, the gray line instantly flashed back to a vibrant, pulsing green. His heart rate was spiking at 135 BPM now, adrenaline pumping. He was alive.
Ashley let out a slow, trembling breath through her nose.
“I lost the map data during the drop,” Leon muttered, his voice dropping into that focused, lethal register as the wet, squelching sound of something moving in the dark echoed nearby. “It’s pitch black down here. I need eyes.”
Hunnigan looked directly at Ashley, giving her a sharp nod. “Support, pull up the sub-surface plumbing and drainage schematics for Sector 4. Find him an exit route, now.”
Ashley’s fingers didn't just move—they blurred across the keys. The panic that had threatened to paralyze her seconds ago was instantly channeled into pure, localized adrenaline. She didn't have time to be terrified. Leon was in the dark, and she was his only set of eyes.
“Accessing sub-surface schematics for Sector 4,” Ashley murmured, her voice tight and controlled, mimicking Hunnigan’s professional cadence.
She bypassed three firewalls, her monitor flashing a warning before she cleared it, forcing the facility's old blueprints to render in a 3D wireframe grid on her main display.
“I have it,” Ashley said, angling her screen so Hunnigan could see. “The sub-basement is an abandoned utility reservoir. It’s a dead-zone grid, but there’s an exit three hundred meters north of his last known telemetry point.”
Hunnigan glanced at the screen, her analytical eyes tracing the path Ashley had mapped. A flicker of genuine approval crossed her face. She tapped her mic toggle.
“Condor One, we have your location,” Hunnigan transmitted smoothly. “You’re in an old utility reservoir. Structural data is limited, but Support has located an exit three hundred meters north of your position.”
Through the static of the headset, Ashley heard the sharp, metallic clack of Leon reloading his weapon in the dark.
“Copy that. Heading north,” Leon grunted. His breathing was heavy, the audio feed picking up the distinct splashing sound of his combat boots wading through ankle-deep water. “It’s a literal maze down here. Keep me updated on those turns.”
Hunnigan looked at Ashley, her hand sliding off her own console. “He’s all yours, Ashley. Keep your mic muted, but you feed me the directions. I’ll echo them to him.”
Ashley swallowed hard and nodded. She zoomed in on the flashing green dot that represented Leon’s biometric beacon. He was moving fast, but the gray corridor walls of the wireframe map were full of blind corners.
“Tell him sixty meters ahead, take the first right,” Ashley instructed, her eyes tracking a heavy structural pillar on the digital map.
Hunnigan toggled the mic seamlessly. “Condor One, at sixty meters, take the first right.”
“Acknowledged.” A brief pause, followed by the distant, echoing crunch of concrete over the comms. “Alright, next turn?”
“Left in forty meters,” Ashley said quickly, her eyes darting ahead on the map. Suddenly, her heart dropped. A red pulsing dot appeared on her auxiliary screen–the thermal sensors in the facility were picking up a massive heat signature moving rapidly through the adjacent pipes, closing in on his position. “Wait– Stop! Something's in the vent directly above him!”
Hunnigan didn't hesitate. “Condor One, stop. Dynamic threat overhead. Hold your position.”
The audio feed went dead silent, save for the soft, agonizingly slow sound of water dripping from the ceiling on Leon's end. Ashley held her breath, her eyes darting between Leon's heart rate, which was holding a steady 128 BPM on her screen.
Through his mic, a low, wet, clicking sound echoed from above. Whatever was in the ceiling was hunting.
Ashley’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the edge of her desk.
The red indicator hovered directly over Leon's green dot for three grueling seconds... before it slowly tracked away, moving deeper into the eastern sector.
“Threat is moving away,” Ashley whispered, her voice trembling slightly before she locked it down. “He’s clear to move. Straight ahead for another ninety meters, and the exit will be on his left.”
Hunnigan relayed the directions, her tone a steady shield. “Threat cleared, Condor One. Advance straight for ninety meters. The exit will be on your left.”
A few seconds passed, filled only by the frantic splashing of his boots accelerating into a sprint. Then, the loud, grinding screech of rusted iron echoing over the comms signaled he was throwing the heavy manual lever of the valve.
A rush of howling wind and heavy rain bled into the audio feed, instantly drowning out the oppressive silence of the sub-basement.
“I’m out,” Leon breathed, his voice laced with rare, genuine exhaustion as he stepped out into the open night air. “Roost, LZ is in sight. Preparing for extraction.”
Hunnigan let out a controlled breath, tapping her console to coordinate the chopper's arrival. “Copy that, Condor One. Chopper is two minutes out. Secure the perimeter.”
Before cutting the tactical channel to transition to the pilot, Leon took a heavy, dragging breath. The comms crackled one last time, and his voice dropped into that familiar, slightly gravelly register–the one he use when he'd finally allow his professional voice to slip.
“And Hunnigan?” Leon added casually, the faint hint of a smirk evident even through the digital static. “Tell Support... excellent eyes tonight. I owe her a treat.”
The line went dead as Hunnigan switched frequencies.
Ashley sat frozen in her chair, her cheeks instantly flushing a deep, brilliant pink. She looked over at Hunnigan, completely mortified, her heart doing an entirely different kind of violent flip than it had five minutes ago.
Hunnigan didn't look up from her terminal, though a very small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Well,” Hunnigan started, and turned to Ashley. “Let’s get to work on the after-action report.”
~~~~~
“Good work today, Ashley. You're learning much faster than I expected,” Ingrid said with a hint of warmth in her voice.
Ashley smiled, feeling proud of her accomplishment tonight. “Thanks, Miss Hunnigan. Only because you're such a great instructor, though.”
“Keep this up, and you'll be up for a promotion soon. Maybe even have your own agent,” Ingrid continued, snapping her ledger shut for the night.
Ashley laughed. “No, it’s too soon. I still freeze up every time something bad happens.”
“You’ll get past that,” Ingrid countered easily, tapping the loose paperwork against the desk to align the edges before stacking them neatly. “We can pick this up tomorrow. Go ahead and rest up.”
“Okay.” Ashley nodded, turning back to her station to clear her desk.
“I'm going to head out first. You good?” Ingrid asked. The rhythmic click of her heels was already fading down as she neared the exit.
“Yeah! Good work today,” Ashley called out, sliding the last of her notebooks into her bag. As the heavy office doors began to swing shut, she blinked, remembering the dark, freezing streets outside. “Oh, Miss Hunnigan, do cabs usually pass by—”
Her voice trailed off into the empty room. The soft click of the latch breaking the silence let her know her trainer was already gone.
She checked her watch and let out a soft sigh. 1:59 AM.
‘D.C. is a busy city,’ she reasoned with herself, trying to keep the late-night nerves from creeping in. ‘If I just walk down to the main avenue, there should still be plenty of cabs passing through.’
She grabbed her coat, turned off the remaining desk lamps, and pulled the glass door shut until she heard the click of the lock. Turning toward the dimly lit lobby, she looked up—and her heart skipped a beat. She had to stop herself from fully beaming.
Leon was leaning against the wall, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder and his hair still slightly damp from the shower he’d taken the second his debriefing ended. When the sound of her footsteps echoed across the lobby, he looked up to greet her with a smile.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi,” she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips.
He pushed himself off the wall, falling into step beside her. “Heading home?”
“Yeah. I'm gonna go and look for a cab. There should be some down by the main road.”
Leon stopped in his tracks. His face twisted into something between an amused grin and a grimace, and he let out a short huff, looking almost offended. “Didn't I tell you I'm not gonna let you do that?”
Ashley paused, turning to face him with a soft, affectionate sigh. “Leon, it's fine. You just got back from a mission. You should be heading home to get some actual sleep.”
He shook his head, fixing her with a steady, unblinking look. Ashley rolled her eyes and stared back, refusing to go down without a fight. Still, inside, her chest was tightening as she tried desperately not to crumble and fold into herself while those steel blue eyes bore into her.
Within less than a minute, she relented.
“I’m not going to convince you, am I?” she eventually said.
“No.”
She sighed, shaking her head in a gesture of pure, defeated surrender. “Fine. At least let me pay for gas.”
He chuckled. “As if.”
~~~~~
The drive to her apartment had mostly been a quiet one, the steady hum of the engine and the blast of the car's heater filling the space between them. Leon had brought his car tonight, a black sedan, instead of his usual motorcycle, claiming it was too dangerous to navigate the patches of black ice on the roads.
“I thought you were too hardheaded to worry about something like that,” she had teased a few weeks back when she saw it for the first time. Still, she preferred the car. If he had brought the bike, she was certain she would have truly frozen to death, even with the thick, warm winter stockings she’d specifically worn to survive the office.
She stole a glance at him, finding his gaze entirely fixed on the road ahead. It wasn't rare for him to drive her home. In fact, he’d already done so a couple of times since they saw each other again, sometimes appearing on nights like this when she had to go home late, going as far as waiting for her until she was ready to clock out.
It puzzled her.
He said he had no plans to date anyone, so he definitely wasn't doing this to make a move on her. Still… despite her every effort to remain logical, she couldn't completely suppress the selfish thought that maybe, just maybe, he was. Whatever the reason was, she just hoped he wasn't doing this out of a lingering sense of obligation… That he was somehow still responsible for her safety.
Ashley shook her head slightly, turning her eyes back to the passenger window as the yellow streetlights flashed across the glass. They shared a special bond, that was for sure. But that was probably all it would ever be. Just two fellow survivors. Nothing more, nothing less.
She distracted herself by admiring the city. The streetlights lining the road to her apartment were adorned with festive banners of the traditional rich red and pine green. A few small shops were still open, their decorated storefronts spilling a cozy, golden light. Up ahead, she could see the corner of the park. A hilariously lopsided, clumsily made snowman stood proudly beside a perfectly sculpted one.
Ashley let out a silent, breathless chuckle at the sight.
Beside her, Leon's eyes flicked to where she was looking, and a low amusrd huff escaped him too.
Christmas was coming in full swing.
He made a smooth right turn, the tires crunching lightly against the curb as the sedan rolled to a stop directly in front of her apartment complex.
“You wanna stop by and have something warm to drink?” she offered as she gathered her bag and straightened her coat. She froze briefly, realizing she had just invited him to her apartment. Still, the least she could do after all he had done was offer him a nice warm drink. She decided to not take the offer back.
Leon paused, shifting the car into park but leaving the engine idling. He seemed to think about it for a moment, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the steering wheel. “I don’t mind,” he said, turning his head to look at her. “But don’t you have to be in early tomorrow? Reports and all.”
“I’ll make it quick,” she promised, looking over at him with a soft smile. “If you’re in a hurry, I can always make you a coffee to go.”
He thought of it a little bit more.
“Alright," he replied, nodding slowly. "You got decaf?”
~~~~~
It was a luxury apartment, alright.
High ceilings, simple yet plush couches, clean white tiles, and marble kitchen countertops—all that jazz. The decor was mature and feminine, filled with soft neutral tones, warm ambient lighting, and sheer white drapes that did little to block out the colorful holiday lights twinkling across the city outside.
Leon stepped into the space, his heavy tactical boots suddenly sounding incredibly loud against the polished floors.
“Nice place,” he commented, as he slung his leather jacket on the coat hanger.
“Thanks. I did my best,” she replied with a soft chuckle, setting down her coat as well. “Make yourself at home. I’ll start the coffee machine,” she said, stepping out of her heels and slipping into her indoor slippers–fuzzy ones complete with little bunny ears.
A discreet, amused smile tugged at the corner of Leon's lips, though he quickly masked it as he followed her toward the kitchen. He pulled out one of the barstools at the island and sat down, quietly watching her across the room. His eyes tracked her movements as she worked at the main counter against the wall, setting up the machine with a fresh filter and pouring a measured scoop of decaf beans into the grinder.
As the machine began to whir to life, Ashley turned around, resting her hips against the back counter. “It should be done soon,” she said, offering a small smile. “So... are you having it to go? Because if you are, I can lend you my travel thermos.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to keep you up for too long,” he replied, his voice low and considerate.
She nodded, reaching up to one of the sleek overhead cabinets to fetch her travel thermos before pivoting toward the stainless-steel refrigerator. “Milk?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.
“Just a little bit,” he replied.
That surprised her. She turned back to the fridge to hide her small smile, having always pinned him as a strictly black coffee kind of guy. Just then, the machine emitted a quiet beep, signaling that the brew was ready.
She lifted the glass pot, carefully pouring the steaming decaf into the thermos for him and the rest into her own ceramic mug. She added a light splash of milk to his container and a generous pour into her own.
“Sugar?” she asked, looking over at him.
“No, I’m good,” he replied.
She mixed his drink with a small spoon, then walked toward the island to pass the thermos over to him. “Here,” she said softly, before heading back to the main counter to add a bit of sugar to her own drink.
Leon lifted the thermos and took a sip, his eyebrows raising slightly as he found himself mildly surprised by how good it tasted.
“You’re good at this,” he chuckled, leaning his forearms against the polished surface of the island as he tracked her movements.
“Believe it or not, I actually took a barista workshop a while back,” she beamed, heading towards the stool beside him with her warm mug in hand. “I'm not going to be the First Daughter forever, so I figured I should learn how to make good coffee on my own.”
“Smart,” he murmured.
“I’ll make you a mean cappuccino next time,” she teased, a playful glint in her eyes. “I’m actually pretty good at doing those pretty foam designs on top.”
He chuckled. “I’ll count on that.”
A comfortable quiet settled over the kitchen, both taking a moment to sip their own drinks in silence.
“Any plans for the holidays?” she asked, breaking the quiet as she swirled the drink in her mug, trying for a bit of casual small talk.
“Depends if the others are gonna drag me out for a drink,” he shrugged, staring down into his thermos before taking another sip. “Otherwise, I’ll just sleep in. You?”
“I’ll probably spend it with dad,” she replied.
“How is President Graham, by the way?”
Ashley paused, wrapping both hands around her warm mug and taking a slow sip before answering. “Hmm… the usual, I suppose. I bet he has a lot more headaches now, though.” She said, looking down to watch her mug as she swirled her coffee around. “What with the recessiom going on, on top of the recent biothreats that seem to be emerging nonstop… and his stubborn daughter potentially being taken by one.”
“Hey. That’s not gonna happen,” he said softly. He said it like it was a promise, despite being uncertain he could keep it. Still, he swore to himself that nothing would happen to her.
Not on his watch.
Ashley looked at him, the sincerity in his voice warming her up a little bit. She let out a soft chuckle, a little nostalgic, a little weary.
“Sorry,” she murmured, her smile turning gentle. “Yeah, I hope so. I don’t think I could handle being locked in damp, rotting storage rooms ever again.”
He chuckled, a genuine glint of amusement returning to his eyes. “I don't know, I think you did pretty well back then. Lifting and swinging a heavy iron candelabra around was no easy feat,” he teased.
Ashley burst out laughing. “God, when are you ever going to let me forget that?”
As her laughter tapered off into a soft smile, she looked up, and found him staring at her. Her breath suddenly caught on her throat. She started back, unable to look away. He was smiling at her. It was his usual smile. But this time… she was certain there was something deeper… heavier... hidden right behind it.
Her throat tightened, and her heart began hammering furiously against her ribs. They stayed frozen like that, his steel blue eyes holding hers with such intensity that she didn’t know if she was about to melt, shrink, or burst into pieces right then and there.
Then… She felt a pull.
That magnetic energy pull thing she always read about in her novels. In the dim of the kitchen light, she couldn’t tell if it was just her imagination or if he was actually, subtly leaning in closer to her as well. At this point, the pressure in her chest was so intense that it genuinely hurt, and she thought her heart was about to burst right out of it.
She released a slow, shaky breath, each agonizing second filling her with terrifying anticipation.
Then, just when they were close enough to breathe each other in…
Leon abruptly turned his head away, clearing his throat roughly.
“It’s late,” he said, his voice low, gesturing vaguely toward the clock on her kitchen wall.
A violent wave of disappointment and embarrassment hit her square in the face.
“Y-yeah,” she stammered, her cheeks burning as she frantically tried to compose herself. “You... you should probably get going.”
He nodded silently and slowly slipped off the barstool. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said, offering her a forced, tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Ashley forced one back to him and watched as he crossed the apartment towards her door.
He glanced behind him to look at her and muttered a small “goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” she echoed back, her voice barely above a whisper.
He closed the door slowly, as if hesitating, before finally shutting it completely. The sharp click of the lock seemed to echo far too loudly for her liking.
Ashley drew a sharp breath, and exhaled slowly, finally letting her shoulders drop as she tried to process what the hell had just happened. In the sudden silence of the apartment, a storm of emotions came flooding into her all at once. Disappointment hit the hardest, tangled up in a messy mix of embarrassment, a fuck ton of confusion, and… a tiny, unexpected hint of anger. She wasn’t even sure if it was meant for him or for her.
She exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her chest to try and still her frantically beating heart. Her eyes swept over the empty kitchen island, and that was when she noticed that the travel thermos she had set out for him was gone.
A small, breathy laugh escaped her lips as she stared at the empty spot on the marble counter.
“At least he took the coffee…” she murmured.
~~~~~
Ashley Graham did not sleep that night.
She desperately reached for her mug to take a long, miserable sip of the office coffee, barely even registering its burnt, bitter taste. It was a far cry from the smooth brew she made last night, but it would have to do.
She let out a pathetic groan, her mind completely fogged over due to the lack of sleep, the heavy load of paperwork—including finishing the tedious audio transcriptions and writing detailed reports on exactly how the mission went—that she had been forced to deal with all morning, and the maddening fact that she had spent all night replaying what had happened—and still failing to make an ounce of sense out of it.
Giving up entirely, she spread herself across the table, pressing her cheek flat against the unforgiving, cold metal surface of the lounge table.
“You okay, girl?” Gina, one of her fellow interns, asked, setting down a heavy stack of folders with a sympathetic look.
“Yeah,” Ashley mumbled, her voice completely muffled against the tabletop. She lifted her head just enough to blink sleepily up at her friend. “Just… didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
“Doesn’t help that the coffee here is absolute garbage, huh?” her friend chuckled, pulling out the chair to settle down beside her.
“Well, at this point, I’m willing to take anything that keeps my eyes open,” Ashley replied, her voice thick with exhaustion.
“Heard you did a great job last night, though,” Gina said, shifting the folders to the side and offering a bright, encouraging smile. “Everyone’s talking about how smoothly the whole extraction went.”
Ashley offered a small smile. “Thanks, Gina.”
The lounge door swung open, and another colleague stepped into the room, sliding into the vacant chair on Ashley's other side.
“Hey, Liam,” Gina greeted.
“Hey, guys,” Liam replied enthusiastically. He took one look at Ashley and let out a low whistle. “Whoa, Ash, did you catch a bug or something?” he joked, gesturing to the heavy dark circles bruising the skin under her eyes.
Ashley playfully rolled her eyes, too exhausted to muster a comeback. “Hey, Liam.”
“What’s up with her?” Liam muttered, looking across her to Gina.
Gina shrugged as she popped open her lunchbox. “Not sure. Must be the mission last night. What time did you even go home?”
Ashley let out a low groan into the metal table. “Around… two in the morning?”
