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Chapter Summary: After successfully breaking free from your constraints, you and Leon make your way out of the abandoned factory, only encountering minor hiccups, including coughing up blood, failing to make it in time for the easiest puzzle in the entire game, and enacting your first betrayal of the run.
Series Masterlist. β Warnings: mentions of coughing up blood, classic resident evil sneak attacks, and conversing with rodents.
Shoot me an ask or comment if you'd want to be added to the taglist! β read on A03 here
The walk in the dim hallways is spent in agonizing silence. You're a few paces behind Leon, who is still talking on his intercom, so you try your best to quiet your nervous fidgeting.
Your throat feels scratchy, your stomach is empty, and you really, really need a change of clothes.
After your little slip-up with offering to shower with the Leon S. Kennedy, you've been feeling flush down to the very atoms of your body. And not a single one of them could calm the hell down at being in such close proximity to him. Is it a bit stupid to have your heart racing as if you've been seated next to your crush in high school? Yes, no questions asked. But you can't really blame yourself, or that's what you try to tell yourself.
You sneak a glance at the man β blonde fringe shielding the upper half of his face. You quickly tear your gaze away when he finishes his secret conversation to look at you from over his shoulder.
"Hey," Leon calls out, stopping in his tracks and turning to fully face you. It takes all of your willpower not to squeak in surprise when he hands you a knife β the handle turned towards you while the blade is on him. A generous consideration. "Take this. I don't have my gear, and you need something to defend yourself."
Gingerly, you take the knife with shaking fingers. The fabric of his glove scratches your palm, and you feel the quiver of your heartstrings. "Oh. Thank you."
Really, it's the only thing that your mind could conjure up as he sizes you up, unsure if you'll be an ally or an enemy. For all Leon knew, the moment he had his back turned, you'd plunge the blade dead center on his back. But you weren't going to do that because, one, the weight of it feels heavier than the chains that once bound your wrists, and two, you weren't about to kill your only hope of making it out of here alive. Granted, Luis is still an option. But he's as trustworthy as a grinning fox as he swindles you out of your paycheck.
Still, you keep him in the back of your mind.
When Leon continues his way through the twisting corridor β realizing that the knife he had given you came from the corpse you initially pass by in the game β he quickly stretches an arm in front of you.
"Something the matter?" you ask, gripping the knife tightly in your clutches. He only shakes his head and drops to a crouch, and you follow without much question.
He motions his head forward, "Looks like someone's up ahead."
You squint in the dark environment and quickly find the faint outline of a villager holding an axe a few feet ahead of you.
"We should find another wayβ"
"Or you sneak up on him."
Leon twists his head to glare at you. His brows set in a deep furrow as he purses his lips into a thin line. Before he can argue against your claim, you hold the knife by the blade and motion for him to take it.
"I'll stay here while you kill him," you reason, rather proud of yourself for not stuttering and losing your composure like you expected when placed as a victim of Leon's intense gaze.
You notice his apprehension β maybe at leaving you behind with no weapon, or something more logical like your brain suggests β but against all odds, he nods and takes the knife.
"You better not be dead when I come back," he says.
You throw him a smile, "Wouldn't dream of it."
Slowly, Leon begins creeping behind the unknowing villager. In the shadows of the corridor, you hold your breath and clutch at the fabric shielding your beating heart. You don't need to worry; you've watched and played through this sequence enough to have memorized every action taken. And yet here you are, nearly toppling over your crouched position when the villager is taken down, and Leon motions for you to come out.
"That went well," you quietly comment, eyes lingering at the blood pooling just a few inches away from the heels of your shoes.
"Yeah. I think I see my gear. Here, use thisβ¦"
You barely register Leon's words as the headache from earlier returns, albeit on a smaller scale. The ringing is still there, unfortunately, and like previously, the color of blood loses its crimson glow. In fact, the room looks a lot dimmer than normal. As if someone had bumped down the brightness of the game all the way to zero, making it hard to even see the outline of your own hands when you look down at them.
Buzzing comes next. You take a mental note of how the room is spinning lightly, and you feel your legs slowly lose strength, your feet tangling themselves into an unchoreographed dance. You expected to meet the cold floor, but you don't. Instead, there's a steady warmth that starts from your forearm that slowly blooms to your whole body.
"Hey, you okay?"
You blink away the bleariness, "β¦ Leon?"
"That's my name. What happened?"
You clutch at your head as Leon helps you up. His hands are hovering over your form as you stumble from side to side. When you finally come back to Earth, you see the cloudy confusion in his eyes. "I'm sorry," is all you can say as you shake away the remains of the buzzing. "I don't knowβ¦ what happened. I was looking at the villager, and then I saw the blood, and I justβ"
"Hey,"
He's been saying that a lot since you met, your brain uselessly points out.
"You're okay. We're getting out of here, I promise."
"But Iβ"
"But nothing," Leon says sternly.
He's quickly at your side when you feel your stomach lurch and something crawl up your throat. An irritating amount of coughs overcomes your body. Your hand quickly covers your mouth, Leon's hand circling your upper back to try and relieve your heaving.
You think you spend a good few minutes just coughing, and when you pry your hand away, you have to force down another coughing fit when something red and sticky clings to your palm.
"Shit," You wince as your lungs argue against your sharp inhale. "That's not normal, is it�"
Leon's lips are pressed into a thin line, his head slowly shaking to confirm your fears. "β¦No."
"How lovely."
Leon decided it'd be best if you stayed behind. You didn't argue with him, or rather, you couldn't, and he didn't really take no for an answer. He practically pinned you down in place with one stern look. So yeah, that's how you ended up here, sitting near the corridor where you came from, with absolutely nothing to do.
You think you have every little scratch on your new knife, given by Leon once again, memorized. A heavy sigh escapes, and your lungs protest. Whatever that coughing fit entails, it's not something good, nor are you looking forward to when it'll come and bite you on the ass.
"How long does it take to get your gear, man?" you complain under your breath, feeling a bit amused when you see Leon fail to, once again, make it in time before the doors closed.
The frustrated look on his face is cute, all agitated, and if you squint hard enough, you can probably make out the small pout on his lips. If he's not pouting, he's biting down on his lips until it bruises, or he's trying to pull all of his fringes free from his scalp.
You chuckle as Leon grumbles under his breath, sluggishly making his way back to the room with the crank wheel. Your attention is eventually captured when you hear a quiet squeak beside you.
"Oh, hey," you greet the rat that decided to keep you company. Your chin resting on your closed fist as the other continued to toss the knife up and down. "What're you up to, little guy? There's really not much to do here."
"You've gotta be shitting meβ¦" You hear Leon curse from the other side, prompting another fit of giggles from you.
"You need help?" you shout.
He quickly swivels his head to where you sit casually. Leon clicks his tongue at the shit-eating grin on your face before waving you off.
"I've got it."
"You sure?"
He sighs, "Yes, I'm sure."
"Suit yourself," you shrug. Turning your attention back to the rat that has still not left, much to your surprise, you flash it a smile. "Real stubborn guy, huh?"
An amused β you assumed it's amused β squeak leaves the rat.
"I know! It's not wrong to ask for help."
Another sigh escapes you as you watch Leon attempt to get his gear again.
"You know, I have a feeling I'm supposed to be doing something here," you admit to your rodent companion. "Leon is out here killing everything so I don't get hurt, yet here I am, sitting around and waiting."
The rat tilts its head at you.
"I wanna be useful, Mr. Rat! You don't happen to have a requestβ"
Oh.
Right as the realization settles in your brain, Leon has successfully rolled into the room, housing his gear. You slowly blink at your new rodent friend, and the tossing of your knife settles in your dominant hand as you slowly stand up.
"Nothing personal, friend," you say dramatically, pointing the tip of the blade at the rodent. "But I wanna save my hero from decades worth of back pain."
Apparently, going rat hunting was a lot more tedious than you had initially imagined.
After committing the first betrayal of your journey β assuming the other you wasn't wanted for potentially betraying Umbrella of all people β you continue your merry way to meeting up with Leon after he calls your name from the other side.
"I got my gear back. Met a new friend, too. Come on, let's see what he's got to offer."
"Coming," you quickly call back, jogging to where he leans by the doorframe. A deadly pose if you say so yourself.
POP.
You stop dead in your tracks when that familiar sound rings again. With furrowed brows, your eyes settle into the corridor once more. Stray pieces of glass litter the floors as someone whispers your name β too distant to make out who said it, but close enough to raise the hairs on your arms. You hesitantly reach to touch your ear, and you feel it. The warmth of another behind you, even though no one's there.
A call of your name again, and you turn your head, but only find Leon waiting for you. Arms crossed, all his guns secured on his hips, as he raises a brow at you.
You shake your head, "Sorry, I shouldn't have wandered."
"Not what I was about to say," Leon quickly shoots down your accusation, making you chuckle nervously. Eyes finding a lot of interest in anything that wasn't him. "But I'd appreciate a heads-up if you're going somewhere. Or if you're gonna cough your lungs out."
The latter comes out more as a whisper, but regardless, it pulls a chuckle out of you.
"Sorry if my cardiovascular system decided to act up.
Leon's lips twitched just a fraction, a little twinge upwards as he shook his head. He keeps the metal gates open until you make it out. Such a simple act that doesn't go unnoticed by you. So you mumble a quiet 'thank you' as you both exit the dark factory.
This time, the short walk to where the Merchant has laid out his little shop isn't so tense. A breath escapes you, it borders a relieved laugh as you hear it β that infamous accent that had you crying tears of joy when you decided to subject yourself to the torture that is attempting the game's hardest difficulty on a school night.
"Welcome!" he greets you, unclipping his cloak to reveal an array of weapons. A low whistle escapes you as you practically skip over to oogle at his assortment of guns. When Leon catches up to you, he hands the Merchant a blue piece of parchment with a red stamp. "I knew I could count on 'ya, stranger!"
"What's that?" you ask despite already knowing the answer.
"Some kind of request," Leon answers. He points a gloved finger at a particular pistol that hangs from the Merchant's cloak before it's tossed into his hands. "Had to destroy some medallions in an area."
You hum in response before telling him you'll look around. "I'll be back in a few."
"Don't die."
"I won't!"
You jog around the area, your knife still in your hand as you spot a few crates with the infamous yellow paint. You criticize the absurdity of it, but not necessarily question it. When you're close enough, you reel your leg back a few inches before landing a kick to the side of it.
"Ow, fuck."
Which did absolutely nothing to it.
Embarrassedly, you turn to make sure Leon didn't catch your pathetic attempt, and you visibly relax when he's too absorbed in bargaining the price for the rifle in his hands.
You sigh in defeat, not even bothering to entertain the idea of trying to kick it down like Leon normally did. Instead, you lodge the blade of your knife in the small dent where the planks are conjoined by a nail, and you push. It doesn't fully come loose, but it did open up enough for you to stick your hand in it and try to feel around for any loot.
"Aha!" you exclaim when your fingers finally brush against something. Quickly pulling out, you let out a small smile as you put aside the round of handgun ammo before moving on to the barrel next.
You repeat the process, this time a little easier as the wood making up the barrel was weaker.
By the time you return to Leon's side, he's holding another piece of parchment in his hand.
"Another request?" you ask.
Leon slowly turns his head to look at you, furrowed brows and lips set into a frown β the entire shebang. "β¦ yeah. Some pest control around the factory." He slips the new rifle on his back and hands you the request paper. "Stay here, I'll go and finish it upβ"
"Oh, actually," you speak up before Leon can leave. "The request is done."
"What?"
"It's done."
"Yeah, I heard you the first time. But what do you mean by 'it's done'?"
You nervously chuckle, avoiding his gaze as you hand the request to the Merchant, "I, um, may or may not have killed the rats. While you were getting your gearβ¦"
You can practically see and hear the gears in Leon's mind turning. "So that's why you were gone."
"Yeah." You don't mention the broken light bulb or the feeling of something being there when nothing is.
A chuckle eventually captures your attention. "Already finished it, ey?" The Merchant asks, his gaze lingering on you far longer than you'd like. You feel Leon's gaze fall on you, too.
You nod. "There wasn't much to do while Leon got his gear," you mumble, handing the man beside you the ammo you found. Your eyes sweep over to your left, looking at the infamous typewriter and the many pieces of parchment. Curiously, you take one in your hand and try to read what's written. "And the noises were getting annoying."
"Didn't look like it when 'ya were chattin' the bloody rodents upβ"
"How did youβ"
The Merchant laughs all raspy, but is amused at your answer. Your cheeks are flushing at having your little chat revealed. He even wipes a fake tear from the corner of his eye and turns to Leon. "You've got a real efficient partner, mate. Just for that, I'll give 'ya another discount. Can't have the poor mouse runnin' around gun-less, yeah?"
Leon, surprisingly, hums in agreement, and you watch him contemplate, chin resting on top of a closed fist. The action is so simple, yet it does wonders for your already blazing cheeks. His eyes survey the line of the gun that the Merchant has displayed for him.
You drop the piece of paper in your hands, turning your full attention to the strange man in purple with a raised brow as you ask, "'Mouse'?"
He merely chuckles, reaching for something underneath his little table β a sleek silver box he pushes towards you. "'Yer real quiet, even for a human. As if the ground doesn't register yer footsteps. Convenient in a setting like this, wouldn't 'ya agree?"
You frown, disliking the implications the Merchant's words can entail about you. Or rather, the body of the other you, you had stolen. You eventually look at the silver box, watching it catch the rays of the afternoon sun, before sliding it to Leon. He turns to you again, that hazy cloud of confusion still present as he tilts his head. You only shrug in response, and you watch as he concedes and opens the box.
There, cushioned by black foam, is a full kit of gear waiting for you to take. A holster, a spare sheath, some spare ammo, and a Walther P22.
You don't know why you recognize the gun. But somehow, the name of its model popped up in your brain faster than you can register.
"I'm feelin' generous today, stranger," the Merchant exclaims, his eyes still on you as your brows furrow at the contents of the case. "Take this for freeβ"
"What's the catch?" you and Leon ask at the same time. You both turn to look at each otherβyou with wide eyes and him with his lips pursed into a thin line.
"I was gettin' to that," when you tear your eyes away from Leon's, the Merchant points a finger to your chest. Not touching, but you can feel the warmth seep out of it like a leaking faucet. "Little Mouse, have ya seen those strange flickering lights?"
Your breath hitches, Leon noticed. You can't even stop the way your head abruptly jerks upwards to look at the Merchant, and behind the fabric covering half his face, you know that he's grinning like a maniac. Your hands curl into tight fists at your side as you feel Leon's gaze burn through the side of your face.
"Yes, I have," you answer. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and think. The Merchant is an ally, you know that much. But he's mysterious, no affiliations and no sides to choose other than your own for no particular reason. For two years, you have tried to stay out of the story, but it seems like the world itself has other plans. When you open your eyes, the Merchant is still staring at you. Emboldened by the mere presence of the man beside you, you take hold of the Merchant's finger and push it back to him. "What do you want me to do?"
He grins. "Do me a favor, mouse, and don't turn 'em off."
"Why?" you ask with furrowed brows. Desperation permeates your voice at the first lead you could get after two years of running around on a wild goose chase with only a few illegible research notes.
"Call it a hunch," you nearly pull at the fancy tablecloth on his little table, at his following words. "'Ya seem like the type to never look back at the dark. Can't tell if that's a good or bad thing for 'ya."
Author's notes. this is so embarrassingly late, and i sincerely apologize TT things will start picking up starting next chapter so brace yourselves for that!! again, if your name on the taglist is bolded, it means i cannot tag you! you may want to change your visibility settings!!
β¦Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x doctor!reader
β¦Summary: Statistically speaking, a plastic surgeon is not the most useful doctor during a zombie outbreak. Unless the zombies need a face lift. Β Unfortunately, a bioterror attack hits your hospital anyway. Now youβre stuck surviving a viral outbreak with a tired government agent who keeps getting injured and showing up at your apartment like a very dangerous stray cat.
β¦Content: 18+, Canon typical violence, eventual smut, slow burn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, PTSD, trauma recovery, fluff, angst, emotional intimacy, romantic tension, strangers to friends to lovers, domestic, nightmares
holy inactivity ππ i'm so sorry for the lack of updates recently ueueue college finals really kicked my ass BUT I'M FREE NOW (somewhat)!!! i'll get to formatting the next few chapters of project counterpart since cross-posting on here has been very delayed ππshort new fic in tangent with my last fic, "workout routine", should also be in the making!!!
thank you all so much for your patience, and happy 100 followers π₯Ήπ€
imagined with re4!leon, but can be any era! slightly suggestive if you squint, leon is a big tease. use of pet names (babe and sweetheart). not proofread, expect mistakes!
Β leon kennedy strikes me as a person who has a strict routine. one good look at his physique, and you'll understand why. now, he wasn't the kind to flaunt or flex how years of training had sculpted his bodyβadmittedly, he's still a bit shy to do so. especially with you, his current significant other. so when you agreed to install a pull-up bar in the bathroom of your quaint little apartment, leon started to notice something.
the way your eyes would linger on how his arms would steadily pull his body with each rep through the mirror. at first, you had been subtle enough to make leon think that he may be hallucinating the feeling of being watchedβany time he'd turn to stare at you brushing your teeth or styling your hair, you'd be too "busy" to look.
he was, frankly, a little disappointed. you were his lover, so forgive him for wanting to show off a bit.
but after a few weeks of the same routine, leon waking you both up to start the day, you'd overtake the bathroom for the first ten minutes before giving him the green light to start his workout. he'd splash his face with cold water beside you, who's already taking out the many tubes and whatnots for your skincare, while he shrugs off his hoodie and tank top. that's when he begins to feel it, that burning stare right where his muscles flexed when he rolls his shoulders as a warm-up. leon knows you're watching.
a devious idea comes to mind as his hands grip the metal bars and he begins his workout. he has to try very hard not to take glances at you to see if his plans are working. but he doesn't have toβnot when leon hears the slight hitch of your breath when he grunts a little too loudly. he can feel your questionable stare at the back of his head, but he just continues with those little noises of his.
grunts, breathy exhales, hell, leon has resorted to counting his reps just enough for you to hear. a chuckle eventually escapes him when he catches your flustered glare through the mirror. he only throws you another smirk as you roll your eyes, attempting to go about your routine without staring at him too much.
you survived about ten minutes of leon grunting right behind you before you grew exasperated enough to drag your cold hands through the planes of his bare back.
"what the fuck, babe?" he asks incredulously. dropping down from his pull-up bar to face you, arms crossed over his chest. leon isn't actually mad, you both know that, because there's a teasing smirk on his face as you huff an annoyed breath, turning on your heel and returning to your spot at the counter.
he rolls his eyes, uncrossing his arms and crossing the room with only a few strides. you eventually find yourself caged in between his arms, leon's breath fanning your ear as he murmurs, "thought you were enjoying the show."
"who even said i was watching you?" you counter.
"never said i was the show, now did i, sweetheart?"
leon knows he's got you when the tips of your ears flush a cute shade of pink, and you stutter out a denial. another chuckle escapes him, one steady arm wrapping around your waist to end your plans of escaping his corner. "now, where do you think you're going?" he asks, his voice rumbling into your ear as his head drops to your shoulder, pressing featherlight kisses down to your forearm.
"fuckin' creep," you glare at his reflection in the mirror.
"your fuckin' creep, sweetheart."
all works are property of @kairennedy do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or feed into ai!
imagined with re4!leon, but can be any era! slightly suggestive if you squint, leon is a big tease. use of pet names (babe and sweetheart). not proofread, expect mistakes!
Β leon kennedy strikes me as a person who has a strict routine. one good look at his physique, and you'll understand why. now, he wasn't the kind to flaunt or flex how years of training had sculpted his bodyβadmittedly, he's still a bit shy to do so. especially with you, his current significant other. so when you agreed to install a pull-up bar in the bathroom of your quaint little apartment, leon started to notice something.
the way your eyes would linger on how his arms would steadily pull his body with each rep through the mirror. at first, you had been subtle enough to make leon think that he may be hallucinating the feeling of being watchedβany time he'd turn to stare at you brushing your teeth or styling your hair, you'd be too "busy" to look.
he was, frankly, a little disappointed. you were his lover, so forgive him for wanting to show off a bit.
but after a few weeks of the same routine, leon waking you both up to start the day, you'd overtake the bathroom for the first ten minutes before giving him the green light to start his workout. he'd splash his face with cold water beside you, who's already taking out the many tubes and whatnots for your skincare, while he shrugs off his hoodie and tank top. that's when he begins to feel it, that burning stare right where his muscles flexed when he rolls his shoulders as a warm-up. leon knows you're watching.
a devious idea comes to mind as his hands grip the metal bars and he begins his workout. he has to try very hard not to take glances at you to see if his plans are working. but he doesn't have toβnot when leon hears the slight hitch of your breath when he grunts a little too loudly. he can feel your questionable stare at the back of his head, but he just continues with those little noises of his.
grunts, breathy exhales, hell, leon has resorted to counting his reps just enough for you to hear. a chuckle eventually escapes him when he catches your flustered glare through the mirror. he only throws you another smirk as you roll your eyes, attempting to go about your routine without staring at him too much.
you survived about ten minutes of leon grunting right behind you before you grew exasperated enough to drag your cold hands through the planes of his bare back.
"what the fuck, babe?" he asks incredulously. dropping down from his pull-up bar to face you, arms crossed over his chest. leon isn't actually mad, you both know that, because there's a teasing smirk on his face as you huff an annoyed breath, turning on your heel and returning to your spot at the counter.
he rolls his eyes, uncrossing his arms and crossing the room with only a few strides. you eventually find yourself caged in between his arms, leon's breath fanning your ear as he murmurs, "thought you were enjoying the show."
"who even said i was watching you?" you counter.
"never said i was the show, now did i, sweetheart?"
leon knows he's got you when the tips of your ears flush a cute shade of pink, and you stutter out a denial. another chuckle escapes him, one steady arm wrapping around your waist to end your plans of escaping his corner. "now, where do you think you're going?" he asks, his voice rumbling into your ear as his head drops to your shoulder, pressing featherlight kisses down to your forearm.
"fuckin' creep," you glare at his reflection in the mirror.
"your fuckin' creep, sweetheart."
all works are property of @kairennedy do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or feed into ai!
imagined with re4!leon, but can be any era! slightly suggestive if you squint, leon is a big tease. use of pet names (babe and sweetheart). not proofread, expect mistakes!
Β leon kennedy strikes me as a person who has a strict routine. one good look at his physique, and you'll understand why. now, he wasn't the kind to flaunt or flex how years of training had sculpted his bodyβadmittedly, he's still a bit shy to do so. especially with you, his current significant other. so when you agreed to install a pull-up bar in the bathroom of your quaint little apartment, leon started to notice something.
the way your eyes would linger on how his arms would steadily pull his body with each rep through the mirror. at first, you had been subtle enough to make leon think that he may be hallucinating the feeling of being watchedβany time he'd turn to stare at you brushing your teeth or styling your hair, you'd be too "busy" to look.
he was, frankly, a little disappointed. you were his lover, so forgive him for wanting to show off a bit.
but after a few weeks of the same routine, leon waking you both up to start the day, you'd overtake the bathroom for the first ten minutes before giving him the green light to start his workout. he'd splash his face with cold water beside you, who's already taking out the many tubes and whatnots for your skincare, while he shrugs off his hoodie and tank top. that's when he begins to feel it, that burning stare right where his muscles flexed when he rolls his shoulders as a warm-up. leon knows you're watching.
a devious idea comes to mind as his hands grip the metal bars and he begins his workout. he has to try very hard not to take glances at you to see if his plans are working. but he doesn't have toβnot when leon hears the slight hitch of your breath when he grunts a little too loudly. he can feel your questionable stare at the back of his head, but he just continues with those little noises of his.
grunts, breathy exhales, hell, leon has resorted to counting his reps just enough for you to hear. a chuckle eventually escapes him when he catches your flustered glare through the mirror. he only throws you another smirk as you roll your eyes, attempting to go about your routine without staring at him too much.
you survived about ten minutes of leon grunting right behind you before you grew exasperated enough to drag your cold hands through the planes of his bare back.
"what the fuck, babe?" he asks incredulously. dropping down from his pull-up bar to face you, arms crossed over his chest. leon isn't actually mad, you both know that, because there's a teasing smirk on his face as you huff an annoyed breath, turning on your heel and returning to your spot at the counter.
he rolls his eyes, uncrossing his arms and crossing the room with only a few strides. you eventually find yourself caged in between his arms, leon's breath fanning your ear as he murmurs, "thought you were enjoying the show."
"who even said i was watching you?" you counter.
"never said i was the show, now did i, sweetheart?"
leon knows he's got you when the tips of your ears flush a cute shade of pink, and you stutter out a denial. another chuckle escapes him, one steady arm wrapping around your waist to end your plans of escaping his corner. "now, where do you think you're going?" he asks, his voice rumbling into your ear as his head drops to your shoulder, pressing featherlight kisses down to your forearm.
"fuckin' creep," you glare at his reflection in the mirror.
