Author's Note: thanks for all the love on the first two installments of this series guys! i hope you're ready for some re4 shenanigans :)) buckle in this is a long one (so much so i had to split it into two parts, whoops)
Summary: A lot can change in six years. Sometimes, things don't get better, just different.
Word Count: 15.1k (31.4k Total)
Content: 18+, smut, re4!leon, doctor!reader, angst, gore, mentions of past child abuse, medical inaccuracies, parasites, mind control, death & grief, everyone flirts with reader, jealous!leon, yearning yearning and more yearning but they're also deeply traumatized individuals, undefined situationship hell, oral (f!receiving), p in v sex (unprotected), little bit of butt stuff as a treat
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Tag List: @aspinny @rjreins @kaitieskidmore97 @animegamerfox @rubixgsworld @celesteelysia @sharkalina666 @tilliebilly @kikistarz17 @0kauy @liveresident @lunitas09 @meowieees (let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this series!)
The trek across the battlements is a nightmare, to put it mildly, especially with another one of those gigantic, mutated creatures hurling boulders at you and Leon. When you encounter one of these 'plaga' for the first time outside of a host, it skitters around and attaches itself to a monk to puppet around.
"Hey, remember that movie you rea—"
"Yup," you answer as you back up, shooting at the advancing creature.
"Isn't it just like—"
"Yup!"
By some miracle (read as: a cannon), you make it back to the courtyard, ending up in a sitting room overlooking it, where you find a familiar blonde. You realize with a frown that she's crying as she sits on a couch facing away from you and Leon.
Slowly, the two of you make your way over, trying not to startle her. When she sees you, she shuffles to the further side of the couch. "Stay back," she cries. "I might hurt you again." She glances down at her hands, clutched into fists, before looking up between you two. "I'm so scared. When that happened… I wasn't myself anymore. I was something else."
"That must have been terrifying, I know—" Leon inches forward, and she flinches back, before staring down at his arms, where the blackened veins are more pronounced as the infection progresses.
"You too?" she asks, voice small. He purses his lips and nods, and she stares over at you with wide eyes, as if questioning whether you're infected as well, but you only shake your head.
"It's okay to be afraid, y'know," Leon says as he carefully sits down next to her. "But you can't run. You gotta keep moving forward."
You're quiet. At what point does moving forward become running, you ask yourself. It's a line that's been so blurred for you the past six years, you're not even sure of the answer.
"We will beat this," he assures her. "Together."
She frowns. "I don't know if I can."
"You can," he says. "Just give me a heads-up before you stab me next time, okay?"
She laughs weakly, and when you outstretch the knife toward her, she seems startled, glancing between you and Leon. "I—"
"You heard him," you say. "Just give him a heads-up."
Tentatively, she takes the knife, regarding it with care. "How do you do it?" she asks, focused on you this time. "How are you so brave?"
The question claws at something deep inside you, trying to rip it from your chest. You're hesitant to let it, but looking into her eyes, so full of fear, you allow it to latch on. "Can I tell you a secret?" you ask as you squat down in front of her.
She nods quickly and leans forward. "Of course."
"Six years ago, I was in Raccoon City during the outbreak."
She gasps.
"I thought I was going to die. I was alone and so scared—" You pause, remembering the hospital—how hopeless you felt. "—and I was so angry. Angry that I was going to die alone and scared. Angry that my own good intentions landed me in that mess."
Leon watches you carefully—listening to what you're saying so closely. You've never really talked about it—the things you endured before you found each other at the R.P.D. He's never asked because he always thought those memories were ones you'd want to keep buried.
"I was so angry that I decided I wasn't going to let that happen. I wasn't just going to sit there and let myself succumb to whatever horrible fate I deserved. Then I met someone—" A small smile tugs at your face as you remember rookie cop Leon Kennedy—hands held high in the air as you held him at gun point, squinting as you shone your flashlight in his face. "—and suddenly it was a bit easier, knowing that we were surviving together. Having someone to lean on, someone to fight for."
There's a wistful expression on your face that makes Ashley smile, too.
"Even still, I was so scared—I am so scared—but being brave means doing the hard thing even when you're afraid, especially when you're afraid." You grasp her hand, firm and present. "And you don't have to do it alone."
Tears gather in her eyes. "Yeah," she says softly. "Okay."
"Ready to get a move on?" Leon asks.
You pull her up with you, squeezing her hand tightly, a reminder to let her know that you're here with her.
As you're making your way to the door, Leon stops, pressing a hand to his ear. "Luis, where are you?" He stops, annoyance twisting his face. "I'll show you charming, pal!" After another pause, he sighs, his hand dropping to his side. "I can't believe that guy."
"What happened?" Ashley asks.
"He got caught up in some trouble," Leon answers.
"Of course he did," you mutter.
"Well, we can't just leave him, right?" she says.
You and Leon exchange a look—unfortunately, no, you can't; you wouldn't.
The maze is annoying but manageable; the puzzle, once you get into the Grand Hall, however, makes you question whether you're doomed to a life of solving these inane challenges to do something as simple as… open a door.
As your luck would have it, as soon as you complete it, you and Leon are trapped in a cage by the zealots, leaving Ashley on her own as she runs through the door you've unlocked. You watch Leon pace back and forth like a confined tiger.
After several minutes of this, you comment, "If your plan is to wear a hole in the floor, it just might work."
"We can't just stand here and do nothing," he says.
You're not sure what else you can do short of prying the bars apart, but given how thick they are, that seems unlikely. "She's going to be fine—"
"You don't know that," he cuts you off. "This entire mission has just been one thing after another. With this freaky cult and their freaky priest who infected me, I almost got swallowed whole by an overgrown fish—" "—Wait, what?—" "—and when I finally find Ashley, you show up—"
You recoil as if he's slapped you. "What's that supposed to mean?" you ask.
"You're a distraction," he replies, as if it's as simple as that. He's talking to you like you're an inconvenience—more dead weight he's got to juggle on top of everything else. It's not a tone you've ever heard him use with you before. Your mouth goes dry, and suddenly your ears are filled with the sound of your rapid heartbeat. "You shouldn't even be here—they should have let you complete your own mission and not interfered with mine."
It's automatic—the way your mind starts cataloging everything you've tucked away in your pouches, a mental inventory you've unknowingly kept with meticulous precision. Your brain's defense mechanism, a barrier slamming down between you and the ache building in your chest. "I'll make sure to note that request in my report," you say, your tone even, detached.
You're not going to cry, you tell yourself. You're made of tougher stuff—God knows you've been beaten and berated enough to prove it—and you're not going to cry because a man is mean to you, even if that man is Leon.
"Never worked on me, did it?" the voice whispers in your ear—it's deceptively soft, yet cruel—mocking. "Just a load of crocodile tears."
Leon rolls his eyes at your words, turning away from you and muttering, "Yeah, you do that."
Crinkling your nose, you force back the sting in your sinuses. Lockpick, you have a lockpick, your mind reminds you. You reach into the pocket you know it's in, kneeling in front of the door. You've never been any good at it, and when the pin slips for the first time, you let out a sharp breath through your nose.
The sixth time occurs when Leon breaks the tense silence between you by asking, "What are you doing?" His tone is sharp yet curious.
"What does it look like?"
"Where did you learn to lockpick?" he asks.
"Jill," you tersely respond.
Albeit it was seven years ago, you were both incredibly drunk, having locked yourselves in a supply closet at some dive bar you'd never been to before, mistaking it for the bathroom. She thought it was the perfect teaching moment. It wasn't, and you two were fumbling around in the dark for far too long before the bartender found you. Jill swears you were close to getting the door open.
The sound of your and Leon's names being called makes your grip falter, and the lockpick falls to the floor. "Ashley!" he yells. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, give me a sec, I'll get you guys out," she says from the balcony above, and you watch as she takes the key from the dead zealot slumped over the lever that trapped you both in here. "Try this!"
Leon snatches it from the air as she throws it down. "Can you make it down? I'll catch you," he says.
"Yeah, I think so."
You've barely turned your back for a second when Ashley's screams echo through the air. As you whirl around, you see an enormous figure in a red cloak has grabbed her. "Ashley!" You draw your gun and fire two shots into the creature's back. It doesn't even flinch, only glancing down at you and Leon before turning and disappearing into the darkened archway with her. "Fuck."
As Leon gets the door open, he pauses, holding a hand to his ear. "Ada?" You perk up, brows furrowing in confusion as to why she would be contacting him. "Hey! Ada? Ada!" He sighs. "…Perfect."
"What did she want?" you quietly ask.
"She said something big is about to go down in the throne room," he answers. "C'mon."
The ballroom, where you were supposed to find Luis, is empty except for the terrifying, overgrown bugs that buzz about. The entire area seems to be in disrepair, with large sections of the floor dug out and nothing but darkness below. Ramón, meanwhile, taunts Leon over the speakers throughout the castle, sneering "Mr. Kennedy" like it's an insult. He manages to find a few ways to slight you as well, though you're far less affected than Leon, who grows increasingly annoyed by the prodding.
As you run through the doors to the throne room, you stop short at the scene before you. "Stop! No! Don't come any closer!" Ashley yells as she's forced to her knees in front of a giant hole in the ground by two of the cultists, blood smeared across her face in some sort of symbol.
"Are you hurt?" Leon asks.
"Watch out!"
You're hit by something from above, your body being forced to the ground by a tremendous weight, and you can feel the rough stone of the floor scrape against your cheek as you're held down by the back of your neck. There's a ringing in your ears from the blow, and your vision crosses. "Fuck," you grunt.
When Ramón says your name, you squint over at him, eyes having trouble focusing. "I don't know how you've managed to make it so far without bearing the gift of my master—"
"Guess I'm just lucky," you wheeze. You hope you're imagining the crack you hear as the creature on top of you bears down with its full weight.
"—Nevertheless, it matters not. Please. Do continue," Ramón orders, perched on the throne at the far side of the room, giving his minions a flourish of his hand.
"No! No! Please! Let me go!" Ashley yells as one of the zealots approaches with a chalice full of God knows what, carrying it as if it's the blood of Christ himself.
"Do not resist, my dear," Ramón coos sardonically. "It serves only to make your suffering all the worse."
You struggle against the creature's grip despite the pain shooting up your ribs. Leon is next to you, trying with all of his might to break free, but it's too strong. You're only able to watch as the cultists hold Ashley's mouth open and begin to chant. She's screaming, trying to thrash to no avail, tears streaming down her face.
"Don't drink it!" you yell before your face is ground into the stone once more, hearing her choke as they pour it down her throat.
"You sick—" Just as Leon finds some purchase, he's thrust back down as Ashley cries, and you watch deep red marks spread across her body. You gasp as you're suddenly hauled off the floor, you and Leon dangling uselessly in the creature's impossibly strong grip.
You faintly hear Ramón bid you and Leon goodbye, and then you're tossed into the hole in front of you, Ashley's scream reverberating overhead. You reach out blindly, latching onto something—a chain. You're sure your palms would be torn to shreds without your leather gloves as you slide nearly the entire way down before coming to a slow, grinding halt. You're in a cave, you realize, before peering down to see a head of sandy blonde hair clinging to the chain a few feet beneath you in the darkness.
Your heart is still in your throat. "Leon?" you croak out.
When he glances up and sees you, he says your name like it's a relief. "Are you okay?" he asks.
You're not. "Yeah," you lie.
Below, sharp stalagmites jut up from the cave floor. He looks around, spotting a clearing to one side. "If we can swing over there, we can jump down."
It's a coordinated effort on both your parts to time the swing over, and once Leon jumps off, you slide further down and hop off as well. You land firmly on your feet, though the impact sends a sharp zap of pain up your side. You let out a gasp, clutching your ribs.
Leon's crowding you in the next moment, taking you by the shoulders to inspect you. "What is it?" he asks.
"It's nothing—" You grit your teeth. "—Just aggravated my ribs a bit, I'm fine."
His brows crinkle together, concern pooling in his eyes. "You're not fine—"
"I am," you insist, shrugging off his hands.
"Listen, I didn't—"
You wave your hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Don't worry about it," you say dismissively, then add pettily, "Wouldn't want you to have any distractions." You don't give him time to respond, taking the lead as you move through the cave, intent on finding a way out and back to Ashley.
Leon stares at your retreating form, regret bubbling up in his throat.
Movie nights are a tradition between you and Leon, one you unknowingly started six years ago. Weekly lamentations over drinks turned into weekly lamentations over drinks while watching whatever shitty made-for-TV movie happened to be on Lifetime. One week, he showed up with a few movies from the rental place down the street from his apartment, grumbling that he was sick of watching the same awful rom-coms week after week. The owner of the Dollar Video gave him some recommendations—Leon kept how the older woman suggested a horror movie with a waggle of her brows at him when he mentioned you to himself.
Sometimes, if you liked a movie enough, Leon would rent it multiple times before finally biting the bullet and buying it for you. Needless to say, you've grown quite a collection over the years despite your insistence that he didn't need to buy you anything.
"Shut up," he said to you, cheeks reddened like he was trying not to make a big deal of it.
The first one he ended up getting for you was Alien after you requested that he rent it for the seventh time. You called it a "comfort movie"—Leon couldn't understand how a film in which nearly everyone dies violently could be considered comforting, but he usually had a hard time denying you, so he endured rewatching it as many times as you asked.
So maybe he finds it a little ironic that you two are running for your lives from a creature far too similar to the titular monster in one of your favorite movies.
As a spiny tail juts up from the grated floor, slashing around, he says, "You know this is kind of like—"
"I know!" you shout as you dive to the floor, narrowly avoiding being swiped at. You're seeing stars as the pain in your ribs intensifies, but you grit your teeth through it.
And when you lure the creature into the nitrogen shower, with equal parts fear and determination in your eyes, Leon thinks maybe you find comfort in that movie because it's a reminder to keep going—to survive—not because you have to, but because you can, because you're capable.
By the time it falls, half-frozen and riddled with bullet holes, blood drips from a wound above your brow, and you're holding your injured side protectively after the monster landed a hit that sent you sprawling to the ground.
He's reaching out to you before he can stop himself, stuck in your gravity well, and even though he knows he deserves it, he can't help but feel spurned when you wave him off. "Let's get to the elevator," you say coldly.
The facade of indifference you've erected doesn't last long when he collapses to his knees in the lift. Confusing visions fill his mind, and he comes to with his face being cradled by your steady hands. "Leon." There's worry in your tone, a tremor of desperation he hates to hear in your voice, especially for him.
He takes a deep, shaky breath; his hands resting on top of yours. "I'm okay," he assures as he stands, accepting your help.
"It's getting worse," you say, staring at the darkened veins on his arm. They've spread.
He says nothing, lips sealed, but his eyes stray from you as the elevator reaches the top and creaks open. When you see the vein at his temple throb, you follow his gaze, peering over your shoulder to see Luis leaning against the steel beam.
There's a smirk on his face as he shakes the container in his hand. "I'll make it cheap for you." Your shoulders drop, and you move first, stalking up to the man and reaching for it, only for him to hold it just out of your grasp at the last second. His brows lift, and he lowers his head to meet your stare. "For the low, low price of a single kiss."
An arm darts out from over your shoulder, yanking the container from Luis's hand. "You're lucky I don't kiss your face with my fist, pal," Leon sneers, and you can feel the rumble in his chest that's pressed up against your back.
Luis gives a shrug of his shoulders, holding his hands up innocently. "You cannot blame a man for trying," he says.
You roll your eyes, clearly not taking the man's flirtations seriously, as Leon hands you the container. "Sit down," you instruct with a nod of your head as you open it up, plucking one of the two syringes from inside, and holding it to your eye as you inspect the purple liquid within. "This is the suppressant?"
"It is, indeed," Luis confirms.
"What's it made out of?" you ask, curious and maybe a bit skeptical.
He doesn't seem the least bit offended by your hesitance. "Some hard-to-find ingredients," he answers. "Only enough for three doses."
"And where's the third?"
He gives you a knowing smile and taps the side of his nose. Pursing your lips, you turn away from him and kneel down in front of Leon, pulling out an alcohol swab from one of your pockets. "Anything you don't got in there?" Leon asks.
You snort as you clean a small patch of skin on the inside of his elbow. "A million dollars," you mutter. "Just a pinch here." It's a habit from a life no longer yours as you push the tip of the needle into his skin. He doesn't even flinch, his attention remaining on you, tracing down the slope of your nose and concentrated line of your lips. "And done." You move away, wiping the droplet of blood that pools at the injection site, before standing up.
It's strange to see the suppressant work in real-time—the branching blackened veins retreating like a receding tide—and you and Leon watch with fascination.
"Feeling better?" Luis asks as he flips his lighter between his fingers.
"Yeah," Leon confirms as he flexes his fist a few times. "Seems like it worked."
"Bad news?" Luis says. "All we've done is buy you some time." Leon takes the other dose, inspects it, then hands it over to you. "The suppressant's effects will wear off all too soon."
"We should hurry, then," you say as you tuck it into a reinforced pocket—the last thing you need is for it to break before you're able to reach Ashley.
With a click, Luis flicks his lighter closed and pockets it. "In that case, we know what we have to do," he says before grabbing a broken pipe, brandishing it like a spear. "Then come, Sancho Panza! Let us rescue the Princess Dulcinea!"
"You're gonna hurt yourself," Leon mutters as he snatches the pipe from his hands and tosses it aside, where it clanks against the floor.
"Hey, that was my lance!" Luis complains. He shoots you a look as if you could help, and when you only smirk at him, he clutches his chest with one hand over the other. "I thought our bond ran deeper than that, corazón. For you not to come to my aid… I am heartbroken."
Falling in step with him, you give him an unsympathetic pat on the back. "I'm sorry to have led you on in such a way."
He lets out a bark of laughter, and ahead of you, Leon rolls his eyes with a frown.
Making your way through the mines, you're sure that Leon will pick up at some point that Luis is only flirting with you to get under his skin. However—
"You handle yourself pretty well…" Leon says after you all clear an area full of villagers in the mine. "You sure you're just a researcher?"
"I'm just an average guy who happens to be quite the ladies' man," Luis answers. "Isn't that right, corazón?" He tosses you a non-subtle wink.
Leon's jaw clenches together, and his nostrils flare as he lets out a slow exhale, like he's mentally counting to ten in his head.
After you fight two more of the gigantic creatures, Luis offers to lift you through the opening to unlock the door from the other side with a sly smirk, and right as he's about to squat down to let you climb onto his shoulders, Leon pushes him to the side, lifting you himself.
"Hands to yourself, buddy," Leon mutters to him as you disappear to the other side, landing with a soft thud.
"Touchy," Luis groans as he rubs at his sore backside.
When you take point during your minecart ride, with Luis and Leon focused on keeping the minecart from flipping, the first shot you take, which sails straight through the forehead of one of the villagers wielding a flaming crossbow, draws a low whistle from Luis. "A sharpshooter, eh?" he comments. "Can't say I'm surprised, given the way you've struck me straight through the heart."
Leon debates whether to throw him from the minecart, and it is only through great restraint that he does not.
After nearly falling to your deaths and navigating a section of the mine infested with more of those bugs, you finally reach another lift that will hopefully bring you closer to the surface. The ride up offers a brief reprieve, and you rest against the elevator wall, catching your breath.
"I don't get you," Leon says to Luis. "Why risk your life like this? You don't know us."
"I told you," he answers. "It makes me feel better."
Leon narrows his eyes, no longer buying the concerned-citizen bit. "Be straight with me for once."
"Los Iluminados… I was working for them," Luis admits.
"See? There you go," Leon says.
Luis flicks his lighter on, staring down at the flame with a frown. "Helping you doesn't make up for it, I know that. But still, I don't want anyone else to get hurt."
"In that case, you'd better get serious," he says firmly.
Luis chuckles. "Harsh words for a squire." He looks over at you. "What do you think, Teresa Panza?"
As the lift comes to a stop, you push off from the wall. "I think you'd better not get complacent, we're not out of the woods yet."
"Ah, wise words from a wise woman," he replies, sending a devious grin to Leon. "Sancho is quite the lucky man."
Leon glances between the two of you, and your eyes catch his the moment realization dawns on him. Quickly, he averts his gaze, red darkening his cheeks as the elevator doors open.
Luis marches out first. "We're out of that hellhole," he announces with a bit more jaunt to his gait. "The fresh air is calling our names!" He turns, arms splayed as he talks to the two of you. "Because if we made it all this way, you know that means we're almost—"
His words get caught in his throat as he gasps.
"Almost what?" Leon asks.
"Luis?" You take a hesitant step forward.
His body jerks as he chokes out a wet, rattling cough. Blood spews from his mouth, staining his lips red. The moment before he collapses, he appears confused. Your feet move instinctively, and you don't get more than a few strides when someone jumps down just behind Luis. Leon's arms wrap around your waist, hauling you back and keeping you from going any further.
It's a man—blonde, dressed in military fatigues and a red beret, with a large scar running down the left side of his face. You think you recognize him, and when he addresses Leon, you know you do.
"Long time no see, rookie," he chuckles.
Leon steps in front of you, shielding your body with his. "Major Krauser? What the hell? Why?"
Krauser squats and takes something from Luis—it's a cylindrical tube with a yellow crystal inside. "Recovering stolen goods—" He taps it, tucks it away, then grasps the knife embedded in Luis's back and wrenches it free, making you wince at the sound. "—And killing a few rats along the way." As he stands, he moves with quick, precise steps, circling like a predator stalking its prey. "Easy work."
Leon keeps you behind him the entire time, realization dawning on him. "Ashley… It was you." He reaches for his gun, but Krauser is incredibly fast. His knife is at Leon's throat before you can even blink, and you feel Leon nudge you away. "You catch on quick—" The edge barely grazes Leon's neck. "Didn't I teach you? Knives are faster."
Your eyes flick to Luis, and you edge back, keeping a wide berth between yourself and them as Leon draws his knife and the two start to go at it. It's a flurry of limbs that would be impressive if it didn't feel so life-and-death, and then Krauser kicks Leon down to the lower level, jumping down to join him.
As you make it to Luis, you bring out your own knife. "I hope you're not fond of this jacket, Luis," you mutter as you slice through it and his shirt to expose the wound on his back.
"I am fond of living more," he wheezes out—still alive, you realize with a sigh of relief. "My chest hurts."
You lean your head down, pressing your ear to his back to listen in lieu of a stethoscope—all the shit you have on you, and you don't have a stethoscope. "Fuck," you mutter as you sit back.
"That—" He coughs. "—is not what I want to hear my doctor say."
"I think your lung is collapsed," you tell him as you clasp his wrist to check his pulse. Strong, you determine.
"Can you make it uncollapse?" he asks. Humor still intact, at least.
"Sure can," you say as you sort through your medical kit. You've dealt with plenty of collapsed lungs—granted, it was in an Emergency Room with state-of-the-art technology at your disposal, but you're, for all intents and purposes, a genius; you can figure it out. "I have to do an occlusive dressing," you explain as you take out some antiseptic. "But first we need to clean the wound—" You pause. "—This is gonna hurt."
There's no countdown, only him hissing in pain as you flush out the wound. It's a good sign when only a bit of blood floods the wound—Krauser didn't hit a major artery or organ. A rookie mistake from someone who seemed all too smug to be "killing rats".
"Good news—" you start.
"Oh, yay," he groans.
"—I think he missed your vital organs."
"Oh, that is good news," he gasps with a small smile, blood coating his teeth as he gives a weak thumbs-up.
You grab what you need to do the bandage—just a piece of plastic and tape; rudimentary, but it'll do. "Okay, so all I need to do is seal down three sides of this, and it'll create a flutter valve that lets air out when you exhale, but seals when you inhale." You double up on tape to be sure the seal will hold, and when you see it working as intended, the worry that was coiling in your stomach unravels only a bit. "How do you feel?"
"A little better, I think," he answers.
"It's going to take a while for your lung to re-expand," you explain. "We need to get you to an actual hospital."
"You need to save Ashley first," he says—his talking is less strained, and you help him slowly sit up.
You take out your penlight, shining it into his eyes, then feel his pulse once more. "Do you feel like you can stand?" you ask, then add, "Be honest."
He takes a moment, drawing another deep breath, before nodding. As you haul him to his feet, mindful of the wound on his back, you guide him down the stairs to the lower level, where Leon and Krauser are still fighting, the sound of metal clashing against metal.
As you reach the bottom of the stairs, Krauser kicks Leon directly in the chest, sending him sailing back and landing with a hard thud on the ground. He flips his knife in a flourish as he approaches Leon. "I got it," Luis confirms as he feebly unholsters his gun, taking aim and pulling the trigger as Krauser raises his blade high, about to strike Leon.
He turns his gaze to you two as the bullet ricochets off his knife. When Luis fires again, he retreats to a higher ledge with inhuman agility. "Enough play, rookie," he says from where he's perched. "You haven't changed a damn bit. What a disappointment."
Then he's gone.
As Luis grunts in pain, Leon whirls around as he staggers to his feet. "Luis, are you okay?" he asks.
"Oh, I'll live," he wheezes. "—Probably."
As he holsters his gun, he digs into his pocket, coming out with a key and shoving it into Leon's hand. "Take this—" He takes a deep breath, wincing slightly. "It's the key to my laboratory. Go there and remove those damn parasites."
"You're coming with us," Leon insists.
Luis shakes his head. "I'll only slow you down," he says. "You two go on without me—"
You're ready to argue—you want to, but your directive hasn't changed. "C'mon, let's at least get you some fresh air, huh?" you offer.
"How about a smoke?" he asks with a cheeky grin.
"If I catch you with a cigarette, I'm putting it out in your eye," you grumble as Leon comes to his other side, alleviating a bit of his weight from you as you haul him toward the elevator.
"Such a cruel woman," he bemoans.
"I could have just as easily let you suffocate to death," you say.
"Ah, no, you couldn't have—" He winks. "—You're too nice, corazón."
As you step into the elevator and Leon pushes the button, he frowns, holding a hand to his ear as a message comes through his radio. "Ah, so you aren't heartless after all. I guess I should be… thankful?"
"Ada?" you ask.
He nods. "She said Ashley is being taken to the clocktower," he answers.
"Better get a move on," Luis says as the elevator reaches the top, the doors sliding open.
The subtle glow of purple flame catches your attention. "Perfect," you mutter. "C'mon."
"Welcome, strangers!" the merchant greets as you walk through the threshold. "Seems you're in a bit of a pickle, hm?" His unnerving stare strays to Luis, who gives the man a little two-finger salute.
Carefully, you and Leon lower Luis down into one of the chairs in the room. "We are," you confirm, turning to him—you can see his eyes looking at you with curiosity. "Was wondering if you could help?"
"I could," he says.
You pause, lips drawing into a line. "Will you?" you ask.
He lets out a chuckle. "Now there's the question," he muses.
"What do you want?" you ask, already digging in your pockets—you've collected quite a few treasures. The merchant holds out a hand, stopping you from spilling jewels across his table. You stare up at him, confused—you were sure you had more than enough to cover whatever price he was going to ask.
"That shadow on your shoulder—"
Your breath catches in your throat.
"—What are you going to do about it?" he asks.
You're acutely aware of eyes on your back—no doubt wondering what the man is talking about. Then you feel a prickle up your neck, an itch that settles at the base of your skull.
"Yeah, girl, what are you going to do about it?" your father hisses in your ear.
"What do you want me to say?" you question—voice soft, but apathetic. "That I'll face my demons or some bullshit?"
His eyes crease like he's grinning behind the bandana covering his face. He's not mocking you—you may have preferred it—instead, he's looking at you with understanding.
"It's not about what I want you to say," he answers, tilting his head as he considers you. "I only want something honest—that's my price."
Your jaw sets as you swallow thickly.
"Tick tock," the voice laughs.
"I'll live with it until I can't," you say. Until it kills me, you think.
"You have yourself a deal," the merchant grins.
"You sure he's going to be okay?" Leon asks as you ride the cable car across to the clock tower. It's almost endearing how worried the man is for Luis, given how standoffish he's been toward him thus far, but it is incredibly like Leon Kennedy.
"He will," you say assuredly. "When I spoke to Hunnigan, she said they'll be able to extract him so long as they don't encounter any resistance."
"Don't worry, love," the merchant said to you. "Any trouble comes our way, nothing a bit of heavy-duty firepower can't take care of." You eyed the rocket launcher he patted with far too much affection and completely believed him.
"He would have died if you weren't here," Leon says.
You blink, gaze meeting his. "He would have," you confirm.
He reaches out, hand clasping around yours. "I'm sorry about what I said before," he murmurs. "I'm glad you're here."
You try to smile, though you're sure it doesn't reach your eyes. "Don't worry about that right now."
"Ain't always forgive and forget, is it?" your father taunts.
When you get to the clock tower, you're forced to fight your way up it. Becoming infinitely more annoyed with the pompous idiot Ramón and the seemingly never-ending supply of cultists at his disposal.
You arrive just in time to see Ashley being carried away by Krauser. You can only go after her once you and Leon have taken care of the mutated Ramón. By the end of the battle, your side aches from being slammed into a stone column, and you're hoping for this day to come to an end soon. As you ride the lift down, you see a boat pulling away. "Where the hell are they going?" you ask.
"No idea," Leon answers. "But we're going to find out."
There's a boathouse at the bottom, and you hop into the backseat of the boat moored inside as Leon searches for the key. Slowly, you ease yourself down into a lying position, ignoring the worried glances Leon keeps shooting you.
The sound of heels clicking against the uneven stone floor reaches your ear. "Looking for something?" Ada asks, holding up a keyring with a smirk.
Leon glances to you like he's begging you to take over this interaction, and when you gesture for Ada to take the driver's seat, he sighs. As she steps in, you can see the moment where he debates being petty and sitting in the back with you, but with how you're stretched out across the seats, it doesn't leave him with much room to sit, so begrudgingly, he takes the passenger's seat.
A tense quiet falls over the three of you as you drive toward an island—or at least, that's where Ada told you they were taking Ashley. You're gazing up at the clouds, enjoying the brief reprieve, when Ada starts, "You look like you've got something to say."
"Doesn't matter," Leon replies. "I won't get a straight answer, anyway."
A pause, a beat where she's cast out the line—the silence goading him to continue. You wish he wouldn't take the bait, but you know he will.
"After Raccoon City," he begins. "The world changed—you try to save one person; a hundred others die…" He frowns. "I guess I changed, too."
She chuckles. "You? Leon S. Kennedy?" she asks. "You haven't changed, you just think you have."
During this exchange, you've sat back up, and he catches your eye. "So here's my question—" He peers over at her. "—Have you changed, Ada? Or are you just trying to use us again?"
She stares at him—if you didn't know any better, you'd think her tone has a bit more bite. "What do you think?" She guides the boat to the island's cliffside. "We're here." As she gets up, pointing her grappling device upward, she looks down at him, then at you, a faux air of indifference around you. "What about you?" she asks. "Do you think you've changed?"
The question catches you off guard, and by the way she smirks, she knows it, too. Then she's gone, whisking away, causing the boat to jostle, and Leon jumps into the driver's seat to snatch the wheel to ensure you don't drive straight into the rocky cliffs. He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he heads toward an area to anchor the boat.
"Have I?" you ask after a moment—your voice smaller than you intended it to be.
Leon peers back at you, seeing the pensive expression on your face, and his own softens. "No, you haven't changed," he says so assuredly.
Your gaze dips low—so why don't you feel that way?
Infiltrating the island proved even more annoying, and you're not exactly sure how Saddler has managed to hide this entire operation, which apparently houses a militia as well as research facilities. When you finally make it inside, looking down through bars onto a lower level, you see Ashley lying unconscious on a bed. Predictably, the door is locked, forcing you and Leon to delve deeper into the facility.
"Why is this never straightforward?" Leon mutters as he reads the instructions for upgrading a keycard, which would give you access to the room she's in—the only problems being finding a keycard and then actually upgrading it.
"If the goal is to do things as inefficiently as possible, they're doing a great job," you reply.
It's a horrific sight when you get to the Dissection Room and see the body on the table—it's human with a plaga on its back, tendrils attaching through its orifices, and stuck in an unnatural pose. You glance over at the X-rays still displayed, the skull barely even recognizable as human anymore. You're not sure how anyone could possibly stomach the types of experiments these people were doing. Regardless, you take pictures, documenting the atrocities for your own reports.
"Look at this," Leon says as he holds up a journal from one of the Los Iluminados scientists.
You frown as you read about this new life form the scientist seems to have created—Regenerador, he calls them. "Let's hope we don't run into one of these," you mumble as you see the section about its regenerative abilities.
Approximately two minutes later, Leon groans as said creature stumbles down the corridor, "Why did you have to jinx it?"
"Sorry, didn't think we had enough to worry about," you mutter as you blast its knees with your shotgun—more concerned with slowing it down than putting it down after what you'd read. "Run."
After playing ring-around-the-bodybag with another one of them, you manage to upgrade the keycard you snagged from the Dissection Room to a Level 2, and you're only feeling a little bit better about the whole situation when you find a Biosensor Scope.
Leon plays bait as you kill the parasites that serve as vital organs, now visible through the scope in the Regenerador, with the wrench you need to access the next terminal inside. Once you've upgraded the keycard to Level 3, you're eager to get out of this place. "They're worse than those fucking plants," you mutter, glaring down at the body, your finger still hovering over the trigger as if you don't believe it's truly dead.
"Yeah, if I never see one of those things again, it'll be too soon," Leon grumbles. "Let's go."
As you and Leon finally unlock the room where Ashley is, you're already preparing to administer the suppressant to her as he cuts the zip tie binding her hands. She's unconscious, and you hope it hasn't progressed too far yet, given how far the blackened veins have spread under her skin.
As you inject it directly into her neck, you and Leon wait with bated breath. You practically fall to your knees with relief as you watch the signs of infection begin to recede, her skin returning to a normal hue.
"You're gonna be okay," Leon says as he brushes hair out of her face.
"Leon—" Your stare drops to his own arm, and he follows your eyes to see that his own symptoms have begun to return.
He winces, blinking as if his vision has gone spotty. You hold out a hand to steady him, and he slowly sits on the ground, leaning against the bed. "How long until she wakes up?" he asks.
"Shouldn't be too long," you answer, then say, "Hard to tell." He nods as he does a press-check of his gun and focuses on the doorway.
It would be smarter to move now—you're not sure how much longer Leon has, and Ashley is still a ticking time bomb, though you might have bought an hour or two. But with her unconscious, Leon would have to carry her, and given how his brows keep crinkling in pain, you're not sure he'd be able to right now. Plus, you're not exactly in tiptop shape. You take a seat next to him, readying your own gun.
After a few minutes of silence, he starts, "Listen, if—"
"Shut up," you say quickly.
You don't look at him—you can't because there are tears in your eyes merely at the thought of what he was about to say. He whispers your name softly—tender even though it feels like goodbye. Mercy in the form of a boot.
It makes you angry. The thought of a world without him—how devastating that loss would be. Maybe it's foolish to think you have any say in how your fates were spun. Sometimes it feels like you're tangled in the threads of what-ifs and what-could-bes, tugging at strands to see where they might lead. Despite everything you've endured—every hard day, every heartbreak, every moment when you thought you couldn't go on—you would do it all a hundred times over to ensure he was waiting for you at the end, even if you had to start from dust.
"There's no reality where you die today, Leon Kennedy," you say as evenly as possible as you tilt your head to look at him. "I would never allow it."
His gaze is gentle as he considers you—you can see how tired he is, the bags that weigh heavily under his eyes. Carefully, he reaches over, lacing your fingers together as he stoops down, pressing his lips to yours. You sink into him readily, and it's over all too soon as he draws back enough to lean his forehead against yours.
"You know we never went on that date," he murmurs.
Your mind stalls.
"So, got any plans Friday?" he questioned, thumb tracing your jawline.
Then slowly, a smile spreads across your lips. "No, we didn't," you confirm with a chuckle.
"Six years isn't too late, is it?" he asks.
"For you?" you murmur. "I'd wait six more."
He squeezes your hand, nudging his forehead against yours once more, and Ashley stirring behind you causes you both to draw away from each other.
"You're here," she whispers.
"Sorry, we're late," Leon says as he hauls himself up onto the foot of the bed while she sits up, rubbing at her wrist.
"No, thank you," she says. "You brought the medicine just in time."
As you get up, you hold a hand out to her. "Can you stand?"
She readily accepts your help as you pull her to her feet. "Where's Luis?" she asks.
Leon frowns, and Ashley catches it, eyes widening as she looks to you. "We ran into some trouble, and he was hurt—"
"But, he's alive, right?" she questions.
"He's fine," you assure her. "I called in an extraction for him, and if all went well, he's on his way to a hospital right now."
She gives a small sigh of relief. "That's good."
"C'mon, let's go get rid of these parasites," Leon says.
"Do you know where Luis's lab is?" you ask.
He frowns. "No, but we know someone who does."
As he radios Ada, you check in with Ashley again. "You sure you're feeling okay?" you ask.
She nods before frowning suddenly. "I lost your knife. I—When that big thing took me, I tried to get away, but…"
As she trails off, you cup her cheek. "Hey—" You catch her attention. "I'm not worried about the knife." When her brows furrow, you add, "I'm proud of you… for fighting."
She sniffles, eyes glistening with tears and gratitude. "Me too."
When Leon finishes his conversation with Ada, he looks back at you both. "Top of the mountain," he says.
After making your way through the Cargo Depot and the Waste Disposal—reminding you far too much of the sewers in Raccoon City—you're incredibly surprised when Ashley hops into the driver's seat of the crawler to break down the wall blocking your way.
"This what they're teaching kids in school these days?" Leon asks as you ride on the outside.
She laughs. "Ever heard of driver's ed?"
You snort. "Yeah, grandpa."
He gives you an incredulous look. "You're older than me."
"Young where it counts, though," you wink, hopping down as the sirens begin to go off and the militia starts crawling out of the woodwork. By the time the wall finally falls, you're standing amongst corpses. Ashley jumps out with a gleeful look on her face.
"Did you see that?" she asks excitedly. "That was awesome."
"I think you found your calling," Leon says with amusement.
You snort. "Yeah, forget about college."
As you stride onto the lift, she leans against the railing. "I think we work pretty well together. Maybe someday I'll become an agent like you guys?" Her attention flicks between you and Leon. "What do you think? We could protect the U.S. from any and all threats!"
"Is that right?" Leon says, sticking to something noncommittal. "Either way, first we have to make it out of here."
She huffs. "You're no fun." She turns to you, eyes wide like she knows the puppy dog expression will work on you. "We'll be partners then, right?"
You wink. "As long as you know someone who can pull some strings."
She grins, hands folded behind her back, as she follows you when you file off the elevator once it comes to a stop. "I think I know a guy." Leon only smirks and shakes his head at that. If he thinks you shouldn't be playing along, he doesn't say anything.
Further inside, you find an enormous chunk of the amber Luis mentioned earlier, complete with tiny parasites frozen within. The sight of them sends a shiver up your spine, and you unconsciously step back.