“Oof. Rough,” Liam sighed, leaning back against the frame of his chair. “How’d you even get a cab at that hour?”
“Leon drove me home,” she replied absentmindedly, not realizing how casually she had jusy said his name.
Her brain finally processed the words that had just tumbled out of her mouth.
"I-I mean Agent Kennedy," she stammered, then immediately realizing that correcting herself only ended up making her sound even more suspicious. "W-we've known each other for a while. No biggie," she tried to explain, trying to squash any potiential rumors that could spread.
The entire table went dead silent.
“As in… Leon S. Kennedy?" Gina asked, her eyes going wide as her growing interest became evident in her voice. She lowered her fork, leaning closer towards her. “The Leon S. Kennedy?”
“Are you guys… a thing or something?” Liam asked, his voice subtly dropping.
Neither of the two noticed his shift in tone–Gina being far too excited, and Ashley, too occupied by her emotional turmoil.
Ashley shook her head. “No,” she said. "No, there's nothing between us."
Her tongue tasted incredibly bitter after that. She wasn't sure if it was from the terrible office coffee or from verbalizing the truth out loud.
Gina let out a loud, exasperated sigh beside her, dropping her shoulders in clear disappointment. Life as a trainee in this department was intense, stressful, and mind-numbingly redundant. A romance between a fresh trainee and a legendary senior agent would have been so incredibly perfect. She’d keep it to herself, of course. (Probably).
Across the table, Liam let out a heavy sigh as well—although from an entirely different reason. The tight tension in his broad shoulders melted, and he sat back up, a small, hopeful smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
“Say, since it’s finally Friday, a bunch of the guys are talking about grabbing drinks tonight,” Liam said, striking while the iron was hot. He leaned a little closer, his tone casual. “You guys coming?”
“Um, duh?” Gina chuckled, not needing to be asked twice. “Count me in.”
"Nice," Liam nodded, smirking. Then turned his full attention back to Ashley. “You?”
Ashley paused, thinking about it for a moment. She and Ingrid were already in the middle of wrapping up the final details of the mission report, so finishing on time shouldn’t be a problem. Plus, tomorrow was finally the weekend. Unless Leon gets called out for some sudden, emergency mission, she wouldn’t have to report to the office until Monday. And honestly… a distraction wouldn’t be so bad right now.
She nodded, offering a small smile. “Sure, why not?”
Liam beamed at her answer, a bright, triumphant smile taking over his face. “Awesome. Alright, I’ll see you guys there then,” he said, practically floating as he stood up from his chair to head back to his desk.
Gina, ever the sharp observer, noticed the unusual extra chipperness of their friend. She eyed the swinging lounge door briefly, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across her lips before she turned her gaze back to Ashley, who was completely oblivious, entirely focused on finishing the very last of her bitter, lukewarm coffee as if it could somehow wash away her thoughts.
A distinct glint of pure mischief swirled within Gina's eyes. With Ashley's reaction at the mention of the legendary agent, and the skip in Liam's step as he walked away, she definitely had a very good idea of exactly what was going on.
And tonight, she was absolutely going to have some fun with it.
~~~~~
Ashley tapped the loose papers against the desk, aligning them into a neat file before pushing the stack to the edge of her workspace. Everything was finally finished. All that was left now was for Leon to come by, review the files, and verify everything with Hunnigan.
Exhaustion pulling heavily at her limbs, she stretched her arms over her head and leaned forward onto her desk. Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy. Before she knew it, she had fallen asleep, her chin propped up precariously by her hand.
The distinct crinkling of a paper bag, followed by the light, metallic clink of something solid tapping onto her desk, jolted her awake.
Startled, her eyes instinctively snapped toward the source of the sound. Sitting right there on the polished wood, clean and unmistakable, was her travel thermos.
Her breath caught in her throat. She slowly traced her gaze upward, her chest tightening as she found Leon standing right beside her desk, looking down at her.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered.
“Oh,” she said, her voice small as she tried to blink away the heavy fog of exhaustion. She sat up quickly, smoothing her clothes. “You’re here for the reports, right? Miss Hunnigan should be back in a bit. She just went out to get some coffee,” she added, doing her absolute best to sound completely casual.
A brief, weighted silence fell over them. Ashley’s eyes involuntarily drifted downward, landing on the crisp brown paper bag resting right beside her returned thermos.
“What’s that?” she asked, looking back up at him.
“Here,” he murmured, reaching out with a gloved hand to gently slide the bag a few inches closer to her.
She reached for it and peered inside. The rich, sweet scent of chocolate and almonds immediately hit her nose. Tucked neatly inside was a perfect, glossy chocolate éclair, alongside a colorful handful of delicate macarons. She stared at them, completely bewildered, her sleep-deprived mind still too fogged up to fully process what was happening.
“I said I owed you a treat,” he muttered, shifting his weight as he looked away.
“Oh,” she managed to say, the word leaving her in a breathy little exhale. Deep in her chest, her heart gave a sudden, traitorous flutter. She looked from the pastries back up to his face. “Thank you.”
Another heavy wave of silence stretched between them.
He didn't move away.
There it was again–that intense, heavy look in his eyes as he stared down at her. The same one that had left her breathless the night before.
She looked down slowly, unable to handle it. It would only confuse her more.
To their mutual relief, their silent spell was broken by a familiar sound echoing from the hallway outside. The sharp, rhythmic clicking of Hunnigan’s heels grew steadily louder as she approached the office doors.
“Oh, you’re here. Good,” Hunnigan said briskly as she stepped into the space, holding a mug in one hand and immediately settling into her own desk chair. Ashley had quickly started to rise, gesturing toward her own chair to offer it to Leon, but he simply gave a small, downward wave of his gloved hand. He refused with a quiet shake of his head, opting instead to remain standing right beside her workstation.
They finished reviewing the final files a bit earlier than they expected. Shuffling the verified documents into a neat stack, Hunnigan leaned back in her chair with a satisfied smile, remarking on how things had been so much easier ever since she took Ashley under her wing.
Leon nodded slowly, his eyes shifting over to Ashley as he spoke in that low, steady tone of his. “I’m not surprised,” he said.
That only added to the emotional turmoil swirling in Ashley’s heart. Unable to bear it, she quickly looked away, pretending to fix her desk by frantically shifting around papers and straightening pens.
“By the way, the trainees are talking about going out drinking tonight. They pretty much invited everyone. You going?” Hunnigan mentioned casually, glancing up from her monitor to look over at Ashley, who was still aggressively organizing her desk. “Ash?”
Ashley jumped slightly, snapping out of her thoughts as she realized Hunnigan was addressing her. “Oh. Yeah, actually. I’ll be going.”
Leon’s head snapped toward her, a look of genuine surprise flickering across his face. “I didn’t think you'd like bars,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly.
She scoffed, a hint of bitterness seeping through before she could stop it. Leon noticed the edge in her tone immediately and felt a tinge of guilt.
“I can handle my alcohol quite well, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she replied coolly, refusing to meet his gaze.
Hunnigan immediately noticed the sudden, sharp tension in Ashley's voice. Her gaze darted between the two of them before settling entirely on the agent.
“How about you?” Hunnigan asked, her voice deceptively casual.
Leon looked over at her and found her eyes narrowed, piercing right through him with an accusing, sharp look that demanded to know what he had done.
He weighed his options under Hunnigan's suffocating glare and looked from her over to Ashley's resolutely turned shoulder. He swallowed.
“I… wouldn’t mind a little pick-me-up,” he finally replied.
Almost three years after Spain, a weary Leon returns to the agency after his three-day leave, following a sabotaged mission that nearly cost him his life. He didn't expect to find a sea of new recruits. But most of all, he didn't expect to find Ashley Graham among them.
Originally, her role was to serve as the sole connection between Ashley and the Spain incident–specifically, Leon.
The President had been firm. For his daughter's safety, the less they knew about each other, the safer she would be. But Ashley had been relentless. All she wanted was to know that Leon was okay once in a while. It was the least she could do for the man who saved her life. And so the deal was arranged. Hunnigan was then given strict orders to pass on only the most basic information.
Imagine her surprise when she received the email:
“Notice: Senior handlers will be assigned a trainee effective Monday. Please refer to the attached file for specific assignments.”
Her eyes bulged when she saw the name “Ashley Graham” right beside hers. She let out a sharp, quiet breath. “Well, this is quite the surprise,” she muttered. This wasn't something she expected on a Sunday evening. Suddenly, her work phone rang.
“Hunnigan,” she answered, her voice automatically shifting into its polished, official tone.
“I assume you’ve seen the notice regarding your new assignment?” The voice on the other end was stoic, the kind of tone that didn't leave room for small talk.
She leaned back in her chair, watching the cursor blink on her screen. “Yes. I have to admit… this isn't the usual career path for–”
“You’ve been chosen as Ms. Graham’s primary instructor,” the voice continued, completely cutting her off. “Given your history of correspondence over the past three years, the President feels you're the only one he can trust to oversee his daughter’s training.
“Well, what an honor,” she said, her sarcasm barely masking the exhaustion seeping through her voice. Under any circumstances, she would've been fine with it. Honestly, it was impressive. It's not every day you see the First Daughter passing up a cushy life to start as a mere trainee in a place like this. But being a trainer on top of the sea of paperwork, she was already drowning in? Hunnigan could practically feel the weight on her shoulders double.
She sighed, exhausted by the mere thought of it.
‘This shouldn't be too bad,’ she thought to herself. After all, the girl's got grit. Ingrid recalled how Ashley had managed to survive AND save Leon with nothing to defend herself with back in Spain. Now that she thought about it, working with someone who didn't act haughty and demanding like most of her superiors–much like the one she's on the phone with right now–doesn't sound too terrible.
“And what of Kennedy,” she asked, the initial arrangement coming to mind.
“What about him?”
“My initial orders. Do I have permission to notify him about this?”
The man on the other end paused, likely confirming his answer with someone. “Agent Kennedy has no business regarding Ms. Graham's decisions,” came the stoic reply. “If they happen to cross paths, then so be it.”
“Understood,” she nodded.
The call ended with a sharp click. She leaned back in her chair, letting the silence of the office settle. Well, it was out of her hands now. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“I can't wait to see the look on his face.”
~Present~
Yup, it was worth it. Leon's face was a hilarious mix of shock, excitement, confusion, and a tiiiiny bit of betrayal.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Leon asked, more surprised than angry.
Ingrid sighed, “Look, my hands were tied, alright?”
The two drifted into a hushed, rapid-fire bickering, the kind of argument only people who had trusted each other through life and death could have. Ashley stood there, awkwardly shifting her weight. She was worried her presence had just caused a rift between Leon and his handler.
“Um… sh-should I go or..?” she stammered, trying to offer the two some privacy.
Ingrid sensed her discomfort and shook her head. “No, it’s fine. Stay right where you are, Ashley. We’re about finished here anyway.” She turned her gaze back to Leon, her eyes piercing the agent, telling him to drop it before her trainee started to feel even worse. “Right, Leon?”
Leon sighed and nodded. “Yeah… Yeah, we’re kind of done with this.” Then he looked at Ashley. A subtle, genuine smile tugged at his lips, and that familiar softness returned to his eyes—the one that had helped her through the darkest corners of that nightmarish castle in Spain. “It’s good to see you again, Ashley.”
Her heart swelled. It had been forever since he looked at her like that. “It’s good to see you too, Leon,” she replied, smiling back.
The silence that followed was thick, filled with all the things they hadn't said in two years. Two seconds passed. Then three. Then…
Leon cleared his throat. “Well, time for me to get going,” he said, pushing himself off the stool to leave the cubicle. “Catch up later?” He asked.
“Yeah,” she said—far too quickly for her own liking. She internally cringed at the desperation in her own voice, wishing she could pull the word back and try again with a little more "agent-in-training" coolness. But Leon just gave her one last smile and a nod before walking away.
Hunnigan didn't miss the way Ashley’s gaze lingered on the doorway long after Leon had disappeared. She smirked. As annoying as Leon could be with his endless supply of questionable one-liners, he was still, objectively speaking, a very attractive man. Even Hunnigan had felt the pull of a small crush back in the day. But, knowing the reality of their line of work, she’d nipped it in the bud, deciding they were much better off as trusted colleagues. Still, she could only imagine how Ashley must have felt in Spain, being rescued by one heck of a knight in shining tactical gear.
She let out a low chuckle. “Alright, come on, Juliet. We’ve got work to do.”
Ashley jumped, her face flushing a deep crimson at how obvious she’d been. “Right, sorry,” she muttered, rushing back to her senior’s side.
~~~~~
The rest of Ashley's day was a bit of a blur. She had been drowning in protocols and transcripts since Monday morning. As much as she hated to admit it, she could already feel the exhaustion creeping in. Not that she'd ever say that out loud. Being the president's daughter, she knew that taking a humbler career path meant she had effectively signed away her right to be tired. Every slip-up would be firepower against her, and she could already hear the rumors swirling among the other trainees. Still, she was glad her degree had finally come in handy. If there was anything she was good at, other than her surprisingly impressive ability to operate heavy machinery, it was gathering intelligence.
“Alright, that’s pretty much it for today. Thanks, Ashley,” Ingrid said, leaning back and stretching until her spine gave a satisfying pop. The mountain of paperwork actually felt manageable now. “Honestly, work has been a breeze since you started. You’ve got quite the knack for this.”
Ashley’s face lit up, a flush of pride rising to her cheeks. “I’m just glad I can actually help,” she said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear as she packed her bag. “I was really worried I’d just be in the way.”
“No, you don't give yourself enough credit. Do you know how impossible it’s been for me to leave before nine last week? Especially with that recent incident,” Ingrid said, reaching for her coat as she packed her own bag.
Ashley paused, her hand hovering over the zipper of her tote. She was the one who finished encoding the transcription from Leon's previous mission. She could still hear the audio in her mind—the way her heart had sunk as she listened to his ragged, pained breaths while he was trapped, injured in that chamber for hours with no backup in sight. A cold shiver ran down her spine as she looked at the doorway.
“Hey, don't worry about it,” Ingrid assured, her voice softening as she caught the shadow of concern crossing Ashley’s face. She snapped her briefcase shut with a decisive click. “That guy’s tougher than almost anything out there. Believe me, I’ve watched him walk out of situations that would have leveled a small city.”
‘Except, he actually did walk out of a situation that leveled a whole city,’ Ashley thought, her mind drifting to the events of Racoon City. She wasn’t there, but she would never forget the grainy video feed of the missile striking it right in the center.
“He’s built to survive,” Ingrid said, her tone reassuring.
Ashley forced a small nod, trying to take the words to heart. “Yeah, you're right.”
Ingrid gave her knowing smile. “Now, go get some rest.”
~~~~~
Ashley stepped outside the building, fumbling for her wallet as she walked to the side of the road to hail a cab.
“No detail?”
Heat immediately rose up her neck. She turned quickly, her face lighting up as she locked eyes with familiar blue ones.
“Leon,” she called out. She was pleased to find that familiar smile again. “Yeah, well. Just trying to keep a low profile. And we both know what happened the last time I had one of those,” she said, adjusting her bag on her shoulder to hide her nervousness. She felt ridiculous for feeling like a schoolgirl.
Leon let out a short, impressed huff. “You must have some mad talent to persuade the President of the United States,” he joked, shifting his weight to one side with that effortless, cool confidence. The sight caught her breath for a moment.
She laughed. “Let's just say I was the captain of the debate team for a reason.” It hadn't been easy. Debate skills aside, it also took a fair amount of stubbornness to talk her father into agreeing to any of this.
The silence from before had returned, thick and sudden, stretching out as the city hummed in the background.
Ashley looked at him, the weight of everything she wanted to say pressing heavily against her chest. But just when she was about to speak, her courage suddenly faltered, and she found herself slowly looking down at the ground.
It was funny, really. She had spent so long imagining exactly how this conversation would go. She had crafted the perfect sentences, prepared her witty remarks to match his dry humor, and rehearsed the delivery in her head. In her head, it would have been perfect.
She wanted to tell him how much he had changed her life, how she had done her best to make the most out of it. She wanted to ask if he was pushing himself too hard. And… although she knew she was being delusional, she wondered if he thought of her, too, once in a while. But facing him now, she couldn't utter a single word.
Her throat felt tight.
“H-have–”
“How–”
They chuckled, and Leon motioned for her to go first.
“Have you had dinner yet?” She asked.
She immediately started beating herself up again in the back of her mind. ‘Of course he hasn't had dinner yet, you idiot! Both of you just got out!’
Out of embarrassment, she doubled down. “W-wanna go get something to eat? I'll pay, of course. My treat. After all, it's been years since we've seen each other, and I literally owe you my life, so…” her voice trailed as her brain scrambled, desperately thinking of more excuses to get him to say yes.
Leon huffed, amused. He stepped closer. “I gotta remind you, though. I'm a field agent. I tend to eat a lot when I'm off the clock.”
“P-peace of cake. American royalty, remember?” She said, flicking her hand to feign confidence. He didn’t need to know that she had sworn not to touch her father's credit card unless it was an emergency, so… technically, she was living on a mere trainee's paycheck.
Leon let out a low chuckle that sent her heart into such a fluttering mess that her chest started hurting.
“I'm kidding. Come on, I'll pay,” he said, already turning and motioning for her to follow.
Ashley felt the heat climb all the way to the tips of her ears, embarrassed by how quickly he saw through her facade. She followed him to the building's garage, feeling thoroughly defeated (but secretly relieved that her bank account lived to see another day).
As they walked, she found herself staring at his back. It was broader than she remembered, the tactical gear replaced by a sharp leather jacket that couldn't quite hide the lean muscle underneath. She felt another rush of heat and quickly looked down at her shoes, slamming the door on thoughts that she had absolutely no business having.
Up ahead, a sleek, matte-black motorcycle sat under the dim garage lights.
“Cool ride,” she said, her voice echoing slightly in the concrete space.
“Thanks,” he replied. He unclipped a matching matte-black helmet from the side of the bike and turned, holding it out to her. “Here.”
She looked at it, brows furrowed. “What about you?”
“Don't worry. I'm a pretty hard-headed guy,” he joked.
Ashley rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her mouth despite her nerves. “I can see that,” she murmured, taking the helmet from his hands. “Thanks.”
She pulled it over her head, muffling the world around her. Immediately, the scent of him, a pleasant mix of musk and clean cologne, filled her lungs and sent her head reeling. To make matters worse, she could feel him watching her through the visor, his blue eyes tracking her fumbling fingers as he waited for that definitive click. She eventually managed to lock the harness, much to her relief. Any second longer under his gaze would have physically melted her.
“All set,” she announced.
Leon took a second to take in the sight in front of him. The helmet was comically large compared to how small she was. He stifled a laugh. Then, he noticed something amiss. “No coat?”
Ashley looked up. “Oh. No, no, this is fine. This shirt's pretty warm,” she immediately said, gesturing to her long sleeves. She worried that he would probably offer his jacket next. He had already saved her life, lent her his helmet, and was even treating her to a meal. She can't take his jacket now.
“You sure? It's starting to get pretty cold these days.”
“Yeah, I'm sure. Come on, are you gonna treat me or are you going to keep stalling?”