"your fuckin' creep, sweetheart."
all works are property of @kairennedy do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or feed into ai!
Chapter Summary: After wasting away the days and nights rejecting any kind of food or water given by your captors, you receive two new roommates in this grimy basement. One of them recognizes you, the other being your key to victory.
Series Masterlist. β Warnings: mentions of being chained up, not eating nor drinking properly, homesickness, one graphic death description, and one suggestive comment at the end.
Shoot me an ask or comment if you'd want to be added to the taglist! β read on A03 here
The slimy sewer waters that have pooled around your feet have fully soaked your shoes and socks, making you grimace at the sound whenever you stand. Sweat from trying to break free made your shirt cling to your chest, leaving you yearning for a nice, cold shower. If you were dropped in a lake, you wouldn't complain. Actually, you think you'd prefer being dropped into this village's lake. Preferably unconscious so you won't have to feel the pain of being fish food.
Not as productive as you would have expected from your very own isekai experience, but hey, at least you didn't die five minutes in.
"I've survived two years," you remind yourself. "What's a few more days?"
This wasn't about learning to fight back β it is in your priority list, though β but to wait. When you played these games, you always remained hesitant to pull the trigger, opting to sneak around and use up every knife in your arsenal. You were not made for loud headshots, nor fancy kicks β you don't think you can even pull your leg higher than a few meters.
You frown at the thought. You didn't want to rely on him for everything, but if you wanted to make it out of here alive and in one piece, sticking close to someone with his level of experience was the way to go.
Still. It leaves a bitter, heavy taste on your tongue at the idea of using him.
He was more than just a shield, you know that.
You look down at your restrained wrists again, dirty fingers tracing along the harsh, red lines of where the metal meets your skin. It's heavy, but not as quite as the feeling of homesickness. Your frown deepens further as the heavy realization sinks in.
"There's no going back."
You never did have that choice from the start. But that stubborn, hopeful part of you still wanted to believe it. With a heavy sigh, you slowly stand and blatantly ignore the little puddles sloshing around your feet in the process, and make your way to that conveniently placed hook in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you lodge the chain connecting the metal rings around your wrists and begin tugging.
You grunt, the sting immediate as you continue to pull, pull, and pull.
The metal cries out, the kind that has you wincing as if someone had just dragged a fork down a chalkboard. But the metal is as stubborn as you β it would not budge. Not when sweat builds up on your forehead, or when you see your flesh turn a raw pink, blood threatening to burst free, or when footsteps begin to echo right outside.
"What the fuβ" you're cut off when something, or rather, someone's arms tug you back in one swift motion. When you look down, you physically feel the color drain from your face when you realize his palm practically covers your entire stomach. You try to even out your breathing, calm your erratic heart, but the heavy weight guiding you back to where the nail remains wedged in the ground has you pliant.
Grumbling followed, then sluggish and inconsistent footsteps. Through the hair obscuring your eyes, you see them β and you feel just a little bit of hope flourish in your chest.
A village ganado is dragging two men by the wrists, his free hand holding a small axe, his eyes fixed on you. It grumbles, all incoherent and in a foreign language.
Honestly, if you knew you'd be those isekai protagonists you read about at 2 a.m., you'd put in more effort into your high school Spanish class.
"Stay," the man behind you whispers, his voice and breath warming your ears as he steps away. You can only stare at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as he casually steps over Leon Kennedy's unconscious body. You think he huffs a small laugh at your reaction. If you didn't know anything, you'd think you were growing on him. But having a cult lunatic as an admirer isn't exactly ideal, so you scratch that idea. Instead, you let your gaze fall to the steady rise and fall of their chests.
You don't even realize how your shoulders have relaxed, or how the edges of your eyes have begun to sting from unshed tears.
Only when they're fully out of view do you finally let yourself relax. Knees buckling and throat threatening to unload what little food you have in your system.
This is real. You're here in this rundown, and very cult-shaped village in Spain. Further away from home, from the safety of the little normalcy you've indulged in. When you slump your back against the creaky wooden walls, eyes filled with misplaced hope in your new unconscious roommates, you think to yourself, "Two years is too short."
You look up to the ceiling, watching the light sway in a dazed trance.
"For someone who wants to leave, I sure as hell can't get enough of it."
You don't recall ever falling asleep. Which should worry you, in all honesty. You have always prided yourself on being able to remember things well, but right now, your memory is slipping through imaginary cracks.
You brush it off. It's not really every day you get knocked out twice in your own home by a stranger and then kidnapped into another country. Not a very normative experience for someone your age, but hey, your grandkids will be having a field day when it's your turn to tell stories. Taken, you manage to get out of here alive, and not being too traumatized that you won't turn into a recluse.
After a few minutes of getting your bearings, counting how many times the light has flickered β something you've grown familiar with after days of not being able to do anything β your eyes sweep over the room before settling on your new companions.
Bound by the wrists like you, but they're back-to-back. Instead of being restricted by a nail hammered to the crust of the Earth, a pulley is above their heads. You feel your heart flutter at the thought of what will happen next. Actually, you almost, almost, feel the drool pooling at the edge of your lips as your eyes stare at the veins going up his arm, the way his sleeve hugs the meat of his bicep, andβ
JINGLE.
You're snapped out of your blatant thirsting at the sound ofβ¦ keys? With furrowed brows, you carefully stand up, stepping over the new plate of food β placed a little closer to you this time β and poking your head to see the entryway. For a while, you slowly start to convince yourself that you have lost your mind for a second time since you've got here, when your eyes can only see darkness. But there's a shift. A purple kind of shift as a man with a mask and a heavy bag suddenly passes through the other side.
"Hey!"
You didn't mean to call out to him and certainly not to further irritate your sore wrists, but your excitement got to you.
Realizing your mistake, you internally scold yourself over the rookie mistake, before your eyes landed on the hook near you again. Like an absolute idiot, you try to break the chain. Why? You don't even know why when your ticket home is still getting his beauty nap.
Wavy hair, a slight stubble decorating his chin, and a leather jacket thrown across his upper body. You should have smiled, felt that excitement and relief at meeting one of your favorite characters. But all you feel is dread. Unbidden curiosity and fear of its consequence when his eyes flare with recognition.
Luis Serra knows you from somewhere. And your brain finally decides to be useful because it reminds you that the 'you' of this world was a doctor. That mysterious man in the crumpled photo inside your desk could be him, just obscured by the bloodstain.
"Do Iβ¦ know you?" It's a stupid question, one you know deep down you shouldn't have to ask β because you do. Almost disgustingly so, now that you think about it. But having Luis Serra in front of you, staring with wide eyes and an agape mouth, sends a feeling of dread straight down to your stomach.
Luis, who finally comes back to his senses, shakes his head. Messy, curly hair swaying with the movement as his eyes fall to stare at his cuffed hands. "Pardon me, cariΓ±o. Mistook you for someone else."
He looks amused at your obvious dilemma of speaking more than you should. A chuckle leaves as he takes a tentative, experimental tug on the chains wrapped around his wrist. A grunt leaves him when he finally realizes who he's chained to.
"You shouldn't do that," you warn with furrowed brows.
"I think I've got it, cariΓ±o."
"What the hell does that even mean?"
"You mean 'cariΓ±o'?" Luis asks, a little baffled, mostly enjoying how you're shuffling your feet in restlessness. "I thought everyone took Spanish in high school?"
"Never said I paid attention."
"Shame then."
"You really shouldn't do thatβ"
"Relax, tesoro,β"
"Don't make the nicknames a habit."
"β I've got it handled."
You can only begin to imagine what expression you're wearing. All you know is that it must be hilarious if Luis is casually pulling at the constraints binding him to a federal agent that could kick him into the afterlife. You try to dissuade him from doing anything more, like elbowing the said federal agent behind him like a traveler poking a sleeping lion.
As he tries to get up and kick him awake, you muster all your strength to swing the length of the chain binding you at his feet, miraculously tripping him. You feel a little bad when Lui's chin makes contact with the ground, a flurry of Spanish curses following suit as a hand cradles his jaw. When his eyes land on you, your hands are intertwined with each other in a white-knuckled grip.
"Geez, you should warn me when you decide to swing that thing around."
"And you should learn to heed warnings," ironic, that it's coming from you. But that's unimportant. "There's a saying about not poking a sleeping lion. Or whatever."
Luis grins. "I think you mean 'poking a sleeping bear', tesoro."
You wanted to bury your face in the heart of your palms at your obvious fumble. It was a bear, it's always been a bear. So why the fuck did you say lion?
"Okay, fine, you got me there. But the idea is still the same."
"You know the Yanqui?"
You pause too long.
"β¦ No."
"Convincing."
"Shut up."
Surprisingly, a moment of silence lapsed. You give up trying to break free from using the hook at your disposal, instead choosing to plop yourself down in front of Luis. Your knees tucked to your chest with your chin resting on top of them. Luis continues to watch you with that strange, amused, familiar tint in his eyes.
You wet your lips, and the question of 'how do you know me?' sits heavily on the tip of your tongue. But the consequences of that question feel heavier than the lack of waking up Leon is doing. You know Luis knows that you've been anxiously staring at the entryway since he woke up.
Tearing your eyes away from him, you heave out a sigh and shut them closed. You think the light flickers again when Luis calls for you.
Briefly, you raise your head. "What is it?"
This time, it's he who hesitates.
"What brings you here, cariΓ±o? Not exactly a popular tourist spot."
"β¦ I don't know."
The answer comes out more honest than you cared to admit. Maybe a little too vulnerable, granted, you have just met the guy. But his eyes β when you see them again β it is so soothing. The kind of expression you'd find on the face of your favorite aunt or uncle, who always got you out of trouble and gave you extra candy.
"It'll be okay," he reassures you, a finger tapping at the edge of your muddy and soaked shoe. "When our sleeping beauty wakes up, I'll find a way for us to get out."
You smile and let the comfort settle in your chest like a weighted blanket during a stormy night.
Another moment of silence passes before it's you who's questioning him.
"And you? What are you doing here?"
A loopsided grin, but more so a grimace than his usual confident, laid-back smiles.
"Let's just say⦠unfinished business."
"The same one in the cheesy movies?" You ask with a raised brow, the tension leaving your body enough to fully ease into playful banter.
Luis brightens at your jab. "Oh tesoro, it is way better than the movies."
"Or worse," you shrug. "For all I know, you could be a spy working for some mysterious man out to kill me."
"Trust me, if I were, the job would be done. Easy peasy."
"Scary."
"Very scary, cariΓ±o."
You laugh. The sound is airy and free. Just like the feeling of sneaking into the breakrooms at work when there's been too many pastry deliveries, and you're eating a bunch of muffins with Mason and laughing at Evan.
Hours pass in a blur. The kind where the environment becomes a distant echo as you ride on a family vehicle, destination unknown, but the comfort of a familial presence is grounding.
It's easy to get lost in conversation with Luis. You've lost count of how many times you've let out a chuckle or a breathy laugh. You've moved a little closer, too. No longer tucked in your own shell, and instead, you've allowed yourself a little physical connection by letting Luis be at arm's length. Not necessarily a big change, but it's a step in the right direction.
"Pardon me for asking, cariΓ±o," Luis starts. His fingers are tapping a steady rhythm on your ankle. "But may I ask a question?"
You tilt your head curiously. "You've been doing that the entire time."
"Being a great company?"
"Asking questions."
"Tough crowd."
Another chuckle escapes you. You think the only reason you're allowing such instances to happen is to see Luis smile. It's a pretty thing after all. A little crooked, oozing that casual confidence he always carries himself with, but it's softer, maybe a little fond when your nose crinkles as you suppress your giggles.
A roll of your eyes, "Are you going to ask or not?"
Luis hums. "I was getting to that. So you seeβ"
The shifting of chains can be heard behind Luis, and it's embarrassing how your attention is immediately captured.
"Oh, what the fuck?"
Oh dear.
Oh, this was very bad for you.
Luis cocks an amused brow at you, and you only throw him a glare, kicking your feet in his direction and shushing him. It isn't very effective, not when you feel the flush on your cheeks and how your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.
Calm the fuck down, you internally scold yourself.
"Hey, stop it!" comes Luis's complaint, his arms raised above his head as you follow the faint outline of blonde hair. He shifts, hurrying to stand, and his eyes strain above him. "Oi, yanqui, got a name?"
"Leon." The reply is curt, straight to the point. You're surprised he hasn't noticed you yet, with how intensely you're staring at him.
Was he always this tall, or is it because you're just sitting down?
"Quiet type, eh? I'm Luis Serra, andβ" Luis pauses, his eyes eventually finding yours β still very much strained on how Leon is quietly tugging himself free.
For some reason, Luis doesn't say your name like you half-expected him to.
Luis only lets out a breathy chuckle, "Guess we all picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?" He doesn't grace him with a reply; instead, he moves further back into the room and pulls. "Hey, stop it. You move, I move⦠and I'm beat enough as is."
A snort escapes you. When Luis cranes his neck to glare at you, you flash him a cheeky smile, mouthing 'I told you'. He only rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. Luis eventually turns his attention back to Leon, leaving you to anxiously shift your attention to the entryway, fingers scratching your wrists raw.
Luis fills the room with his questions, Leon only replies with grunts and groans, the creaking of the pulley above their heads singing with him as he pulls and pulls. And with each tug, your eyes wander β to his gloved hands, the harness hugging his chest, the way his brows are set deeper when Luis finally asks the million-dollar question.
"Maybe⦠some missing señorita?"
It should be illegal when Leon turns to stare Luis down, the motion slows down in your eyes, giving you the perfect view of his set jaw, or the way his eyes finally grow interested, albeit it's a little rough and pointed.
"A young girl?" One strong tug, and Luis is dragged towards him. And it takes every fibre in your bones not to let out a low whistle and a murmured wish to swap places with the Spaniard. "Talk. Now." It should also be illegal how weak in the knees you are β you're not even standing!
You don't dwell on your borderline inappropriate thoughts of the federal agent when the lights begin to flicker. This time, there's a tingling sensation that starts with the tips of your fingers, before it shoots down to your toes. The feeling almost sends you toppling down if you had not used the wall for support.
"Holy shit, what is happening?" you ask yourself, clutching at your head as ringing resounds. The world tilts to the left before abruptly tilting to the right like an unsure camera. You think there are footsteps right in front of you, and you see it.
Hazy, but a clear amalgamation of colors before everything snaps into place.
POP.
The pulley is ripped out of the ceiling in line with the light bulb bursting. Luis falls on his back, and Leon sees it β or, well, sees you. There's no recognition, much to your delight, just bewilderment as your lips move faster than your brain can catch up, nearly tripping over your own feet when an unwanted guest makes an appearance.
"Luis!" The words tumble out again, this time, like a blaring siren sound. You catch Leon's eyes in that brief moment again, and for once, for the first time in two years, you have been stuck in this world with no means of going back homeβyou feel relief flood through you.
It's short-lived, though, when you're ducking under a zombie haphazardly trying to butcher you with a rusty axe.
Leon pulls the chains fast enough for Luis to be pulled away from the line of fire. Gathering the metal restrictions, Leon swings it in the ganado's direction, hitting it directly in the face. You, on the other hand, have frantically gotten over your little episode, using every curse word in your personal dictionary when the nail continues to budge, but not enough.
"Come on, come on, come on, you lousy piece ofβ"
Dread fills you as flickers of possibilities flash before your eyes. You failing to get out and taking an axe to the face, Luis not rolling out of the way fast enough and having his throat cut open, and Leonβ
SNAP.
Without a moment's hesitation, the moment the nail on the ground is finally freed, you mimic Leon's movements and wrap the chain binding your wrists around the ganado's foot, limiting its area of cover as it swings its axe around aimlessly.
"Shitβ¦!" You curse under your breath, sweaty palms struggling to keep a firm grip on the metal chains to limit the ganado's movement. Warmth spills over your backside as an extra pair of hands enclose your own.
"Easy, cariΓ±o, that's no way to speak," Luis scolds with a playful smile.
If you weren't so adamant in not having your face axed off, you'd elbow him in the stomach, your current position giving you a hefty advantage. But you refrain β partly too scared your grip will falter, mostly too distracted when Leon brings his knee up before slamming it down on the ground with another grunt.
The ganado's movements finally cease, and you're left standing there, your fingers slowly losing their grip on the metal as you stare at Leon's hunched figure with your mouth probably hanging open. Observing with great intensity how his shoulders heave up and down, or when he turns to face you, his eyes practically freeze you on the spot as if Medusa had descended and granted him a blessing to turn you into stone.
You hold his gaze for a good few seconds or so, but you eventually break it off when the sound of a clink is heard behind you.
Luis only throws you an apologetic grin, twirling the key to your restraints on one finger before letting out a small huff of breath.
"Hey!"
"Hey, we're not done here!"
He looks between you two. His gaze lingered just a few more seconds on your figure β brows furrowed, a deep frown on your lips, and your chest trying to take in as much air as it can. "Later, amigo, cariΓ±o!" And on cue, he throws the key right between your feet with a low whistle.
You follow Luis's figure until you can't make out the outline of him anymore. With a vexed sigh, you kneel to pick up the key. A small sigh of relief escapes you when it slots perfectly, and your wrists are finally freed with a soft clink.
When you turn around, you don't know what possessed you to take a step too close into Leon's space, a hand open, waiting for him to take it as the key sits comfortably between your fingers. It's only when he takes a step back that you realize your rookie mistake.
You meet his eyes again β stormy, and furrowed β as they stray towards the key in your grasp. You swallowed hard before offering it to him. "Here," you say, voice a little soft and parched, as you take a generous amount of steps back with a small smile.
You turn around before he can question you, already checking the entryway and kicking the tray of "food" with the tip of your boots. You grimace at the feeling of water pooling in between your toes and the disgusting squelching sounds your socks made. When you throw a discreet glance at Leon, he has two fingers pressed into his ear. You tear your gaze away as quickly as it had settled on his figure to inspect the broken glass from the lightbulb.
You kneel, about to take a piece of it in your hands, when Leon speaks.
"Hey, that's dangerous."
"I think I've handled worse."
He raises a brow at you, "Like?"
You motion at the corpse at his feet.
A huff of breath that you think is a chuckle escapes him. Much to your surprise, he steps over said corpse, offering you a hand. "Come on. Let's get outta here," Leon motions his head to the entryway.
You can only muster a nod as you take his hand in yours, afraid of how you know your voice will break and stutter if you try to reply. And oh dear god, it's so much bigger than yours. You feel lightheaded when he singlehandedly hauls you up in one fell swoop. And you don't like how you miss his warmth β not even his actual warmth, it was probably the sweat and grime on the heart of his glove β when his hand slips out of yours.
When he moves forward, and you stay rooted in our sport, he asks, "You okay?"
"β¦ I need a shower."
Not exactly what you had in mind; you thought maybe "like a million bucks!" or something along those lines would be more⦠charming. But hey, at least your honesty lands you a grunt and another reply that isn't just one sentence.
"Yeah? Can't blame you. Probably need one, too."
Honesty really is the best policy.
"You offering?"
"What?"
"Nothing!"
Okay, maybe a little too honest.
Author's notes. admittedly... this is a week late due to me preparing for finals, so my apologies for the wait TT but hooray! luis and leon are finally here!! also, if your name on the taglist is bolded, it means i cannot tag you! you may want to change your visibility settings!!
Chapter Summary: After wasting away the days and nights rejecting any kind of food or water given by your captors, you receive two new roommates in this grimy basement. One of them recognizes you, the other being your key to victory.
Series Masterlist. β Warnings: mentions of being chained up, not eating nor drinking properly, homesickness, one graphic death description, and one suggestive comment at the end.
Shoot me an ask or comment if you'd want to be added to the taglist! β read on A03 here
The slimy sewer waters that have pooled around your feet have fully soaked your shoes and socks, making you grimace at the sound whenever you stand. Sweat from trying to break free made your shirt cling to your chest, leaving you yearning for a nice, cold shower. If you were dropped in a lake, you wouldn't complain. Actually, you think you'd prefer being dropped into this village's lake. Preferably unconscious so you won't have to feel the pain of being fish food.
Not as productive as you would have expected from your very own isekai experience, but hey, at least you didn't die five minutes in.
"I've survived two years," you remind yourself. "What's a few more days?"
This wasn't about learning to fight back β it is in your priority list, though β but to wait. When you played these games, you always remained hesitant to pull the trigger, opting to sneak around and use up every knife in your arsenal. You were not made for loud headshots, nor fancy kicks β you don't think you can even pull your leg higher than a few meters.
You frown at the thought. You didn't want to rely on him for everything, but if you wanted to make it out of here alive and in one piece, sticking close to someone with his level of experience was the way to go.
Still. It leaves a bitter, heavy taste on your tongue at the idea of using him.
He was more than just a shield, you know that.
You look down at your restrained wrists again, dirty fingers tracing along the harsh, red lines of where the metal meets your skin. It's heavy, but not as quite as the feeling of homesickness. Your frown deepens further as the heavy realization sinks in.
"There's no going back."
You never did have that choice from the start. But that stubborn, hopeful part of you still wanted to believe it. With a heavy sigh, you slowly stand and blatantly ignore the little puddles sloshing around your feet in the process, and make your way to that conveniently placed hook in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you lodge the chain connecting the metal rings around your wrists and begin tugging.
You grunt, the sting immediate as you continue to pull, pull, and pull.
The metal cries out, the kind that has you wincing as if someone had just dragged a fork down a chalkboard. But the metal is as stubborn as you β it would not budge. Not when sweat builds up on your forehead, or when you see your flesh turn a raw pink, blood threatening to burst free, or when footsteps begin to echo right outside.
"What the fuβ" you're cut off when something, or rather, someone's arms tug you back in one swift motion. When you look down, you physically feel the color drain from your face when you realize his palm practically covers your entire stomach. You try to even out your breathing, calm your erratic heart, but the heavy weight guiding you back to where the nail remains wedged in the ground has you pliant.
Grumbling followed, then sluggish and inconsistent footsteps. Through the hair obscuring your eyes, you see them β and you feel just a little bit of hope flourish in your chest.
A village ganado is dragging two men by the wrists, his free hand holding a small axe, his eyes fixed on you. It grumbles, all incoherent and in a foreign language.
Honestly, if you knew you'd be those isekai protagonists you read about at 2 a.m., you'd put in more effort into your high school Spanish class.
"Stay," the man behind you whispers, his voice and breath warming your ears as he steps away. You can only stare at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as he casually steps over Leon Kennedy's unconscious body. You think he huffs a small laugh at your reaction. If you didn't know anything, you'd think you were growing on him. But having a cult lunatic as an admirer isn't exactly ideal, so you scratch that idea. Instead, you let your gaze fall to the steady rise and fall of their chests.
You don't even realize how your shoulders have relaxed, or how the edges of your eyes have begun to sting from unshed tears.
Only when they're fully out of view do you finally let yourself relax. Knees buckling and throat threatening to unload what little food you have in your system.
This is real. You're here in this rundown, and very cult-shaped village in Spain. Further away from home, from the safety of the little normalcy you've indulged in. When you slump your back against the creaky wooden walls, eyes filled with misplaced hope in your new unconscious roommates, you think to yourself, "Two years is too short."
You look up to the ceiling, watching the light sway in a dazed trance.
"For someone who wants to leave, I sure as hell can't get enough of it."
You don't recall ever falling asleep. Which should worry you, in all honesty. You have always prided yourself on being able to remember things well, but right now, your memory is slipping through imaginary cracks.
You brush it off. It's not really every day you get knocked out twice in your own home by a stranger and then kidnapped into another country. Not a very normative experience for someone your age, but hey, your grandkids will be having a field day when it's your turn to tell stories. Taken, you manage to get out of here alive, and not being too traumatized that you won't turn into a recluse.
After a few minutes of getting your bearings, counting how many times the light has flickered β something you've grown familiar with after days of not being able to do anything β your eyes sweep over the room before settling on your new companions.
Bound by the wrists like you, but they're back-to-back. Instead of being restricted by a nail hammered to the crust of the Earth, a pulley is above their heads. You feel your heart flutter at the thought of what will happen next. Actually, you almost, almost, feel the drool pooling at the edge of your lips as your eyes stare at the veins going up his arm, the way his sleeve hugs the meat of his bicep, andβ
JINGLE.
You're snapped out of your blatant thirsting at the sound ofβ¦ keys? With furrowed brows, you carefully stand up, stepping over the new plate of food β placed a little closer to you this time β and poking your head to see the entryway. For a while, you slowly start to convince yourself that you have lost your mind for a second time since you've got here, when your eyes can only see darkness. But there's a shift. A purple kind of shift as a man with a mask and a heavy bag suddenly passes through the other side.
"Hey!"
You didn't mean to call out to him and certainly not to further irritate your sore wrists, but your excitement got to you.
Realizing your mistake, you internally scold yourself over the rookie mistake, before your eyes landed on the hook near you again. Like an absolute idiot, you try to break the chain. Why? You don't even know why when your ticket home is still getting his beauty nap.