"Prostrate yourselves," you hear from behind you, and you all whirl around to see a cloaked man descending the stairs. "This is our Holy Body."
The cloaked women who accompany him begin to spread out, circling behind you. Ashley scurries between you and Leon as you draw your weapons.
"Our divine providence! And soon… such a profound blessing for all… las plagas!" One of the women tugs down the hood of his cloak, revealing a grotesque growth protruding from the back of his head. "Welcome, my children. I am Osmund Saddler, the speaker of our Lord." Tendrils writhe on top of the staff he's holding, making your stomach turn.
"Tell someone who gives a shit," Leon says as he takes a shot, hitting Saddler right in the eye.
His head whips to the side, but he doesn't stumble. "Foolish lambs," Saddler says, turning back to you all. "Why do you deny grace?"
With a groan, Leon falls to his knees, gun clattering to the floor. He looks like he's trying to fight it, whatever is controlling him. Your eyes widen, fear licking up your spine, realizing this is exactly what happened with Ashley earlier when she stabbed him.
"Now—" Saddler holds a hand out, and Ashley staggers forward, a puppet on strings—her back straightening with a snap as her veins blacken once more. "Abandon your body!"
"Ashley!" you call out, taking one, two, three steps forward, almost about to wrap your hand around her wrist, when you're snatched from behind. You gasp and struggle against the hold, then realize it's Leon who's restraining you. "Let go!"
You try to wriggle free from his grasp, but it's ironclad. "I'm sorry," he groans, teeth clenched. "I can't control it."
"Obey," Saddler urges. "Obey the voice of our Lord."
Slowly, Ashley reaches down, grabbing Leon's gun from the floor. "No… No!" she gasps. "Stop! No!"
Panic surges in you as you stare down the barrel of the weapon. "Fight me," Leon pleads.
You are, you want to shout as you thrash in his hold. You're trying everything, but he won't budge, and you're only tiring yourself out.
"Oh, now ain't this fitting," the voice croons. "How romantic… dying in each other's arms."
You flinch as the gun fires, and you whip your head around, seeing one of the women behind you fall. You hear Leon's breath stutter in your ear.
"Sweet child, do not resist!" Saddler says.
Bang.
The other one falls.
Slowly, the gun returns to you. Tears pool in your eyes as you look at her. "It's okay, alright?" you manage to whimper out, voice breaking. "It's not your fault."
"No, no, no!" she cries as her finger twitches against the trigger.
"It's not your fau—"
Click.
As she pulls the trigger, the gun clicks again. Empty, you realize with minimal solace, watching as it falls uselessly from her grasp.
"Pray, forgive these wicked sinners," Saddler preaches. "My faithful disciple shall deliver to you your… penance." Ashley turns, but her eyes remain on you and Leon until the last second, when she's forced to walk up the stairs behind them. "Now, child, you need not be afraid," he says to her. "Submit your body and release yourself from fear!"
His retinue begins to leave, following after Ashley and Saddler, and only once the doors have closed behind them do you feel Leon's hold on you release. He spins you around, grasping your face in his hands that are trembling. "Are you okay?" he asks. His eyes are wide and frantic, tears gathering at his waterline.
Your lower lip wobbles, and you don't trust your voice not to shake, so all you do is nod before calmly extracting yourself from his grip. You will your hands to be steady as you pick up the gun that not even a minute ago was pointed directly at your head, and hand it back to him, watching as he quietly reloads it.
"Let's go," you say softly, clearing your throat when your voice breaks.
"You should leave," he whispers. "Before I get you killed."
You peer up at him as if he just spat in your face. "No," you say. "I told you six years ago, we either both get out, or we don't."
His face crumples, your name on his lips like you're something precious he doesn't want to lose, but he knows you even better now than he did back then—you're stubborn, almost to a fault. So he accepts your answer in resolute silence, knowing you won't change your mind.
Tension fills the air as you and Leon move. No idle conversation, only a continuous progression forward until you make it to a tent that seems to be part of some sort of military operation separate from the rest of the militia. Something on a table catches your attention, and it causes you to freeze in your tracks.
"Leon," you murmur, drawing his attention as you pick up the photo, staring at it with a frown before holding it out to him.
He appears confused as he takes it until he sees what it's a photo of. His own face stares back at him. This is from right after you all got picked up outside of Raccoon City. The words 'I'm Waiting' are written on it in threatening red ink. Further in the tent, you find a tape with a message from Krauser to Leon, challenging him.
You can see the gears turning in his head as the audio ends. "Leon—"
"I don't want you involved," he says, turning to look at you. "Try to find another way around. I'll distract him while you find Ashley."
You want to argue—of course you do—but there's a fury in his gaze that makes you hesitate. You wonder if Krauser is Leon's shadow. "Fine, but no hero shit."
He scoffs with a playful roll of his eyes. "You know that's not my style."
You squint at him. "That's exactly your style." You pause just as you're about to turn to leave. "Leon—" The words die on your tongue, reforming into something else—something safer. "—Be careful."
His stare stays intently on yours as he nods, "Yeah."
Admittedly, it's far easier to slip through the hordes of infected on your own than with Leon, who's usually more inclined to open fire than to use stealth. As you scale the cliffs, you're faintly aware of the gunfire from Leon's fight with Krauser. The militia, with their turret guns and spotlights, certainly pose a problem, but you move slowly and steadily—making quick work of those you can with your knife—until you've almost reached the Sanctuary and hear the roar of a helicopter overhead.
It comes in guns blazing, and when you hear a Southern accent being broadcast over its speaker, you're sure it's long-awaited backup. "About time," you mutter. Luckily for you, the commotion they're causing provides you with ample enough cover to sneak through the rest of the ranks. You're further ahead when you see the helicopter start to go haywire, and as you peer through your binoculars, you see it's being attacked by those oversized bugs. "Fuck." You grimace as it goes down in a fiery blaze.
By the time you make it to the Sanctuary, you realize you're following a trail of bodies. Whoever made quick work of them, and when you finally catch up and hear the sound of heels clicking on the cobbled floor, you're quick to narrow down who you're unintentionally trailing.
"Ada."
She turns, not even brandishing her gun at you. "Where's your shadow?" she asks flatly.
You freeze, blinking rapidly. "What?"
"Leon," she clarifies, and your shoulders relax. "He's usually not far from you."
"He should be nearby," you say. "Get what you came for, yet?"
She laughs dryly. "Well, I'm still here, aren't I?"
"Thought you might be hanging around to keep tabs on us," you say. "You know, out of the goodness of your heart."
She smirks and angles her head, gesturing for you to follow her. The two of you walk in silence for a minute or so before she asks, "So, what do you think?" When you frown, she adds, "Do you think I've changed?"
You stop mid-stride as you're walking toward the door ahead. You bite the inside of your cheek, looking down. "I think Raccoon City changed you just as much as it changed us—" You hesitate, sighing. "—and I hope it was for the better."
She chuckles as she falls into step with you, but says nothing in response until you reach the door, and as she's about to push it open, she says, "You and Leon talk about changing, but from where I'm standing, you're exactly the same as you were six years ago—idealistic to a fault."
Your mouth falls open.
Once inside, Saddler's voice booms from the room below, and then pained screams reverberate through the chamber, guttural and raw. You're drawing your gun before you even know what you're doing, shooting down at Saddler, disrupting whatever hold he has on Leon, who collapses against the dais at the center of the room.
More gunfire joins yours as you feel Ada move beside you. "Go," she orders. "I'll cover you."
There's no hesitation as you jump over the railing. You haul Leon to his feet. "Cover your eyes," you say, then toss a flash grenade back toward Saddler, blinding him and giving Leon enough time to pick up Ashley. You're ushering him along, backing up as you step through the passageway. Your briefly meet Ada's gaze before a large statue comes tumbling down, blocking the entrance and keeping Saddler from chasing you.
"Ashley… Ashley?" Leon mutters, jostling her, but she doesn't respond. "Damnit."
"Do you need me to take her?" you ask, not knowing how much better you would fare, but willing to try.
He shakes his head, gritting his teeth. "No, I've got it."
You catch sight of a floor plan hanging on the wall ahead. "It's not much further," you say as you spot where Luis's lab is, tracing the path along the map with your finger. "We're close."
It's a slow crawl as Leon trudges forward, with you watching intently, hovering behind in case he stumbles. "Shut up!" he yells, not at you, but you flinch at the suddenness of it all the same.
"Looks like you ain't the only one hearing voices, girl," laughs your father in your ear.
He keeps walking, mumbling under his breath, and when he staggers, you catch him. Keeping him upright until you get to the door, taking the key from him to open it. "This time, it has to be different," he says under his breath.
"It will be," you murmur.
As he places Ashley in the chair, you're at the terminal, clicking through. "You go first," she weakly pipes up.
"No way," he denies. "Like I told you, I'm gonna get you home safe."
You don't waste any time, hitting 'Diagnose'. The chair begins to move, spinning into place as the devices overhead spin around. On the monitor, you can see the parasite, and when the 'Purge' prompt appears, you click 'Yes'. As the process begins, she lets out a gut-wrenching scream, and Leon holds onto her hand while you keep watch, seeing the parasite disintegrate under the laser.
'Success'
You give a thumbs-up to Leon, and a slow smile forms on his face, before he promptly hits the floor with a definitive thud.
"Fuck." You scramble up, knocking the stool over in your haste. "C'mon, Ashley, up, up." You don't mean to rush her, but the clock is ticking. To her credit, even barely conscious and still reeling from the excruciating pain she just went through, she listens.
"Do you nee—"
"No, I got it," you insist, as you grab onto Leon's arm, hauling him up from the ground with a grunt, your ribs screaming at you. "Told you never to ask me to perform this feat of strength again," you mutter to his unconscious body in between wheezes.
Ashley, now more awake, paces the lab, a bundle of nervous energy she redirects toward investigating what else Luis might have left. As you get him into the chair, you dart back to the console to repeat the process. You're fidgeting, biting your lip until you taste blood. Your attention doesn't stray from the screen, which blurs as tears cloud your vision. You hit the prompts as soon as they pop up, and only when the word 'Success' appears do you finally turn around.
You're on your feet, you and Ashley hovering anxiously next to him, waiting for him to wake up. He comes to as the lasers retract, eyes squinting open as if he's not sure whether he's alive. He calls out your name, then Ashley's.
Her face tightens as she leans down to hug him. "I thought you were gonna die," she murmurs.
He gives her an awkward pat on the shoulder. "Okay," he mutters, as if he doesn't know how to respond to the display of affection.
"Can you stand?" she asks as he slowly sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the chair.
You linger just out of arm's reach of him, wringing your hands together. When your eyes meet, he can see the tears glistening in them. With a slight flick of his fingers, he motions you toward him. You step into him, wrapping your arms around his waist as gingerly as possible, as you bury your nose in the crook of his neck.
"Don't worry," he whispers. "I'm built to last."
Begrudgingly, you pull away, lip quivering as you weakly swat at him. "Not funny," you rasp.
A smirk twitches at the corners of his lips, the hard edges of his face settling into something softer for you. "It's a little funny." Glancing around, he spots a piece of paper in Ashley's hand. "What's that?"
"It's a map," she answers as she holds it out to him. "I found it." She points down to where, presumably, Luis scribbled on it. "I think it says we can get out if we go… this way." Starting to walk, she leads the way before glancing over her shoulder, "We're a team, right?"
Leon stands, tucking the map into his pocket. "Keep this up, and I'll be out of a job."
A grin spreads across her face before she continues on.
"Softie," you murmur as you bump your hip against his.
He rolls his eyes, wraps an arm around your shoulder, and draws you closer, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. You let the warmth spread through your body, fueling a flutter in your stomach.
The way out leads to the loading docks, and Ada dangles from a chain attached to a steel beam below. "Is she supposed to be bait?" you ask as you peer around, expecting an ambush, but find nothing. No doubt Saddler has something up his sleeve, though.
"He thinks he's going to lure us out." Leon walks over to the lift, making sure his guns are reloaded. "You two stay up here. I won't be long."
Maybe he expects you to argue, but you don't. Instead, you settle into a vantage point as you ready your rifle. "Go ahead, I'll take overwatch." Squinting, you take aim at Ada. A loud bang echoes as you fire, and Ada falls to the floor beneath her in a heap. You glance over your shoulder. "Don't wanna keep him waiting."
He rolls his eyes when you wink at him and hits the button on the elevator. "Don't do anything stupid," he says.
"That's my line," you reply.
Predictably, as soon as he exits the elevator, bugs begin to converge. From above, you're able to pick off a few, and Ashley squats next to you, exclaiming, "Nice shot!"
Like some sort of fucked up magic trick, Saddler appears in the middle of the swarm, tendrils oustretching from his hand, wrapping around Leon at the most inopportune moment when you realize your magazine is empty. Ashley frantically taps your shoulder as you reload, willing you to go faster. "I know, I know," you murmur.
She gasps, and you look up as you slide the magazine in. Ada's timing is impeccable as she swings down, kicking Saddler in the back and freeing Leon from his grasp. She lands next to Leon, and the two open fire on the maniac. That only angers him, and as he yells, you watch wide-eyed as appendages burst from his back, his body twisting and convulsing as he transforms into a huge, monstrous creature.
"Oh god," Ashley breathes as if realizing how close she came to becoming that.
"Bigger they are and all that," you mutter as you peek through your scope, taking shots at the fleshy amalgamations. You're not sure where Ada went, but Saddler focuses on Leon, chasing him across the loading docks. Leon does his best to whittle him down, and you're doing what you can from above. When Saddler finally falls, it isn't for good. He bursts through the floors, his disgusting tendrils spiraling around the entire structure as he grows impossibly larger.
You're running dangerously low on ammo as Leon fires bullet after bullet into the huge eye at the center, though it feels like it has no effect. Footsteps behind you catch your attention, and you whip around, handgun drawn and pointed at the intruder, faltering when you see Ada standing there, a rocket launcher strapped to her back.
"Leon needs help," Ashley urges.
Ada's eyes briefly flicker to yours. "I'm on it," she says.
Your gaze drifts between Ada and Leon, watching as she makes her way down to him while he holds Saddler off. He takes the rocket launcher when she tosses it to him, and as he takes aim, you hold your breath. The impact exposes Saddler at the center of the eye, and Leon hurries to end it, snatching the man's own staff and impaling him. You lose sight of Leon for a moment before the enormous corpse begins to shrivel away, like charcoal in the wind.
Settling back onto your knees, you let out a sigh, though you don't take your eyes off Leon as Ada walks over and nabs something off the floor. You can't make out what they're saying, but you can see the furrow in Leon's brow as he watches Ada walk away toward the helicopter that flies up toward the ledge.
As she boards, she tosses something to Leon that he catches, and you're left watching as the helicopter flies away. "You and Leon seem to know her pretty well," Ashley comments as she stands next to you, observing the exchange.
"I don't know that I'd say that," you mutter. "Maybe it's for the best, though." An explosion off to the other side catches your attention. "Alright, time to move."
Ashley's following behind as you make it to the lower level. She calls out to Leon as you round the corner, and he glances back as another explosion shakes the floor. "Better move. Island's gonna blow," he says.
"Island's gonna what?" Ashley gasps out as he leads you to the lift.
You keep her ahead of you as you move through the underground passage. As you get further in, there are people all writhing on the floor—the infected militia. "They're not attacking," Ashley notes.
"Daddy parasite is dead," you explain as you come upon a jet ski.
Leon holds up the key, attached to a small bear keychain. "Cute," you comment.
As he hops on, you sandwich Ashley between you. "You like thrill rides?" Leon asks her.
She grins. "I love them!"
"You're gonna love this!"
"Let's not love it too much," you gasp out as you hold onto the sides when Leon takes off. The first jump he hits has you burying your face into Ashley's back. "I'm just gonna keep my eyes closed, let me know when we're done!"
"Aw, c'mon!" Ashley shouts back to you. "This is kind of fun!"
Hesitantly, you peek an eye open only to see an enormous chunk of the cave collapse in front of you, Leon swerving right in time to avoid it. "Nope! Not fun!" you determine and squeeze your eyes shut.
"There's the exit!" he yells.
Your stomach flies into your throat as the jet ski hits a jump, lifting you into the air. A scream rips from you as you swear at Leon. Only when the jet ski slows to an idle do you finally open your eyes. "You guys okay?" he asks.
"I'm not sure!" Ashley laughs. "That was insane."
"I think I'm going to be sick," you grumble, leaning just over the side in case you really do have to puke.
Explosions reverberate through the air, and you watch as the facility explodes, water spraying down on you. There's a finality in the scene, watching everything come tumbling down. Ashley looks from the chaos behind to the rising sun ahead, its swirl of pinks and yellows tinting the sky something hopeful. "Mission accomplished, right?"
"Mission accomplished… when you're home safe," Leon says.
"Thank you for saving me," Ashley says, nudging you gently with her elbow. "Both of you."
"Don't mention it," Leon says.
"S'why we get hazard pay," you mutter as the nausea finally subsides.
"You know, I could put in a word to my dad," she says, eyebrows tilted up like she wants you to say yes. "Have you guys assigned to my detail, if you're interested?"
Leon glances over her shoulder at you, and you smirk. "You don't need us," he says. "You proved you could handle yourself… even if you could use a better instructor in knife safety."
The smile drops off your face. "Hey!"
Ashley laughs.
Leon looks ahead. "C'mon, let's go home."
Once you're safely back on U.S. soil and have been formally debriefed, you're standing idly outside the National Center for Medical Intelligence—one of the other STRATCOM locations. It's an hour's drive back, and you left your car at the airstrip in D.C. since you were sent off in a hurry.
Scrubbing a hand up and down your face, you don't even notice the person come up to stand beside you. "You waiting to teleport home or—?"
You glare over at Leon, who appears equally as exhausted as you know you do, but not tired enough to give the bad jokes a rest. "Don't have my car," you mutter. "Weighing the pros and cons of paying for an hour taxi ride."
He holds up his own car keys. "Today's your lucky day," he says. "I'll make it cheap for you."
You raise your brows. "Oh, will you really?"
"Yeah, just a single kiss," he grins. "Surely you have some to spare."
You roll your eyes, seizing him by the collar of his shirt and dragging him toward the parking lot. "I'm going to tell Luis you tried his pick-up line on me."
"You gonna go see him?" Leon asks as he readily follows after you.
You give a hum and nod. "Yeah, probably in a day or two," you say.
During your debriefing, you learned that Luis had indeed been successfully extracted from Valdelobos and taken to a hospital in Bilbao, where his collapsed lung was treated with a little more than a piece of plastic and some tape. You were assured that your treatment of him saved his life, though you already knew that. After a bit of prodding from both you and Leon, you learned that he would be given a plea deal, largely because of the testimony of Ashley, who credited her survival to the combined efforts of you, Leon, and Luis.
You aren't privy to the exact terms of this deal—no doubt they were largely similar to yours and Leon's, especially given how much information Luis knew and how much was lost when the island exploded. But with him now stable—according to Hunnigan—Spain would release him into the custody of the United States, and he would recover here while answering for his involvement with Umbrella and Los Iluminados.
"You wanna come?" you offer.
Leon rolls his eyes. "Yeah, no thanks," he says as he opens the passenger door for you.
You get in with laughter bubbling out of you as he slams the door shut and circles around to the driver's side, sliding in. "Oh come on," you say. "Don't act like you weren't concerned about him."
"I wasn't," he retorts as he starts the car.
"You were," you maintain.
He knows you won't change your mind, so he turns on the radio, a horrible rock band blasting through the speakers. As you wince at the sudden noise, you catch Leon smirking out of the corner of your eye, and you resist the urge to swat him as he backs out of the spot.
The drive is quick when you fall asleep fifteen minutes in, only waking as he gently shakes you. "C'mon, we're home," he whispers.
Your eyes flutter open as he cuts the engine, and only when you're already stepping out of the car do you realize you're in the parking lot of his apartment complex. As he walks around, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and guides you toward the entrance.
"We both need to shower," he says as you enter the elevator.
You have just enough energy to pretend to be offended. "I smell like roses, what do you mean?"
He snorts. "Yeah, if the roses were grown in manure."
You gasp, actually offended this time, as you pinch his side, making him laugh and swat your hand away. When you don't relent, he wraps you in his arms, gently bear-hugging you as he presses his lips to the top of your hair. Your laughter trails off as you sense the shift in mood.
"I'm sorry again," he mutters into your hairline. "For what I said."
You're quiet, ear squished to his chest as you listen to his heart beating frantically against his ribcage. "We can talk about it later," you say as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. "Right now, someone stinks and needs a shower."
You don't know how both of you ended up in Leon's tiny ass shower stall at the same time—maybe it had to do with the way his hands wandered up your sides the moment you crossed the threshold into his apartment, or the way you leaned back into him as his lips found your neck.
Either way, your clothes end up on the floor, and you two are certainly not prioritizing cleanliness with the way you have your tongues shoved into each other's mouths. You're crowded against the cold tile, and you gasp into his mouth. "Leon."
He swallows it down readily before running his tongue over your bottom lip. His hand snakes between your legs, fingers gliding through and finding your clit right away, circling around it in quick, precise motions. "This okay?" he asks, tipping back enough to look at you, taking in your half-lidded gaze and the way your mouth falls open as a tiny whine escapes you.
You nod quickly, hips thrusting against his hand, fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck as you drag him back into a voracious kiss—the kind where you don't know whether you want to devour or be devoured.
When he slides a single finger into your pussy you moan at the pressure, your skin heating up like your veins are on fire. "Can't wait to bury my cock in you," he murmurs. As he feels you tighten around his finger at his words, he grins against your lips. "Like the thought of that, huh?"
"Shut up," you whine, embarrassed by your body's reaction.
As he adds a second finger, you find purchase on his shoulders, nails biting into the skin already reddened from the hot water beating against his back. He starts slow—an in-and-out that leaves you aching for more. Impatiently, you jut your hips forward, a high-pitched keening at the back of your throat. He doesn't give in; if anything, he only goes slower.
"Needy today, huh?" he murmurs, arrogance in his voice as if you can't feel the hardened line of his cock against your thigh.
"Leon, please," you whisper.
He peppers kisses down your cheek to your jawline, stopping at your ear. "Yeah, sweetheart?" he breathes. "Tell me what you want."
"Want to cum," you practically beg, and it sends Leon to his knees instantly. You swear you can hear a crack as they hit the tiled floor, but he doesn't even wince as he dives in. "Shit," you gasp as he licks at your clit, fingers pumping with much more vigor, and you nearly struggle to stay standing, one hand blindly reaching out to grab hold of anything.
You find the shower niche and knock over his half-empty bottle of 2-in-1, but he pays it no mind as it clatters to the floor. If anything, he doubles his efforts, his other hand settling on your hip as if that's enough to keep you upright. You're not even sure how he's breathing with his nose pressed into your cunt and the way the water rains down on his head, but he's enthusiastic as the noises become incredibly obscene, your moans that begin to pitch up, bouncing off the tiled walls in the small bathroom.
When he adds a third finger and crooks them just right, you think your legs are about to give out. He brings you to the precipice quickly—he knows exactly how you like it, and even if he teases you with dirty talk, you know he won't leave you hanging.
"Leon," you moan. "Close."
Your entire body tenses as he sucks at your clit in time with a thrust of his fingers, sending you spiraling over the edge. It's a feeling that starts in your face—a red-hot flush that cascades down your body all the way to your toes and leaves you writhing against him.
"Oh shit," you gasp. He keeps going, not stopping until he's sure you're completely worked through, and only then, after you've tapped out—literally—by patting his shoulder to let him know you've had enough. As he stands, he slicks his soaked hair back before turning the shower off and wrenching the curtain open.
"What are you—oh!" You wrap your arms around his neck as he heaves you up in his arms by the back of your thighs, and you can feel his hard cock wedged between you.
"Bedroom," he answers as he steps out of the shower.
"If you slip and we die like this, I'm going to kill you."
He presses a kiss into your shoulder to hide his smirk. It's a short walk to his bedroom, and he places you carefully onto his bed—mindful of your injuries—crawling between your parted thighs, swallowing down your protests that you're going to get the sheets wet. "Don't care," he says as he molds your mouths together—you can taste yourself on his tongue. As he leans away, palming your breasts and running a thumb over your hardened nipples, you can see how blown out his pupils are. "Turn over."
You comply as soon as your brain catches up, rolling onto your stomach, and he grasps you by your hips, lifting your ass in the air, hands grabbing at it appreciatively, a soft groan emitting from the back of his throat at the sight. He teases the tip of his cock at your entrance, smearing it with his pre-cum, but not pushing in yet. You glance over your shoulder, face flushed. "Leon—"
He thrusts in before you can even finish—bottoming out so quickly that your knuckles turn white from how hard you're gripping the sheets beneath you. Your words get caught in your throat, your mouth gaping as no sound comes out. "That's what you wanted, right?" he mutters as he slowly pulls out, only to bully his way back in once more.
The drag of his cock inside of you has you seeing stars whenever your eyelids flutter closed. He doesn't need an answer; the way your pussy clenches around him is enough, as he begins a steady rhythm. Once you've gotten used to the stretch, you start to rock your hips back and forth in time with his, and you can hear the way his breath stutters.
"Shit," he murmurs, enraptured by the sway of your ass each time he buries his cock in you. "Jesus, you look so good like this—"
Your brain is hardly working, far too focused on how full you feel to worry about anything else, so you only manage a soft, "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he groans. "Isn't a better sight than you stuffed full of my cock."
You whimper in reply, burying your face into the pillow, still sensitive from your previous orgasm and feeling another already start to coil at your core. When your movement starts to falter, Leon can tell you're getting close, but so is he. The sounds of your soft moans mixed with the slap of his balls as he fucks you sends a tingle up his spine. As he glances down and catches sight of the way his cock glistens with your slick every time he thrusts in and out of you, he nearly cums, abruptly slowing his pace. With one hand, he reaches around to slowly circle two fingers on your clit, though with the other, he presses a thumb experimentally against your other hole.
"Leon—"
"If you don't want me to, just say stop," he murmurs. He waits a second for you to protest, and when you don't, he continues, pressing only the tip of his thumb into your asshole. The whine you let out is well worth it as you arch your back even more despite the way your ribs ache. It doesn't matter, though; you're so overwhelmed from the way his cock pounds into you, to the fingers swirling around your clit, and now this new teasing that leaves your stomach—and pussy—fluttering. "You like that?"
You nod against his pillow, eyes scrunched closed as the sensations wash over you. The coil in your abdomen is nearly ready to explode open.
"Gonna cum like this?" he questions breathlessly, barely managing to contain his own orgasm.
"Yes," you gasp, and then your vision turns white as you moan his name, every muscle in your body tightening. This one isn't a harsh fall over a cliff; it's a gentle tide that slowly washes over you. Leon fucks you through it until you're boneless beneath him, and only then does he pull out, pumping his cock as he cums across your ass cheeks and lower back, whimpering your name over and over.
He's breathing heavily as he collapses onto the bed next to you, kissing your cheek. "Was that okay?" he asks.
"Mhm," you nod tiredly before adding, "We're gonna have to take another shower." You can already feel the way his cum is cooling on your skin, mixed with the stickiness of sweat.
During the second shower, you're strict about Leon keeping his hands to himself, and he does, albeit begrudgingly. You manage to make it out of there cleaner than you entered. After dressing in a pair of Leon's sweatpants and a t-shirt, you strip the bed and start putting on new sheets since you'd gotten the other ones wet.
He's quiet, and as you're in the middle of putting on the fitted sheet, he finally speaks up, "Do you want to talk about it now?"
To be honest, you're surprised by his insistence. You think it might be because you haven't said you forgive him yet. Each time he's apologized, you've brushed it off, something you've never done before. Whenever you two have had disagreements in the past, you've been quick to accept his apology and move on.
This time is different. "You hurt my feelings," you admit.
He frowns. "I'm sorry. So much was going on and everything kept going wrong—" He pauses and shakes his head as if he realizes he's making excuses. "—Just know I didn't mean it the way it sounded."
"It sounded like you think I'm a burden," you say as you tuck the sheet in.
"I don't—" He sighs and pinches his nose between his fingers. "I'm doing an awful job of explaining this."
You're inclined to agree, but you don't—not aloud, at least.
"You're so important to me, and being on a mission with you when you weren't the priority was incredibly difficult because you're a priority to me." He doesn't look at you as he folds down the sheet. "…That's why I requested that we never be sent on missions together."
You freeze—your brain hitting a hard reset as it fills with static. "I'm—I'm sorry, you requested that?" you ask. Suddenly, everything makes sense—his nonchalance the first and only time you asked him about it, Hunnigan's insistence that you not make contact with him when you first arrived, how upset he seemed when he saw you.
He blinks as if realizing his mistake, already opening his mouth with another excuse at the tip of his tongue. "I thought it would just be better for us if we weren't sent on assignments together."
"Because, what? You think I can't take care of myself?" you retort. Anger builds inside of you, and maybe you stuff the pillow into the pillowcase a little harder than you mean to.
"There it is," the voice leers. "Even a worm will turn."
"No, I—"
You don't let him speak. You're all bared teeth and narrowed eyes. "Because I survived six fucking days in that hellhole before I even met you—I would say I'm pretty fucking capable!" You toss the pillow onto the bed between you with a soft thud.
He seems taken aback by your reaction, but it doesn't leave him stunned for long. A storm cloud settles over his face. "Jesus, that's not what I meant!" he raises his voice.
"Then what did you mean?" you question. "You clearly think I'm some sort of liability. I mean, God, do you even know how that makes me look to everyone else? That even you don't want to go on an assignment with me?"
"I—"
"It makes me look inept!"
"You're not inept!" he argues.
Leaning back onto your heels, you nod as if you remembered something. "Oh, right, I'm a distraction." You tap your head thoughtlessly. "Silly me."
He lets out an exasperated sigh as he rounds the bed, standing in front of you, hesitating to reach out. "You're not listening to me."
"I am, I'm listening to exactly what you're telling me with your words and with what's written on your face. It's loud and clear," you argue.
His brows draw together. "What?"
Your shoulders drop as you humorlessly laugh. "You don't even know, do you?" You wave a hand in front of his face. "When you look at me, you get this… this sad look on your face. It's like you think I'm just going to disappear."
"I don't—"
"You do," you insist with a nod. "Every time I leave for a mission, or hell, even just sitting across from each other on the couch. You look at me like I'm going to walk out that door and never come back."
His face twists up. "Because you might not!"
You draw back, peering up at him and finding he can't meet your eye. "Is that why you've been so withdrawn?" you ask. He opens his mouth and then closes it, like he wants to retort, but he can't, because he knows you're right.
"I just don't want to lose you," he says softly.
"You haven't!" you argue. "Stop looking at me like I'm already gone! I'm not, I'm right here!"
His eyes are downcast, staring at the space between you. "I don't… I don't think I know how to."
You sigh—it's a defeated, tired sound. "Leon, do you even know what it's like to have someone look at you like you're already a ghost?" He doesn't say anything, even when you give him time. So you nod. "Right," you mutter. "I'm just gonna go—"
His brows furrow. "No, please—" He goes to reach for you, but you brush his hands away, and the pain on your face doesn't make him try again.
"—I'm gonna call a taxi and wait in the lobby—" You stop, your voice breaking as you add, "I'll… I'll talk to you later, okay?"
He doesn't leave his room as you head out into the kitchen and use his phone to call a taxi, nor when he hears you gathering your things and your soft sniffling, not even when he hears the front door open and the long pause before it closes.
Leon sits there and stares at the spot you were standing, wondering what the fuck is wrong with him.
Author's Note: thank you guys so much for the love on the first chapter of this series, it means so much that y'all are enjoying it! next chapter will likely be out in two weeks so stay tuned :))
Summary: Leon doesn't have a mind to celebrate, unless it's with you.
Word Count: 8.5k
Content: 18+, smut, takes place between re2 & re4, doctor!reader, angst and fluff and more angst but there's also more fluff, mentions of past trauma, jealous!leon, undefined relationships, leon is a yearner but also incredibly stupid at feelings, oral (m!receiving), unprotected p in v sex, leon whimpering and a lil subby but only a lil, no use of y/n
To Read on AO3
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April 14th, 2000
Standing in the hall, Leon can hear the music from inside the apartment, your tone-deaf singing carrying just a bit louder. He's amazed that none of your neighbors have filed a noise complaint yet. His mind tries to conjure the image of you dancing as you sing along—he's caught you a few times, shimmying in the kitchen when you're preparing a snack or bopping to the beat as you sit on the couch, engrossed in medical journals.
He wonders how you dance when no one is watching.
Exhaling an amused snort through his nose, he stares down at the key held between his fingers with the little Furby keychain you attached to it, its wide, unblinking eyes looking back up at him as if taunting him.
"It's so creepy," he told you as you handed him the key.
You laughed, the corners of your eyes crinkling with mischief. "Yup," you confirmed with a hard pop on the 'p'.
Still holding the key, he raises a hand and gives three firm knocks on the door, loud enough that he's positive you'll be able to catch it over your music—and your bad singing.
"It's the way you lo—" He hears you stop mid-song, and the volume of your radio drops before hurried footsteps approach the door. When it's flung open, he sees you standing there; your hair is in a haphazard bun, but you're wearing your scrubs, your badge still clipped to the pocket.
You must have just gotten off work.
There's a hollowness under your eyes, the result of too many doubles and far too many sleepless nights. You waved off his concerns when he brought them up, claiming that being sleep-deprived just comes with the territory, which didn't ease his worries any. Pursing your lips, glance down at his hand, where he's holding the key, then reach out and grab him by the wrist, holding it up to his face. "I gave you a key for a reason, dingus."
He shrugs halfheartedly, and even though you narrow your gaze at him, you still step aside to let him in, watching as he takes off his shoes and sets them next to yours at the entrance. He can't tell you how you still make him nervous, how the thought of walking into your apartment unannounced gives him heart palpitations—even the simple intimacy of seeing your shoes sitting together sends an unspeakable feeling crawling up his throat.
"How's it feel to officially be done with your training?" you ask as you close the door. "Did Krauser cry?"
Leon rolls his eyes at the mention of his most… prolific instructor over the last two years. "Tears of joy, probably, if he can even feel such an emotion," he says sourly. "Apparently, they're going to be pairing us for missions for a while. He told me not to be dead weight and then just walked away."
You let out a bark of laughter as you turn your stereo down even more, though you keep humming along as you continue what you were doing before he knocked—tidying up, as if Leon cares at all if your apartment is a mess, which it never is. He watches as you fold the throw blanket that was in a bunch on the couch, and he imagines you curled up there watching TV last night.
"How was work?" he asks, lingering in your entryway. You make a face, giving him a side-eye that says everything he needs to know. "That bad, huh?"
"We have a new attending, and he's a fucking nightmare," you explain as you walk into your kitchen to stick your coffee cup from this morning into the dishwasher. "I was overseeing one of the med students doing a simple suture, and he walks in, takes one look at the stitches, and—right in front of the patient—goes, 'You suture like anatomy is a suggestion.' I thought the poor thing was going to cry."
Leon grimaces. "Yikes," he says. "At least you only have a few months left in your residency, right?" A sigh escapes you—it's forlorn, and his brows pinch together. "What's wrong?"
"They want me to pursue an infectious disease fellowship," you say as you come to a standstill, hands on your hips, a frown on your face.
He knows who 'they' are—STRATCOM—the same 'they' that he spent the last two years training under. A scowl of his own forms on his lips. "You love working in the E.R., though."
The look you give him is one of livid acceptance—your hands are, unfortunately, tied, and in the end, it does not matter what you want. Your service to your country would come first—they ensured your compliance after Raccoon City. "I'm more useful to them with that research under my belt than in the Emergency Department," you explain, pausing briefly. "I'm gonna go change, sit down, and stop standing near the door like a freak."
Leon suddenly becomes acutely aware that he's been loitering at the entrance to your apartment. As you disappear into your bedroom, he makes his way to the couch. He helped you haul it up four flights of stairs when you bought it—both of you too stubborn to ask anyone else for help, not that there was anyone else to ask. You just had each other. After you two finally got it into your apartment, you made Leon move it around the apartment several more times because of your indecision about where to place it, citing something about the living room's feng shui.
The TV is already on, playing reruns of The X-Files—every time you two watched the show together, you would argue about which of you is Scully.
"She's a medical doctor, obviously, I'm Scully," you disputed when he tried to lay claim to the fictional character.
"Yeah, but you believe in aliens," he retorted.
"So do you!" you said exasperatedly.
By the end of the back-and-forth, neither of you budged—a stalemate silently declared when you switched the channel to another TV show in a huff of indignation. Leon tried to hide his grin because he knew he was definitely Mulder—he just liked riling you up about it.
He plops onto the couch, his mind too busy to pay attention to the show as he glances around your apartment—it's pretty small, but certainly nicer than his, if only because you've taken the time over the last two years to make it into a home, while he only just got a box spring for his mattress a couple of months ago after you looked him dead in the eye and said, "A twenty-three-year-old man needs a box spring, Leon… and a headboard."
So now he has a box spring, a frame, and a headboard, all of which you helped him pick out. His cheeks burn at the memory of you dragging him to the furniture store and how domestic it had felt, as if you two were a normal couple—like you were a couple at all. Scrubbing a hand across his face, he sinks further into the couch, as if willing it to swallow him whole.
His gaze falls to the collection of photos you have hanging on the wall—the frames are mismatched, ones you picked up at a thrift store. Pictures of you and your brother from the holiday breaks he spends here, ones of you both with Sherry from your monthly visits, and a few of you together. They're all recent, from the last two years—you'd lost everything you owned in Raccoon City, except, of course, the picture of you and Jill that you'd found in the R.P.D.
It hangs on your wall now, and the picture still makes him smile—seeing how carefree and happy you'd been.
A month after you both were brought to D.C., you were settling into your new apartment after spending the better part of the last few weeks in a hotel. You'd started at the hospital only a week ago, and Leon was two weeks into his training—they'd barely given either of you time to recover from Raccoon City before throwing you to the wolves.
Sink or swim, they told you.
It was much more threadbare in here, with just two lawn chairs and a milk crate holding up your TV—you had only just gotten an actual bed to sleep in, and your refrigerator had two things in it—a half-empty six-pack of beer and leftover Chinese food you were living off of until you got your first paycheck.
You and Leon were sitting in the chairs, nursing the shitty, cheap beer, the beginnings of what would become your weekly lamentations about the state of your lives, when your phone rang. His eyes slid to you as yours stared at it with apprehension. Your brother was still at school until winter break the following week, and it wasn't your designated call time for Sherry. He could see the way anxiety coiled around you.
You were up in the next moment, hesitantly approaching the phone, and he followed after you—fearful and protective—leaning over your shoulder as you picked up the receiver and held it to your ear. "Hello?" you said.
"Hey," a female voice answered in a sigh, as if it were a relief to hear your voice. "You're a bit hard to track down now, did you know that?"
When he glanced down at you, he saw your brows rise in shock, and then he watched your lower lip quiver as realization dawned on you. "Jill?" you whispered into the phone, white-knuckle grip on it.