He chuckled. “Alright, alright. Someone's demanding,” he said, swinging a leg over the bike. He turned the ignition, and the engine roared to life–a deep, mechanical growl that vibrated through the concrete floor. He offered his arm to help her mount, and she carefully settled behind him, sitting sidesaddle because of her skirt.
“You still into thrill rides?” He shouted over the noise. The question was a callback to the time they fled the island on a jet ski, eliciting a genuine laugh from her.
“Always!” she called back.
Leon gave the throttle two sharp revs, letting the engine's roars echo off the walls one last time before surging forward. The sudden, violent jolt of acceleration threw her off balance, forcing a startled squeal from her.
~~~~~
As they banked onto the highway, the wind whipped around her, and the distance she had tried to maintain disappeared completely. The sheer physics of the acceleration forced her to close the gap, her hands finding their way to his waist and clutching his jacket with a grip that was anything but… “professional.”
It didn't take long for her to realize her “warm shirt” was no match for the biting cold of the night air. She tucked her head slightly behind his shoulder, using him as a shield against the wind. She held her breath, trying to stop herself from shivering, painfully aware that her black tights were doing absolutely nothing to keep her knees from freezing.
“Where are we going?” Ashley shouted, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind.
“There's a good place I know. We're almost there!” he yelled back over his shoulder.
Soon, the bike slowed down as they turned towards what looked like a modest “hole-in-the-wall" Thai restaurant. A rich aroma hit her nose as they approached, and as if on cue, her stomach let out a traitorous grumble. She hoped the engine masked it somehow.
Leon parked the bike, letting the engine idle for a few moments before finally turning the ignition off.
Ashley slid off her seat, followed quickly by Leon. She took a deep breath of what was unmistakably Pad Thai. “That smells amazing.”
“Told ‘ya,” he replied. “Come on, there should still be some seats.”
“Yeah, one sec,” she muttered.
She reached for her chin, her cold-nipped fingers fumbling blindly with the helmet's harness. She couldn't quite figure out how to unlock the damn thing. She was also painfully aware of Leon standing there, watching her struggle with that boyish grin of his, clearly amused by the sight of her struggling.
Just as she was about to let out a frustrated huff, his shadow fell over her. He had stepped into her space, completely blocking out the streetlamps, and his hands moved towards her neck, brushing against the ice-cold tips of her fingers.
“Easy,” he murmured. “Let me.”
Ashley's body went stiff. She could only stare at him, her breath hitching as he worked. In those few seconds, her eyes had locked themselves on his face. She noticed the long sweep of his lashes and the rough stubble that carved his jaw into a sharper, more defined shape. Another layer of red dusted her cheeks on top of the flush she got from the cold.
With a soft click, the buckle released. He gently eased the helmet off, revealing her face, which was now a telltale shade of crimson.
“I thought your shirt was warm enough,” he teased, a glimmer of amusement in his blue eyes. He had clearly assumed her cheeks were red because of the cold.
“Yeah, well, I thought so too,” she sighed.
He let out a soft huff of a laugh, turning back to the bike to secure the helmet to the frame. He didn’t linger on her embarrassment. Instead, he only gestured for her to start heading toward the entrance.
“Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
~~~~~
Leon opened the door, and a wave of humid, fragrant air, heavy with the scent of lemongrass, galangal, and roasted chilies, rushed to meet them. Ashley breathed it in, the warmth feeling like a physical embrace after the biting cold back on the highway.
As he guided her across the small space, he gave a short, familiar nod to the owner. The older man raised a curious brow at the sight of the woman in tow. Still, he knew better than to pry into the business of his regulars.
He guided her to a booth tucked in the back corner, far enough from the smoke and steam from the kitchen, but still comfortably warm. He instinctively chose the seat with a clear view of the entrance, his eyes doing a quick, subconscious sweep of the room. Then, he waited for Ashley to slide into the seat across him before he sat himself down.
When the server approached with the menus, Ashley offered a grateful smile and muttered a “thank you.” The server nodded, telling them to call him whenever they were ready, and went back to stand by the counter.
Ashley scanned through the laminated pages, all the pictures looking equally appetizing. Unable to pick, she decided to ask Leon, seeing how he seemed to be a regular in this place. She looked up from the menu and almost jumped when she found him already looking back at her.
She cleared her throat, regaining her composure. “Everything looks so good. What do you recommend?”
Leon leaned back, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Hmm. You seemed to like how the Pad Thai smelled earlier.”
Ashley felt another massive brick in her emotional wall (if there was even one) instantly crumble into dust.
‘Calm down, Ashley Graham. He’s an agent. Of course he's naturally observant. It doesn’t mean anything.’ She took a shallow, steadying breath, anchoring herself to reality. ‘Yeah… it doesn’t mean anything.’
“Pad Thai it is, then,” she said.
Leon nodded and called for the waiter. He put in his and her orders, along with some Thai Iced Tea for both of them, and some Chicken Satay for appetizers. The server nodded, telling them that he would be back with the appetizers and drinks in a few minutes.
A heavy silence settled over the table, filled only by the rhythmic, metallic clatter of a wok from the kitchen and the low, distant murmur of the other diners. Leon broke it first.
“Hunnigan said you started last Monday?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” she replied, her fingers tracing the neat, stamped edge of her paper napkin to keep her hands busy.
“How was… work so far?”
Ashley chuckled nervously and sighed a little, “It’s okay. Got a little overwhelmed at the beginning, but you know… Nothing I can’t handle.”
Leon nodded, his gaze dropping as he suddenly found the pattern on the paper mat interesting. “Good, good…”
The silence stretched again.
This time, it was Ashley’s turn to break it.
“How about you? I heard about your recent mission.” Leon looked up, his full attention snapping back to her. “I, uh… I was the one who finished the transcript…”
“Yeah…” Leon leaned back slightly, his expression relaxing just a fraction. “It wasn’t so bad. I still made it out in one piece.” His voice softened instinctively when he caught the shadow of a worried frown crossing her face.
“Still… I don't think they gave you enoigh time to rest...” her voice trailed off. She wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t like she could reprimand him for doing his job, and she certainly could not tell him to quit either. As far as he’s concerned, she was just the girl he rescued years ago who happened to be his newest colleague.
“I’m fine, Ashley,” he reassured. “If anything, I should be worried about you.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Me?”
Leon leaned forward across the table, his arms resting on the vinyl as he lowered his voice. “You do know the circumstances behind this mission right? That means…”
Her mouth formed a small o, understanding where the conversation was heading. She pursed her lips together, a cold knot tying itself in her stomach, and she nodded slowly. “Yeah… Yeah, I know. Hunnigan informed my father about it.”
“So, why are you here?” He asked.
The question was direct, stripped of all the previous playful banter. His sudden, intense seriousness slightly caught her off guard, pinning her to the back of the booth.
“Well…” She glanced at him and found him staring at her, waiting for her answer. “I… figured that I wasn’t safe anywhere anyway, even if my father flung me to the edge of the world. I don’t think I can trust any kind of security detail, either…” She paused for a moment, looking for the right words. “I’d… rather know exactly what’s going on than stay in the dark if I’m gonna get taken away again anyway.”
Leon stared at her, his expression unreadable as her words settled. Then, slowly, he gave a single, firm nod.
He got it. Better than anyone, he understood the desperate need to see the threat coming instead of being blindsided by it. Still, a stubborn part of him felt deeply uneasy. By joining the agency, she had practically put herself in harm’s way. He wasn't sure how deep the rot ran within the government. Hell, he wasn’t even confident they rooted out every single mole in his own agency.
But… he just couldn’t be mad at her. He thought about it. His agency was still among the most secure branches in the government. Plus, having her close felt pretty reassuring. At least now, it’s easier for him to know that she’s safe.
The server arrived with a sudden, welcome clatter, placing a platter of sizzling chicken satay, and two glasses of iced tea between them. The rich, savory scent of grilled meat and warm peanut sauce instantly filled the space, breaking the heavy tension. Both muttered a quick thanks to the server before he retreated back to the counter. Leon picked up a stick, his demeanor shifting back into something softer as he looked across the table at her.
“Why a handler?” He asked, genuinely curious.
“Well… I wanted to be an agent, but…” Ashley ducked her head, hiding her embarrassed smile. “You know how terrible I am with knives.”
This time, it was his turn to laugh.
It was short, but entirely genuine. A rich, bright sound that caught her completely off guard. She froze for a split second, startled. Up until now, the absolute closest she’d ever heard him come to laughing were those quiet, amused huffs he made under his breath. But this was a true laugh, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
A warm wave of pride washed over her, and she found herself laughing right alongside him. With the mood now lightened, she felt more at ease. She leaned forward, her chin resting on her hand as she looked at him, her smile now bright and effortless.
"How have you been, Leon?" she asked, the question softer this time, more personal.
His smile lingered, though it shifted into a smaller, more tired version of the one he’d just shared. “Well… as good as any field agent can be,” he replied. He hesitated, unsure of how much to elaborate; he would always choose to spare her the grotesque, exhausting details of his job. “Have some of this. It’s good,” he offered gently, sliding the plate of chicken satay toward her side of the table.
Ashley obliged, taking a skewer. One question hung in her mind. She hesitated at first, but then she took a breath, trying to sound casually interested even as her heart hammered violently against her ribs.
“Have you… met anyone special?” she asked, finding herself suddenly recalling the striking, mysterious woman in red who kept crossing their paths back in Spain. She secretly dreaded the answer.
“Oh, no,” Leon replied, shaking his head as he stared into his tea. “I’m always out in the field. I… never really had the time, even if I wanted to.”
It was true. He once longed for that kind of normalcy. But of course, his line of work wasn't exactly fit for a domestic life. Plus, he wouldn’t want to put anyone in harm’s way just because of him.
At his answer, Ashley felt a rush of relief, only for it to be immediately swallowed by am wave of disappointment. ‘Even if he wanted to, huh?’ she repeated in her head. ‘That… probably means he doesn’t want to.’
She caught herself before a frown gave her away, forcing her lips into a playful smirk instead. “Huh. I thought you would have by now,” she teased, fighting to keep her voice light despite the weight in her chest. “You’re quite the looker, you know. Plus points for the cool bike.”
He huffed and shook his head at the compliment. “What about you?” he asked.
“Well, I tried, but… none of them really worked out,” she admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I even almost got engaged once.”
Leon’s eyes widened, his glass pausing halfway to his mouth. “Wow. I didn’t hear about that on the news.”
“Yeah, we kept it private. But then six months in, and I found out he was seeing someone else,” she said, offering a casual shrug.
“Sorry…” Leon muttered, his brow furrowing as he looked at her.
“No, don’t be. It was for the best,” she reassured him. “Honestly, when I found out he was looking at rings, all I could feel was dread.”
He huffed, his face grimacing. “Sounds like a major jerk.”
“He definitely was,” Ashley laughed.
She took a sip of her tea to hide her growing smile. Seeing Leon getting a little angry on her behalf was doing more for her heart than any engagement ring that ex ever could.
As if on cue, the server returned, balancing two large, steaming plates. The sharp, savory scent of garlic and stir-fried basil making Ashley’s mouth water.
“Pad Thai for the lady,” the man said, sliding the plate in front of Ashley. “And Basil Pork for you, sir.”
“Thanks,” Leon muttered. He glanced at Ashley, a quiet satisfaction settling in his chest when he saw the sheer delight on her face. He watched as she lifted a steaming tangle of noodles with her chopsticks, slurping them carefully as she tried to keep herself from making a mess.
“Mmm…” she hummed, the sound low as her eyes fluttered shut in genuine appreciation of the meal.
Leon’s spoon stopped dead midair.
The sound had hit Leon like lightning, and he felt… something.
It was sudden.
It was… primal.
“Oh, Leon, this is so good!"
Leon swallowed hard, his eyes suddenly fixated on her mouth, hyperaware of the way the savory sauce had left her lips looking slick and glossy in the dim, golden light of the restaurant. He felt it again–that heavy sensation that made his collar feel several sizes too tight. He shifted in the booth, unsure of what to do with what he was feeling. He discreetly unbuttoned his collar and shoved a spoonful in his mouth, almost choking on a piece of meat.
He should have kept his damn eyes on his own plate.
Regret washed over him the second he saw her tucking her hair behind her ear as she slurped some more of her noodles, her head tilted slightly forward and downward, which made her eyelashes cast a long shadow down her face. Her cheeks hollowed slightly as she slurped.
His mouth went bone-dry.
‘Oh, what the fuck…’ he groaned in his head.
He reached for his iced tea, which, to his dismay, was already half empty. He chugged it down before signaling the server with a slightly-too-urgent gesture for a refill.
Ashley glanced up, her brow furrowing slightly as she took in his flushed face and the empty glass. “Everything okay? Did they make yours too spicy?” she asked, her voice innocent and filled with concern.
Leon didn't trust his voice. He just gave a stiff nod and waited for the server to arrive.
He had no idea where this was coming from. He had been fine literally minutes ago. ‘Get it together, Kennedy,’ he scolded himself internally, genuinely irritated by his own sudden lack of self-control. He had gone to hell and back more times than he could count, surviving all kinds of nightmarish biological horrors without so much as flinching, yet here he was, coming undone because a girl was enjoying her meal.
He felt like a damn dog.
The server finally arrived, refilling both of their glasses. Leon didn't even wait for the man to walk away before he reached for his, desperate to have something cold to enter his system.
Ashley was still watching him, her head tilted slightly in concern. “Leon? Are you sure you’re alright? Y-you’re not allergic to anything, are you..?”
Leon took a long, slow draw of the iced tea, letting the chill numb his throat before he dared to speak. He looked across the table at her, seeing the genuine worry in her large green eyes. He felt a tinge of guilt.
She was scared for him, and here he was, busy getting all worked up.
“Sorry…” he finally managed to say, his voice a little rougher than intended. He cleared his throat. “Just choked on a piece of meat, that’s all.”
Ashley watched him for a second longer, her gaze lingering as if she was trying to read him.
“Alright…” she replied, the tension in her shoulders finally dissipating. “You scared me a little,” she laughed softly. She turned back to her Pad Thai, seemingly satisfied with his explanation.
He took another deliberate sip of his tea, trying to use the cold liquid as an anchor. But despite his best efforts, his gaze drifted right back to her over the rim. To his absolute horror, her hand found its way back to her temple, tucking that same stubborn lock of hair behind her ear.
He violently wrenched his eyes away, staring down at the table, genuinely terrified of what his own brain would do next if he didn’t.
Fortunately, the rest of the meal passed without further incident. The sharp, suffocating tension from moments ago finally settled into a comfortable, easy silence, punctuated by the rhythmic clink of silverware and the light, casual conversation that drifted naturally between them.
They traded pieces of the lives they had built in their years apart. Leon spoke vaguely of the cities he had been to–places that otherwise would have been fun tourist vacation spots, but to him were target areas for his missions.
In return, Ashley told him about the extreme things she had done and talked about how she wanted to do paragliding next. Leon shared how he spent his rare days off–mostly sleeping.
Soon enough, their plates were cleared, leaving only a few stray grains of rice and the lingering scent of basil and lime. He settled the cheque, before facing her again.
“Ready to go?” he asked, his voice finally steady.
“Yeah,” she replied, offering him a small smile. She began shuffling to the edge of the booth, her movements a bit awkward in the narrow space as she tried to get herself out.
He left the tip on the table and ushered her toward the door, his hand instinctively hovering just inches from the small of her back. Ashley, entirely oblivious to the gesture, offered a bright "thank you!" to the waiter as they walked past. Leon met the owner’s eye as they reached the front, giving a single, appreciative nod.
Once they stepped out, the crisp evening air greeted them, flushing Ashley’s cheeks a healthy pink. She turned back to him, watching as Leon let the restaurant door swing shut with a quiet click.
“You up for some dessert?” she asked.
Leon raised a brow, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Whoa. I just treated you to a full meal, you know,” he joked.
She rolled her eyes playfully. “My treat, of course, you jerk,” she quipped, nudging his arm with her shoulder.
“Oh, well, why didn’t you say so?” His smirk widened a little. Leon wasn’t a big fan of desserts. Hadn’t been for a while, now. Still, he decided to indulge her, just for tonight.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She laughed, hopping down the steps. The meal they shared left her in such a good mood.
“You really want dessert, huh?” He commented, noticing the slight skip in her step.
She didn't wait for him, already turning toward the sidewalk. “I saw a patisserie just down the block. I wonder if they have eclairs.”
Leon followed her down, his long strides easily matching her pace. “Alright,” he conceded, his tone warm. “Lead the way, Agent Graham.”
~~~~~
Sadly, there were no more eclairs left. But, they didn't leave empty-handed either. Ashley got herself a golden croissant oozing with rich chocolate filling, and Leon picked out a simple pain au chocolat. Because the staff was already flipping the chairs to close up for the night, Leon suggested taking their pastries down to the nearby waterfront.
The ride to the waterfront was short. He steered the bike down the sloping streets, the engine’s deep, mechanical rumble echoing sharply off the historic brick of Georgetown.
He finally tucked the motorcycle into a quiet, shadowed spot near the park’s entrance. Thankfully, there weren’t many people out tonight. The park was practically theirs.
The wind coming off the Potomac was sharper here, carrying the scent of deep water. Ashley spotted a bench by the water, and led him there. They sat down together, the old timber creaking slightly under their weight. She opened the bakery's paper bag with an eager crinkle, passing Leon his pastry before carefully lifting her own out of the wrapping.
They sat in silence, appreciating the quiet and the reflection of the city lights in the water.
She suddenly giggled, pointing across the river toward the horizon with the tip of her croissant. “Look. It’s the Kennedy Center.”
Across the dark, shimmering expanse of the river, the massive performing arts center stood like a glowing marble fortress, its long rows of golden-white pillars perfectly mirrored in the black water below.
Leon looked from the massive, historic landmark to the small pastry in her hand. He let out a chuckle. “That was such a terrible joke,” he said, teasing. He shook his head and took a bite of his pastry.
“Like yours are any better,” Ashley countered, nudging his arm with her shoulder. The playful impact elicited another another low chuckle from him. But as the laughter died down, a new kind of silence settled between them.
“You know,” she started, her eyes fixed on the dark, churning water of the river. Leon turned his head toward her, waiting quietly for whatever she was about to say. “You have no idea how much you changed my life.”
His eyes widened slightly, his jaw stopping mid-chew. The sudden admission caught him completely off guard.
“Before Spain, before… you,” she started. “it felt like I was just watching my life happen from a distance. After my mom died, I think I just stopped being a person. I was just… the president's daughter. I had to look right, stand right, say the right things, or else my father's approval rating would start tanking. Eventually, I was just… kind of numb to it all.”
She paused, turning her head to look directly at him. The moment she registered how he was staring at her, a sudden wave of panic hit her. “N-not that it was all bad, of course! It naturally came with its perks. And it was definitely… nothing compared to anything you went through, but…”
He didn’t interrupt her, just watched her intently. The look in his eyes that showed his genuine intention to listen calmed her a little. She took a breath before she continued.