Wavy hair, a slight stubble decorating his chin, and a leather jacket thrown across his upper body. You should have smiled, felt that excitement and relief at meeting one of your favorite characters. But all you feel is dread. Unbidden curiosity and fear of its consequence when his eyes flare with recognition.
Luis Serra knows you from somewhere. And your brain finally decides to be useful because it reminds you that the 'you' of this world was a doctor. That mysterious man in the crumpled photo inside your desk could be him, just obscured by the bloodstain.
"Do Iβ¦ know you?" It's a stupid question, one you know deep down you shouldn't have to ask β because you do. Almost disgustingly so, now that you think about it. But having Luis Serra in front of you, staring with wide eyes and an agape mouth, sends a feeling of dread straight down to your stomach.
Luis, who finally comes back to his senses, shakes his head. Messy, curly hair swaying with the movement as his eyes fall to stare at his cuffed hands. "Pardon me, cariΓ±o. Mistook you for someone else."
He looks amused at your obvious dilemma of speaking more than you should. A chuckle leaves as he takes a tentative, experimental tug on the chains wrapped around his wrist. A grunt leaves him when he finally realizes who he's chained to.
"You shouldn't do that," you warn with furrowed brows.
"I think I've got it, cariΓ±o."
"What the hell does that even mean?"
"You mean 'cariΓ±o'?" Luis asks, a little baffled, mostly enjoying how you're shuffling your feet in restlessness. "I thought everyone took Spanish in high school?"
"Never said I paid attention."
"Shame then."
"You really shouldn't do thatβ"
"Relax, tesoro,β"
"Don't make the nicknames a habit."
"β I've got it handled."
You can only begin to imagine what expression you're wearing. All you know is that it must be hilarious if Luis is casually pulling at the constraints binding him to a federal agent that could kick him into the afterlife. You try to dissuade him from doing anything more, like elbowing the said federal agent behind him like a traveler poking a sleeping lion.
As he tries to get up and kick him awake, you muster all your strength to swing the length of the chain binding you at his feet, miraculously tripping him. You feel a little bad when Lui's chin makes contact with the ground, a flurry of Spanish curses following suit as a hand cradles his jaw. When his eyes land on you, your hands are intertwined with each other in a white-knuckled grip.
"Geez, you should warn me when you decide to swing that thing around."
"And you should learn to heed warnings," ironic, that it's coming from you. But that's unimportant. "There's a saying about not poking a sleeping lion. Or whatever."
Luis grins. "I think you mean 'poking a sleeping bear', tesoro."
You wanted to bury your face in the heart of your palms at your obvious fumble. It was a bear, it's always been a bear. So why the fuck did you say lion?
"Okay, fine, you got me there. But the idea is still the same."
"You know the Yanqui?"
You pause too long.
"β¦ No."
"Convincing."
"Shut up."
Surprisingly, a moment of silence lapsed. You give up trying to break free from using the hook at your disposal, instead choosing to plop yourself down in front of Luis. Your knees tucked to your chest with your chin resting on top of them. Luis continues to watch you with that strange, amused, familiar tint in his eyes.
You wet your lips, and the question of 'how do you know me?' sits heavily on the tip of your tongue. But the consequences of that question feel heavier than the lack of waking up Leon is doing. You know Luis knows that you've been anxiously staring at the entryway since he woke up.
Tearing your eyes away from him, you heave out a sigh and shut them closed. You think the light flickers again when Luis calls for you.
Briefly, you raise your head. "What is it?"
This time, it's he who hesitates.
"What brings you here, cariΓ±o? Not exactly a popular tourist spot."
"β¦ I don't know."
The answer comes out more honest than you cared to admit. Maybe a little too vulnerable, granted, you have just met the guy. But his eyes β when you see them again β it is so soothing. The kind of expression you'd find on the face of your favorite aunt or uncle, who always got you out of trouble and gave you extra candy.
"It'll be okay," he reassures you, a finger tapping at the edge of your muddy and soaked shoe. "When our sleeping beauty wakes up, I'll find a way for us to get out."
You smile and let the comfort settle in your chest like a weighted blanket during a stormy night.
Another moment of silence passes before it's you who's questioning him.
"And you? What are you doing here?"
A loopsided grin, but more so a grimace than his usual confident, laid-back smiles.
"Let's just say⦠unfinished business."
"The same one in the cheesy movies?" You ask with a raised brow, the tension leaving your body enough to fully ease into playful banter.
Luis brightens at your jab. "Oh tesoro, it is way better than the movies."
"Or worse," you shrug. "For all I know, you could be a spy working for some mysterious man out to kill me."
"Trust me, if I were, the job would be done. Easy peasy."
"Scary."
"Very scary, cariΓ±o."
You laugh. The sound is airy and free. Just like the feeling of sneaking into the breakrooms at work when there's been too many pastry deliveries, and you're eating a bunch of muffins with Mason and laughing at Evan.
Hours pass in a blur. The kind where the environment becomes a distant echo as you ride on a family vehicle, destination unknown, but the comfort of a familial presence is grounding.
It's easy to get lost in conversation with Luis. You've lost count of how many times you've let out a chuckle or a breathy laugh. You've moved a little closer, too. No longer tucked in your own shell, and instead, you've allowed yourself a little physical connection by letting Luis be at arm's length. Not necessarily a big change, but it's a step in the right direction.
"Pardon me for asking, cariΓ±o," Luis starts. His fingers are tapping a steady rhythm on your ankle. "But may I ask a question?"
You tilt your head curiously. "You've been doing that the entire time."
"Being a great company?"
"Asking questions."
"Tough crowd."
Another chuckle escapes you. You think the only reason you're allowing such instances to happen is to see Luis smile. It's a pretty thing after all. A little crooked, oozing that casual confidence he always carries himself with, but it's softer, maybe a little fond when your nose crinkles as you suppress your giggles.
A roll of your eyes, "Are you going to ask or not?"
Luis hums. "I was getting to that. So you seeβ"
The shifting of chains can be heard behind Luis, and it's embarrassing how your attention is immediately captured.
"Oh, what the fuck?"
Oh dear.
Oh, this was very bad for you.
Luis cocks an amused brow at you, and you only throw him a glare, kicking your feet in his direction and shushing him. It isn't very effective, not when you feel the flush on your cheeks and how your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.
Calm the fuck down, you internally scold yourself.
"Hey, stop it!" comes Luis's complaint, his arms raised above his head as you follow the faint outline of blonde hair. He shifts, hurrying to stand, and his eyes strain above him. "Oi, yanqui, got a name?"
"Leon." The reply is curt, straight to the point. You're surprised he hasn't noticed you yet, with how intensely you're staring at him.
Was he always this tall, or is it because you're just sitting down?
"Quiet type, eh? I'm Luis Serra, andβ" Luis pauses, his eyes eventually finding yours β still very much strained on how Leon is quietly tugging himself free.
For some reason, Luis doesn't say your name like you half-expected him to.
Luis only lets out a breathy chuckle, "Guess we all picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?" He doesn't grace him with a reply; instead, he moves further back into the room and pulls. "Hey, stop it. You move, I move⦠and I'm beat enough as is."
A snort escapes you. When Luis cranes his neck to glare at you, you flash him a cheeky smile, mouthing 'I told you'. He only rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. Luis eventually turns his attention back to Leon, leaving you to anxiously shift your attention to the entryway, fingers scratching your wrists raw.
Luis fills the room with his questions, Leon only replies with grunts and groans, the creaking of the pulley above their heads singing with him as he pulls and pulls. And with each tug, your eyes wander β to his gloved hands, the harness hugging his chest, the way his brows are set deeper when Luis finally asks the million-dollar question.
"Maybe⦠some missing señorita?"
It should be illegal when Leon turns to stare Luis down, the motion slows down in your eyes, giving you the perfect view of his set jaw, or the way his eyes finally grow interested, albeit it's a little rough and pointed.
"A young girl?" One strong tug, and Luis is dragged towards him. And it takes every fibre in your bones not to let out a low whistle and a murmured wish to swap places with the Spaniard. "Talk. Now." It should also be illegal how weak in the knees you are β you're not even standing!
You don't dwell on your borderline inappropriate thoughts of the federal agent when the lights begin to flicker. This time, there's a tingling sensation that starts with the tips of your fingers, before it shoots down to your toes. The feeling almost sends you toppling down if you had not used the wall for support.
"Holy shit, what is happening?" you ask yourself, clutching at your head as ringing resounds. The world tilts to the left before abruptly tilting to the right like an unsure camera. You think there are footsteps right in front of you, and you see it.
Hazy, but a clear amalgamation of colors before everything snaps into place.
POP.
The pulley is ripped out of the ceiling in line with the light bulb bursting. Luis falls on his back, and Leon sees it β or, well, sees you. There's no recognition, much to your delight, just bewilderment as your lips move faster than your brain can catch up, nearly tripping over your own feet when an unwanted guest makes an appearance.
"Luis!" The words tumble out again, this time, like a blaring siren sound. You catch Leon's eyes in that brief moment again, and for once, for the first time in two years, you have been stuck in this world with no means of going back homeβyou feel relief flood through you.
It's short-lived, though, when you're ducking under a zombie haphazardly trying to butcher you with a rusty axe.
Leon pulls the chains fast enough for Luis to be pulled away from the line of fire. Gathering the metal restrictions, Leon swings it in the ganado's direction, hitting it directly in the face. You, on the other hand, have frantically gotten over your little episode, using every curse word in your personal dictionary when the nail continues to budge, but not enough.
"Come on, come on, come on, you lousy piece ofβ"
Dread fills you as flickers of possibilities flash before your eyes. You failing to get out and taking an axe to the face, Luis not rolling out of the way fast enough and having his throat cut open, and Leonβ
SNAP.
Without a moment's hesitation, the moment the nail on the ground is finally freed, you mimic Leon's movements and wrap the chain binding your wrists around the ganado's foot, limiting its area of cover as it swings its axe around aimlessly.
"Shitβ¦!" You curse under your breath, sweaty palms struggling to keep a firm grip on the metal chains to limit the ganado's movement. Warmth spills over your backside as an extra pair of hands enclose your own.
"Easy, cariΓ±o, that's no way to speak," Luis scolds with a playful smile.
If you weren't so adamant in not having your face axed off, you'd elbow him in the stomach, your current position giving you a hefty advantage. But you refrain β partly too scared your grip will falter, mostly too distracted when Leon brings his knee up before slamming it down on the ground with another grunt.
The ganado's movements finally cease, and you're left standing there, your fingers slowly losing their grip on the metal as you stare at Leon's hunched figure with your mouth probably hanging open. Observing with great intensity how his shoulders heave up and down, or when he turns to face you, his eyes practically freeze you on the spot as if Medusa had descended and granted him a blessing to turn you into stone.
You hold his gaze for a good few seconds or so, but you eventually break it off when the sound of a clink is heard behind you.
Luis only throws you an apologetic grin, twirling the key to your restraints on one finger before letting out a small huff of breath.
"Hey!"
"Hey, we're not done here!"
He looks between you two. His gaze lingered just a few more seconds on your figure β brows furrowed, a deep frown on your lips, and your chest trying to take in as much air as it can. "Later, amigo, cariΓ±o!" And on cue, he throws the key right between your feet with a low whistle.
You follow Luis's figure until you can't make out the outline of him anymore. With a vexed sigh, you kneel to pick up the key. A small sigh of relief escapes you when it slots perfectly, and your wrists are finally freed with a soft clink.
When you turn around, you don't know what possessed you to take a step too close into Leon's space, a hand open, waiting for him to take it as the key sits comfortably between your fingers. It's only when he takes a step back that you realize your rookie mistake.
You meet his eyes again β stormy, and furrowed β as they stray towards the key in your grasp. You swallowed hard before offering it to him. "Here," you say, voice a little soft and parched, as you take a generous amount of steps back with a small smile.
You turn around before he can question you, already checking the entryway and kicking the tray of "food" with the tip of your boots. You grimace at the feeling of water pooling in between your toes and the disgusting squelching sounds your socks made. When you throw a discreet glance at Leon, he has two fingers pressed into his ear. You tear your gaze away as quickly as it had settled on his figure to inspect the broken glass from the lightbulb.
You kneel, about to take a piece of it in your hands, when Leon speaks.
"Hey, that's dangerous."
"I think I've handled worse."
He raises a brow at you, "Like?"
You motion at the corpse at his feet.
A huff of breath that you think is a chuckle escapes him. Much to your surprise, he steps over said corpse, offering you a hand. "Come on. Let's get outta here," Leon motions his head to the entryway.
You can only muster a nod as you take his hand in yours, afraid of how you know your voice will break and stutter if you try to reply. And oh dear god, it's so much bigger than yours. You feel lightheaded when he singlehandedly hauls you up in one fell swoop. And you don't like how you miss his warmth β not even his actual warmth, it was probably the sweat and grime on the heart of his glove β when his hand slips out of yours.
When he moves forward, and you stay rooted in our sport, he asks, "You okay?"
"β¦ I need a shower."
Not exactly what you had in mind; you thought maybe "like a million bucks!" or something along those lines would be more⦠charming. But hey, at least your honesty lands you a grunt and another reply that isn't just one sentence.
"Yeah? Can't blame you. Probably need one, too."
Honesty really is the best policy.
"You offering?"
"What?"
"Nothing!"
Okay, maybe a little too honest.
Author's notes. admittedly... this is a week late due to me preparing for finals, so my apologies for the wait TT but hooray! luis and leon are finally here!! also, if your name on the taglist is bolded, it means i cannot tag you! you may want to change your visibility settings!!
Chapter Summary: After wasting away the days and nights rejecting any kind of food or water given by your captors, you receive two new roommates in this grimy basement. One of them recognizes you, the other being your key to victory.
Series Masterlist. β Warnings: mentions of being chained up, not eating nor drinking properly, homesickness, one graphic death description, and one suggestive comment at the end.
Shoot me an ask or comment if you'd want to be added to the taglist! β read on A03 here
The slimy sewer waters that have pooled around your feet have fully soaked your shoes and socks, making you grimace at the sound whenever you stand. Sweat from trying to break free made your shirt cling to your chest, leaving you yearning for a nice, cold shower. If you were dropped in a lake, you wouldn't complain. Actually, you think you'd prefer being dropped into this village's lake. Preferably unconscious so you won't have to feel the pain of being fish food.
Not as productive as you would have expected from your very own isekai experience, but hey, at least you didn't die five minutes in.
"I've survived two years," you remind yourself. "What's a few more days?"
This wasn't about learning to fight back β it is in your priority list, though β but to wait. When you played these games, you always remained hesitant to pull the trigger, opting to sneak around and use up every knife in your arsenal. You were not made for loud headshots, nor fancy kicks β you don't think you can even pull your leg higher than a few meters.
You frown at the thought. You didn't want to rely on him for everything, but if you wanted to make it out of here alive and in one piece, sticking close to someone with his level of experience was the way to go.
Still. It leaves a bitter, heavy taste on your tongue at the idea of using him.
He was more than just a shield, you know that.
You look down at your restrained wrists again, dirty fingers tracing along the harsh, red lines of where the metal meets your skin. It's heavy, but not as quite as the feeling of homesickness. Your frown deepens further as the heavy realization sinks in.
"There's no going back."
You never did have that choice from the start. But that stubborn, hopeful part of you still wanted to believe it. With a heavy sigh, you slowly stand and blatantly ignore the little puddles sloshing around your feet in the process, and make your way to that conveniently placed hook in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you lodge the chain connecting the metal rings around your wrists and begin tugging.
You grunt, the sting immediate as you continue to pull, pull, and pull.
The metal cries out, the kind that has you wincing as if someone had just dragged a fork down a chalkboard. But the metal is as stubborn as you β it would not budge. Not when sweat builds up on your forehead, or when you see your flesh turn a raw pink, blood threatening to burst free, or when footsteps begin to echo right outside.
"What the fuβ" you're cut off when something, or rather, someone's arms tug you back in one swift motion. When you look down, you physically feel the color drain from your face when you realize his palm practically covers your entire stomach. You try to even out your breathing, calm your erratic heart, but the heavy weight guiding you back to where the nail remains wedged in the ground has you pliant.
Grumbling followed, then sluggish and inconsistent footsteps. Through the hair obscuring your eyes, you see them β and you feel just a little bit of hope flourish in your chest.
A village ganado is dragging two men by the wrists, his free hand holding a small axe, his eyes fixed on you. It grumbles, all incoherent and in a foreign language.
Honestly, if you knew you'd be those isekai protagonists you read about at 2 a.m., you'd put in more effort into your high school Spanish class.
"Stay," the man behind you whispers, his voice and breath warming your ears as he steps away. You can only stare at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as he casually steps over Leon Kennedy's unconscious body. You think he huffs a small laugh at your reaction. If you didn't know anything, you'd think you were growing on him. But having a cult lunatic as an admirer isn't exactly ideal, so you scratch that idea. Instead, you let your gaze fall to the steady rise and fall of their chests.
You don't even realize how your shoulders have relaxed, or how the edges of your eyes have begun to sting from unshed tears.
Only when they're fully out of view do you finally let yourself relax. Knees buckling and throat threatening to unload what little food you have in your system.
This is real. You're here in this rundown, and very cult-shaped village in Spain. Further away from home, from the safety of the little normalcy you've indulged in. When you slump your back against the creaky wooden walls, eyes filled with misplaced hope in your new unconscious roommates, you think to yourself, "Two years is too short."
You look up to the ceiling, watching the light sway in a dazed trance.
"For someone who wants to leave, I sure as hell can't get enough of it."
You don't recall ever falling asleep. Which should worry you, in all honesty. You have always prided yourself on being able to remember things well, but right now, your memory is slipping through imaginary cracks.
You brush it off. It's not really every day you get knocked out twice in your own home by a stranger and then kidnapped into another country. Not a very normative experience for someone your age, but hey, your grandkids will be having a field day when it's your turn to tell stories. Taken, you manage to get out of here alive, and not being too traumatized that you won't turn into a recluse.
After a few minutes of getting your bearings, counting how many times the light has flickered β something you've grown familiar with after days of not being able to do anything β your eyes sweep over the room before settling on your new companions.
Bound by the wrists like you, but they're back-to-back. Instead of being restricted by a nail hammered to the crust of the Earth, a pulley is above their heads. You feel your heart flutter at the thought of what will happen next. Actually, you almost, almost, feel the drool pooling at the edge of your lips as your eyes stare at the veins going up his arm, the way his sleeve hugs the meat of his bicep, andβ
JINGLE.
You're snapped out of your blatant thirsting at the sound ofβ¦ keys? With furrowed brows, you carefully stand up, stepping over the new plate of food β placed a little closer to you this time β and poking your head to see the entryway. For a while, you slowly start to convince yourself that you have lost your mind for a second time since you've got here, when your eyes can only see darkness. But there's a shift. A purple kind of shift as a man with a mask and a heavy bag suddenly passes through the other side.
"Hey!"
You didn't mean to call out to him and certainly not to further irritate your sore wrists, but your excitement got to you.
Realizing your mistake, you internally scold yourself over the rookie mistake, before your eyes landed on the hook near you again. Like an absolute idiot, you try to break the chain. Why? You don't even know why when your ticket home is still getting his beauty nap.
Wavy hair, a slight stubble decorating his chin, and a leather jacket thrown across his upper body. You should have smiled, felt that excitement and relief at meeting one of your favorite characters. But all you feel is dread. Unbidden curiosity and fear of its consequence when his eyes flare with recognition.
Luis Serra knows you from somewhere. And your brain finally decides to be useful because it reminds you that the 'you' of this world was a doctor. That mysterious man in the crumpled photo inside your desk could be him, just obscured by the bloodstain.
"Do Iβ¦ know you?" It's a stupid question, one you know deep down you shouldn't have to ask β because you do. Almost disgustingly so, now that you think about it. But having Luis Serra in front of you, staring with wide eyes and an agape mouth, sends a feeling of dread straight down to your stomach.
Luis, who finally comes back to his senses, shakes his head. Messy, curly hair swaying with the movement as his eyes fall to stare at his cuffed hands. "Pardon me, cariΓ±o. Mistook you for someone else."
He looks amused at your obvious dilemma of speaking more than you should. A chuckle leaves as he takes a tentative, experimental tug on the chains wrapped around his wrist. A grunt leaves him when he finally realizes who he's chained to.
"You shouldn't do that," you warn with furrowed brows.
"I think I've got it, cariΓ±o."
"What the hell does that even mean?"
"You mean 'cariΓ±o'?" Luis asks, a little baffled, mostly enjoying how you're shuffling your feet in restlessness. "I thought everyone took Spanish in high school?"
"Never said I paid attention."
"Shame then."
"You really shouldn't do thatβ"
"Relax, tesoro,β"
"Don't make the nicknames a habit."
"β I've got it handled."
You can only begin to imagine what expression you're wearing. All you know is that it must be hilarious if Luis is casually pulling at the constraints binding him to a federal agent that could kick him into the afterlife. You try to dissuade him from doing anything more, like elbowing the said federal agent behind him like a traveler poking a sleeping lion.
As he tries to get up and kick him awake, you muster all your strength to swing the length of the chain binding you at his feet, miraculously tripping him. You feel a little bad when Lui's chin makes contact with the ground, a flurry of Spanish curses following suit as a hand cradles his jaw. When his eyes land on you, your hands are intertwined with each other in a white-knuckled grip.
"Geez, you should warn me when you decide to swing that thing around."
"And you should learn to heed warnings," ironic, that it's coming from you. But that's unimportant. "There's a saying about not poking a sleeping lion. Or whatever."
Luis grins. "I think you mean 'poking a sleeping bear', tesoro."
You wanted to bury your face in the heart of your palms at your obvious fumble. It was a bear, it's always been a bear. So why the fuck did you say lion?
"Okay, fine, you got me there. But the idea is still the same."
"You know the Yanqui?"
You pause too long.
"β¦ No."
"Convincing."
"Shut up."
Surprisingly, a moment of silence lapsed. You give up trying to break free from using the hook at your disposal, instead choosing to plop yourself down in front of Luis. Your knees tucked to your chest with your chin resting on top of them. Luis continues to watch you with that strange, amused, familiar tint in his eyes.
You wet your lips, and the question of 'how do you know me?' sits heavily on the tip of your tongue. But the consequences of that question feel heavier than the lack of waking up Leon is doing. You know Luis knows that you've been anxiously staring at the entryway since he woke up.
Tearing your eyes away from him, you heave out a sigh and shut them closed. You think the light flickers again when Luis calls for you.
Briefly, you raise your head. "What is it?"
This time, it's he who hesitates.
"What brings you here, cariΓ±o? Not exactly a popular tourist spot."
"β¦ I don't know."
The answer comes out more honest than you cared to admit. Maybe a little too vulnerable, granted, you have just met the guy. But his eyes β when you see them again β it is so soothing. The kind of expression you'd find on the face of your favorite aunt or uncle, who always got you out of trouble and gave you extra candy.
"It'll be okay," he reassures you, a finger tapping at the edge of your muddy and soaked shoe. "When our sleeping beauty wakes up, I'll find a way for us to get out."
You smile and let the comfort settle in your chest like a weighted blanket during a stormy night.
Another moment of silence passes before it's you who's questioning him.
"And you? What are you doing here?"
A loopsided grin, but more so a grimace than his usual confident, laid-back smiles.
"Let's just say⦠unfinished business."
"The same one in the cheesy movies?" You ask with a raised brow, the tension leaving your body enough to fully ease into playful banter.
Luis brightens at your jab. "Oh tesoro, it is way better than the movies."
"Or worse," you shrug. "For all I know, you could be a spy working for some mysterious man out to kill me."
"Trust me, if I were, the job would be done. Easy peasy."
"Scary."
"Very scary, cariΓ±o."
You laugh. The sound is airy and free. Just like the feeling of sneaking into the breakrooms at work when there's been too many pastry deliveries, and you're eating a bunch of muffins with Mason and laughing at Evan.
Hours pass in a blur. The kind where the environment becomes a distant echo as you ride on a family vehicle, destination unknown, but the comfort of a familial presence is grounding.
It's easy to get lost in conversation with Luis. You've lost count of how many times you've let out a chuckle or a breathy laugh. You've moved a little closer, too. No longer tucked in your own shell, and instead, you've allowed yourself a little physical connection by letting Luis be at arm's length. Not necessarily a big change, but it's a step in the right direction.
"Pardon me for asking, cariΓ±o," Luis starts. His fingers are tapping a steady rhythm on your ankle. "But may I ask a question?"
You tilt your head curiously. "You've been doing that the entire time."
"Being a great company?"
"Asking questions."
"Tough crowd."
Another chuckle escapes you. You think the only reason you're allowing such instances to happen is to see Luis smile. It's a pretty thing after all. A little crooked, oozing that casual confidence he always carries himself with, but it's softer, maybe a little fond when your nose crinkles as you suppress your giggles.
A roll of your eyes, "Are you going to ask or not?"
Luis hums. "I was getting to that. So you seeβ"
The shifting of chains can be heard behind Luis, and it's embarrassing how your attention is immediately captured.