"Yeah," she confirmed, and he could hear the way her voice wobbled. "It's me."
Leon slid down the wall with you as you collapsed, his arms wrapped around you, holding you close as tears streaked down your face. "You're alive," you sobbed, your body shaking. As you covered your eyes with one hand, Leon pressed his lips to your temple.
"I'm alive," she repeated, voice hoarse like she was barely holding it together. "And, so are you."
She said it like a reminder—like she knew you needed it. He could feel you unraveling, the guilt you'd been carrying washing away with your tears. He stayed with you on the floor as you and Jill talked for hours, his cheek resting against the top of your head, taking in the lightness in your voice he hadn't heard before—another brief glimpse of who you used to be.
A person you would never be again.
The next time you spoke to her was the following month, to tell her Claire's whereabouts, after Leon received an e-mail from Claire about what was happening on Rockfort Island and Umbrella's surveillance on Chris. Jill called the next day to let you know that both Claire and Chris were all right, though they'd taken a short trip to Antarctica.
You and Leon had exchanged dumbfounded looks.
Jill has remained a steady part of your life since then—you would meet up with her every few months when she was stateside. With Chris, Jill has been trying to combat Umbrella across the globe, and they have recently been lobbying Congress to fund their efforts—or at least formally sanction their operation. Though Jill had told you they have no problem continuing their work without permission, "It's always easier to ask for forgiveness," she said.
In truth, Leon feels jealous of the freedom the two have—the leash that STRATCOM has kept him on, ever-present in his mind, especially now that his training has ended and his first mission looms on the horizon, only a few hours away. He runs his palms up and down his thighs, jaw clenching as he thinks about what tomorrow will bring—another change that will push him further from who he used to be.
When you emerge from your bedroom in comfortable lounge clothes—a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt—he straightens, eyes on the TV, nervous you'll see right through him. He juts his chin toward the plant on the end table, one he's sure wasn't there the last time he was here. "That new?" he asks.
"It's fake," you say as you pick up the remote and switch to a different channel, knowing full well that Leon isn't as engrossed in the show as he pretends to be, and maybe desperate to avoid the impending Scully or Mulder argument. As if sensing the words about to come out of his mouth, you quickly add, "The charge nurse gave it to me when I was complaining about how I kept killing plants."
"You know you could just remember to water them," he snorts.
You're about to retort with some smartass comment, no doubt on the tip of your tongue, when a knock on your door interrupts. "That's probably the food," you say before calling out, "One sec!" You snatch your purse off the coffee table, rummaging around until you come up with a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.
You pad over to the door and swing it open.
"Hey, Ian," you greet the delivery driver—by name, Leon notes. He resists the need to glance over, instead resting his cheek against his hand as he idly watches the new show you put on, pretending he's not eavesdropping.
"Hey, doc," the man replies. There's far too much familiarity in his tone, and Leon's gaze flicks toward the door, realizing he doesn't have a good angle from here. "How's your night going?"
You take the pizza box as he hands it to you, exchanging it for the cash in your hand, which he pockets when you tell him to keep the change. "Just got off work a bit ago," you reply, your tone polite but still friendly.
He tips his head back to get a better view and sees a lanky man leaning against your doorframe. He's smiling down at you; his interest is plain as day to any idiot with eyes. "No hot date?" His head tilts to the side as he asks playfully, inquiring, Leon realizes.
Leon feels his stomach roil, a foul feeling itching up his throat that he tries to swallow back down. It shouldn't surprise him that other people notice how pretty you are. There are moments when the light hits you just right, and it feels like he's been punched in the gut. He wonders if you know how breathless you leave him sometimes.
But even still, you're not his, he reminds himself.
After everything—surviving Raccoon City together and all that's come after; the late-night phone calls from nightmare-induced panic attacks, the hours upon hours spent together in this very apartment, the way his eyes have memorized the contours of your face and his hands the curves of your body.
You're still not his.
It's something he thinks about a lot. It's crossed his mind more times than he can count—to ask. He's done it before with high school girlfriends and with the girl he dated when he was in the academy, even though it feels like a lifetime ago now.
A part of him wants to feign ignorance, to pretend he doesn't know why he can't say something as simple as, "Will you be my girlfriend?" But he knows why it feels like a Sisyphean task.
He's never asked because if he did, it would give this feeling a name—a name he doesn't think he can say out loud, as if doing so would jinx it. Admitting everything would make the possibility of losing you even more real, and he's convinced himself he's far happier to stay in this maddening limbo than to risk losing you entirely.
"You're funny," you say with a snort, stepping back, one hand resting on the door while the other balances the pizza box. "No, just a movie night with my friend."
Like a knife straight to the heart. Friend, he thinks bitterly.
"Oh, you know," Ian starts, not as smooth as he thinks he is, and Leon narrows his eyes, not that the man could see him glowering from here. "I also like movies. Maybe one night you and I could go see one? A movie, that is."
You laugh, slowly closing your door, as if this isn't the first time the delivery boy has tried to ask you out. "Have a good night, Ian."
"You too, doc," he says, not at all deterred by your blatant dismissal, hands tucked into the front pockets of his hoodie as he steps back from the door, watching you until the very last second as you shut it, a dopey smile on his face.
When you turn back around, there's an amused smirk on your lips, but it drops when you see Leon staring at you. "What?" you ask cautiously.
"You on a first-name basis with the delivery boy?" he questions as you set the pizza box down on the coffee table in front of him. He tries to say it casually, quirking an eyebrow and resting an arm over the back of the couch.
He sees you toss him a sour expression over your shoulder as you head to the kitchen to grab plates. "I order from there like twice a week," you say, as if in defense of yourself. "They have really good pizza."
"You're a doctor," he says it like it's an accusation. "Aren't you supposed to be like super health-conscious?"
That makes you laugh. "Like you have room to talk, the most I've seen you do is microwave a cup of ramen," you reply with a roll of your eyes. "Do you want a beer?" you ask as you open the fridge.
"Yes," he answers, a frown on his face that definitely wouldn't be mistaken for a pout. After a beat, when he realizes how ridiculous he's being, he adds, "Please."
"So polite," you tease as you hand him the beer, then plop down on the couch as you both dig into the pizza, which is admittedly very good, though Leon only grunts a reply when you ask if he likes it.
Half an hour later, most of the pizza is gone, and you're both on your second beer. A scary movie that came out last year, which you both said you'd actually go to the theater to see but never did, plays on TV, though neither of you flinches at the jump scares. You make an idle comment, "If they had a shotgun, this movie would've been ten minutes long."
He almost chokes on his slice of pizza.
As you sit on the opposite side of the sofa, your feet are stretched out, barely touching Leon's thigh. He's far too aware of your presence, trying to resist the desire to reach out and touch you. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, switching the can of beer from one to the other, wiping the condensation gathering in his palm onto his jeans, and his leg bouncing all the while.
Like you can sense his nervous energy—or maybe just see how much his leg is shaking, you peek over. "You ready for dessert?" you ask.
His brows furrow. "Dessert?" he repeats. "There's dessert?"
A slow grin spreads on your face. "Of course there's dessert," you reply. "We're celebrating."
"I told you not to make a big deal about it," he says, rubbing at the back of his neck.
You roll your eyes as you move across the couch, closer to him, and sit on your knees. "Listen," you start, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder, and he feels his skin warm under your touch. "We were dealt a pretty shitty hand with all of this—"
He goes to protest, to put on a brave front, but the words die in his throat as he recalls what Adam Benford said to him during his interrogation after Raccoon City. "To be clear, this isn't our first choice, but to ensure your compliance and discretion—" He slid two pictures across the table, one of Sherry and one of you, taken right after the three of you were hauled into unmarked vehicles and brought to a nondescript government facility in the Midwest. "—it would be in your best interest, and theirs, if you agree."
His gaze drops at the memory—one you don't know about, something he's never revealed to you. How could he? How awful would you feel if you knew you were used as leverage to get him to comply? Neither of you has been very willing to talk about those days following your escape from Raccoon City. Somehow, he doubts you ever will.
Your fingertips find his chin, angling it up for him to look at you. "—but you've worked really hard the last two years, and it's okay to celebrate these milestones… even if this isn't how you thought things were going to go." You pause, pursing your lips, and he sees the way your eyes get misty with tears. "We're still allowed to experience life, you know? They don't get to take that away."
He's quiet, softening under your touch—leaning into it—considering your words. As he breathes in, he stares at you, nodding. "Okay."
The corners of your lips twitch tentatively. "Okay?"
He reaches up, giving in to the urge to touch, grasping your wrist and pressing his lips to your palm. "Okay," he murmurs against your skin.
It's worth it to see the smile that lights up your face as you scramble up, but not before kissing the top of his head. "I worked really hard on it, so don't laugh, alright?" He watches as you walk into the kitchen, grabbing something from the fridge, but he can't see what from this angle. "Close your eyes," you instruct.
"Seriously?" he asks.
You pop around the corner, giving him a deadpan look. "Yes, Leon!"
He huffs out a laugh and closes his eyes. He can hear you rummaging around in your drawers, before the tch tch tch of a lighter. His brows raise with curiosity, but he resists the impulse to peek as you come back over, and he can feel the couch beside him dip down.
"Okay, open your eyes," you say.
When he does, you're sitting there holding a plate with a cake that is definitely lopsided—the frosting is a patchy baby pink, as if you didn't mix the food coloring in fully, and he can see crumbs mixed in, probably because you were impatient and didn't wait long enough for the cake to cool before decorating it.
It seems like you tried to cover up your poor frosting job with big, chunky rainbow sprinkles, and in bright red gel icing, you've written 'congrats leon' in barely legible cursive, complete with a crooked smiley face.
The cherry on top is the lit candles, which are starting to melt.
"It's not my birthday," he points out as his face dons a confused expression at the flickering flames.
Your eyes narrow, like you know he's baiting you. "Shut up and blow the candles out, Leon."
He tries to hide the smile spreading across his face. "Yes, ma'am," he says, about to blow them out, but you yank it away at the last second, sputtering a 'wait, wait, wait'. "What?" he asks.
"I have to get a picture for Sherry, hold on," you say as you shove the plate into his hands and dig through the drawer of your end table until you come out with a Polaroid camera. "Okay, say 'cheese!'"
"You're such a pain," he says through gritted teeth, grinning anyway.
You snap the picture, shaking the Polaroid as it comes out of the camera. Inspecting it as it starts to develop, and once you're sure you didn't catch him blinking, you gesture toward the cake. "Okay, blow them out now before wax gets on the cake," you say impatiently, as if you weren't holding this whole thing up.
"Probably would only make it more edible," he mutters, chuckling as you swat at him before blowing out the candles. "Happy?"
"Extremely," you muse as you take the plate from him to set it down on the coffee table. "Sherry picked out the flavor and color—it's strawberry, by the way."
Leon laughs. "Of course she did." He imagines that the little girl—well, teenager now—had given you specific instructions on the exact shade of pink to use for the cake and exactly how to decorate it. No doubt you did an abysmal job following her directions, and you would hear no end of it once she saw the picture.
It seems that isn't all you have planned, as you pluck a box from your bag and hold it out to him. It's nicely wrapped—like the kind of gift you get professionally wrapped at a fancy department store. "You didn't have to get me anything." When you gesture insistently for him to take it, he does, then carefully unwraps it, well aware of how eagerly you're watching.
It's a watch—similar to the one you wear every day.
"Now we match," you say with a grin as you hold up your own to show him. "It's solar-powered, so you don't have to worry about it dying or having to change the batteries, and you can set timers, and there's a compass, oh, and—"
"I love it," he murmurs gently.
"Yeah?" you ask quietly, brows lifting in relief as if you'd been nervous he wouldn't like it.
He sets the watch down and reaches out before he loses his nerve, grabbing you and pulling you into his lap. You let out a surprised noise, bracing your hands against his shoulders as he caresses the line of your jaw. "Yeah," he confirms, his gaze meeting yours and catching the way your eyes dip down to his lips for just a second.
His chest pools with the unnameable feeling, but he knows he would gladly drown in it. It sets his veins on fire as he nuzzles his nose against yours, angling his head to slot your mouths together. He kisses you like he's a prisoner and you're his last meal.
You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows it down readily, dragging you closer to him.
This isn't something that happens often.
The sex.
And maybe that's why your relationship is so… muddled.
Maybe it's why he doesn't know where you two stand with each other—why he's afraid to ask.
Or maybe it's just another excuse he can tell himself.
But when you're so pliant under his touch, like right now, he can forget—he can pretend that, irrefutably, you are his, especially when you whisper his name against his lips like a confession. Your fingers weave through the hair at the base of his neck, deepening the kiss as your tongue glides along his lower lip.
He is reminded of how you'd grinned, tugging at his hair after his first week of training. "Glad they didn't make you shave your head," you teased. "You'd look weird bald." He scowled, face flushed, and waved your hand away, even as your laughter sent a swirl of butterflies through his stomach. He didn't know then how that feeling would grow, how it would consume him.
It feels like he can't get close enough to you, even as your tongues brush and his fingertips dig into the plush flesh of your thighs—it's still not enough. His breath catches in his throat as you nip at his bottom lip, not enough to hurt, but enough to feel it, a tingle shooting straight down his spine.
He briefly wonders if you can feel how hard he is beneath you already. Then, as if sensing his thoughts, you shift—he might even mistake it for you just readjusting, if not for the way you smile against his lips as he groans, canting his hips up against you.
Then you do it again, none too conspicuously, and his vision erupts with white dots as he moans your name. He can feel the heat of you through your shorts, and his fingers itch to dip beneath the waistband of them to discover how wet he hopes you are.
But then you pull away, breathless, face flushed, eyes half-lidded, and you can't help but lean in once more for a quick peck. "You want your other present?" you ask, fingers knotting into the fabric of his shirt.
His brows furrow, his mind still hazy from the kiss. "What?" There's a mischievous glint in your eye as you slide off his lap, though he holds on to you until the very last second, watching with a slack jaw as you nestle between his legs. Heat spreads across his face, up to his ears, as he stares down at you. "You—" His voice cracks, pitching up, and he coughs. "You don't have to—"
You unfasten his belt and look up at him just before you undo his pants. "Feel free to stop me anytime," you say as you pop the button open. You pause, your eyebrows raised as if waiting for him to tell you to stop. When he opens his mouth and nothing comes out, you grin.
He's white-knuckle gripping the arm of the couch with one hand, his other hovering just at the side of your head like he doesn't know what to do with it. He shudders as you wrap your hand around his cock, stroking it up and down a few times when you pull it out, as if he wasn't already rock hard from just a bit of kissing.
"So," you murmur as you bend down like you're about to take him into your mouth, but stop just shy, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes. "Do you want me to stop?"
He's shaking his head back and forth, stuttering out his answer in a desperate plea. "No, no, please don't stop."
You maintain unwavering eye contact as you stick your tongue out, pink and glistening, swiping it all the way from the base of his cock to the tip in one languid motion that makes him pant, hand instantly finding purchase on the back of your head. His fingers tangle into your messy bun way more roughly than he intends, and he realizes it right away, snatching it away like he's been burned.
"Sorry," he apologizes quickly.
You take his hand and put it back on your head. "You're allowed to touch," you say, and he doesn't know whether it's the low tone of your voice or the way you flatten your tongue against the leaking tip of his cock that makes his eyes roll back in his head.
He's more tender, though, only applying force when you slowly start to bob your head up and down. "Oh fuck," he moans, gasping your name. You take him inch by inch, your jaw relaxing to accommodate his thickness. One of your hands is on his thigh, keeping you steady while the other grips the base of his cock, a constant pressure that makes the pleasure begin to build deep in his core.
By the time he hits the back of your throat, his head is thrown back against your couch. When you gag, it only turns him on more as he peers down at you, watching the drool pool at the corners of your mouth as you bring your head back up, licking your lips once and blinking away the tears before diving back in.
"Jesus Christ," he breathes out as you take him even deeper. His hips slant up just a bit, forcing himself down your throat even more, and when you only swallow him down, he grips your hair with both hands now. "Shit, you're so good."
You keep bobbing up and down, working what you can't fit in your mouth with your hand in a rhythm that makes his brain fuzzy. His stomach tightens, and when you hollow your cheeks and suck, if he were of a clearer mind, the noise he makes might cause a rush of embarrassment; it's a high-pitched whimper, your name leaving his lips like a prayer.
"Please, please," he begs as he feels himself teetering on the edge. "So close, please."
You clearly don't have any intention of stopping; instead, you double your efforts until Leon is thrusting up, nails biting into your scalp as more tears gather in your eyes while he fucks your throat raw. He can feel the way you moan around his cock as he does, and his head curves back again.
"Shit, shit," he moans. "Oh God, I'm—" The words get caught in his throat when he falls over the edge, his vision blackening around the edges, as he starts to cum. His hips stutter, face twisting up with pleasure as he finishes down your throat. You keep working his cock, and the world becomes a fishbowl around him—muffled and distant.
When he finally regains his senses, he's panting heavily—view hazy as he looks down at you; your hair is a mess from his fingers, and there are tear streaks trailing down your cheeks as you swallow the remnants of his cum. His brain is still foggy, heart racing in his chest as you beckons you up.
You rise to your feet just enough for him to gather you into his lap, straddling him, his softening cock between the two of you, rubbing against the smooth cotton of your sleep shorts in a way that's almost overstimulating. A small whine escapes the back of his throat.
"Did you like your present?" you ask, voice hoarse.
His hand hooks at the back of your neck, dragging you to him to slot his mouth against yours. The taste of himself on your lips makes his cock stir despite having just orgasmed. Fingertips trail up the smooth planes of your thighs before digging into your hips, tugging you insistently closer. Your arms drape over his shoulders as you let him do as he pleases.
As you both draw back to breath, you grin. "I'll take that as a yes," you whisper contentedly against his lips.
He brushes his nose against yours, pecking your lips once before trailing down to your neck. "Not done, yet," he murmurs against your skin, already feeling the telltale twitch of his cock with every tiny movement of you on top of him and soft sigh into his ear.
Then he slides his hands down to the underside of your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh as he hauls himself and you up off the couch. You let out a shocked noise, arms wrapping around his neck as if he would let you fall, and then he's walking toward your bedroom with you in his arms.
"Smooth, rookie," you tease as he nudges your door open, carefully navigating through the door frame.
He can feel the way the heat spreads up his neck to his cheeks from the compliment, along with the way your hands seem to be admiring the way his biceps flex as he carries you. He kisses you once more before tossing you onto the bed, and you giggle, hand covering your mouth, though the amusement on your face quickly morphs into rapt interest as he strips.
Eyes trailing down his form with a hungry look in your eye that sends a wave of confidence through him. You hastily join him, your clothes forming a messy pile on your bedroom floor before you grasp his hand, yanking him onto the bed with you. Your mouths move together in a desperate collision; it's practically all teeth.
His cock is already half hard again, and when you push him so he's lying against your plush pillows, tossing a leg over his waist so you're straddling him, he's hit with the urge to bury himself deep inside of you. As you slide yourself up and down the shaft of his cock, he can finally feel how wet you are—practically dripping. "Oh god," he groans as you grind against him. The rough palms of his hands skirt up the length of your waist, cupping your breasts reverently, causing you to arch into his touch. "So pretty," he notes as his thumbs trace circles against your nipples, bringing them to peaks.
"Leon," you gasp.
He's compelled by your eagerness, tweaking lightly at them, enjoying the way you writhe on top of him when he does. Your hands find purchase on his wrists as you continue to rock back and forth, soaking his now completely hard cock. He can't help himself, sitting up to take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it in a way that makes you buck against him.
"Ah, shit, Leon," you moan.
He licks a trail up to your neck, then sucks just under your jawline. "Gonna let me fuck you?" he murmurs against your skin. Next thing he knows, he's flat on his back again, your hands on his chest as you slowly grind against him.
"What was that?" you ask lowly, not giving him the satisfaction of the sweet slide into your cunt. He's almost frustrated by the way he can feel the slow build of another organism just from the wet heat of your cunt. He wants to be inside of you, though, desperately.
"C'mon," he practically begs. "Please."
You slow to a crawl, hips canting back and forward at a snail's pace. "Please, what?" you ask teasingly.
He whines, tilting his hips up, trying to renew that delicious friction between you, but you don't give in, causing him to whimper. "Fuck me, please."
You don't let him flounder for long, reaching between the two of you to grab hold of him and press his tip to your entrance before sinking down. Your noises turn soft, slight gasps as you take him inch by inch, and he's moaning as the velvety walls of your cunt surround him. He doesn't know that he'll ever get tired of the feeling.
"God, you're so big," you breathe out.
His ears heat up, cock twitching inside of you. "You can't just say that," he pants.
"Don't pretend you don't like it when I stroke your ego," you say as you slide down the last inch, and Leon groans as he bottoms out in you.
"Shut up," he replies with no real bite, pinching the skin at your hip.
You grin in response, and then you start moving up and down, and he's whimpering your name. "Holy shit," he pants. This isn't an angle of you he's had the pleasure of witnessing very many times before, but it's definitely one of his favorites. His gaze focuses on the way your breasts bounce with your movement, how you arch your back. His hands grip the plush flesh of your ass, eyes gazing down to where you two are joined, watching as he disappears into you with each rock back and forth of your hips.
You moan with every drag of his cock in and out of you, your face twisted up with pleasure, and he can only watch you with reverence. You're so otherworldly, he thinks. He would gladly supplicate for the rest of his days and become a lamb for sacrificial slaughter if the suffering came from your pretty hands.
He takes one of your hands pressed to his chest, and holds it to his lips devotedly, staring at yours in the dim light of your bedroom. He wonders if you can see it in his eyes—the things he would do for you—what he's already done for you.
His tender murmured praises keep you going until he knows your legs are tiring, thighs straining from the movement. Then, when you start to falter, he guides you with his hands, feet planted into your bed so he can thrust up to meet you halfway, his end rapidly approaching.
"Touch yourself," he orders lowly.
He wants to feel you cum around him; it's the only thing his mind can focus on right now.
You comply instantly, and he can feel the way you clench around him, like you enjoyed him ordering you around. When you swirl two fingers around your clit, your pussy turns into a vice grip that makes his eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Leon," you moan desperately. Your movement turns sloppy as you teeter close to the edge, your other hand barely keeping you upright on top of him as he continues to thrust up into you, harder now.
"C'mon," he groans. "Give it to me."
Your breath pitches up, gasping and panting as you cum around his cock, thighs tightening as your orgasm washes over you. Pleasure morphs your face into something sinful, and Leon doesn't give you even a second of reprieve before he's bucking up into you, desperately chasing his own end while fucking you through yours. You collapse against him as your muscles fail you, burying your nose into the crook of his neck.
His arms wrap around you, holding you close to his chest as he tumbles over the edge. His lips find your shoulder, kissing and biting at the delicate skin in between the carnal way he moans your name—it's almost animalistic, originating somewhere from deep in his chest. But, it's pure relief as he cums in you, hips tilting up again and again until he's sure he's emptied inside of you.
He keeps you there on top of him, even when your skin starts to stick together from the sweat, even as he feels himself leak out from you, and only when you finally seem to regain function of your body do you pull away, though he cradles your face before you can get too far. "Was that okay?" he asks.
He always does.
Your cheeks are flushed, and you nod, smiling down at him with a dazed look in your eye. "More than okay," you confirm tenderly, and he feels his heart stutter when you press a kiss to his lips. "Let me go get cleaned up."
And then you're slowly extricating yourself from him, wincing a bit, before heading out of your bedroom toward the bathroom. Leon watches you go, fixated on your backside until you disappear from view. He lies there, catching his breath as he listens to the toilet flush and the water run. When you return, your hair is a bit tidier, though your skin is still rosy. As you grab a new pair of underwear from your dresser and another t-shirt, he gets up and heads to the bathroom to wash up.
His gaze gets caught on the mirror as he's washing his hands, finding his own eyes in the mirror. There are moments when he doesn't recognize the person staring back at him, and it feels like it's happening more and more often. There's something in his eyes, he thinks, something that's broken, and he thinks sometimes you can see it, too.
He wonders if you feel this way—if there are days when you can't look at your own reflection because it's like seeing a stranger staring back at you. In the back of his mind, he contemplates whether part of him got left behind in Raccoon City, a part he'll never be able to get back.
Blinking, he turns the water off, rubbing at his face as he shakes his head. As he walks back in, you're already under the covers, and after finding his briefs that he tossed to the side earlier and putting them on, he slides in behind you.
"You staying?" you ask, muffled against your pillow.
You always ask, and he always stays.
"Yeah," he mutters as he gathers you up in his arms, tugging you closer to him, and inhaling the smell of your shampoo, dulled by the scent of antiseptic and hospital.
The bedroom is silent, but he can still hear the TV on in the living room—no doubt the movie you were watching has ended and the credits are rolling. Through the open window you must've cracked when you came back in, cars drive by on the street below, and he catches the gentle, fragmentary murmurs of conversations from random passersby.
His brain won't quiet—it hardly ever does late at night. From the way your thumb gently traces along his arm wrapped around your waist, you haven't given in to sleep either. He knows you have a hard time sleeping at night, too—there's a bottle of Ambien prescribed to you in your medicine cabinet. You only tried it once and had such horrible nightmares that you called him sobbing at two in the morning.
You didn't want to talk about it—you only wanted to hold his hand and listen to his heartbeat.
He thinks you dreamed about him dying.
He's dreamed of you dying, too—haunted by visions of falling down, down, down.
Tears gather in his eyes at the thought, and then he's speaking before he even realizes, like he physically can't take the silence any longer. "Do you think we would've met?" he whispers. "If… none of that happened?"
It's a question he's thought about a lot.
An entire world of what-ifs that constantly lives on the periphery of his mind.
What if the outbreak never happened?
What if he arrived in Raccoon City earlier?
What if he didn't find you in the police station?
What if, what if, what if…
He finds himself thinking about these different realities, imagining how they might play out—hoping that in every version, you would find each other. Praying that the two of you were as inevitable as the rising sun.
You don't answer right away, but the sharp way you inhale at the question means you heard him.
"I'm sure you would've landed yourself in the E.R. at some point," you say—lighthearted, as if you can sense the spiral his mind has set itself on. You hum as if you're deliberating before he can feel you nod slightly. "Yeah, the rookie gets brought in on his first day after accidentally tasing himself."
He snorts derisively. "What?"
You peer back over your shoulder at him, and he can see the beginnings of a smile spreading across your face. "That's what would've happened," you say, matter-of-factly. "You'd be so embarrassed, and I'd be like, 'Oh, this happens more than you think'—it doesn't, by the way. I'm just being nice and taking pity on the poor rookie."
He rolls his eyes, not that you can see, but his lips press to your temple as he draws you closer to him, tucking you just under his chin. "What else would happen?" he questions softly.
"I'd send you off with strict instructions to point the taser away from yourself next time," you explain, your tone tender, as if recalling a fond memory. "You'd make it a whole week before you're carted in again—hit-and-run."
He sputters, "Why am I so accident-prone in this hypothetical reality?"
"Because you're accident-prone in actual reality," you prod, drumming the tips of your fingers against his arm. "You fell through too many floors for me not to think otherwise—oh, and that ladder."
He scoffs dramatically. "Whatever." There's a brief pause before, "And then what?"
"Then I would ask Jill if you were a nepo baby, because there's no way you graduated from the same police academy as everyone else."
"Oh my God," he laughs into your hair.
You giggle along with him. "She would, of course, tell you this. You're mortified. I'm unaware. The entire Emergency Department starts to keep track of how long in between your trips to the E.R.—"
"Wait, you guys would do that?" he asks, scandalized.
"Oh yeah," you confirm with amusement. "There'd be a little whiteboard in the break room: 'It's Been 0 Days Since Officer Kennedy Did Something Stupid.'"
"That's so mean," he practically whines at the imaginary scenario.
"We'd probably dress up Mort as you, too—make him hold the sign," you add.
His brows pinch together. "Mort?"
"The C.P.R. dummy."
He shouldn't have asked. "Jesus Christ," he mutters.
You laugh, but it mellows into something sentimental. "So, yeah, I think we would have met… regardless of everything."
"Yeah," he says, the anxiety that was starting to pool in his chest moments ago settling at your words. "I think so, too."
A more comfortable silence envelopes the two of you, and he can feel the way your breathing slows in unison with his. "Good night, Leon," you murmur.
"Night," he whispers back.
He wakes up before you—it's still dark out, and the digital alarm clock on your nightstand reads 4:27 AM. He needs to be at the airfield in an hour. With a dejected sigh, he leaves the warm comfort of your bed—of you. You're curled up under the covers, having rolled away from each other at some point during the night, still sound asleep.
As he picks his clothes up from the pile on the floor and shrugs them back on, there's a moment when he debates waking you up to properly say goodbye. He doesn't know why his throat constricts at the thought of doing so—like it would be harder to leave you if he did.
So as he finishes buttoning his pants, he leans over, kissing your forehead. "I'll see you when I get back, okay?"
You don't stir, and part of him is glad for it.
When he steps out into the living room, he spends a few minutes tidying up—turning off the TV, rinsing the plates that were piled on your coffee table and putting them in the dishwasher, and throwing the empty beer cans in the recycling. Just when he's about to put the cake back into the fridge, he pauses, grabs a fork from your drawer, and takes a bite out of it.
The cake itself is probably a little burnt, and the chunky sprinkles add a bit more crunch than he would normally care for, but it's at least edible. He breathes out a huff of laughter through his nose and takes another bite before putting the cake in the fridge and the fork in the dishwasher.
As he puts the watch on, a small smile tugs on his face as he thinks of you saying, 'Now we match!'
After putting on his shoes, he glances once more around your apartment. Swallowing thickly, he calls out tenderly once more, "Bye."
When you wake up, the spot beside you in bed is cold, but you put your hand out anyway, trying to find even a trace of warmth he might have left behind. There's a sting in your sinuses as you blink back tears; the world will keep moving, you remind yourself, as if that's meant to be a comfort.
But you will still sit and wait for him to come home.
Author's Note: wowowow - here's the first installment of my leon kennedy series. hope y'all enjoy a little re2 leon!
Summary: A cop and a doctor meeting during a zombie apocalypse... is probably a better setup for a joke than you care to admit.
Word Count: 27.1k
Content: 18+, smut, re2!leon, doctor!reader, angst, gore, mentions of past child abuse, allusions to suicide, medical inaccuracies, rookie leon is too good for this world, reader has a savior complex, jill & carlos are also here, yearning yearning and more yearning, they're very cute and i love them, leon is whimpering (OBVIOUSLY), unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, oral (f!receiving), lowkey breeding kink you already know, no use of y/n
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Tag List: @aspinny @rjreins (let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series!)
You just want to help.
It's one of the earliest sentiments you remember settling firmly into the confines of your heart.
You're five years old, clumsily putting a Band-Aid on your little brother's scraped knee, cooing comfortingly at him as fat tears roll down his cheeks, sobs hiccuping out of him. When he finally calms down, you kiss his knee and loudly declare it all better—he giggles, which only encourages you to tickle his sides, peals of laughter echoing in the air, pain long forgotten.
You're nine years old, sitting in the nurse's office at school because your dad forgot to sign your field trip form, and they have nowhere else to put you. The school nurse is kind, and as you help her restock her cabinets and drawers with various medical supplies, she patiently answers all of your questions about them. She even lets you take her temperature, teaching you how the thermometer works, and lets you listen to her heartbeat with her stethoscope.
You're fourteen years old, and it's so late that even the crickets in the grass have fallen silent for the night, but you're sitting on the sidewalk beside your friend, arms wrapped around her as she cries. She's inconsolable, and you don't know how to help her except to keep her close against you while you whisper 'it's okay' over and over—it's not enough, and this is the last time you'll hear her voice, and the smell of cucumber melon body spray still makes you think of her.
You're seventeen years old, meticulously organizing your father's medicine while he sits in the old, worn-out recliner that stinks of tobacco. You carefully step around the oxygen tank on the floor beside him and hand him the small container of pills. He takes it with a wheezing cough, snubbing out the cigarette pinched between his fingers, which is smoked down to the filter into the already full ashtray. After sending your brother off to school, you begin the long trek to campus, a day of labs and clinicals ahead of you.
You're twenty-two years old, and you've just lost your first patient. The flatline of the heart rate monitor rings through your jaw—sweat pools at your brow, your arms ache from how long you'd been giving compressions, all while praying to a god you once believed in for just this one mercy. The little girl's parents are hysterical, begging you to keep trying, but your attending simply shakes his head, grief heavy on his face as he announces the time of death. You hold yourself together just long enough to stumble into the bathroom, soft gasps escaping as you struggle to breathe, your vision blurred by tears in your eyes. Ten minutes—that's how long you permit yourself to stay curled up on the bathroom stall floor, your body convulsing as you sob.
It's longer than you've ever allowed yourself to mourn your father.
You're twenty-three years old, and you're sure you're the last person alive in Spencer Memorial Hospital. You've been barricaded in the Emergency Department's breakroom for three days, and the muffled shuffling of the undead through the halls outside is not something you've gotten used to—the hairs on your body stand on end every time you hear them. Whatever is scurrying around in the vents hasn't managed to get past the vending machine you've placed in front of it, not that they haven't tried—and you think they're getting... bigger.
The thought that you're going to die here crosses your mind more and more often. You remember Dr. McKay, with her kind eyes still so vivid even as she wrung her hands in worry. "Why don't you leave, hun?" she suggested when evacuation efforts first began three days ago. She saw the warning signs before most people realized that whatever this was, there was no coming back from it.
You should have listened to her gentle urging, but you wanted to help, so you stayed—even as the ER was overwhelmed, even as patients died and came back to life, even as everyone around you was attacked or turned. You stayed because this is where you could help; now there’s no one left to save, only you and that stupid CPR mannequin propped at the table, which you and a few other residents dressed up for Halloween, the cartoony zombie mask placed haphazardly over its face mocking you.
Your watch beeps, reminding you to eat. Time passes in strange bursts here—when the air is quiet, and there's no terrible moaning from the halls, you can almost pretend that the world outside these four walls isn't so awful. But when the vents start rattling, and you hear the wheezing breath outside the door, time seems to crawl.
Clicking the button on the side of your watch, you blink back tears as you bite into a tasteless granola bar. Your brother gave you this watch when you graduated—he saved up money from that crappy bag boy job he worked during school breaks for two whole years.
"I'm really proud of you," he told you as he handed you the box in Christmas wrapping paper while you were both curled up on opposite sides of your shitty couch in your shitty apartment. Meanwhile, your other classmates, much older than you, were out at swanky celebratory dinners with their families. You and your brother, however, returned home to enjoy a feast of mediocre pizza and wings. "Fancy title needs a fancy watch."
Your lip quivers, and you breathe out a huff through your nose, mad at the sting in your sinuses and the way your throat constricts. It's not fair, you think. You just wanted to help people, and now you won't even get to say goodbye to your brother. The thought turns bitter as you grit your teeth, fists clenched in the pant legs of your scrubs, knuckles turning white. Your stupid, fucking father got two extra years he shouldn't have had, spent smoking and drinking—he got to say goodbye, going out far more peacefully than he ever deserved with you and your brother at his side, but you?
You're going to die here—alone.
Leaning your head back, it hits the wall you're sitting against with a faint thud, and you stare up at the speckled drop ceiling with tears welling up at your waterline. Resolutely, your eyes close, inhaling slowly, ignoring the way your chest caves in with acceptance.
"You just gonna lay there and take it, girl?" Your father's hoarse, scathing voice repeats in your ears, a memory stained by bruises and tasting of blood, and your eyes snap open, a gasp leaving your lips as a defiant fire sparks in your veins.
"Shut up," you spit out at his ghost.
You're on your feet in the next instant, a plan forming as you tear through the cabinets; you find an old backpack, probably from a previous resident, buried in the back of one. It's quickly filled with everything useful you can find—snacks from the vending machine you'd broken open when you first got trapped here, all the items in the first aid kit hanging on the wall, and any other medical supplies you can scrounge up. There's not much here you can use for defense, but you take what you can—some dull knives, a pair of hefty metal scissors, all better than nothing.
It takes longer than you want to admit to gather your nerve, ear pressed to the door, waiting for the telltale shuffling to disappear down the hall before you slowly and as quietly as possible move the filing cabinet that you pushed in front of it after being separated from your coworkers and narrowly escaping the snapping jaws of the undead. Every scrape of the metal against the linoleum floor makes you wince, listening carefully to see if anyone—or anything—heard you.
When it's finally out of the way, you swallow hard and take a deep breath before opening the door and peeking out. It's empty and dark—the chaos of the past few days is evident in the mess left behind. Gurneys are overturned and propped against partitions, blocking certain hallways where the undead are plentiful. Broken viewing windows into rooms have left glass splintered across the floor, which is covered in bloodied footprints and drag marks. The sterile hospital smell mixes with the stench of death—it's enough to make your stomach turn, but you've smelled far worse.
You're mindful of where you step, avoiding the broken glass and doing your best not to step into any blood puddles—more for your own sanity than anything else—while gripping a knife tightly, ready to defend yourself if needed. Body bags are lined up all around—the morgue stopped bringing them down shortly after the hospital became overwhelmed—and some are oddly shaped, as if the occupant had undergone some kind of transformation. They aren't moving, but you give them a wide berth anyway, not trusting that the dead are truly gone.
The path you need to follow is imprinted in your mind—you've strolled through these halls nearly every day for the past two years, and you hope that's enough to get you out. You stay low, ducking beneath windows where you hear the groans of zombies from inside rooms you pass, with your heart pounding in your chest the entire time. It's an arduous crawl, hiding behind caddies to avoid the shambling undead, while trying to calm your breathing and steady the tremor in your hands. You grab what you can along the way—a roll of gauze, a scalpel, some antiseptic.
You stop instantly when you hear a clatter in the hall ahead, heavy footsteps approaching. It's different from the shuffling of the normal infected—it's purposeful, and it's large. You slide your ID card through the reader to access the room next to you and step inside before you can second-guess yourself. The soft click of the door latch makes you flinch, but you keep moving, turning around, and slipping through what you realize is the filing room until you round one of the stacks and spot a figure standing there.
You recognize her—she's one of the clerks, Paulette. Her breath is coming out in painful wheezes, the veins in her arms are blackened, and necrosis is eating away at her skin. She's not facing you, just standing idly at one of the cabinets as if she'd been in the middle of filing away paperwork when she turned. Your face scrunches up with anguish, twisting the knife by its handle a few times in your palm. You can hear the footsteps in the hall, closer now.
You couldn't risk her alerting the creature to your presence.
Quietly—and assuredly—you step behind her and drive the dull knife straight into her skull. She emits a strangled, raspy sound—something animalistic and sad—and you catch her body before she can collapse, lowering her silently to the ground, but you keep your knee on her back, still gripping the handle of the knife, waiting to find out if you've delivered a lethal strike, aware of how resistant the infection makes them.
