Summary: A messy confrontation with your mother, a kiss with your boss and a meeting at the DSO to talk about your collapse in the elevator were just ingredients for something unpleasant.
Two weeks from work should feel like a break, but everything begins to unravel instead. Something "simple" becomes something neither of you can manage and keep buried.
part 6 of this
Your shoulders dropped as soon as you entered your house, placing your bag on the side. Before you could flick the light switch on, the strong, sickly smell of perfume hit your nose, and your mother’s handbag sat on the kitchen table. Your eyes traced the line of the sharp heel and then the rigid figure of your mother. Shit.
She was an icicle. Perfectly composed, sharp and cold, and capable of cutting someone without ever needing to open her mouth.
“May I ask who just dropped you off?” she asked, making the hairs on your skin stand on end. She pushed herself out of her seat, making herself visible, her heels hitting against the floor, each one sounding like the crack of a whip.
Pearls hung around her neck; her lips pinched like she swallowed a lemon. The whole house felt much smaller with her in it.
“M-Mom?” you stammered, heat creeping on to your face. Feeling foolish in your pyjamas and Leon’s hoodie loosely over the top, you shuffled away from her shyly.
“Answer my question,” she snapped.
Your mother was a switch. One second, she could be combing your hair, telling you how pretty you are, and then the next she would be refusing to speak to you.
Everything came with a price, and you just kept on giving.
“Just a- a co-worker,” you mumbled, fiddling with the zip on his hoodie. Her flaring, protruding, judgmental stare was piercing right through you.
Despite her icy ways, she had a talent for setting the people around her on fire and watch until they became ashes.
“Not the agent you work for, I hope,” she said, arching a brow, “You spent the entire weekend with him?”
“It’s none of your business, I’m an adult now, I can make my own decisions,” your fists clenched, but your gaze remained on the floor.
“Clearly.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come to dinner. I had a fever, I went unconscious-” you tried to apologise before she could fire the bullet of accusation.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” she asked.
“That was wrong, I know, but I just needed time to recover, and I was going to call you as- as soon as I got home, I swear,” you stuttered through every word, your fingers clinging around Leon’s hoodie tightly.
“You embarrassed us.”
“I know and I swear next time this won’t—“
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?” you said louder, making your mother’s eyes widen.
“You don’t show up to a dinner with important people, and instead you go running off with your boss over the weekend and don’t contact me at all!” she raised her voice, but her body remained still, “I was worried sick. But you’re busy flirting your way up the ladder I see.”
“It wasn’t like that, Mom, he was making sure I was okay after I collapsed, please, believe me,” you begged, wanting her to believe in the best version of you, but all she ever saw in you was your mistakes.
One big body of mistakes and wasted potential.
Her eyes narrowed, sharp and unyielding. “And yet, you didn’t tell me. You didn’t even answer my calls. Do you know how that looks?”
“I was sick!” you exclaimed, meeting her eyes but the pure force of her stare brought yours back to the ground.
“Excuses! Always excuses with you! Have some respect for your family before you go sleeping around with your boss!” she yelled and added, “God, your brother would’ve never done that.”
You hated how she was twisting Leon into something ugly. You hated how she had to compare you to your brother as one final twist of the knife. You hated how she only ever filtered you for your errors.
“Stop comparing me to him, I will not and will never be him!” you hissed, pointing at her with a trembling finger, “Leon was just making sure I was okay, I swear it wasn’t anything more, you know I earned that position!”
She eyed your clothes. You tensed, bracing yourself for the next criticism because that’s all you ever did when you lived with her.
“How am I supposed to believe that? I saw you kissing him.”
Your heart dropped.
“K-kissing him?”
“Don’t lie to me, I wasn’t born yesterday y/n,” she sighed, already reaching for her handbag.
“I just- he looked after me and I- it was a reflex,” you explained, the words sounding weak and pathetic even to your own ears.
“A reflex? Oh, so a reflex makes you behave like a teenager and totally disregard your parents’ feelings.”
You were bringing shame to your family’s name. Just behave like an adult for once.
“Mom, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for humiliating you and dad,” you apologised, folding yourself up and letting her step all over you.
“Next time, no disappearing acts. Your brother was leading teams on broken ribs and could still contact us, you have no excuse for a fever,” she said coldly, sliding the bag strap over her shoulder.
“Yes, Mom,” you mumbled, your eyes beginning to sting.
“Good. Now rest.” She said, pausing halfway through your door. “You’ve clearly had enough excitement for the weekend,” she muttered and shut the door behind her, leaving you with tears in your eyes in the darkness of your house.
You couldn’t have one nice thing without your parents ruining it all for you. As if everything you ever wanted was a stack of plates, and with each plate they smashed on the floor, was another dream of yours shattered into smithereens.
The insecurity she had planted within you soon began to seep into your mind, because maybe it was best to resign from your position. You couldn’t handle it. You were messing around with your boss. Kissing him, what were you thinking?
Your professionalism was inadequate. It was the right thing to transfer from your position.
You buried those thoughts.
You were indifferent to Monday mornings but specifically today you had a shared bitterness with the orange cat that hated Mondays.
It was pointless trying to hide the bags under your eyes and how pale you were, maybe you could gain sympathy from Head Office so they wouldn’t fire you in your meeting today.
Leon being there too was just the cherry on top of the cake. After you kissed him. Unprompted.
You slumped into your car and groaned and cursed before taking a deep breath in, straightening your back, and driving off.
The office was still the same. Still the same women dressed in long skirts and men in ties, the same hum of the vending machine and the clicking of keyboards. No one batted an eyelid at you, just the way you liked it.
“Hey—you must be the lady who keeps this place running,” a light, younger voice called out, footsteps padding behind you.
“Huh—?” you turned around to be met by a man who was about your height, maybe a little taller, dressed in a blue long-sleeved shirt and a deep red tie. His chestnut hair was neatly combed back and in the seeping morning light it had flecks of a deeper auburn.
“Oh sorry, y/n, right?” he apologised, offering you a crooked smile and extending his hand.
“Yeah… yeah that’s me,” you mumbled, observing the confident character in front of you as you shook his slightly clammy hand.
“My name is Julian. I just transferred here,” he began, seeing your posture continue to crumble, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I hope it’s only good,” you let out a nervous laugh, your shoulders bouncing up and down too dramatically.
“From what I’ve heard you’re essentially the backbone of this place,” he explained, his hand weaving through his hair. “I was told if I got lost or confused, I should come to you.”