"Oh, what the fuck?"
Oh dear.
Oh, this was very bad for you.
Luis cocks an amused brow at you, and you only throw him a glare, kicking your feet in his direction and shushing him. It isn't very effective, not when you feel the flush on your cheeks and how your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.
Calm the fuck down, you internally scold yourself.
"Hey, stop it!" comes Luis's complaint, his arms raised above his head as you follow the faint outline of blonde hair. He shifts, hurrying to stand, and his eyes strain above him. "Oi, yanqui, got a name?"
"Leon." The reply is curt, straight to the point. You're surprised he hasn't noticed you yet, with how intensely you're staring at him.
Was he always this tall, or is it because you're just sitting down?
"Quiet type, eh? I'm Luis Serra, andβ" Luis pauses, his eyes eventually finding yours β still very much strained on how Leon is quietly tugging himself free.
For some reason, Luis doesn't say your name like you half-expected him to.
Luis only lets out a breathy chuckle, "Guess we all picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?" He doesn't grace him with a reply; instead, he moves further back into the room and pulls. "Hey, stop it. You move, I move⦠and I'm beat enough as is."
A snort escapes you. When Luis cranes his neck to glare at you, you flash him a cheeky smile, mouthing 'I told you'. He only rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. Luis eventually turns his attention back to Leon, leaving you to anxiously shift your attention to the entryway, fingers scratching your wrists raw.
Luis fills the room with his questions, Leon only replies with grunts and groans, the creaking of the pulley above their heads singing with him as he pulls and pulls. And with each tug, your eyes wander β to his gloved hands, the harness hugging his chest, the way his brows are set deeper when Luis finally asks the million-dollar question.
"Maybe⦠some missing señorita?"
It should be illegal when Leon turns to stare Luis down, the motion slows down in your eyes, giving you the perfect view of his set jaw, or the way his eyes finally grow interested, albeit it's a little rough and pointed.
"A young girl?" One strong tug, and Luis is dragged towards him. And it takes every fibre in your bones not to let out a low whistle and a murmured wish to swap places with the Spaniard. "Talk. Now." It should also be illegal how weak in the knees you are β you're not even standing!
You don't dwell on your borderline inappropriate thoughts of the federal agent when the lights begin to flicker. This time, there's a tingling sensation that starts with the tips of your fingers, before it shoots down to your toes. The feeling almost sends you toppling down if you had not used the wall for support.
"Holy shit, what is happening?" you ask yourself, clutching at your head as ringing resounds. The world tilts to the left before abruptly tilting to the right like an unsure camera. You think there are footsteps right in front of you, and you see it.
Hazy, but a clear amalgamation of colors before everything snaps into place.
POP.
The pulley is ripped out of the ceiling in line with the light bulb bursting. Luis falls on his back, and Leon sees it β or, well, sees you. There's no recognition, much to your delight, just bewilderment as your lips move faster than your brain can catch up, nearly tripping over your own feet when an unwanted guest makes an appearance.
"Luis!" The words tumble out again, this time, like a blaring siren sound. You catch Leon's eyes in that brief moment again, and for once, for the first time in two years, you have been stuck in this world with no means of going back homeβyou feel relief flood through you.
It's short-lived, though, when you're ducking under a zombie haphazardly trying to butcher you with a rusty axe.
Leon pulls the chains fast enough for Luis to be pulled away from the line of fire. Gathering the metal restrictions, Leon swings it in the ganado's direction, hitting it directly in the face. You, on the other hand, have frantically gotten over your little episode, using every curse word in your personal dictionary when the nail continues to budge, but not enough.
"Come on, come on, come on, you lousy piece ofβ"
Dread fills you as flickers of possibilities flash before your eyes. You failing to get out and taking an axe to the face, Luis not rolling out of the way fast enough and having his throat cut open, and Leonβ
SNAP.
Without a moment's hesitation, the moment the nail on the ground is finally freed, you mimic Leon's movements and wrap the chain binding your wrists around the ganado's foot, limiting its area of cover as it swings its axe around aimlessly.
"Shitβ¦!" You curse under your breath, sweaty palms struggling to keep a firm grip on the metal chains to limit the ganado's movement. Warmth spills over your backside as an extra pair of hands enclose your own.
"Easy, cariΓ±o, that's no way to speak," Luis scolds with a playful smile.
If you weren't so adamant in not having your face axed off, you'd elbow him in the stomach, your current position giving you a hefty advantage. But you refrain β partly too scared your grip will falter, mostly too distracted when Leon brings his knee up before slamming it down on the ground with another grunt.
The ganado's movements finally cease, and you're left standing there, your fingers slowly losing their grip on the metal as you stare at Leon's hunched figure with your mouth probably hanging open. Observing with great intensity how his shoulders heave up and down, or when he turns to face you, his eyes practically freeze you on the spot as if Medusa had descended and granted him a blessing to turn you into stone.
You hold his gaze for a good few seconds or so, but you eventually break it off when the sound of a clink is heard behind you.
Luis only throws you an apologetic grin, twirling the key to your restraints on one finger before letting out a small huff of breath.
"Hey!"
"Hey, we're not done here!"
He looks between you two. His gaze lingered just a few more seconds on your figure β brows furrowed, a deep frown on your lips, and your chest trying to take in as much air as it can. "Later, amigo, cariΓ±o!" And on cue, he throws the key right between your feet with a low whistle.
You follow Luis's figure until you can't make out the outline of him anymore. With a vexed sigh, you kneel to pick up the key. A small sigh of relief escapes you when it slots perfectly, and your wrists are finally freed with a soft clink.
When you turn around, you don't know what possessed you to take a step too close into Leon's space, a hand open, waiting for him to take it as the key sits comfortably between your fingers. It's only when he takes a step back that you realize your rookie mistake.
You meet his eyes again β stormy, and furrowed β as they stray towards the key in your grasp. You swallowed hard before offering it to him. "Here," you say, voice a little soft and parched, as you take a generous amount of steps back with a small smile.
You turn around before he can question you, already checking the entryway and kicking the tray of "food" with the tip of your boots. You grimace at the feeling of water pooling in between your toes and the disgusting squelching sounds your socks made. When you throw a discreet glance at Leon, he has two fingers pressed into his ear. You tear your gaze away as quickly as it had settled on his figure to inspect the broken glass from the lightbulb.
You kneel, about to take a piece of it in your hands, when Leon speaks.
"Hey, that's dangerous."
"I think I've handled worse."
He raises a brow at you, "Like?"
You motion at the corpse at his feet.
A huff of breath that you think is a chuckle escapes him. Much to your surprise, he steps over said corpse, offering you a hand. "Come on. Let's get outta here," Leon motions his head to the entryway.
You can only muster a nod as you take his hand in yours, afraid of how you know your voice will break and stutter if you try to reply. And oh dear god, it's so much bigger than yours. You feel lightheaded when he singlehandedly hauls you up in one fell swoop. And you don't like how you miss his warmth β not even his actual warmth, it was probably the sweat and grime on the heart of his glove β when his hand slips out of yours.
When he moves forward, and you stay rooted in our sport, he asks, "You okay?"
"β¦ I need a shower."
Not exactly what you had in mind; you thought maybe "like a million bucks!" or something along those lines would be more⦠charming. But hey, at least your honesty lands you a grunt and another reply that isn't just one sentence.
"Yeah? Can't blame you. Probably need one, too."
Honesty really is the best policy.
"You offering?"
"What?"
"Nothing!"
Okay, maybe a little too honest.
Author's notes. admittedly... this is a week late due to me preparing for finals, so my apologies for the wait TT but hooray! luis and leon are finally here!! also, if your name on the taglist is bolded, it means i cannot tag you! you may want to change your visibility settings!!
Chapter Summary: After wasting away the days and nights rejecting any kind of food or water given by your captors, you receive two new roommates in this grimy basement. One of them recognizes you, the other being your key to victory.
Series Masterlist. β Warnings: mentions of being chained up, not eating nor drinking properly, homesickness, one graphic death description, and one suggestive comment at the end.
Shoot me an ask or comment if you'd want to be added to the taglist! β read on A03 here
The slimy sewer waters that have pooled around your feet have fully soaked your shoes and socks, making you grimace at the sound whenever you stand. Sweat from trying to break free made your shirt cling to your chest, leaving you yearning for a nice, cold shower. If you were dropped in a lake, you wouldn't complain. Actually, you think you'd prefer being dropped into this village's lake. Preferably unconscious so you won't have to feel the pain of being fish food.
Not as productive as you would have expected from your very own isekai experience, but hey, at least you didn't die five minutes in.
"I've survived two years," you remind yourself. "What's a few more days?"
This wasn't about learning to fight back β it is in your priority list, though β but to wait. When you played these games, you always remained hesitant to pull the trigger, opting to sneak around and use up every knife in your arsenal. You were not made for loud headshots, nor fancy kicks β you don't think you can even pull your leg higher than a few meters.
You frown at the thought. You didn't want to rely on him for everything, but if you wanted to make it out of here alive and in one piece, sticking close to someone with his level of experience was the way to go.
Still. It leaves a bitter, heavy taste on your tongue at the idea of using him.
He was more than just a shield, you know that.
You look down at your restrained wrists again, dirty fingers tracing along the harsh, red lines of where the metal meets your skin. It's heavy, but not as quite as the feeling of homesickness. Your frown deepens further as the heavy realization sinks in.
"There's no going back."
You never did have that choice from the start. But that stubborn, hopeful part of you still wanted to believe it. With a heavy sigh, you slowly stand and blatantly ignore the little puddles sloshing around your feet in the process, and make your way to that conveniently placed hook in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you lodge the chain connecting the metal rings around your wrists and begin tugging.
You grunt, the sting immediate as you continue to pull, pull, and pull.
The metal cries out, the kind that has you wincing as if someone had just dragged a fork down a chalkboard. But the metal is as stubborn as you β it would not budge. Not when sweat builds up on your forehead, or when you see your flesh turn a raw pink, blood threatening to burst free, or when footsteps begin to echo right outside.
"What the fuβ" you're cut off when something, or rather, someone's arms tug you back in one swift motion. When you look down, you physically feel the color drain from your face when you realize his palm practically covers your entire stomach. You try to even out your breathing, calm your erratic heart, but the heavy weight guiding you back to where the nail remains wedged in the ground has you pliant.
Grumbling followed, then sluggish and inconsistent footsteps. Through the hair obscuring your eyes, you see them β and you feel just a little bit of hope flourish in your chest.
A village ganado is dragging two men by the wrists, his free hand holding a small axe, his eyes fixed on you. It grumbles, all incoherent and in a foreign language.
Honestly, if you knew you'd be those isekai protagonists you read about at 2 a.m., you'd put in more effort into your high school Spanish class.
"Stay," the man behind you whispers, his voice and breath warming your ears as he steps away. You can only stare at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as he casually steps over Leon Kennedy's unconscious body. You think he huffs a small laugh at your reaction. If you didn't know anything, you'd think you were growing on him. But having a cult lunatic as an admirer isn't exactly ideal, so you scratch that idea. Instead, you let your gaze fall to the steady rise and fall of their chests.
You don't even realize how your shoulders have relaxed, or how the edges of your eyes have begun to sting from unshed tears.
Only when they're fully out of view do you finally let yourself relax. Knees buckling and throat threatening to unload what little food you have in your system.
This is real. You're here in this rundown, and very cult-shaped village in Spain. Further away from home, from the safety of the little normalcy you've indulged in. When you slump your back against the creaky wooden walls, eyes filled with misplaced hope in your new unconscious roommates, you think to yourself, "Two years is too short."
You look up to the ceiling, watching the light sway in a dazed trance.
"For someone who wants to leave, I sure as hell can't get enough of it."
You don't recall ever falling asleep. Which should worry you, in all honesty. You have always prided yourself on being able to remember things well, but right now, your memory is slipping through imaginary cracks.
You brush it off. It's not really every day you get knocked out twice in your own home by a stranger and then kidnapped into another country. Not a very normative experience for someone your age, but hey, your grandkids will be having a field day when it's your turn to tell stories. Taken, you manage to get out of here alive, and not being too traumatized that you won't turn into a recluse.
After a few minutes of getting your bearings, counting how many times the light has flickered β something you've grown familiar with after days of not being able to do anything β your eyes sweep over the room before settling on your new companions.
Bound by the wrists like you, but they're back-to-back. Instead of being restricted by a nail hammered to the crust of the Earth, a pulley is above their heads. You feel your heart flutter at the thought of what will happen next. Actually, you almost, almost, feel the drool pooling at the edge of your lips as your eyes stare at the veins going up his arm, the way his sleeve hugs the meat of his bicep, andβ
JINGLE.
You're snapped out of your blatant thirsting at the sound ofβ¦ keys? With furrowed brows, you carefully stand up, stepping over the new plate of food β placed a little closer to you this time β and poking your head to see the entryway. For a while, you slowly start to convince yourself that you have lost your mind for a second time since you've got here, when your eyes can only see darkness. But there's a shift. A purple kind of shift as a man with a mask and a heavy bag suddenly passes through the other side.
"Hey!"
You didn't mean to call out to him and certainly not to further irritate your sore wrists, but your excitement got to you.
Realizing your mistake, you internally scold yourself over the rookie mistake, before your eyes landed on the hook near you again. Like an absolute idiot, you try to break the chain. Why? You don't even know why when your ticket home is still getting his beauty nap.
Wavy hair, a slight stubble decorating his chin, and a leather jacket thrown across his upper body. You should have smiled, felt that excitement and relief at meeting one of your favorite characters. But all you feel is dread. Unbidden curiosity and fear of its consequence when his eyes flare with recognition.
Luis Serra knows you from somewhere. And your brain finally decides to be useful because it reminds you that the 'you' of this world was a doctor. That mysterious man in the crumpled photo inside your desk could be him, just obscured by the bloodstain.
"Do Iβ¦ know you?" It's a stupid question, one you know deep down you shouldn't have to ask β because you do. Almost disgustingly so, now that you think about it. But having Luis Serra in front of you, staring with wide eyes and an agape mouth, sends a feeling of dread straight down to your stomach.
Luis, who finally comes back to his senses, shakes his head. Messy, curly hair swaying with the movement as his eyes fall to stare at his cuffed hands. "Pardon me, cariΓ±o. Mistook you for someone else."
He looks amused at your obvious dilemma of speaking more than you should. A chuckle leaves as he takes a tentative, experimental tug on the chains wrapped around his wrist. A grunt leaves him when he finally realizes who he's chained to.
"You shouldn't do that," you warn with furrowed brows.
"I think I've got it, cariΓ±o."
"What the hell does that even mean?"
"You mean 'cariΓ±o'?" Luis asks, a little baffled, mostly enjoying how you're shuffling your feet in restlessness. "I thought everyone took Spanish in high school?"
"Never said I paid attention."
"Shame then."
"You really shouldn't do thatβ"
"Relax, tesoro,β"
"Don't make the nicknames a habit."
"β I've got it handled."
You can only begin to imagine what expression you're wearing. All you know is that it must be hilarious if Luis is casually pulling at the constraints binding him to a federal agent that could kick him into the afterlife. You try to dissuade him from doing anything more, like elbowing the said federal agent behind him like a traveler poking a sleeping lion.
As he tries to get up and kick him awake, you muster all your strength to swing the length of the chain binding you at his feet, miraculously tripping him. You feel a little bad when Lui's chin makes contact with the ground, a flurry of Spanish curses following suit as a hand cradles his jaw. When his eyes land on you, your hands are intertwined with each other in a white-knuckled grip.
"Geez, you should warn me when you decide to swing that thing around."
"And you should learn to heed warnings," ironic, that it's coming from you. But that's unimportant. "There's a saying about not poking a sleeping lion. Or whatever."
Luis grins. "I think you mean 'poking a sleeping bear', tesoro."
You wanted to bury your face in the heart of your palms at your obvious fumble. It was a bear, it's always been a bear. So why the fuck did you say lion?
"Okay, fine, you got me there. But the idea is still the same."
"You know the Yanqui?"
You pause too long.
"β¦ No."
"Convincing."
"Shut up."
Surprisingly, a moment of silence lapsed. You give up trying to break free from using the hook at your disposal, instead choosing to plop yourself down in front of Luis. Your knees tucked to your chest with your chin resting on top of them. Luis continues to watch you with that strange, amused, familiar tint in his eyes.
You wet your lips, and the question of 'how do you know me?' sits heavily on the tip of your tongue. But the consequences of that question feel heavier than the lack of waking up Leon is doing. You know Luis knows that you've been anxiously staring at the entryway since he woke up.
Tearing your eyes away from him, you heave out a sigh and shut them closed. You think the light flickers again when Luis calls for you.
Briefly, you raise your head. "What is it?"
This time, it's he who hesitates.
"What brings you here, cariΓ±o? Not exactly a popular tourist spot."
"β¦ I don't know."
The answer comes out more honest than you cared to admit. Maybe a little too vulnerable, granted, you have just met the guy. But his eyes β when you see them again β it is so soothing. The kind of expression you'd find on the face of your favorite aunt or uncle, who always got you out of trouble and gave you extra candy.
"It'll be okay," he reassures you, a finger tapping at the edge of your muddy and soaked shoe. "When our sleeping beauty wakes up, I'll find a way for us to get out."
You smile and let the comfort settle in your chest like a weighted blanket during a stormy night.
Another moment of silence passes before it's you who's questioning him.
"And you? What are you doing here?"
A loopsided grin, but more so a grimace than his usual confident, laid-back smiles.
"Let's just say⦠unfinished business."
"The same one in the cheesy movies?" You ask with a raised brow, the tension leaving your body enough to fully ease into playful banter.
Luis brightens at your jab. "Oh tesoro, it is way better than the movies."
"Or worse," you shrug. "For all I know, you could be a spy working for some mysterious man out to kill me."
"Trust me, if I were, the job would be done. Easy peasy."
"Scary."
"Very scary, cariΓ±o."
You laugh. The sound is airy and free. Just like the feeling of sneaking into the breakrooms at work when there's been too many pastry deliveries, and you're eating a bunch of muffins with Mason and laughing at Evan.
Hours pass in a blur. The kind where the environment becomes a distant echo as you ride on a family vehicle, destination unknown, but the comfort of a familial presence is grounding.
It's easy to get lost in conversation with Luis. You've lost count of how many times you've let out a chuckle or a breathy laugh. You've moved a little closer, too. No longer tucked in your own shell, and instead, you've allowed yourself a little physical connection by letting Luis be at arm's length. Not necessarily a big change, but it's a step in the right direction.
"Pardon me for asking, cariΓ±o," Luis starts. His fingers are tapping a steady rhythm on your ankle. "But may I ask a question?"
You tilt your head curiously. "You've been doing that the entire time."
"Being a great company?"
"Asking questions."
"Tough crowd."
Another chuckle escapes you. You think the only reason you're allowing such instances to happen is to see Luis smile. It's a pretty thing after all. A little crooked, oozing that casual confidence he always carries himself with, but it's softer, maybe a little fond when your nose crinkles as you suppress your giggles.
A roll of your eyes, "Are you going to ask or not?"
Luis hums. "I was getting to that. So you seeβ"
The shifting of chains can be heard behind Luis, and it's embarrassing how your attention is immediately captured.
"Oh, what the fuck?"
Oh dear.
Oh, this was very bad for you.
Luis cocks an amused brow at you, and you only throw him a glare, kicking your feet in his direction and shushing him. It isn't very effective, not when you feel the flush on your cheeks and how your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.
Calm the fuck down, you internally scold yourself.
"Hey, stop it!" comes Luis's complaint, his arms raised above his head as you follow the faint outline of blonde hair. He shifts, hurrying to stand, and his eyes strain above him. "Oi, yanqui, got a name?"
"Leon." The reply is curt, straight to the point. You're surprised he hasn't noticed you yet, with how intensely you're staring at him.
Was he always this tall, or is it because you're just sitting down?
"Quiet type, eh? I'm Luis Serra, andβ" Luis pauses, his eyes eventually finding yours β still very much strained on how Leon is quietly tugging himself free.
For some reason, Luis doesn't say your name like you half-expected him to.
Luis only lets out a breathy chuckle, "Guess we all picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?" He doesn't grace him with a reply; instead, he moves further back into the room and pulls. "Hey, stop it. You move, I move⦠and I'm beat enough as is."
A snort escapes you. When Luis cranes his neck to glare at you, you flash him a cheeky smile, mouthing 'I told you'. He only rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. Luis eventually turns his attention back to Leon, leaving you to anxiously shift your attention to the entryway, fingers scratching your wrists raw.
Luis fills the room with his questions, Leon only replies with grunts and groans, the creaking of the pulley above their heads singing with him as he pulls and pulls. And with each tug, your eyes wander β to his gloved hands, the harness hugging his chest, the way his brows are set deeper when Luis finally asks the million-dollar question.
"Maybe⦠some missing señorita?"
It should be illegal when Leon turns to stare Luis down, the motion slows down in your eyes, giving you the perfect view of his set jaw, or the way his eyes finally grow interested, albeit it's a little rough and pointed.
"A young girl?" One strong tug, and Luis is dragged towards him. And it takes every fibre in your bones not to let out a low whistle and a murmured wish to swap places with the Spaniard. "Talk. Now." It should also be illegal how weak in the knees you are β you're not even standing!
You don't dwell on your borderline inappropriate thoughts of the federal agent when the lights begin to flicker. This time, there's a tingling sensation that starts with the tips of your fingers, before it shoots down to your toes. The feeling almost sends you toppling down if you had not used the wall for support.
"Holy shit, what is happening?" you ask yourself, clutching at your head as ringing resounds. The world tilts to the left before abruptly tilting to the right like an unsure camera. You think there are footsteps right in front of you, and you see it.
Hazy, but a clear amalgamation of colors before everything snaps into place.
POP.
The pulley is ripped out of the ceiling in line with the light bulb bursting. Luis falls on his back, and Leon sees it β or, well, sees you. There's no recognition, much to your delight, just bewilderment as your lips move faster than your brain can catch up, nearly tripping over your own feet when an unwanted guest makes an appearance.
"Luis!" The words tumble out again, this time, like a blaring siren sound. You catch Leon's eyes in that brief moment again, and for once, for the first time in two years, you have been stuck in this world with no means of going back homeβyou feel relief flood through you.
It's short-lived, though, when you're ducking under a zombie haphazardly trying to butcher you with a rusty axe.
Leon pulls the chains fast enough for Luis to be pulled away from the line of fire. Gathering the metal restrictions, Leon swings it in the ganado's direction, hitting it directly in the face. You, on the other hand, have frantically gotten over your little episode, using every curse word in your personal dictionary when the nail continues to budge, but not enough.
"Come on, come on, come on, you lousy piece ofβ"
Dread fills you as flickers of possibilities flash before your eyes. You failing to get out and taking an axe to the face, Luis not rolling out of the way fast enough and having his throat cut open, and Leonβ
SNAP.
Without a moment's hesitation, the moment the nail on the ground is finally freed, you mimic Leon's movements and wrap the chain binding your wrists around the ganado's foot, limiting its area of cover as it swings its axe around aimlessly.
"Shitβ¦!" You curse under your breath, sweaty palms struggling to keep a firm grip on the metal chains to limit the ganado's movement. Warmth spills over your backside as an extra pair of hands enclose your own.
"Easy, cariΓ±o, that's no way to speak," Luis scolds with a playful smile.
If you weren't so adamant in not having your face axed off, you'd elbow him in the stomach, your current position giving you a hefty advantage. But you refrain β partly too scared your grip will falter, mostly too distracted when Leon brings his knee up before slamming it down on the ground with another grunt.
The ganado's movements finally cease, and you're left standing there, your fingers slowly losing their grip on the metal as you stare at Leon's hunched figure with your mouth probably hanging open. Observing with great intensity how his shoulders heave up and down, or when he turns to face you, his eyes practically freeze you on the spot as if Medusa had descended and granted him a blessing to turn you into stone.
You hold his gaze for a good few seconds or so, but you eventually break it off when the sound of a clink is heard behind you.
Luis only throws you an apologetic grin, twirling the key to your restraints on one finger before letting out a small huff of breath.
"Hey!"
"Hey, we're not done here!"
He looks between you two. His gaze lingered just a few more seconds on your figure β brows furrowed, a deep frown on your lips, and your chest trying to take in as much air as it can. "Later, amigo, cariΓ±o!" And on cue, he throws the key right between your feet with a low whistle.
You follow Luis's figure until you can't make out the outline of him anymore. With a vexed sigh, you kneel to pick up the key. A small sigh of relief escapes you when it slots perfectly, and your wrists are finally freed with a soft clink.
When you turn around, you don't know what possessed you to take a step too close into Leon's space, a hand open, waiting for him to take it as the key sits comfortably between your fingers. It's only when he takes a step back that you realize your rookie mistake.
You meet his eyes again β stormy, and furrowed β as they stray towards the key in your grasp. You swallowed hard before offering it to him. "Here," you say, voice a little soft and parched, as you take a generous amount of steps back with a small smile.