You hold your breath for one, two, three beats—and on the fourth, you exhale shakily. Sitting back onto the floor, you rest against the end of a filing cabinet—ears keenly listening for the monster while staring at Paulette's pale, sunken cheeks—her milky-colored eyes are blank and unmoving, but you still feel like they're staring straight at you.
The footsteps pass by the room, and you steal a quick glance from your hiding spot—you're not quite sure what you're seeing through the window. Maybe some kind of amphibious creature standing on its hind legs, with dark green, mottled skin that glistens in the faint emergency lighting. It has humanoid hands with long, curved claws that could easily skewer you. Sharp teeth line its maw, and it doesn't seem to have eyes—at least none you can discern—but it appears unaware of you, simply moving on before vanishing from sight.
If that is one of the things that were in the vents, they've definitely gotten bigger, you think anxiously.
Relaxing just a bit, your gaze drifts back to Paulette, instinctively focusing on her left hand where a simple, pretty engagement ring rests—she was supposed to get married next month. She was so excited for an autumn wedding—told you how she had it all planned out since she was a girl, hoping the leaves would change color in time because it would be so beautiful in the photos.
Your face crumbles, chin wobbling as tears blur your vision. "Fuck," you whimper, jamming your palms into your eyes as your teeth clench together.
You don't allow yourself to linger, so you count to twenty in your head before moving, abandoning your knife because you can't bring yourself to pry it from Paulette's skull. Instead, you arm yourself with surgical scissors you snapped up from a medical cart. The muscles in your legs burn from staying so low as you creep through the halls, a thin sheen of sweat forming on your skin that you only notice when it stings the corners of your eyes.
By the time you reach reception, there's a brief flicker of hope that you'll be able to do this. It's a straight shot from here to the lobby. You want to just run; you could be at the entrance in less than thirty seconds if you did, but you don't.
Impatience gets you killed, you remind yourself. You can't afford to be stupid.
Bodies are strewn across the floor, the fluorescent hum of a vending machine filters through the air, bathing the dark room in a ghostly blue glow. You move cautiously, stepping around the corpses, eyes alert for even the faintest twitch of a finger, but it's a groan from behind the desk that draws your attention. You hurriedly duck down, wedging against the cold surface of the front of the reception desk, listening as the zombie shuffles around, eyes scrunching closed in a grimace when you hear it knocking things over.
Still, you keep moving as quietly as you can, heart climbing higher and higher into your throat with every gurgled noise. So worried about not alerting the one behind the desk, you don't even see the body you're skirting by begin to writhe.
A gasp lodges in the back of your throat as a hand clenches around your ankle, yanking you to the floor. Instinctively, you kick with your free foot, smashing the zombie's nose—it's one of the security guards, Daniel was his name. He always said good morning to you, even when you were coming in for the night shift, as he was leaving for the day.
"Shit, shit," you heave, chest tightening, as you try to wrench yourself from his grip while avoiding the snapping jaws. "Let go!" With one final kick, you manage to dislodge yourself from its iron grip, scrambling away as you hear clanging from behind the desk.
You're unsteady on your feet as you see the other undead shamble toward you. Jamming a nearby wheelchair into the opening between the wall and the desk, you buy yourself only a little time as it begins to climb over the counter, while the one who grabbed you struggles to stand.
"Fuck," you breathe out as you turn on your heel and run, your sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floors as you push through the door to the corridor that leads to the lobby with a bang. You can hear the zombies chasing after you, and above, you hear something big moving, as if tracking you through the ceiling.
Once you breach the double doors at the other end of the hall, you slide across the ground, scurrying under the desk, pressing yourself against the cool metal of the filing cabinet beneath it as something crashes through the ceiling. You can hear the spark of the overhead lights as the bulbs crack, shattering across the floor. The ceiling tiles crumble as they hit the ground, and the ventilation falls with them.
Hefty footsteps stomp across the floor.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
It stands right in front of the desk you're curled up under. You clutch a trembling hand to your mouth, afraid your panicked breath will betray you, while your other hand grips the scissors tightly, worried they'll slip from the sweat gathering in your palms.
You feel faint and lightheaded, your heart pounding against your ears, as every muscle in your body tenses tightly. Fear strips you down to the basics—survival. As the other undead burst through the door you just stumbled through, you retreat further, a chill crawling up your spine. The larger beast chitters a monstrous noise, teeth clicking together, claws scraping against the top of the desk just above your head.
Dread weighs down on you, quietly urging the creature to go away, to just leave. You can hear the other undead circle around the lobby, wandering aimlessly now that their target is no longer in view, as if they'd forgotten about you—but this one seems more intelligent than that.
Then, as if some higher power finally decides to show mercy, you listen as the thud, thud, thud of footsteps walk to the double doors leading back to reception, which swing open with a bang that makes you flinch. Then, you hear them fading down the hall, deeper into the horrors of the hospital.
You don't move immediately—your body unravels slowly. The hand covering your mouth lowers, and you realize you probably have little crescent-shaped indentations in your cheek from how hard your fingernails dug into your skin. Your shoulders relax, no longer tense all the way up to your ears. Then, carefully, you crawl out from under the desk, peeking over the edge to figure out where the other two undead went.
One seems to have found interest in the vending machine near the opposite end of the desk, staring blankly into the light as if the phosphorescence is whispering secrets to him. The other is aimlessly shuffling along among the turned-over chairs.
Your gaze flicks to the exit—the way is clear, you realize. You see the outside. It's right there, just twenty feet away.
Still, apprehension grows inside you. This is just the start. You have no idea what the rest of the city is like—the last you heard, the bridge out was closed to maintain a quarantine zone. You'd have to find another way. It almost feels like you're at a disadvantage. Spencer Memorial has been your only world for the past five days, with no thought given to what was happening elsewhere. You couldn't afford to think about it; you needed to focus on what was right in front of you, what you could control, which was trying to save anyone who came into the Emergency Room—though, in the end, it doesn't seem to matter.
The fear of the unknown taunts you just beyond those double doors, but you've made it this far—you just need to go a little farther now.
You tread steadily, and then you're free—the cool early autumn air soothes your sweat-soaked skin like a healing balm. With the hospital at your back, you look ahead. The sun starts to rise, peeking up at the horizon through the buildings. The smell of smoke fills your nose, but the streets are quiet, as if the city tucked in for the night; no doubt it will start to wake soon.
Checking your watch, you see the date: September 29th.
You've made it through another day.
Heaving your backpack onto your shoulder, you step forward into Raccoon City.
It's chaos—as you creep through the streets, you think you might have been lucky to be stuck in the hospital during the initial outbreak. Entire blocks of the city have been cordoned off; cars flipped over and abandoned, windows in storefronts broken out, blood and viscera splattered all around. You pass so many bodies in the streets, you're sure there can't be more than a handful of people left, if any. Undead lumber around in constant hoards that are easy enough to avoid, but that doesn't stop the trepidation from settling into your stomach whenever you're sneaking past them.
You navigate around blockades, darting through alleyways while praying you won't hit a dead end. You know the route to the Raccoon City Police Department—it's the first place that comes to mind. If luck is on your side, there might be a few police officers still alive, handling evacuation efforts. If not… well, hopefully there are at least some weapons inside.
It's another slow crawl. It takes you three hours just to reach the plaza, and you're struck by how bizarre the scene before you is—like some kind of firefight took place. The few cars scattered around are still smoldering, and scorch marks are everywhere, as if someone used heavy artillery.
You're trying to avoid it, nervous about the open space, when you clock a figure lying at the end of one of the alleys. You almost keep walking, thinking it's just another body, but for some reason, your eyes stay on it a little longer than necessary, and that's when you see the steady rise and fall of the chest.
They're alive.
There's no second-guessing as you run toward them, your feet pounding against the ground, knees buckling as you instinctively place a finger on the throat, searching for a pulse. That's when you realize you know this person.
"Jill," you gasp. Her pulse is weak at best, but it's better than nothing. You grab your penlight from the front pocket of your scrubs, pulling an eyelid open to check her pupils. That's when you notice the wound on her arm and the way her veins are starting to blacken around it. "Fuck."
You should leave her here—the way the infection progresses is so clear in your mind. You've watched patient after patient go through it over the past few days. She has at most half a day before she starts chomping at the bit, trying to bite chunks out of any still-breathing sad sack nearby.
It would be stupid to allow that to be you.
But this is Jill.
You met her as an intern. She and another S.T.A.R.S. team member, Chris Redfield, were brought into the Emergency Department after sustaining injuries during a mission—gunshots to the lower extremities. Nothing life-threatening, and as a result, you were assigned to treat her injuries. You were so nervous that even with a resident watching, you stuttered out questions and walked her through each step you were taking—as if it was for her comfort, not just yours.
She was so kind, even as your eyes narrowed with wariness when she asked how old you were. "That's impressive," she said with a smile when you told her, and there was no hint of ridicule.
A month later, she got carted in with a stab wound. You think that's when the two of you became friends. You're not naive enough to think you were terribly close, but you'd get drinks every so often when your abysmal schedules lined up. Sometimes she'd stop in to the E.R. when she knew you were on shift, and you'd visit her at the R.P.D. a few times to get lunch together.
She'd been the only friend you'd managed to make in Raccoon City.
You grasp the sides of her face, slapping her cheek lightly. "Jill," you whisper. "Jill, you need to wake up."
Her brows furrow, eyes only opening a fraction, but they slide up to you, and she breathes out your name like it's a question.
"Yeah, it's me," you confirm gently with a tight smile. "We gotta get you up." You don't give her an option, hauling her into a sitting position, ignoring the way she groans as you sling her arm around your neck, lifting her up off the ground. "Can you walk?" you ask, already knowing the answer.
She manages a shake of her head, and you take a deep breath before maneuvering her onto your back after switching around your backpack. Adrenaline still seems to be coursing through your veins because you hoist her dead weight up relatively easily, despite how tired you know your legs—and the rest of your body—are.
As you adjust your grip, you start moving.
You don't know where you can go. You don't know what you can do.
You just know you can't leave her here.
"I got you," you murmur, taking one step after another. You hear her breath slow as she no doubt falls unconscious again.
You could take her back to the hospital, maybe there's still a dose of the vaccine topside—you swallow thickly. The immunology team was working on the vaccine as soon as it became obvious you were dealing with some sort of infection, and they were going to vaccinate the staff once it was ready, but—
You sigh heavily.
It would be a long shot just to get her back to the hospital, never mind finding a sample of the vaccine, if there was even one left.
"Hey!" a voice calls out.
It startles you, and you swing around, putting yourself between whoever it is and Jill. It's a man in tactical gear, gun pointed toward you. Your eyes widen, and you hold Jill tighter to you. You push down the panic bubbling up in your throat—it's not the first time you've stared down the barrel of a gun.
You study him intently; he's tall with dark hair falling into dark eyes, and the signature Umbrella logo on his arm. It doesn't bring you any comfort; if anything, it only makes you more nervous.
Still, he looks at Jill as if he knows her, but you're hesitant to feel any sort of ease. You've heard some rumors about the R.P.D., with most of the S.T.A.R.S. team, including Jill, being suspended, but you haven't seen her in the past few weeks to ask her about it. What would she be doing tangling up with Umbrella mercenaries?
"Where are you going with her?" he asks, and he pauses, eyes narrowing as he takes in your appearance for the first time—your bloodstained scrubs and the fierce tint in your tired eyes. "Are you a nurse?"
"Doctor," you correct in a clipped tone. "She's infected, I'm—" You pause.
What were you doing?
"She doesn't have long."
His expression twists up with distress as he lowers his gun. "The hospital," he says. "We can take her there. They have a vaccine, you must kno—."
You glower. "How do you know that?"
"I spoke to one of the doctors there—Dr. Bard," he replies.
Blinking, your scowl only deepens. Dr. Bard is one of the immunologists and the hospital's director—one of the most odious men you've ever had the misfortune of meeting. He'd disappeared before you got separated from the rest of your coworkers—you thought he was dead. You thought everyone else was dead, but—
"You know her, don't you?" he asks suddenly, as if the protective way you've positioned her and the sad slant to your eyes suggest she's more than just a random stranger to you.
"Yes," you answer, not seeing a reason to lie.
"If I bring Jill there, I could find the vaccine—I could save her," he insists.
You're a good judge of character—or at least you think you are. You study his face and the sincerity in his eyes—the determined set of his jaw. For a moment, your edge softens. He's definitely more than capable of handling the monsters crawling around the hospital, judging by the gun in his hands and the rest of his arsenal.
"It's overrun," you say, but it's not to deter him. "There are these… creatures, not just the normal infected."
"Creatures?"
You nod gravely. "Big… they were using the vents to get around until they… outgrew them. If you're going there, you need to know what you're up against."
His brows furrow at the implication of your words. "You're not coming with us?" he asks.
"No," you say, with apprehension lingering at just the thought of returning to the hospital. "I… I can't go back there."
He must see something in your expression—the fear, the exhaustion—because he seems like he understands even if he wants to argue. A thoughtful look causes his brows to raise as he studies you—it's full of concern for you, a person he doesn't even know, and it only endears him to you. "Will you be okay on your own?"
A tight smile forms on your face—it's supposed to be reassuring, but even you detect how your lip wobbles. "Been okay so far," you say, voice soft and almost breaking. "If you're going, you should go now."
His head bobs as if remembering the dire situation you're in. "Here, let me take her," he says as he approaches, kneeling so you can transfer Jill onto his back.
"Dr. Bard's office is on the first floor. If there's a sample of the vaccine still in the hospital, it's there," you tell him. "It's got one of those weird voice recognition locks on it; you're going to need to find a way in."
His brows pinch together as he takes in the information, not confused, just processing. "Where are you going to go?" he questions after a moment.
"Hopefully to find a way the hell out of this place," you joke weakly. You glance at Jill, and she almost appears as if she could just be asleep right now—like she could wake up any second. Your heart curls up into something worse than grief. "You… you take care of her, okay?"
"Yeah," he murmurs with a tender nod.
With no care for his personal space, you lean up to smooth some of her hair back from her face that rests against his shoulder. You're keenly aware of his gaze on you, watching as you press a kiss to her cheek, breathing in the smell of sweat and blood and gunpowder.
"I'll see you when this is done, okay, Jill?" With a lump firmly in your throat, you pull away, peeking up at the man with tears building in your eyes, and he only watches you sadly as you nod to him before turning on your heel.
"Wait," he says suddenly, stopping you in your tracks. With one hand, he unholsters a 9mm pistol, holding it out to you by the barrel like it's a lifeline. "You know how to work one of these?"
You do, so you take it, checking the safety as if it's a practiced habit. "I'm familiar," you assure before tucking it into the waistband of your pants. He gives you a look as if to say, 'Familiar, huh?'
He hands you some ammo, apologizing for not having more to give you. "Gotta give you a fighting chance," he says it like it's a joke, but you're both aware it's not.
The words trigger a memory—kind eyes and a sting in your arm. "Now you have a fighting chance," she said
Absentmindedly, you rub your arm before remembering something. "Oh," you pat the front of your scrub pants, then dig into the right pocket and pull out your hospital ID card. "Here." You hold it out to him, and he seems confused. "My ID card. It will get you into most of the doors in the hospital."
He breathes out in relief, pocketing the card with a grateful smile. "Thanks, doc." There's a brief pause. "I'm Carlos."
You swallow the lump in your throat. "Take care, Carlos," you say and begin to head off.
Worry bunches up inside of you, but it's an emotion you're familiar with, so you carefully fold it up and tuck it aside, knowing you've given Jill the best shot at survival. You feel more confident, though, moving through the city now with a proper weapon.
The sun begins to set as you arrive at the Raccoon City Police Department. Things don't look promising, you think, as you weave through the burning vehicles and zombies milling outside the fence of the station. You reach the heavy metal gate; it's been left unlocked, and you can easily push it open. You briefly consider locking it behind you, but decide against it, just in case some other wayward soul makes their way here and needs a way in.
When you step into the lobby, you're almost overcome with the urge to call out, but quickly refrain, instead searching around attentively for anything useful—snatching a flashlight on the front desk, a much better option than your dingy little penlight. The security shutters to the right have a big sign that says 'keep out,' and you're inclined to follow instructions.
You try to recall the times you've been here to visit Jill—you know the S.T.A.R.S. office is on the second floor, but you'd feel a whole lot better if you had more ammo—or maybe a shotgun, you think with morbidly amused snort.
"I just need to go drop something off in the Safety Deposit Room, and then we can go, okay?" she said, a package tucked under her arm as she made her way through the reception on the left, leaving you alone with the officer on front desk duty—Officer Scott, who leered at you over his newspaper with a quirked brow and an attempt at a flirtatious smirk on his lips.
A grated door now covers the reception area; the control box is covered in tape, and you're hesitant to make too much noise, afraid of drawing unwanted attention. Your eyes scan the main hall, and that's when you notice the far door slightly ajar, as if someone left it open in a hurry.
"That's as good an invitation as any," you mutter to yourself as you slip through the door, shutting it behind you. It's an office, you realize as you scan the room, flicking on the flashlight you found. Desks are gathered in the middle, chairs are overturned, and it's a mess—not much different from the hospital. The state of it doesn't give much confidence that you'll find much help here.
Peering up, you observe decorations hanging from the ceiling above the desks.
Welcome Leon.
"And the award for shittiest first day goes to," you whisper sardonically.
There are several bodies lying about, and you step as quietly as you can, entering into a familiar snail's pace as you make your way out of the office, though not before grabbing a box of ammo sitting haphazardly on one of the bookshelves near the door.
You can hear the shuffling of undead as you step into the hall, teeth clenched as your body tautens, but you keep moving, ears alert for anything else—god knows what kind of monsters are probably lurking after what you've seen in the hospital.
Across the way, you catch sight of the sign labeled 'Safety Deposit Room', and there is a suspicious wave that flows through you at your luck, though you don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. The room is thankfully empty, and you move through the lockers, peeking in to see if there's anything of use for you here.
Near the end of the first row, you note something that catches your eye—flash grenades. Your eyebrows raise as you memorize the locker number before punching it into the console, observing that two of the keys are missing. Luckily, this doesn't stop you from taking what you need, including those flash grenades and some extra ammo.
Then, as if your eyes are being guided to a shining beacon of hope, you spot a shotgun sitting behind the bars of a weapons locker at the back of the room. You glare with displeasure at the keycard reader before gazing back at it longingly, hand caressing the bars. "I'll be back for you," you promise.
Suddenly, a burst of gunfire reverberates through the station, and you instinctively crouch, your heart pounding in your chest. You quickly zip your bag shut before creeping toward the door to listen. The hall is silent now, and you slowly open the door, planning to rush back across the hall to the office so you won't get trapped in a maze of unfamiliar corridors.
As your hand touches the doorknob, you hear the sound of boots coming toward you and a faint 'what the hell', followed by the groaning of the undead and more gunshots. You use the noise as cover to skirt back into the office, ducking behind the door.
The pistol Carlos gave you feels cold in your clammy hands—the weight of it is one you're well acquainted with, pulling the slide to check if a round is chambered before flipping the safety. You turn off your flashlight, blinking as your eyes adjust to the darkness, the footsteps growing closer.
The creak of the handle turning traps your breath in your lungs, not daring to even exhale as the door opens. When the person steps through, you kick the door closed with your foot, causing them to whip around as you level your gun at them.
Leon instantly recognizes the barrel of a gun pointed at him in the brief moment when he turns with his flashlight, dropping it and his gun as his hands raise toward the ceiling. "Don't shoot," he says. "I'm not one of those things!"
Another light switches on, causing him to squint as it darts across his face, like you're testing the honesty of his statement—searching for any signs of blackened veins or necrosis. He can faintly make out the silhouette of your figure behind the blinding glare. When you finally lower the flashlight and your gun, he blinks rapidly, his vision dotted with spots as they readjust, but he interprets it as a sign to slowly bring his hands down.
"Sorry," you apologize, watching raptly as he grabs his flashlight and gun off the floor. "I heard you shooting and I—"
"It's okay," he interrupts. There's a moment where you both take each other in, and Leon can see the unsure frown on your lips, like you're embarrassed by your reaction—as if it were possible to overreact in this type of situation. You couldn't be much older than him, he realizes—youth still clings to your cheeks, not yet hollowed with maturity, a softness of lingering adolescence. "Better safe than sorry," he assures with a smile.
The corners of your mouth twitch up into a tentative smile of your own, and Leon feels a surge of warmth at how your nose scrunches. His gaze drops to your attire—burgundy scrubs that have known better days, with a long-sleeved shirt underneath, though the sleeves are pushed up to your elbows, and white sneakers sit comfortably on your feet, splattered with blood and other gore. You shift under his stare, tugging your worn-out backpack higher on your shoulder as you chew the inside of your lip.
"Are you a nurse?" he asks.
The smile drops immediately, and Leon knows he's said exactly the wrong thing. "Doctor," you correct sharply, your tone lowering in a way he recognizes—like you want to be respected.
He scrambles, stuttering under the weight of the disappointed way your shoulders slump as he tries to explain himself. "It's just—you look young."
It has the opposite effect he intends, and you lean back away from him, a furrow in your brow that makes you seem more adorable than severe, but he pushes that thought down just as quickly as it pops up. "So do you," you shoot back as your eyes dip down to observe his police uniform. "How long you been a cop?"
He scratches the back of his head sheepishly as if hesitant to answer. "Well, it's my first day."
Recognition flashes in your eyes. "I'd say you have some really shitty luck, Leon," you joke.
He lets out a huff of weak laughter. "Yeah," he agrees. "Definitely not the greatest start."
"At least it can only go up from here," you offer with a shrug of your shoulders.
"Wait," he says when the realization dawns on him. "How did you know my name?"
You lift your light to the decorations hanging from the ceiling, and Leon gazes at the sign with something close to loss etched into his face. When he peeks back at you, he notes how the pinch in your brow has softened as you watch him—it's an empathetic look, as if you understand exactly what he's feeling. "It's kind of cute," you say gently. "They must've been excited for you to start."
He swallows thickly, but his voice still cracks anyway. "Yeah," he murmurs. "You said you're a doctor—my lieutenant is back in the main hall, he needs medical attention. Could you help him?"
You observe Lieutenant Marvin Branagh with a painstakingly neutral expression—it's one you've mastered the last two years of your residency. It never did a patient any good when they saw that something was wrong on their doctor's face.
"How bad is it, doc?" Marvin asks between wheezed gasps.
The bite on his side is horrific, and with the amount of blood he's lost, you're not quite sure how he's even conscious, let alone sitting upright. The human body truly is a thing of wonder.
Still, you take the time to clean and disinfect the wound, eyes passively noting the darkened veins around it that have already spread across the rest of his torso. Leon is hovering behind you; you can tell he's nervous by the way he keeps shifting his weight back and forth. You give him credit for remaining quiet as you examined the injury—most people would be asking a million questions by now.
"Do you want the truth, Lieutenant?" you ask.
He gives a firm, but pained nod. "Don't gotta sugarcoat it."
You dress the bite with clean gauze and steady hands. "You don't have much longer left," you inform.
"Wait, you mean there's nothing you can do for him?" Leon cuts in.
You only give him a brief, sorrowful stare over your shoulder before your gaze settles back on Marvin—the sad gleam in his eyes shows he already knew what the outcome would be, but maybe he'd hoped for a miracle, one you couldn't give him. "How much do you know about what's going on?" you ask Leon.
He appears uncertain. "I mean, I've seen the news reports—"
"It's worse than the news reports," you interrupt, more sharply than you intended. "… Obviously." You stand up after giving Marvin's bandages another once-over before pulling off your gloves with a definitive snap. "It's a virus. We don't know where it came from, only that the outbreak started six days ago. It's capable of transmission through various methods, including bodily fluids—" Your jaw sets. "—for example, a bite."
"There's not like… medicine or something you can give him?" he asks defeatedly.
"No," you answer, and your eyes meet Marvin's. "I'm sorry, I know it's not what you want to hear—"
"Don't worry about it, doc," he says as he leans back into his seat with a grimace. "You two just worry about getting out of here."
Leon steps forward as if ready to argue. "But—"
"I mean it, rookie."
His mouth snaps shut, and you glance between the two officers observantly as you repack your supplies into your bag. Clearly, this is a conversation they've already had—one that Marvin is not keen to repeat despite Leon's insistence, judging by the simmering stare the older man sends him.
You step away, allowing the lieutenant the chance to rest, pulling Leon with you. "Is there a way out?" you ask with a curious gleam in your eye. "I heard a lot of the evacuation routes were shut down a few days ago to contain the spread of the virus."
"They think there's a secret passage under that statue," he answers, jutting a chin over to the large statue looming behind the desk.
You gaze back and forth between him and the statue several times before you give him a deadpan look—as if you think he's joking. "Seriously?"
A small, lopsided smirk forms on his face like he's amused by your reaction, and he shrugs his shoulders half-heartedly. "It's worth a shot, right?"
You consider each other, and for the first time in a very long few days, you let comfort settle in your chest—at least, you wouldn't be alone anymore. "Alright," you concede. "Me and you… rookie."
He blinks with surprise at your teasing tone, a laugh bubbling out of him. "Hey!"
Leon keeps you close behind him as you make your way through the police station, putting himself between you and the undead that are wandering around, even though you're armed and more than capable of defending yourself. "You know you don't have to protect me, right?" you say as you watch over his shoulder as he shoots the knees out from under another zombie.
He looks over at you, blue eyes fixed on yours. "I want to," he replies before quickly shutting his mouth, as if he knows he's said something wrong but can't stop himself, and stammers out, "I just… if you'd let me, I'd like to."
He can't tell what you're thinking; he only sees the understanding fall across your face as you bob your head. "Okay, Leon," you agree more readily than he expects. "But just so you know, I'm an excellent shot."
His gaze drops down to your hands—the ones he saw so tenderly treat Marvin's wound—and then to his own—already covered and caked with blood and grime. "Don't want you to get your hands dirty." He says it casually, like a joke, but you can discern it in the tightness around his jaw—the truth of it.
Your teeth clench until you feel the ache through your skull. You wonder if he knows the amount of blood you've had on your hands or how many times you've scrubbed your skin raw to wash it away, as if your dreams aren't haunted by visions of blood and death.
"Yeah, wouldn't want that," you murmur.
Sometime later, as you're catching your breath in a relatively safe spot, he asks, "So, you were at the hospital when the outbreak started?"
You're checking your supplies, something Leon is already picking up as a habit of yours, like you don't know what to do with idle hands. "I was," you reply in as passive a tone as possible, as if trying to disconnect from what you witnessed there. "Kind of a shitty place to be when the zombie apocalypse starts. We didn't really know what was going on at first, and I… I just wanted to help." You take a deep breath. "Eventually, we got inundated—staff were turning, and the hospital became overrun. I got separated from everyone else, and was holed up by myself for three days before I finally decided to try to leave."
"You're okay, though?"
Your eyes flick up to his, noticing how he's carefully watching you, before dropping back down to check how much gauze you have left. Tears gather at your waterline, and you try to blink them away as your nostrils flare, but your gaze lifts to him again as a smile tightens on your lips. "Do you want the truth?" You repeat the question you asked Lieutenant Branagh.
"Don't gotta sugarcoat it," he answers.
Your chin trembles, but the forced smile stays in place as your nose scrunches to accommodate the sting in your sinuses. "Not really."
He's at your side before he even knows what he's doing, his hand gingerly grabbing your shoulder as he ducks his head to look you in the eye. "Hey." His voice is soft and tender.
Embarrassment burns across your cheeks in the form of a blush, raising your hand to wipe at the tears that have escaped, but he takes hold of your wrist. His touch is gentle, as if he's handling something fragile—it's something that normally would fill you with disdain, but in this moment, after everything you've been through, you find you don't mind being handled with such care.
"Hey, it's okay." He doesn't make you face him; instead, he steps in front of you. The warmth of his body so close to yours feels grounding and disorienting all at once—it's overwhelming. You focus on his voice as he murmurs, "We'll get through this, okay?"
You avoid eye contact with him, just staring at the 'R.P.D.' on his vest, trying not to sniffle pathetically, especially when you can feel his gaze on you.
He tilts his head down. "We will," he reiterates, more firmly this time.
As if you can't help yourself anymore, your eyes finally rise to meet his. Being so close, you're finally aware of the exact shade of blue they are, like the sky on a summer afternoon when the sun burns so hot that the ice cream would start melting before you've even unwrapped it.
You stare up at him, and for a moment, you look like you believe him. "Okay."
When you and Leon end up on the east side of the station in the Art Room, you're both examining the statue with slanted heads and quirked brows. "This place is really weird," you say finally, and Leon can do nothing but nod in agreement.
You're aware that the Raccoon City Police Department used to be an art museum, but that was well over thirty years ago, so the fact that there are still remnants of it lingering about the station is certainly odd, never mind all of the strange doors and puzzles you've both stumbled upon.
As he's checking out the statue and fruitlessly trying to pry the ruby scepter from its hand, you're searching around the room for anything else that might be useful when you see something sitting on one of the end tables. You let out an excited squeal that causes Leon to lose his grip on the scepter, stumbling back and nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushes over to you. "What?! What is it?" he asks, already feeling a lump gathering in his throat.
You spin around and hold up what you've found with a triumphant twinkle in your eye, his close proximity not even phasing you. "Keycard!" you declare before blinking as your brows furrow together, watching as he places a hand to his chest and begins to take deep, regulated breaths. "Uh, you okay?"
He gives a weak thumbs up. "Yeah, y'know, only a minor heart attack, I'm sure it's nothing I can't walk off." As his blood pressure returns to normal and he waves off your brief look of concern, he asks, "So, what's that for exactly?"
"For the Weapons Locker in the Safety Deposit Room," you say before tapping him on the nose with the card, a mischievous grin on your lips, causing his cheeks to flush pink as you lean in, pushing all boundaries aside. It's so uncharacteristic of what he's seen from you so far—a glimpse of who you were before all of this began, and he feels a flutter in his chest. "Dibs on the shotgun."
That's how Leon Kennedy ends up watching you inspect said gun in your hands with something like reverence, delight spreading across your face that eases the deep lines of worry and exhaustion that once marred it. "You know how to work that thing?" he asks with an amused raise of his eyebrows.
You wink at him—quick and playful. "Wanna find out?"
Some time later, you find yourself outside in the rain, your scrubs starting to stick uncomfortably, the drops catching on your eyelashes and blurring your vision as you rifle through your backpack, a couple of packets of gauze held between your teeth as you fish out disinfectant and medical tape. Behind you, the back end of a helicopter hangs out of the police station after it crashed into the building, while in front of you, Leon talks through the fence with the girl he came into Raccoon City with—Claire.
"Any luck with your brother?" Leon asks her.
Her expression falls only slightly as she shakes her head, like she's trying to put on a brave front. "No."
"You're looking for your brother?" you question, finally piping up in the conversation for the first time after Leon introduced you to her.
"Yeah, he's part of the S.T.A.R.S. team for the R.P.D.," Claire says. "His name is Chris—"
"—Redfield?" you finish.
"You know him?" she asks, eyes growing wide with hope.
You nod; Chris was a familiar face to you, always sending you a smile when he saw you around and asking how you were doing. According to Jill, he tried a few times to join you both on a night out, but she quickly shut him down. "I told him it's girls' night, not girls' night plus Chris," she said with a roll of her eyes.
"Met him a few times," you answer. "He—"
You're cut off as the sound of an explosion reverberates through the air, the helicopter bursting into a ball of fire and metal. Instinctively, you flinch back while Leon steps in front of you in case any shrapnel flies out. "Damnit," he curses. "You know what that means."
"Yeah," Claire mutters as she glances over her shoulder at the zombies in the courtyard beginning to stir. "Dinner time."
"Hey—" you call out to her before she can leave. "Take this." You start shoving the medical supplies through the fence, and when she reaches to take them, you lean in. "I don't think your brother is in the city."
Her brows furrow with confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I saw Jill—He wasn't with her," you explain. "Haven't seen him for a few months, actually."
She frowns at that. "Do you think—"
"I'm sure he's fine," you assure quickly, realizing how your previous statement might've sounded. "And with the way things are looking around here, it's probably a good thing he got the fuck outta Dodge."
She nods, though it's uncertain. "Yeah." Her gaze flits between you and Leon. "You two stay safe, okay?"
"You too," Leon says with a worried pinch to his brow as he watches her start to leave.
"Be careful," you call out.
"We'll get through this," she says as she turns to weather the swarm of undead. "All of us."
Your suspicions that there were more than just normal undead here were not unfounded, you think bitterly as you come across creatures that someone deemed "lickers" in a note you found. The hall near the S.T.A.R.S. office is crawling with them—quite literally. You grab Leon by the sleeve of his shirt, dragging him through the door as one crawls overhead, closing it just as it makes a high-pitched shrieking noise.
"God, what was that thing?" he breathes out.
"No idea," you answer as you put an ear to the door to ensure they won't follow you in here. "We had something in the hospital that wasn't normal undead, but it wasn't that."
"You mean there's more than just undead wandering around?" he asks with a frown.
You grimace as you think of the various possibilities—given what you've observed so far, most of them are bleak. "Well, if the virus is capable of transmission to other species… yes."
"Is that… likely?"
You don't imagine your expression is particularly comforting as you say, "More likely than a zombie apocalypse."
He inhales, processing the information before taking a look around. "Where are we?" he asks.
"S.T.A.R.S office," you reply as you make your way further in, hoping to find something—anything—that might be useful.
Leon trails after you. "You said you were friends with Claire's brother—"
"I knew Claire's brother," you correct. "I was friends with one of his teammates—Jill Valentine."
The office is a mess, as if someone tore through it searching for something, with papers scattered and boxes everywhere. You're looking around the captain, Wesker's, office when Leon calls out to you. "Is this Jill?" he asks. You peek your head out and notice him holding a picture frame he picked up from one of the desks.
You step closer, unsure of what you're expecting as he flips it around to show you, but seeing your face staring back at you isn't it. A pit forms in your stomach as you look at the photo of you and Jill; she'd bought one of those disposable cameras and wouldn't stop taking pictures one night when you were out bar hopping together. You're both sitting on stools in some dingy dive bar, leaning into each other, practically cheek to cheek, smiling at the camera, very obviously drunk.
It's a photo that Jill keeps on her desk.
Your throat tightens at the realization. "You two seem close," Leon notes with a fond smile.
You didn't think you were. You never even considered the possibility that Jill thought of you as more than a casual acquaintance with whom she would occasionally grab a drink or lunch. But she is the closest friend you have—your best friend. Too caught up in your own inability to allow yourself to take up space in another person's life, you didn't realize that someone had carved out that space for you without you even asking.
Regret wells up inside you. It's sharp and agonizing, a pain worse than fear—something you should have endured for her. You should have gone with her and Carlos and made sure she was okay. But you didn't, and now you don't know if you'll ever see her again, if you could've made a difference.
What if she's dead because of you?
A noise escapes the back of your throat, like a wounded animal, and Leon is startled by it. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, setting the photo down to take you by your shoulders.
You shake your head; you can't put the feeling into words right now—the immense grief of a loss you never knew you were entitled to, hacking your heart into pieces. "I—" Your throat tightens. "Yeah… yeah, we were close."
"You said you saw her," he recalls. "Is she…"
"I don't know," you answer, voice hoarse as you try to hold back tears.
He's quiet in his understanding, leaving you standing in front of Jill's desk, staring at the photo as he investigates the rest of the office.
When you and Leon leave, the frame is empty, and the photo is safely tucked in your backpack.
"So, we just put these medallions in?" you ask, voice full of disbelief as you stand in front of the statue in the main hall, peering over Leon's shoulder at the notes written in the notebook Marvin gave him.
He nods. "Seems so."
"This is really fucking weird."
"Yup."
Once you insert the medallions, the hall fills with the sound of stone grinding against stone as the gears turn the mechanism on. You take a cautious step back as you watch the statue's base start to shift, revealing a passage underneath. "Well, shit," you mutter, scratching the back of your head. You honestly thought this Officer Elliot was full of shit.
Leon steps down the stairs, pulling on the metal gate to open it, trying to spy what might lie beyond the darkness the stairs lead to, but sees nothing. "Looks like it goes underground," he says before turning. "Lieutenant Branagh!" he calls out. "Marvin!"
You follow behind him, a frown on your lips as he approaches Marvin, who is now curled up on the bench you'd left him on, appearing much worse for wear. Sweat clings to his forehead as his face scrunches up in pain, even as he sleeps. His breathing is labored, and you can note the bandages on his side have bled through, as if he isn't clotting properly.
"It's time to go," Leon urges. "Hey, Marvin." As he goes to shake the lieutenant awake, Marvin juts up, an almost inhuman growl resonating from the back of his throat as he bears his teeth at Leon.
Your fingers hover at the back of Leon's uniform, ready to pull him away if the worst were to happen, but you watch with only a minimal amount of relief as Marvin shakes his head, blinking blearily as if realizing where he is—who he is.
"We've got to get you to a hospital," Leon softly says.
Leon doesn't give up—it's like he doesn't know how to. "Look, we can still make it out of here together—"
You don't flinch when Marvin unholsters his gun and points it at him. No part of you believes he would actually pull the trigger. His eyes lock onto yours, as if you're the voice of reason who might talk Leon out of it. "Please," he begs. "We can't let this spread. Just go."
You take a deep, steady breath as you grab Leon by the arm. "Leon," you say as gently as you can because you can already feel the way he's trembling. "C'mon, we need to go."
He doesn't even try to pry himself away from your grip. "No, we can't leave him," he murmurs, and you can hear it in his voice—the break of desperation—the realization that you can't save everyone.
Marvin nods at you, tears threatening to spill over, and a quiver to his lip that he's determined not to show, but you see it anyway. You're guiding Leon toward the passageway, and he lets you pull him along as if he won't allow himself to move on his own, sorrowfully watching Marvin the whole time as you cross through the door. You shut the gate behind you, the way back getting cut off as the passageway seals up once more.
The tremor in Leon's hands won't stop, and you hear him sniff, a sound that makes guilt prickle up your spine. You hold the hand you'd been gripping a little tighter, as if to remind him you're still here with him. "I'm sorry, Leon," you murmur.
"What good are we?" he finally asks, voice barely above a whisper as if he can't bring himself to speak any louder. "I'm a cop, you're a doctor… and we couldn't even save him—that's what we're supposed to do, we're supposed to save people."
You don't take his words personally. It's a thought you've found yourself dwelling on many times over the past few days—actually, the past few years. You remember what Dr. McKay said to you after you lost your first patient. "We can't save everyone." She didn't say it to be cruel or to diminish what you were feeling. It was meant to serve as a reminder that you could do everything right and it still might not be enough. There is a peculiar kind of heartache in the death of good intentions, and the way defeat can pile up so easily.
"But that doesn't mean you give up," she finished, and as you looked up at her from the bathroom stall floor, tears streaming down your cheeks, you nodded in understanding. A silent promise to her and to yourself that you would keep going, even when it becomes too much and you feel like quitting—especially when you feel like quitting—you have to keep going.
"We can't save everyone," you say in just as soft a tone as Dr. McKay had that day, hoping you can impart half as much wisdom as she did to you.