“Ever since Spain, I realized that life is way too unpredictable and scary, and… if life is going to be like that anyway, then I figured I should just do whatever the hell I wanted. It’s cliché, I know, but… It’s just different once you actually experience getting to that realization.”
A small, genuine smile began to pull at her lips. “Since then, I’ve done my best to live my life to the fullest. I finished my degree, I traveled, I met so many people…”
Leon smiled, his chest swelling with something close to pride. He remembered the time he learned about her visits to the orphans of Raccoon City, and the children left behind because of biowarfare. She had done it without the mass media knowing.
“You know I even went freaking sky diving last summer,” she added with a short chuckle. Then she finally turned to face him, locking her eyes with his. “I basically started seeing the world through different eyes. You gave me the chance to live my life differently, Leon. Thank you.”
He looked away, letting out a soft huff as a mix of pride and embarrassment tightened his chest. “You know, I was just doing my jo–”
“Yeah, yeah, I knew you were going to say that,” she interrupted gently, a knowing sparkle in her eyes. She reached over, her fingers wrapping around his wrist to give it a firm, sincere squeeze. “Just accept my gratitude, will you? Please?”
His eyes met hers. They really were different, now. The scared girl trapped in a church in Spain had grown into someone so much stronger. Someone who had built a life on her own terms. Yet, looking closely, he could see that the fierceness in her eyes had remained–the same one he saw when she was swinging a heavy iron candelabra at his head the very first time they met. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Alright,” he conceded.
“See? That wasn't so hard,” she giggled. Satisfied with her victory, she let go of him and took a celebratory bite of her chocolate croissant, looking back out over the shimmering, dark expanse of the Potomac.
Silence again, until a sharp gust of wind swept through them. She shivered.
“Here.”
Before she could even think to protest, Leon had already draped his jacket over her shoulders.
The weight of it was instantly comforting, enveloping her in the rich scent of worn leather and a faint hint of his cologne. She secretly relished the lingering, radiating warmth trapped within the lining.
“Thanks,” she murmured, unable to stop her smile as another blush crept up to her cheeks. She looked away toward the water, nervously tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“Look,” Leon started, his voice dropping into a low, serious register. “I know you're capable of taking care of yourself, but... just... don't go doing anything dangerous, got it?”
She huffed dramatically, tilting her head back to look at him as she feigned deep offense. “Me? Dangerous? Of course not.”
Leon remained completely silent, his gaze fixed on her face, entirely unsatisfied with her playful evasion.
The humor faded from her expression, replaced by something softer, more earnest. She faced him again. “Look… you don't have to worry about me, alright? I'm not your responsibility anymore.”
"Wrong,” he countered instantly. “You still are."
She almost choked on her spit. "Excuse me?"
He smirked, that playful glint returning to his eyes. "At least, until I get you home safely.”
The breath rushed back into her lungs, and she let out a soft, relieved laugh. “Fair enough. I don’t really want to try looking for a cab at this hour anyway.”
“And I wasn't gonna let ‘ya.” He said that ever so casually, like it didn't just make her heart do a violent, erratic flip in her chest.
She hid that with another laugh. “It really is getting late. We should probably go,” she said, standing up.
“Yeah,” he agreed, rising to follow her.
“Oh, here,” she said, reaching for the lapels of his jacket. Still, a small, greedy part of her silently hoped he wouldn't take it back just yet.
“Keep it on,” he commanded softly. His hands tugged at the jacket, settling it back securely on her shoulders. “The wind is picking up. It's colder than it was earlier.”
She smiled to herself, secretly pleased. “Thanks.”
-
The ride back to her apartment took longer than it probably should have, with Leon taking a noticeably slower speed. Ashley wasn't complaining, though. As stupid as it was, she enjoyed just being there… with him.
She leaned slightly into his back, the heavy leather of his jacket shielding her from the rushing wind. But before she could fully delude herself into thinking he was driving slow because he didn't want her to freeze–or worse, because a part of him didn't want the night to end yet, just like her–she decided to distract herself with the blurred lights of the passing cityscape.
Leon took a smooth turn to the left, finally bringing the bike to a gentle stop in front of a sleek, modern apartment complex facing a quiet park. They were undeniably in one of the fancier parts of town.
“Nice place,” he commented, killing the ignition.
She slid down and chuckled nervously, a little embarrassed by her obviously lavish accommodations despite her rookie status. “Yeah… Not exactly what you'd expect from a mere trainee, huh? My dad wouldn't let me pick a simpler place…”
He nodded, turning slightly in the seat to look at her. “I don't blame him. It's good. Secure.”
His gaze lingered on her, watching as she began frantically fingering the strap beneath her chin, desperately trying to figure out how to unlock the helmet clip by herself.
“Need help?” he offered, already rising to assist.
“No, no! I got it, just give me a minute,” she said hurriedly, her fingers working twice as fast… and twice as clumsily. She didn't know what would have happened to her if he came up close to her again.
After a while, she does figure it out and takes it off herself, the plastic lock finally popping open with a satisfying click. She slid the heavy helmet off her head, letting out a breath as her hair fell around her shoulders.
“Here,” she said, handing the helmet back to him. “Thanks for driving me home. And it really will be my treat next time. I promise.”
He smiled. “I'll look forward to that.”
He took the helmet from her hands, sliding it easily over his own head. The engine roared back to life, filling the quiet street. He opened his visor, revealing his eyes. They were strikingly blue compared to the sleek black of his helmet. “I'll see you at work, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she smiled back.
He nodded. “Goodnight, Ashley.”
“Goodnight, Leon.”
He closed his visor, and gave the horn a brief double-beep before twisting the throttle, the motorcycle speeding off down the avenue.
Ashley stood on the sidewalk for a moment, just watching the red glow of his taillights fade. A sudden, sharp gust of wind swept across the park, rustling the trees. Reflexively, she pulled her arms tightly against her chest, her fingers burying into the thick, protective lapels of the garment she was wearing.
Wait.
“OH!” she exclaimed out loud to the empty street, her eyes snapping wide as she realized exactly why the freezing midnight air hadn't bit through her clothes yet. “Leon!”
She lunged toward the curb, waving her arms in a sudden panic. “Leon! Wait! Your jacket!”
But her voice was completely swallowed by the distant rumble of his exhaust. She watched in disbelief as the bike effortlessly tilted into a smooth turn to the left, disappearing behind the brick corner of the block.
He was gone.
Ashley stood frozen under the amber glow of the streetlamp, the silence of street settling around her. She looked down at herself, completely swallowed by the oversized, warm leather that still smelled faintly of his cologne. A slow, helpless smile began to spread across her face as she buried her nose into the collar.
Summary: You and Leon have been broken up for a long time but you still co-parent. After your daughter's seventh birthday party, things got a little heated. But it's fine, right?
Masterlist, part 12
Notes: Please trust me and stay for part 14 which will be posted on 15/05.
word count: 3.4k
Warnings: childbirth, angst
You stepped into the diner and everybody’s heads turned. You weren’t sure if it was because of your tight black bodycon dress, the sunglasses making you look fierce, the huge pregnant belly or the pink scooter dangling from your hand. But you felt like a celebrity.
“Where the fuck is Leon?” Rhonda said, looking you up and down, as you walked—waddled up to the counter rather and slid onto a barstool next to Michelle. Lottie climbed up onto the one to your left.
“At work,” you sighed.
“What? Still?” Rhonda nearly dropped her coffee pot. “I don’t want to be mean but have you seen yourself recently?”
You rolled your eyes “Rhonda, please don’t.”
“You look like you’re ready to pop. And you’re waddling like a duck, there’s no way you’re not feeling that.”
In fact, you were feeling it. At every step. Ever since Ollie had dropped, his head was right there. He was due tomorrow. You were praying and hoping that just like Lottie, Ollie would also be late by a couple days. You just had to wait this out a little longer.
“Have you packed your hospital bag yet?”
You shook your head and passed Lottie the menu. She lifted her finger to run under the lines she was reading and her tongue dipped out of her mouth with the effort. “S-sss-ssh-”
“It’s ch- like cherry,” you encouraged her and she tried again.
“Chi-chik- chiken te- hm- teh-,” she continued, taking a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Keep going, you’re doing really well,” you said, gently running a hand over the top of her head.
“If I were you, I would have that packed and ready to go. You don’t have much longer.”
“Rhonda, I’m already anxious as hell, don’t make it worse,” you said.
“Why is Rhonda the one making it worse?” Michelle cut in. “I’m so over your baby daddy getting excuse after excuse for either not being there or showing up at the very last minute and everybody celebrating him when he does. He’s not the one being there from the start. It’s always you. He only shows up when it’s convenient for him.”
“Michelle, I already told you, it’s because of his job.” Ollie kicked you and you let out a long breath, rubbing your bump.
“Right. As a cop.” She narrowed her eyes. “Never in my life have I heard of a cop who’s gone weeks at a time leaving his pregnant girlfriend to fend for herself. His heavily pregnant girlfriend.”
“Can we just have lunch?” you asked. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“You know which profession I divorce most?” Michelle went on, undeterred.
You shook your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Cops?” you guessed.
She nodded. “And guess how many of them state infidelity as the reason for divorce.”
“He’s not cheating on me,” you said, grabbing one of the other menus to figure out what Ollie felt like eating. The good thing about him dropping was you could eat actual adult sized portions again because he was pressing down on your bladder now instead of your stomach. A win was a win.
“Where is he then?” Michelle hissed. “If I were him, I would have a hard time finding something that is more important than my girlfriend giving birth.”
Your head snapped around to her. “Why do you hate him so much? You’ve hated him from the very beginning.”
“Because a cop doesn’t drive a car like that. And they don’t have apartments like that either. I know, I divide their assets. And I am sick of having to pick up his slack, while he’s god knows where and telling lies.”
“Cut it,” Rhonda hissed. “There’s no need to make it worse.”
“You know what? I’m done,” Michelle pushed her plate away and slipped off the barstool. “You’re boy crazy, do you know that? Accidentally getting knocked up twice, who does that?” She grabbed her purse.
“Mom, what’s ‘knocked up’?” Lottie asked and looked at you with genuine curiosity.
“It’s when your mom and dad are too stupid to wear a condom,” Michelle spat and walked off. You called after her, swiveling around on your barstool, but she was already out the door.
Your heart hammered in your chest, face hot.
Rhonda gently touched your shoulder. “Don’t mind her.”
You turned around, staring at her. “I was going to ask her to come to the delivery room with me.”
Rhonda gave you a sympathetic smile, gently stroking your cheek. “I’ll come with you. I’ll be ready when you need me. In the middle of the night, call me, I don’t care.”
“I was going to ask you to watch Lottie,” you whispered.
“You got it,” Rhonda said.
“I can come with you,” Javi called from the kitchen over the sizzling of greasy chicken tenders.
You grimaced. “Javi, I love you, but I’d rather you don’t see my vagina while I’m pushing a baby out of it.”
He shrugged. “You know what, that’s so fair.”
You ran yourself a bath when you came home. The back pain and emotional turmoil being absolutely unbearable today. The fact that intense back pain was exactly how labour had started for you when Lottie was born, wasn’t lost on you. But you figured the bath would help with nerves as well as physical pain.
It did. For a little bit. But then you got a call from Hunnigan. She never called you, you always called her. You jumped, reaching for your phone with wet hands.
“Hello?”
“Leon told me to call you.”
You sank deeper into your bath water. “What is it?”
“He said he needs to know if you’re in labour yet, since the baby’s due tomorrow,” she said.
What was he doing? He shouldn’t be getting distracted thinking about your due date. He should be thinking about himself and not getting killed. You let out a shaky breath.
“Baby’s still in there, nice and cosy. No need to worry about us,” you pressed, ignoring the dull pain radiating out from your lower back.
“I’ll pass that on,” Hunnigan said, ready to end the call.
“Is he okay?” you blurted out.
“Yes, he’s okay,” she replied. “Everything is going according to plan. He’ll be home in no time.”
You let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you.”
After Hunnigan got off the call, you gently massaged your belly, Ollie wiggling in response to your touch. “You stay in there until your dad gets home, do you hear me? Be a good baby.”
As soon as you got out of your bath and felt Ollie‘s head pressing down on your pelvis again, your heart gave you a run for your money.
You squeezed your eyes shut and looked at yourself in the mirror, looking at your bump. You felt so much lighter around your lungs and stomach and so much heavier further down. You remembered this feeling. When you were pregnant with Lottie, this had been you about two weeks before she was born. But your instinct told you, it wasn’t going to be like that this time. You already felt so on edge, fidgety, uneasy.
So you adhered to Rhonda’s advice, slipped into your pyjamas and started packing your hospital bag.
Lottie came into the room, helping you.
“Lottie, when the baby comes, I’m going to need you to stay with Rhonda for a little while, okay? I can’t take you to the hospital with me.”
“Why can’t I stay with dad?”
“Dad’s at work. Rhonda will come over and take care of you and I’m going to need you to be good, okay?”
“Okay,” Lottie replied and you pressed a kiss to her head. She was your big girl now. Your eldest.
“This is really exciting,” she whispered and stretched out her hands to your belly. You smiled, watching her cuddle up to your bump, but inwardly you were battling the urge to push her away. You didn‘t want to be touched right now. Couldn’t bear it, no matter who it was. Exactly how you had felt when you were giving birth last time.
Shit. You were wondering if this was really intuition or your anxiety playing tricks on you.
“It is. You’re going to be a big sister. Are you looking forward to it?”
Lottie nodded and ran over to her room to give you a drawing she wanted you to put in your hospital bag as well.
“This is you, me, dad and Ollie,” she explained, pointing at the stick figures in the picture. “You can take it, it’s for good luck.”
“Thank you, Lottie.” You took the drawing from her hands and carefully folded it to fit in one of the side pockets.
“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”
You flinched at the thought and looked at her, trying to figure out if it would break her heart if you told her no. “I need some space, Lottie. I’m not feeling great.”
“Because dad isn’t here.” Lottie nodded, looking way older than she was. “Does it hurt when you have a baby?”
You grimaced. “Yeah, but it’s normal. It’s how it’s supposed to be.”
Did your daughter feel the shift in energy too or did you rope her into it with all your anxiety?
“It’ll be fine, mom. Don’t worry.” She hugged you again and you buried your face in her hair. “You’re the best mom. Ollie thinks that, too. He told me.”
You chuckled, not even wanting to know how she thought she was communicating with the baby in your belly. “Am I? I don’t feel like it a lot of the time.”
Lottie shrugged. “I mean, if you wanted to be better, you could let me eat more chocolate sometimes.”
“No,” you said, immediately shutting down your daughter’s attempt at blackmailing you. She giggled, knowing full well she was being cheeky. “You’ll thank me later when your dentist tells you how good your teeth are.”
Your main job as a mother was foresight for someone who didn’t have it yet. You looked at your hospital bag all packed and ready to go. You guess you did a pretty good job at that after all.
After you put Lottie to bed, you had trouble falling asleep. Too worried that tonight would be the night. The night you would be going into labour.
Or maybe not. It was torture, tossing and turning, shoving pillows between your knees, never getting comfortable, because both your body and your mind were giving you a hard time.
You managed to fall asleep eventually. Only to be woken up not even three hours later by something that felt suspiciously close to severe menstrual cramps.
You sat up carefully, holding your belly, waiting for it to go away. You looked at the clock. 02:14.
When it had stopped, you rubbed your eyes, sleep tugging at your eyelids but you needed to stay awake to see if it was Braxton Hicks or the real thing.
Eleven minutes later, another contraction hit and you took a deep breath through it. You knew what this was. This wasn’t your first rodeo.
Despite your body being tired, you couldn’t bear being in a seated position any longer, feeling so god damn restless. You paced up and down your bedroom, gripping the side of the dresser on your next contraction, softly swaying your hips to get at least some relief from the tension.
When the contraction was over, you braced yourself. There would be no relief from this for the next couple hours. If not longer. It was only going to get more intense from here. There was no way out of this, only through. This was happening. This was your baby being born. And Leon was nowhere to be seen.
You called Rhonda immediately.
“I’ll be over in thirty minutes tops,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
Pacing up and down, you thought about calling Hunnigan, phone already in hand, only to lower it back down. Calling her was incredibly selfish. If Leon knew what was going on and he was still in the field, that would make him lose focus entirely. But if he was already in debrief, would he not want to know? Where was he right now? Was he okay?
You didn’t have a lot of time to worry about that, as the next contraction hit earlier than expected. You checked the clock. Seven minutes.
You whimpered this time, the pain being a lot more intense, too.
“Holy shit,” you whispered, a sudden surge of fear racing through you. What did you need? Rhonda was on her way. Hospital bag? Packed. Lottie? Taken care of. You just had to get ready and good lord, eat something. Because you were getting ready to run a fucking marathon. Because that was what this was, right? Physically.
There were very few things in life that were absolutely inevitable. The fact that birthing a baby was one of them always messed with your head. How powerful was that? How insane if you thought about it?
Rhonda was at your door two contractions later and helped you get in the shower so you could freshen up one last time.
“Where the fuck is Leon?” she asked.
You were going to answer but your next contraction hit and rendered you unable to. “Oh shit,” you groaned. “This is the worst one by far.”
Lottie woke up somewhere around that time, too. No doubt, noticing what was going on in the house. Rhonda fixed her a bowl of the sugary pink cereal she liked so much and parked her in front of the TV, putting on cartoons, as you breathed through another contraction, white knuckling the edge of the kitchen table.
At around 04:30, your contractions had consistently been about five minutes apart and you called a taxi. You hugged Rhonda and gave Lottie a kiss on the head before heading to the hospital to have your baby. By yourself. You had tried calling Michelle on the off-chance, but she hadn’t picked up.
When the nurse told you you were already about six centimeters dilated and well into active labour at your arrival, you had a mini panic attack. Having a medical professional confirm that this was really happening and with things progressing so fast, it all felt a lot to handle.
You wanted Leon to be here. Not because you couldn’t do this without him. But you wanted to share this with him: this moment, this memory of what it was like to give birth to your second baby. That you stood bent over the hospital bed, elbows rested on the mattress, as your next contraction tore through you.
Even if there wasn’t much he could help with anyways. This was purely between you, your body and your baby. While giving birth, you didn’t want him to touch you.
With Lottie, he had tried to rub your back and such, but you had nearly crawled out of your skin and swatted his hand away. The only touching you could bear was holding on to his shoulders as you changed birthing positions.
At around 8 am, you felt like a rubber band snapped inside your belly and you knew exactly what was coming next, before you even felt the fluid trickle down your legs. When this had happened with Lottie, you had been convinced you had pissed your pants. But amniotic fluid smelled like honey, so it was pretty easy to identify. It was the sweetness of welcoming your baby into the world.
What if Leon had died on the mission? What if while you were birthing Ollie, he was already being packed into a body bag? The thoughts crossed your mind but were washed away by the pain, the first time intense enough for you to press your head into the pillows and let out a guttural grunt.
“Oh fuck,” you groaned, coming out of the contraction panting.
You fumbled for your phone, giving in and calling Hunnigan.
“Hello?” She picked up immediately and you nearly sobbed at the sound of her voice.