You turn around before he can question you, already checking the entryway and kicking the tray of "food" with the tip of your boots. You grimace at the feeling of water pooling in between your toes and the disgusting squelching sounds your socks made. When you throw a discreet glance at Leon, he has two fingers pressed into his ear. You tear your gaze away as quickly as it had settled on his figure to inspect the broken glass from the lightbulb.
You kneel, about to take a piece of it in your hands, when Leon speaks.
"Hey, that's dangerous."
"I think I've handled worse."
He raises a brow at you, "Like?"
You motion at the corpse at his feet.
A huff of breath that you think is a chuckle escapes him. Much to your surprise, he steps over said corpse, offering you a hand. "Come on. Let's get outta here," Leon motions his head to the entryway.
You can only muster a nod as you take his hand in yours, afraid of how you know your voice will break and stutter if you try to reply. And oh dear god, it's so much bigger than yours. You feel lightheaded when he singlehandedly hauls you up in one fell swoop. And you don't like how you miss his warmth β not even his actual warmth, it was probably the sweat and grime on the heart of his glove β when his hand slips out of yours.
When he moves forward, and you stay rooted in our sport, he asks, "You okay?"
"β¦ I need a shower."
Not exactly what you had in mind; you thought maybe "like a million bucks!" or something along those lines would be more⦠charming. But hey, at least your honesty lands you a grunt and another reply that isn't just one sentence.
"Yeah? Can't blame you. Probably need one, too."
Honesty really is the best policy.
"You offering?"
"What?"
"Nothing!"
Okay, maybe a little too honest.
Author's notes. admittedly... this is a week late due to me preparing for finals, so my apologies for the wait TT but hooray! luis and leon are finally here!! also, if your name on the taglist is bolded, it means i cannot tag you! you may want to change your visibility settings!!
Chapter Summary: After wasting away the days and nights rejecting any kind of food or water given by your captors, you receive two new roommates in this grimy basement. One of them recognizes you, the other being your key to victory.
Series Masterlist. β Warnings: mentions of being chained up, not eating nor drinking properly, homesickness, one graphic death description, and one suggestive comment at the end.
Shoot me an ask or comment if you'd want to be added to the taglist! β read on A03 here
The slimy sewer waters that have pooled around your feet have fully soaked your shoes and socks, making you grimace at the sound whenever you stand. Sweat from trying to break free made your shirt cling to your chest, leaving you yearning for a nice, cold shower. If you were dropped in a lake, you wouldn't complain. Actually, you think you'd prefer being dropped into this village's lake. Preferably unconscious so you won't have to feel the pain of being fish food.
Not as productive as you would have expected from your very own isekai experience, but hey, at least you didn't die five minutes in.
"I've survived two years," you remind yourself. "What's a few more days?"
This wasn't about learning to fight back β it is in your priority list, though β but to wait. When you played these games, you always remained hesitant to pull the trigger, opting to sneak around and use up every knife in your arsenal. You were not made for loud headshots, nor fancy kicks β you don't think you can even pull your leg higher than a few meters.
You frown at the thought. You didn't want to rely on him for everything, but if you wanted to make it out of here alive and in one piece, sticking close to someone with his level of experience was the way to go.
Still. It leaves a bitter, heavy taste on your tongue at the idea of using him.
He was more than just a shield, you know that.
You look down at your restrained wrists again, dirty fingers tracing along the harsh, red lines of where the metal meets your skin. It's heavy, but not as quite as the feeling of homesickness. Your frown deepens further as the heavy realization sinks in.
"There's no going back."
You never did have that choice from the start. But that stubborn, hopeful part of you still wanted to believe it. With a heavy sigh, you slowly stand and blatantly ignore the little puddles sloshing around your feet in the process, and make your way to that conveniently placed hook in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you lodge the chain connecting the metal rings around your wrists and begin tugging.
You grunt, the sting immediate as you continue to pull, pull, and pull.
The metal cries out, the kind that has you wincing as if someone had just dragged a fork down a chalkboard. But the metal is as stubborn as you β it would not budge. Not when sweat builds up on your forehead, or when you see your flesh turn a raw pink, blood threatening to burst free, or when footsteps begin to echo right outside.
"What the fuβ" you're cut off when something, or rather, someone's arms tug you back in one swift motion. When you look down, you physically feel the color drain from your face when you realize his palm practically covers your entire stomach. You try to even out your breathing, calm your erratic heart, but the heavy weight guiding you back to where the nail remains wedged in the ground has you pliant.
Grumbling followed, then sluggish and inconsistent footsteps. Through the hair obscuring your eyes, you see them β and you feel just a little bit of hope flourish in your chest.
A village ganado is dragging two men by the wrists, his free hand holding a small axe, his eyes fixed on you. It grumbles, all incoherent and in a foreign language.
Honestly, if you knew you'd be those isekai protagonists you read about at 2 a.m., you'd put in more effort into your high school Spanish class.
"Stay," the man behind you whispers, his voice and breath warming your ears as he steps away. You can only stare at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as he casually steps over Leon Kennedy's unconscious body. You think he huffs a small laugh at your reaction. If you didn't know anything, you'd think you were growing on him. But having a cult lunatic as an admirer isn't exactly ideal, so you scratch that idea. Instead, you let your gaze fall to the steady rise and fall of their chests.
You don't even realize how your shoulders have relaxed, or how the edges of your eyes have begun to sting from unshed tears.
Only when they're fully out of view do you finally let yourself relax. Knees buckling and throat threatening to unload what little food you have in your system.
This is real. You're here in this rundown, and very cult-shaped village in Spain. Further away from home, from the safety of the little normalcy you've indulged in. When you slump your back against the creaky wooden walls, eyes filled with misplaced hope in your new unconscious roommates, you think to yourself, "Two years is too short."
You look up to the ceiling, watching the light sway in a dazed trance.
"For someone who wants to leave, I sure as hell can't get enough of it."
You don't recall ever falling asleep. Which should worry you, in all honesty. You have always prided yourself on being able to remember things well, but right now, your memory is slipping through imaginary cracks.
You brush it off. It's not really every day you get knocked out twice in your own home by a stranger and then kidnapped into another country. Not a very normative experience for someone your age, but hey, your grandkids will be having a field day when it's your turn to tell stories. Taken, you manage to get out of here alive, and not being too traumatized that you won't turn into a recluse.
After a few minutes of getting your bearings, counting how many times the light has flickered β something you've grown familiar with after days of not being able to do anything β your eyes sweep over the room before settling on your new companions.
Bound by the wrists like you, but they're back-to-back. Instead of being restricted by a nail hammered to the crust of the Earth, a pulley is above their heads. You feel your heart flutter at the thought of what will happen next. Actually, you almost, almost, feel the drool pooling at the edge of your lips as your eyes stare at the veins going up his arm, the way his sleeve hugs the meat of his bicep, andβ
JINGLE.
You're snapped out of your blatant thirsting at the sound ofβ¦ keys? With furrowed brows, you carefully stand up, stepping over the new plate of food β placed a little closer to you this time β and poking your head to see the entryway. For a while, you slowly start to convince yourself that you have lost your mind for a second time since you've got here, when your eyes can only see darkness. But there's a shift. A purple kind of shift as a man with a mask and a heavy bag suddenly passes through the other side.
"Hey!"
You didn't mean to call out to him and certainly not to further irritate your sore wrists, but your excitement got to you.
Realizing your mistake, you internally scold yourself over the rookie mistake, before your eyes landed on the hook near you again. Like an absolute idiot, you try to break the chain. Why? You don't even know why when your ticket home is still getting his beauty nap.
Wavy hair, a slight stubble decorating his chin, and a leather jacket thrown across his upper body. You should have smiled, felt that excitement and relief at meeting one of your favorite characters. But all you feel is dread. Unbidden curiosity and fear of its consequence when his eyes flare with recognition.
Luis Serra knows you from somewhere. And your brain finally decides to be useful because it reminds you that the 'you' of this world was a doctor. That mysterious man in the crumpled photo inside your desk could be him, just obscured by the bloodstain.
"Do Iβ¦ know you?" It's a stupid question, one you know deep down you shouldn't have to ask β because you do. Almost disgustingly so, now that you think about it. But having Luis Serra in front of you, staring with wide eyes and an agape mouth, sends a feeling of dread straight down to your stomach.
Luis, who finally comes back to his senses, shakes his head. Messy, curly hair swaying with the movement as his eyes fall to stare at his cuffed hands. "Pardon me, cariΓ±o. Mistook you for someone else."
He looks amused at your obvious dilemma of speaking more than you should. A chuckle leaves as he takes a tentative, experimental tug on the chains wrapped around his wrist. A grunt leaves him when he finally realizes who he's chained to.
"You shouldn't do that," you warn with furrowed brows.
"I think I've got it, cariΓ±o."
"What the hell does that even mean?"
"You mean 'cariΓ±o'?" Luis asks, a little baffled, mostly enjoying how you're shuffling your feet in restlessness. "I thought everyone took Spanish in high school?"
"Never said I paid attention."
"Shame then."
"You really shouldn't do thatβ"
"Relax, tesoro,β"
"Don't make the nicknames a habit."
"β I've got it handled."
You can only begin to imagine what expression you're wearing. All you know is that it must be hilarious if Luis is casually pulling at the constraints binding him to a federal agent that could kick him into the afterlife. You try to dissuade him from doing anything more, like elbowing the said federal agent behind him like a traveler poking a sleeping lion.
As he tries to get up and kick him awake, you muster all your strength to swing the length of the chain binding you at his feet, miraculously tripping him. You feel a little bad when Lui's chin makes contact with the ground, a flurry of Spanish curses following suit as a hand cradles his jaw. When his eyes land on you, your hands are intertwined with each other in a white-knuckled grip.
"Geez, you should warn me when you decide to swing that thing around."
"And you should learn to heed warnings," ironic, that it's coming from you. But that's unimportant. "There's a saying about not poking a sleeping lion. Or whatever."
Luis grins. "I think you mean 'poking a sleeping bear', tesoro."
You wanted to bury your face in the heart of your palms at your obvious fumble. It was a bear, it's always been a bear. So why the fuck did you say lion?
"Okay, fine, you got me there. But the idea is still the same."
"You know the Yanqui?"
You pause too long.
"β¦ No."
"Convincing."
"Shut up."
Surprisingly, a moment of silence lapsed. You give up trying to break free from using the hook at your disposal, instead choosing to plop yourself down in front of Luis. Your knees tucked to your chest with your chin resting on top of them. Luis continues to watch you with that strange, amused, familiar tint in his eyes.
You wet your lips, and the question of 'how do you know me?' sits heavily on the tip of your tongue. But the consequences of that question feel heavier than the lack of waking up Leon is doing. You know Luis knows that you've been anxiously staring at the entryway since he woke up.
Tearing your eyes away from him, you heave out a sigh and shut them closed. You think the light flickers again when Luis calls for you.
Briefly, you raise your head. "What is it?"
This time, it's he who hesitates.
"What brings you here, cariΓ±o? Not exactly a popular tourist spot."
"β¦ I don't know."
The answer comes out more honest than you cared to admit. Maybe a little too vulnerable, granted, you have just met the guy. But his eyes β when you see them again β it is so soothing. The kind of expression you'd find on the face of your favorite aunt or uncle, who always got you out of trouble and gave you extra candy.
"It'll be okay," he reassures you, a finger tapping at the edge of your muddy and soaked shoe. "When our sleeping beauty wakes up, I'll find a way for us to get out."
You smile and let the comfort settle in your chest like a weighted blanket during a stormy night.
Another moment of silence passes before it's you who's questioning him.
"And you? What are you doing here?"
A loopsided grin, but more so a grimace than his usual confident, laid-back smiles.
"Let's just say⦠unfinished business."
"The same one in the cheesy movies?" You ask with a raised brow, the tension leaving your body enough to fully ease into playful banter.
Luis brightens at your jab. "Oh tesoro, it is way better than the movies."
"Or worse," you shrug. "For all I know, you could be a spy working for some mysterious man out to kill me."
"Trust me, if I were, the job would be done. Easy peasy."
"Scary."
"Very scary, cariΓ±o."
You laugh. The sound is airy and free. Just like the feeling of sneaking into the breakrooms at work when there's been too many pastry deliveries, and you're eating a bunch of muffins with Mason and laughing at Evan.
Hours pass in a blur. The kind where the environment becomes a distant echo as you ride on a family vehicle, destination unknown, but the comfort of a familial presence is grounding.
It's easy to get lost in conversation with Luis. You've lost count of how many times you've let out a chuckle or a breathy laugh. You've moved a little closer, too. No longer tucked in your own shell, and instead, you've allowed yourself a little physical connection by letting Luis be at arm's length. Not necessarily a big change, but it's a step in the right direction.
"Pardon me for asking, cariΓ±o," Luis starts. His fingers are tapping a steady rhythm on your ankle. "But may I ask a question?"
You tilt your head curiously. "You've been doing that the entire time."
"Being a great company?"
"Asking questions."
"Tough crowd."
Another chuckle escapes you. You think the only reason you're allowing such instances to happen is to see Luis smile. It's a pretty thing after all. A little crooked, oozing that casual confidence he always carries himself with, but it's softer, maybe a little fond when your nose crinkles as you suppress your giggles.
A roll of your eyes, "Are you going to ask or not?"
Luis hums. "I was getting to that. So you seeβ"
The shifting of chains can be heard behind Luis, and it's embarrassing how your attention is immediately captured.
"Oh, what the fuck?"
Oh dear.
Oh, this was very bad for you.
Luis cocks an amused brow at you, and you only throw him a glare, kicking your feet in his direction and shushing him. It isn't very effective, not when you feel the flush on your cheeks and how your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.
Calm the fuck down, you internally scold yourself.
"Hey, stop it!" comes Luis's complaint, his arms raised above his head as you follow the faint outline of blonde hair. He shifts, hurrying to stand, and his eyes strain above him. "Oi, yanqui, got a name?"
"Leon." The reply is curt, straight to the point. You're surprised he hasn't noticed you yet, with how intensely you're staring at him.
Was he always this tall, or is it because you're just sitting down?
"Quiet type, eh? I'm Luis Serra, andβ" Luis pauses, his eyes eventually finding yours β still very much strained on how Leon is quietly tugging himself free.
For some reason, Luis doesn't say your name like you half-expected him to.
Luis only lets out a breathy chuckle, "Guess we all picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?" He doesn't grace him with a reply; instead, he moves further back into the room and pulls. "Hey, stop it. You move, I move⦠and I'm beat enough as is."
A snort escapes you. When Luis cranes his neck to glare at you, you flash him a cheeky smile, mouthing 'I told you'. He only rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. Luis eventually turns his attention back to Leon, leaving you to anxiously shift your attention to the entryway, fingers scratching your wrists raw.
Luis fills the room with his questions, Leon only replies with grunts and groans, the creaking of the pulley above their heads singing with him as he pulls and pulls. And with each tug, your eyes wander β to his gloved hands, the harness hugging his chest, the way his brows are set deeper when Luis finally asks the million-dollar question.
"Maybe⦠some missing señorita?"
It should be illegal when Leon turns to stare Luis down, the motion slows down in your eyes, giving you the perfect view of his set jaw, or the way his eyes finally grow interested, albeit it's a little rough and pointed.
"A young girl?" One strong tug, and Luis is dragged towards him. And it takes every fibre in your bones not to let out a low whistle and a murmured wish to swap places with the Spaniard. "Talk. Now." It should also be illegal how weak in the knees you are β you're not even standing!
You don't dwell on your borderline inappropriate thoughts of the federal agent when the lights begin to flicker. This time, there's a tingling sensation that starts with the tips of your fingers, before it shoots down to your toes. The feeling almost sends you toppling down if you had not used the wall for support.
"Holy shit, what is happening?" you ask yourself, clutching at your head as ringing resounds. The world tilts to the left before abruptly tilting to the right like an unsure camera. You think there are footsteps right in front of you, and you see it.
Hazy, but a clear amalgamation of colors before everything snaps into place.
POP.
The pulley is ripped out of the ceiling in line with the light bulb bursting. Luis falls on his back, and Leon sees it β or, well, sees you. There's no recognition, much to your delight, just bewilderment as your lips move faster than your brain can catch up, nearly tripping over your own feet when an unwanted guest makes an appearance.
"Luis!" The words tumble out again, this time, like a blaring siren sound. You catch Leon's eyes in that brief moment again, and for once, for the first time in two years, you have been stuck in this world with no means of going back homeβyou feel relief flood through you.
It's short-lived, though, when you're ducking under a zombie haphazardly trying to butcher you with a rusty axe.
Leon pulls the chains fast enough for Luis to be pulled away from the line of fire. Gathering the metal restrictions, Leon swings it in the ganado's direction, hitting it directly in the face. You, on the other hand, have frantically gotten over your little episode, using every curse word in your personal dictionary when the nail continues to budge, but not enough.
"Come on, come on, come on, you lousy piece ofβ"
Dread fills you as flickers of possibilities flash before your eyes. You failing to get out and taking an axe to the face, Luis not rolling out of the way fast enough and having his throat cut open, and Leonβ
SNAP.
Without a moment's hesitation, the moment the nail on the ground is finally freed, you mimic Leon's movements and wrap the chain binding your wrists around the ganado's foot, limiting its area of cover as it swings its axe around aimlessly.
"Shitβ¦!" You curse under your breath, sweaty palms struggling to keep a firm grip on the metal chains to limit the ganado's movement. Warmth spills over your backside as an extra pair of hands enclose your own.
"Easy, cariΓ±o, that's no way to speak," Luis scolds with a playful smile.
If you weren't so adamant in not having your face axed off, you'd elbow him in the stomach, your current position giving you a hefty advantage. But you refrain β partly too scared your grip will falter, mostly too distracted when Leon brings his knee up before slamming it down on the ground with another grunt.
The ganado's movements finally cease, and you're left standing there, your fingers slowly losing their grip on the metal as you stare at Leon's hunched figure with your mouth probably hanging open. Observing with great intensity how his shoulders heave up and down, or when he turns to face you, his eyes practically freeze you on the spot as if Medusa had descended and granted him a blessing to turn you into stone.
You hold his gaze for a good few seconds or so, but you eventually break it off when the sound of a clink is heard behind you.
Luis only throws you an apologetic grin, twirling the key to your restraints on one finger before letting out a small huff of breath.
"Hey!"
"Hey, we're not done here!"
He looks between you two. His gaze lingered just a few more seconds on your figure β brows furrowed, a deep frown on your lips, and your chest trying to take in as much air as it can. "Later, amigo, cariΓ±o!" And on cue, he throws the key right between your feet with a low whistle.
You follow Luis's figure until you can't make out the outline of him anymore. With a vexed sigh, you kneel to pick up the key. A small sigh of relief escapes you when it slots perfectly, and your wrists are finally freed with a soft clink.
When you turn around, you don't know what possessed you to take a step too close into Leon's space, a hand open, waiting for him to take it as the key sits comfortably between your fingers. It's only when he takes a step back that you realize your rookie mistake.
You meet his eyes again β stormy, and furrowed β as they stray towards the key in your grasp. You swallowed hard before offering it to him. "Here," you say, voice a little soft and parched, as you take a generous amount of steps back with a small smile.
You turn around before he can question you, already checking the entryway and kicking the tray of "food" with the tip of your boots. You grimace at the feeling of water pooling in between your toes and the disgusting squelching sounds your socks made. When you throw a discreet glance at Leon, he has two fingers pressed into his ear. You tear your gaze away as quickly as it had settled on his figure to inspect the broken glass from the lightbulb.
You kneel, about to take a piece of it in your hands, when Leon speaks.
"Hey, that's dangerous."
"I think I've handled worse."
He raises a brow at you, "Like?"
You motion at the corpse at his feet.
A huff of breath that you think is a chuckle escapes him. Much to your surprise, he steps over said corpse, offering you a hand. "Come on. Let's get outta here," Leon motions his head to the entryway.
You can only muster a nod as you take his hand in yours, afraid of how you know your voice will break and stutter if you try to reply. And oh dear god, it's so much bigger than yours. You feel lightheaded when he singlehandedly hauls you up in one fell swoop. And you don't like how you miss his warmth β not even his actual warmth, it was probably the sweat and grime on the heart of his glove β when his hand slips out of yours.
When he moves forward, and you stay rooted in our sport, he asks, "You okay?"
"β¦ I need a shower."
Not exactly what you had in mind; you thought maybe "like a million bucks!" or something along those lines would be more⦠charming. But hey, at least your honesty lands you a grunt and another reply that isn't just one sentence.
"Yeah? Can't blame you. Probably need one, too."
Honesty really is the best policy.
"You offering?"
"What?"
"Nothing!"
Okay, maybe a little too honest.
Author's notes. admittedly... this is a week late due to me preparing for finals, so my apologies for the wait TT but hooray! luis and leon are finally here!! also, if your name on the taglist is bolded, it means i cannot tag you! you may want to change your visibility settings!!
Chapter Summary: After wasting away the days and nights rejecting any kind of food or water given by your captors, you receive two new roommates in this grimy basement. One of them recognizes you, the other being your key to victory.
Series Masterlist. β Warnings: mentions of being chained up, not eating nor drinking properly, homesickness, one graphic death description, and one suggestive comment at the end.
Shoot me an ask or comment if you'd want to be added to the taglist! β read on A03 here
The slimy sewer waters that have pooled around your feet have fully soaked your shoes and socks, making you grimace at the sound whenever you stand. Sweat from trying to break free made your shirt cling to your chest, leaving you yearning for a nice, cold shower. If you were dropped in a lake, you wouldn't complain. Actually, you think you'd prefer being dropped into this village's lake. Preferably unconscious so you won't have to feel the pain of being fish food.
Not as productive as you would have expected from your very own isekai experience, but hey, at least you didn't die five minutes in.
"I've survived two years," you remind yourself. "What's a few more days?"
This wasn't about learning to fight back β it is in your priority list, though β but to wait. When you played these games, you always remained hesitant to pull the trigger, opting to sneak around and use up every knife in your arsenal. You were not made for loud headshots, nor fancy kicks β you don't think you can even pull your leg higher than a few meters.
You frown at the thought. You didn't want to rely on him for everything, but if you wanted to make it out of here alive and in one piece, sticking close to someone with his level of experience was the way to go.
Still. It leaves a bitter, heavy taste on your tongue at the idea of using him.
He was more than just a shield, you know that.
You look down at your restrained wrists again, dirty fingers tracing along the harsh, red lines of where the metal meets your skin. It's heavy, but not as quite as the feeling of homesickness. Your frown deepens further as the heavy realization sinks in.
"There's no going back."
You never did have that choice from the start. But that stubborn, hopeful part of you still wanted to believe it. With a heavy sigh, you slowly stand and blatantly ignore the little puddles sloshing around your feet in the process, and make your way to that conveniently placed hook in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you lodge the chain connecting the metal rings around your wrists and begin tugging.
You grunt, the sting immediate as you continue to pull, pull, and pull.
The metal cries out, the kind that has you wincing as if someone had just dragged a fork down a chalkboard. But the metal is as stubborn as you β it would not budge. Not when sweat builds up on your forehead, or when you see your flesh turn a raw pink, blood threatening to burst free, or when footsteps begin to echo right outside.
"What the fuβ" you're cut off when something, or rather, someone's arms tug you back in one swift motion. When you look down, you physically feel the color drain from your face when you realize his palm practically covers your entire stomach. You try to even out your breathing, calm your erratic heart, but the heavy weight guiding you back to where the nail remains wedged in the ground has you pliant.
Grumbling followed, then sluggish and inconsistent footsteps. Through the hair obscuring your eyes, you see them β and you feel just a little bit of hope flourish in your chest.
A village ganado is dragging two men by the wrists, his free hand holding a small axe, his eyes fixed on you. It grumbles, all incoherent and in a foreign language.
Honestly, if you knew you'd be those isekai protagonists you read about at 2 a.m., you'd put in more effort into your high school Spanish class.
"Stay," the man behind you whispers, his voice and breath warming your ears as he steps away. You can only stare at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as he casually steps over Leon Kennedy's unconscious body. You think he huffs a small laugh at your reaction. If you didn't know anything, you'd think you were growing on him. But having a cult lunatic as an admirer isn't exactly ideal, so you scratch that idea. Instead, you let your gaze fall to the steady rise and fall of their chests.
You don't even realize how your shoulders have relaxed, or how the edges of your eyes have begun to sting from unshed tears.
Only when they're fully out of view do you finally let yourself relax. Knees buckling and throat threatening to unload what little food you have in your system.
This is real. You're here in this rundown, and very cult-shaped village in Spain. Further away from home, from the safety of the little normalcy you've indulged in. When you slump your back against the creaky wooden walls, eyes filled with misplaced hope in your new unconscious roommates, you think to yourself, "Two years is too short."
You look up to the ceiling, watching the light sway in a dazed trance.
"For someone who wants to leave, I sure as hell can't get enough of it."
You don't recall ever falling asleep. Which should worry you, in all honesty. You have always prided yourself on being able to remember things well, but right now, your memory is slipping through imaginary cracks.