“I mean… I can try.”
A deep voice cut through the room, calling your name. Your head snapped in the direction of the familiar sound; you didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was.
“Coming!” you yelled back, giving Julian a small smile, hoping he would notice the dynamic between you and your boss, and disappear.
“Your boss?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow, slightly amused.
“Yeah. I have a meeting. It was nice meeting you Julian—“ you brought up your hand to wave, but he stepped forward.
“Well, how about coffee, me and you sometime?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Oh- I’ll, um, have to see I’m quite busy at the moment, kind of, you know. I’ll let you know,” you stammered, how could a rookie be more fluent than you?
“Busy, huh?”
“I—I need to go, my boss, you see—” you gestured to behind you, a heat crawling on your cheeks.
“I guess I’ll see you around then,” he winked, shoved his hands in his pockets and whistled away from you.
You let out a sigh of relief, heels clicking rapidly as you made your way over to Leon. He was stood outside the meeting room, back in one of his suits. It was hard to imagine him in his professional persona, considering you broke those walls only a couple of days ago. Considering you kissed him.
His eyes lingered on you for seconds too long, squinting at you, and then back at Julian who had strolled back to his desk.
“Who was that?”
“Just the newbie,” you mumbled, avoiding any topic of the kiss, “His name is Julian, I think.”
Both of you were now looking at Julian’s surprising nonchalance.
“Just the newbie,” he repeated, making you roll your eyes. He noticed your incredibly controlled breathing, softening his expression, “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just- just a little nervous about this meeting,” you attempted to ignore the swirling anxiety in your stomach, your fingers picking at your hands.
“Hey, it’ll be okay. Remember what I said on Saturday, I’m not letting them fire you. They’d be a bunch of damn fools to even consider it,” his hand squeezed your shoulder.
“Then why are they calling me in for a meeting?!” you whispered, meeting his concerned stare.
“Because you collapsed in their elevator,” he said, “You won’t be alone, okay?”
“Okay,” you replied, your breath still shaky, but you nodded anyway.
“Good,” his hand gently held your lower back and guided you into the meeting room.
The two of you filed in after the other, ignoring the kiss that happened on Sunday, ignoring the resignation form, because he would rather never address any of it than lose you forever.
The glass table was long; three officials sat together on the end, opposite to two empty chairs. In front of them was one folder. You imagined your DSO ID photo sitting in front of them all tiny and scared.
“Morning Miss l/n. Mr Kennedy. Thank you for joining us this morning. Now, we are here to discuss the elevator incident that occurred on Friday evening,” one of them started, sliding out a piece of paper, all three of them now staring at it.
You gulped.
“You’ve been with us for almost a year now, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Your performance has been regarded as exceptional,” the other official said, their voice nasally, “However, there’s been a significant decline as of recent weeks.”
“I—” you stuttered, but took a deep breath in and then continued, “I understand that.”
You suddenly felt the hardness of Leon’s leather shoe against your ballet pump.
“We aren’t here to undermine your past work but the incident on Friday has raised concerns.”
“Concerns?” Leon questioned, leaning forward, “It should be a medical concern. Not a disciplinary concern.”
“Mr Kennedy, we appreciate your… perspective, but when your assistant, our employee, collapses in a government building it becomes a matter of reliability. We need all our employees stable.”
“I didn’t mean… for it to happen. I’ve just been under a lot of pressure recently,” you spoke up, trying your hardest to not let the shy girl you were, or still are, to come out of your mouth. You were certainly not going to lose this battle, not after the one with your mother.
“Yes, pressure that both we and Mr Kennedy were not aware of.”
Papers shuffled.
“That’s because she handles her work,” he said, his tone controlled but firm. “She doesn’t make a habit of complaining.”
“Honesty is key when it comes to maintaining a secure workplace, Mr Kennedy and if your assistant fails to do that, then your office will fall apart.”
“It’s not falling apart. Neither is she,” he said coolly, nothing slipping in his calm exterior.
“Well, then, Miss l/n. Do you think you are fit to continue working for Mr Kennedy?”
“Yes—yes I do.”
“To ensure our personnel is fit for duty we suggest that you undergo a medical and psychological evaluation.” Papers shuffled again. “And we are going to implement two weeks mandatory leave. We cannot rely on reassurances. We must rely on certainty, and we all believe this will be best for us and you.”
Something ugly boiled within you. You had devoted your entire life to this line of work, to this job and now they label you as unstable and needing a psychological evaluation. All because of some stupid collapse in the elevator.
You couldn’t trust yourself to be alone over the weekend. Let alone two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours.
“Two weeks? But I’m better, I can—,”
“This isn’t up for discussion, this is mandatory.”
“But—"
“You collapsed,” Leon stated, his words swiftly saving you from getting into an argument.
And that was that.
“I’ll see you in two weeks then, I suppose,” you said, outside of the meeting room. Your hand clutched tighter around your bag strap, glancing at his shoes.
Two weeks sounded easier when you said it. You saw the days stretching out ahead of you, unstructured by no routine and no purpose. It was petrifying.
“Yeah… I’ll,” he cleared his throat like the words sat wrongly, “see you in two weeks.”
You nodded and turned your body, but something in his expression looked like he was going to say more, with the way his mouth stuttered open. There was something within him that was reluctant, but clearly determined the environment wasn’t correct for the topic and so he relaxed and decided on something else.
“Take care of yourself,” he said. An exhale followed.
“You too,” you smiled faintly at him and walked down the hallway.
He could see it all falling apart, everything the two of you had built in the spring, the shared evenings, the shared lunches, the shared lifts home. All of it had to unravel due to the hardships of life. Peace didn’t last long in his experience, he had become used to it by now, but there was something in his chest that twisted when he saw you walk away.
It’s only for two weeks. Get yourself together Kennedy.
His gaze lingered on you until you were out of sight, until Sherry had to grab his attention to break him out of his thoughts.
The office was grey. Autumn had begun to turn leaves into a flurry of oranges and browns and yellows, covering the pavements in a wet blanket. The flowers on your desk had wilted; the coat hanger now held Leon’s scarf.
The absence of your rapid typing and tapping of your foot was far too loud for Kennedy. His office felt so wrong only containing him. He enjoyed the way people entered his office to find you, their expressions warm and amiable, but when they walked over to him, they became hardened and cold. Now everyone entered with a seriousness on their face, and it bored him.
He wanted to see the smile on your face when he would tell you he bought cake from your favourite bakery, he wanted to see the relief in your posture when he would speak up for you in presentations, he wanted to see you.