“Where is Leon?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
You could feel another contraction coming on and you gritted your teeth. “I don’t give a fuck about what you can or can’t do, where the fuck is he? Is he in debrief? I need to talk to him.”
You groaned, your face contorting in pain and you let out a whimper, not bothering to mute yourself on the phone.
“I said, I can’t tell you that.”
Another grunt and you punched the mattress. “I’m in labour. When he’s there, tell him my waters broke at,” you glanced at the clock, “8:17 and I’m in Cityside Medical Hospital and to get his ass over here as fast as he can because,” you breathed heavily. “It’s not going to fucking be much longer.”
Hunnigan didn’t say anything. You had rendered the government agent dispatcher speechless.
“I can’t tell you because we lost contact with him, we have no idea where he is,” she whispered.
You hissed through gritted teeth, your knees nearly giving out. “What do you mean you don’t know where he is?”
“I— there was a fight and he was pushed off a bridge and we lost contact.”
You felt like this was a joke. This wasn't happening, right? There was no way this was happening to you.
Your breath quickened and a cold numbing sensation spread through you, making you shiver. Leon was fine. He had to be. It was Leon, for Christ's sakes. Your Leon.
The monitor in the corner showed your pulse going through the roof and a delivery nurse rushed back into the room.
Ollie didn't give you much time to process Hunnigan's news. Your next contraction was coming on relentlessly and your face contorted in pain.
“Then do your fucking job and find him,” you growled and you threw the phone away, rage taking over.
You couldn’t really afford to feel anything else because on your next contraction, you felt an instinctive, uncontrollable urge to push. This was it. It was time, with or without Leon.
“Oh my god,” you breathed and adjusted your position.
“You’re doing really well,” the delivery nurse told you, as she gently stabilised you.
Pushing out a baby was absolutely earth shattering. There was nothing that came even close. The muscles in your body were so tight, your teeth began to chatter with exhaustion.
You’re the strongest person I know. I don’t tell you that enough.
You were in a trance and had the nurse not told you to keep breathing in between your contractions, you would have probably just not done it.
Grunting and mewling like an animal, you were bringing your baby into the world. This was hell. You couldn’t wait for the surge of oxytocin to wash away the intense pressure, the burning sensation of your muscles stretching to their max, and to make you high on your own baby.
It was some clever engineering really. Or nature’s gaslighting. Otherwise nobody would ever have more than one child.
With your next push, you felt your baby slide out of you. You had finally made it. Relief washed over you both physically and mentally.
The delivery nurse lifted your baby and life happened in slow motion, sweaty strands of hair stuck to your skin as you saw your son for the first time, the universe tilting in its axis, being entirely suspended from your umbilical cord for a split second.
His little face scrunched up and he let out a cry.
This was who had been inside your belly this entire time. A whole new person.
A sob racked through you.
You felt like you were twenty-one again for a second. Twenty-one and shit-scared, having just given birth to a baby girl and having no idea how to keep her alive.
The delivery nurse gently guided you to lean against the pillows, moved the top of your hospital gown down and laid your son on your naked chest, covering both of you with a towel.
“Well done, Mama,” she whispered and you cried uncontrollably, feeling the skin to skin contact with your baby. Nothing came close. Absolutely nothing in this world.
The first check up right after birth, the placenta, the umbilical cord, everything went by in a blur. All you focused on was your baby and how he looked like he had been in a peaceful slumber and gone through the most traumatic wake up call of all time.
“I know baby, I know,” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his. His little hands wiggled, tentatively opening his fists and sticking his tongue out between his tiny lips.
“You can latch him on, he’s fine.” The delivery nurse said, a hand gently resting on the mattress, placing a fresh pad under your hips and draping the covers over you both so you would stay warm. “A very healthy baby.”
A surge of pride washed through you and you lifted your breast out of the hospital gown, your baby smacking his lips in search of where the food came from. You latched him on perfectly on the first try, nipple hitting his palate, nose flush against your skin.
Tears welled up in your eyes again. This was muscle memory. You didn’t need to be scared. You knew how to do it this time. You were already a mother.
“Good job,” the delivery nurse said. “I see we have a seasoned pro here.”
“Thank you,” you mouthed, watching mesmerised as you breastfed your baby for the first time. Your head whipped around to the chair close to the bed. But there was no one there.
Your chest locked up like vice and your stomach dropped. You squeezed your eyes shut and let your head fall back into the pillow. Staring at the ceiling, your chin quivered, not with the joy of welcoming Ollie this time.
A loud shuffling at the front of your home awakens you. Probably your husband, home from another work trip. You lie still, overcome by the gnawing pain from the cold traveling through your body. It doesn’t help that your space heater has broken. Your knuckles, wrists, and feet have been bothering you for the last few winters, and its especially bad this night from the storm you saw on the news approaching. The same storm that your poor, poor overworked husband had to travel through to make it home to you tonight, and he needs to be cheered up. Especially after such a long trip, working to spoil your incomplete family. The bed dips. You roll over, still bundled up in your blanket.
“You’re awake.”
“Mhmm.” You hum out, still drowsy.
“Did everything go well, Leon?”
“Uhuh.” He unties his boots, pulling his sore feet out of the worn out leather before tossing them aside to the closet and shuffling out of his work clothes into his old pajamas.
“Turn on the light. I wanna see you.”
“Mm-mm, I’m tired.” He sinks back into bed before shifting around on the mattress to hold you. You counteract this by tossing the blanket off despite the freezing air and rolling him onto his back.
“Uh-uh, lie back.” You climb over him, straddling his upper thighs..
He looks up at you with an odd expression in the dark, his bottom lip tucked in and inner eyebrows heightened.
“You alright?” You reach out, pushing his hair back and moving your hand towards his crotch before he grabs your wrist, rubbing the pulse point gently.
“Not right now. ‘M too tired.”
“I know, I know. But I’m not. Let me do the work, just lay back.” You coo at him before rubbing his clothed chest and pulling the dingy t-shirt up over his head, grinning before reaching for his waistband.
“D’you want me to take a pill?”
“No, no. I don’t feel like waiting.”
He looks up at you, stiff on the bed as he tries to ignore the steady panging in his lower back. You sit on his lap in a tattered blue night gown, smelling like vanilla and whatever lazy dinner you cooked yourself earlier. You never cook real meals when he’s not home– too used to cooking big portions, it’ll spoil before you can eat it all.
“I didn’t expect you back tonight, Leon. You should’ve told me, I would’ve drawn you a bath. Or atleast cooked dinner.” He reaches up and wipes the sleep out of your eyes before nodding in agreement.
“I know.” He mumbles back and takes the frilly edges of your nightgown and pulls them all the way over your head. You push down against his lap and quietly groan before tugging his pants halfway down his thighs, clearly eager as you settle yourself back down onto him, pulling your hips back and forth, back and forth, and back and forth, creating an indulgent friction burn that will be sure to bite him back later. Its soon soothed by a driblet of slippery liquid seeping through the silken panties you brought for his 42nd birthday a couple years ago. Whilst grabbing for him underneath you, you pause and furrow your eyebrows.
“You didn’t put on underwear.”
“I knew you’d be like this.”
“Ohoo, planning ahead for the wife.” You giggle, tugging the extra skin up and down, using the little slick from your cunt to help it glide. After a few tugs you awkwardly lean over him to slide the sodden panties down your legs before throwing them to the floor. He catches you by your waist, forcing you to hold your position over him until you feel a harsh hand wrap around the lump of flesh that is your breast. A warm set of lips wraps around your areola, suckling gently and causing the pretty bud to harden quickly.
“Ack! Leon, I said I was gonna take care of it..!” You whine, pulling back only slightly, feeling too good to leave the tantalizing heat of his mouth yet. After getting him to let up, you reach back down, now focused on making him feel good. You ignore him palming the fat on your chest and his quiet groans, not bothering to tease him about it as he’ll shut down. You look at the half hard appendage, deliberating on what to do next. You choose to make it quick, as he appears to be half asleep. Wiggling your swollen, slicked lips back and forth against it, it finally slips in and you moan out, your eyes shut as you sink all the way down.
“Leon, Leon, that- ugh, that’s nice.” He listens to his name being called and watches through half-lidded eyes, mouth agape as he pants. You’re squeezing him so tight, it feels like he’s about to nut already, even if he is only half hard. He haphazardly traces your skin damped from sweat and lotion from your belly to your clit, wiggling it with a calloused thumb. You jolt before squealing, rocking harder now, chasing your own pleasure and nearly forgetting about his. It’s just so hard to, with his fat cock stretching your sopping, tight walls out.
“Leon!!” You gasp, beginning to bounce after a sharp swat to the asscheek forces you to remember who this is about. The pain lingers as you glide up and down against him, trying not to pull away too much as he’ll slip out. The fastened knot in your belly begins to undo itself when he mumbles something about being “just about there” before groping your left tit. You push against his hips harder and hear a strangled groan erupt from his lips before shuddering when feeling a pathetically tiny spurt inside of you.
You disregard it along with his overwhelmed whimpers in order to pursue your own selfish desires, frantically grinding down against him whilst simultaneously rubbing your bud as he left it during his peak. Sharp pangs in your belly ensue, making you tremble and tear us. You cry out, pleading and moaning brainlessly about a baby. He listens to it come out jumbled, staring up at your tits. He reaches for your cunt and swats your hand out of the way to rub the pearl himself, causing you to arch up off of him and climax. He lies there with pruned fingers, quivering from the aftermath as he listens to your stupid babbles. He slides out of you despite you muttering out complaints and climbs off of the bed. He heads to the bathroom to wipe himself clean before returning doing the same to you. He wipes the sweat underneath your breast, on the inside of your thighs, and attempts to wipe your folds before you stop him.
“Leave it. Maybe this time it’ll take.”
“Yeah, I know. You always say the same thing.” And with that, he tosses the rag to the floor before crawling into bed with you and resting his head on your still-heaving chest, content despite the body aches slowly returning from the lack of adrenaline. He presses a kiss to your collarbone and nuzzles his face against your breast before listening as you begin to speak.
“Leonn?” You drag out the last consonant of his name with your tongue against the roof of your mouth.
“Mhmm?” He does the same.
“Can we, ah, go again?” You stare at the ceiling in absolute bliss, slightly regretting not allowing him to take the pill. He sighs loudly in annoyance before responding in a gruff voice.
Leon's been gone for 6 months studying abroad in Spain. You've been working at the cafe, trying to ignore the obvious hole in your life since he left. You thought you'd have moved on from your silly little crush by the time he returned, but clearly you haven't, and it seems he hasn't either. God answers your prayers in the form of a snowstorm that traps you both in The Griffin cafe overnight, forcing you both to work things out.
This is a rewrite of my fic, It's On the House (Of Cards).
A/N: Helloooooo, my lovely readers. I am alive and ready to get back to writing. It's been two crazy months. Thank you all for being literally the greatest community of all time and checking in on me while I've been away on hiatus, getting myself together. I hope you guys don't mind, but I thought I'd return by posting the official re-write of the first fic I ever posted. Y'know, as a little celebration-type thing!
CW: 13k words (HOLY SHIT), alternate universe in which Leon is a student working in a cafe with the reader and instead of the DSO sending him to Spain his college does, YEARNING so much yearning, Hurt/Comfort, Love confessions, Unprotected vaginal sex (DO NOT BE LIKE THEM THIS IS FICTION), Squirting (yup we went there), Leon being kind of more dominant than I normally write, Sleepy cuddles galor, Mentions of mental health medication, Adults communicating (yay!!!!), Relationship establishment, Blatant promotion of The Office sitcom (you all know the drill, you're not new here), Claire Redfield brief cameo, Petnames (Baby, Sweetheart, Sweetie, Honey, Babe), Leon being a charming lovesick idiot, Reader has anxiety lowkey (not highkey like normal crazy I know), written with a plus-sized reader in mind (big girls rule the fucking world, join me, women rise up).
Beta read by my bestie @batsybat91
"You still take your coffee black, right?" You slide the steaming cup across the counter without looking up, already reaching for the next order ticket. The Griffin Café’s morning rush is in full swing, and all you can really hear is the overstimulating hum of the espresso grinder.
"Actually," a familiar voice says, low and amused, "I switched to oat milk lattes in Spain."
Your head snaps up so fast you feel the wind whistle near your ears. Leon leans against the counter, grinning like he’s won a fucking prize by surprising you. His hair’s a little longer, his shoulders broader under that stupidly cozy-looking sweater, but it’s him. Really him. Back from six months abroad and standing in front of you like he never left.
"You’re lying," you accuse, wiping your hands on your apron. "You’d never betray black coffee like that."
Leon laughs, the sound warm and rich like the espresso you’re currently tamping too hard to try and offset the excited shake of your hands. "Caught me," he admits, stealing a sugar packet from the counter and flicking it between his fingers. "But you should’ve seen your face." He leans in, just close enough for you to catch the faintest hint of his cologne; he’s switched to something woodsy, unfamiliar. Spain’s clearly still clinging to him in small, devastating ways.
You ignore how much that digs into your heart like a thorn.
The next customer clears their throat pointedly behind Leon, and you jerk back to reality, cheeks burning as you scramble to finish their mocha. Leon doesn’t move. He just watches you work, his elbow propped on the counter like he’s got all the time in the world. "You’re blocking the syrup station," you whine, nudging his arm with your hip. He shifts lazily, but his shit-eating grin doesn’t falter. God, how you want to throttle his little skinny ass sometimes.
By the time the lunch rush dies down, the sky outside the café’s wide windows has turned a sickly gray. Fat snowflakes start to stick to the pavement, and Mrs. Henderson from the bakery next door pops her head in to warn you about the storm warnings on the radio. Leon, who’s somehow talked his way into wiping down tables despite not being on the schedule, whistles low. "Looks like we might be stuck here a while," he says, nodding toward the blizzard brewing outside.
You roll your eyes, stacking ceramic mugs with more force than necessary. "Don’t sound so thrilled about it." The truth is, your stomach’s been doing something suspiciously close to somersaults since he walked in. Six months of carefully constructed indifference are crumbling in a single shift.
Leon flicks the damp rag he’s been using to wipe down tables over his shoulder and saunters back to the counter, his hips swaying just enough to make you bite the inside of your cheek to avoid grinning like a perverted idiot. "What, not happy to be trapped with me?" He leans across the marble, invading your space like he doesn’t understand the concept of a personal bubble. "Missed you too, y'know." The way he says it is what breaks you. He says it so softly, almost hesitantly, and it makes your fingers fumble with the espresso portafilter you’re cleaning with cafiza powder.
"Shut up," you mutter, but there’s no heat in it. The café’s empty now, the last customer having fled the mounting storm. Outside, snow piles against the windowpanes in thick, silent drifts. The overhead lights flicker once, ominously, almost warning of the inevitable blackout coming. Leon’s eyes dart to the ceiling, then back to you nervously. "Think the power’s gonna hold?"
Before you can answer, the front door rattles violently, not from wind, but from someone yanking at the locked handle. A bundled-up figure gestures frantically. Leon unlocks it, and an employee from the grocery store next door stumbles in, Sophie is her name- you think, her cheeks red from the cold. "Go home while you can," she gasps, shaking snow from her coat. "Roads are getting really fuckin’ bad.”
“Please be careful,” she says anxiously, and then she’s gone, swallowed by the whiteout beyond the glass. The door slams shut behind her, leaving you and Leon in sudden, weighted silence. The espresso machine gurgles weakly, as if exhausted by the day’s antics.
Leon exhales through his nose, slow and deliberate like he’s letting go of all the frustration he has in his very soul, before turning to you with that infuriating half-smirk back on his face. “So.” He digs into his backpack, pulling out a deck of cards wrapped in a rubber band. “Blackjack?”
“You carry playing cards in your bag?” you deadpan, but you’re already sliding onto a stool, elbows propped on the counter.
“What, like it’s weird?” He shuffles the deck, the cards snapping together with practiced ease. “Spain ruined me for solitude. Got used to filling the silence.” He deals without asking, flicking the cards across the marble with a precision that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. You pick up your cards, a seven and a queen, and try not to notice how his fingers linger when he brushes yours with the next card.
“Hit?” he asks, but his eyes aren’t on your cards. They’re on your mouth, your fingers, the way your curls escape from behind your ear when you lean forward.
You swallow hard and toss a sugar packet onto the pile between you. “Hit me.”The card slides across the marble, a four. Fuck. You groan, tossing your hands up in aggravated defeat. “Busted, dammit.”
Leon’s grin is wicked as he sweeps the sugar packets toward himself. “That’s three for me,” he singsongs, stacking them neatly. The storm outside rattles the windows, the wind howling like it’s jealous of the warmth inside. The lights flicker again, and this time they don’t come back on fully, leaving the café bathed in the dim glow of the emergency lights.
You shiver, more from the way Leon’s watching you than the cold. “Cheater,” you mutter, just to have something to say. God, he looks good even in the worst lighting.
Leon’s grin widens as he leans forward, elbows on the counter, the emergency lights casting long shadows across his face. “Me? Cheat?” He presses a hand to his chest like he’s scandalized, but his eyes, dark and amused, tell a different story. “You just suck at cards, sweetheart.” The pet name rolls off his tongue like it’s nothing, like he hasn’t just sent your pulse skittering into arrhythmia like you’re having a fucking heart attack.
You huff and reach for the deck, your fingers brushing his as you shuffle. “Deal again.” The cards are slick with laminate in your hands, but Leon’s gaze is steadier, lingering on the way you bite your lip when you concentrate. The storm outside howls, the windows rattling in their frames, but the café feels unnaturally still, like the world has narrowed to this counter, this game, the space between his knee and yours beneath it.
He deals you a king and a six this time. You tap the marble twice, stay, and Leon’s smirk softens into something quieter when he flips his cards: a bust. “Looks like the cheater’s losing his touch,” you tease, but your voice comes out breathier than intended. Leon doesn’t miss it. His fingers drift across the counter, slow, deliberate, until his pinky hooks around yours.
The contact is electric. You freeze, your breath catching, and Leon’s thumb strokes the side of your hand like he’s testing the waters. “Missed this,” he murmurs, so low you almost don’t hear it over the wind. “Missed you.” The admission hangs between you, fragile and heavy all at once. Your chest tightens. Six months of carefully constructed distance, and here he is, unraveling you with a touch. One simple touch.
The deck slips from your fingers, cards scattering across the counter in a messy fan. Leon doesn’t move to pick them up. His hand tightens around yours, anchoring you in place as the storm outside batters the windows like it’s trying to get in. "Leon," you start, but his name comes out shaky, half-formed. His thumb strokes your knuckles, so tender you want to scream into the void, and the words die in your throat.
"You gonna make me say it first?" he practically coos, leaning in until the emergency lights catch the gold flecks in his eyes. His breath ghosts over your lips, warm and sweet with stolen sugar packets. "After six months of you dodging my texts, my calls-"
"You were in Spain, on another fucking continent," you protest weakly, but your fingers curl into his, betraying you. The counter digs into your ribs as you lean closer, drawn in by the gravity of him. Like he’s the sun and you’re just one of the fortunate planets orbiting him.