You brush it off. It's not really every day you get knocked out twice in your own home by a stranger and then kidnapped into another country. Not a very normative experience for someone your age, but hey, your grandkids will be having a field day when it's your turn to tell stories. Taken, you manage to get out of here alive, and not being too traumatized that you won't turn into a recluse.
After a few minutes of getting your bearings, counting how many times the light has flickered β something you've grown familiar with after days of not being able to do anything β your eyes sweep over the room before settling on your new companions.
Bound by the wrists like you, but they're back-to-back. Instead of being restricted by a nail hammered to the crust of the Earth, a pulley is above their heads. You feel your heart flutter at the thought of what will happen next. Actually, you almost, almost, feel the drool pooling at the edge of your lips as your eyes stare at the veins going up his arm, the way his sleeve hugs the meat of his bicep, andβ
JINGLE.
You're snapped out of your blatant thirsting at the sound ofβ¦ keys? With furrowed brows, you carefully stand up, stepping over the new plate of food β placed a little closer to you this time β and poking your head to see the entryway. For a while, you slowly start to convince yourself that you have lost your mind for a second time since you've got here, when your eyes can only see darkness. But there's a shift. A purple kind of shift as a man with a mask and a heavy bag suddenly passes through the other side.
"Hey!"
You didn't mean to call out to him and certainly not to further irritate your sore wrists, but your excitement got to you.
Realizing your mistake, you internally scold yourself over the rookie mistake, before your eyes landed on the hook near you again. Like an absolute idiot, you try to break the chain. Why? You don't even know why when your ticket home is still getting his beauty nap.
Wavy hair, a slight stubble decorating his chin, and a leather jacket thrown across his upper body. You should have smiled, felt that excitement and relief at meeting one of your favorite characters. But all you feel is dread. Unbidden curiosity and fear of its consequence when his eyes flare with recognition.
Luis Serra knows you from somewhere. And your brain finally decides to be useful because it reminds you that the 'you' of this world was a doctor. That mysterious man in the crumpled photo inside your desk could be him, just obscured by the bloodstain.
"Do Iβ¦ know you?" It's a stupid question, one you know deep down you shouldn't have to ask β because you do. Almost disgustingly so, now that you think about it. But having Luis Serra in front of you, staring with wide eyes and an agape mouth, sends a feeling of dread straight down to your stomach.
Luis, who finally comes back to his senses, shakes his head. Messy, curly hair swaying with the movement as his eyes fall to stare at his cuffed hands. "Pardon me, cariΓ±o. Mistook you for someone else."
He looks amused at your obvious dilemma of speaking more than you should. A chuckle leaves as he takes a tentative, experimental tug on the chains wrapped around his wrist. A grunt leaves him when he finally realizes who he's chained to.
"You shouldn't do that," you warn with furrowed brows.
"I think I've got it, cariΓ±o."
"What the hell does that even mean?"
"You mean 'cariΓ±o'?" Luis asks, a little baffled, mostly enjoying how you're shuffling your feet in restlessness. "I thought everyone took Spanish in high school?"
"Never said I paid attention."
"Shame then."
"You really shouldn't do thatβ"
"Relax, tesoro,β"
"Don't make the nicknames a habit."
"β I've got it handled."
You can only begin to imagine what expression you're wearing. All you know is that it must be hilarious if Luis is casually pulling at the constraints binding him to a federal agent that could kick him into the afterlife. You try to dissuade him from doing anything more, like elbowing the said federal agent behind him like a traveler poking a sleeping lion.
As he tries to get up and kick him awake, you muster all your strength to swing the length of the chain binding you at his feet, miraculously tripping him. You feel a little bad when Lui's chin makes contact with the ground, a flurry of Spanish curses following suit as a hand cradles his jaw. When his eyes land on you, your hands are intertwined with each other in a white-knuckled grip.
"Geez, you should warn me when you decide to swing that thing around."
"And you should learn to heed warnings," ironic, that it's coming from you. But that's unimportant. "There's a saying about not poking a sleeping lion. Or whatever."
Luis grins. "I think you mean 'poking a sleeping bear', tesoro."
You wanted to bury your face in the heart of your palms at your obvious fumble. It was a bear, it's always been a bear. So why the fuck did you say lion?
"Okay, fine, you got me there. But the idea is still the same."
"You know the Yanqui?"
You pause too long.
"β¦ No."
"Convincing."
"Shut up."
Surprisingly, a moment of silence lapsed. You give up trying to break free from using the hook at your disposal, instead choosing to plop yourself down in front of Luis. Your knees tucked to your chest with your chin resting on top of them. Luis continues to watch you with that strange, amused, familiar tint in his eyes.
You wet your lips, and the question of 'how do you know me?' sits heavily on the tip of your tongue. But the consequences of that question feel heavier than the lack of waking up Leon is doing. You know Luis knows that you've been anxiously staring at the entryway since he woke up.
Tearing your eyes away from him, you heave out a sigh and shut them closed. You think the light flickers again when Luis calls for you.
Briefly, you raise your head. "What is it?"
This time, it's he who hesitates.
"What brings you here, cariΓ±o? Not exactly a popular tourist spot."
"β¦ I don't know."
The answer comes out more honest than you cared to admit. Maybe a little too vulnerable, granted, you have just met the guy. But his eyes β when you see them again β it is so soothing. The kind of expression you'd find on the face of your favorite aunt or uncle, who always got you out of trouble and gave you extra candy.
"It'll be okay," he reassures you, a finger tapping at the edge of your muddy and soaked shoe. "When our sleeping beauty wakes up, I'll find a way for us to get out."
You smile and let the comfort settle in your chest like a weighted blanket during a stormy night.
Another moment of silence passes before it's you who's questioning him.
"And you? What are you doing here?"
A loopsided grin, but more so a grimace than his usual confident, laid-back smiles.
"Let's just say⦠unfinished business."
"The same one in the cheesy movies?" You ask with a raised brow, the tension leaving your body enough to fully ease into playful banter.
Luis brightens at your jab. "Oh tesoro, it is way better than the movies."
"Or worse," you shrug. "For all I know, you could be a spy working for some mysterious man out to kill me."
"Trust me, if I were, the job would be done. Easy peasy."
"Scary."
"Very scary, cariΓ±o."
You laugh. The sound is airy and free. Just like the feeling of sneaking into the breakrooms at work when there's been too many pastry deliveries, and you're eating a bunch of muffins with Mason and laughing at Evan.
Hours pass in a blur. The kind where the environment becomes a distant echo as you ride on a family vehicle, destination unknown, but the comfort of a familial presence is grounding.
It's easy to get lost in conversation with Luis. You've lost count of how many times you've let out a chuckle or a breathy laugh. You've moved a little closer, too. No longer tucked in your own shell, and instead, you've allowed yourself a little physical connection by letting Luis be at arm's length. Not necessarily a big change, but it's a step in the right direction.
"Pardon me for asking, cariΓ±o," Luis starts. His fingers are tapping a steady rhythm on your ankle. "But may I ask a question?"
You tilt your head curiously. "You've been doing that the entire time."
"Being a great company?"
"Asking questions."
"Tough crowd."
Another chuckle escapes you. You think the only reason you're allowing such instances to happen is to see Luis smile. It's a pretty thing after all. A little crooked, oozing that casual confidence he always carries himself with, but it's softer, maybe a little fond when your nose crinkles as you suppress your giggles.
A roll of your eyes, "Are you going to ask or not?"
Luis hums. "I was getting to that. So you seeβ"
The shifting of chains can be heard behind Luis, and it's embarrassing how your attention is immediately captured.
"Oh, what the fuck?"
Oh dear.
Oh, this was very bad for you.
Luis cocks an amused brow at you, and you only throw him a glare, kicking your feet in his direction and shushing him. It isn't very effective, not when you feel the flush on your cheeks and how your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.
Calm the fuck down, you internally scold yourself.
"Hey, stop it!" comes Luis's complaint, his arms raised above his head as you follow the faint outline of blonde hair. He shifts, hurrying to stand, and his eyes strain above him. "Oi, yanqui, got a name?"
"Leon." The reply is curt, straight to the point. You're surprised he hasn't noticed you yet, with how intensely you're staring at him.
Was he always this tall, or is it because you're just sitting down?
"Quiet type, eh? I'm Luis Serra, andβ" Luis pauses, his eyes eventually finding yours β still very much strained on how Leon is quietly tugging himself free.
For some reason, Luis doesn't say your name like you half-expected him to.
Luis only lets out a breathy chuckle, "Guess we all picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?" He doesn't grace him with a reply; instead, he moves further back into the room and pulls. "Hey, stop it. You move, I move⦠and I'm beat enough as is."
A snort escapes you. When Luis cranes his neck to glare at you, you flash him a cheeky smile, mouthing 'I told you'. He only rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. Luis eventually turns his attention back to Leon, leaving you to anxiously shift your attention to the entryway, fingers scratching your wrists raw.
Luis fills the room with his questions, Leon only replies with grunts and groans, the creaking of the pulley above their heads singing with him as he pulls and pulls. And with each tug, your eyes wander β to his gloved hands, the harness hugging his chest, the way his brows are set deeper when Luis finally asks the million-dollar question.
"Maybe⦠some missing señorita?"
It should be illegal when Leon turns to stare Luis down, the motion slows down in your eyes, giving you the perfect view of his set jaw, or the way his eyes finally grow interested, albeit it's a little rough and pointed.
"A young girl?" One strong tug, and Luis is dragged towards him. And it takes every fibre in your bones not to let out a low whistle and a murmured wish to swap places with the Spaniard. "Talk. Now." It should also be illegal how weak in the knees you are β you're not even standing!
You don't dwell on your borderline inappropriate thoughts of the federal agent when the lights begin to flicker. This time, there's a tingling sensation that starts with the tips of your fingers, before it shoots down to your toes. The feeling almost sends you toppling down if you had not used the wall for support.
"Holy shit, what is happening?" you ask yourself, clutching at your head as ringing resounds. The world tilts to the left before abruptly tilting to the right like an unsure camera. You think there are footsteps right in front of you, and you see it.
Hazy, but a clear amalgamation of colors before everything snaps into place.
POP.
The pulley is ripped out of the ceiling in line with the light bulb bursting. Luis falls on his back, and Leon sees it β or, well, sees you. There's no recognition, much to your delight, just bewilderment as your lips move faster than your brain can catch up, nearly tripping over your own feet when an unwanted guest makes an appearance.
"Luis!" The words tumble out again, this time, like a blaring siren sound. You catch Leon's eyes in that brief moment again, and for once, for the first time in two years, you have been stuck in this world with no means of going back homeβyou feel relief flood through you.
It's short-lived, though, when you're ducking under a zombie haphazardly trying to butcher you with a rusty axe.
Leon pulls the chains fast enough for Luis to be pulled away from the line of fire. Gathering the metal restrictions, Leon swings it in the ganado's direction, hitting it directly in the face. You, on the other hand, have frantically gotten over your little episode, using every curse word in your personal dictionary when the nail continues to budge, but not enough.
"Come on, come on, come on, you lousy piece ofβ"
Dread fills you as flickers of possibilities flash before your eyes. You failing to get out and taking an axe to the face, Luis not rolling out of the way fast enough and having his throat cut open, and Leonβ
SNAP.
Without a moment's hesitation, the moment the nail on the ground is finally freed, you mimic Leon's movements and wrap the chain binding your wrists around the ganado's foot, limiting its area of cover as it swings its axe around aimlessly.
"Shitβ¦!" You curse under your breath, sweaty palms struggling to keep a firm grip on the metal chains to limit the ganado's movement. Warmth spills over your backside as an extra pair of hands enclose your own.
"Easy, cariΓ±o, that's no way to speak," Luis scolds with a playful smile.
If you weren't so adamant in not having your face axed off, you'd elbow him in the stomach, your current position giving you a hefty advantage. But you refrain β partly too scared your grip will falter, mostly too distracted when Leon brings his knee up before slamming it down on the ground with another grunt.
The ganado's movements finally cease, and you're left standing there, your fingers slowly losing their grip on the metal as you stare at Leon's hunched figure with your mouth probably hanging open. Observing with great intensity how his shoulders heave up and down, or when he turns to face you, his eyes practically freeze you on the spot as if Medusa had descended and granted him a blessing to turn you into stone.
You hold his gaze for a good few seconds or so, but you eventually break it off when the sound of a clink is heard behind you.
Luis only throws you an apologetic grin, twirling the key to your restraints on one finger before letting out a small huff of breath.
"Hey!"
"Hey, we're not done here!"
He looks between you two. His gaze lingered just a few more seconds on your figure β brows furrowed, a deep frown on your lips, and your chest trying to take in as much air as it can. "Later, amigo, cariΓ±o!" And on cue, he throws the key right between your feet with a low whistle.
You follow Luis's figure until you can't make out the outline of him anymore. With a vexed sigh, you kneel to pick up the key. A small sigh of relief escapes you when it slots perfectly, and your wrists are finally freed with a soft clink.
When you turn around, you don't know what possessed you to take a step too close into Leon's space, a hand open, waiting for him to take it as the key sits comfortably between your fingers. It's only when he takes a step back that you realize your rookie mistake.
You meet his eyes again β stormy, and furrowed β as they stray towards the key in your grasp. You swallowed hard before offering it to him. "Here," you say, voice a little soft and parched, as you take a generous amount of steps back with a small smile.
You turn around before he can question you, already checking the entryway and kicking the tray of "food" with the tip of your boots. You grimace at the feeling of water pooling in between your toes and the disgusting squelching sounds your socks made. When you throw a discreet glance at Leon, he has two fingers pressed into his ear. You tear your gaze away as quickly as it had settled on his figure to inspect the broken glass from the lightbulb.
You kneel, about to take a piece of it in your hands, when Leon speaks.
"Hey, that's dangerous."
"I think I've handled worse."
He raises a brow at you, "Like?"
You motion at the corpse at his feet.
A huff of breath that you think is a chuckle escapes him. Much to your surprise, he steps over said corpse, offering you a hand. "Come on. Let's get outta here," Leon motions his head to the entryway.
You can only muster a nod as you take his hand in yours, afraid of how you know your voice will break and stutter if you try to reply. And oh dear god, it's so much bigger than yours. You feel lightheaded when he singlehandedly hauls you up in one fell swoop. And you don't like how you miss his warmth β not even his actual warmth, it was probably the sweat and grime on the heart of his glove β when his hand slips out of yours.
When he moves forward, and you stay rooted in our sport, he asks, "You okay?"
"β¦ I need a shower."
Not exactly what you had in mind; you thought maybe "like a million bucks!" or something along those lines would be more⦠charming. But hey, at least your honesty lands you a grunt and another reply that isn't just one sentence.
"Yeah? Can't blame you. Probably need one, too."
Honesty really is the best policy.
"You offering?"
"What?"
"Nothing!"
Okay, maybe a little too honest.
Author's notes. admittedly... this is a week late due to me preparing for finals, so my apologies for the wait TT but hooray! luis and leon are finally here!! also, if your name on the taglist is bolded, it means i cannot tag you! you may want to change your visibility settings!!
Chapter Summary: After wasting away the days and nights rejecting any kind of food or water given by your captors, you receive two new roommates in this grimy basement. One of them recognizes you, the other being your key to victory.
Series Masterlist. β Warnings: mentions of being chained up, not eating nor drinking properly, homesickness, one graphic death description, and one suggestive comment at the end.
Shoot me an ask or comment if you'd want to be added to the taglist! β read on A03 here
The slimy sewer waters that have pooled around your feet have fully soaked your shoes and socks, making you grimace at the sound whenever you stand. Sweat from trying to break free made your shirt cling to your chest, leaving you yearning for a nice, cold shower. If you were dropped in a lake, you wouldn't complain. Actually, you think you'd prefer being dropped into this village's lake. Preferably unconscious so you won't have to feel the pain of being fish food.
Not as productive as you would have expected from your very own isekai experience, but hey, at least you didn't die five minutes in.
"I've survived two years," you remind yourself. "What's a few more days?"
This wasn't about learning to fight back β it is in your priority list, though β but to wait. When you played these games, you always remained hesitant to pull the trigger, opting to sneak around and use up every knife in your arsenal. You were not made for loud headshots, nor fancy kicks β you don't think you can even pull your leg higher than a few meters.
You frown at the thought. You didn't want to rely on him for everything, but if you wanted to make it out of here alive and in one piece, sticking close to someone with his level of experience was the way to go.
Still. It leaves a bitter, heavy taste on your tongue at the idea of using him.
He was more than just a shield, you know that.
You look down at your restrained wrists again, dirty fingers tracing along the harsh, red lines of where the metal meets your skin. It's heavy, but not as quite as the feeling of homesickness. Your frown deepens further as the heavy realization sinks in.
"There's no going back."
You never did have that choice from the start. But that stubborn, hopeful part of you still wanted to believe it. With a heavy sigh, you slowly stand and blatantly ignore the little puddles sloshing around your feet in the process, and make your way to that conveniently placed hook in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you lodge the chain connecting the metal rings around your wrists and begin tugging.
You grunt, the sting immediate as you continue to pull, pull, and pull.
The metal cries out, the kind that has you wincing as if someone had just dragged a fork down a chalkboard. But the metal is as stubborn as you β it would not budge. Not when sweat builds up on your forehead, or when you see your flesh turn a raw pink, blood threatening to burst free, or when footsteps begin to echo right outside.
"What the fuβ" you're cut off when something, or rather, someone's arms tug you back in one swift motion. When you look down, you physically feel the color drain from your face when you realize his palm practically covers your entire stomach. You try to even out your breathing, calm your erratic heart, but the heavy weight guiding you back to where the nail remains wedged in the ground has you pliant.
Grumbling followed, then sluggish and inconsistent footsteps. Through the hair obscuring your eyes, you see them β and you feel just a little bit of hope flourish in your chest.
A village ganado is dragging two men by the wrists, his free hand holding a small axe, his eyes fixed on you. It grumbles, all incoherent and in a foreign language.
Honestly, if you knew you'd be those isekai protagonists you read about at 2 a.m., you'd put in more effort into your high school Spanish class.
"Stay," the man behind you whispers, his voice and breath warming your ears as he steps away. You can only stare at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as he casually steps over Leon Kennedy's unconscious body. You think he huffs a small laugh at your reaction. If you didn't know anything, you'd think you were growing on him. But having a cult lunatic as an admirer isn't exactly ideal, so you scratch that idea. Instead, you let your gaze fall to the steady rise and fall of their chests.
You don't even realize how your shoulders have relaxed, or how the edges of your eyes have begun to sting from unshed tears.
Only when they're fully out of view do you finally let yourself relax. Knees buckling and throat threatening to unload what little food you have in your system.
This is real. You're here in this rundown, and very cult-shaped village in Spain. Further away from home, from the safety of the little normalcy you've indulged in. When you slump your back against the creaky wooden walls, eyes filled with misplaced hope in your new unconscious roommates, you think to yourself, "Two years is too short."
You look up to the ceiling, watching the light sway in a dazed trance.
"For someone who wants to leave, I sure as hell can't get enough of it."
You don't recall ever falling asleep. Which should worry you, in all honesty. You have always prided yourself on being able to remember things well, but right now, your memory is slipping through imaginary cracks.
You brush it off. It's not really every day you get knocked out twice in your own home by a stranger and then kidnapped into another country. Not a very normative experience for someone your age, but hey, your grandkids will be having a field day when it's your turn to tell stories. Taken, you manage to get out of here alive, and not being too traumatized that you won't turn into a recluse.
After a few minutes of getting your bearings, counting how many times the light has flickered β something you've grown familiar with after days of not being able to do anything β your eyes sweep over the room before settling on your new companions.
Bound by the wrists like you, but they're back-to-back. Instead of being restricted by a nail hammered to the crust of the Earth, a pulley is above their heads. You feel your heart flutter at the thought of what will happen next. Actually, you almost, almost, feel the drool pooling at the edge of your lips as your eyes stare at the veins going up his arm, the way his sleeve hugs the meat of his bicep, andβ
JINGLE.
You're snapped out of your blatant thirsting at the sound ofβ¦ keys? With furrowed brows, you carefully stand up, stepping over the new plate of food β placed a little closer to you this time β and poking your head to see the entryway. For a while, you slowly start to convince yourself that you have lost your mind for a second time since you've got here, when your eyes can only see darkness. But there's a shift. A purple kind of shift as a man with a mask and a heavy bag suddenly passes through the other side.
"Hey!"
You didn't mean to call out to him and certainly not to further irritate your sore wrists, but your excitement got to you.
Realizing your mistake, you internally scold yourself over the rookie mistake, before your eyes landed on the hook near you again. Like an absolute idiot, you try to break the chain. Why? You don't even know why when your ticket home is still getting his beauty nap.
Wavy hair, a slight stubble decorating his chin, and a leather jacket thrown across his upper body. You should have smiled, felt that excitement and relief at meeting one of your favorite characters. But all you feel is dread. Unbidden curiosity and fear of its consequence when his eyes flare with recognition.
Luis Serra knows you from somewhere. And your brain finally decides to be useful because it reminds you that the 'you' of this world was a doctor. That mysterious man in the crumpled photo inside your desk could be him, just obscured by the bloodstain.
"Do Iβ¦ know you?" It's a stupid question, one you know deep down you shouldn't have to ask β because you do. Almost disgustingly so, now that you think about it. But having Luis Serra in front of you, staring with wide eyes and an agape mouth, sends a feeling of dread straight down to your stomach.
Luis, who finally comes back to his senses, shakes his head. Messy, curly hair swaying with the movement as his eyes fall to stare at his cuffed hands. "Pardon me, cariΓ±o. Mistook you for someone else."
He looks amused at your obvious dilemma of speaking more than you should. A chuckle leaves as he takes a tentative, experimental tug on the chains wrapped around his wrist. A grunt leaves him when he finally realizes who he's chained to.
"You shouldn't do that," you warn with furrowed brows.
"I think I've got it, cariΓ±o."
"What the hell does that even mean?"
"You mean 'cariΓ±o'?" Luis asks, a little baffled, mostly enjoying how you're shuffling your feet in restlessness. "I thought everyone took Spanish in high school?"
"Never said I paid attention."
"Shame then."
"You really shouldn't do thatβ"
"Relax, tesoro,β"
"Don't make the nicknames a habit."
"β I've got it handled."
You can only begin to imagine what expression you're wearing. All you know is that it must be hilarious if Luis is casually pulling at the constraints binding him to a federal agent that could kick him into the afterlife. You try to dissuade him from doing anything more, like elbowing the said federal agent behind him like a traveler poking a sleeping lion.
As he tries to get up and kick him awake, you muster all your strength to swing the length of the chain binding you at his feet, miraculously tripping him. You feel a little bad when Lui's chin makes contact with the ground, a flurry of Spanish curses following suit as a hand cradles his jaw. When his eyes land on you, your hands are intertwined with each other in a white-knuckled grip.
"Geez, you should warn me when you decide to swing that thing around."
"And you should learn to heed warnings," ironic, that it's coming from you. But that's unimportant. "There's a saying about not poking a sleeping lion. Or whatever."
Luis grins. "I think you mean 'poking a sleeping bear', tesoro."
You wanted to bury your face in the heart of your palms at your obvious fumble. It was a bear, it's always been a bear. So why the fuck did you say lion?
"Okay, fine, you got me there. But the idea is still the same."
"You know the Yanqui?"
You pause too long.
"β¦ No."
"Convincing."
"Shut up."
Surprisingly, a moment of silence lapsed. You give up trying to break free from using the hook at your disposal, instead choosing to plop yourself down in front of Luis. Your knees tucked to your chest with your chin resting on top of them. Luis continues to watch you with that strange, amused, familiar tint in his eyes.
You wet your lips, and the question of 'how do you know me?' sits heavily on the tip of your tongue. But the consequences of that question feel heavier than the lack of waking up Leon is doing. You know Luis knows that you've been anxiously staring at the entryway since he woke up.
Tearing your eyes away from him, you heave out a sigh and shut them closed. You think the light flickers again when Luis calls for you.
Briefly, you raise your head. "What is it?"
This time, it's he who hesitates.
"What brings you here, cariΓ±o? Not exactly a popular tourist spot."
"β¦ I don't know."
The answer comes out more honest than you cared to admit. Maybe a little too vulnerable, granted, you have just met the guy. But his eyes β when you see them again β it is so soothing. The kind of expression you'd find on the face of your favorite aunt or uncle, who always got you out of trouble and gave you extra candy.
"It'll be okay," he reassures you, a finger tapping at the edge of your muddy and soaked shoe. "When our sleeping beauty wakes up, I'll find a way for us to get out."
You smile and let the comfort settle in your chest like a weighted blanket during a stormy night.
Another moment of silence passes before it's you who's questioning him.
"And you? What are you doing here?"
A loopsided grin, but more so a grimace than his usual confident, laid-back smiles.
"Let's just say⦠unfinished business."
"The same one in the cheesy movies?" You ask with a raised brow, the tension leaving your body enough to fully ease into playful banter.