He even noticed your sweet scent disappearing from his office. It soon was overpowered by the smell of leather and gun oil. You were falling through his fingers like sand, and there was nothing he could do but wait.
You weren’t having any better of a time either.
The laptop kept opening and closing. You organised your entire bookshelf, deep-cleaned the bathroom, scrubbed your entire floor and cleared out your cupboards. You wiped the picture frame of you, younger, in a pastel-pink frilly dress, held by your brother in his military uniform. You folded up Leon’s hoodie and placed it on your kitchen table.
It was still day one.
Rain gently pattered against your windows, streaking down and joining together before dripping off.
What did people usually do on their days off? The idea of sitting around and doing nothing scared you more than anything, because the mountain of your thoughts seemed too large to conquer, to come to peace with.
You certainly didn’t tell your parents about your mandatory leave.
Something in you missed the peace of walking out the DSO building with Leon, knowing the two of you would be together again the next day.
On one of your days off, people around your village were hanging up colourful bunting, setting up ladders. Women walked past you carrying shelves and boxes of books. An older man, greys now overwhelming his hair, was fiddling around with tying up the bunting on a ladder.
“What are you guys doing?” you asked curiously, your heart rushing already.
“Preparing for the book fair this weekend,” he replied, walking down the ladder to be on your level. His eyes crinkled as he smiled, gesturing to the large abundance of people manoeuvring books, signs and stalls, “Very busy time for our village! Families love our events.”
“Can I help?”
“’Course you can, Miss. C’mere and wrap this around for me, I’m sure your fingers will be much better than these sausages!” he laughed, wiggling his fingers before handing you the ribbon to the bunting and holding the ladder securely in place for you to climb up it.
Both of Leon’s hands were on his steering wheel, two fingers drumming along to the rock music he had blasting through his speakers. Buildings sporadically disappeared, and soon he was into the green fields that surrounded the city, coincidentally, the route to your village.
It wouldn’t hurt to check on you, it could just be a totally friendly thing, he thought as he indicated into your village.
As he drove further down the road, more and more families and kids appeared, the increase in decorations intensified. A sign read ‘Book Fair’ painted neatly in big blue letters.
He scoffed quietly to himself, thumb tapping once against the wheel.
His speed dropped as the road narrowed, tyres crunching lightly over gravel. Stalls lined the sides now, half-finished and bustling with life. Children darted between adults, laughter carrying easily through the open air.
You were right. Things seemed… quieter out here. Small cottages and houses circled around the square. Patches of tender flowers reflected the sun, somehow holding a vividness in autumn. It was the type of village that belonged in a fairy tale.
Leon’s gaze ran over the crowd absentmindedly until his eyes landed on you.
Your demeanour was significantly different; he had to do a double take. Your hair wasn’t held in the same professional way you always styled it, it had caught the sun, softer than he has ever seen it before . It wasn’t the you he saw in the office, and it wasn’t the you he saw in his home.
A real smile was painted on your face, not the kind that was tight and forced when greeting co-workers or the nervous one when you were overwhelmed. It was perfectly you.
His fingers loosened around the steering wheel.
You were sat on a chair, holding open a book with colorful illustrations, a group of children sitting cross-legged in front of you on a rug. They weren’t fiddling or chasing each other around, they were totally entranced by your reading. As you turned the page and kept reading, some kids burst out giggling at your attempt at a dragon’s voice, and one small girl’s hands clung around your leg, your hand softly patting her head.
“Who’s that man over there?” one of the kids asked, your smiling expression shifted into something tight as you noticed the man dressed in black, leaning against his car.
Leon.
He looked out-of-place, alone at a family event. There was something in his face, the way he held himself, that something was weighing on him.
“Yeah, he keeps looking at us!”
“He’s looking at y/n! Do you think he has a crush on her?”
“Is that your boyfriend?”
“O-oh, uhm, no, sweetie, but maybe we could invite him over here?” you suggested, feeling a warmth touching your cheeks, and it definitely wasn’t the sun. He shifted, noticing that he had been caught, pressing his lips together. He walked over, standing awkwardly a few feet away.
“Do you want to come and read with us mister?”
“If that’s okay with you,” he replied, flickering back to you and the cluster of children at your feet.
“Of course it is,” you smiled, watching him place himself on the grass. You tried not to laugh at the sight of your boss sat at your feet with a bunch of children, but you didn’t want to embarrass him even more.
There were no strings holding you into the tight, nervous assistant that he sees on the daily, you were happy. Smiling. Radiant, almost. He wanted to convince himself it was just because you weren’t in your usual office wear, but it wasn’t. You were happier outside of work, happier without him around.
He had been thinking about you all week, and yet here you were, not a single worry holding you down. He thought that maybe what you said in your argument was true, that he was dragging you into his nightmare of a life because you had been the closest thing to warmth and closeness he had seen for so long.
You snapped the book shut.
“The end!”
“Another one! Another one!” the children chanted, clapping their hands with delight.
“I’m sorry but I think you parents will be wanting you back now!” you stood up, hearing the children groan and push themselves upwards.
You waved goodbye to them, feeling Leon’s presence at your side as the last of the children scattered to their parents. You wanted their effortless laughter to carry on within you, but something heavier settled in your chest.
“Thanks for staying,” you said, looking up at the towering man in front of you, his broad shoulders cutting out the beaming sunshine.
“Of course,” he put his hands in his pockets, “I didn’t know you did that.”
“Just something to keep me from going insane in my house,” you said, laughing nervously.
“You’ve got a way with them.”
Some kids ran past the two of you, shrieking and giggling, balloon animals in their sticky hands.
“Oh, it’s just reading to some kids, it’s nothing really.”
People behind stalls kept calling out the different food they were selling.
“They listen to you,” he assured.
That warm feeling in your cheeks happened again.
A silence occurred, but not a loud one, it was soothed by the laughter of children and parents. The cold wet smell of autumn was overrun by the sweet smell of candyfloss and popcorn.
The kiss and the resignation letter were still wavering in the air.
“About Sunday—” you started, feeling yourself drown already.
“Don’t,” he said, “This isn’t the place.”
“I mean, my house isn’t far away, we can always speak there,” you stammered, sharp pains beginning to grow in your chest as you tripped over the words.
“Don’t.”
“I just, I thought that you—"
“I know what you thought,” he said, not a recognisable emotion in his voice. Nothing you could cling on to or help you stay afloat.
“Leon— I don’t understand.”