Leon’s other hand lifts, hovering near your flushed cheek like he’s afraid you’ll bolt. "Yeah," he admits, voice rough. "And every fucking cathedral, every tapas bar, every- " He breaks off with a frustrated noise, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. "Everywhere I went, all I could think was she’d love this."
His thumb lingers on your lower lip, pressing just hard enough to make you gasp. Leon’s eyes darken at the sound, his grip tightening on your hand. “Say it,” he breathes, so close now you can count the faint freckles across his nose. “Tell me I’m not the only one who- ”
The power cuts out completely with a loud clunk, plunging the café into darkness save for the faint orange glow of the emergency exit sign. You yelp in fear, but Leon doesn’t flinch. His free hand slides up your arm, over your shoulder, until his fingers tangle in the curls at the nape of your neck. “Scared of the dark, cutie?” he teases, but his voice is uneven.
“No, definitely not,” you lie, your pulse rabbiting under his touch.
Leon hums, low and knowing, his thumb tracing your jaw. “Liar.” Then his mouth crashes into yours, hot and insistent, and the world tilts. His lips are rough, demanding, like he’s been starving for this, and you melt into it, your fingers clutching his sweater as he drags you forward until your knees bump the counter.
The kiss is messy, desperate, all teeth and clumsy hands and the sharp intake of breath when Leon nips at your lower lip. His fingers tighten in your hair, tilting your head back just enough to deepen the angle, and you whimper against his mouth. He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your lips, before he pulls back just far enough to pluck them off your face and set them carefully on the counter. "Better," he murmurs, and then he’s kissing you again, slower this time, savoring the way you arch into him like a damn cat in sunlight.
His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise before lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. The marble is cold through your jeans, but Leon’s body is a furnace as he steps between your thighs, his sweater scratching against your forearms where you cling to him. "Tell me," he whines between kisses, his voice rough. "Tell me you missed me too."
"You know I did," you gasp when his mouth finds the sensitive spot beneath your ear, his teeth scraping lightly. Leon hums, satisfied, but his hands are already moving, one sliding up your thigh, the other cupping your jaw to keep you from looking away as his fingers inch higher.
"You’re shaking so much," he observes, his thumb pressing against the seam of your jeans. You squirm, but he pins you with his hips, the hard line of him unmistakable even through layers of fabric. "God, you’re fucking adorable."
His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, skating over the dip of your waist, and you shudder, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Leon,” you gasp, but he swallows the sound with another kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your toes curl. The counter is cold beneath you, but his hands are everywhere, tugging at your belt, slipping under the wire of your bra, teasing the sensitive skin just above your waistband until you’re squirming.
“Say it properly,” he teases against your lips, his breath hot. “Say you want me.” His fingers pause, waiting, and the ache between your thighs is almost unbearable. You whine, arching into his touch, but Leon just raises an eyebrow, his smirk infuriatingly patient. “Words, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” you choke out, your voice cracking. “God, yes, I want you, Leon.”
His hand slides down, cupping your cunt through your jeans, and the pressure is so sudden, so perfect, that you cry out, your hips jerking against his palm. “Good girl,” he praises, nipping at your jaw as his fingers work the button of your jeans open. The zipper follows, agonizingly slow, and you’re about to beg when he finally slides his hand beneath your panties, his fingers slick and sure as they stroke you.
His fingers curl just right against that spot that makes your vision whiten, and you gasp, your thighs clamping around his wrist as he laughs low in your ear. “Easy,” he soothes, but his own breathing is ragged, his hips grinding against yours in a way that tells you he’s just as far gone. The storm outside is a distant roar compared to the sound of your own heartbeat, the wet slide of his fingers as he pushes a second one inside, stretching you with a precision that shouldn’t be possible when he’s kissing you like this.
You arch off the counter, your fingers scrabbling at his shoulders as he crooks his fingers, hitting that spot that makes your back bow. “Leon- hah- God-” His name spills from your lips like a prayer, broken and breathless, and he swallows it with another kiss, his teeth catching your lower lip when you whimper. His thumb circles your puffy clit, almost mean, and the coil in your gut tightens until you’re shaking, your thighs trembling around his hand. “I- I’m gonna-”
Leon nips at your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “Yeah?” His fingers slow, just enough to tease, and you nearly sob from the denial. “Let me hear you,” he coaxes, his voice rough with want. “Come on, sweetheart. Let go, wanna see you make a mess on this damn counter.”
The command shatters you. You cum hard, small spurts of liquid squirting out around Leon’s thick fingers, your hips jerking against his hand as you sob, your fingers clutching his sweater like it’s the only thing keeping you anchored. Leon groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he works you through it, his fingers gentling only when you squirm from oversensitivity.
Leon’s fingers slow to a stop, but he doesn’t pull away, just presses a kiss to your trembling shoulder, his lips lingering against your damp skin. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice thick. “You’re a little super soaker, aren’t you, baby?” His free hand smoothes up your thigh, pushing your jeans down just enough to expose the mess you’ve made of his fingers, the counter beneath you. The sight sends a fresh wave of heat through you, and you bury your face in his shoulder with a whine. “Embarrassed?” he teases, nipping at your jaw. “After all that mess you just made?”
You groan in embarrassment, but Leon just laughs fondly before lifting you off the counter entirely. Your legs wobble, but his arm snakes around your waist, holding you steady as he grabs a handful of napkins from the dispenser. “Here,” he murmurs, wiping his fingers clean before turning his attention to you, his touch absurdly gentle for someone who just had you coming apart on his hand. The contrast makes your stomach flip.
Outside, the storm rages on, the wind howling against the windows, but inside, the café feels like a world apart, warm and hazy in the dim emergency light. Leon’s hands drift to the hem of your shirt, hesitating. “This okay?” he asks, and the way he checks in, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, makes your chest ache. You nod, and he tugs the fabric over your head, his breath catching when he sees you properly. “My god,” he breathes, fingertips tracing the lace rim of your bra like it’s something precious.
You reach for his sweater, but he catches your wrist, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Let me, ‘kay?” he murmurs, and then he’s stripping his own clothes off with an efficiency that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. His sweater hits the floor, followed by his shirt, and then he’s back in your space, skin warm against yours as he crowds you against the counter again. His jeans are still half-buttoned, the outline of him straining against the fabric, and you lick your lips without thinking. Leon groans, his fingers tightening on your hips. “Don’t look at me like that unless you mean it,” he warns, but his voice is wrecked.
Leon’s hands slide up your ribs, thumbs brushing the underwire of your bra before he unhooks it with practiced ease. The cold air hits your skin, but his mouth follows, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down your collarbone, teeth grazing your nipple until you gasp and arch into him. “Tease,” you accuse dramatically, fingers tangling in his hair as he chuckles against your skin.
“You love it,” he chuckles, nipping at the soft swell of your breast before his hands skate down to your waistband, tugging your jeans and panties down in one rough motion. The counter is cold against your bare ass, but Leon’s hands are warm as they spread your thighs wider, his grip firm. “Fuck, look at you,” he rasps, eyes dark with want. “All worked up and still blushing.” His thumb strokes your inner thigh, the touch featherlight compared to the way his gaze pins you.
You squirm, but he holds you still, his other hand unbuckling his belt with a sharp click. The sound makes your pulse spike. Leon’s jeans drop, and then he’s pressing against you, the thick heat of him sliding through the wet mess you made in a way that drags a whine from your throat. “Tell me,” he demands, voice rough as he grips himself, rubbing the head of his cock against your raw clit in slow, maddening circles. “Tell me how bad you want it. Wanna’ hear it- no, need to hear it.”
“Please,” you choke out, hips canting up, but Leon tuts, withdrawing just enough to make you whimper. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you down as he lines himself up, the tip pressing against your entrance. “Leon- please- don’t tease.”
His name breaks into a gasp as he pushes in, his grip on your hips ironclad as he lets you feel every inch. The stretch burns in the best way, his breath hot against your neck as he pauses, shuddering. “Holy shit,” he grits out, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re tight.” His hips jerk involuntarily, and you whine, nails scraping down his back. “Easy, sweetheart,” he soothes, but his voice is wrecked, his muscles trembling with restraint.
Leon pulls out just as slowly, dragging a moan from you, before snapping his hips forward hard enough to make your back arch off the counter. “There- that spot- hah-” you cry out, and he practically whimpers, his fingers digging into your thighs as he sets a punishing rhythm, deep, relentless strokes that have you seeing stars. The counter rattles beneath you, glasses clinking in the nearby sink, but Leon doesn’t slow, his mouth finding yours in a messy kiss that’s more teeth than tongue.
One hand slides between you, thumb circling your clit in time with his thrusts, and you cry out, your legs hooking around his waist to pull him deeper. “That’s it, look at you, doing so well, pretty girl,” he praises, nipping at your jaw. “Take it, sweetheart. Take me.” His pace stutters when you clench around him, his breath coming in ragged bursts against your neck. “Gonna cum,” he warns, but his fingers don’t stop, rubbing tight circles until you’re shaking, your thighs clamping around him as pleasure crests again.
You cum with a cry, your body bowing off the counter as he fucks you through it, his rhythm turning erratic. Leon’s hips stutter once, then twice, and then he buries himself deep with a choked off whimper, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he spills inside you, hot and sinfully perfect. His hips jerk lazily, drawing out the last of it, before he stills, breath hot against your skin. Little masochist.
Leon’s breathing slows first, his chest rising and falling against yours in a steady rhythm that makes your own heartbeat start to settle. He presses a kiss to your shoulder softly, almost apologetic, before carefully pulling out, his hands lingering on your hips as if he’s reluctant to let go. You shiver at the loss, the cold air hitting your damp skin, but Leon’s already reaching for his discarded sweater, draping it over your shoulders with a tenderness that makes your throat tighten. “Cold?” he almost whispers, tucking the fabric around you, his thumbs brushing your collarbone soothingly.
You nod, but you’re not sure it’s the temperature making you tremble. Leon’s eyes flicker over your face, reading you too easily, and he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “Hey,” he whispers, his voice rough but warm. “Okay?” You nod again, and his lips curve into a smile, slow and satisfied. “Good.” He kisses you then, chaste but so sweet, before straightening and offering you his hand. “C’mon. Let’s get off this damn counter before you freeze.”
Your legs wobble when your feet hit the floor, but Leon’s arm snakes around your waist, holding you steady. He chuckles when you glare at him, his grin unrepentant. “Don’t look at me like that,” he teases, nudging your nose with his. “You’re the one who just came twice.” You swat at his chest, but he catches your wrist, pressing a kiss to your palm before tugging you toward the café’s lounge area. The plush couches are bathed in the dim glow of the emergency lights, and Leon kicks aside a stray chair, clearing space near the fireplace. “Stay here,” he orders, squeezing your hand before disappearing into the back.
He returns with an armful of spare staff-only blankets and pillows, draping them over the largest couch with the precision of someone who’s made a habit of building forts. You make a mental note to ask later.
Leon’s hands work fast, arranging the blankets into a makeshift nest near the crackling fireplace, still lit from earlier, casting flickering shadows across his bare shoulders. You watch, legs still unsteady, as he fluffs a pillow with unnecessary force before tossing it onto the pile. “There,” he mutters, wiping his hands on his jeans before turning to you. His smirk falters when he sees you still standing there, his sweater swallowing you whole. “Jesus, you’re shivering.”
He crosses the space in two strides, hands sliding under the sweater to grip your waist, thumbs brushing your hipbones. “Should’ve warmed you up first,” he says, almost like he’s scolding himself, lips grazing your forehead before he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the couch like you weigh nothing. The blankets are soft against your bare skin, still warm from where they’d been tucked near the heater. Leon tucks you in with a precision that borders on obsessive, adjusting the pillows behind your head until you’re cocooned in warmth.
“Comfy?” he asks, kneeling beside the couch. His hair is mussed, lips swollen from kissing, and you nod, reaching out to trace the faint scar above his eyebrow, a relic from his childhood he’d never explained properly. Leon catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before letting go to rummage through his bag. He pulls out a hair tie, your hair tie, the one you’d lost months ago, and holds it up with a smirk. “Kept it.”
You blink. “You- what? Why?”
Leon shrugs, the gesture too casual for the way his fingers tighten around the hair tie. "Found it in my pocket the day I left for Spain." He shifts closer, knees bumping the edge of the couch as his free hand brushes your curls back from your forehead. "Couldn’t bring myself to throw it out." His thumb traces your cheekbone, lingering at the corner of your mouth where he’d bitten you earlier. "Turn around."
You hesitate, but the look in his eyes has you rolling onto your stomach before you can overthink it. Leon’s fingers sink into your curls immediately, gathering them with a gentleness that belies the roughness of his touch minutes ago. "Your hair’s a mess," he sighs in fake disdain, but there’s no real annoyance in it, just something warm and fond that makes your chest ache painfully.
The hair tie snaps into place with a soft snap, securing your curls into a loose bun at the nape of your neck. Leon’s palm skates down your spine, pausing at the dip of your lower back where the blankets have slipped. "Better?" he murmurs, lips brushing your shoulder blade.
You nod, but the motion is interrupted by a sudden yawn that cracks your jaw. Leon chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin as he tugs the blankets higher. "Exhausted, huh?" His voice is smug, but his hands are tender as they smooth over your ribs, tucking the edges of the sweater beneath you where it’s ridden up.
Leon’s hands pause at your waist, fingertips tracing idle circles through the fabric of his sweater. “Stay awake for me,” he insists, but his own voice is thick with exhaustion, the adrenaline of earlier fading into the quiet hum of the storm outside. The fireplace crackles, casting flickering light across his face when he leans over you, close enough that his breath ghosts over your cheekbone. “Gotta take your meds first.”
"You- " Your breath hitches when Leon’s fingers brush your temple, tucking a stray curl behind your ear with a tenderness that shouldn’t surprise you anymore. "How do you even know about my meds?"
Leon’s hand stills. For a heartbeat, the only sound is the fire popping and the wind clawing at the windows. Then he exhales, slow and deliberate, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear like he’s memorizing the shape. "You really think I wouldn’t notice?" His voice is softer now, stripped of its usual teasing edge. "You take them every shift at 9:15 PM. Always with that shitty chamomile tea you pretend to like because the cafe’s out of peppermint, since all the customers like that fake fucking medicinal tea thing from TikTok."
The specificity punches the air from your lungs. Leon’s gaze doesn’t waver, steady as his fingers find yours beneath the blankets, lacing them together. "You- " You swallow. "You kept track?"
"Christ." He chuckles in disbelief and drags a hand down his face. "You’re killing me with your obliviousness." The firelight catches the gold in his eyes when he leans in, close enough that his next words vibrate against your lips. "I memorized your schedule before I left. Knew you’d forget to eat if no one reminded you. Knew you’d skip breaks if the lunch rush ran late." His thumb presses into your pulse point, right where it’s rabbiting. "Knew you’d pretend you weren’t shaking after your three p.m. espresso. You never take care of yourself first. It worries me.”
Your breath hitches. Leon’s expression does something complicated. Fondness and frustration warring in the set of his jaw, before he reaches for your oversized tote bag beside the couch. He unzips the front pocket without hesitation, fingers closing around the orange prescription bottle you keep tucked behind your banged-up wallet. "Here." He shakes two pills into his palm like it’s routine, like he’s done this a hundred times in his head. "Water’s in my bag. Let me- "
"You’re infuriating," you blurt, but your voice cracks halfway through. Leon freezes, the pills cupped in his palm like an offering. The fire casts long shadows across his bare shoulders, highlighting the tension in his frame. "You fucking you memorized my medication schedule but couldn’t just say something before you left?"
Leon’s jaw clenches. For a second, you think he’ll deflect, crack a joke maybe, try to change the subject. But then his shoulders slump, and he presses the pills into your hand with a sigh. "I tried." His voice is raw. "That last shift before my flight? I waited forty fucking minutes by the dumpster out back because I heard you tell Claire you were taking the trash out." His fingers flex against your knee. "You never showed."
The memory slots into place with dizzying clarity, Claire grabbing your wrist at the last minute, insisting you help restock the syrup shelf instead. Your stomach lurches. "Oh."
Leon exhales sharply through his nose, fingers tightening around your knee before he forces them to relax. "Yeah. Oh." His voice is rough, but his thumb brushes your kneecap absently, like he can't help touching you even when he's frustrated. "Fucking syrup." The word comes out mangled, halfway between a laugh and a groan.
You swallow the pills dry, throat clicking, and Leon immediately scowls, snatching his water bottle from the floor. "Don’t do that, drink now," he practically growls in frustration, unscrewing the cap with too much force. The water sloshes when he shoves it into your hands, his gaze heavy on your throat as you swallow. "Infuriating," he echoes, but his voice has gone soft again, like he can’t stay mad at you for only so long, his fingers skimming your ankle where it's slipped free of the blankets.
The fire pops, sending embers skittering across the hearth. Leon watches them instead of you, jaw working. "Wrote you a letter," he admits suddenly, the words quiet in the space between you. "Left it in your locker with my spare key. Thought…" He breaks off, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Thought you'd find it when you got off shift."
Your stomach drops. "Leon."
Leon shakes his head before you can finish, his fingers curling around your ankle like he's afraid you'll vanish. "Don't," he cuts you off, thumb tracing the delicate bone. "Claire told me you never checked your locker that day. Too busy crying in the walk-in over spoiled milk." His lips twitch despite himself. "Dramatic as hell."
You kick him half-heartedly, but he catches your foot, pressing a kiss to your instep that makes your toes curl. "You were gone six months," you whisper. The firelight catches the silver chain around his neck. You’ve never seen it before today, and your breath hitches when you recognize that it’s a tiny espresso cup charm dangling from it. He must’ve gotten it to remind him of home. Of you. Oh god.
Leon follows your gaze, his expression softening. "Kept it on the whole time," he admits, rubbing the charm between his fingers. "Airport security fucking hated me. Probably thought, why does this grown man have a charm necklace on?" His laugh is rough, but his fingers are gentle when they brush your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized escaped. "No sad tears," he soothes lovingly, repeating his earlier warning, but his voice cracks on the last word. Cheater.
You surge forward, knocking the water bottle over in your haste to kiss him. Leon makes a startled noise against your mouth but doesn’t pull away, just settles into the couch and grips your hips, hauling you into his lap as the blankets slide to the floor. His skin is warm against yours, the chain pressing cool between your collarbones as you clutch at his shoulders.
Leon’s hands tighten on your hips as the kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, aching rhythm that makes your pulse spike. The water bottle rolls forgotten across the floor, but neither of you moves to grab it, too caught up in the way his fingers dig into your skin like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. When you finally pull back, breathless, his forehead drops to yours with a quiet thud. "Missed you," he murmurs, voice raw. The admission hangs between you, simple and devastating.
The fire pops, casting flickering light across his face, and you trace the scar above his eyebrow again, your thumb brushing the corner of his eye where his lashes flutter shut. "You have it?" you whisper. "The letter?"
Leon exhales sharply, his grip shifting to your waist as he leans back just enough to reach into his discarded messenger bag. The paper is crumpled, edges softened from months in his bag, but the creases are deliberate, folded and refolded like he’s read it a hundred times, ruminating on what he wrote. He hesitates before pressing it into your palm, his fingers lingering. "Don’t laugh," he begs, avoiding your gaze.