Luis brightens at your jab. "Oh tesoro, it is way better than the movies."
"Or worse," you shrug. "For all I know, you could be a spy working for some mysterious man out to kill me."
"Trust me, if I were, the job would be done. Easy peasy."
"Scary."
"Very scary, cariΓ±o."
You laugh. The sound is airy and free. Just like the feeling of sneaking into the breakrooms at work when there's been too many pastry deliveries, and you're eating a bunch of muffins with Mason and laughing at Evan.
Hours pass in a blur. The kind where the environment becomes a distant echo as you ride on a family vehicle, destination unknown, but the comfort of a familial presence is grounding.
It's easy to get lost in conversation with Luis. You've lost count of how many times you've let out a chuckle or a breathy laugh. You've moved a little closer, too. No longer tucked in your own shell, and instead, you've allowed yourself a little physical connection by letting Luis be at arm's length. Not necessarily a big change, but it's a step in the right direction.
"Pardon me for asking, cariΓ±o," Luis starts. His fingers are tapping a steady rhythm on your ankle. "But may I ask a question?"
You tilt your head curiously. "You've been doing that the entire time."
"Being a great company?"
"Asking questions."
"Tough crowd."
Another chuckle escapes you. You think the only reason you're allowing such instances to happen is to see Luis smile. It's a pretty thing after all. A little crooked, oozing that casual confidence he always carries himself with, but it's softer, maybe a little fond when your nose crinkles as you suppress your giggles.
A roll of your eyes, "Are you going to ask or not?"
Luis hums. "I was getting to that. So you seeβ"
The shifting of chains can be heard behind Luis, and it's embarrassing how your attention is immediately captured.
"Oh, what the fuck?"
Oh dear.
Oh, this was very bad for you.
Luis cocks an amused brow at you, and you only throw him a glare, kicking your feet in his direction and shushing him. It isn't very effective, not when you feel the flush on your cheeks and how your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.
Calm the fuck down, you internally scold yourself.
"Hey, stop it!" comes Luis's complaint, his arms raised above his head as you follow the faint outline of blonde hair. He shifts, hurrying to stand, and his eyes strain above him. "Oi, yanqui, got a name?"
"Leon." The reply is curt, straight to the point. You're surprised he hasn't noticed you yet, with how intensely you're staring at him.
Was he always this tall, or is it because you're just sitting down?
"Quiet type, eh? I'm Luis Serra, andβ" Luis pauses, his eyes eventually finding yours β still very much strained on how Leon is quietly tugging himself free.
For some reason, Luis doesn't say your name like you half-expected him to.
Luis only lets out a breathy chuckle, "Guess we all picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?" He doesn't grace him with a reply; instead, he moves further back into the room and pulls. "Hey, stop it. You move, I move⦠and I'm beat enough as is."
A snort escapes you. When Luis cranes his neck to glare at you, you flash him a cheeky smile, mouthing 'I told you'. He only rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. Luis eventually turns his attention back to Leon, leaving you to anxiously shift your attention to the entryway, fingers scratching your wrists raw.
Luis fills the room with his questions, Leon only replies with grunts and groans, the creaking of the pulley above their heads singing with him as he pulls and pulls. And with each tug, your eyes wander β to his gloved hands, the harness hugging his chest, the way his brows are set deeper when Luis finally asks the million-dollar question.
"Maybe⦠some missing señorita?"
It should be illegal when Leon turns to stare Luis down, the motion slows down in your eyes, giving you the perfect view of his set jaw, or the way his eyes finally grow interested, albeit it's a little rough and pointed.
"A young girl?" One strong tug, and Luis is dragged towards him. And it takes every fibre in your bones not to let out a low whistle and a murmured wish to swap places with the Spaniard. "Talk. Now." It should also be illegal how weak in the knees you are β you're not even standing!
You don't dwell on your borderline inappropriate thoughts of the federal agent when the lights begin to flicker. This time, there's a tingling sensation that starts with the tips of your fingers, before it shoots down to your toes. The feeling almost sends you toppling down if you had not used the wall for support.
"Holy shit, what is happening?" you ask yourself, clutching at your head as ringing resounds. The world tilts to the left before abruptly tilting to the right like an unsure camera. You think there are footsteps right in front of you, and you see it.
Hazy, but a clear amalgamation of colors before everything snaps into place.
POP.
The pulley is ripped out of the ceiling in line with the light bulb bursting. Luis falls on his back, and Leon sees it β or, well, sees you. There's no recognition, much to your delight, just bewilderment as your lips move faster than your brain can catch up, nearly tripping over your own feet when an unwanted guest makes an appearance.
"Luis!" The words tumble out again, this time, like a blaring siren sound. You catch Leon's eyes in that brief moment again, and for once, for the first time in two years, you have been stuck in this world with no means of going back homeβyou feel relief flood through you.
It's short-lived, though, when you're ducking under a zombie haphazardly trying to butcher you with a rusty axe.
Leon pulls the chains fast enough for Luis to be pulled away from the line of fire. Gathering the metal restrictions, Leon swings it in the ganado's direction, hitting it directly in the face. You, on the other hand, have frantically gotten over your little episode, using every curse word in your personal dictionary when the nail continues to budge, but not enough.
"Come on, come on, come on, you lousy piece ofβ"
Dread fills you as flickers of possibilities flash before your eyes. You failing to get out and taking an axe to the face, Luis not rolling out of the way fast enough and having his throat cut open, and Leonβ
SNAP.
Without a moment's hesitation, the moment the nail on the ground is finally freed, you mimic Leon's movements and wrap the chain binding your wrists around the ganado's foot, limiting its area of cover as it swings its axe around aimlessly.
"Shitβ¦!" You curse under your breath, sweaty palms struggling to keep a firm grip on the metal chains to limit the ganado's movement. Warmth spills over your backside as an extra pair of hands enclose your own.
"Easy, cariΓ±o, that's no way to speak," Luis scolds with a playful smile.
If you weren't so adamant in not having your face axed off, you'd elbow him in the stomach, your current position giving you a hefty advantage. But you refrain β partly too scared your grip will falter, mostly too distracted when Leon brings his knee up before slamming it down on the ground with another grunt.
The ganado's movements finally cease, and you're left standing there, your fingers slowly losing their grip on the metal as you stare at Leon's hunched figure with your mouth probably hanging open. Observing with great intensity how his shoulders heave up and down, or when he turns to face you, his eyes practically freeze you on the spot as if Medusa had descended and granted him a blessing to turn you into stone.
You hold his gaze for a good few seconds or so, but you eventually break it off when the sound of a clink is heard behind you.
Luis only throws you an apologetic grin, twirling the key to your restraints on one finger before letting out a small huff of breath.
"Hey!"
"Hey, we're not done here!"
He looks between you two. His gaze lingered just a few more seconds on your figure β brows furrowed, a deep frown on your lips, and your chest trying to take in as much air as it can. "Later, amigo, cariΓ±o!" And on cue, he throws the key right between your feet with a low whistle.
You follow Luis's figure until you can't make out the outline of him anymore. With a vexed sigh, you kneel to pick up the key. A small sigh of relief escapes you when it slots perfectly, and your wrists are finally freed with a soft clink.
When you turn around, you don't know what possessed you to take a step too close into Leon's space, a hand open, waiting for him to take it as the key sits comfortably between your fingers. It's only when he takes a step back that you realize your rookie mistake.
You meet his eyes again β stormy, and furrowed β as they stray towards the key in your grasp. You swallowed hard before offering it to him. "Here," you say, voice a little soft and parched, as you take a generous amount of steps back with a small smile.
You turn around before he can question you, already checking the entryway and kicking the tray of "food" with the tip of your boots. You grimace at the feeling of water pooling in between your toes and the disgusting squelching sounds your socks made. When you throw a discreet glance at Leon, he has two fingers pressed into his ear. You tear your gaze away as quickly as it had settled on his figure to inspect the broken glass from the lightbulb.
You kneel, about to take a piece of it in your hands, when Leon speaks.
"Hey, that's dangerous."
"I think I've handled worse."
He raises a brow at you, "Like?"
You motion at the corpse at his feet.
A huff of breath that you think is a chuckle escapes him. Much to your surprise, he steps over said corpse, offering you a hand. "Come on. Let's get outta here," Leon motions his head to the entryway.
You can only muster a nod as you take his hand in yours, afraid of how you know your voice will break and stutter if you try to reply. And oh dear god, it's so much bigger than yours. You feel lightheaded when he singlehandedly hauls you up in one fell swoop. And you don't like how you miss his warmth β not even his actual warmth, it was probably the sweat and grime on the heart of his glove β when his hand slips out of yours.
When he moves forward, and you stay rooted in our sport, he asks, "You okay?"
"β¦ I need a shower."
Not exactly what you had in mind; you thought maybe "like a million bucks!" or something along those lines would be more⦠charming. But hey, at least your honesty lands you a grunt and another reply that isn't just one sentence.
"Yeah? Can't blame you. Probably need one, too."
Honesty really is the best policy.
"You offering?"
"What?"
"Nothing!"
Okay, maybe a little too honest.
Author's notes. admittedly... this is a week late due to me preparing for finals, so my apologies for the wait TT but hooray! luis and leon are finally here!! also, if your name on the taglist is bolded, it means i cannot tag you! you may want to change your visibility settings!!
Chapter Summary: After wasting away the days and nights rejecting any kind of food or water given by your captors, you receive two new roommates in this grimy basement. One of them recognizes you, the other being your key to victory.
Series Masterlist. β Warnings: mentions of being chained up, not eating nor drinking properly, homesickness, one graphic death description, and one suggestive comment at the end.
Shoot me an ask or comment if you'd want to be added to the taglist! β read on A03 here
The slimy sewer waters that have pooled around your feet have fully soaked your shoes and socks, making you grimace at the sound whenever you stand. Sweat from trying to break free made your shirt cling to your chest, leaving you yearning for a nice, cold shower. If you were dropped in a lake, you wouldn't complain. Actually, you think you'd prefer being dropped into this village's lake. Preferably unconscious so you won't have to feel the pain of being fish food.
Not as productive as you would have expected from your very own isekai experience, but hey, at least you didn't die five minutes in.
"I've survived two years," you remind yourself. "What's a few more days?"
This wasn't about learning to fight back β it is in your priority list, though β but to wait. When you played these games, you always remained hesitant to pull the trigger, opting to sneak around and use up every knife in your arsenal. You were not made for loud headshots, nor fancy kicks β you don't think you can even pull your leg higher than a few meters.
You frown at the thought. You didn't want to rely on him for everything, but if you wanted to make it out of here alive and in one piece, sticking close to someone with his level of experience was the way to go.
Still. It leaves a bitter, heavy taste on your tongue at the idea of using him.
He was more than just a shield, you know that.
You look down at your restrained wrists again, dirty fingers tracing along the harsh, red lines of where the metal meets your skin. It's heavy, but not as quite as the feeling of homesickness. Your frown deepens further as the heavy realization sinks in.
"There's no going back."
You never did have that choice from the start. But that stubborn, hopeful part of you still wanted to believe it. With a heavy sigh, you slowly stand and blatantly ignore the little puddles sloshing around your feet in the process, and make your way to that conveniently placed hook in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you lodge the chain connecting the metal rings around your wrists and begin tugging.
You grunt, the sting immediate as you continue to pull, pull, and pull.
The metal cries out, the kind that has you wincing as if someone had just dragged a fork down a chalkboard. But the metal is as stubborn as you β it would not budge. Not when sweat builds up on your forehead, or when you see your flesh turn a raw pink, blood threatening to burst free, or when footsteps begin to echo right outside.
"What the fuβ" you're cut off when something, or rather, someone's arms tug you back in one swift motion. When you look down, you physically feel the color drain from your face when you realize his palm practically covers your entire stomach. You try to even out your breathing, calm your erratic heart, but the heavy weight guiding you back to where the nail remains wedged in the ground has you pliant.
Grumbling followed, then sluggish and inconsistent footsteps. Through the hair obscuring your eyes, you see them β and you feel just a little bit of hope flourish in your chest.
A village ganado is dragging two men by the wrists, his free hand holding a small axe, his eyes fixed on you. It grumbles, all incoherent and in a foreign language.
Honestly, if you knew you'd be those isekai protagonists you read about at 2 a.m., you'd put in more effort into your high school Spanish class.
"Stay," the man behind you whispers, his voice and breath warming your ears as he steps away. You can only stare at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as he casually steps over Leon Kennedy's unconscious body. You think he huffs a small laugh at your reaction. If you didn't know anything, you'd think you were growing on him. But having a cult lunatic as an admirer isn't exactly ideal, so you scratch that idea. Instead, you let your gaze fall to the steady rise and fall of their chests.
You don't even realize how your shoulders have relaxed, or how the edges of your eyes have begun to sting from unshed tears.
Only when they're fully out of view do you finally let yourself relax. Knees buckling and throat threatening to unload what little food you have in your system.
This is real. You're here in this rundown, and very cult-shaped village in Spain. Further away from home, from the safety of the little normalcy you've indulged in. When you slump your back against the creaky wooden walls, eyes filled with misplaced hope in your new unconscious roommates, you think to yourself, "Two years is too short."
You look up to the ceiling, watching the light sway in a dazed trance.
"For someone who wants to leave, I sure as hell can't get enough of it."
You don't recall ever falling asleep. Which should worry you, in all honesty. You have always prided yourself on being able to remember things well, but right now, your memory is slipping through imaginary cracks.
You brush it off. It's not really every day you get knocked out twice in your own home by a stranger and then kidnapped into another country. Not a very normative experience for someone your age, but hey, your grandkids will be having a field day when it's your turn to tell stories. Taken, you manage to get out of here alive, and not being too traumatized that you won't turn into a recluse.
After a few minutes of getting your bearings, counting how many times the light has flickered β something you've grown familiar with after days of not being able to do anything β your eyes sweep over the room before settling on your new companions.
Bound by the wrists like you, but they're back-to-back. Instead of being restricted by a nail hammered to the crust of the Earth, a pulley is above their heads. You feel your heart flutter at the thought of what will happen next. Actually, you almost, almost, feel the drool pooling at the edge of your lips as your eyes stare at the veins going up his arm, the way his sleeve hugs the meat of his bicep, andβ
JINGLE.
You're snapped out of your blatant thirsting at the sound ofβ¦ keys? With furrowed brows, you carefully stand up, stepping over the new plate of food β placed a little closer to you this time β and poking your head to see the entryway. For a while, you slowly start to convince yourself that you have lost your mind for a second time since you've got here, when your eyes can only see darkness. But there's a shift. A purple kind of shift as a man with a mask and a heavy bag suddenly passes through the other side.
"Hey!"
You didn't mean to call out to him and certainly not to further irritate your sore wrists, but your excitement got to you.
Realizing your mistake, you internally scold yourself over the rookie mistake, before your eyes landed on the hook near you again. Like an absolute idiot, you try to break the chain. Why? You don't even know why when your ticket home is still getting his beauty nap.
Wavy hair, a slight stubble decorating his chin, and a leather jacket thrown across his upper body. You should have smiled, felt that excitement and relief at meeting one of your favorite characters. But all you feel is dread. Unbidden curiosity and fear of its consequence when his eyes flare with recognition.
Luis Serra knows you from somewhere. And your brain finally decides to be useful because it reminds you that the 'you' of this world was a doctor. That mysterious man in the crumpled photo inside your desk could be him, just obscured by the bloodstain.
"Do Iβ¦ know you?" It's a stupid question, one you know deep down you shouldn't have to ask β because you do. Almost disgustingly so, now that you think about it. But having Luis Serra in front of you, staring with wide eyes and an agape mouth, sends a feeling of dread straight down to your stomach.
Luis, who finally comes back to his senses, shakes his head. Messy, curly hair swaying with the movement as his eyes fall to stare at his cuffed hands. "Pardon me, cariΓ±o. Mistook you for someone else."
He looks amused at your obvious dilemma of speaking more than you should. A chuckle leaves as he takes a tentative, experimental tug on the chains wrapped around his wrist. A grunt leaves him when he finally realizes who he's chained to.
"You shouldn't do that," you warn with furrowed brows.
"I think I've got it, cariΓ±o."
"What the hell does that even mean?"
"You mean 'cariΓ±o'?" Luis asks, a little baffled, mostly enjoying how you're shuffling your feet in restlessness. "I thought everyone took Spanish in high school?"
"Never said I paid attention."
"Shame then."
"You really shouldn't do thatβ"
"Relax, tesoro,β"
"Don't make the nicknames a habit."
"β I've got it handled."
You can only begin to imagine what expression you're wearing. All you know is that it must be hilarious if Luis is casually pulling at the constraints binding him to a federal agent that could kick him into the afterlife. You try to dissuade him from doing anything more, like elbowing the said federal agent behind him like a traveler poking a sleeping lion.
As he tries to get up and kick him awake, you muster all your strength to swing the length of the chain binding you at his feet, miraculously tripping him. You feel a little bad when Lui's chin makes contact with the ground, a flurry of Spanish curses following suit as a hand cradles his jaw. When his eyes land on you, your hands are intertwined with each other in a white-knuckled grip.
"Geez, you should warn me when you decide to swing that thing around."
"And you should learn to heed warnings," ironic, that it's coming from you. But that's unimportant. "There's a saying about not poking a sleeping lion. Or whatever."
Luis grins. "I think you mean 'poking a sleeping bear', tesoro."
You wanted to bury your face in the heart of your palms at your obvious fumble. It was a bear, it's always been a bear. So why the fuck did you say lion?
"Okay, fine, you got me there. But the idea is still the same."
"You know the Yanqui?"
You pause too long.
"β¦ No."
"Convincing."
"Shut up."
Surprisingly, a moment of silence lapsed. You give up trying to break free from using the hook at your disposal, instead choosing to plop yourself down in front of Luis. Your knees tucked to your chest with your chin resting on top of them. Luis continues to watch you with that strange, amused, familiar tint in his eyes.
You wet your lips, and the question of 'how do you know me?' sits heavily on the tip of your tongue. But the consequences of that question feel heavier than the lack of waking up Leon is doing. You know Luis knows that you've been anxiously staring at the entryway since he woke up.
Tearing your eyes away from him, you heave out a sigh and shut them closed. You think the light flickers again when Luis calls for you.
Briefly, you raise your head. "What is it?"
This time, it's he who hesitates.
"What brings you here, cariΓ±o? Not exactly a popular tourist spot."
"β¦ I don't know."
The answer comes out more honest than you cared to admit. Maybe a little too vulnerable, granted, you have just met the guy. But his eyes β when you see them again β it is so soothing. The kind of expression you'd find on the face of your favorite aunt or uncle, who always got you out of trouble and gave you extra candy.
"It'll be okay," he reassures you, a finger tapping at the edge of your muddy and soaked shoe. "When our sleeping beauty wakes up, I'll find a way for us to get out."
You smile and let the comfort settle in your chest like a weighted blanket during a stormy night.
Another moment of silence passes before it's you who's questioning him.
"And you? What are you doing here?"
A loopsided grin, but more so a grimace than his usual confident, laid-back smiles.
"Let's just say⦠unfinished business."
"The same one in the cheesy movies?" You ask with a raised brow, the tension leaving your body enough to fully ease into playful banter.
Luis brightens at your jab. "Oh tesoro, it is way better than the movies."
"Or worse," you shrug. "For all I know, you could be a spy working for some mysterious man out to kill me."
"Trust me, if I were, the job would be done. Easy peasy."
"Scary."
"Very scary, cariΓ±o."
You laugh. The sound is airy and free. Just like the feeling of sneaking into the breakrooms at work when there's been too many pastry deliveries, and you're eating a bunch of muffins with Mason and laughing at Evan.
Hours pass in a blur. The kind where the environment becomes a distant echo as you ride on a family vehicle, destination unknown, but the comfort of a familial presence is grounding.
It's easy to get lost in conversation with Luis. You've lost count of how many times you've let out a chuckle or a breathy laugh. You've moved a little closer, too. No longer tucked in your own shell, and instead, you've allowed yourself a little physical connection by letting Luis be at arm's length. Not necessarily a big change, but it's a step in the right direction.
"Pardon me for asking, cariΓ±o," Luis starts. His fingers are tapping a steady rhythm on your ankle. "But may I ask a question?"
You tilt your head curiously. "You've been doing that the entire time."
"Being a great company?"
"Asking questions."
"Tough crowd."
Another chuckle escapes you. You think the only reason you're allowing such instances to happen is to see Luis smile. It's a pretty thing after all. A little crooked, oozing that casual confidence he always carries himself with, but it's softer, maybe a little fond when your nose crinkles as you suppress your giggles.
A roll of your eyes, "Are you going to ask or not?"
Luis hums. "I was getting to that. So you seeβ"
The shifting of chains can be heard behind Luis, and it's embarrassing how your attention is immediately captured.
"Oh, what the fuck?"
Oh dear.
Oh, this was very bad for you.
Luis cocks an amused brow at you, and you only throw him a glare, kicking your feet in his direction and shushing him. It isn't very effective, not when you feel the flush on your cheeks and how your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.
Calm the fuck down, you internally scold yourself.
"Hey, stop it!" comes Luis's complaint, his arms raised above his head as you follow the faint outline of blonde hair. He shifts, hurrying to stand, and his eyes strain above him. "Oi, yanqui, got a name?"
"Leon." The reply is curt, straight to the point. You're surprised he hasn't noticed you yet, with how intensely you're staring at him.
Was he always this tall, or is it because you're just sitting down?
"Quiet type, eh? I'm Luis Serra, andβ" Luis pauses, his eyes eventually finding yours β still very much strained on how Leon is quietly tugging himself free.
For some reason, Luis doesn't say your name like you half-expected him to.
Luis only lets out a breathy chuckle, "Guess we all picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?" He doesn't grace him with a reply; instead, he moves further back into the room and pulls. "Hey, stop it. You move, I move⦠and I'm beat enough as is."
A snort escapes you. When Luis cranes his neck to glare at you, you flash him a cheeky smile, mouthing 'I told you'. He only rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. Luis eventually turns his attention back to Leon, leaving you to anxiously shift your attention to the entryway, fingers scratching your wrists raw.
Luis fills the room with his questions, Leon only replies with grunts and groans, the creaking of the pulley above their heads singing with him as he pulls and pulls. And with each tug, your eyes wander β to his gloved hands, the harness hugging his chest, the way his brows are set deeper when Luis finally asks the million-dollar question.
"Maybe⦠some missing señorita?"
It should be illegal when Leon turns to stare Luis down, the motion slows down in your eyes, giving you the perfect view of his set jaw, or the way his eyes finally grow interested, albeit it's a little rough and pointed.
"A young girl?" One strong tug, and Luis is dragged towards him. And it takes every fibre in your bones not to let out a low whistle and a murmured wish to swap places with the Spaniard. "Talk. Now." It should also be illegal how weak in the knees you are β you're not even standing!
You don't dwell on your borderline inappropriate thoughts of the federal agent when the lights begin to flicker. This time, there's a tingling sensation that starts with the tips of your fingers, before it shoots down to your toes. The feeling almost sends you toppling down if you had not used the wall for support.
"Holy shit, what is happening?" you ask yourself, clutching at your head as ringing resounds. The world tilts to the left before abruptly tilting to the right like an unsure camera. You think there are footsteps right in front of you, and you see it.
Hazy, but a clear amalgamation of colors before everything snaps into place.
POP.
The pulley is ripped out of the ceiling in line with the light bulb bursting. Luis falls on his back, and Leon sees it β or, well, sees you. There's no recognition, much to your delight, just bewilderment as your lips move faster than your brain can catch up, nearly tripping over your own feet when an unwanted guest makes an appearance.
"Luis!" The words tumble out again, this time, like a blaring siren sound. You catch Leon's eyes in that brief moment again, and for once, for the first time in two years, you have been stuck in this world with no means of going back homeβyou feel relief flood through you.
It's short-lived, though, when you're ducking under a zombie haphazardly trying to butcher you with a rusty axe.
Leon pulls the chains fast enough for Luis to be pulled away from the line of fire. Gathering the metal restrictions, Leon swings it in the ganado's direction, hitting it directly in the face. You, on the other hand, have frantically gotten over your little episode, using every curse word in your personal dictionary when the nail continues to budge, but not enough.
"Come on, come on, come on, you lousy piece ofβ"
Dread fills you as flickers of possibilities flash before your eyes. You failing to get out and taking an axe to the face, Luis not rolling out of the way fast enough and having his throat cut open, and Leonβ
SNAP.
Without a moment's hesitation, the moment the nail on the ground is finally freed, you mimic Leon's movements and wrap the chain binding your wrists around the ganado's foot, limiting its area of cover as it swings its axe around aimlessly.
"Shitβ¦!" You curse under your breath, sweaty palms struggling to keep a firm grip on the metal chains to limit the ganado's movement. Warmth spills over your backside as an extra pair of hands enclose your own.
"Easy, cariΓ±o, that's no way to speak," Luis scolds with a playful smile.