“I think we both know that I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“And what is that?”
“Keeping this simple,” he stated.
“Simple,” you repeated, nodding your head slightly, more to yourself than him.
“Well,” you said, turning your back to him, “thanks for stopping by. I’ll see you around.”
Wallow. You wallowed. For the rest of the day. You despised letting a man have such control over your feelings, but you figured it was better to let it out than keep it inside. Face swollen and pink from crying, you felt like one huge idiot.
You collapsed in the elevator after working yourself into the ground, you’ve been assigned a mandatory psychological evaluation and now the man who you’d found yourself in love with for the past 6 months doesn’t want anything more to do with you.
Your mother’s disapproving face had been burned into your mind and now it was overlapping with Leon’s. Cold and distant.
You turned off the television and scrubbed at your face with the sleeve of your sweater, pacing around in the kitchen. You felt like one of those hamsters in tiny enclosures. Silence was too loud and the walls were too close.
The only person you could rely on was yourself, and you had been reminded of that over and over again, yet you couldn’t get it to stick in your mind. You couldn’t even say you were unacquainted to that hurtful internal wound in your chest, the one that throbbed when you were rejected by the people around you, because you were very familiar with it.
People were flawed, yes, it was hard to find someone perfect, but being hurt this way was something you never wanted to experience again.
The impulsive thought of running away seemed pleasant, you imagined yourself sitting on a beach in one of those picturesque postcards. Just to escape it all.
The ticking of the clock was mocking you.
Simple.
Right, because that’s what it was. Simple.
Nothing about the way he looked at you like you were worth something to protect, like you brightened his days—was simple.
His hoodie was still folded neatly on the table, his scent faintly embroidered on it.
You should have never kissed him. You crossed the line and now he was fixing it. Because that’s what he always did. Fix things.
A knock sounded at the door. You paused, to make sure you weren’t mishearing things.
Another knock, firmer this time. You slowly approached the door, and as you opened it, a sliver of navy was seen. The familiar chest pains twisted again.
“Hey,” Leon said, his tone quieter than usual.
“Leon?” your eyes traced around his open collar and wonky tie, “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I was… nearby,” he cleared his throat, holding himself upwards by leaning on your door frame.
“…Leon.”
“Yeah. Alright. I wasn’t.”
There was the faint scent of alcohol woven on him, you were close enough to put a finger on it. His composure was slipping, and in his pale eyes there was the shine of something vulnerable.
“Are you drunk?”
“I just had a few,” he mumbled, running his fingers through his dishevelled hair.
“Why are you here?” you watched him cringe and then relax his face, like he was trying to process how he even got on your doorstep, as if his body moved before he could think.
“I—I just… I didn’t like how I left things,” he explained, his blue eyes lingering on your face. He was engulfed by the dark shade of the night, and your home was golden, like the light at the end of the dark tunnel.
“You told me to not talk about it,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“I know. I was being an idiot; it was a mistake.”
“This isn’t fair Leon—I couldn’t even explain myself,” you muttered, exhausted from feeling everything.
“Because if we started talking, then it wouldn’t stay simple.”
“I didn’t ask for simple.” You stated coldly, arms crossed. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“I know,” he repeated, quieter this time, his eyes flickering to the floor and then back to your warmly lit face.
The space between you was fragile, like one wrong word could splinter it and it’ll tear apart.
“You can’t drive home,” you sighed, “just… come inside.”
You stepped aside, gesturing him to come in.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, his eyes lazily darting around your home, “Nice place…”
Everything was organised and structured to a meticulous degree. But there was a homeliness to it, the blankets on your couch were clearly handmade, on your fridge were fridge magnets from different places and there were books stacked everywhere, bookmarks poking out the edges.
“Thanks,” you replied, unsure what to do with your boss in your home, “Do you want me to get you some water and food?”
“That would probably be a good idea,” he followed you into the kitchen, observing your paintings that you hung up.
You started to open cupboards that you didn’t need to open, grabbing ingredients that never made any sense, because God, anything to stop your hands from shaking.
“I meant what I said at the fair,” he cut the silence.
“What?” you turned your head to him.
“About you… being good at it. You look different. Better,” he nodded towards you.
“Better without work?” you huffed, “Everyone thinks I can’t handle it.”
“Not everyone.”
“Leon this isn’t fair—you tell me to not talk about Sunday and now you come to my house like nothing happened like—“ you snapped, your eyebrows furrowing.
He walked towards you, driven purely by his desire.
“I don’t want to ruin what we have,” he murmured, a profound sadness in his eyes.
You looked back at him, your expression undeniably less sharp.
The space between you was barely there anymore—close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of alcohol and something distinctly him, the scent that made you ease in the office.
Your voice came out softer than before, your lips slightly parted.
“Leon…”
A warning, a question, an invitation.
He exhaled slowly, eyes dropping for just a second, to your soft lips, before forcing themselves back up.
You could see his control slipping, his careful exterior being stripped. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.
“Tell me to leave.”
Note: Okay, it's finally here. This is the LONGEST chapter yet omg and I finally found out how to use em dashes. This chapter was going to be much longer but I decided to cut it up and make another chapter. Sorry for the wait and false promises, I am definitely not promising anything ever again LOL. I really struggled to know what to do next but I hope this is satisfactory. I hope everyone is okay, the UK is currently being blessed by the sun and it's sooo nice. Couldn't think of a song for this chapter but I did write it while listening to I Love You by Fontaines D.C. so maybe there's that. Wrote this instead of studying...
There will be 3 more chapters I believe, the part 7 will be preparing for Sherry's wedding, part 8 will be Sherry's wedding and part 9 will be... ykw. Chapters will come out slower because I don't wanna burn myself out and I gotta study booooo...
If you guys have any questions or anything let me knoww1!!!! I love talking to you guys.
SUMMARY: After receiving several death threats, your parents decide to do everything they can to make sure one of the DSO agents becomes your bodyguard… somehow. You almost being killed is what definitely makes your parents decide on Leon Kennedy becoming your shadow.
-> SERIES MASTERLIST
‼️: Angst. Murder attempt, mentions of death
✹ WORD COUNT: 5302 ✹ Find me on AO3
✹ Make your RESIDENT EVIL REQUESTS here (information included)
✹ My RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST
💬 Lots of you were waiting for this one, so I really, really, hope you like it. beyond Protection is now yours, and I can't wait for you to find more about this story 💖
🗓️ October 9th, 2023
📍 Washington, USA
New email available.