Like you’d ever laugh at this.
The paper smells faintly of his cologne and something else, Spain, maybe- no, that’s stupid, or maybe it’s the ghost of airport security scanners. You unfold it carefully, heart hammering, and Leon’s breath hitches when your fingers brush the ink. His handwriting is messier than you remember, lines scratched out and rewritten like he couldn’t get the words right.
The letter trembles in your hands, the words blurring as your eyes skim the first line: If you’re reading this, I chickened out again. Leon shifts beside you, his knee bouncing restlessly against the couch, but his fingers stay tangled in the hem of his sweater where it drapes over your thighs, anchoring you both.
"You wrote this the day you left?" you whisper, tracing the smudged ink where the pen had dug too deep.
Leon’s throat bobs. "Rewrote it three times," he admits, voice rough. "First draft was... a lot." His thumb brushes your kneecap absently, his gaze fixed on the fire like he can’t bear to watch you read it. "Figured ‘I’m in love with you, please wait for me’ was too strong for a goodbye note."
The paper crackles as your grip tightens. His words sink in slowly, each syllable punching the air from your lungs. I think about you when I’m supposed to be studying. I save the croissants you like from the pastry case even though they’re always stale by mid-afternoon. I keep your hair tie around my wrist like some pathetic Victorian heroine hoping when I come home you’ll still be there. The ink bleeds where the pen had hesitated: I don’t know how to do this without you.
The firelight flickers across the page, illuminating the last line: Come find me if you miss me too. Your throat tightens, fingers trembling against the worn paper. Leon exhales sharply beside you, his knee still bouncing against the couch like he’s bracing for impact. "Well?" he rasps, voice scraped raw. "Gonna say something?"
You swallow hard, the words lodging in your chest like shrapnel. The letter crumples slightly in your grip as you turn to him, tracing the tension in his jaw with your gaze. "You- " Your voice cracks. "You left this in my locker?"
Leon’s fingers twitch against your thigh, his thumb digging into the fabric of his sweater where it drapes over your skin. "Yeah," he mutters, eyes darting to the fire. "And then you fucking cried over milk for half of your closing shift instead of checking your goddamn locker, like I had planned."
A laugh punches out of you, wet, and disbelieving, and Leon’s gaze snaps back to you, his brow furrowing. "You’re impossible," you whisper, pressing the letter to your chest like it might steady your heartbeat. "Six months. You could’ve just- "
Leon cuts you off with a sharp, desperate kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair as he drags you closer. "Couldn't," he breathes against your lips, voice ragged. "Not over fucking text." His thumb digs into your hipbone, pressing hard enough to bruise, but you don't pull away. You just clutch the crumpled letter tighter. "Wanted to see your face when you read it."
The fire pops, sending sparks skittering across the hearth, and Leon exhales sharply through his nose, his forehead dropping to yours. "Every time I tried to call," he murmurs, thumb tracing your jaw, "I pictured you reading that goddamn letter in the break room, and- " His voice cracks. "Couldn't do it."
You press the worn paper between your palms, the edges digging into your skin. "I would've answered," you whisper, and Leon's breath hitches, his grip tightening on your waist like he's afraid you'll vanish. "Even if you'd just... sent a picture of this."
Leon groans, the sound rough against your throat as he kisses you again, harder this time, teeth catching your bottom lip. "Fuck," he mutters, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide in the firelight. "You really would've, huh?"
You nod, fingers tightening around the letter until the edges bite into your palm. Leon exhales sharply, his grip on your hips shifting like he doesn’t know whether to shake you or pull you closer. “Christ,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “Six fucking months of torture because you couldn’t take out the damn trash like you were supposed to, or check your damn locker. Your lack of time management skills tortures me sometimes, sweetheart.” His voice cracks on the last word, equal parts exasperation and longing, and something in your chest splinters.
Leon’s fingers trace the curve of your hip beneath his sweater, his touch featherlight despite the tension in his jaw. “You kept it, though,” you whisper, thumb brushing the crumpled edge of the letter. “All this time.”
“Obviously,” he scoffs, but there’s no heat in it, just a raw, aching honesty that makes your breath catch. His thumb presses into the dip of your waist, right where his belt had bitten into your skin earlier. “Couldn’t throw it away. Not when…” He breaks off, jaw working, and you watch the firelight flicker across his face as he struggles with the words. “Not when it was the closest thing I had to you half the world away.”
The admission hangs between you, heavy and fragile, and Leon’s gaze drops to your mouth like he’s memorizing the shape of your lips. Outside, the wind howls against the windows, but the fire pops, startling you both into quiet, relieved giggles. Leon’s fingers tighten on your hips, his thumbs brushing the bruises he’d left earlier with a reverence that makes your stomach flip.
Leon’s fingers trace the hem of his sweater where it clings to your thighs, his touch unbearably soft compared to the roughness of his voice when he finally speaks. “Read it,” he prompts, nudging the letter still pressed between your palms. “Out loud.” The request is quiet, almost hesitant, and you blink up at him, the firelight catching the gold flecks in his eyes.
Your throat tightens as you unfold the paper again, fingers trembling against the worn edges. Leon’s breath hitches when you start reading, his grip on your hips tightening imperceptibly. “‘If you’re reading this,’” you start again, voice cracking, “‘I chickened out again.’”
Leon exhales sharply through his nose, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as you continue. His lips brush your skin with every ragged breath, warm and damp, as you read his confession aloud, every word he’d scribbled, every desperate line he’d folded and refolded like a prayer. When you reach the end, his arms slide around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.
“Say it back,” he begs, voice raw against your neck. His fingers dig into your ribs, not quite painful, but enough to make you gasp. “Please.”
Your breath catches in your throat, the letter trembling against Leon’s chest where he’s pulled you tight. His heartbeat thunders under your palm, rapid and unsteady, and you press closer, curling your fingers into the warm skin of his back. “Leon,” you whisper, but his name fractures on your lips, barely audible over the storm outside.
He doesn’t rush you. Just holds you there, his breath hot against your temple, his hands sliding up your spine beneath his sweater with agonizing patience. When you finally tilt your head back to meet his gaze, his eyes are dark, and his pupils are blown wide, not with lust this time, but something raw and vulnerable. “I missed you,” you try, thumb brushing the hinge of his jaw. “Every damn day.”
Leon’s breath stutters, his grip tightening imperceptibly before he exhales, slow and deliberate. “That’s not what I asked,” he teases, but there’s no bite to it. His thumb traces your bottom lip, dragging it down slightly before releasing it with a soft pop. “Say it properly.”
The firelight flickers across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the way his lashes flutter when your fingers slide into his hair. “I love you,” you try again, and Leon’s entire body goes rigid, his breath hitching audibly. The words hang between you, fragile and weightless, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moves.
Leon's grip on your hips goes slack for a fraction of a second, just long enough for you to register the way his pupils dilate further. Then he's surging forward, his mouth crashing into yours with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs. The letter flutters to the floor, forgotten, as his hands fist in his own sweater still draped over your shoulders, dragging you impossibly closer. You’re sure if he could drag you beneath his skin, he’d try at this point.
"You- " He bites the word into your lower lip, teeth dragging just shy of painful before he soothes it with his tongue. "Fucking- " His hands slide up to cradle your face, thumbs pressing into the hinges of your jaw as he kisses you again, deeper this time, like he's trying to carve the confession from your lungs. "Say it again," he demands against your mouth, voice wrecked.
"I- love- you- " you gasp between his onslaught of kisses, and Leon makes a noise halfway between a whimper and a happy sob, his forehead dropping to yours with a thud. His fingers tremble where they tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to make you arch into him.
"Six months," he groans, the words ragged. His lips skate down your throat, pausing to suck a bruise into the pulse point there. "Six fucking months of pretending I didn't want this," He breaks off with a sharp exhale, his teeth scraping your collarbone. "Christ. Should've thrown you over my shoulder and dragged you to Spain with me."
Leon’s laughter is rough against your skin as he kisses his way back up your throat, his fingers tightening in your hair when you squirm. “Okay?” he checks in, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. The firelight catches the flush high on his cheeks, the way his lashes flutter when your fingers trace the curve of his ear. You nod, but the motion is sluggish, exhaustion and the lingering haze of pleasure making your limbs heavy. Leon’s smirk softens at the edges, his thumb brushing the swell of your bottom lip. “Good girl. Stay awake long enough for me to get you under the blankets properly. Can’t have you die from hyperthemia right after confessing your undying devotion to me, right?”
He shifts, lifting you effortlessly despite your halfhearted protest, and the sudden movement makes you yelp, fingers scrambling for purchase against his shoulders. Leon chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest as he adjusts his grip, one arm hooked beneath your knees while the other supports your back. “Relax,” he chuckles, lips brushing your temple. “I’ve got you, promise.”
The nest of blankets is warm when he lowers you onto it properly this time, the fire casting flickering shadows across his torso as he kneels beside you. His movements are methodical, tucking the edges around your shoulders, adjusting the pillow beneath your head, but his fingers linger at the hollow of your throat, tracing the bruise he’d left earlier with something akin to reverence. “Leon,” you reach for him sleepily, catching his wrist before he can pull away. His pulse jumps beneath your fingertips, rapid and uneven.
He exhales sharply through his nose, his free hand coming up to card through your curls. “Yeah?”
His thumb traces the shell of your ear as he waits for you to speak. The fire pops behind him, casting gold across the sharp angles of his face, and you swallow hard, suddenly hyperaware of the way his gaze dips to your throat when your pulse flutters. "Stay," you slur, fingers tightening around his wrist. The word hangs between you, fragile as the snow piling against the windows.
Leon stills. For a heartbeat, the only sound is the wind howling through the cafe's eaves and the quiet hitch of his breath when your thumb brushes his racing pulse. Then his shoulders slump, a ragged exhale escaping him as he leans down to press his forehead to yours. "Not leaving,” he soothes, voice sleepy. "Like I could leave now. Snow’s got us trapped anyway." His fingers skim your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. The firelight catches the gold in his eyes, warm and impossibly fond, as he drags the pad of his thumb across your lower lip. "Move over, cutie."
You shift obediently, the blankets rustling as Leon slides in beside you, his body a solid line of heat against your back. His arm hooks around your waist, tugging you flush against his chest with a quiet grunt. "Better?" he asks, lips brushing the nape of your neck where your hair has begun to escape its bun in tendrils. You nod, pressing into him with a contented sigh, and Leon hums approvingly, his hand splaying across your stomach beneath his borrowed sweater.
Outside, the storm rages, wind rattling the windows, snow piling in drifts against the door, but here, cocooned in soft blankets with Leon's breath warm against your shoulder, the world feels impossibly small. Safe. His fingers trace idle patterns through the fabric, skating higher until his palm settles over your ribs, right where your heartbeat thrums beneath his touch. "Still awake?" he asks, his eyes still shut and his voice thick with exhaustion.
Leon’s fingers twitch against your ribs when you don’t answer right away. You can feel the exact moment he realizes you’ve drifted off; his breath hitches, then evens out deliberately slow against the back of your neck. “Yeah, that’s good,” he praises to the empty air, lips brushing your shoulder blade. “Get some rest, baby.”
His arm tightens around your waist as he shifts, careful not to jostle you as he reaches over to tug the blankets higher. The sweater he’d draped over you earlier, his sweater, still smelling faintly of his cologne and the airport, rides up when you curl into him, and Leon exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers skating along the exposed strip of skin above your hipbone. “Too cute,” he thinks out loud.
____________
The fire pops later in the night, startling you both awake, and Leon’s hand splays across your stomach instinctively, holding you steady. “Shh, you’re okay, you’re safe, m’here,” he soothes when you tense, thumb brushing over the dip of your navel through the fabric. “Just the fire, kay?” His voice is rough with exhaustion, but his fingers are gentle as they trace the hem of the sweater where it’s ridden up your thighs. “Go back to sleep.”
__________
Leon’s fingers twitch against your ribs when you stir hours later, his grip tightening reflexively before softening again as you blink awake. The fire has burned low, casting the cafe in amber shadows, and for a disorienting moment, you can’t remember where the fuck you are. Then Leon shifts behind you, his exhale warm against the nape of your neck, and the events of the night come crashing back. His arm tightens around your waist when you try to turn, a quiet grunt escaping him. “Stay put,” he rasps, voice thick with sleep. His lips brush your shoulder blade, lingering over the bruise he’d sucked into your skin earlier. “Too early. Don’ wanna.”
You crane your neck to peer at the windows, where dawn struggles to penetrate the relentless snowfall. The storm has eased slightly, but fat flakes still swirl beyond the glass, piling in drifts against the door. Leon’s hand slides up your stomach beneath the sweater, his palm settling over your sternum where your heartbeat stutters at his touch. “Told you,” he chuckles sleepily, thumb brushing the underside of your breast. “Nowhere to go, cutie.” His voice is smug, but his fingers tremble faintly against your skin.
You twist in his arms despite his muttered protests, rolling onto your back to face him properly. Leon’s hair is mussed from sleep, his bangs flopping into his eyes, and the sight sends a pang of affection straight to your chest. His gaze drops to your mouth immediately, lashes fluttering when you reach up to brush his hair back. “Hi,” you giggle, and Leon exhales sharply through his nose, his grip on your hipbone tightening.
Leon's fingers twitch against your hipbone, not pulling you closer, not pushing you away, just touching like he still can't believe you're here. His throat works when you trace the curve of his ear, your thumb brushing the shell of it with deliberate slowness. "Morning," he rasps, voice wrecked from sleep. His lips stretch into a lazy grin when your fingers drift lower, skating along his jawline.
The storm outside has softened to a quiet hush, snowflakes drifting past the windows in lazy spirals. Leon's gaze flicks toward them briefly before settling back on your face, his lashes casting shadows across his cheeks in the low light. His fingers flex against your skin, warm and rough, and you press closer instinctively, arching into his touch with a sigh.
Leon makes a noise low in his throat in amusement and rolls onto his back, dragging you with him until you're sprawled across his chest. "Christ," he groans, his hands sliding up your spine beneath the sweater. "You're gonna kill me. You’re all soft and warm- fuck me," His voice is rough, but his fingers are so gentle as they trace the notches of your vertebrae, pausing at the nape of your neck to toy with the loose strands of your hair escaping the confines of the bun Leon made the night before.
You prop yourself up on his chest, elbows digging into his ribs just enough to make him grunt, and Leon's lips twitch, halfway between a smirk and a grimace, when you tilt your head at him. "What?" he teases, fingers brushing through your curls. The gold in his eyes is brighter in the dawn light, pupils still blown wide with sleep and something softer you can't name.
"What was Spain like? You haven't told me anything yet."
Leon’s fingers pause mid-twirl in your curls when you ask about his first week in Spain. He huffs a laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest beneath your cheek. “Got lost three times trying to find my dorm,” he admits, thumb brushing the shell of your ear. “Kept turning the wrong way down alleys because- fuck- the sidewalks were narrower than I thought.” His fingers resume their idle twisting, separating a stubborn tangle with careful precision. “Found this tiny bakery by accident, though. Owner kept giving me free churros because I, ‘looked like a sad puppy.’”
You snort, and Leon pinches your hip in retaliation, but his grip loosens immediately when you squirm. “They were right,” you tease into his collarbone, and Leon’s groan is undercut by the way his arms tighten around you. His palm slides up your spine beneath the sweater, warm and grounding, as he describes the cobblestone streets at dawn, how the smell of frying dough and bitter coffee would seep through his window. His voice dips lower when he mentions writing letters he never sent, fingers stilling in your hair.
The confession hangs between you, fragile as the icicles forming outside. You twist carefully, draping yourself over his chest to watch the snow drift past the windows. Leon’s hands settle on your waist, thumbs tracing your hipbones through the fabric as you tell him about the lavender honey tarts you perfected during his absence, how Mrs. Henderson from the flower shop would bring in fresh sprigs every Thursday in exchange for a few danishes.
“Missed your baking,” Leon muses into your hair. His nose brushes your temple when you mention the failed attempts at chocolate-orange croissants, lips quirking against your skin. “Would’ve traded every fucking churro in Madrid for one of your cinnamon rolls. Nothing beats your treats.”
The admission is so soft you almost miss it, but Leon doesn’t let you dwell; his fingers resume their lazy path through your curls, separating a stubborn knot near your nape with exaggerated patience. “Tell me about the- what was it? The thing with cardamom you mentioned before I left,” he prompts, nudging your knee with his own. His touch lingers, roughened fingertips skating along your inner thigh beneath the sweater’s hem.
You swallow hard, recounting the disastrous first batch where you’d confused teaspoons for tablespoons. Leon’s laughter rumbles beneath you, his grip shifting to cradle you closer as you describe the smoke alarm incident. His thumb finds the hollow behind your ear, pressing gently when your voice wavers, some unspoken reassurance that he’s listening, that he cares about these mundane details that filled his absence.
Outside, the wind shifts, no longer hurling snow against the glass with the same violence. Leon notices before you do, his gaze flicking toward the windows where the light has softened to a dull silver. “Looks like we might make it out before dinner,” he observes, but his arms don’t loosen around you. His palm slides up to cradle the back of your skull, fingers tightening in your hair when you try to sit up. “Not yet,” he adds, quieter now. His lips brush your forehead before settling against your hairline. “Give it another hour.”
_____________
The snow has dwindled to sparse flurries by the time you finish righting the café, chairs straightened, espresso machines wiped down, the makeshift bed by the fireplace dismantled with fake confidence under Leon’s hands. He catches you staring at the counter where he’d pinned you hours earlier, his smirk sharpening when your cheeks burn. “Later, little demon,” he teases, hooking his pinky with yours as he passes you the spare keys to lock up.
Outside, the parking lot glitters under a thin crust of ice, the morning sun fracturing across its surface. You’re halfway to your beat-up Honda when the sound of boots skidding on ice makes you turn. Only to see Leon sprinting back toward you with the reckless abandon of a man who’s spent six months dreaming of this. He crashes into you, palms cradling your face as he kisses you breathless against your car door, his mouth warm and insistent. “Come over,” he demands between kisses, teeth catching your lower lip. “Tonight. For dinner. For- fuck- for anything. God, for everything. Please.”
You laugh happily into his mouth, hands fisting in his jacket as he nips at your jaw. “You’re ridiculous,” you giggle, but Leon just groans, clearly embarrassed, forehead dropping to your shoulder.
“Say yes,” he mutters into your collar, fingers digging into your hips. “Or I’ll follow you home like a stray. Don’t test me, sweetheart.”
The threat shouldn’t send heat pooling low in your stomach, but Leon’s always had a way of turning even his most absurd declarations into something devastatingly earnest. You card your fingers through his wind-tangled hair, relishing the way he shivers at your touch. “What are you cooking?” you tease, and Leon stiffens, before lifting his head with a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Takeout?” he tries sheepishly. “But I’ll plate it fancy.” His thumbs brush your cheekbones, his gaze dropping to your mouth again. “Say yes.”