"You've lost patients before, right?" he asks.
"I have," you confirm. "It doesn't… It doesn't get any easier—but you learn to make room in yourself to tuck those feelings into so it doesn't feel so overwhelming." Your fingers weave through his, pressing your joined hands firmly to his chest. "And if you need to cry, you cry."
His eyes find yours in the dim light, and you see the exact moment when the unyielding shield he's had raised this entire time comes crumbling down. He gasps for breath that stalls in his throat, getting caught there as he chokes back a sob. Tenderly, you reach out with your other hand, clasping the back of his neck and bringing him to you, allowing him to bury his head into your shoulder. His arm wraps around you as he cries, body shaking as he does.
Your fingers comb through his hair, rubbing his head soothingly, whispering 'it's okay' to him again and again, hoping that this time it will be enough, and that the smell of gunpowder and leather won't linger in your memory bittersweetly.
He remains slumped against you for a while—you don't count the minutes, only listening as his breathing steadies, body relaxing in your arms. When he finally pulls away, you let him. "Sorry," he mutters as he sniffs. "Didn't mean to start crying on you."
There are still remnants of tears on his cheeks, and you absentmindedly reach up, swiping them away with your thumbs. "I've already cried in front of you twice," you say in a lighter tone. "As far as I'm concerned, you still owe me one."
He laughs, it's soft and raspy, and you know his heart isn't quite completely in it. "Didn't know we were keeping track."
You step back, brushing off some dirt from the sleeves of his uniform. "Officer Kennedy, it's very important to never let yourself be in someone's debt," you say with a dramatic somberness. "You'll never know when they'll come to collect."
"If it's you, I don't think I'll mind," he says, smiling down at you with a little less grief on his face.
"I'll make you eat those words," you say. You peer down the dark staircase, flicking on your flashlight to get a better look. "Wanna go check out what's in the creepy secret passageway?"
He nods readily, squaring his shoulders once more, preparing for whatever you might discover. "Yeah, let's find a way out of here."
After stumbling upon some kind of office, you and Leon step into an elevator that takes you even deeper underground. When you exit, it's like you're in a totally different place—an industrial processing area. Grated catwalks hang above, and a room filled with vats steams below. "What is this?" you mutter. "Are we in the sewers?"
"Maybe?" he offers unhelpfully as he leads the way before you come to a metal locker blocking the path forward. "Hold on." He holsters his gun, lifting the locker back into place with a grunt.
You refrain from clapping but make an idle comment, "Way to go, muscles."
He peeks back at you bashfully as he ambles through the doorway, just as something drops down from above. It's a man—or at least it was; he's been mutated into something monstrous—sinewy muscle strands connect to an enlarged arm, a gigantic yellow eye blinking at the shoulder.
"What the—" The creature snatches Leon by the throat, slamming him onto the grated floor. "Run!" He manages to shout at you as it lifts him up again, only to hammer him back down, the floor starting to give way beneath them.
You don't. Instead, you level your shotgun and fire, hitting it right in its deformed shoulder. It lets out a loud roar that echoes all around you, stumbling back from Leon. "Up," you order as you help him off the ground. "Let's go." You motion over the railing to the ten-foot drop to the level below.
Leon can't argue, too busy trying to catch his breath as he lets you guide him over the railing, landing with a firm 'oof'. He hears another blast from your gun, and the monster screams once more, before you fall down beside him, grimacing as you feel the impact in your knees. Then he's grabbing your free hand, his own gun now drawn as he moves through the maze of machinery.
Behind you, the creature jumps down, stumbling after you, bellowing out in a way that almost feels like it's trying to speak. "Split up," you say, pushing him one way before he can protest, while you head in the other direction.
Predictably, it follows you after the two shotgun slugs you put into it. You peek over your shoulder, seeing the massive eye on its arm open and scanning around. You turn, treading backward as you fire another shot, and it screams out—angry or hurt, you don't know, but you keep shooting.
Leon appears behind it, emptying a whole clip while you have it distracted. "Aim for the eye!" you call out before turning to run again, the beast hot on your trail. You hear the grind of the metal pipe in its hand against the floor as it roars, lumbering behind you.
You hear Leon yell your name, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see the glint of the metal pipe about to strike you. Your stomach drops as you squat down, narrowly evading the attack, feeling the rush of air from the swing.
Clang.
Hiss.
The pipe bashes against one of the valves leading into the machinery, filling your vision with steam, and you use the distraction to scramble away from the monster.
"Wily ain't ya, girl?" a voice laughs in your ear. You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of your father's ghost.
As the labyrinth floods with more steam with each wild flail of the creature and its pipe that clang, clang, clangs against the machinery. It becomes disorienting, and you almost run headfirst into Leon, and he steadies you by your shoulders as you cough out an apology, feeling your lungs cloud with hot vapor.
As it stomps toward you, he steps in front, squinting as he tries to make out the large figure in the mist before discharging more rounds as it wails. "H-help," you think you hear it groan out—like it's still clinging to the memory of once being a person.
The thought makes bile rise in the back of your throat.
"Shit," Leon murmurs. "Gotta reload."
You push him to the side, racking your shotgun and using the sickly yellow glow of the eye in the haze as a target.
Ch-chunk.
Choom.
It screeches out as you hit it dead center in its shoulder, and it staggers backward as it writhes in pain. You watch with bated breath as it sails over the railing, falling into the darkness below. With a sigh, you wipe the sweat gathered at your brow.
Both you and Leon nearly jump out of your skin as a ladder close by suddenly lowers, though when you look up, the steam obscures whoever might be lurking on the catwalks above. "Someone is watching us," he notes with a hint of apprehension.
"Let's hope they're friendlier than that guy," you say while tipping your head to where the creature fell.
His gaze shifts to you, concern clear on his face. "Are you okay?" He doesn't wait for an answer and reaches out as if you're the one who was choked out by that thing, turning you back and forth by the shoulders to check for injury. "It didn't hit you, did it?"
"No," you answer before cocking a brow at him, noticing the red marks around his neck. "Are you okay?"
He nods, rubbing at his throat. "Yeah, I—" He glances down at the shotgun still in your hands. "I guess you do know how to use that thing, huh?"
"Did you doubt me?" you ask with a hint of mirth in your voice. "I'm a little offended."
He laughs and shakes his head. "No, just surprised." As you walk over to the ladder that dropped down, he decides to make conversation, finally asking a question you know has been burning in the back of his mind for hours, "So, you're pretty young to be a doctor, huh?"
You hum your confirmation as you climb up first. Leon watches, admiring how your scrubs cling tightly around your backside as you move, a flush spreading across his cheeks when he realizes where his eyes have landed, and he quickly looks away, waiting until you've reached the top to follow behind you.
"You're like… a genius, then?"
You purse your lips, like you don't quite like the term, or maybe you're too modest to accept the title. "Something like that," you say. "Graduated high school at fifteen, accelerated undergrad program, and then med school in three years."
His eyes widen, mouth open in an 'o' shape. "So you've been a doctor for…"
"Two years," you reply as you grab some ammo off a shelf and toss it to him.
"And you're… how old?" The way he asks this particular question takes on a much more intimate tone, as if it weren't just for idle curiosity.
An amused smirk twitches at your lips. "Twenty-three," you answer as you come to another ladder leading up. "And how old are you, rookie?"
"Twenty-one," he murmurs, as if embarrassed now. "You're… really impressive."
You feel your cheeks heat up as you turn to him, watching him peer down at you with fondness. "I—thank you," you say awkwardly, but Leon can still see the traces of pride on your face. "Guess there's nowhere to go but up, huh?" you ask as you peer up at the long climb with your hands on your hips.
"Hopefully it leads out?" he offers.
"Somehow, I doubt it," you murmur.
"How does a doctor learn how to handle firearms so well?" Leon asks as you ascend.
You pause for a moment, like you're considering your answer. "Dad was a big gun guy," you finally say, quieter, like it's something you don't like to talk about. Still, you explain, "Y'know the kind—doomsday prepper who thought he'd outshoot the end of the world he was sure was coming." You pause as you reach the top. "Turns out he wouldn't live long enough to see it."
Leon's silent, maybe noticing that saying 'sorry for your loss' doesn't seem appropriate for the situation—not with the tone you'd used when saying 'dad,' heavy like molasses on your tongue. "At least you're able to get some use out of it."
He's relieved when you laugh at that while pushing on what you realize is a manhole cover. "Yeah, there's always that." With a grunt, the cover comes loose, and you're able to slide it to the side.
When you pop up, you notice you're in an underground parking lot. You reach out a hand to Leon, helping him climb out as he looks around. "Still in the police station," he says. In the distance, you hear a sound that makes your stomach tighten: dogs.
"Is there a K-9 unit?" you ask, unsure if you ever remember interacting with any at the R.P.D.
"Huh?" He stares at you with bewilderment. "I… I think so, why?"
You quickly reload your shotgun and ensure your pistol has a fresh clip, too. "Remember how I said it was likely that the virus spread to animals other than humans?"
His eyes widen. "You think there's some zombie dogs roaming around?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if there's zombie goldfish swimming in the sewers at this rate," you say with a scowl.
He surveys the area, spotting the parking garage terminal next to the shuttered entrance and points to it. "Over there." You follow closely behind him, keeping an eye out for anything that might be lurking around. The parking garage is oddly silent, and it doesn't settle you; if anything, it makes you more anxious.
"Something feels off," you murmur.
"Yeah, I know," he agrees as he inspects the terminal. "Looks like we need a parking pass."
You sigh. "Of course we do."
A low growl behind you draws your attention, and you spin around, weapon ready. "Fuck," you mutter as you glare at the mutated doberman. Its eyes are milky, and it snarls, baring its teeth at you, with saliva and blood dripping from its mouth. "I hate being right."
As the undead animal goes to lunge at you, a single round puts it down, viscera splattering across the pavement of the parking garage. "Jesus Christ," Leon breathes out.
There's a grimace on your lips as you walk over to it, stepping carefully, knowing these things are hard to kill. You feel sorry for the poor thing, and so caught up in that feeling as you circle around it, you don't even detect the person lurking behind the pillar until you feel the cold metal of a gun muzzle to the back of your head.
"You two have made it further than I thought you would," a voice behind you says—a woman, you realize.
Leon brandishes his gun, a furrow on his brow as he points it at the woman just over your shoulder, but with you in between, you doubt he'd risk shooting. Still, she jams the gun harder against your skull, your head pitching down with the force, a scowl on your face. "Put it down," she orders.
"Let her go first," he insists.
The fact that she didn't disarm you immediately was a mistake on her part—likely, she doesn't see either of you as a threat. "Unless you want to lose a leg," you mutter back to her, and there's a brief pause as she realizes that your shotgun is still in your hands, aimed just slightly backward at an angle that would surely blow her entire right leg off at the knee.
"Clever," she muses, and then you feel the cool metal leave your head and the click of heels as she backs away.
You spin around as soon as you're sure she's at a safe distance, keeping your eyes on her while you drift backward toward Leon, who, once you're within arm's reach, grabs you by the backpack pocket and pulls you closer, lowering his gun as the woman lowers hers.
You take in her appearance—pretty with short black hair, wearing sunglasses, and clad in a trench coat, like a secret agent straight out of a cheesy spy movie. "F.B.I.," she declares as she raises her badge, then flips it closed too quickly for you to get a good look at it.
Leon relaxes behind you, but you don't; instead, you keep a scrutinizing leer on her. "What's the F.B.I. doing here?" he asks.
"Sorry," she says as she begins to saunter away, shoes clacking against the ground with a sharp tap, tap, tap. "That information is classified."
You scoff with disbelief. "Seriously? This place is crawling with monsters—an entire city's population has been nearly decimated, and you're worried about keeping the government's secrets?"
She glances over her shoulder at you. You can't see her eyes behind the sunglasses, but you know they're drilling holes into you right now. "Do yourself a favor—stop asking questions and get the hell out of here."
You both watch her leave through one of the side entrances, the door latching with a definitive click. "Easier said than done," Leon mutters as he turns to glower at the closed parking garage door, and then, after a beat, asks, "What do you make of that?"
The look you give him tells him everything he needs to know, but you answer anyway, "I don't trust anyone who wears sunglasses at night."
He chuckles, then, almost absentmindedly, his hand rises to cup the back of your head and tenderly rub the spot where the woman dug her gun into your skull. Your cheeks warm at the gesture, and you try to ignore the flutter in your stomach even as you lean into his touch. "I'm inclined to agree with her on one thing at least," he says softly. "Let's get the hell out of here."
You both go in the opposite direction from the woman, though you doubt it'll be the last you'll be seeing of her.
Staring at the man behind bars, you feel like you've seen him before. "You a reporter?" you ask, interrupting him and Leon when you finally place his face. You saw him in the hospital a couple of times in the past few months—he was desperately trying to get an interview with Dr. Bard, if you remember correctly.
The man tilts his head at you, beady eyes scanning you as if he's trying to uncover your secrets. "I am," he says. "Was about to blow the whistle on Irons—it's why I'm down here."
"Irons?" Leon repeats. "You mean Chief Irons? Is he still around?"
"Who cares," the man says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Hopefully, he's somebody's dinner by now."
"What do you mean by that?" Leon asks, his demeanor changing—shoulders squaring as his jaw clenches.
A screeching noise, like metal on metal, rings out through the cellblock, catching everyone's attention. You step closer to Leon, hands still steady on your shotgun as you focus down the corridor. "What the fuck," you mutter.
"Hey, I'll make you a deal…" the man says suddenly, leaning against the bars, and holding up the parking pass that hangs around his neck. "Unlock this cell, and I'll give you this. There's no other way outta that parking garage! Believe me!"
"Sorry, I can't do that." Leon shakes his head. "I have to talk to the chief first."
You whip your head around, staring at him incredulously. "Leon." The noise continues, growing louder as if it's getting closer; it vibrates through your eardrum right into your teeth. "We need to be quiet."
Quiet kept you safe during those three days alone. Quiet meant those things didn't know where you were.
"We're all prisoners in this station," the man says, sweat starting to bead on his forehead as panic takes hold. "So either we play nice and help each other out—" Another loud bang makes him flinch, and his eyes widen as he stumbles back from the bars. "Shit. It's coming."
"What's coming?" Leon asks as he steps forward.
"Be quiet," you whisper firmly, but it goes unheard. Your eyes dart around, yet despite the approaching noise, you can’t tell where it's originating from.
"C'mon—c'mon, don't be an asshole, okay? You need this!" The man presses himself against the back wall of the cell. "Just get me the fuck outta here!"
A sharp gasp escapes you as an enormous, gloved hand punches through the wall behind him, sending bricks flying as it grabs him by the head. Leon shoves you behind him as he levels his gun, trying to get a clear shot at the creature. All you can do is watch as it drags the man, like he's nothing but a ragdoll, more of the wall crumbling with the movement, before a sickening squelch echoes out.
"Oh my god," Leon breathes as you watch the body slide down the wall, leaving a red smear of blood from his crushed skull.
You quickly avert your gaze, the sight of the man's bulging eyes making you nauseated, and when you look at the gaping hole now in the cell, you only see darkness beyond. You teeter away until you feel the jut of wood against the back of your thighs, leaning against the table.
You stare down at the concrete floor of the jail, tracing the cracked surface as you try to calm your racing heart. "We could have helped him," you quietly say.
Leon turns to you with a crinkle in his brow. "I didn't know if he was a criminal or not," he says.
You glare up at him with a scathing expression. "Does that matter?" you question.
He frowns as if he's puzzled by your reaction. "Of course it matters."
"He was a person, though," you say. "You said you wanted to help people."
"Yeah, innocent people," he clarifies.
His naivety unravels before you, and you huff with a shake of your head and a roll of your eyes. "You're not the judge and jury, Leon," you argue, and as you consider him, you realize you're looking at a kid—just like you—but someone who didn't grow up with a steel-toed boot on their neck. His world isn't tinted in shades of gray like yours. "It's not guilty until proven innocent—it's innocent until proven guilty."
"But what if we let him out and he hurt you?"
He's trying to understand, you know he is, but it still doesn't make you feel any less frustrated. "And what if he didn't?" you retort. "When people need help, you don't get to pick and choose who's the perfect victim."
A quiet tension settles between you two—it's uncomfortable and prickly, making you want to apologize immediately, but you hold back the urge. Instead, you watch as his eyes drift from you to the ground before you notice the sound of heels clicking through the cell block.
"Hope I'm not interrupting," the woman from before says coyly, no doubt having overheard your argument.
You ignore the quip, shrugging off your backpack to check your supplies again as Leon talks to the woman—Ada, as she introduces herself. Your mind concentrates on numbers—gauze, first aid spray, shotgun shells.
Things you can control.
You're transported back to every moment you've felt overwhelmed, imagining yourself at the suture cart, counting everything—forceps, scalpels, epidermal closures, tissue adhesive tape. Everything neatly logged and categorized in your mind, as you try to keep your head above water when it feels like you're drowning.
Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Ada stroll away again, waiting until the tap of her shoes completely fades before zipping your bag back up, maybe a little more aggressively than you intend. Leon approaches, standing in front of you and looking every bit like a kicked dog. You purse your lips, resenting how your stomach coils with guilt at how sad he appears. "I'm sorry," he says. "You're right."
"It's not about being right," you sigh. "It's about doing the right thing."
He nods insistently. "I know," he says. "I just—I was worried, and I don't want you to get hurt because I made the stupid mistake of trusting someone I shouldn't have."
Giving a noncommittal hum, you swing your backpack over your shoulder and finally stand up from your leaning position. It brings you much closer to Leon, who looms over you with a pout still clearly in place at your perceived indifference.
"You're not mad, right?" he questions, voice small and unsure.
When you peek up at him, the tender way he gazes down at you floods your stomach with butterflies. You pat his chest with the back of your hand, your expression softening. "Can't be mad at you, rookie," you mutter. "You're too cute."
He blinks in surprise, a blush spreading up his neck. "You think I'm cute?"
You try not to smile, rolling your eyes playfully. "C'mon, we need to find a way to get that cell open," you say, brushing past him to leave the jail.
"I think you're cute, too," he whispers as he trails after you.
It should have been simple. Find the electrical components to reroute the power in the jail, open up the cells, grab the parking garage pass, and get the hell out of the station.
Easy peasy.
Until you encounter a massive, hulking figure with skin a sickly blue mottled with scars, it’s dressed in a leather trench coat and a black hat, resembling a human, but it very clearly isn't. You think you've found what killed the reporter—or rather, it found you.
"Jesus Christ," Leon stammers as he reels backward, watching as it lifts the helicopter like it weighs nothing.
"What the fuck is that thing?" you question.
When Leon shoots off its hat, you think it starts to walk faster.
"I don't think it liked that," you say with wide eyes.
"Nope, definitely not."
It moves deliberately, too precise to be considered a mindless creature driven solely by instinct like the normal undead or Lickers. Its heavy footsteps boom behind you as you dash through the station's halls, and you pull Leon through a door, one you remember leading to a room with two exits. Before Leon can try to run toward the other door, you snatch him by his belt, scrambling behind an overturned desk and pulling him down with you.
"God, he's moving like we owe him money," you mutter.
He hauls you between his legs, wrapping one arm around you as you curl into him, while the other hand covers your mouth to silence your heavy breathing. The door you just went through suddenly swings open with a bang, making you both recoil, and you can feel Leon tense behind you as sweat beads on your brow.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
The footsteps stomp through the room, pausing only briefly, before you hear the other door open and close, disappearing down the hall deeper into the station. Neither of you moves right away, too afraid that one small move might give away your position. Then, after what feels like forever, Leon's hold on you loosens, and you both finally allow yourselves to slowly exhale.
His cheek rests against the top of your head. "You okay?" he asks, arm still protectively enveloping you.
"Only a minor heart attack," you answer. "Nothing I can't walk off." He laughs softly, and you can feel the rumble in his chest behind you. You cant your head back to look at him, not realizing how close he'd be. You can feel his breath on your lips as you ask, "Are you okay?"
In the dark room with just the moonlight streaming through the window, you think you see his eyes flick down to your lips for a moment before he nods slowly. "Yeah," he whispers, swallowing thickly like he's got a mouth full of honey. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"Okay," you murmur back, and a part of you—a very large part—wants to tip your chin up and close the gap between you. But the more sensible side wins out as you lean back, Leon chasing after you, maintaining the tempting distance. "We should get moving." There's no real urgency in your voice, and any resolve you hoped to convey wavers under his stare.
"Yeah," he breathes in agreement, even if his expression is tinted with disappointment, and his thumb traces circles against the soft skin of your arm.
Using every ounce of self-control, you extract yourself from him, standing and adjusting your backpack. Quietly, you head toward the door you entered, hoping that the monster will stay occupied elsewhere in the station for a while, when Leon whispers your name, catching your attention.
He grabs you by your jaw as you turn to peer at him, and the warmth of his lips against your forehead causes the rest of your face to heat up. Even as he pulls away, his hands continue to cradle you like you're something worth keeping. "Do you think—" His voice cracks, and you only find it endearing. "—Do you think when all of this is over, we could get dinner or something?"
You nod, a smile growing on your face—it's something to plan for, something to look forward to. "Yeah," you whisper. "I think I'd like that a lot."
He grins, and it feels like entire universes are collapsing inside of you at the sight. You find yourself once again praying to a god you don't believe in for the first time in two years, hoping that the man in front of you survives this and maybe, selfishly, hoping you survive too.
The trek through the station slowed to a crawl when you realized that making too much noise alerted the large, trenchcoat-clad creature to your presence—Tyrant, as you learn it's called when you finally manage to open the reporter's cell. He had written a note about it and how it's being used to hunt down witnesses to the events that transpired in Raccoon City—meaning you and Leon.
Whoever is behind this doesn't intend to allow any survivors.
With the parking garage pass in your possession, you and Leon weave your way through the undead that are beginning to swarm out from the now open cells, all the while avoiding the Tyrant as it chases after you. As you rush out into the parking garage, the door slamming open with a bang, you hear him yell out your name as something crashes through the wall beside you.
The first thing you're aware of is the iron grip around your throat, and the second is that you're hanging in the air, your feet scrambling to find purchase on solid ground now three feet below you as you desperately claw at the Tyrant's arm, trying to make it let go. You hear the pop, pop, pop of gunfire, but it doesn't even flinch, and you're gasping for air, your vision darkening around the edges.
There's a bright flash of light and the roar of an engine, then you're landing in a heap on the ground, wheezing as Leon rushes over to help you up and away from the Tyrant, now crushed between the wall and the S.W.A.T. van. As you shakily stand up, Leon's hands firmly on your shoulder, Ada steps out.
"You owe me one," she teases, a smirk on her lips, but it shifts into a scowl as the Tyrant begins to move. "God, nothing stays dead down here." You flinch back as she presses a button on the small remote in her hand, and the van explodes in a burst of flames, taking the Tyrant with it, though you doubt it'll stay down for long.
You're scowling as you hold up the parking garage pass. "Consider this your payment," you croak out, and Leon takes it from you, his hand hovering at your back as you all head toward the terminal.
As you all watch the grated shutter covering the exit start to rise, you realize that escape still doesn't feel any closer.
You don't think twice, stepping in front of the gun pointed at the little girl. "We need to terminate her before she turns," Ada says—her tone is callous, indifferent. Like she is talking about a lame horse and not a child.
"'Terminate'? That's my fucking daughter," the man grinds out, his own weapon drawn, ready to defend his family.
She doesn't acknowledge him; her focus is solely on you. "Step aside," she orders you, pointedly ignoring the fact that Leon is urging her to lower her weapon as well.
"You know I'm not going to do that." You see the shadow of her eyes behind the sunglasses, fixated on you as if she's searching for something. There's no change in her expression, not even a slight twitch of her lips, so you don't know if she finds what she is looking for.
"You're a doctor, you know what happens," she says.
"I do," you reply with a solemn nod, but even then, you don't move. Your gaze shifts to Leon, who is watching this unfold with a furrowed brow and a frown on his lips. His gun firmly in his hand, and you wonder for a moment what he would do if Ada shot you—if he would turn his weapon on her, the supposed F.B.I. agent.
Where, then, would his duty lie?
"You're a doctor?" the man asks from behind you.
I am, you confirm without turning around. It's a tense moment as you meet Ada's gaze again, watching the way her hand briefly tightens around her gun's grip before slowly lowering it.
"Is there… Is there anything you can do?" He knows the answer, but he still hopes anyway.
"No," you reply, and that's when you finally turn your head to look at him. "There's nothing I can do." The neutral demeanor you've trained yourself to keep when delivering bad news slips off your face as you regard him and his daughter with sorrow.
He takes a deep breath in—it stutters in his chest, and he nods sadly with acceptance. Behind him, his daughter rasps out, "Daddy…"
"Yeah, Emmie," he says as he kneels in front of her. "Daddy's here. I'm here, okay?" He holds her close, and you think of your own father and how he'd never held you with such gentleness. You're glad for the little girl, that she knows the love of a father and not the cruelty of one.
Leon tentatively steps forward beside you. The man turns his gaze to him, misplaced anger morphing onto his face. "You're a cop, you're supposed to know something—how did this happen? Huh?!"
"Mommy?" the girl chokes out.
And just like that, the anger crumbles away. "Mommy's sleeping, honey, okay? And I'm gonna put you to bed too, okay?" You can only watch with a lump in your throat as he picks her up, carrying her back inside before turning to consider you all. "Just go… just give us some privacy."
When the door shuts, Leon turns to Ada, frustration and anger twisting up his features. "It's one thing to keep the truth from us, but why from him?" You wince when the gunshot goes off, inhaling sharply and trying not to think about how that sound—this moment—will stay with you for the rest of your life. "I want to find out what's happening here. And stop whoever's behind it. People like them are the whole reason I joined the force."
You watch her eyes dart to you from behind her sunglasses. "And what about you?" she asks.
Disdain creeps onto your face. "And what about me?" you repeat back.
She quirks an eyebrow. "Did you not take an oath to help people as well?"
She's not as sly as she thinks she is—using your bleeding heart against you. You hate that you know you're about to agree.
You want to help.
It's a feeling that grips you so tightly you feel your bones ache with it. Even still, it feels bitter, spiteful, as you ground out, "Yes."
"My mission is to take down Umbrella's entire operation," she finally says, and she looks back and forth between the two of you. "We may not make it out."
"Whatever it takes to save this city, count me in," Leon firmly answers.
You study his profile—this version of Leon Kennedy, the rookie cop, cementing into your mind, idealistic and good.
Isn't that what you are, too, though?
You thought you were.
"If I'm rotten, so are you, sweetheart," your father's voice cackles in your ear. "Apple don't fall far."
The taste of spite fills your mouth—it's acrid and sharp—rotten like you. You swallow it down anyway.
When Leon looks at you with blue eyes full of determination, you capitulate under the weight of his gaze and nod your acquiescence. You don't have the heart to tell him this city is already lost.
Unease builds up in you as Leon prepares to drop into the sewer way below. "Be careful," you urge as you pat his shoulder. He glances back at you, nodding. "And don't get any of it in your mouth." When he jumps down, he sputters a bit, and you glare over the edge at him. "What did I just say?"
He surveys the area before peering back up at you and Ada. "Are you sure this is the right way?" he asks her.
"Unfortunately," she answers, and somewhere further down the waterway, a rumbling noise reverberates through the air.
"Wait there," he orders, and you watch with disbelief as he delves further into the dark of the sewer.
"Leon," you caution, skin prickling with anxiety.
The sound continues, growing louder as an enormous beast breaks through the sewer, a giant mutated reptile—perhaps an alligator. Meanwhile, Leon stands there, barely managing a small, "Jesus Christ."
"Hey, time to run now!" you yell, snapping him out of his stupor as he spins on his heel and starts to run, the beast lumbering toward him.
"Come on," Ada says to you as she backtracks along the walkway, both of you watching through the grated floor to keep an eye on Leon as he is chased by the creature.
"Why the fuck is there a mutated alligator in the sewers?" you ask.
"Same reason there are undead roaming the city," she replies before gesturing to the right. "This way."
An explosion echoes through the watercourse, and worry clings to you until you round the corner and see Leon in one piece down below, the remnants of the beast smoldering behind him. You breathe a sigh of relief, kicking the release on the ladder nearby. "Are you alright?" you ask as he climbs up.
"Peachy," he says, lip curling up in disgust as he shakes his boot, full of sewer water.
You, unfortunately for him, don't take his word for it, making him stand there while you check him over for any injuries. He doesn't even have the heart to wave you off and just watches with a smile as you sign off and declare him okay to proceed.
While you follow Ada, she tells you about the scientist she's tracking, Annette, who is responsible for making viruses for Umbrella to sell as weapons. For the first time, you consider the fact that there might be more than one virus at play: one that reanimates corpses and another that mutates people.
It makes your skin crawl.
You can feel Leon's eyes fall to you during her explanation, as if gauging your reaction to this information. Though your face remains indifferent, inside you're reeling at the news.
Spencer Memorial is a private hospital, and it's well known that it received significant financial support from the Umbrella Corporation during its construction in 1992. You were personally headhunted for your residency—you hadn't even applied there. In fact, you only applied to hospitals in the Northeast, hoping to stay close to where your brother attends college, but then you received an offer from Spencer Memorial with a number far above what most doctors could even imagine earning during their residency.
It was enough to get you a shitty little apartment in Raccoon City close to the hospital and to pay for your brother's college tuition—it was a no-brainer.
Now, though, you wonder if Umbrella had a hand in your recruitment, and if they did—what exactly did they want with you?
Fortunately, you're not able to ruminate on that thought too long, as your search for Annette is a short one.
She flees from you, yelling how she won't allow you to get your hands on the G-Virus, and as Ada pursues her through the corridor, shots ring out, and you can only watch in horror as Leon dives in front of her, taking a bullet to the shoulder. "Leon!" you yell as he hits the ground in a heap, crying out in pain.
You're sliding on your knees next to him in the same breath, and Ada's gaze dips down briefly, her eyes falling to you as you roll Leon over, like she's assessing whether you have this covered. "Go," you say as you dig through your bag.
She doesn't need any more convincing, disappearing down the hall, and as she goes, you think you hear her talking to someone. If you weren't so worried about Leon, you might suspect something, but your mind filters out the noise of unimportant thoughts—your only concern right now is Leon.
Leon exhales your name as you lay out your medical supplies on the floor beside you. "Yeah, rookie," you murmur. "I'm here."
"Did I get shot?" he asks with a wince.
You give him a disbelieving stare as you haul him up into a sitting position, despite his pained gasps. Pain is good—pain means he's still alive. "What do you think, idiot?" you ask.
"I think… I think I got shot," he confirms through gritted teeth.
You quickly cut through the sleeve of his uniform to get a clear visual of the wound, sighing in relief when you discern that the bullet went clean through. "You're a real MacGyver," you say.
He chuckles at you, though it turns into a sharp gasp as you begin to disinfect it. You mutter an apology to him, but don't stop until you've flushed the hole. He watches you the entire time, the intense focus that makes you seem more severe than he's seen you so far—for a moment, he imagines what you must be like in the hospital when you're in your element.
You must be a good doctor, he thinks.
As you start to pack gauze around the injury, he quietly says, "I'm glad you're here."
You snort as you wrap his shoulder to secure the bandages with tape. "Someone needs to patch you up," you say.
"I'm glad it's you, though," he reiterates. You tip your chin to peer up at him, realizing how close you are, and he rests his forehead against yours. His eyes flutter closed as he breathes in deeply—like this is a moment he wants to savor. "I… wouldn't want to be going through this with anyone else."
As he pulls away, you smile tenderly at him, the confession making your chest flutter. "Yeah, me neither," you say. "Don't think I could've done all this alone, to be honest."
"You could've," he assures tiredly. "You're so smart. You could do anything."
You lean up, pressing a kiss to his forehead, not caring that it's covered in sweat and grime. "Rest for a bit, and then we'll go after Ada."
There's pink tinging his cheeks as you draw away, giving the wrapped wound another once over, before starting to repack your bag.
"What do you make of all that?" he asks suddenly after a minute or two of silence. "Umbrella, Annette…"
"I don't know," you admit, as you sit next to him. "But I certainly don't think we're getting the full story from Ada."
He frowns, but not because he disagrees with you—more because he agrees and wishes he didn't. "She said she was F.B.I."
"People can say they're a lot of things," you comment with a shrug of your shoulders. You observe him for a moment—he's so trusting, and you can only imagine the people who would use that to their advantage. "But—" You take a deep breath in. "—If you're determined to bring down whoever is behind this, then I'm with you—F.B.I. or not."
He considers you for a moment. "If it comes down to it, promise me you'll save yourself," he says.
You recoil back, eyes narrowing. "I'm not making that promise—" He tries to interrupt, but you keep talking. "—We either both get out, or we don't. I'm not promising to leave you behind, so don't ask me to."
He whispers your name like it's something precious—like you're something precious. Even in a city surrounded by so many unspeakable horrors, with him next to you, you don't feel so afraid. It's odd, the steady way your heart thrums in your chest as you make up your mind. You're both getting out of here, you determine, you're not going to let the undead, F.B.I. agents, or Umbrella scientists stop you from doing that.
"You're just like your daddy, ain't you, stubborn as all get out," you hear in your mind.
Your ears burn, and the urge to move—to not stay still—pulls you to your feet. "C'mon, we should go look for Ada."
"I'm going to take a really, really long shower when we get out of here," you say as you trek through the sloshing sewage. The smell has seeped deep into your sinuses, and you hoped you might get used to the awful odor, but then you catch a new layer to it, and bile rises in the back of your throat.
Leon laughs as he leads the way. "Got big plans after all of this is over?" he asks.
"Well, someone promised me dinner, so I figure it'd be in poor taste to show up smelling like runoff," you answer coyly.
"You could show up smelling like anything you want," he says.
You smile because you know he means it. "What about you, Officer Kennedy?" you question. "Anything besides dinner plans?"
The smile on his face softens into something sad. "No," he answers. You wonder what life was like for the rookie before this—you want to ask, but it almost feels wrong—like you're dredging up something he might not want to talk about.
Not like you're particularly keen to talk about your shitty dad.
"Kinda hard to think past all of this, huh?"
He nods, falling silent.
When you finally find Ada, it's looking down at her in a trash heap through a viewing window. She appears injured, with a piece of metal sticking out of her leg, and you're glad she's smart enough not to try to remove it.
The door down to the area she's in is locked, and, predictably, as with most things thus far tonight, opening it will be an ordeal. As you explore deeper into the sewers, you realize the inefficiency of Raccoon City's infrastructure. "Who thought this was a good idea?" you question incredulously as you glare at the electrical component with a chess piece at the end.
"I feel like I've been in Pee-wee's Playhouse since I got here," Leon admits with a chuckle.
You glance at him briefly—the image of Leon dressed as Pee-wee Herman flashing in your mind—and then you're cracking up, hand on your stomach, doubled over. "You know you're really funny," you say.
He smiles sheepishly. "I—uh—thanks."
The undead appears out of nowhere. Neither of you notices it until it has your arm in its mouth, teeth sinking into your skin. Reacting on instinct, you push your arm further into its mouth, like you do with a dog when they bite, more concerned about it ripping away with chunks of your skin and muscle. You have it backed against a wall, cringing in pain as it chomps into your arm, when Leon steps in, driving a knife through its skull to make it let go.
As he finished it off, you're already pouring antiseptic onto the bite, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes at the sting. "Fuck," you whisper out through gritted teeth.
"Oh no," Leon murmurs, and you can see the panic, the way his face crumbles like you're already gone. "No, no."
You're trying to staunch the bleeding, thankful it didn't appear to have hit any major veins or arteries. "It's alright," you assure.
"You said the virus could be transmitted through a bite," he says, a pained look on his face as he remembers. "Like with Marvin—"
"Leon, I'm okay," you interrupt. "I've been vaccinated."
He blinks. "…What?"
You were down to just a few staff members—most of the others were turned or killed outright by the monsters wandering the halls of Spencer Memorial Hospital. They were supposed to be working on a vaccine, but you hadn't heard anything from the immunology team in over a day. It was Dr. McKay who said she would brave the haunted corridors to see if she could reach Dr. Bard's office.
You tried to stop her from going.
When she returned, covered in blood with a bite mark on her neck, she waved off her colleagues' help. "Didn't find anything," she told you all, and that was that.
You stayed with her as the virus took hold, watching her weaken until even just lifting her head was a Sisyphean task. "You're a good kid," she said through wheezed breaths. "You're a good doctor."
Your eyes filled with tears, and your throat constricted. "Yeah, well, it helps when you have a good teacher," you replied softly.
She reached out, hand cupping your cheek, gazing at you with such kind eyes. Always so kind—the person in the E.D. you've always looked to as a guide for compassion and empathy. There was no better doctor than her, that you were sure of. Then you felt a sting on your arm, and when you glanced down, you saw she was injecting you with a syringe. "Dr. McKay, what—"
"Now you have a fighting chance," she said, eyes shining with unshed tears.
"That was—"
She nodded in reply, and you feel your lip quiver. "Only managed to get one dose," she explained.
"Why didn't you save yourself?" you whispered, voice cracking as tears streaked down your cheeks, as you grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. "Why did you do that? Why?"
There was no trace of doubt on her face, just a peaceful acceptance as she smiled at you. "You're gonna get outta here," she murmured. "You're gonna live."
"So you're immune?" Leon asks as he delicately dresses the bite, and you do your best not to backseat doctor him.
"If the immunology team did their job, then yes," you answer. "Hey, not too bad." You lift your arm up to inspect his work—the bandage is a little tight, but better that than loose and falling off your arm. "Still time to change careers," you say with a grin, though you're still feeling a bit woozy from the amount of blood you lost.
He gives a snort. "I don't think I could hack it in medical school."
You study him with a hawkish gaze. "Yeah, you're probably right," you tease. "Bet you'd faint at your first degloving."
He pales, and you just laugh.
When you finally gather everything you need to unlock the door, a somber mood settles over you after discovering a nest of creatures that resemble the one you fought earlier with the gigantic eye, almost as if this virus has been festering under Raccoon City much longer than anyone realized. The beast makes another appearance, and as Leon tries to knock it off the platform he's standing on with a shipping crate, you take pot shots at it from above. Watching it fall into the darkness again, you have little hope that this will be the last time you see it.
"Ada?" you call out as you tramp through the piles of trash.
"Over here," she yells back.
When you find her, you crouch beside her, mind going straight into triage mode as you examine the piece of metal protruding from her thigh. "Can you move your toes?" you ask as you snap on some gloves, not like it much mattered, given how much filth you are in.
She nods with a wince. "Yeah," she confirms. "I can't get it out on my own."
"Probably for the best," you explain. "If it hit an artery, you could bleed out, but we won't know until we remove it."
"Wonderful," she says as she braces herself while you get a firm hold on it.
"On three," you instruct. "One, two—" You yank the piece of metal out, and she gasps in pain.
"I thought you said on three," she groans.