You don’t even bother checking who it’s from. You send it straight to the trash, along with the other hundreds of misleading advertising ones and collaboration proposals for investigations you know won’t lead anywhere.
It’s almost 1 a.m., and you’re still in the lab. Your eyes sting from exhaustion, and even though you know you should go home, you stay. You haven’t even answered the couple of calls and messages from your fiancé because he, more than anyone, should know why you’re still here.
Faith in the future.
You keep reading the latest DSO reports that Agent Birkin sent you. They’re not particularly important except that, maybe… she shouldn’t have sent them to you, like the rest she’s sent already.
You swallow as your eyes move as fast as they can across the lines. You try to retain the most important information, anything that might help with the research you’re carrying out and that could be a significant breakthrough in…
The sound of another email notification interrupts your focus. You sigh, quickly switching your computer screen and going straight to the newly received message.
You open it, surprised to see it doesn’t have a subject line…
Only your full name.
You frown slightly, confused, hovering the cursor over it, unsure whether to open it or not. You know it’s probably one of those spam e-mails that didn’t go to the spam folder, but you also think that, maybe, it could be one of those Sherry’s e-mails…
You end up opening it anyway, even when your nerves are driving you crazy.
It’s a short message, but direct enough to put you on alert:
“Stop trying to have faith in the future. We are the future.”
You shift in your chair nervously, pulling your legs up and hugging them. You read it over and over again, trying to find some hidden meaning, doing everything you can to read between the lines and figure out who it might be, or what could be the reason behind it…
You sigh, giving up. There’s no information you can extract from it, but it doesn’t worry you either. It’s not the first time something like this has happened to you.
If there’s one thing you hate about your field, even though you’ve come to accept it, it’s that threats never stop coming when your career revolves around dismantling networks that seek to rule the world through fear and control over the population.
In all the years you’ve been working as a scientist, you’ve seen much worse, especially since you began working closely with the DSO and the BSAA about five years ago.
You decide to not dwell on it any further and go back to that damn report about what happened in Eastern Europe with Ethan Winters, and how, even now, certain events remain somehow… unsolverd.
Minutes pass as you start noticing patterns with other information you’ve received from Birkin. You begin forming hypotheses, thinking of possible solutions to what could you do about…
The email notification sound interrupts you again.
You glance sideways at your phone to your right and see the notification, though you don’t dare open it.
Now, you feel a pressure settling in your chest. A knot forms in your stomach, too. You’re aware of the acidity rising in your throat, the urge to vomit becoming stronger.
You feel panic take over your whole body, and you let yourself be consumed by it. Two emails in half an hour seem very strange unless something serious is happening, but if that was the case, you would’ve received a phone call by now.
You bite your index fingernail as you wait for the email you just opened to load. When it does, you see that, once again, the subject is only your full name.
However, the message is way more detailed this time.
Clearly, directly, and without any apparent remorse, it lists everything you’re going to do tomorrow morning. What time you’ll wake up and have breakfast. What time you’ll leave your house, including your exact address, as well as your scheduled meetings with several members of the DSO, including who they are. It even mentions that you plan to take a backup phone, the one you always use to talk with Sherry about your research, to meet her at your usual café so you can tell her about your progress.
A chill runs through your entire body.
“Fuck…”
You don’t hesitate.
You shove your chair back, stand up quickly, and clumsily start gathering your belongings. You make sure you have your phone, log out and clear the computer history, and grab your car keys.
You don’t even think about the fact that you didn’t take your coat as you cross the doorway and run toward the parking lot, freezing.
Your mind’s racing. The silence around you makes your thoughts drift elsewhere, even as you stay alert to everything around you.
Your breathing grows faster… and then seems to disappear the moment a hand clamps over your mouth, catching you off guard.
Your body reacts instantly, and your instincts take over.
You struggle violently, trying to break free from the stranger’s grip, which only tightens as you feel their nails digging into your skin.
They pull you backward, pressing their free arm against your neck. You try to scream for help, but it’s useless. You can’t breathe, and panic completely takes over you.
Your vision blurs and, little by little, you lose control of your body until the sound of a gunshot, immediately followed by another one, snaps you back to reality.
You fall forward onto your knees as the hands holding you suddenly release you. You can’t stop coughing as air returns to your lungs, a crushing pressure in your head making you vomit onto the asphalt.
You do it again when you see a motionless figure on the ground and when you feel the stickiness of blood on your hands.
You try to recover as quickly as possible and run. Even as you keep vomiting, you force yourself to keep your eyes open, searching through the darkness for a way out of this nightmare.
You get even more nervous when you hear footsteps, fast ones, approaching you.
You try to stand up, but collapse onto the ground, completely exhausted.
“Fuck, come on…” you mutter under your breath, though you know any attempt to encourage yourself is useless.
You flinch when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You get up quickly and run a little, but it doesn’t help. You fall again, so you start dragging yourself backward as a figure, one you can’t identify, keeps approaching you until you hit a wall and can’t go any further.
“Hey… Hey, listen to me.”
The voice, a male one, sounds firm and far too self-assured.
You say nothing, of course.
“You gotta leave. Now.”
You narrow your eyes, trying to see who might be since that voice sounds quite familiar to you.
At this point it’s not just the darkness, but your inability to keep your eyes open… not to mention the growing dizziness.
“What…”
“You’re not safe in here. They’re tracking you. They know where you’re going.”
Your lips part to respond, but your voice won’t cooperate.
“But—”
You feel the stranger kneel in front of you and, without hesitation, help you to get on your feet. You let yourself be guided, already giving up, and no longer caring whether these are the final moments of your life or not.
One of your arms wraps around what seems to be his neck, while one of his arms wraps around your waist, forcing you to walk with him.
“How you feeling?” the man asks.
“Fine…” you manage to say, though you cough. “But I need to get to my car…”
“No,” he says immediately, interrupting you. “You’re not good conditions to drive right now. Not to mention you definitely shouldn’t be alone.”
You don’t argue, because you know he’s right. Also, you don’t even have the strength to do it…
You close your eyes, letting yourself be carried away completely for who knows how long.
The only thing you’re aware of when you open them again is that you’re in your room, slightly propped up on the bed, with a message from your parents telling you to meet them at the DSO offices that same day.
[...]
🗓️ October 10th, 2023
📍 Washington, USA
“Tomorrow morning. DSO. Important.”
You can’t stop thinking about that short but, definitely, intense message from your mother as you walk decisively through the reception area of the DSO offices, trying to draw as little attention as possible.