You do, of course, you fucking do, and the way Leon’s entire body sags with relief would be comical if it didn’t make your chest ache. He kisses you again, slower this time, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you’re dizzy with it. “Good,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Now go home and sleep some more. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Leon doesn’t let you leave without one last kiss, well, three last kisses, his hands roaming your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of you, and by the time you’re finally in your car, your lips are swollen and your hair is a frizzy mess. You watch him through the windshield as he jogs backward toward his Jeep, his grin sharp even from a distance. He doesn’t look away until you’ve pulled out of the lot, his silhouette growing smaller in your rearview mirror until the snow swallows him whole.
______________
Your apartment feels ridiculously empty after the intimacy of the café, the quiet pressing against your eardrums like cotton. You peel off his sweater, still warm from his body, and fold it carefully on your pillow before collapsing face-first into the mattress. Sleep comes in fits and starts, interrupted by phantom touches, Leon’s hands on your hips, his teeth at your throat, until your alarm jolts you awake at six.
The shower does little to clear the haze of exhaustion, steam curling around your shoulders as you scrub at the lingering marks Leon left on your collarbones. You’re halfway through detangling your curls with conditioner when your phone buzzes- three rapid-fire vibrations that send your pulse skittering.
Leon: downstairs. brought coffee.
Leon: also ur favorite almond croissant from that place u like
Leon: hurry up i’m freezing my ass off out here babe
The sight of him leaning against his Jeep steals your breath, black jeans clinging to his thighs, sleeves rolled up to expose the corded muscle of his forearms. Snowflakes cling to his lashes as he lifts his head, his grin widening when he spots you in the doorway. “There you are,” he grins, pushing off the hood to meet you halfway. His hands cradle the coffee cup against your cheek, the heat seeping into your skin as he leans down to kiss you. “Missed you,” he admits against your lips, voice rough.
“You saw me literally 5 hours ago, Leon,” you deadpan, running your hands through his snow-kissed hair.
“And? That’s not what I said. I said I missed you.” Leon responds, his teasing smirk so large you almost want to smack it off his face.
Leon's fingers are icy when he presses the coffee into your hands. The almond croissant dangles from his other hand, its paper wrapper already damp with melted snowflakes. “Eat this in the car,” he orders, pinching your thigh when you protest that you’re about to eat dinner anyway. “I didn’t wait forty fucking minutes in line for it to get cold. Eat it, baby.”
The Jeep’s heater roars to life as Leon cranks it up, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel in a restless rhythm that makes your pulse stutter. He catches you staring, of course, he does, and his smirk is all teeth when he reaches over to tug your seatbelt tighter over your breasts. “Eyes on the road, sweetheart,” he teases, but his thumb lingers on the strap where it crosses over your chest, pressing just hard enough to make you gasp. Bastard.
Snow crunches under the tires as he pulls out of your apartment complex, the streets still slick with ice despite the plows’ best efforts. Leon drives with the same reckless precision he does everything else, one hand on the wheel, the other tracing idle patterns on your knee beneath the hem of your sweater over your leg warmers. “So,” he muses after a too-long silence, his voice carefully casual. “You gonna tell me why you’re vibrating out of your skin, or do I have to guess?”
You choke on your coffee. Leon’s fingers tighten on your knee, not enough to hurt, just enough to ground you as you cough. “I’m not- ” you start, embarrassed, but Leon cuts you off with a snort, his thumb brushing the inside of your thigh.
“Bullshit.” The word is soft, almost fond. His gaze flicks from the road to your face, lingering on the way your teeth worry your lower lip. “You’ve been wound up since I picked you up. What’s going on in that head of yours? It’s me, you don’t gotta be nervous.”
Leon’s thumb presses harder against your thigh when you hesitate, not demanding, just insistent. The Jeep idles at a red light, snowflakes dissolving against the windshield as you fumble for the right words. “I just...” Your voice cracks, and Leon’s grip shifts instantly, his palm flattening over your knee in silent reassurance. “What if this changes things?” you blurt, staring at the coffee cup trembling in your hands. “At work. With us.”
The light turns green. Leon doesn’t move. His exhale is sharp, fogging the windshield for a heartbeat before he twists in his seat to face you fully. “Hey.” His fingers curl under your chin, tilting your face toward his. Snowlight catches the gold in his eyes, turning them molten. “You think I’d risk fucking this up now?” His thumb brushes your lower lip, smearing a stray drop of coffee. “I waited six months to hear you say you love me. You’re stuck with me.”
The car behind them honks. Leon flips them off without looking, but his smirk softens when you laugh. He eases the car forward, one hand returning to your thigh like he can’t bear not touching you. “Besides,” he adds, voice dropping to a rasp, “Mrs. Henderson has been placing bets on us since your first shift at the Griffin. Owe her fifty bucks if we don’t kiss in the stockroom by Wednesday. She knew I was getting the almond croissant for you earlier, too.”
You sputter, and Leon’s laughter fills the Jeep, rich and warm. His fingers lace through yours, squeezing gently as he navigates the icy streets. “Relax,” he soothes, lifting your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles. “Nothing’s changing unless you want it to.” His lips linger, breath hot against your skin. “Except maybe how often I get to do this.”
_______________
Leon’s apartment smells like cedar and the lingering musk of his new cologne, familiar now, after the hours spent tangled together in the café. He toes off his boots by the door, catching your wrist when you try to do the same. “Wait,” he stops you, pressing you against the wall with a quiet thump. His lips find yours in the dim hallway, tasting of coffee and snow, his hands framing your face like you’re something sacred. “Had to do that,” he murmurs against your mouth, breath uneven. “Been thinking about kissing you in my doorway since Spain.”
The takeout lies forgotten on the counter, steam curling from the containers as Leon leads you to his bedroom, not pushing, just guiding, his fingers laced through yours. His room is sparse but lived-in: a rumpled duvet, textbooks stacked haphazardly on the desk, a single framed photo of the café staff on the nightstand. You reach for it, but Leon catches your hand, pulling you back against his chest. “Later,” he promises, nuzzling the nape of your neck. “Right now, I just want you here.”
He tugs you onto the bed with a quiet grunt, his arms banding around your waist as he rolls onto his back, dragging you with him until you’re sprawled across his chest. The remote clatters to the floor as he fumbles for it, but Leon doesn’t seem to care. His fingers are already tracing the hem of your sweater, skating along your thigh where your wool leg warmers are tugged to the high heavens, with practiced ease. “The Office? You always say it’s your wind-down show.” Leon asks, though he’s already pulling up the episode. You nod sheepishly, and Leon’s smirk softens, his thumb brushing the inside of your knee. “Knew it.”
Leon’s fingers trace lazy circles on your thigh as the opening credits roll, his touch warm through your layers of clothing. You can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your cheek where it’s pressed against his chest, a little too fast, betraying the calm act. When you tilt your head to glance up at him, he’s already looking down, his free hand paused mid-air with a forkful of lo mein. “What?” he asks around the bite, chopsticks clattering against the takeout container balanced on his stomach.
The noodles slip from Leon’s fork when you blurt it out, the question that’s been buzzing under your skin since the café, since the counter, since his hands first learned the shape of you. “What happens now?” you whisper, staring at the lo mein stain spreading across his shirt like it holds the answers. Leon goes perfectly still, the chopsticks dangling from his fingers. The Office plays forgotten on the screen, Michael Scott’s voice muffled beneath the sudden roar of blood in your ears.
Leon exhales through his nose, slowly, before setting the takeout container aside with deliberate care. His hands find your waist, dragging you up his body until your knees bracket his hips, his palms skimming your thighs. “Now,” he muses, tilting his face up to yours, “I get to do this whenever I fucking want.” His lips brush yours tenderly as soft as snowfall. “Starting with living like this every goddamn day.” His teeth catch your lower lip, tugging gently. “If you’ll have me.”
You blink down at him. “As…?”
Leon’s groan vibrates through your chest where you’re pressed against him. “Christ, you’re gonna make me say it? Fine.” His hands slide up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks. “Be my girlfriend.” The words are rough, like they’ve been waiting in his throat for months. “Officially. Stupidly. The whole fucking nine yards.”
“Are you- ” you start, but Leon cuts you off with a bruising kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair.
“Yes,” he growls against your mouth. “Six months in Spain and all I thought about was your fucking cinnamon rolls and the way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating.” His teeth graze your jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “You really didn’t notice? The extra shifts I picked up just to work with you? The ‘lost’ pens I kept ‘borrowing’ so I’d have an excuse to lean over you? I know you secretly like it.” His laugh is half-strangled as he palms your hips almost possessively. “I left you a goddamn love letter in your locker, sweetheart. C’mon.”
The Office plays forgotten on the screen, Jim’s smirk mid-frame as Leon rolls you onto your back, his weight settling between your thighs. His nose brushes yours, his breath warm with the lingering spice of lo mein. “I’ve been down catastrophically bad for you since you scolded me for putting the espresso cups in the wrong cabinet,” he admits, voice dropping to a rasp. “Called my mom crying about it. She still has the screenshots of the texts.”
You squirm beneath him, heat crawling up your neck. “You- what?”
Leon’s grin is all teeth as he pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other tracing the hem of your skirt. “Oh, we’re revisiting all my embarrassing moments tonight?” His thumb dips beneath the fabric, skating along your inner thigh. “Should I tell you about the time I practiced confessing in the walk-in fridge and Jill walked in on me holding a zucchini like a microphone?”
A surprised laugh bursts from your lips, and Leon kisses it from your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours with a groan. “That’s my girl,” he chuckles against your lips. “Was wondering when you’d stop overthinking.” His grip on your wrists loosens, his fingers lacing through yours as he presses your joined hands into the mattress. “It’s simple, sweetheart. You’re mine now. I’m yours. We’ll figure out the rest as we go, yeah? Like couples do.”
Snow taps gently against the bedroom window, the storm’s last gasp as Leon noses along your collarbone, his stubble scraping your skin. “For the record,” he adds between kisses, “I did notice the lavender honey tarts were only on the menu Thursdays when Mrs. Henderson came in.” His teeth drag over your pulse point. “Same way I noticed you always wore that stupid bow hair clip on my closing shifts.”
You gasp when his knee nudges your thighs wider, the denim rough against your bare skin. “Leon- ”
“Tell me you want this,” he interrupts, voice rough. His thumbs brush the delicate skin of your inner wrists where they’re pinned above your head. “Not just the sex. All of it. The messy mornings. The shared shifts. Me, breathing down your neck while you try to glaze danishes.” His smirk is all teeth when you squirm. “Say it. I need to hear it, baby.”
The Office plays forgotten on the TV, the laughter muffled beneath the rush of blood in your ears. Leon watches you with pupils blown wide, his chest rising and falling against yours with each breath. “I want it, so badly you don’t even know, Leon,” you admit shakily, and Leon’s entire body shudders against you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder with a shaky exhale.
“Good.” His lips find yours again, softer this time, his hands releasing your wrists to cradle your face instead. “Because I already told Mrs. Henderson we’re splitting the fifty bucks and she should have it in cash when she stops by next Thursday with the lavender. ”
You snort, and Leon nips at your chin in retaliation before rolling off you with a groan. The sudden loss of his warmth makes you whine, but he just drags you back against his chest, your spine slotting perfectly against his front. His arm snakes around your waist, palm splaying across your stomach as he nudges the takeout containers aside with his foot. “Eat,” he orders, pressing a lo mein noodle to your lips. “Before it gets cold. You don’t eat enough.”
You take the bite obediently, but Leon doesn’t pull his hand away, his thumb traces your lower lip instead, catching a stray drop of sauce. “You’re really sure?” you ask, anxiously, around the mouthful, watching his face carefully. “About…everything?”
Leon’s laughter rumbles through you, his breath warm against your neck. “Christ, you’re killing me.” His fingers tighten on your hipbone, tugging you flush against him until you can feel every inch of his certainty. “Yes, I’m one hundred percent sure. I was sure when I spent three hours trying to fold origami swans for your birthday last year.” His teeth graze your earlobe. “I was sure when I memorized your coffee order just to ‘accidentally’ bring you the wrong one so you’d scold me.” His palm slides up your ribcage, fingers spreading beneath your sweater. “I was sure when I cried to my fucking barber in Madrid because I saw you post a picture out with your friends and I was worried you’d forget about me.”
Your breath hitches, and Leon presses closer, his lips finding the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “You think I’d risk fucking this up now?” His voice drops to a rasp, rougher than the whiskey he sneaks into his coffee on slow shifts. “I waited six months to hear you say you love me.”
The remote digs into your thigh when Leon reaches for it, his fingers brushing yours as he adjusts the volume. The Office plays softly in the background, Jim’s smirk flickering across the screen as Leon tugs you back against his chest. His heartbeat thrums steady beneath your palm where you’ve pressed it to his sternum, a little too fast, betraying the calm act. He’s nervous too. Oh god.
Leon exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, before turning his face into your hair. “For the record,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple, “That stupid bow hair clip you always wore? Drove me fucking insane.” His fingers trace the curve of your ear, down to the hinge of your jaw. “Especially when you’d chew on the end of it while counting the register.” His thumb presses into the hollow beneath your chin, tilting your face toward his. “Almost kissed you right there in the stockroom once.”
You blink up at him. “Seriously?”
Leon’s grin is all teeth as he rolls you beneath him, his knees bracketing your hips. “June seventeenth,” he says, like it’s a date burned into his skin. “You were wearing that stupid apron with the coffee stains, and I- God- ” His breath stutters when your fingers curl into his shirt. “I almost ruined everything because you licked frosting off your thumb and moaned about the buttercream.”
Heat floods your cheeks, and Leon laughs before ducking his head to nip at your collarbone. “Yeah, that sound,” he chuckles against your skin. “Haunted me in every fucking hostel bathroom from Barcelona to Seville.”
You mumble something incoherent even to your own ears, your lashes fluttering when Leon’s fingers card through your curls, gentler now, slower, like he’s trying to lull you back to sleep. The screen’s blue glow paints his collarbones in fractured light as you turn your face into his throat, breathing in the cedar-and-salt scent of him. His pulse thrums steady beneath your lips, a metronome counting down to unconsciousness.
Leon’s chuckle is a rumble against your temple when you jerk awake for the third time, your nose smushed into the hollow of his throat. "Stubborn little thing, aren’t you, honey?" he chuckles fondly, his thumb catching your chin to tilt your face up. The TV casts his features in flickering shadows. "C’mon, just close your eyes. I’ll be here when you wake up."
You dig your fingers into his ribs in retaliation, relishing the way his breath hitches. "Not tired," you lie, your voice slurred with sleep. The sweater’s collar slips off one shoulder when you shift, exposing the love bite he’d left earlier, a plum-dark smudge against your skin that makes his gaze darken deliciously.
"Liar." Leon’s palm slides up your spine, pressing you flush against him until there’s no space left to argue. His heartbeat thrums beneath your cheek. "Sleep," he soothes. "I’ll rewind whatever you miss."
You want to protest, want to memorize this moment, the weight of his thigh between yours, the way his chest rises and falls beneath your palm, but exhaustion wins. Your lashes flutter shut just as Leon’s lips brush your forehead, his exhale warm against your skin.
Reign Trilogy (Completed - 83k): re9!leon x afab!teacher I smut/angst
Chapter One – Reign Over Mystery I You receive a call from someone anonymous. The caller? A man who's hellbent on getting you back. (19k)
Chapter Two – Grab The Reigns I Leon made you a promise to get you back. This time he would take full action. Will there be a catch? (22k)
Chapter Three – End The Reign I Leon realizes that there was a much bigger reason to come back into your life, after all. (Part One I Part Two – 42k)
Special Girl: re9!leon!lawyer!leon x collegestudent!dbfsdaughter!reader I smut/angst
Leon was an established titan of the legal sector. However, facing a potential divorce of his own, he found comfort in his best friend’s daughter: you—the sweetest sin he’d ever tasted I Part One (14k) I Part Two (33k)
Ice Boulevard National Anthem: businessmogul!leon!re9 x ex-playboybunny!secretary!femalereader
Leon Scott Kennedy is a powerful business tycoon and one of the very few at the top one percent of the corporate world. He has connections everywhere—lawyers, investors, lobbyists, government officials. To put it simply, he’s searching for a new secretary after driving his last one to quit by putting her through literal hell. Failure after failure: even highly qualified candidates couldn’t meet his standards. So when you sat across from him, he was flabbergasted—almost appalled—by your audacity. Your résumé was surprisingly simple: a high school diploma and a past as a Playboy Bunny cover star in 2020. You were young, still in your early twenties. And that was it. So, was Leon going to give you a chance anyway? Surprisingly, yes. And that ring on your finger? Leon happens to despise it, for reasons unknown. Whatever it takes to wipe that innocent, beautiful smile off your face, he’s determined to push you to your limits to see if you can handle working for him. One thing is certain: he will test you and make you work for your position. (release unknown)
Father Figure Daddy Complex: stepfather!leon x stepdaughter!reader I gynecologist!leon x onlyfans!reader I smut/angst
Growing up with a dad who struggled with alcoholism left quite the mark on you. You’re blunt, defensive, and basically untouchable. You live with your mom and run an onlyfans, mostly because it lets you flip the script: you get paid to let men look, but they can’t actually get near you. Then there’s Leon. He’s dating your mom, and he’s... persistent, to say the least. No matter how many sharp comments you throw his way or how hard you try to freeze him out, he just doesn’t budge. He’s patient, which honestly just makes you more suspicious. The breaking point comes when a guy you actually liked drops you the second he finds out what you do for a living. You come home a total wreck, the "fortress" finally crumbling. That's when you catch leon in a quiet moment and realize he’s not the "perfect guy" you wanted to hate. He’s got his own heavy history with a messed-up father, and suddenly, you’re not the only one in the room with "daddy issues." Finding that common ground changes everything. Leon vows to be the person you never had. He steps up as a protector and a rock, determined to show you that even if your past was broken, your future doesn't have to be. he’s there to fill the gaps and prove that some men actually stay. (coming soon)
MUSIC DRABBLES
Cruise Control: After another wonderful date, Leon drives the two of you home, his hand on the wheel and his heart on his sleeve.
Bottles & Lights: dsoagent!leon x r&bsinger!reader: Your life as an R&B singer isn’t easy. Especially not with a man by your side who keeps you up at night, with two options: to make you moan or cry. After calling it quits with him, whatever tie you had with him, several new people from his circle start following you on social media, with your fanbase right behind you, when the man with whom you have shared an excruciating few months begins engaging with your content again. (coming soon)
What do you think Ashley Graham's degree was? I'm writing a fanfic where Ashley joins the U.S. Secret Service as a handler, while starting out as a trainee. I was wondering if people would think her degree matters, especially considering her chosen career path (in this fanfiction) and her status as the current president's daughter.
Can anyone please write about a Leon x Reader, where they argue about how they should be raising their kids? Could be Leon between RE4 to RE9. Depending on how old your choice of Leon will be, the kids could be young or be teens. Could also be fluff or angst or a lil bit of both (my heart doesn't mind what emotions it will feel, it just wants to FEEL). Maybe Leon would want to raise them to be tough so he doesn't wanna baby them too much, and reader wants their kids to just be kids. Or it could be the other way around 🤔
I leave it all to your imagination hihi I don't mind much about the specifics, just that the main plot stays.