"The three was in my head," you explain as you inspect the wound. "Looks like you got lucky," you say as you dab it with antiseptic before beginning to bandage it.
"What happened to your arm?" she asks with a curious purse of her lips when she catches sight of the wrappings on your arm.
"Caught it on a sharp metal," you lie. "Good thing I'm up to date on my tetanus shot—" You glance down at her leg as you finish dressing it. "Hope you are, too."
"You two should get out of here," she urges. "While you can."
"Not getting rid of us that easily," Leon says. "We meant it—we want to help."
As she looks up at him, her gaze shifts to you like she's questioning if you hold the same sentiment, and you only raise your eyebrows as if to say 'What do you think?'
You stand, take off your gloves, and toss them aside as Leon extends a hand to Ada. She accepts it, allowing him to help her up.
"Grab my shoulder," he instructs.
"Don't push it, rookie," she shoots back, and you snort.
He holds his hands up sheepishly. "Just trying to help," he says.
"If I want help, I'll ask the doctor," she says, sending you a sly smirk and a wink that makes you roll your eyes with a smirk of your own as you shrug your backpack on. "We need to get to NEST."
"NEST?" Leon questions.
"It's the lab, it's right underneath us," Ada explains. "Annette let it slip. That's where the virus samples are."
You lean against the wall of the cable car, too afraid to sit down, fearing you won't be able to get back up if you do. Exhaustion weighs you down, running your bones ragged. Idly, you check your watch, realizing you've been awake for well over twenty-four hours—it's almost hard to believe that you started the day in the hospital; it feels like so long ago now.
Your mind wanders to Jill, and just the thought of her creates a lump in your throat. If Carlos didn't manage to find a vaccine, she would be gone by now. You close your eyes, inhaling, trying to force that possibility from your head.
She's fine, you tell yourself.
She has to be.
"You okay?" Leon asks as he stands in front of you; there's concern on his face as he observes you.
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Ada give you an inquisitive quirk of her brow.
"Tired," you answer before giving a weary grin. "Longest shift of my life."
He smiles tenderly at you. "We're almost done," he says as if he has any way of knowing that. "I can't wait for the F.B.I. to raid Umbrella's headquarters and bring those guys to justice."
You look at him, the sincerity so Leon that it almost pains you to think negatively, especially when you see Ada's gaze shift from you to him. "I agree… but to be clear, you're not working in an official capacity," she explains. "This is a federal case. Once we get the G-Virus, I'm back on my own."
This makes him frown. "Right," he murmurs.
"It's not a bad thing," she says. "You don't want to get mixed up with all of this."
"Feels like we already are," you comment. "That big guy that was stalking us around the station? He was sent specifically to take care of witnesses." You point between yourself and Leon. "Us? Yeah, we've witnessed a whole fucking lot." You feel the anger on your face. "And you haven't exactly been the most forthcoming with information—in fact, I feel like we've only just scratched the surface of what you really know. So, regardless of what you say—we're already involved."
She scowls. "Listen, I just need you both to secure the G-Virus, and then I can make sure what happened in Raccoon City never happens again," she says. "Trust me."
You hold her gaze, and it bothers you that you're not able to discern anything from it. She doesn't give a single thing away. You watch Leon, and his own conflict is written so clearly across his expression. "Fine," you say. "We'll get you the G-Virus, and then you get us the hell out of here."
She smirks. "Deal." As the cable car comes to a stop, she hands you the wristband she picked up in her pursuit of Annette, telling you it would give you access to the lab. "I'm counting on you two."
The lab—NEST—is a ghost town. The fact that this laboratory has been hidden beneath Raccoon City the entire time is unsettling, to say the least. You and Leon exchange looks as you venture through it, encountering the undead doctors and lab technicians that you skirt by, not wanting to waste valuable ammo.
There's a familiarity in the sterility of the lab that should make you feel at ease, but seeing the disarray the place is in only makes you feel like you're standing at ground zero.
"Can we catch a fucking break?" you mutter as you and Leon stare through the window into the room filled with overgrown plant life—God only knows what kind of weird experiment this is. You spot the wristband chip you need on the corpse wedged up against the glass inside, and your scowl only deepens.
"Maybe when we're dead," he jokes.
When the Tyrant appears again, you think for a second you might cry, but instead you run, briefly wondering if this is what your life will be, even if you do manage to escape—constantly running from one threat to another.
"What's the point of all this?" you ask as you and Leon finally find the lab where the samples should be stored. You're staring with a grimace at the mutations floating in large tubes like a fucked up art exhibit. "Create all these viruses and then what... the entire world population falls, and there's no one left to give a damn?"
He looks back at you, frowning. "I don't know," he says, but holds up a vial in his hand. "I think this is it, though."
You let out a sigh—not relief, not quite yet. "Great, let's get the hell out of here."
Then the alarms start going off, and you groan.
"Ah, c'mon," Leon mutters as he reaches a hand out for you. "Let's go."
You two don't make it very far as another familiar creature drops down from the ceiling, appearing larger than before, and with maybe a few extra limbs. "Why won't this thing just die?" you murmur as you level your shotgun to take aim at one of the numerous eyes it now has. Behind you, the door swishes open.
"Move," a voice orders—Annette. "He's mine." She shoots it with some sort of solution that brings the beast to its knees. "I'm sorry, William, you've left me no choice." With another shot, it collapses, letting out a noise reminiscent of agony.
"You called this thing 'William', why?" Leon asks as he kneels near it, despite your silent urging to maintain a safe distance.
Annette shakes her head, tears in her eyes. "It shouldn't have been like this," she says. "It's Umbrella's fault—this whole mess."
"You're Umbrella, too," he says with his eyes narrowed. "You're telling me you weren't involved in this?"
"Yes," she answers, not denying it. "But we never meant for this to happen."
"So how did this happen?" you question.
Annette recounts what happened to William—her husband—after the events captured on the tapes you and Leon found while exploring the lab. He was shot by Umbrella mercenaries after Umbrella discovered William was in talks with the U.S. military, intending to betray the corporation. He injected himself with a remaining sample of the G-Virus and turned into the monster before you.
"You made this monster then?" Leon asks.
She shakes her head. "We made the G-Virus, but we never intended this to—"
"You can spin it anyway you want," he interrupts.
You catch sight of the creature beginning to stir. "Back up," you order, snatching Leon by the scruff of his uniform and pulling him with you, but Annette isn't so fortunate, getting snatched up by it, and you can hear the bones in her body break. She lets out an agonized scream as it tosses her away, her body hitting the wall with a thud. With a roar, another arm sprouts from it, no longer even recognizable as what it used to be—human.
"Go," Leon says as he waves his hand at you.
"I know you're not talking to me," you say as you pump your shotgun. Your heart is pounding against your ears—you're afraid, but this time you wouldn't run from it. "I told you, we either both live or we both die." You hear him whisper your name, and you glance at him, smiling tightly. "Just one more fight, we can do this."
He nods with a determined set to his jaw. "Yeah." The lights around you flash red, and alarms begin to blare as the platform you're on with the monster starts to lower. "What are you doing?" Leon calls over to Annette, who is doubled over the control console.
"We can't let him get away!"
"Fuck," you mutter, and then Leon is urging you over the railing before following after you.
"Split up," he says as you both go your separate ways. The creature initially focuses on you, as if it still remembers your first encounter. It's easy to corner yourself in this place, and you're trying to stay out of its massive reach allowing Leon shoots at it from behind, while it's distracted.
It's a stupid mistake, overestimating how far you are from it, and you don't even register you've been hit until your body collides with one of the metal vats—the wind getting knocked right out of you. You're positive there's a rib or two that's broken and a ringing in your ear as your vision doubles. For a moment, you think you're going to be sick.
You think you hear Leon scream your name, but it's muffled as if you're underwater. You lie on the ground, watching through blurry eyes as it turns its attention to Leon; the only thought on your mind is how tired you are.
If you close your eyes now, it could all be over.
You've thought about dying a lot—of course you have—you imagine what it would feel like. Some people just slip away in a breath, and others go out kicking and screaming. You always figured that those who got to go peacefully had Lady Luck on their side—no pain, no fuss, just close your eyes, and then nothing.
Isn't that what everyone hopes? To just go quietly in the night?
With a small, broken sigh, your eyes flutter closed. The world around you feels distant—the hiss of steam and pop of gunshots so far away now that you can almost pretend they're not even there, just a dream you're about to wake from. Then you hear the footsteps amble up next to you—the sound is clear, present, here. It's the heavy stomp of steel-toed work boots, a familiar gait that would send a lick of fear up your spine when you heard the thud, thud, thud.
You're five years old, nine years old, fourteen years old, seventeen years old, and you're curled up in the corner of your childhood room. Your hands are trembling as you cover your bruised and bloodied face, and you don't call out for help because you know no one is coming. He squats down in front of you, reeking of tobacco and cheap beer.
"C'mon, girl, get up… acting like you ain't never taken a punch before," he scoffs. "Didn't raise you to be a chickenshit."
You gasp for air, the taste of blood in your mouth as your eyes snap open. With gritted teeth, you pry yourself from the floor, crying out as a sharp pain shoots up your side, but even still, you keep going. You need to get up. The sounds of a battle focus in around you, the creature bellowing out as it attacks Leon, who stumbles just out of its reach.
Your feet are unsteady beneath you, but you stumble forward anyway, shakily holding up your gun, the one Carlos gave you.
You are twenty-three years old, and you are not scared of the monster in front of you because you were raised by one.
You fire off a round, and it screeches. When Leon's eyes catch yours from across the way, you think you see tears glimmering in them, and then you're both back to it. It's him who deals the final blow, shoving a grenade into its maw when it grabs at him, and as it crumples to the ground—hopefully for good this time—you're both left standing there, breathing heavily.
He considers you—a silent question of if you're okay—and you give him a weak thumbs-up, and the next thing you know, he's crossing the distance between you, clutching you carefully by the shoulders, even though he wants nothing more than to embrace you. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, thumb tracing against the contour of your cheek.
"I—I thought—" he stammers, nose red as his bottom lip quivers. "I'm so glad you're okay."'
You place a reassuring hand on his chest. "Don't worry," you wheeze. "I'm built to last.
He laughs weakly, wiping away the tears with the back of his hand, before the two of you make your way over to the lift to take you back up, finding Annette propped up against the wall. You go to crouch down to help her, but she waves you off, as if she's already accepted what comes next.
When she tells you to destroy the G-Virus sample, Leon shakes his head. "No, it's evidence. It's going to the F.B.I."
This is the moment, you realize, when those loose threads finally come undone. "You trust that bitch?" Annette chuckles bitterly.
His brows furrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"She's not F.B.I., she's a mercenary," she says, and there's not even an ounce of you that thinks she's lying—why would she? What is left for her to gain here? "She's gonna sell it—the G-Virus is gonna go to the highest bidder."
"That's bullshit," Leon argues—the rookie cop, always wanting to believe the best in people.
Annette slumps over, holding her side. "I hope you're right."
Above, the automated voice warns that the self-destruct sequence has been initiated and you're pulling Leon away, leaving Annette to her fate. "We should destroy it," you say.
"What? You believe her?"
"Leon," you maintain with as gentle a tone as you can. "You know I haven't trusted Ada from the start, and… best case scenario, we set the F.B.I. back a few months in an ongoing investigation… worst case scenario, we just put a catastrophic bioweapon into the hands of a mercenary."
He's quiet as you two hurry through the lab, contemplating your words.
When you reach the main hub of the lab, you're not as surprised as you should be as you watch Ada walk toward you and Leon, concern pinching at her brow—you almost think it's sincere. "I was getting worried," she says as the lab begins to collapse around you.
"I gotta ask you something," Leon says.
It's like she doesn't hear him. "The way's clear. Please, tell me you got it."
"Yeah, we got it," you murmur.
She approaches, holding her hand out. "Let me verify the G sample, and we'll get the hell out of here," she says.
"Before we do that, we ran into Annette," Leon says, and you spot the subtle shift on Ada's face—the mask slipping. "She claims you're not F.B.I."
Ada exhales loudly, giving you both a look like she's the one disappointed. You're less surprised when she pulls out her gun. Leon shifts so he's in front of you, holding the G-Virus sample behind him for you to take before drawing his own weapon. "Why couldn't you just hand over the sample?" she asks.
"Because I realized even if I wanted to trust you," he answers. "I don't."
You grasp the vial—the weight of the decision in your hands feels crushing, with billions of lives at stake. Could you risk that? You swallow, tightening your grip, and you think of your brother—safe and sound, far away, but for how long if this gets into the wrong hands?
"I really hoped it wouldn't end up like this," Ada says.
"Maybe you should have thought about that before treating us like pawns," he retorts.
"Look, I'm just doing my job," she argues, cocking her head.
"And I'm doing mine, so drop that damn gun!" Leon orders. "I'm taking you in."
Not even a foot behind you, the catwalk begins to collapse, and you're barely able to plant your feet as Leon tilts his head back to make sure you're okay. Over his shoulder, Ada catches your eye. "Hand over the sample," she orders. When you glance over the edge to the chasm below, she notices it, the contemplation on your face. She hisses your name like it's a warning. "Don't."
"Put the gun down, then," you say, and then outstretch your hand so the sample dangles over the abyss. "Or I'll drop it."
There's a moment when she's weighing her options. With a heavy exhale, she lowers her gun, and just as she does, a shot hits her in the shoulder. With wide eyes, you turn to see Annette leaning against a wall, gun in hand. "Now no one gets it," she mutters.
Then, the worst thing happens.
You feel the floor beneath you give. You're grasping for something, anything, as you feel yourself slide, barely managing to hook your fingers on the grates—the sample of the G-Virus clatters against the ground, rolling until it flies over the edge—falling down, down, down.
Leon clenches his teeth as he grips Ada's wrist. Behind him, he hears you gasp his name, and he peers over his shoulder to see you struggling to hold on to the failing platform.
"Let go," Ada urges as she stares up at him—like she knows the heartache he would endure if he allowed you to fall. "You can't save us both."
"No, I can save you both, I—" Tears gather in his eyes as he tries to haul her up, but the platform drops even more, barely hanging on now, and he hears your panicked noise as you feel your hold giving.
"Take care of yourselves, okay?" she says, and he doesn't even have time to protest as she slips from his grasp, and then she's falling down, down, down.
Leon doesn't linger—he can't, or he'll lose you too; instead, he's scrambling to the other side of the platform, grabbing you under your arms, and heaving you up into his. "I got you, I got you," he assures as he practically carries you to the elevator. "C'mon, we gotta get outta here."
"Ada?" you question.
He pauses—you hadn't seen her fall. "Gone" is the only thing he manages to say.
He doesn't see how your expression turns somber—how you wanted to be wrong about her.
When you reach the bottom, it's Claire's face that pops up on the control room monitor. You allow hope to bloom in your chest—you're so close.
The voice overhead keeps track of the self-destruct countdown, and you're moving as quickly as you can with your shotgun ready—there's no time to fight your way through the undead that are beginning to crop up; instead, you and Leon carve out holes for yourself to move through.
"Is this a fucking joke?" he grumbles as the Tyrant jumps down in front of you two.
"The worst fucking joke in history," you say, out of breath and entirely sick of Raccoon City.
You and Leon sit on the platform between the train cars, breathing heavily. "Thanks," he pants after you practically dragged him up beside you when he was trying to jump on as it was moving.
"Don't expect that feat of strength from me ever again," you joke weakly.
He lets out a huff of laughter, bumping your shoulders together in a way that makes both of you groan in pain. Your hands remain clasped, and his gaze drops — taking in the dried blood around your knuckles and how your fingernails are crusted with dirt and grime. They look the same as his, and he tightens his grip on you, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Then, your eyes catch each other's at the same time. For the first time all night, the world around you doesn't matter, and the only thing you can think about is the gentle slope of his nose and how soft his lips look.
He slants his head to the side, and his other hand comes up to cup your jaw. This time, you don't deny yourself; instead, you bridge the gap between you. The moment your lips touch, you can't think about anything else other than Leon Kennedy and the goosebumps that prickle along your skin.
The kiss starts gently, like he's afraid he's going to hurt you, but you can feel the desperation in the way he angles his body, and how his breath hitches in his throat. One of your hands grips the fabric of his uniform at his waist, as if trying to anchor yourself to him as you lick his bottom lip. He gasps out your name, and you can feel his touch becoming more insistent, hand sliding from your jaw to your neck, drawing you even closer to him, and soon it feels like you're trying to devour each other.
When you finally break away from each other, he breathes in deeply against your lips. "I've wanted to do that all night," he admits.
You don't know that anyone else has ever considered with such tenderness. It fans a flame inside of you that you did not know was lit, and you tilt your chin up, pecking him on the lips. "Me too," you whisper, cheeks flushed at the confession.
"So, got any plans Friday?" he questions, thumb tracing your jawline.
Tears well up in your eyes as you laugh. "No," you say as you sniff. "I think I'm free."
He smiles, slotting his mouth against yours once more, kissing you once, and then twice, before he nudges his forehead against yours. "C'mon, let's get inside."
Relief floods you when you see Claire standing inside the traincar, and she appears equally as relieved to see you and Leon. There's a little girl with her—Sherry—Annette and William's daughter. At Claire's behest, you examine Sherry, but besides a healthy dose of mental trauma from the events of the past few days, you give her the all clear.
When you all feel the train rock, you peek over to Leon, meeting his worried gaze from across the train car.
"You two stay with Sherry," Claire orders as she goes to investigate the noise.
William Birkin turns out to be pretty fucking persistent. You're holding Sherry while Leon tries to uncouple the cars that are being consumed by the mutated Birkin while Claire riddles it with bullets from a minigun.
"Got it!" Leon yells. "Claire, c'mon!"
As Claire jumps back across, you all watch as the traincar Birkin fused with is caught in the explosion of the lab's self-destruct. You can feel the heat of the flames on your face even as you move farther from it, but soon it becomes just a speck in the distance. A collective sigh of relief fills the air.
Sometime later, Claire sits on the floor next to you. You're leaning your head against the wall, eyes closed, teetering on the edge of sleep, being gently lulled closer and closer by the constant rocking of the train.
"I'm just resting my eyes," you told Leon, who smiled at you like he definitely didn't believe you before kissing your forehead.
When you feel her presence, you peek an eye open, humming an incomprehensible greeting.
"You were right," she says as she peers up at the ceiling. "Chris wasn't in Raccoon City."
You blink, letting your head fall forward before glancing at her from the corner of your tired eyes. "Got any idea where he might be?" you ask.
She nods with a tight-lipped smile. "Europe," she answers.
You find yourself thinking of Jill once more. If she got out of Raccoon City, you had no doubt she'd be meeting up with Chris. "When you find him, and if Jill's with him, can you let her know I made it out?"
"Of course," she says.
Silence falls between the two of you, and you look over to where Leon is occupying Sherry with a very riveting game of rock, paper, scissors. "Listen," you say quietly. "When we're clear of the mountains, if you want any shot at finding Chris, you need to get as far away from here as you can."
Her brows pinch together with confusion. "What, why?" she questions.
"There was just a large-scale outbreak of a lethal virus—the government is going to be picking up and vetting survivors to ensure they contain the spread," you explain. "You have a better shot of evading them by yourself."
Her gaze shifts to Sherry, who's laughing as she wins another round—you have no doubt Leon is actually trying his hardest to win, judging by the small pout on his lips. "What about her?" she asks. "I can't just leave her."
"We'll look after her the best we can," you say before sighing. "With her parents gone and what you told me about the G-Virus, they might put her into federal custody—"
"Wait, what?"
You shrug your shoulders, not with indifference, but rather the knowledge of an expected outcome. "With the vaccine that was used on her, she's a precious commodity to the government now." You can see from Claire's expression that your words haven't eased any of her worries. "It'll be alright," you whisper as you place a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We've survived the worst of it."
"Yeah," she nods. "Thank you. Take care of them, okay?"
You follow her gaze, stare catching onto the smile on Leon's face as he finally wins a round.
You're picked up by federal agents forty miles from Raccoon City.
There's no resisting—it's something you knew would happen. They take you to a government facility somewhere in the Midwest. They draw blood, collect saliva and hair samples—every part of you is poked and prodded before you're thoroughly interviewed about your time in the city.
You tell them what they want to know—you don't mention Jill, or Claire, or Carlos, or Ada.
And then you're given an ultimatum, and you know it's because you're more valuable to them alive than dead—but that doesn't mean they would have qualms about killing you.
They threaten your brother, they threaten Leon, they threaten Sherry.
You're not stupid, though. You counter their terms with your own—you're not operating at a net negative with this deal. If they expected you to work for them after threatening anyone they could think of, you're going to make sure you get something out of this and more.
You're allowed to talk to Sherry before they move her to another site, claiming she'd be put into state custody.
She's upset, reasonably so, but she's such a smart kid. "Will I get to see you and Leon?" she asks. She doesn't mention Claire—knows not to when there are cameras everywhere, and you hope Claire is halfway to Europe by now.
You nod as you smooth her hair back from her face. "Yeah," you confirm. "We'll be able to visit you. I made sure of that."
And you did; it is part of your agreement that you and Leon should be allowed to visit her at least once a month. If they think you're a soft-hearted woman for wanting to be there to comfort a child, then so be it, because that's exactly what you are. She’s a little girl who just lost her parents and went through something so unimaginably horrible that she needs people in her life who don't just view her as a test subject.
"Be strong, okay?" you say, even if it feels unfair to ask that of her.
She puts on a stiff upper lip, and you know she's going to be fine. "Okay."
They let you call your brother after that. The phone rings only once before he picks up, and when you hear his voice on the other end, you immediately burst into tears. You hear him say your name like a breath of relief, and then he starts to cry.
He never cried; not since he was barely knee-high, not even when your father died—especially not when your father died. He tells you he's been calling around for days now, trying to locate you using the hotlines set up for family and friends to find those displaced by the outbreak and who managed to evacuate.
When you tell him you stayed to help, he lets out a watery laugh of disbelief. "Of course you did, you fucking idiot," he says.
You smile, cradling the receiver against your ear, and even though he can't see you, you nod. "Yeah," you huff out—shaky and tearful. "Yeah, I'm a fucking idiot."
You're not allowed to talk for long; you suppose they're worried you'll give away something if you speak for too long, but you tell him you're okay and that you'll call him again when you're able. You don't want to hang up, but when you do, you sit there staring at the phone for a long while.
With the proverbial collars firmly around your neck, they loosen the slack on yours and Leon's leashes. They put you up in a hotel for the night, promising that an agent will return in the morning to escort you to the airport for your flight back to the capital, though you have no doubt that there are several agents strategically stationed around the hotel, as if either of you would be stupid enough to try running.
You check in using fake names and IDs provided by the federal government, an extra precaution they claim, and receive your room keys—your room is a floor below Leon's, you notice as he takes his key from the woman at the front desk.
As you stand beside him in the elevator, he's silent, but so are you. You gaze at your distorted reflection in the metal walls of the elevator. This is the first time you've been alone together since you were picked up from a shabby gas station off the interstate. Something feels off—you can sense it from the way his eyes are downturned, how hopelessly he clutches the duffel bag filled with the personal belongings he was allowed to keep.
You wonder what they told him—what kind of deal they made him.
Your focus falls on him—he seems like a different person, you realize. Not just because he's no longer covered in sweat, grime, and blood, but there's something in the way he's standing.
You wonder if you look different, too—if this is what you'll be reduced to: the person you were before Raccoon City, the person you were during Raccoon City, and the person you are after Raccoon City. Your gaze shifts away, watching the numbers above the elevator door rise, until a tiny ding sounds, indicating you've reached your floor.
You step out of the elevator, preparing to turn to say goodbye to Leon, but he exits with you. "Leon?" you question softly.
The elevator door closes with a fwoosh, and his eyes stay fixed on the ground as if he can't bear to look at you. "Can I sleep in your room?" he asks.
Your heart twists at how small he sounds. "Yeah," you answer, and even though you want to reach out to him, you don't, as if he's a scared animal you're afraid you'll spook. "Of course."
He stays close behind you as you head to your room, a steady presence at your back as you unlock the door, almost guiding you inside, the cool blast of hotel air conditioning hitting your face immediately to counter the heat on your spine.
There's a thud as you toss your own bag to the floor near the entrance, and Leon does the same after closing the door, flicking the latch closed. When you turn to him, you find yourself being herded against the wall. You breathe out his name as his hands come up to cradle your cheeks.
He kisses you like he's drowning and you're air—like it's the only thing that will save him. It's desperate and heartbreaking. Your fingers curl into his shirt—it's baggy on his frame, a stark white color that almost feels clinical. He breathes you in as you exhale, tipping onto the balls of your feet to deepen the kiss.
"Thought I wasn't going to see you again," he whispers against your mouth, voice hoarse, and you note the tears welling up at his waterline.
His fingertips trace over the scrapes on your face, sliding down to your neck, where the skin is a bruised purple from where the Tyrant grabbed you in the parking garage. You see his chin quiver, and you reach up, taking his hand in yours and lacing your fingers together. "I'm right here," you murmur.
His nostrils flare, as if he's trying not to cry, and he kisses you again—harder this time, his other hand slipping under your shirt to rest on your hip as he pulls you close. You let out a shaky breath as he swipes his tongue against your lower lip, begging for entry with a whimper. When you open your mouth, he licks inside, eager to taste you, and nearly moans as he tilts his hips up into yours, and you can feel the hardening against your thigh.
The hand on your hip moves higher, careful as they brush against your ribs, and you instinctively flinch back from the touch. "I'm sorry," he apologizes quickly, starting to pull back.
You shake your head. "No, you didn't hurt me," you say, and stop him from moving away. "Just reflex."
Still, he's even more gentle as he traces along the edge of your bra, and when he kisses from your mouth to your cheek, then down to your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin there, fire burns hot in your core, and you gasp, eyes fluttering closed.
His hand slips past the waistband of your pants, and when he feels how wet you are, he leans his forehead against the junction of your neck, whining out, "Fuck."
There's no pretense as he yanks your pants down along with your underwear. You feel your cheeks heat up as they fall to your ankles, and he helps you step out of them before tugging his own pants down just enough to free his cock. He thrusts against you, wetting it with the slick of your cunt, and you can feel him shuddering at the sensation. When he grinds against your clit with the underside of his cock, you bite your lip to keep from moaning.
Grasping the back of your thigh, he lifts it up, forcing you onto your tiptoes with your other foot as he spreads you out for him. With another drag of his cock—a slow and arduous down and up—the tip catches at your entrance, and he slides in with one smooth motion.
It leaves you both gasping—Leon moaning out your name as he buries his head into the crook of your neck, and you clutching his shoulders, trying to find purchase on something as he starts to rock his hips—he doesn't even wince when you accidentally grip where he was shot, too focused on the way your pussy tightens around him.
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the nearly dark hotel room, your own breathless moans and gasps joining in. A dizzying sensation builds in your abdomen and spreads through the rest of your body, numbing your toes and making it harder and harder to keep yourself upright, but Leon supports you, the muscles in his arms straining with each thrust.
A thin sheen of sweat coats his skin, and as he pulls you up just a little higher on the wall, adjusting the angle, your nose scrunches up with pleasure as you let out a small, choked 'oh'. His cock twitches at the sound, and he reaches up with his other hand to cradle the back of your head, preventing it from hitting the wall as his hips snap into yours, rougher now.
"Shit, Leon," you gasp.
"Say it again," he begs as he feels his balls tighten with his rapidly approaching orgasm, the way your cunt clenches around him with every drag of his cock edges him even closer.
"Leon," you moan.
He buries his nose against your throat, clumsily kissing your neck while softly whimpering your name, hips trembling as he cums. He doesn't stop until he's fully emptied inside of you, and as he gradually comes to a stop, he's left heavily panting against your shoulder.
You bite your lip, an ache still in your core at not having reached your own end, which he quickly realizes. "I—" he breathes out. "You didn't, I—"
You shake your head, fingers combing through his hair. "It's okay," you assure, wincing a bit as he carefully pulls out and lowers your leg.
"No, it's not," he murmurs as he kisses you, keeping you wedged between him and the wall.
"Really, it's—"
He drops to his knees before you can finish your sentence. Heat floods your face, a flush creeping up from your chest as you stammer his name. "Shut up," he says with no real bite to his voice as he spreads you with two fingers, licking his own cum that's dripping from you before you can protest further.
He groans as his nose nudges into the hair between your legs, tongue sliding through folds—the heady taste of you and him mixing together as his fingertips dig into your plush thighs. The coil in your stomach starts to tighten as he eats you out.
"Ah, Leon," you gasp when his tongue plunges into your cunt, like he's trying to lick out the rest of his cum. Your fingers weave through his hair, gripping it at the root. Even though he whimpers at the pressure, he doubles his efforts, noises growing obscene.
He's messy, his chin dripping down his neck with cum and saliva, and he thinks the scent of your pussy could drive a man to madness. What he lacks in technique, he makes up for in voracity, diving in like a man starved. When he throws one of your legs over his shoulder—his good one—he's practically whimpering into your pussy as he plunges two fingers into you, relishing in the way your walls flutter around them and how you moan his name.
"Shit, right there," you pant out as he crooks his fingers in a way that makes your toes curl. "Leon, fuck."
He can feel his cock twitching to life again—hardening against his inner thigh, and he reaches down, wrapping his hand around it, expediting the process. He whines when he feels the way you begin to tense, working his hand up and down his shaft as he hears your moans pitch up.
As you tilt your head back, your vision floods with white, hips grinding onto Leon's face, and he lets you—welcomes it. He doesn't stop until you're nearly sliding down the wall boneless, and only then does he pull away. Your chest heaves as you struggle to breathe in the aftermath, peering down at Leon, who is still on his knees, chin glistening and lips swollen from his efforts. You tug him by the collar of his shirt to get him to stand, and like an obedient dog eager to please their owner, he does.
He doesn't hesitate to press another kiss to your mouth, and you don't mind the taste on his lips as he does—your head still in the clouds from your orgasm. "Was that okay?" he murmurs.
You're nodding, eyes half-lidded as you hum out 'mhm'.
He smiles against your lips. "Can I fuck you again?" he asks, voice low in a way that sends a tingle straight to your cunt even having just cum.
When you bob your head, he pulls back just enough to shuck off his own clothes before pulling your shirt over your head, tossing it elsewhere in the hotel room. You giggle when he struggles to unclasp your bra, taking pity on him and doing it yourself, all the while he mutters an embarrassed 'shut up' into your hairline as he kisses your temple.
He walks you over to the bed, arms wrapped around your waist as he leads you from behind, kissing up and down your neck. Gingerly, he guides you onto the bed, taking extra care as he lays you down, being mindful of your ribs as he climbs in between your legs. Leaning down, he kisses you delicately—slowly, as if he can finally take his time.
You arch into him, feeling the thickness of him against your thigh, and he tilts his hips, giving you the friction you're desiring. He pulls back, fingertips tracing the contours of your cheekbones as he gazes down at you. "You're so pretty," he says, like it physically pains him.
Your face flushes. "Leon—"
"I'm serious," he murmurs against your lips as his hand trails down to cup one of your breasts, thumb rubbing over your nipple as it comes to a peak, leaving you sharply inhaling at the sensation. "So fucking pretty."
Bending down, he takes it into his mouth, eagerly sucking on it, enjoying the way you squirm beneath him. When he pulls himself away with a pop, the warmth of his saliva mixed with the cool air of the hotel room sets your nerves on fire, as you grind up against him, whimpering his name.
He kisses his way back up to your neck, nipping at your jawline before slotting his mouth against yours. "This okay?" he asks as he slides his cock up and down your cunt.
"Want you to fuck me," you pant out.
He's happy to oblige, but he eases in this time, savoring the feeling with a slow and deliberate thrust, and when he bottoms out, you both exhale with relief. "You feel so good," he whines as he pulls out and begins an unhurried pace.
It's still enough to leave you gasping as your nails dig crescents into the skin on his forearms. You're still so sensitive, and it's almost embarrassing how quickly you feel yourself building back up to the precipice of release. "Leon, please."
He stares at you like you might disappear from underneath him—like the heartache is inevitable. "Tell me what you need," he murmurs as he props himself up on one elbow, so he can kiss you properly while he fucks you.
"Touch me," you moan into his mouth. "Please."
His hand dips down to where you're joined, two fingers circling your clit in earnest, and he feels you clench around him. "Fuck," he groans as he speeds up, just slightly, but it's enough that you feel the tingle all the way up your back.
Each slide of his cock in and out of you pushes you closer and closer to your end, and he starts to softly murmur into the crook of your neck as his own release approaches. "So good," he whimpers. "You feel so good, I'm so close."
As his fingers work your clit, the white-hot tidal wave of your orgasm crashes down on you suddenly. "Leon, I'm—" Your words get caught in your throat before you can finish the sentence, thighs tightening around his hips as he keeps thrusting, gasping and moaning against your throat as he follows closely behind you.
You can feel the warmth of his cum as he fills you once more, hips stuttering to a stop as he pants. Your skin is sticky with sweat, and you feel like you can barely keep your eyes open. As he carefully pulls out, your body unwinds, and you're left with a pleasant ache between your legs as he collapses on the bed beside you.
He delicately tugs you to him, like he can't stand to not be touching you, and he buries his nose into your messy hair, inhaling deeply. You're both quiet for a while, breaths slowing, and the gentle whir of the air conditioning fills the room in the wake of your pleasured moans.
"Was that okay?" he asks again. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
You grab the hand he has around your waist, lacing your fingers through his, and tuck yourself even closer to him. "It was great," you murmur. "And no, you didn't hurt me."
You can feel him nod into your shoulder, and you know there's still more he wants to say—something hanging at the tip of his tongue. You don't push; instead, you gently rub your thumb against his, as if silently reminding him that you're here.
The silence stretches every which way around you until—
"Are we going to be okay?" he questions—so soft you thought you might have misheard him.
You peer over your shoulder at him, seeing him already gazing down at you. "Do you want the truth?"
He tries to smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't gotta sugarcoat it."
"Not for a very long time, I don't think," you reply.
His grip on you tightens, and his lip wobbles, as if he expected that answer but hoped it would be different. Tears fill his eyes and reflect in yours. Silently, you both begin to cry as you realize you've survived—and now you have to learn to live with it.
𑣲𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ─── You grew up defying the village’s only law: never enter the forest. But the forest gave you a companion, a wolf who never left your side. At twenty-three, forced into marriage with a man you cannot love, the wolf comes to save you, not as you remembered him, but as something far more dangerous.
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ᣟ𐚁˳ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : WEREWOLF ! LEON KENNEDY x fem!reader, afab! reader, gothic fairytale AU kind of, little red riding hood inspired, mentions of blood, violence, slight gore, death, arranged marriage, some angst, misogyny, religious symbolism, false prophets, outcast reader, dark romance ???, slow burn, gothic horror elements, age gap ( leon is literally hundreds of years old), morally grey characters, ABO basically (mates, knots, short desc of leons dick), unprotected p in v, virginity loss, belly bulge, cumflation, fingering ( f receiving ), lots of talking, if there's something else lmk !!!
݁ᲝAIᲘ ᲝEᲘU | ˖Ი𐑼⋆ 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐊𝐈 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 🎮 . ᐟ.ᐟ hey yall.. i was gone for an eternity... again... BUT I AM BACK WITH THIS STORY YEPPEEE !! i bring you werewolf leon. its a rewrite of another fic of mine with some changes. i hope you enjoy this tiny world ive built and lmk if you'd like a longer series.
As the full moon settles deep under the hilltops, the sun bloodies up the sky again, signaling yet another day has begun. This cruel world, for what it is worth, has its beauty. A beauty that punishes as much as it blesses, that lures you with sweet words only to tear you apart in the next breath. No child is born into this world without being touched by its cruelty.
And you were no exception.
The village had rules that were written in the marrow of every person, written in every lullaby people sung to children. Never step into the forest, it was not yours to touch.
The trees were old, older than the temple stones, older than the altars where false gods, charlatans pretending to be holy men, now fattened themselves on coin and praise. The forest belonged to others, others who were not men nor beast.
But what does a child care for rules when the air is new with spring and the light pools gold on the green grass?
You saw her first, the little doe. Her flank streaked red, a gash blooming along her side. She stumbled from the underbrush and collapsed just beyond the tree line, sides heaving, eyes rolling white. Without thought and without even fear, your little legs carried you to her.
"Hello.." you whispered, voice small and trembling, hands outstretched as if your touch alone could heal it. Behind you, the village roofs slept in the distance. Ahead, the trees loomed, black spines against the dawn.
And in their shadows, something watched.
You didn’t see it at first, only heard the sound of branches shifting, a low pad of paws on damp earth. The doe’s ears flicked but she did not bolt. Perhaps she understood before you did.
Yellow eyes, twin coals, caught the newborn sun.
The huge wolf stood where the light couldn’t reach, silent. Enormous. His coat was dark, thick, blending with the shadows, but his gaze burned. He did not lunge and he did not growl. He only looked. A scream might have saved you, running might have spared you. But instead you did the strangest, most dangerous thing of all.
"She’s hurt.. Don’tㅡ be cruel!" You clenched your fists by your side.
The wolf tilted his head, as though the words puzzled him. As if even he couldn't understand how one could be so careless and so naive. What a silly girl, he probably thought. Then he stepped back into the deeper dark. He was gone just like that.
The doe trembled under your touch, its warm blood slicking your palms. You cried, not out of fear, but frustration. You had no way to help. Your family’s apothecary was full of herbs, tinctures, salves yet here, in the lonesome forest, you were helpless.
By the time you fetched anyone, the doe was gone. The grass was stained where she had lain, the earth turned over in signs of struggle. And among them you saw pawprints, larger than any normal dog or wolf.
You told no one, but you kept going back since then.
By fourteen, you had understood well what it meant to be silent. The apothecary shelves sagged with jars no one bought anymore, the herbs inside curling into dust. The air smelled like thyme and lamiaceae, but no footsteps crossed the threshold. Only your father’s voice filled the old space, muttering as he ground another root no one had asked for.
You kept your head down, hands busy, because it was easier that way, easier than watching the villagers bow to men in gold chains and red velvet robes, who arrived in their square with empty promises. Easier than noticing how your mother’s eyes lingered on the cracked beams above the counter, as though she were counting how many more days before they collapsed.
When the feeling of it was too much, you went where no one was supposed to go.
The forest was forbidden, yes, but it welcomed you more kindly than the village ever had. The trees leaned low, their branches a shelter. Wildflowers tangled at your ankles, and the streams whispered secrets you never dared tell your mother.
And when you went in the forest, he was there.
You couldn’t always see him. Sometimes he was only a shadow between trunks, or a faint rustle in the leaves. But you knew he was there.
Even when the woods were still, you felt eyes on you. Not cruel, not yet kind. Only watching, maybe curious just as you.
You should have been afraid. Perhaps you were, at first. But children grow used to danger when it becomes a part of their days. You carried your fear like another basket in your hands, which was heavy but it became ordinary.