You keep a neutral expression, and your head held high. Even though you don’t look at anyone, you know too many eyes are on you… and, today, you know it’s not because your parents are two of the most important members of the institution since its founding.
At the DSO, rumors spread like wildfire, so it doesn’t surprise you that they’re already aware of what happened the night before.
You try to stay calm and composed. You need answers, whether they’re good or bad, not panic.
You sigh. You’re probably just overthinking.
You don’t even know why your parents would want you here, today…
The receptionist, whom you know perfectly well, looks up when she sees you approaching. She adjusts herself in her seat, visibly uncomfortable, trying to remain professional even though you know she’s analyzing you.
All you can do is give her a fake smile and say your full name, even though she already knows it.
“My parents told me to meet them,” you explain, knowing she should already be aware.
She doesn’t answer. Simply, she looks at her computer screen, typing quickly who knows what. After a few seconds, she looks at you again while still typing, and you feel even more judged than before.
“Is there a problem?” you ask, uneasy and slightly annoyed.
The woman blinks quickly, clearly a bit flustered. She looks back at the screen again, her cheeks turning slightly pink.
“Oh, no. No… Sorry.”
She doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t need to.
You start to notice she seems worried. Too worried.
You see her swallow. Avoid your gaze. It’s as if she wants to tell you something but holds herself back. As if she knows something you shouldn’t know.
As if someone told her something and begged her to keep quiet.
Of course she knows something you don’t, you idiot, you mutter to yourself.
That only makes you more nervous.
“They told me they’d be waiting for me in their offices,” you speak again, your voice trembling slightly. Liar… “I think—”
“Yes,” she interrupts quickly, adjusting herself in the chair again.
“Do I need a badge, or—?”
“They asked you to go to the meeting room and wait for them there.”
Neither of you says anything for a few seconds.
You frown, confused.
“What do you mean the meeting room?” you repeat. “I’ve been coming here for years, and this is the first time I’ve heard that. Yes, I’ve gone to the meeting room before, but only for important meetings about shipments with—”
“They were very specific about that,” the woman interrupts, uncertain. “You know how higher orders work—”
“Why?”
The question comes out sharper than you intended, and although you want to blame your nerves, it wouldn’t be fair.
You immediately murmur a quiet apology and try to relax your body.
The receptionist presses her lips together and gestures with her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she replies, regretful. “I don’t have any more information I can give you.”
“Yeah, sure… Sorry, it’s just that…”
You’re a bit nervous.
The woman hands you the lanyard with the badge you’re more than used to wearing. You take longer than usual to hang it around your neck, using the moment to study her face, now trying to be the one analyzing her for any hint of what might be going on.
“Don’t worry. You’ll see everything will be fine.”
Sure.
You turn before she can say anything else, quickening your pace through the hallways you know so well until you reach the infamous meeting room.
You don’t hesitate to open it.
“Oh…”
It slips out before you can even think about saying it.
You expected your parents to already be there, but not him.
You freeze at the doorway, not daring to step in, noticing how he’s leaning against the edge of the table at the back of the room. His arms are crossed, and he looks tired as fuck. Not to mention it looks like he’s been waiting there much longer than he would’ve liked.
“Leon?”
“Hey… I didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, straightening up slightly.
“I could say the same about you… especially not when I have a meeting with my parents.”
He avoids your gaze, and the two of you don’t dare to say anything else.
You take the opportunity to step into the room, crossing your arms, unconsciously mirroring him. You start to wonder if, maybe, you’ve gone into the wrong meeting room, but you know that’s impossible.
Your parents wouldn’t make that kind of mistake, and neither would the receptionist.
Besides, Leon being here…
“What are you doing here?”
Leon sighs lightly when you stand in front of him. He keeps his composure, though he can’t help the slight curve of his lips, almost forming a smile.
“Funny. I was just about to ask you the same.”
You raise an eyebrow, making it clear this isn’t one of the many casual conversations you’ve had since you started working together.
He seems to understand what you mean with that. Immediately, he sighs, runs his hands over his eyes,and then crosses his arms again before slipping them into his pockets.
“Honestly? I have no idea.”
You watch him carefully.
You’ve spent enough time working with agents of this caliber, you’ve even been raised by two of them, to know exactly when someone’s choosing their words too carefully.
You can tell when someone is lying, and that’s exactly what you’re looking for in Leon’s face.
You don’t find even the slightest hesitation.
If he’s lying, he’s very good at it, a skill not all DSO agents can show off.
You sigh, giving up.
“Well, that makes two of us,” you mutter, glancing briefly around the room you already know by heart. You’re not sure whether to keep talking, but… “Last night, after I got home, I received a message from my parents telling me to come here as soon as possible today,” you leave out the part about almost being killed, of course. Leon doesn’t stop looking at you, nodding, now slightly more concerned. “Apparently, it must be serious… considering I can’t even talk about this at home with my own parents.”
Leon’s expression shifts from concern to seriousness as he hears that. If he already seemed interested in why you were there, now he seems even more so.
“Are you serious? They didn’t tell you—?”
“No, nothing. All they told me was to come here. You know… direct orders from above, or whatever shit they say to look professional...”
His gaze lingers on you longer than necessary, but instead of making you uncomfortable, it sparks your curiosity.
You know there’s something more.
Even if he’s good at hiding it, you have the feeling he’s deceiving you, and that his presence here isn’t just a mere coincidence.
“That sounds… interesting.”
“It sounds like I’m in serious trouble, Leon,” you correct him, half-joking.
He’s about to say something else, but the door opening makes you both turn instantly, putting a bit more distance between you.
Leon’s the first to move, heading decisively toward your parents as if it had been planned. You notice how the completely relaxed attitude he had with you disappears the moment he walks past you, becoming much colder. He even adjusts his posture when he stands in front of them, placing his hands forward and lifting his chin.
“Sir,” he says, his voice lower and more professional.
You don’t move, but you watch as they begin to talk. Their voices are raised, but not enough for you to catch everything from where you stand.
Even so, you pick up fragments that don’t quite make sense.
That they have information. That the situation is under control. That the timing isn’t ideal, but they’ll try to do something about it.
Unease suddenly washes over you as you realize you don’t even know what they’re talking about.
You take a cautious step forward, looking for a way to join the conversation without intruding too much. Maybe it’s just a private matter they’re working on together, some virus that appeared somewhere in the world in the last few hours, but you know that’s not the case when they turn toward you, their faces reflecting a mix of concern and uncertainty, along with a strictness from your parents that you can’t quite place.
“Leon, she doesn’t know anything yet.”
It’s your mother who says those words.
He nods, stepping away from your parents and looking at you with pity.
“What’s going on?” you ask timidly, fear in your voice, something that doesn’t represent you.
You don’t look at your parents, and the question isn’t meant for them.
You know Leon’s the only person in the room who can give you the answers you need.
The way he looks at you makes it clear that he was lying earlier. He knows exactly what’s happening, and you’d swear he might even know more than your parents.
Leon Kennedy doesn’t look at people like that unless the situation is very serious.
“What’s going on?” you ask again, much more firmly, demanding answers. Now you’re looking at your parents. “You send me a message without telling me anything, telling me to come here… and now this?”
You gesture toward them. And then, toward Leon.
“What’s all of this about?”
They don’t answer, of course, which makes everything even worse.
You narrow your eyes, feeling a mix of frustration and pain that threatens to make you break down, tears threatening to spill.
“You didn’t even call me after the engagement with Mark,” you keep going on. “You didn’t even bother to check how I was, or how my first days in the new house have been… And then you send me that fucking message?”
They still don’t answer.
You’d even swear your father lets out a quiet laugh, rolling his eyes when you’re about to speak again.
That’s your last straw.
You take a few steps and stop in front of Leon. The height difference makes you feel smaller than usual, but you don’t back down.
You lift your gaze to him and realize that, out of the four people in the room, the three who could give you the answers you so desperately need, he’s the only one who actually can.
“You know something, don’t you?”
It’s more a statement than a question.
Leon tightens his jaw slightly. When you step back, you see him glance toward your parents, as if asking them for permission to say whatever he’s about to say.
What worries you even more is that he doesn’t even seem have the authority to decide for himself.
“I don’t think I’m the one who should—”
“Then, who?” you cut him off, a storm of emotions spilling out. “Because, clearly, no one seems willing to tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Your voice echoes through the room.
“Tell me what’s happening, because if you don’t, I swear—”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Now it’s your father who finally speaks.
His tone is firm, too firm, and carries a sharp edge you haven’t heard from him in years, except on very rare occasions.
Anger.
“What was I supposed to tell you?” you snap back, exhaling sharply.
“About the threats.”
You feel a knot form in your stomach.
“What…?”
“The whole situation with the emails,” your father continues. “The attack you suffered last night in the parking of the lab.”
Your heart rate spikes instantly, and the pressure in your temples becomes more intense.
“How…?”
“They try to kill you last night and you don’t even tell us anything?” your mother adds sharply. “Saying we expected more from you would be an understatement.”
Her words hit you like a punch to the stomach.
You stare at them, completely in shock.
No.
It was impossible. You didn’t tell them because you knew they’d react like this…
Besides, you didn’t tell anyone, not even your fiancé…
“I was going to…”
You try to find the words, a good enough excuse for them to believe you. But your mother doesn’t let you finish:
“If it hadn’t been for Leon, you would have been killed last night.”
“But—”
You turn toward Leon, your gaze locking onto him again.
“What do you mean if it hadn’t been for Leon…?”
“I was the one who killed the person who tried to kill you last night,” Leon explains. “I also put you in my car and took you home because you weren’t in any condition to go on your own. Not to mention the danger you were in, of course. Your fiancé was the one who opened the door and let you in,” he adds. “Let’s just say… he wasn’t exactly happy to see us show up together, especially not that close.”
You can’t help but curse yourself internally… not to mention how much you’re overthinking everything now.
It had to have been either your fiancé or Leon who informed your parents, which is exactly what you didn’t want.
“It was you?” is the only thing you manage to say to Kennedy.
He nods.
“You took me home…” you murmur, more to yourself than anyone else.
“Yeah. I wasn’t going to leave you there on your own.”
You feel your chest rising and falling unevenly.
You try to process the information, but… it’s hard.
You don’t know what to do or say. You just stand there, between the three of them, feeling their gazes practically devour you, making you feel smaller and more defenseless as the time goes by.
“There have been multiple assassination attempts against members of the research group you work with,” Leon continues. His voice is calm, though you can clearly hear the professionalism in his tone. “They’ve also tried to kill several DSO members, field agents, support staff… basically, anyone with even the slightest connection to the latest investigations we’ve been working on,” he looks down briefly, shakes his head, then looks back at you. “In some cases, they’ve succeeded, but we haven’t made any statements about it yet.”
Your stomach churns at the thought.
“So…”
“We’ve been trying to track everything in detail,” Leon explains. “People, groups, possible BOWs that could attack soon… Redfield’s team is working very closely with us, although no one knows about it.”
“This has to stay between us, sweetheart,” your father says firmly. “We don’t know what’s really behind all of this or how dangerous it might be, so the fewer people who know, the better.”
“We still don’t have enough information to confirm anything,” Leon adds. “Every time we think we’ve got something, every time we track them… it turns out to be useless. They move faster than we do.”
“If we had something concrete, you’d know by now,” your mother adds.
“What does any of this have to do with me?”
“Everything, actually,” your father replies.
“But… Wait, no, that doesn’t make sense,” you shake your head, hugging yourself slightly and instinctively stepping a bit closer to Leon, who subtly moves aside to give you space. “I’m not an agent. I’ve never worked in the field…” your voice breaks, and you can no longer keep your composure. “I’m just a scientist. I do research, analyze data… That’s not—”
“That’s exactly why.”
Leon’s voice cuts you off.
You don’t even bother trying to argue. You know it's pointless.
Your mind tries to process the mess of information you’ve just been given. You realize that just hours ago Leon saved you from dying and that, somehow, all of this is happening because of you.
You’re aware the pieces don’t fully fit, that something still doesn’t add up… but it’s better than nothing, even if it feels like you’re suffocating right now.
Your silence, and especially your demeanor, doesn’t go unnoticed.
Your mother walks toward you, determined, softening her face in a way that doesn’t comfort you at all. If anything, it makes things worse, with that toxic positivity you’ve always been so used to from her.
“I know this is a lot to take in, and I know this is a shock right now, but—”
“That’s precisely why we’ve decided that, from now on, and until further notice, you’re classified as a high-risk subject.”
Your father’s tone is firm and decisive. He says it without any softness, leaving no room for negotiation.
He knows you to well, and knows you’d argue otherwise.
In fact, that’s exactly what you were about to do, but given the situation…
“Additionally, as of this moment, Agent Kennedy will be in charge of your protection,” he adds.