Once, gathering berries, your hem snagged on a thorn. You tugged too hard and stumbled, and the fruit scattering into the dirt. Hot tears stung your eyes, not for the pain in your scraped knee, but for the waste. It was foolish, yes, yet you cried anyway.
You looked up through wet lashes and saw them, those two stars burning in the shade. The wolf. He seemed larger than before.
You did not run, foolish child. "Don’t laugh at me.." you said. "It wasn’t my fault!"
He tilted his head, and for a moment you heard the faintest rumble.
Your heart beat so loud you thought it might shake loose out of your chest. When you left, you felt lighter. As though confessing your shame to the shadows had eased something in you.
You didn’t tell anyone about it. How could you? No one would believe that the forest had listened to a little girl.
As time passed, so had your hope in the world. For the time will never stop to aid mere dreamers.
The bell above the apothecary door rang, a foreign sound now, and you froze mid sweep, hands gripping the broom so tightly.
Your father's shoulders tensed behind the counter, jaw tight as he straightened the jars of powdered plants. Your mother's eyes flicked toward the newcomers, wary, composed, as though she had been expecting them all of her life.
They were the gilded men, with heads high, and their robes of deep red embroidered with gold, coins clinking as they moved. One stepped forward, hands behind his back, a vile smile on his revolving face.
"Good day." he said. "We have heard of your, how shall I say, services to the village over the years. And we think perhaps we can improve upon them."
Your stomach knotted. You knew these men. Men who hid in holy trappings. Oh, men. They weren't worthy of such title.
"We have what we need." Your father’s words did not falter. "The herbs, the roots, they are ours... We tend them with care."
The man tilted his head, smile widening, his ugly eyes scanning you for a moment, lingering a bit too long before sliding back to your parents.
"Ah, but of course!" he said. "But care alone does not suffice. People desire results. We can provide those results. And in exchange we require only your cooperation!"
Your mother’s fingers twitched, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead. "Cooperation?" she asked, trying to calm herself, all though you could see the tears in her eyes.
"What is it you mean?"
The man’s gaze flicked to you again. "A simple matter. We wish to purchase the apothecary. Its location, its resources, and its goodwill with the people. We will provide wealth, advancement, a future."
A laugh slipped from somewhere in your chest. It was bitter. Your hands pressed to your apron as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks.
"A future?" you whispered. "You call it a future, but why does this village feel like a cage?"
One of the other men, who was shorter and more rotund with a bald patch on the top of his head, leaned forward.
"Dear girl.." He glanced at you, as if noticing you for the first time. "You work here?" He cocked an eyebrow.
"She is my daughter." Your father began.
"Oh, yes.. lovely, diligent, though unseen. Perhaps you can assist us in the transition?"
You swallowed. You'd rather die than help. Your throat was dry. You wanted to speak, to argue, to tell them they had no right, that this was your father's work, your mother's dreams, but the words stuck somewhere behind your heart.
"They will take the shelves." you heard your mother mutter under her breath to your father, but the words were lost amid the polished laughter of the men. "They will take everything.."
And then you heard your father's voice, which was sorrowful.
"If we refuse, they will burn us from the village. They will take the apothecary by force, and the people will cheer."
You felt small and hollow, as the men made their terms clear. Coins were counted, papers slid across the counter, signatures pressed into ink that smelled of rot and control.
The tall man with eyes like polished diamonds turned to you.
"You may stay." he said softly. "You shall be the maid. Admirable work, yes." But you did not feel admired.
You felt exposed, like a fish caught in a net. The door closed behind them, the bell ringing one last time. Silence filled the room. You sank onto the floor behind a low shelf, hands gripping your knees, cheeks streaked with tears you hadn’t meant to shed.
"Why did yㅡyou let them.. Why?"
"Child.." your mother said, her voice trembling now "We had no choice. Not anymore. We were lucky to have lasted this long."
You pressed your face to your knees, letting the sobs come. And somewhere beneath those tears the memory of the forest stirred, a place where no gilded man could enter, where no coin could buy or threaten.
Again, you ran.
You ran until the cobblestones gave way to soft earth, until the scent of smoke and coin and polished wood faded behind you. Your legs trembled, from exhaustion, from the hurt of helplessness, the spoiled, ugly taste of despair curling on your tongue.
The trees leaned toward you as you stumbled into the forest, leaves brushing your hair like words comfort, roots rising to steady your frantic steps.
Your breaths came unevenly, sharp and desperate and then you finally fell to your knees on the soft earth.
You buried your face in your arms, letting the tears come freely. You felt it all now. The flowers at your feet, the petals damp with dew. Somewhere nearby, a stream murmured, threading its way through the underbrush. You shivered and pressed your body closer to the earth, curling in on yourself.
Hours passed.
When you stirred, the sky was lighter, pink at the edges of the canopy. You looked around, trying to shake some sense into your sleepy mind.
And there he was again.
He did not approach, did not make a sound. He simply stood there, dark and immense, watching and patient, as always.
You lifted your head, blurry eyed. "IㅡI can't do anything right!"
You pressed your hands to your face again, ashamed. Yet you felt seen without judgment, without ridicule. By him.
More hours must have passed in that stillness. When you dared to open your eyes again, the forest had shifted with the afternoon light. Around you, the petals of wildflowers were arranged into a soft, inviting bed, and beside you lay a small pile of berries, dark and ripe.
Golden eyes watched from the shadow line of trees. He had been guarding.
"Youㅡ did not leave.."
Something swelled in your chest, fear, yes, but something else, too. Comfort. Wonder? Maybe. A connection to something alive and strong in a world that had often been cruel.
You pressed your hands to the ground and leaned forward, face nearly touching the petals, murmuring "I’m sorry.. for everything. I know I cry a lot.."
And for the first time in a long while, curled amongst the blossoms with the sweet berries at your side, you dared to let your wild heart rest, even if only for a little while.
The village shifted around you, but not toward kindness. The apothecary your parents once ran, now a Coin House with no herbs that filled the shelves, no smell of lavender or warm wax, only the faint must of old wood and money hungry monsters. You still worked there, of course.
Villagers came, yes, but not for cures. They left coins pressed into your hands or on the counter, whispered prayers tucked into envelopes, along the little richness they had. They were trusting, hoping, that one day, some return would be made if they gave it all away now. Some profit, some miracle from God himself.
Your father had left a year ago, or more, you lost count of time, claiming he needed to secure more patrons. Even if the apothecary was no longer, he still wanted to sell what was left of it.
No one expected him back, not after three months had passed. After seven moths of him gone, your mother became a ghost of whom she was, counting the little coins left, counting days, counting her strength until it ran thin.
Days came and went, and you were twenty three now, which meant one thing: you were eligible. And the arrangements had already been made.
The man chosen for you was old and cruel, but rich, yet unmoving as stone. Your mother spoke little when she told you. Your father was now gone, so it was your turn to give back for the many years they have raised you, fed you, clothed you.
And so, the day of the meeting came. Alongside him was the richest of them all, his brother perhaps. They looked related, both with shrunken faces and blue eyes, yet with guts huge from the lot of money they ate on the daily. Gluttony and Greed, both stood in front of you.
Greed did not smile, yet his brother spoke softly, as if talking to a child. "Your duty is simple." he said. "Love him, worship him, bear his children, keep to his house. That is your life now.”
You nodded, but the destain in your eyes was clear. You wanted to bite back, rip straight through their jugular, for the taste of ugliness was too much on your tongue and the thorns that pierced your heart were growing.
"What if I do not want to?"
Gluttony turned to his brother in silence, as if considering it. Then, they erupted in laughter, their voices echoing in the empty church.
"You are a child even more so a woman! You will do as you're told." They both laughed some more, as if seeing you take into account what you might actually want was the tastiest meal they’ve ever had.
"Stupid woman."
"Obey, and do not make me repeat myself. You're only but a lowly peasant girl, with no father and a mother on the brink of death. You should feel lucky you were chosen."
You sucked in a deep breath, the wind hitting against the dusty glass windows. You would be damned if you ever cried in front of a hoaxer, not again, not ever. You may be forced to marry that heathen of a man, Greed, but no one could force you to love him.
So that was that. You excused yourself and walked out of the church, the sundown hugging you with its golden light.
Alone, you walked the quiet streets of the village, listening to the distant crackles of lanterns, to the clatter of pots and pans as people were preparing supper.
The forest at the edge of the village beckoned. And you slipped toward it, letting your tears fall freely.
Branches arched above like spires, and the earth beneath you was soft. Somewhere in the shadows, that same presence remained.
Tears slipped down your cheeks as you stumbled over a root. You pressed your hands to your face and let it all go, the sobs coming ragged and ugly. You had nowhere to hide now, but the forest did not judge you for that.
You froze, half blind with tears. He came, the wolf. Closer than ever before.
He came forward until his shadow covered yours, and lowered himself until his head pressed into your lap. Your breath hitched. Fingers hovered, trembling, until instinct overcame fear. You touched him. His fur was thicker, softer than you had imagined all these years.
The heat of him seeped through your skirts, steadying you as though he were more real than anything else in the world.
"I-I do not know what to do.." you whispered to the wolf. "They want to— to marry me off. To him. He is.. he’s cruel, and I’ll be nothing but a caged bird."
The wolf’s chest rose and fell.
"I don’t want to leave. I belong here.." Your voice cracked. "I belong to the trees, and the streams, and the air in this forest, not to him! Oh, little wolf.."
His ears twitched.
"I wish I was brave." you confessed. "I wish.. I could say no. But Mother says we’ll die otherwise. She says I must be grateful."
Your fingers sank deeper into his fur, clutching at it. "They all look at me like I’m a coin to be spent. No one asks me what I want. Not once, not ever..."
The wolf let out a low sound then, a growl that shaked against your hands, your thighs and your chest. "I know.." you said, as if he had spoken. "You understand, don’t you? You’ve been here all along.. You are my only friend."
Silence stretched. You curled forward, pressing your forehead to the crown of his head, your tears dampening his fur. "If you were human, I'd ask you to take me away. Anywhere! Anywhere but here..."
The wolf stilled. If it were human.
There were only seven more days left until the ceremony. People who had never even known you were to arrive, to celebrate the union that would forever bind you to that monster.
You were out in the back garden, looking at the now dead plants your dad used to take care of. This patch of earth had been his pride. It used to be a place full of life, now, the stalks were brittle, the soil dry and cracked. A graveyard of what had been. It was truly horrible how much things could change in so small a span of years.
Some crunching on nearby leaves wake you from your sorrowful trance. You lifted your head, and froze. A man stood at the edge of the garden. A villager. No, he couldn't be one. You knew every face, good or bad.
No, this man was someone else.
Tall, broad, his shoulders filling the space as if the light itself had to bend to allow him through. His hair was light, touched with grey that caught the wan light of dusk, and his jaw was shadowed with rough stubble. His face looked carved from something older than the stone of this earth, something cruel yet tender all at once.
You tried to speak but couldn't. You felt the strangest pull, not fear exactly, but almost recognition. As though your soul had seen him before, but your eyes never had.
He looked at you, trying to weigh his words as to not scare you away, perhaps.
"You live here?" His voice was lower than you expected. It sounded just like thunder.
You swallowed and shaked your head. "YㅡYes." The word snagged in your throat. You hadn’t stammered like this in front of a man since you were a child.
He stepped no closer, though you realized you wished he would. "Strange place for someone like you." he said quietly, his eyes drifting over the dead garden you were mourning.
You looked down at your hands, embarrassed without knowing why. "It wasn’t always like this."
When you dared to look up again, he was already walking away, vanishing into the trees.
He came again, and again. Never with warning, never with reason. Sometimes he asked simple things. Whether you liked the woods, whether you feared them.
Sometimes he said nothing at all, only watched you as though he were reading you like a book. You never found the courage to ask who he was.
But each time he came, your shyness only deepened. His presence made you clumsy with words, made your skin burn beneath his gaze, all blushed and warm like simmering milk on fire.
You always waited for him, in the same place, with that same feeling in your stomach.
He was older, rougher, and oh so handsome, nothing like the boys who tried to snicker at you in the square, or the odious man you were about to marry.
Three days until the wedding, you slipped away to the forest and the wolf was there, as always, waiting.
"I've met someone." you confessed, cheeks heating though no one else could hear what you had said. "The most handsome man I’ve ever seen. It seems like... Like he understands me, even if he doesn’t say much."
The wolf’s ears flicked. You laughed softly, reaching out to pet him. "I must sound foolish, don’t I? Telling secrets to a wolf... But I can’t tell anyone else. Not Mother, not the others. Only you, my little friend."
You brushed your fingers through his fur.
"His voice is so soft and sweet, but so strong.." you whispered. "It feels like I’ve heard it before. Maybe in a dream..." The wolf closed his eyes. The forest went utterly still.
Maybe in a dream.
The second to last day came fast.
The house was filled with people and of preparations. Strangers came and went, voices too loud, hands too busy arranging a future you wanted no part of. Your mother’s face was pale, her eyes darting whenever they met yours, as though she couldn’t bear the sight of what she’d done.
You escaped to the garden, as you always did. The plants were still dead, the soil still barren, but at least here the noise of the village could not reach you.
You sat on your little stool by the fence, skirts brushing the dirt, fingers plucking absently at a wilted stem until it snapped.
And as always, he came.
He lingered at the edge of the garden, that towering frame occupying the fading light. He never crossed into the garden as though there was an invisible wall between you two.
He didn’t speak and only watched you with that unreadable gaze, his arms folded across his chest.
You tried not to look at him too long. Tried not to let him see the way your throat tightened or how your heart was knocking against your ribs.
But the silence pressed on you until you thought you might choke. When at last he turned to leave, something in you broke.
"I will get married tomorrow!" you called. The words tore from your throat louder than you'd meant. You were desperate.
You rose from your stool, fists clenching at your sides. "I do n—ot want to." your voice cracked. "But I must."
Slowly, he turned his head, just enough to glance over his shoulder. In the dim light, you saw the sharp set of his jaw.
"Why must I marry someone whom I do not love?" you asked, your voice breaking into a sob. "Why must I give myself to a man I despise?"
For a long, long moment, he said nothing. Did he even hear you?
"The world is a cruel place, little miss."
He turned his back again, striding away, but his voice you still heard as he walked in the coming darkness. "But you will get your happiness in no time."
He was gone just like that, swallowed whole by the forest. You stood alone in your silence, tears running down your face like a cascade.
The door snapped open behind you.
"What are you doing out here? Who are you talking to?" your mother’s voice cut like a whip across your skin.
You turned quickly, dragging the back of your hand across your cheeks, but it was too late. Her eyes narrowed, catching the redness in yours.
"Is this how you plan to make these plants come back alive?" she snapped, gesturing to the withered stalks around you. "Crying over them?"
Your frown deepened, and you wiped your tears more harshly this time, angry at yourself for letting her see. Angry at the world for making you cry at all.
Her shoulders lowered just slightly. The sharpness in her tone gave way to something softer, as she sighed. "Come, child. It’s dark."
You hesitated, glancing back once at the trees.
"Come inside." she called your name, louder now.
And though every part of you longed to run into the forest and follow him, you obeyed.
The morning of your wedding dawned without mercy.
Church bells tolled in the square. Didn't they know what fate they were striking for you? Your mother’s hands trembled as she drew the white gown over your shoulders.
The cloth was rich, far richer than anything you had ever owned yet it felt like a shroud, heavy and suffocating you.
"Stand still." She whispered sharply. "Do not shame me before them."
You stood stiff as she pinned the veil into your hair. It fell like a curtain of smoke over your face, blurring the world into shadow. When you looked down at yourself, the white was blinding, sanctified but you knew it wasn’t purity they celebrated. It was possession.
"They will see you as a proper wife." your mother began, tying the last ribbon at your waist. "And perhaps you will know comfort. Perhaps not. But you must endure, child."
You turned your face toward her, though the veil softened her features. "Do you call this comfort?"
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. "Do not make me answer that! The world has no patience for women who dream too much."
The door opened. The sound of voices carried from outside, of villagers gathering, the clatter of carts, the laughter of children who did not know better.
Your stomach twisted.
The walk to the chapel felt endless. Each step made you feel as if you were walking to your own funeral. Villagers turned their heads as you passed, some smiling, some whispering behind their hands.
A few looked at you with pity, yet none dared to speak.
The chapel loomed ahead, its spire stabbing the sky. Inside, candles flickered against the stone, throwing long shadows. The priest stood ready, his robes gleaming red and gold. Beside him, your groom waited.
The Greed. He was older than you by decades, his face sagging like wax melted in the august sun. Rings glittered on every finger, but his eyes were small, so sharp and hungry. When you approached, he grinned, a crooked thing of a smile.
"Lift her veil." he ordered to the best man, who was there to make sure you will not try to run away.
The man reached for you, and for a moment, you thought to pull back, but your mother’s hand pressed at your back, forcing you forward. The veil was lifted.
The groom’s eyes swept over your face, down your form, slow and possessive. "You shall give me strong sons." he said.
The priest cleared his throat, raising his hands. "Before the eyes of the God and of men, we bind these two.”
The groom’s hand clamped down on yours, his nails digging into your glove. His smile was a sneer, fat, greedy and assured. The priest’s voice rose again, but the sound was muddied by your own heartbeat in your eardrums. You wished to kill, eat them all alive then spit them out and let whatever God they prayed to do the judging.
"Let no one put asunder what is bound this day—"
The doors exploded.
Wood splintered, crashing inward as a sound like thunder split the air. A growl rolled through the church, low and guttural vibrating the very walls of it.
The wolf filled the doorway.
Gasps, screams, prayers, a flood of voices all at once. His teeth gleamed wet, his eyes burned like molten moons. He stepped forward, claws raking the stone, and the people fell back.
"The Beast!" the priest yelled, holding his relic high. "The Abomination!"
The wolf lunged. The relic snapped like kindling between his jaws, the priest crumpling beneath him with a scream that ended wet as his very bones shattered.
Panic erupted. Guests scrambled over pews, mothers shielding children, men fumbling for weapons they had no courage to use.
The wolf moved through them like fire through dry fields. He was unstoppable, merciless. He ripped one man in half, sent another crashing against the altar with a swipe of his large paw. The whole building shook with the force of his fury.
Your mother grabbed your wrist. "Run!" She gasped, tugging you toward the side door. But the crush of bodies shoved her back. You saw her eyes widen with tears before the crowd carried her away.
The groom shrieked, pushing you aside as he tried to flee, yet his velvet robes tangled his legs. He stumbled, falling hard. The wolf’s head snapped toward him, lips curling back over fangs.
"No—!" the man wailed. "Stay away you monster!"
The wolf’s jaws closed on his neck, dragging him across the stone. His scream ripped through the chapel as blood sprayed the white floor.
The wolf shook him like a rag, bones cracking, flesh tearing, his head barely connected to the rest of his body now.
You pressed against the altar, your veil slipping, your hands shaking, and yet your heart did not cower. Not from him.
The wolf dropped what was left of the man. He turned, his chest heaving, blood matting his muzzle. His eyes locked on yours.
You thought it must be all a dream, surely. But then he began to change. From beast to man.
His form convulsed, stretching, breaking. Bones shifted beneath fur, muscle twisting, reshaping. Claws curled back into fingers, fur melting into skin slick with sweat and blood, the growls faded into a human gasp.
When it ended, he stood before you. The man from the garden.
His chest rose and fell, blood running down his arms, his hands. His eyes, the same golden fire, fixed on you.
The church lay in ruin around you, the floor slick with blood, streaking your once white gown. The cries of the dying were echoing off the stone.
You swallowed. "You.." The word barely scraped out by your lips "You killed them all."
His gaze didn’t flinch. "I spared who deserved sparing." His voice was low "The rest—" He glanced briefly toward the broken benches, the dead people, the corpse of the man you were meant to wed. His lip curled "The rest were vermin."
Your throat tightened. "But you—" you shook your head, tears streaking down your cheeks. "You’re the wolf."
"And you were never afraid."
"I was." you whispered. "At first. I thoughtㅡ I thought you might devour me.."
"Yet.." his voice rumbled "You stayed."
"Why me?" You blinked hard. "Why not anyone else? Why watch over me?"
His breath shuddered as he stopped just before you, close enough that you could smell the copper on his skin. "Because you were never theirs to take." he said. "Because you are mine."
"Yours?"
The corner of his mouth curled in a smile, but heavy, sorrowful. "Do you not feel it?" His eyes searched yours.
"All those nights you spoke to me as though I could answer? All those tears you spilled into the earth, thinking no one cared? I was there. Always."
"No.." Your hand lifted, trembling, and you touched your chest where your heart thundered. "I thoughtㅡ I thought I was imagining it."
"You were not imagining me." He reached then, slowly, taking your hand in his. His fingers were slick with blood, staining yours, binding them together. He lifted it, bowing his head, pressing his lips hard against your knuckles.
You gasped softly, your tears slipping faster. "You’re covered in blood... are you hurt?"
His eyes flicked up, still holding your hand against his mouth. "Would you rather I left you to him? To a life of chains?"
"No!" The word burst out. "I would rather d-die than belong to him."
He released a sharp breath, almost a laugh. "Good. Then you belong to me."
Your other hand rose, cupping his cheek. The blood was now dry. Still, he leaned into your touch, his eyes slipping shut in relief. "Say it."
"I belong to you.."
His eyes snapped open and then his mouth crashed against yours.
The kiss was brutal, desperate, full of teeth and hunger. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling you close, as if he might fuse you to him forever.
Your very first kiss. He has waited for so long.
The taste of his tongue was iron and smoke, your lips smeared with blood, his, yours, theirs, you didn’t care. You clung to him, hands gripping his shoulders as if he gave you life.
"I shall make you mine now."
Your veil had slipped back, tangled with your hair, sticky with blood. The pristine white of your gown was gone, streaked red where his hands had held you, where strangers had fallen. You should have been horrified, undone by it all, yet when his golden eyes burned down into yours, you felt nothing but heat.
"Come." he said, his hand took yours. "This place will rot. It was never meant for you."
He pulled you gently over broken benches and shattered glass. The chapel doors hung open, crooked on their hinges, and beyond them the forest called.
You stumbled once, the hem of your dress catching, but his arm caught you. The chaos around you was nothing compared to the need burning in him.
Outside, the night was waiting. The moon swelled fat above the treeline, its silver light spilling down like a blessing.
He led you into the shadows, further and further, until the screams of the village were only echoes in the wind.
Finally, when the trees grew dense enough to hide you from every prying eye, he stopped. His chest rose and fell, still ragged from battle. He turned to you.
"You do not know what I am." He said.
You swallowed hard, your hand still trapped in his. "I do. You’re my wolf, my friend.."
"Not just a wolf." He looked past you "A man, a beast— both, and neither. Long before your priests, before your coin houses and their false gods, my kind walked among yours. We lived, we loved, we shared blood and bread and fire."
He paused, his breath unsteady. "But men are quick to fear what they cannot chain. So a treaty was carvedㅡ your kind to the villages, mine to the forest. We were forbidden to take wives from you, forbidden to bear children together. It was peace, they said. Peace bought with walls."
"And you obeyed?"
"For a time." His mouth curved, bitter. "Until they stole what was mine." His hand tightened around yours. "You."
"I—I don’t understand."
His other hand rose, rough fingers brushing your jaw. "You are my mate. From the moment you were born, from the moment you stepped into the forest as a child, I knew. Your scent, your voice IㅡI could not keep away. The treaty has no claim on you. No paper signed by frightened vermin can sever what the moon has bound." The forest was oh so still. "You are mine." he said again.
Your lips parted with your heart slamming in your chest. "IㅡI.."
"From the first breath you drew, you were marked. I have circled this place for years, waiting, cursing the gods who made it so I could not touch you, love you.. But no longer."
"You waited for me?"
"I hunted, I killed, I endured. But I did not take a mate. You were mine. Always. Even when you were too small to know, I knew. I could not choose another."
"Then why now?"
"Because they would have bound you to another. Stolen you from me. And I will tear apart the world before I allow that." The ferocity of his tone should have frightened you, really. Instead, you felt the heat pooling in your lower belly. His hand drifted to your throat, just to feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers.
"You are mine." he said yet again. "Mine, as the moon is to the night. Do you accept it? Do you accept me, wolf and man alike?" The forest leaned closer, the wind curling around your gown, whispering and urging you on.
"I do." you blinked up at him though heavy lashes. "I accept you."
His eyes softened, though his grip did not. He leaned his forehead against yours, breath hot against your puffy lips.
"I am yours." you managed.
"And I am yours." he spoke against your skin.
His nose brushed the line of your jaw, a low growl vibrating in his chest. "With those words, you bind me as surely as the moon binds the tide. There is no undoing it, no escape from me now."
"I do not want to escape.." you confessed.
Moonlight slipped between the branches, painting silver over your bloodied gown, over his torn shirt, over the curve of his throat as it moved when he swallowed. He was gorgeous and you were completely bewitched.
He drew back just enough to look at you, his hand still cradling your jaw. "You are trembling." his voice was low. "Is it from fear or want?"
Your lips parted, no answer rising.
A slow smile curved his mouth. His thumb brushed over your cheek. "You shake like a doe cornered in the grass, as the ones you found years ago." he spoke, voice almost like laughter. "But I see the truth in your eyes. It is not fear that has you weak, little fawn."
His other hand slid to the nape of your neck, tilting your face up to him. "Tell me." he said softer now "What is it you want of me?"
Heat surged in your face, your throat tightening. Words gathered, then scattered before they could leave your lips. You looked away.
His hand at your neck tightened just enough to make you gasp "No." He tuts. "Do not hide from me." he said. "Not you, not now. Speak it."
"I—" your breath faltered. His eyes bore into you, demanding, waiting. Shame clawed at you, but beneath it was something far hotter, an ache that made your knees want to give up. "I don’t know what I— what I feel."
He leaned closer, his mouth grazing your temple. "Then I shall tell you. You feel hunger. Need. You want me to put my hands upon you. To make you mine in truth." His lips brushed your ear. "Say it."
"I wㅡant you." you stuttered.
"Again." His voice was firm.
"I want you." stronger this time, though your face was brighter than apples.
His own restraint was fraying. "Good girl."
His hand slid from your jaw, down the column of your throat, over the swell of your breast, pausing as to feel the way you shivered. His mouth was still at your ear, breath ragged, his words sinking deeper than a dagger.
"I will guard you." thumb brushing the edge of your collarbone. "No man will lay claim to you again. No vows but mine, no chains but the ones you choose.."
Your lips parted, your body leaning into his without thought. His palm flattened over your chest, right where your heart thundered.
"You will run where you please, little fawn. The hills, the streams—" His voice deepened almost breaking as his hand swept lower, over the folds of your dress, gathering the fabric in his fist, the buttons giving out. "You will laugh, and breathe, and never bow again."
Your knees buckled, a gasp tearing out of you as his fingers brushed your thigh.
"You hear me?" His voice was demanding, though his lips ghosted tenderly along your neck and shoulder. "You are mine, and I will see you free."
His hands roamed slowly, memorizing every curve of your body that had been hidden from the world all this while. "My beautiful little fawn. " his voice was fire. "You belong to no one but me."
"I.. I've never—" your voice wavered "I've never been with anyone.. like this."
"I know." he breathed, thumb stroking along your waist. "I've waited a long time to show you."
His hands pressed you tighter to him, but his eyes softened as he saw the way you clung to him desperately. "Do you trust me, little fawn?"
You nodded weakly, unable to speak. "You should. You are mine and I would die a thousand deaths before letting a single hair on your head be touched.”
His hands moved, teasing, grazing over places that had never known attention, and your body flinched and arched into it all at once.
"I will show you, little fawn. I will show you what it means to be cherished and wanted and protected...”
He takes your hand into his rugged palm, pressing it onto the hardened form in his pants. You were new to this, yes, yet you knew what that meant.
"Do you feel it? How much I’ve waited for this? For you?" You moan without reason, all shy and teary eyed.
In mere seconds, your dress was completely off, ripped into rags by his strong hands. You were flush against a tree, flowers wet of rain dancing at your bare feet. Though the wind blew, your body was hot all over, this strange, new feeling leaving you wanting more.
"I do not wish to scare you away." He finally speaks again, his pants coming undone and slipping past his knees. "You need to understand there is nothing human about what is about to happen."
You nod, though you can feel your toes curling into dirt. You look down and saying you were shocked would be an understatement. He was utterly enormous, tip red and angry, base bulbous, pulsing. Is this what all men carried in their trousers? Ah, wait, but he was no man.
Your shy eyes meet his again and he smiles. "Do not fear. It may hurt at first but then, I promise, it will feel just as heaven."
Rugged hands make their way up and around your hips as his face stays flush against your tender chest. He was ready to devour you. The wolf man looked up into your eyes, and all of the things you felt this instant caused your fears to melt away, just as you had in his embrace.
Gently, he laid you down onto the flowers below, the wet petals cold against your burning skin.
You looked like something out of a dream, skin glowing in the moonlight, hands covering your breasts, legs barely closed. Your pretty eyes searched, long lashes clumped with tears and dry blood. You looked unreal. Erotic. And all his.
"Spread your legs for me." it wasn’t a request, it was an order. and you obeyed. Spreading your legs you give him a full view of you dripping cunt, and the wolf man throws his head back with a low groan.
He kneels in front of you on the earth, pulling you so that your thighs are right over his, your puffy lips now on full display. Two of his digits make their way up to your mouth. "Suck." you comply.
After that was done, his calloused fingers make their way between your folds, gathering up the juices you've been dripping. "My gorgeous." You whimpered softly and he shushed you, rubbing small circles on your plush thigh with his other hand. He pushes one of his fingers slowly inside, and you can immediately feel it. It didn’t hurt, not yet, it was just strange and new. The second finger comes quick after and he starts pumping, moving them in and out as his lips made contact with your swollen bud, lapping up at the nectar of you. So sweet, the wait was worth it. Your eyes stay wide open as this new feeling washes over you, and you can't help but be ashamed as you let out sounds you didn’t know you could make. He hums against your sopping cunt, eating as if he starved for years while his fingers kept moving faster, faster.
You mewl and writhe before it all comes to an agonizing stop. He pulls his fingers out, looking straight down at you. Keeping eye contact, he licks them and you're sat there, mouth agape. Before you can protest he shoves those same two fingers into your waiting mouth, his other hand now fondling one of your breasts.
"Such beauty, I could only dream of it. Thank you for letting me have you this way, eternally."
You hum around his digits, trying to pull him closer by his waist. He smiles, squishing your face with the sleek fingers he had in your mouth seconds ago. "Impatient girl." Your muffled whimpers only seem to please him.
His broad hand presses flat to your stomach, sliding lower until he’s teasing the entrance of your flower with his leaking tip.
He smirks at the dazed parting of your mouth, the flush creeping down your chest.
The hand at your breast squeezes once rough, before sliding down to hook your thigh high around his hip. You stumble, caught only by the sheer size of him pressing you into the tree behind you.
"Look at you." he breathes, eyes roaming. "Shaking for me, and I’ve barely even started.."
His cock drags heavy against your thigh, hot and insistent. He groans low at the contact, the sound beastly.
"I’ll split you open on this cock, little fawn.." he growls, lips brushing your pebbled nipple. "Fill you so deep you’ll never forget what it feels like. Every time you walk, every time you breathe, you will remember tonight."
His length slid against your soaked folds, teasing and pressing against them but not entering. Your breath hitched, thighs trembling as you tried to buck closer. He only chuckled holding you pinned with maddening patience. This is the cruelest you've seen him so far, you thought.
"Oh.." Your nails dug into his shoulders with useless resistance. "Pleaseㅡ" you whispered.
"Please what?" He tilted his head, grinding the thick head of his cock against you, just enough to make you cry out. "Say it, little fawn."
Your cheeks burned, your voice cracked. "Please, inside! Iㅡ I need you inside of me!"
"Do you want my seed inside of you?" His words were sharp. "Do you want to be bred full of my pups, so everyone in that wretched village knows who you belong to?"
Shame and heat tangled in your chest, and you sobbed. Your legs wrapped tighter around him.
"Yes!" you gasped, frantic tears streaking your face. "Yes, please, I want itㅡ I want your pups."
Thats all he had to hear. He thrust, hard, splitting you wide, dragging a cry of pain from your lips. He tries to kiss your tears away, whispering soft sorrys as he lets you adjust, but he can hold himself back so long while you squeeze so deliciously around him. "My, my, what greedy cunt you have, pretty.. Don't worry, I'll take care of it."
He moved a bit shallow at first, ragged control making his body shake. But soon the beast broke loose.
His hips slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt, the sound of flesh on flesh ringing sharp in the night. "Oh, g-god.." You clawed at him, overwhelmed. "I am your only god, l-little fawn." You could feel him in your stomach, the sheer size of him forming a small mound in your belly.
My what hunger.
Each thrust was forcing a whimper from your throat. Your legs were now up on his broad shoulders. "TㅡToo much!" you gasped though your legs locked tighter around him, keeping him there.
"No. Not enough." he growled, breath hot against your ankles. "I’ll give you every drop. You’ll take it— you’ll take all of me, yes?"
He bit down on your shoulder, hard enough to break skin and enough to leave a mark. His pace turned brutal, unrelenting, like he was carving his claim into your very bones.
Yet even as your cries broke in his ear, he murmured "I’m sorry, my sweet."
Your body gave in before your mind could catch up, heat sparking low in your belly, your cries changing into something else entirely.
You didn’t even realize you were begging until the words spilled out shameless. "Please— Oh, don’t stop, don’t stop!"
He wasn't going to stop. Not anytime soon at least.
Each thrust was a strike of thunder, his hips slamming into you until the bark of the tree dug into your back leaving bloody marks.Your nails scored red trails across his shoulders, pleas spilling broken from your lips between sobs and moans you could no longer tell apart.
His breath came ragged, harsh growls rasping from his throat with every plunge. He pressed his forehead to yours, sweat and blood mixing where your skin met.
"You feel it, don’t you? How tight you are— how you take me? You were made for me, look, look how you are swallowing me whole."
He bit down on the tender place beneath your ear, pulling another moan from you as his hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise.
"I’ll fill you" he swore, voice breaking rough and desperate. "I’ll put my pups inside you, make you heavy with me." He grunts.
Fluster burned your cheeks even as you nodded wildly. "Yes—yes, please, I want it, oh, I want you to!"
His rhythm faltered, hips grinding harder, deeper, drilling into you with no mercy. "Oh, my brave, brave girl.." The wolf huffs.
The sounds tearing from his chest were no longer words, only ragged growls. You felt him swell inside you, thicker, stretching you wider than before.
"WhㅡWhat is happening?" your voice broke with panic, unsure if what you were feeling was right. He buried his face against your neck, teeth grazing your skin where he had bit it earlier.
"Don’t fight it. You’re mine now. All of you. I will keep you filled until it takes."
The pressure inside you built unbearably. You whimpered, pussy clenching around him. With a few more moves of his hips he came undone. his knot swelled fully, locking you to him, stretching you open around the thickest part of him. Pain lanced through your body until were crying out with each frantic jerk of his hips.
"Ah—don’t, I—" Your protest dissolved into a sob as his hand cupped the back of your head, forcing your gaze into his large eyes.
"Yes." he growled, forehead pressing hard against yours. "Take it! Take me, carry me!"
The knot throbbed inside you, his release flooding deep, searing heat that wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
"Mine. My little fawn. You’ll never escape me now. This.. Oh, you are my gift of the moon.."
The world was still. Just the two of you tangled together beneath the watchful moon. you felt so full it was almost unbearable, yet your body no longer fought him.
He started brushing the tangled hair from your face with one palm, the other smoothing across the curve of your back where your skin was scratched.
"You did so well. My brave fawn."
Tears stung your eyes, but he kissed them away, mouth gentle now, where as moments before it had been so wild and beastly.
"I’ll never let you go." he pressed another kiss on your swollen lips. "The forests, the rivers, the hills.. they’re yours, all yours. And I’ll guard them. I’ll guard you. Always."
"Stay? Please..stay with me."
His smile was small almost boyish, and so full of warmth it undid you more than his savagery ever could.
Don't think the stripper likes you (part 11) - Come undone
[Rookie!Leon Kennedy x fem!Reader]
Warnings: nsfw, no outbreak au, age gap, older reader (early 30s), sw, drug use, running from the cops, the absolute sweetest smut of all time
part 10
Summary: *record scratch* yep, that's you. And Leon in some stranger's pool house at dawn. You're probably wondering how you ended up here.
a/n: I miss house parties like this. Enjoy xx
word count: 5k
Masterlist
You pushed your civilian clothes into the locker and closed the door shut. Behind you, Zora was getting ready too. In her stripper heels she was so tall, you could both use the same mirror and you didn’t even have to move.
“You’ve been working crazy shifts lately,” she stated, leaning in a little closer to do her eyeliner.
You paused.
You had. Because you were scared you wouldn’t be able to work for much longer. And because you needed to keep trying to get a hold of the tapes. Secondly, you needed to keep an eye on the other dancers, to figure out which one of them was the wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Zora stopped what she was doing and watched you. “You’re picking up every shift there is. Why?”
“I owe somebody money,” you lied and shrugged.
Zora kept eyeing you. “See, I thought you were pregnant.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you huffed, touching up your lipstick.
“Am I? Given how close you and that baby cop are. One might even say: madly in love?”
Before you could deny that defamatory statement, Helena slipped through the door,
“Do you want a line?” she asked, holding up a small baggy filled with cream coloured powder. “One of my regulars is buying.”
You shook your head. You were in enough trouble with the law as it was. You didn’t need to add possession of Class A narcotics to the list.
“What regular?” Zora asked, hands perfectly still as she drew the wing right above her lashline.
“One of the older guys,” Helena said a tad too sharply and started cutting lines on the table.“Why are you even in here?” she asked, looking at you over her shoulder. “You’re such a money grab lately.”
You let your lipstick sink down and shot her a dirty look through the mirror. “Put your nose in your baggy instead of my business,” you hissed.
“Calm down, jeez,” Helena said, snorting not one, but two lines before handing the coke straw to Zora. You watched the tall dancer snort the other line, ruling both her and Helena out from your manhunt.
As soon as you walked out on the floor, your skin began to itch. It was like your body was already getting ready to get arrested just in case.
“Have you seen Tony?” you asked Crystal over the bar.
She shook her head. “He’s not gonna show up any more regularly the more you ask about him. What do you want from him anyway?”
“Private stuff,” you whispered, gnawing on your fingernails.
Crystal's gaze trailed down your body. “The baby cop didn’t knock you up, did he?”
You groaned in annoyance. “Oh my god. Why does everybody think that?”
“I know you’re not using condoms.” Crystal raised an eyebrow at you. “He so kindly informed me after I caught you two fuckbirds in the private room.” She shuddered demonstratively. “I’m scarred for life you know. Had a nightmare about baby cop cum the other night.”
“Shut up,” you said, leaning against the bar, taking in the room to get an overview of potential clients.
“You seem agitated. Trouble in paradise?” Crystal asked, polishing glasses. Not that anybody ever noticed in the dim light of the club, but Crystal liked to do things right.
“No,” you replied, clipped, narrowing your eyes on two men across the room.
Crystal sighed. “Thank you for asking Crystal, I appreciate you taking an interest.”
You ignored her. Those two guys—you had never seen them in here before. Of course there were new clients all the time, like those college kids who had tried to stiff you but these two seemed a little out of place the way they had their heads drawn together, exchanging hushed words.
“They ordered drinks just now. I messed up one of their orders and they didn’t really seem to care,” Crystal murmured, pointing her chin at the same men you were eyeing. You checked the clock behind the bar.
“It’s a weird time for guys like that to be in here too. They’d usually be with the earlier ‘don’t tell my wife’ crowd. They’re too old and too sober for the party people.”
Crystal nodded and like you had jinxed it, one of them walked straight up to you.
He was handsome, mid forties maybe, well groomed, very fit for his age.
“Are you free?”
You wrinkled your forehead. Usually, the dancer approached the client. Unless they had taken an interest in a particular girl after a dance on the pole. But you hadn’t even been on the pole yet. You had just walked in from the dressing room.
“Sure, baby.” You smiled, running a hand over his unusually broad chest. You wrinkled your forehead. You had never felt a chest like that before. So hard an unyielding. And you had felt plenty of muscular chests up to this point. “It’s a hundred dollars a pop.”
He took out his wallet and your eyes traced every movement. People didn’t carry their wallets in here, they carried dollar bills. Shit tons of them in their pockets for easy access. Unless it was their first time. But he wasn’t nervous enough for this to be his first time.
You took the money from his grasp, winked at him and led him to one of the private rooms.
Setting the timer, starting your routine—it was all another day at the office for you. What was new was that you had never had such an unresponsive client before.
“Do you do any extras?” He asked out of the blue, as you got to the part of your routine where you were grinding on his lap. Why would he ask that? He wasn’t even hard.
“Absolutely not, big guy. You’re in the wrong club for that,” you replied.
“Why? Where would I need to go?” he kept pressing.
You narrowed your eyes, stopping in your movements. “Nowhere because that’s illegal.”
“Oh come on,” he said, dramatically. “You mean to tell me there’s no one in this club who will at least suck dick?”
“Tony,” you whispered. “Otherwise there’s no explanation why he’s never here.”
The timer was still going, so you turned around and ran your hands over his torso. He stiffened, barely noticeable, but he did. You ground your teeth. Just as you thought.
The timer went off. “See you again soon, baby,” you purred, blowing him a kiss and then getting the fuck out of there.
You rushed into the dancers’ room.
Helena and Zora were on their break, smoking and eating chips.
“I’d put the coke away if I were you. There’s an undercover cop on the floor. Bulletproof vest and everything.”
“Oh shit,” Zora said, frantically clearing everything off the table.
Helena laughed. “What? Are you serious?”
You hated the fucking rookie. “Yes, I’m serious I was grinding my ass on him just now,” you hissed, opening your locker and shrugging into the jacket of your pink velvet tracksuit. There was now way in hell you would risk getting caught up in any of that. You knew why he was here. You also knew by the time he continued his investigation, you would be long gone.
“What the hell even is an undercover cop doing here?” Zora asked, grabbing her stuff just as frantically. The only person who didn’t get a move on was god forsaken Helena.
Crystal burst into the dancers’ room. “Is this about you and the baby cop?”
You stilled.
“Is this why you’ve been asking about Tony every time you come in?”
“Yes,” you said, grabbing all your stuff. “I’m about to have a prostitution charge dumped on my ass. So if you excuse me, I’m gonna get the fuck outta here.”
Crystal drew in a sharp breath. “You know this could affect all of us. Not just you.”
“Right, save your breath for that fucking bitch who snitched because I know it was one of you,” you spat, throwing dirty looks at every single one of them—Zora, Crystal, Helena.
“Snitching on your own club is such a rookie mistake,” Zora huffed. “I don’t know anyone that dumb.”
“I do,” you said, gaze landing on Helena, who was coked off her head and shifting her weight from one side to the other, unable to stand still.
Your phone buzzed in your handbag, disrupting the thick silence that had stretched in the dancers’ room.
And again.
And again.
Crystal pointed at it, one eyebrow raised. You groaned in annoyance, fumbled for your phone and picked it up.
“Speaker,” Zora ordered. “No more secrets.”
“Fine,” you hissed, pressing the button.
“Hey baby,” Leon’s voice sounded from the other end. Crystal’s other eyebrow shot up as well at the pet name.
You gnawed on your lower lip. “Hey Leon, you’re on speaker.”
“Oh uh,” he hesitated.
“Ask her,” a Spanish accent cut in from the background.
Leon cleared his throat. “Uh, do you want to come to the frat party with us? We can come to the club and pick you up?”
“Not that you dipshit,” Luis interrupted.
“Can you shut up for a second?” Leon hissed, turned away from the speaker.
“The other strippers, Leon, ask her about the other strippers.”
You rubbed your forehead. “Leon, this really isn’t a good time. There’s a–”
Zora took the phone from your hands. “Frat party you say?”
“Who is this?” Leon asked, followed by a louder “Hey!”
“Is this a stripper?” Luis asked in a professional tone.
Zora chuckled. “Yes, in the flesh.”
“Perfecto, do you want to come to a frat party with two stallions in their early twenties?” You could hear his wink without even needing to see it.
“Oh my god,” Leon breathed in the background. You could also practically hear him burying his face in his hands, cringing.
“Okay, one of us is taken but I’m not, that’s the main thing,” he went on.
“How fast can you be here?” Zora asked.
“Uh, couple of minutes,” Luis said.
“Pick us up from the club. Don’t be late,” she said and ended the call.
You stared at her.
She clicked her fingers in front of your face. “Keep up. A bunch of horny twenty-one year olds with their daddy’s money and shit tons of fireball? No tip out? No house fee? God I swear, I’m the only person with a business mindset around here.”
“And Lola did screw us out of a full shift tonight,” Helena said, pursing her lips.
Zora crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Literally.”
The boys did show up on time. You were all piled into the car, you on Leon’s lap in the backseat.
“How was Guinevere’s heart ultrasound?” he whispered and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. You leaned against his chest and smiled at him.
“No visible further increase in size,” you said.
“That’s great,” he pressed his forehead against yours.
“How was your day?” You cupped his cheek and closed your eyes, breathing in his scent. Ocean breeze fabric softener and Leon. Your favourite combination.
He shrugged. “I missed you.”
Helena gagged audibly. You shot her a dirty look.
Luis chuckled, dabbing off his cigarette through the car window. “This is what I live with. Just in case anybody wants to give me a pity lap dance.” He leaned over the middle console and his gaze landed on Crystal, Zora and Helena.
“Is this it?” Crystal asked as you approached a very nice looking house that was buzzing with loud music. The front door opened. A guy around Leon’s age ran out and threw up in the bushes.
“Yep,” all of you said in unison.
Walking out of the car and into the party, Luis up front, lined by two strippers and Crystal trailing behind you felt like celebrities. Leon’s hand found yours, as everybody stared at you, nearly dropping their solo cups. Why wouldn’t they? You were all in full stripper attire, including 8 inch heels. Especially Zora, who nearly measured 6’7” in heels drew a lot of attention.
The girls started hustling right away and before you could even so much as blink, Zora was giving lap dances to the varsity football team.
“Holy shit,” Leon breathed and looked past you. You followed his gaze. Crystal was pouring liquor down her tits right into a frat boy’s mouth who was latched onto her nipple like she was breastfeeding him. You chuckled. You hadn’t seen her do that in a long time.
You gently grasped Leon’a chin and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Do you want to do that some time?”
“Not with Crystal,” he murmured and captured your lips in a searing kiss. “And maybe lick it off something else.”
His words sent a wave of hot pleasure through your body. You had an idea what he would love to have in his mouth while you poured liquor down your body.
“You can work too, you know. Make a bag or however you say at the club.”
“I’d rather spend time with you,” you whispered, your stomach fluttering.
“I don’t mind,” he encouraged further, his hand coming to rest on your butt. “Quite the opposite.”
You leaned back a little and smirked. “What’s up with that anyway?”
A blush crept into his cheeks. You loved it when he blushed. It was so innocent, so vulnerable. When in fact, he wasn’t innocent at all.
“I enjoy thinking that all those guys would give everything to sleep with you. But I’m the only one who gets to do it. Only I know what it feels like when you cum on my cock, what you sound like. I’m the only one who knows what you taste like.”
You nodded. “That’s true. Because I’m yours.”
He whimpered, the blush in his cheeks intensifying. “Don’t say it like that, now I’m hard and we’re surrounded by people.”
You giggled. “I love how flustered you get.”
“Only for you,” he confessed and you pulled him in for another kiss.
“You’re not helping,” he whispered and pushed himself up against you, all hard and ready to go.
“I’ll go make some money. After all we’ll both be unemployed bums soon,” you concluded and peeled yourself off him. Stalking off in your heels, you shot a last look over your shoulder, smiling when you saw the obvious tent in his pants and the pink tint of the tips of his ears.
Poor rookie. You really were giving him a hard time. Sometimes literally.
It was surprisingly easy to get one of the frat boys to slip you a hundred dollar bill. They were all so desperate for it. Especially the ones who weren’t old enough to be let into the club yet.
Instead of dancing, Helena let people snort coke off various of her body parts. Her and the other coke heads were sitting in the corner, talking at each other. Not with, at. Nobody had any idea or interest in what the other was saying.
Somehow the rookie dancer produced another bag of coke. You watched her, wrinkling your forehead. That was a lot of coke to be treated to by a regular.
You pried your gaze away from her and tried to find Leon. You and him had made eye contact while you were dancing on other people a couple times throughout the night and you wanted to see that fiendishly horny look on his face one last time.
When you found him, he wasn’t looking at you like before. He was smiling at some girl. Auburn hair, cute face, soft cheeks. She was pretty. Very pretty. And Leon obviously knew her.
He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
You froze. You and him weren’t exclusive. Or you hadn’t talked about that rather. Not explicitly. Because you didn’t want that, right? It was better to keep things loose. Not tie each other down.
White hot rage crept into your chest. So because he wasn’t tied down, he was getting all cosy with another girl.
You weren’t jealous by any means. You just felt a little offended. It was a rude thing to do right in front of you, that’s all. But you weren’t jealous.
“Are you okay?” The guy on whose lap you were currently sitting tapped you on the shoulder.”
“No touching,” you hissed and jumped off him, leaving him to sit on the couch. He whined in protest but you couldn’t care less.
You stomped over to Leon and that girl.
Leon’s face lit up when he saw you. “Oh hey baby,” he said and reached out his hand to you. “That’s uh, Claire.”
Claire, first time, loss of virginity Claire.
“Hi,” she chimed and extended a hand toward you. “Nice to meet you.”
You opened your mouth and stilled. As you were standing in front of Claire, you realised you had stormed over in nothing but a fishnet stripper leotard and platform heels, fuelled by rage and because of a what? A nice looking woman who was thirteen years younger than you and had slept with your—yeah, what was Leon to you? You were keeping things loose right? Labels were overrated.
You cleared your throat and shook her hand. “Likewise.”
What even had been the plan here? Claw at her face? She was just some girl.
Your cheeks were burning as you realised how much it bothered you. Leon belonged to you. You didn’t want him to give anybody else kisses on the cheek.
“My boyfriend is building a bonfire outside,” Claire said and pointed over her shoulder. “We also have strawberry punch. Leon said you love strawberries. Do you want to come?”
Boyfriend? Leon told her you loved strawberries? Oh.
“Uh, sure,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around yourself. Oh god, this was o awkward. You really hoped Leon hadn’t noticed you almost making an idiot out of yourself.
Leon, smirked, took your hand and pulled you outside.
“Were you jealous in there?” he asked, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear.
“No,” you said, avoiding his gaze.
He chuckled. “You were. Don’t lie to me.” He pulled you against his chest. “I kinda liked it,” he whispered, gaze trailing down to your lips.
You closed the distance. He smiled into the kiss and you opened your mouth to him, as he softly pushed you back until your thighs hit a table. You let out a surprised gasp when he picked you up and set you on the surface, nudging your knees apart to stand in between your legs. You cupped his cheeks and pulled him closer to you.
No place like a house party to make out like teenagers.
Red and blue lights flashed behind your eyelids and your eyes flew open. Also no place like a house party to have the cops called on you. Again, like a teenager.
“Oh shit,” Leon cursed. “We better get the hell out of here.”
“Leon,” You clung to him. “I’m in eight inch platform heels.”
The fear of god was written all over your face.
Leon didn’t hesitate, he turned around and patted your thighs. “I’ll give you a piggy back ride and we’ll jump the next fence.”
You pushed yourself up and wrapped you arms around his neck and shoulders. The full teenage experience.
“Hold on tight,” he said and pressed a kiss to your cheek. You tightened your grip and Leon ran out the back of the yard.
You yelped as he cut a sharp corner and pushed you up a high fence, hands around your waist. “Jump over there.”
You climbed over the fence as best as you could with stripper heels, unfortunately seeing what you were getting yourself into way too late.
You yelped and fell into the water. Leon followed right after, as surprised as you were as he came up, spitting out water.
“What the fuck,” he said and swam over to you.
You giggled. He clamped his hand over your mouth, as he caught his breath and listened for the cop car driving past. You took in your surroundings. You were in the backyard of a fucking mansion. Big house, massive pool complete with a pool house on the other side.
Leon cupped your face. “Are you okay?”
“Wet but,” you looked at your feet treading water in your heels. “I’m okay.”
Leon’s arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you to him.
“We’re trespassing, officer,” you whispered catching his lower lip between your teeth playfully.
Leon leaned in to whisper in your ear, his hand moving lower and grabbing a handful of your ass. “I’m not an officer anymore,” he whispered and played with the tie on your back that held your top in place.
You smirked. “Are you putting me up to commit public indecency?”
Your lips ghosted over his. Leon smiled and pulled the string loose. Your top slid right off. He threw the wet fabric onto the tiles and pulled you up so you’d wrap your legs around his waist, pressed up against the side of the pool. “I don’t think anyone’s home, so…”
You gasped in fake shock. “That’s so scandalous, officer,” you purred, rubbing up against his crotch.
He moaned softly and kissed you. “I don’t have my handcuffs anymore, otherwise I should probably take a naughty little thing like you in.”
You bit your lip, your eyes finding his. “Do you think they left the door to the pool house open?”
The thrill of doing it in a stranger’s backyard made your entire body tingle with anticipation. You hadn’t done anything like this since your early twenties. You felt like a kid without a worry in the world.
Leon, unemployed and horny seemed to be very susceptible to the idea.
“Only one way to find out,” he said, pushing out of the pool and helping you up, not without giving your tits a gentle squeeze as he did.
“Oh yeah, you should absolutely be in jail,” he whispered hoarsely, mesmerised by how your soft flesh squished out between his fingers.
He bent down to take one in his mouth, but you reminded him of the pool house.
The door was locked.
“Ah man,” you whined. “I would have been so down for that.”
“Are you wearing bobby pins?” Leon asked, undeterred.
“Uh, yeah,” you replied and pulled one of them out from your tangled wet hair.
Leon took it from you, pried it apart and broke it in half. You wrinkles your forehead at how experienced that looked.
He crouched down in front of the lock and pushed both ends in.
“Leon, that works in the movies but—“
Leon pressed his ear against the door, listening for a telltale click. The door swung open within seconds.
You stared at him. “Why do you know how to open doors with bobby pins?”
He smiled, sheepishly, wet strands of hair clinging to his face. “Remember our first date, when you asked me if my parents were cops?”
You nodded, gaze flicking to the lock in the door.
“They weren’t,” he murmured. “More like the opposite.”
What the fuck. How did he hide this from you with his clean cut exterior?
“And a five year old can do this. I mean, I learned this when I was five years old.”
You stared at him, a jolt of pleasure pulsing in your lower abdomen. Him picking the lock was so hot. So competent, so skilled.
“Do you see me in a different light now?” He asked and stood up.
You nodded again, gaze flicking to his full, glistening lips.
“Do you think less of me?” He asked, nervously.
You crashed your lips to his and he let out a surprised sound. You stumbled into the pool house.
It was a nice pool house. Generous layout, lounge chairs, sun bed cushions, a mini bar—but Leon was nicer. Especially as he rid you of your remaining wet stripper attire and fell to his knees to loosen the straps around your ankles.
He kissed the inside of your ankle, looking up at you in pure devotion, as he helped you out of your heels.
“So you do have a thing for feet,” you said, a playful grin tugging at your lips as he came back up, running his hand along the inside of your leg.
“I really don’t” he whispered against your lips and his fingers came to rest at the apex of your thigh. “But it’s hard to find a thing about you that isn’t kissable.”
You groaned into the kiss as he brushed over your folds as if he needed to ask for entry.
You slung your arms around his neck, bracing yourself for what he was about to do to you.
His thumb expertly found your clit, caressing it, while his other fingers spread you open.
He lowered you down on a bunch of sunbed cushions that were scattered on the floor and you felt like he was bedding you on roses.
His fingers slipped in and out of you, your slick juices causing sounds that would make anyone who listened blush. Soft moans of pleasure fell from your lips and Leon watched you the entire time as if he was scared he would miss his favourite thing if he so much as blinked.
You pulled him into a deep kiss. “Please Leon, I need you inside me,” you whispered, opening your legs wider to invite him in.
He gently cupped your face and positioned himself, his thick cock lining up with your entrance. He was about to introduce you to pleasure unknown to man, you knew it.
The way he looked at you all mesmerised and—lovesick. You never wanted it to end. It was like everything was happening in slow motion, so you could take in all the details, every freckle dusted onto the bridge of his nose, his perfect, straight nose and every wrinkle forming on his face as he spread your juices over the head of his cock. You smiled at him and he kissed you, so sweetly, you wanted to melt. He tasted like honey on the tip of your tongue.
He pushed in without warning and your lips fell open in a soft gasp. Leon stared at you, full lips slightly agape too.
“I know you hate when I say this, but you’re so god damn beautiful,” he whispered, breathlessly and pulled out nearly all the way before pushing back into you to the hilt, slowly, like he had all the time in the world to make you feel good.
Your fingers threaded through his hair and your eyes didn’t leave his, as he thrust into you again, deep, deliberate and your breath caught in the back of your throat.
Why did this feel like losing your virginity to him?
You mewled at the realisation, gripping him tighter. He thrust into you again and tears welled up in your eyes.
It felt like your first time because you had never felt like this before. With anyone. So full of him, physically and emotionally.
Leon whimpered in your ear as your inner walls squeezed him and it was the sweetest sound. He sounded so entirely enchanted by you, as he pushed in again all the way as if he couldn’t help himself but to go deeper.
You pressed your forehead to his, both of you sharing breath and you closed your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, making sure he knew you weren’t letting him go.
The tears threatened to spill out and you drew your brows together in helpless pleasure. “Leon,” you whimpered.
“I know, baby,” he breathed, thrusting into you over and over again, until you were a breathy, moaning mess underneath him, clawing at his shoulders, trying to hold on to something, to him, ground yourself as your soul merged with his.
The pleasure in your abdomen coiled tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment. Leon held you so tightly, it was like he wanted to make sure you knew nothing would ever be able to touch you as long as you were with him.
He flipped you over and propped himself up on one elbow, the other arm wrapped around your back, pressing you impossibly closer to him as if he wanted your bodies to become one. Your hands came to rest on his chest and you rolled your hips against him, your clit rubbing deliciously over the hard muscles beneath his skin.
You buried your face in his hair, breathing heavily as he met every single one of your thrusts.
He closed his lips around your nipple, moaning against your skin and you clenched down on him again, a soft cry of pleasure echoing through the pool house.
Leon was barely able to hold it together, panting, whimpering and pushing his forehead against your chest. “I need you to come with me, please baby. I want to do this with you.”
Your inner walls fluttered around him and your muscles went tight, fingernails scratching over his broad shoulders as a loud moan fell from your open mouth. Leon slammed into you again with a tortured sound, looking up at you, watching you as your orgasm came within reach.
Your eyes locked with his. You had never experienced pleasure like this. With anyone. His grip around your waist tightened and you fell over the cliff, diving right into all consuming ecstasy. But it was so much more than that. The thought of him coming inside you, filling you up with his seed made you cry out in pure bliss.
Your inner walls gripped him tightly and you wondered what it must feel like for him. Was it as intense, as life-altering for him too?
Leon was a panting, moaning mess beneath you. His hands were desperately holding on to you as your pussy pulsed around him. Somewhere amidst the crescendo of both of your moans, he slipped off his elbow, both of you sinking down on the sunbed padding.
You rode out your orgasm, hips snapping into his, hands pushed into his chest. Your head fell back and you kept going until all you were left with were breathy whimpers from the both of you.
Leon's hand came up to caress your cheek, brushing off the wet strands of hair clinging to your face and you knew, from the way he looked at you, you were everything.
For the first time, you didn’t run from it. You allowed yourself to be seen and crashed your lips to his both of you sacrificing your breath for a little longer.
You were lying on your side, Leon behind you, his arm wrapped around your midsection, pulling your back flush against his chest.
"Don't fall asleep," he murmured, "We can't be caught butt naked in some stranger's pool house."
You giggled. "No chance, I have to be home in a few hours to feed the guinea pigs."
"Caramelo will riot," he said, but his heart started beating hard enough that you could feel it against your back. "Can I ask you something?"
Your heart followed suit. "Sure. What is it?" you replied, casually, desperately trying to hide the shakiness in your voice.
“Are you my girlfriend?” he whispered, barely audible.
You froze. You remembered the second time he had come to the club, all rookie cop and nervous.
I don't have a girlfriend. Never had one.
“Am I? A real girlfriend?” You turned in his grasp, his face inches from yours.
He leaned back a little. His gaze wandered over your face, taking it all in. He nodded. “Yes.”
What's a real girlfriend to you?
Someone I love.
“Are you my real boyfriend?” You were barely able to get the words out.
Leon’s throat bobbed. “I don't know. Am I?”
You rested your forehead against his, your heart not calming one bit, warmth spreading through your entire body.
“Yes,” you whispered and closed the distance between you.
Summary : Whatever led you here, you are grateful for it because who would turn away from the opportunity to be the sugar baby of Leon Scott Kennedy, right?
Genre/note/cw : sfw, nsfw, 18+mdni, dirty talk, language, suggestive, legal age gap (leon is 49 and reader is in mid 20s) guys maybe its cringe idfk lmao, BTW its long. Enjoy.
• Leon, as your sugar daddy, will randomly send you thousands of dollars for absolutely no reason. You'll text him, "Daddy, I need $500." A few seconds later, his reply pops up: "That's all, love?", a second later another reply pops up, "That's kinda cheap don't you think?", Before you can even answer, another message appears. "Here. Take this." Then your phone buzzes with a notification. $10,000 transferred. You just stare at your screen, completely wide-eyed. "Holy mother of God..." you mutter under your breath, blinking at the amount. This man is genuinely something else.
• Leon as your sugar daddy as much as he likes 'grand gestures', or expensive trips, he likes mundane moments with you, more than he can imagine.
• As your sugar daddy he had never ask for how much you spent on things or how much things cost, you just need to express your desire for something and he had make sure you get it, in any way possible.
• Leon, as your sugar daddy, loves showering you with gifts almost as much as he loves showering you with his attention. At first, you tell yourself it's just generosity. Maybe he's lonely. Maybe he simply craves companionship after years of living a life that never really was his. But the more time you spend with him, the more impossible it becomes to ignore that there are real feelings tangled between expensive watches, surprise bouquets, and candle-lit dinners.
• Because the way he cares for you? Lord, have mercy. It isn't measured by the price tags of the gifts he buys, but by the way he remembers everything you mention, he notices when you're tired before you say a word, drapes his jacket over your shoulders without thinking, and looks at you like you're something precious he'd spend a lifetime protecting. And as time passes it stopped feeling like an arrangement and started feeling dangerously close to love — though its mutual, because how in world you were supposed to resist a man like kennedy?
• Leon, as your sugar daddy, loves it when you call him "Mr. Kennedy," the professionalism in that, never fails to make his mouth twitch upward or when simply you say on rare ocassions, "Daddy." He loves the sound of your voice, and hearing you call him "Daddy" never fails to turn him on, because there is such softness in it, that never fails to get to him.
• As your sugar daddy, he absolutely loves showing you off — to his colleagues, business partners, or honestly anyone willing to listen. Unless you're someone who prefers keeping the relationship private, in which case he'll respect that without question. But if you don't mind? Oh, he'll make sure everyone knows you belong to him, one way or another. He introduces you with respect, to anyone he meets.
• Leon loves physical intimacy with you, its not a secret, because no matter where or if the area or place you went to is crowded, or not, his hands will glide to your lower back and settle there in a quiet firmness, he loves holding your hand intertwining your fingers in his, he loves to let the world know he is the man beside you.
• As your sugar daddy he randomly buys you expensive necklaces and loves to put them on you, it somehow feels more intimate than the gift itself.
• He showers you with money, gifts, and anything you could ever need, but more than that, he showers you with his love. Every little thing you mention in passing somehow ends up in your hands days later, and every need you never voiced is somehow already taken care of. Yet, above all else, he loves showing you exactly why you're not just his sugar baby. You're the one person he trusts, the one he cares for, and he'll spend every single day making sure you never have to question your place in his life.
• Leon as your sugar daddy takes you to every place imaginable, every dream place you have had. There is not a single thing left in your life that you haven't experienced, and doing it all with him? Is just a cherry on top.
• Leon at first tries to keep his feelings separate from the arrangement but fails miserably, because with you he is more than a 'government tool', he doesnt have to hide himself from you, there is nothing that is hidden, and in his forty-nine years of his life he has met "fair share of women", but never quite someone like you, but its also true he thought he had settle by now, but what he never thought was he would be you 'sugar daddy', and he had happily play this role as long as you are there with him.
• as your sugar daddy, Leon wants you more than his sugar baby, he wants more than an arrangement, he wants an actual life with you unless you dont, because if thats the case, he had respect that with his heart on line, because after all he is a true gentleman.
• as your sugar daddy he never hides anything from you unless that thing could worry you. Because he wants to take the tension off your shoulder not being a burden to you. He also tells you what actually he does for work and how he came here; what struggles he faced, what he lost, and that means everything to you, and you had just listen to him, squeezing his hands every few second to let him know that you are there for him — because believe or not: he had become someone more than his money or just you 'sugar daddy.'
• Leon as your sugar daddy isnt really the jealous type because he knows no other man could match what he could offer you, emotionally and physically. If you know, you know. Though still if someone hits on you, he had make sure that person knows his place, but nonetheless no one dares to do so, seeing a buffed government agent beside you, or seeing you get out off his Porsche, so usually he doesnt get the chance to be jealous. Still he makes sure, he knows you belong to him.
• Leon as your sugar daddy, loves to make you wear fancy lingerie that shows your curves only to him, and is lacy, especially from Victoria's secret, he loves to see you all dolled up for him.
• As your sugar daddy, he always picks you up and drops you off in his Porsche. Whether you're going to college or work, he never misses the chance to be the one driving you there. He proudly drops you off, casually glaring at any guy who gets a little too touchy or stands a little too close before driving away as if nothing happened. He doesn't mind whatever you tell your friends about him — he'll never force a label onto you. But secretly? He hopes that, one day, when someone asks who he is to you, you'll smile and simply call him your partner.
• As your sugar daddy, he fucks you like you're his little toy or whore — with such desire or passion, that almost linger on borderline greed, he usually pins your wrists above your head, ravaging your cunt like no one ever has, not that it bothers you in the slightest, and in that moment he shows you who actually owns you.
• What you didn't anticipate, was the disarming duality of your sugar daddy when he fucks you. The same fingers that leave bruises on your hips in the dark are the ones that trace your jawline like you're something precious and breakable every morning. Some nights; and some days it was making love, and if you were bratty, then it was him showing you your place that day he fucks you like he's trying to claim territory, and others he moves inside you with such devastating patience that you feel the shape of his cock: his worship in every breath, every unhurried stroke inside you.
• leon as your sugar daddy in bed , has a dirty mouth, he had call you his slut, his love, his whore, and yet everything coming out of his mouth just turns you on even more.
• Because somehow, what you didn't know was that fucking him, rough or not, he was gentle in every way to you.
• You hadn't expected your sugar daddy, leon, to have that well-sculpted cock , a solid eight inches on him, thick and wide. You never knew a cock could be so aesthetically pleasing or so beautifully proportioned. And the stamina he got, you thought he would get tired soon but he never does — but god, you thought after your endless shifts and exhausting work hours or study sessions, you didn't think you had it in you either to keep up with him. But he never fails to satisfy you, hitting every right spot, and bringing out everything you hide inside you or didnt know you had it in you, he loves to draw out every ounce of your pleasure, and leaving you deliciously wrecked.
• as your sugar daddy, leon loves to fuck you in his porsche, if you make a mess on his expensive seats he just says he can get it replaced, he never lets you worry over trivial things, only your satisfaction or pleasure matters, leon usually stops his porsche in the dark forests, while you are completely naked on top of him: uncomfortable, but still, needy with desire, you almost always ride him, you hovering over him, your cunt dripping wetness all over his cock, while he pushes himself inside you, surprising your walls with his cum, he never stops -- not that you ask him to, he goes on until your cunt or womb is completely filled with him.
• he usually loves to cum inside you, you once mentioned how you like him raw inside you, but you weren't ready for any kids, and to your surprise he gets vasectomy done, and mentions it so casually that it steals the breath from your lungs, you had asked, "you did that for me?", he just chuckles while embracing you close, while nuzzling his head, deep inside your neck, "by now you should know I had do anything for you.", and moments like this only make you realize you were way too much in love with your sugar daddy.
• as your sugar daddy, he loves to send you expensive dresses, sandal, jewelry that goes with it, with nothing but a note in a bag, that says 'meet me in your parking lot at 8 p.m. we have to go to dinner' , it never fails to coil unfamiliar feelings inside you -- all good ones though.
• as your sugar daddy he loves to call and text you randomly, the moment he gets free time or even in middle of his work he lets you know, how much he misses you, and what constant is him texting "good morning, love", every day, without fail, because he cant start a day without thinking of you.
• He has his penthouse named after you, where you and him spend time together, half of the time you are there with him, and he loves how your things always lie around his place, it feels oddly romantic to him.
• as your sugar daddy leon loves to wear your used panties or thongs as scrunchies onto his wrists: which is quite scandalous but so is your age, isnt it? And it turns you on even more, how every few seconds he takes a quiet sniff of it, not that anyone knows what he was wearing on his wrists, but its the thrill of it that gets you, and every-time he had lean down in a room full of people, and murmur in your ear, nibbling on it 'how he can't wait to get you alone and out off the dress you were in,' which has you, rubbing your thighs restlessly.
• as your sugar daddy leon calls you: daddy's good little girl, his good girl, good princess, which have you on your knees in front of him, while your work your way and free him out of his restraints of the pants, he swallows hard every time, rubbing his thumb over your glistening lips, and press them inside your mouth as you suck on them, your eyes closed briefly as you let the pleasure of it sink in your gut.
• While his other hand stay above your head, as if grounding you, then you slowly look up at him from your place, and say, "can this good girl, get your cock, inside her mouth?", you breathe, and he just groans deeply, and gives in completely, but not before saying, "say, please", and you smile, fluttering your lashes, "please, daddy let me make you feel good,", and without a warning he pushes his member inside your mouth, and without gagging or coughing. You wrap your mouth completely, over him, and he grunts moaning your name, "you are such a good little girl.", "I--f'ckn, love you", and you just smile unable to speak, until he comes inside your throat and paint your throat with his semen, then only you swallow, and reply "I love you too."
• As much as your sugar daddy Leon can be needy and insatiable when it comes to you, his favorite part of the day is always afterward—when the two of you are curled up together, simply holding each other. He loves spending the rest of the evening tucked away in your arms, his head resting against your chest while you absentmindedly play with his hair. It's the only time his mind truly quiets, the only place where the weight of the world slips from his shoulders. In your embrace, Leon doesn't have to be an agent, a soldier, or the man everyone depends on. He gets to be just Leon. And to him, that kind of peace is rarer than anything money could ever buy.
• As your sugar daddy, Leon even creates a social media account on Instagram, where he follows no one but you, and keeps the account completely private, because honestly he doesn't like online media that much but he wants to feel closer to you wherever you are.
• and the only people on it are two or three of those closest to him, he makes it just to share little moments of the two of you. Photos of your dates, blurry pictures he secretly took when you weren't looking, your hand in his, sunsets you watched together, and every memory he wants to keep somewhere beyond his camera roll. He is also the first one to like your photo you post, and comment, "my girl", God, and it makes you feel special than anything ever had.
• At last, as your sugar daddy, he doesn't just fill your bank account, he fills every need you've ever had. And suddenly, you become quietly, completely content with everything: with your life, with him. And suddenly, money isn't everything you need anymore — he is.
I'm seeing so much hate for pike rn but personally i was more annoyed (not hate, just annoyed) at keyleth this season, especially in episode 9. she was directing her frustrations on the wrong people :((
SOME MORE THOUGHTS ON THE SEASON FINALE OF TLOVM, SEASON 4
I think this season raises many interesting questions on selfishness and respecting the agencies of those dying, on leaving people behind (by sacrificing yourself), and letting people go...
Some ways i think the show did this include:
- sylas (be it as an illusion(?)) talking to delilah, saying "is this the gift of your love?" and "if you loved ne you would let me go"; she is, seemingly, constantly bringing him back in bodies that are unsuited for life without immense suffering (i may not completely understand how sentient experiment!sylas is) - caveat here is that true sylas may feel differently but i feel it is relecant that the writers chose this as laudna's attempt to get to delilah (is is sth delilah believes deep down and laudna feels/knows it? Is it to do with laudna's own feelings in her undeath? Is it the writers holding up a neon sign spelling out (what i see as) a central theme to this season?)
-luisa overriding wilhand's own will on his death; he knows he is dying, has probably known for a while now, and seemingly accepted his fate, he cares that his memory lives on in his family (pike and grog, most importantly) and was enjoying his last year(s)/months/days (who knows, without the stress and smoke caused by the fight, how long he would have had), which only grog seems to understand (mvp that he is).
((Points should also be made here about how i have seen people react to delilah or luisa trying to revive a loved one, vs how they reacted to VM doing the same (i get that the way they go about ot is of importance, but the difference vitriol/charitability is too stark to ignore); whixh probably has to do with audiences in general having a tendency to going with protagonist-centred-morality))
- keyleth (and, to a lesser degree, vex) refusing to accept that vax *made a deal*...(or two) with the raven queen (granted, he is being cagey, i dont think he ecplicitly mentioned the trade to anyone but percy or vex on screen) - when vex died, he offered himself (which turned out to mean "his service as champion" instead of what i assume he thought "his life") and to return percy's soul to his body (notably, the one resurrection where it is explicitly shown the resurrectee had a choice) he accepted a nebulous "cost" (aka The Blight(tm)), but keyleth sees this as the random cruelty of a heartless goddess (which makes sense for her character, dont get me wrong!). She constantly and purposefully ignores/cant accept that *vax* cares about fate, that he doesnt want to end up like the sylas he saw in the tunnels (probably also doenst want her to take the same path as delilah, tho that isnt really clearcut), and that *he* is okay with giving his life if he can save his loved ones (we have seen this over and over) (which is why it felt, to me, satisfying that he wouldnt budge on his convictions, wouldnt bow. Made that *choice* - is it really fate that forced him to do this? or is this his fate *because* he is the kind of person to make these slecific choices we saw him make since s2?, and the rq is only pointing it out?) - honestly, i wish they clashed more on this difference of incredibly deeply held beliefs thatt are such central parts to how they interact with each other and the world (almos5 to an extend that it makes the foundations of their whole relationship fracture)!, instead of being happily coupled up and only ever kissing and angsting about his impending death (though it is refreshing to see a man be the one dying in an instance like this, lol). Keyleth is being selfish (which is fine, it is a flaw, we love that here) because she will live on for a looooooong time without him, but, idk, i dislike the idea that there is only ever one big love in life and that she would be lonely forever if she doesnt get to keep her first big love at her side..(a story beat that frustrated me in any glimpse of post campaign and c3 keyleth - girl, you can send the ravens away/go to a rq temple and tell vax to piss off, you have *agency*), also, though this is a different argument, she is a leader: putting her own feelings for her precious boyfriend above the whole world, and the Ashari in particular, makes her a *bad* leader (which is a good character flaw to show!) And i hope she has to reckon with that in s5, it would be interesting to see!
- pike sacrificing everything for grog (and wilhand) because *she* didnt want to loose him (/them); her relationship with VM, her beliefs and sense of self (though already fractured), as well as the world and everyone in it, and most importantly, her relwtionship with grog (though she pivots and is now in a position to make things right, i am talking in thr moment). I said before that her actions frustrate me but they make for compelling character moments! Her fight with VM was so full of moments like that (like, i know she and grog are a duo, but she doesnt get sole ownership to grieving him/his body??? Very fascinating how insistend she was no one get close to him!) And i loved that grog finally spelled out what all these previous examples implied: he "*died for a reason*", he died "to save her" (as did wilhand), he chose this (which, discussions on how selfless such sacrifices are should probably be had, but the point is, that he chose what to do with his body/life here), had made peace with death in that moment, and therefore pike, in overturning that choice not only violated his agency but also went against what grog fundamentally stood for, protecting the "little/common folks", and i love this as a conflict. Hope we get some fallout in s5!
Anyway many thoughts on this conflict of choices when it comes to deatg (and specifically "heroic" sacrifices):
Is sacrificing yourself selfish? Should we respect people's choice to die? When/how do we interfere? Is your wanting someone kept alive even for their sake? Or is for you?
I dont have answers here i just like that these questions where opened up/touched, though i am a bit nervous on the follow-through
Feel free to (kindly!!!) share your takes :)
EDIT TO SAY: I noticed i just listed four women trying to keep a dead loved one (each a man!), and didnt mention the vex thing from s2 (where the genders are reversed). Wanted to claridy, i left that out since i was talking mainly about s4 (and the specific themes of the season, as isolated as i can view it), which is also why the percy thing only got a mention in passing (though here it is again "woman wants to revive man"). I just want to say i dont want to hate on any characters, especially women who already get more shit from fandoms when they dare be complicated. I love that this whole thing is a theme and that these women are being complex, selfish, even to the degree of overriding someone else's (decisions regarding their) death, i think it is fascinating and opens up interesting discussions, and most of all, i think it is deeply relatable, deeply human.
((Wow...this one kind of escakated, sorry for the wall-of-text, to the 2 people who may come this far, <3))
looking back... why didn't pike and grog go back to westrun and help rebuild in that one year apart? like to me it makes more sense for them to go and help out there since they'd have places to stay and basically have more stable living conditions.
Once again this season two time BAFTA winner Ashley Johnson comes in with the steel chair making me first cry my heart out but then also cheer so freaking loud 🫠