Those words hang in the air as you try to process them.
No one says anything else.
You turn to look at your parents, who are now absorbed in a conversation of their own, clearly not meant for you or Leon, whispering as they show each other reports you can’t read from where you stand.
Hesitantly, you turn back to Leon, who still stands rigid, his hands clasped in front of him.
He looks at you too… again with pity, as if he truly feels sorry for the hell your life has become in just a matter of hours.
You’d swear you even see him mouth a quiet “I’m sorry.”
“Why…?” your voice breaks. You swallow and try again. “Why’s he in charge of my protection? Why Leon?”
Of course, your parents ignore you, still wrapped up in whatever they’re discussing.
Leon, however, just shakes his head and looks at you with that same apologetic expression.
You clench your jaw and bite your tongue, holding back your temper.
“Don’t do this,” you insist, raising your voice slightly. “Don’t drop something like that on me and then don’t even give me an answer… What are you hiding from me?”
You see your parents exchange a look. Then you watch them gather all the reports they’ve been reading, slip them into a folder, and walk decisively toward the exit, without even looking at either of you.
“Dad… Mom…”
“We don’t have time to explain you. There are more important things to do in here, sweetheart,” your father replies firmly.
“We can meet another time—”
“I’m sure Kennedy can explain everything much better than us,” your mother interrupts, her tone softer, but just as firm.
You stare at them in disbelief, your frustration and disappointment growing.
“So, that’s it? You’re just leaving after telling me all this, and leaving Leon in charge of me? Just like that?”
“Yes,” your father says without hesitation. “We’ll talk soon.”
Soon.
They don’t say anything else, and neither do you when you see them open the door and walk out without even turning back to say goodbye.
You don’t even think about it.
You turn toward Leon, who finally drops what was clearly his bodyguard stance and slowly relaxes. You notice how his body had been tense, and how now he starts moving around the room until he sits on the edge of the table, crossing his arms and looking at you more calmly.
You walk toward him with determination, swearing he already feels like a completely different Leon than the one from just a minute ago.
“I’m sorry…” he starts in a low voice. Then he sighs. “If your parents—”
“What’s going on?” you cut him off immediately, by now with little patience left. Your eyes lock onto his, demanding answers. “Don’t bother softening it or leaving things out…” you add, tense. “I just want to know what’s really happening.”
Leon doesn’t know how to say it. He runs a hand over the back of his neck, nervous, pressing his fingers as if trying to release the tension he’s been holding in.
“Someone wants you for something not so good,” is all he says.
“That’s not telling me anything new,” you reply, exhaling sharply, a hint of frustration in your voice.
“I know,” he admits. “But I don’t have more information, I swear. You know that, if I did, I’d tell you. That’s all we’ve got for now.”
And it’s true.
“Does Sherry know?”
He nods without hesitation.
“And Chris does too, like I told your parents,” he adds. “We’re investigating everything: why some of the antivirals you sent never reached their destination, why some of the research you worked on was leaked when you never even talked about it…” he explains. “We think there are more people involved than it seems at first.”
“Are they connected? Do you think it could be related to…?”
You can’t say it.
Leon, just like Sherry and Chris, knows exactly what your current research is about, and why you’ve been keeping it secret.
And also the reasons you’ve been investigating them beyond the biological scope.
“The Connections? Yeah, possibly. Also with some of the files and the unreleased interview with Alyssa Ashcroft that Sherry sent you. You did receive them, right?”
You nod, uncomfortable.
But you can’t bring yourself to tell Leon that you never received any of what he just mentioned.
“And now… what? What happens? Are you going to investigate them, or…?”
“For now, I’m staying with you,” Leon says firmly. “24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Don’t take it the wrong way, but… you’re not safe anywhere.”
“Not even at my house?”
“Not even at your house,” he repeats. “I’d dare say you aren’t safe anywhere.”
“And you’re saying you have to be with me… all the time?”
“Exactly,” he confirms. “Except when you go to the bathroom, or want some privacy with your wonderful fiancé… I think you know where I’m going, unless you might want me to…”
You roll your eyes.
He can’t help but suppress a smile, which makes you smile too.
“Well. I guess the guest room will finally get some use. I didn’t expect you to be the first one using it, but…”
“I don’t think you’re complaining about it either,” he finishes for you.
You sit down beside him shyly, leaving only a few centimeters between you.
“I’m going to stay with you until we find out who’s behind all this and why, alright? I know this isn’t something you expected, but…”
“At least it comforts me knowing it’s you who’s this sort of bodyguard shit or whatever,” you blurt out, completely honest.
You look at Leon. A small, shy smile appears on his lips.
“As long as you’re with me, you’ll stay alive. Besides… we’ve got Redfield and Sherry on our side… I think we make a pretty good team.”
Now it’s your turn to smile.
“As long as no one knows what we’re involved in…”
“To be honest… that might be the hardest part,” Leon admits. His eyes narrow slightly, and his body language turns colder. Yours does too. “Especially considering who seemed to be the one who tries to kill you…”
That sends a cold chill all over your body.
You pull back slightly from Leon, nervous, but you don’t break eye contact.
“What do you mean…?”
“Sherry tracked the phone of the person who tried to kill you last night, and we found multiple calls from a burner phone near your house.”
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Feedback, as well as comments and/or reblogs, are very much appreciated! My inbox is also open in case you want to make a request or talk to me! 💖
Would That Be a Bad Thing? (Emperor Geta x Reader) - In Progress
Story Masterlist
Forced into a sudden marriage after catching the eye of the cruel Emperor Geta, you fight tooth & nail to keep him from his ultimate goal - breaking you entirely. Will you survive, or will you shatter under his wrath?
Trigger/Content Warnings for this work (not specifically this chapter, but to come): forced marriage, rape/SA/non-con, violence, gore (+ mentions of blood), period-typical sexism, miscarriage/discussions of infertility, attempted suicide, fingering, oral, beating (with a belt), depiction of the cycle of abuse within a relationship, familial loss, grief, no use of y/n. Know thyself !! Dead dove - do not eat !!!
synopsis: jealousy comes naturally to adrian, though he barely notices it, dismissing it as part of being a good friend and teammate. but the lines between concern, protectiveness, and something more aren’t always clear to him.
pairings: adrian chase x f!reader
tags: friends to lovers (can u tell i love this trope), fluff, mild angst, jealous adrian, protective adrian
turnnoffyourmind
jacobvanloon
vaporwave
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
dededos
kianamaiart
baratheonpilled