If you weren't so adamant in not having your face axed off, you'd elbow him in the stomach, your current position giving you a hefty advantage. But you refrain β partly too scared your grip will falter, mostly too distracted when Leon brings his knee up before slamming it down on the ground with another grunt.
The ganado's movements finally cease, and you're left standing there, your fingers slowly losing their grip on the metal as you stare at Leon's hunched figure with your mouth probably hanging open. Observing with great intensity how his shoulders heave up and down, or when he turns to face you, his eyes practically freeze you on the spot as if Medusa had descended and granted him a blessing to turn you into stone.
You hold his gaze for a good few seconds or so, but you eventually break it off when the sound of a clink is heard behind you.
Luis only throws you an apologetic grin, twirling the key to your restraints on one finger before letting out a small huff of breath.
"Hey!"
"Hey, we're not done here!"
He looks between you two. His gaze lingered just a few more seconds on your figure β brows furrowed, a deep frown on your lips, and your chest trying to take in as much air as it can. "Later, amigo, cariΓ±o!" And on cue, he throws the key right between your feet with a low whistle.
You follow Luis's figure until you can't make out the outline of him anymore. With a vexed sigh, you kneel to pick up the key. A small sigh of relief escapes you when it slots perfectly, and your wrists are finally freed with a soft clink.
When you turn around, you don't know what possessed you to take a step too close into Leon's space, a hand open, waiting for him to take it as the key sits comfortably between your fingers. It's only when he takes a step back that you realize your rookie mistake.
You meet his eyes again β stormy, and furrowed β as they stray towards the key in your grasp. You swallowed hard before offering it to him. "Here," you say, voice a little soft and parched, as you take a generous amount of steps back with a small smile.
You turn around before he can question you, already checking the entryway and kicking the tray of "food" with the tip of your boots. You grimace at the feeling of water pooling in between your toes and the disgusting squelching sounds your socks made. When you throw a discreet glance at Leon, he has two fingers pressed into his ear. You tear your gaze away as quickly as it had settled on his figure to inspect the broken glass from the lightbulb.
You kneel, about to take a piece of it in your hands, when Leon speaks.
"Hey, that's dangerous."
"I think I've handled worse."
He raises a brow at you, "Like?"
You motion at the corpse at his feet.
A huff of breath that you think is a chuckle escapes him. Much to your surprise, he steps over said corpse, offering you a hand. "Come on. Let's get outta here," Leon motions his head to the entryway.
You can only muster a nod as you take his hand in yours, afraid of how you know your voice will break and stutter if you try to reply. And oh dear god, it's so much bigger than yours. You feel lightheaded when he singlehandedly hauls you up in one fell swoop. And you don't like how you miss his warmth β not even his actual warmth, it was probably the sweat and grime on the heart of his glove β when his hand slips out of yours.
When he moves forward, and you stay rooted in our sport, he asks, "You okay?"
"β¦ I need a shower."
Not exactly what you had in mind; you thought maybe "like a million bucks!" or something along those lines would be more⦠charming. But hey, at least your honesty lands you a grunt and another reply that isn't just one sentence.
"Yeah? Can't blame you. Probably need one, too."
Honesty really is the best policy.
"You offering?"
"What?"
"Nothing!"
Okay, maybe a little too honest.
Author's notes. admittedly... this is a week late due to me preparing for finals, so my apologies for the wait TT but hooray! luis and leon are finally here!! also, if your name on the taglist is bolded, it means i cannot tag you! you may want to change your visibility settings!!
Chapter Summary: After wasting away the days and nights rejecting any kind of food or water given by your captors, you receive two new roommates in this grimy basement. One of them recognizes you, the other being your key to victory.
Series Masterlist. β Warnings: mentions of being chained up, not eating nor drinking properly, homesickness, one graphic death description, and one suggestive comment at the end.
Shoot me an ask or comment if you'd want to be added to the taglist! β read on A03 here
The slimy sewer waters that have pooled around your feet have fully soaked your shoes and socks, making you grimace at the sound whenever you stand. Sweat from trying to break free made your shirt cling to your chest, leaving you yearning for a nice, cold shower. If you were dropped in a lake, you wouldn't complain. Actually, you think you'd prefer being dropped into this village's lake. Preferably unconscious so you won't have to feel the pain of being fish food.
Not as productive as you would have expected from your very own isekai experience, but hey, at least you didn't die five minutes in.
"I've survived two years," you remind yourself. "What's a few more days?"
This wasn't about learning to fight back β it is in your priority list, though β but to wait. When you played these games, you always remained hesitant to pull the trigger, opting to sneak around and use up every knife in your arsenal. You were not made for loud headshots, nor fancy kicks β you don't think you can even pull your leg higher than a few meters.
You frown at the thought. You didn't want to rely on him for everything, but if you wanted to make it out of here alive and in one piece, sticking close to someone with his level of experience was the way to go.
Still. It leaves a bitter, heavy taste on your tongue at the idea of using him.
He was more than just a shield, you know that.
You look down at your restrained wrists again, dirty fingers tracing along the harsh, red lines of where the metal meets your skin. It's heavy, but not as quite as the feeling of homesickness. Your frown deepens further as the heavy realization sinks in.
"There's no going back."
You never did have that choice from the start. But that stubborn, hopeful part of you still wanted to believe it. With a heavy sigh, you slowly stand and blatantly ignore the little puddles sloshing around your feet in the process, and make your way to that conveniently placed hook in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you lodge the chain connecting the metal rings around your wrists and begin tugging.
You grunt, the sting immediate as you continue to pull, pull, and pull.
The metal cries out, the kind that has you wincing as if someone had just dragged a fork down a chalkboard. But the metal is as stubborn as you β it would not budge. Not when sweat builds up on your forehead, or when you see your flesh turn a raw pink, blood threatening to burst free, or when footsteps begin to echo right outside.
"What the fuβ" you're cut off when something, or rather, someone's arms tug you back in one swift motion. When you look down, you physically feel the color drain from your face when you realize his palm practically covers your entire stomach. You try to even out your breathing, calm your erratic heart, but the heavy weight guiding you back to where the nail remains wedged in the ground has you pliant.
Grumbling followed, then sluggish and inconsistent footsteps. Through the hair obscuring your eyes, you see them β and you feel just a little bit of hope flourish in your chest.
A village ganado is dragging two men by the wrists, his free hand holding a small axe, his eyes fixed on you. It grumbles, all incoherent and in a foreign language.
Honestly, if you knew you'd be those isekai protagonists you read about at 2 a.m., you'd put in more effort into your high school Spanish class.
"Stay," the man behind you whispers, his voice and breath warming your ears as he steps away. You can only stare at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as he casually steps over Leon Kennedy's unconscious body. You think he huffs a small laugh at your reaction. If you didn't know anything, you'd think you were growing on him. But having a cult lunatic as an admirer isn't exactly ideal, so you scratch that idea. Instead, you let your gaze fall to the steady rise and fall of their chests.
You don't even realize how your shoulders have relaxed, or how the edges of your eyes have begun to sting from unshed tears.
Only when they're fully out of view do you finally let yourself relax. Knees buckling and throat threatening to unload what little food you have in your system.
This is real. You're here in this rundown, and very cult-shaped village in Spain. Further away from home, from the safety of the little normalcy you've indulged in. When you slump your back against the creaky wooden walls, eyes filled with misplaced hope in your new unconscious roommates, you think to yourself, "Two years is too short."
You look up to the ceiling, watching the light sway in a dazed trance.
"For someone who wants to leave, I sure as hell can't get enough of it."
You don't recall ever falling asleep. Which should worry you, in all honesty. You have always prided yourself on being able to remember things well, but right now, your memory is slipping through imaginary cracks.
You brush it off. It's not really every day you get knocked out twice in your own home by a stranger and then kidnapped into another country. Not a very normative experience for someone your age, but hey, your grandkids will be having a field day when it's your turn to tell stories. Taken, you manage to get out of here alive, and not being too traumatized that you won't turn into a recluse.
After a few minutes of getting your bearings, counting how many times the light has flickered β something you've grown familiar with after days of not being able to do anything β your eyes sweep over the room before settling on your new companions.
Bound by the wrists like you, but they're back-to-back. Instead of being restricted by a nail hammered to the crust of the Earth, a pulley is above their heads. You feel your heart flutter at the thought of what will happen next. Actually, you almost, almost, feel the drool pooling at the edge of your lips as your eyes stare at the veins going up his arm, the way his sleeve hugs the meat of his bicep, andβ
JINGLE.
You're snapped out of your blatant thirsting at the sound ofβ¦ keys? With furrowed brows, you carefully stand up, stepping over the new plate of food β placed a little closer to you this time β and poking your head to see the entryway. For a while, you slowly start to convince yourself that you have lost your mind for a second time since you've got here, when your eyes can only see darkness. But there's a shift. A purple kind of shift as a man with a mask and a heavy bag suddenly passes through the other side.
"Hey!"
You didn't mean to call out to him and certainly not to further irritate your sore wrists, but your excitement got to you.
Realizing your mistake, you internally scold yourself over the rookie mistake, before your eyes landed on the hook near you again. Like an absolute idiot, you try to break the chain. Why? You don't even know why when your ticket home is still getting his beauty nap.
Wavy hair, a slight stubble decorating his chin, and a leather jacket thrown across his upper body. You should have smiled, felt that excitement and relief at meeting one of your favorite characters. But all you feel is dread. Unbidden curiosity and fear of its consequence when his eyes flare with recognition.
Luis Serra knows you from somewhere. And your brain finally decides to be useful because it reminds you that the 'you' of this world was a doctor. That mysterious man in the crumpled photo inside your desk could be him, just obscured by the bloodstain.
"Do Iβ¦ know you?" It's a stupid question, one you know deep down you shouldn't have to ask β because you do. Almost disgustingly so, now that you think about it. But having Luis Serra in front of you, staring with wide eyes and an agape mouth, sends a feeling of dread straight down to your stomach.
Luis, who finally comes back to his senses, shakes his head. Messy, curly hair swaying with the movement as his eyes fall to stare at his cuffed hands. "Pardon me, cariΓ±o. Mistook you for someone else."
He looks amused at your obvious dilemma of speaking more than you should. A chuckle leaves as he takes a tentative, experimental tug on the chains wrapped around his wrist. A grunt leaves him when he finally realizes who he's chained to.
"You shouldn't do that," you warn with furrowed brows.
"I think I've got it, cariΓ±o."
"What the hell does that even mean?"
"You mean 'cariΓ±o'?" Luis asks, a little baffled, mostly enjoying how you're shuffling your feet in restlessness. "I thought everyone took Spanish in high school?"
"Never said I paid attention."
"Shame then."
"You really shouldn't do thatβ"
"Relax, tesoro,β"
"Don't make the nicknames a habit."
"β I've got it handled."
You can only begin to imagine what expression you're wearing. All you know is that it must be hilarious if Luis is casually pulling at the constraints binding him to a federal agent that could kick him into the afterlife. You try to dissuade him from doing anything more, like elbowing the said federal agent behind him like a traveler poking a sleeping lion.
As he tries to get up and kick him awake, you muster all your strength to swing the length of the chain binding you at his feet, miraculously tripping him. You feel a little bad when Lui's chin makes contact with the ground, a flurry of Spanish curses following suit as a hand cradles his jaw. When his eyes land on you, your hands are intertwined with each other in a white-knuckled grip.
"Geez, you should warn me when you decide to swing that thing around."
"And you should learn to heed warnings," ironic, that it's coming from you. But that's unimportant. "There's a saying about not poking a sleeping lion. Or whatever."
Luis grins. "I think you mean 'poking a sleeping bear', tesoro."
You wanted to bury your face in the heart of your palms at your obvious fumble. It was a bear, it's always been a bear. So why the fuck did you say lion?
"Okay, fine, you got me there. But the idea is still the same."
"You know the Yanqui?"
You pause too long.
"β¦ No."
"Convincing."
"Shut up."
Surprisingly, a moment of silence lapsed. You give up trying to break free from using the hook at your disposal, instead choosing to plop yourself down in front of Luis. Your knees tucked to your chest with your chin resting on top of them. Luis continues to watch you with that strange, amused, familiar tint in his eyes.
You wet your lips, and the question of 'how do you know me?' sits heavily on the tip of your tongue. But the consequences of that question feel heavier than the lack of waking up Leon is doing. You know Luis knows that you've been anxiously staring at the entryway since he woke up.
Tearing your eyes away from him, you heave out a sigh and shut them closed. You think the light flickers again when Luis calls for you.
Briefly, you raise your head. "What is it?"
This time, it's he who hesitates.
"What brings you here, cariΓ±o? Not exactly a popular tourist spot."
"β¦ I don't know."
The answer comes out more honest than you cared to admit. Maybe a little too vulnerable, granted, you have just met the guy. But his eyes β when you see them again β it is so soothing. The kind of expression you'd find on the face of your favorite aunt or uncle, who always got you out of trouble and gave you extra candy.
"It'll be okay," he reassures you, a finger tapping at the edge of your muddy and soaked shoe. "When our sleeping beauty wakes up, I'll find a way for us to get out."
You smile and let the comfort settle in your chest like a weighted blanket during a stormy night.
Another moment of silence passes before it's you who's questioning him.
"And you? What are you doing here?"
A loopsided grin, but more so a grimace than his usual confident, laid-back smiles.
"Let's just say⦠unfinished business."
"The same one in the cheesy movies?" You ask with a raised brow, the tension leaving your body enough to fully ease into playful banter.
Luis brightens at your jab. "Oh tesoro, it is way better than the movies."
"Or worse," you shrug. "For all I know, you could be a spy working for some mysterious man out to kill me."
"Trust me, if I were, the job would be done. Easy peasy."
"Scary."
"Very scary, cariΓ±o."
You laugh. The sound is airy and free. Just like the feeling of sneaking into the breakrooms at work when there's been too many pastry deliveries, and you're eating a bunch of muffins with Mason and laughing at Evan.
Hours pass in a blur. The kind where the environment becomes a distant echo as you ride on a family vehicle, destination unknown, but the comfort of a familial presence is grounding.
It's easy to get lost in conversation with Luis. You've lost count of how many times you've let out a chuckle or a breathy laugh. You've moved a little closer, too. No longer tucked in your own shell, and instead, you've allowed yourself a little physical connection by letting Luis be at arm's length. Not necessarily a big change, but it's a step in the right direction.
"Pardon me for asking, cariΓ±o," Luis starts. His fingers are tapping a steady rhythm on your ankle. "But may I ask a question?"
You tilt your head curiously. "You've been doing that the entire time."
"Being a great company?"
"Asking questions."
"Tough crowd."
Another chuckle escapes you. You think the only reason you're allowing such instances to happen is to see Luis smile. It's a pretty thing after all. A little crooked, oozing that casual confidence he always carries himself with, but it's softer, maybe a little fond when your nose crinkles as you suppress your giggles.
A roll of your eyes, "Are you going to ask or not?"
Luis hums. "I was getting to that. So you seeβ"
The shifting of chains can be heard behind Luis, and it's embarrassing how your attention is immediately captured.
"Oh, what the fuck?"
Oh dear.
Oh, this was very bad for you.
Luis cocks an amused brow at you, and you only throw him a glare, kicking your feet in his direction and shushing him. It isn't very effective, not when you feel the flush on your cheeks and how your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.
Calm the fuck down, you internally scold yourself.
"Hey, stop it!" comes Luis's complaint, his arms raised above his head as you follow the faint outline of blonde hair. He shifts, hurrying to stand, and his eyes strain above him. "Oi, yanqui, got a name?"
"Leon." The reply is curt, straight to the point. You're surprised he hasn't noticed you yet, with how intensely you're staring at him.
Was he always this tall, or is it because you're just sitting down?
"Quiet type, eh? I'm Luis Serra, andβ" Luis pauses, his eyes eventually finding yours β still very much strained on how Leon is quietly tugging himself free.
For some reason, Luis doesn't say your name like you half-expected him to.
Luis only lets out a breathy chuckle, "Guess we all picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?" He doesn't grace him with a reply; instead, he moves further back into the room and pulls. "Hey, stop it. You move, I move⦠and I'm beat enough as is."
A snort escapes you. When Luis cranes his neck to glare at you, you flash him a cheeky smile, mouthing 'I told you'. He only rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. Luis eventually turns his attention back to Leon, leaving you to anxiously shift your attention to the entryway, fingers scratching your wrists raw.
Luis fills the room with his questions, Leon only replies with grunts and groans, the creaking of the pulley above their heads singing with him as he pulls and pulls. And with each tug, your eyes wander β to his gloved hands, the harness hugging his chest, the way his brows are set deeper when Luis finally asks the million-dollar question.
"Maybe⦠some missing señorita?"
It should be illegal when Leon turns to stare Luis down, the motion slows down in your eyes, giving you the perfect view of his set jaw, or the way his eyes finally grow interested, albeit it's a little rough and pointed.
"A young girl?" One strong tug, and Luis is dragged towards him. And it takes every fibre in your bones not to let out a low whistle and a murmured wish to swap places with the Spaniard. "Talk. Now." It should also be illegal how weak in the knees you are β you're not even standing!
You don't dwell on your borderline inappropriate thoughts of the federal agent when the lights begin to flicker. This time, there's a tingling sensation that starts with the tips of your fingers, before it shoots down to your toes. The feeling almost sends you toppling down if you had not used the wall for support.
"Holy shit, what is happening?" you ask yourself, clutching at your head as ringing resounds. The world tilts to the left before abruptly tilting to the right like an unsure camera. You think there are footsteps right in front of you, and you see it.
Hazy, but a clear amalgamation of colors before everything snaps into place.
POP.
The pulley is ripped out of the ceiling in line with the light bulb bursting. Luis falls on his back, and Leon sees it β or, well, sees you. There's no recognition, much to your delight, just bewilderment as your lips move faster than your brain can catch up, nearly tripping over your own feet when an unwanted guest makes an appearance.
"Luis!" The words tumble out again, this time, like a blaring siren sound. You catch Leon's eyes in that brief moment again, and for once, for the first time in two years, you have been stuck in this world with no means of going back homeβyou feel relief flood through you.
It's short-lived, though, when you're ducking under a zombie haphazardly trying to butcher you with a rusty axe.
Leon pulls the chains fast enough for Luis to be pulled away from the line of fire. Gathering the metal restrictions, Leon swings it in the ganado's direction, hitting it directly in the face. You, on the other hand, have frantically gotten over your little episode, using every curse word in your personal dictionary when the nail continues to budge, but not enough.
"Come on, come on, come on, you lousy piece ofβ"
Dread fills you as flickers of possibilities flash before your eyes. You failing to get out and taking an axe to the face, Luis not rolling out of the way fast enough and having his throat cut open, and Leonβ
SNAP.
Without a moment's hesitation, the moment the nail on the ground is finally freed, you mimic Leon's movements and wrap the chain binding your wrists around the ganado's foot, limiting its area of cover as it swings its axe around aimlessly.
"Shitβ¦!" You curse under your breath, sweaty palms struggling to keep a firm grip on the metal chains to limit the ganado's movement. Warmth spills over your backside as an extra pair of hands enclose your own.
"Easy, cariΓ±o, that's no way to speak," Luis scolds with a playful smile.
If you weren't so adamant in not having your face axed off, you'd elbow him in the stomach, your current position giving you a hefty advantage. But you refrain β partly too scared your grip will falter, mostly too distracted when Leon brings his knee up before slamming it down on the ground with another grunt.
The ganado's movements finally cease, and you're left standing there, your fingers slowly losing their grip on the metal as you stare at Leon's hunched figure with your mouth probably hanging open. Observing with great intensity how his shoulders heave up and down, or when he turns to face you, his eyes practically freeze you on the spot as if Medusa had descended and granted him a blessing to turn you into stone.
You hold his gaze for a good few seconds or so, but you eventually break it off when the sound of a clink is heard behind you.
Luis only throws you an apologetic grin, twirling the key to your restraints on one finger before letting out a small huff of breath.
"Hey!"
"Hey, we're not done here!"
He looks between you two. His gaze lingered just a few more seconds on your figure β brows furrowed, a deep frown on your lips, and your chest trying to take in as much air as it can. "Later, amigo, cariΓ±o!" And on cue, he throws the key right between your feet with a low whistle.
You follow Luis's figure until you can't make out the outline of him anymore. With a vexed sigh, you kneel to pick up the key. A small sigh of relief escapes you when it slots perfectly, and your wrists are finally freed with a soft clink.
When you turn around, you don't know what possessed you to take a step too close into Leon's space, a hand open, waiting for him to take it as the key sits comfortably between your fingers. It's only when he takes a step back that you realize your rookie mistake.
You meet his eyes again β stormy, and furrowed β as they stray towards the key in your grasp. You swallowed hard before offering it to him. "Here," you say, voice a little soft and parched, as you take a generous amount of steps back with a small smile.
You turn around before he can question you, already checking the entryway and kicking the tray of "food" with the tip of your boots. You grimace at the feeling of water pooling in between your toes and the disgusting squelching sounds your socks made. When you throw a discreet glance at Leon, he has two fingers pressed into his ear. You tear your gaze away as quickly as it had settled on his figure to inspect the broken glass from the lightbulb.
You kneel, about to take a piece of it in your hands, when Leon speaks.
"Hey, that's dangerous."
"I think I've handled worse."
He raises a brow at you, "Like?"
You motion at the corpse at his feet.
A huff of breath that you think is a chuckle escapes him. Much to your surprise, he steps over said corpse, offering you a hand. "Come on. Let's get outta here," Leon motions his head to the entryway.
You can only muster a nod as you take his hand in yours, afraid of how you know your voice will break and stutter if you try to reply. And oh dear god, it's so much bigger than yours. You feel lightheaded when he singlehandedly hauls you up in one fell swoop. And you don't like how you miss his warmth β not even his actual warmth, it was probably the sweat and grime on the heart of his glove β when his hand slips out of yours.
When he moves forward, and you stay rooted in our sport, he asks, "You okay?"
"β¦ I need a shower."
Not exactly what you had in mind; you thought maybe "like a million bucks!" or something along those lines would be more⦠charming. But hey, at least your honesty lands you a grunt and another reply that isn't just one sentence.
"Yeah? Can't blame you. Probably need one, too."
Honesty really is the best policy.
"You offering?"
"What?"
"Nothing!"
Okay, maybe a little too honest.
Author's notes. admittedly... this is a week late due to me preparing for finals, so my apologies for the wait TT but hooray! luis and leon are finally here!! also, if your name on the taglist is bolded, it means i cannot tag you! you may want to change your visibility settings!!
Chapter Summary: After wasting away the days and nights rejecting any kind of food or water given by your captors, you receive two new roommates in this grimy basement. One of them recognizes you, the other being your key to victory.
Series Masterlist. β Warnings: mentions of being chained up, not eating nor drinking properly, homesickness, one graphic death description, and one suggestive comment at the end.
Shoot me an ask or comment if you'd want to be added to the taglist! β read on A03 here
The slimy sewer waters that have pooled around your feet have fully soaked your shoes and socks, making you grimace at the sound whenever you stand. Sweat from trying to break free made your shirt cling to your chest, leaving you yearning for a nice, cold shower. If you were dropped in a lake, you wouldn't complain. Actually, you think you'd prefer being dropped into this village's lake. Preferably unconscious so you won't have to feel the pain of being fish food.
Not as productive as you would have expected from your very own isekai experience, but hey, at least you didn't die five minutes in.
"I've survived two years," you remind yourself. "What's a few more days?"
This wasn't about learning to fight back β it is in your priority list, though β but to wait. When you played these games, you always remained hesitant to pull the trigger, opting to sneak around and use up every knife in your arsenal. You were not made for loud headshots, nor fancy kicks β you don't think you can even pull your leg higher than a few meters.
You frown at the thought. You didn't want to rely on him for everything, but if you wanted to make it out of here alive and in one piece, sticking close to someone with his level of experience was the way to go.
Still. It leaves a bitter, heavy taste on your tongue at the idea of using him.
He was more than just a shield, you know that.
You look down at your restrained wrists again, dirty fingers tracing along the harsh, red lines of where the metal meets your skin. It's heavy, but not as quite as the feeling of homesickness. Your frown deepens further as the heavy realization sinks in.
"There's no going back."
You never did have that choice from the start. But that stubborn, hopeful part of you still wanted to believe it. With a heavy sigh, you slowly stand and blatantly ignore the little puddles sloshing around your feet in the process, and make your way to that conveniently placed hook in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you lodge the chain connecting the metal rings around your wrists and begin tugging.
You grunt, the sting immediate as you continue to pull, pull, and pull.
The metal cries out, the kind that has you wincing as if someone had just dragged a fork down a chalkboard. But the metal is as stubborn as you β it would not budge. Not when sweat builds up on your forehead, or when you see your flesh turn a raw pink, blood threatening to burst free, or when footsteps begin to echo right outside.
"What the fuβ" you're cut off when something, or rather, someone's arms tug you back in one swift motion. When you look down, you physically feel the color drain from your face when you realize his palm practically covers your entire stomach. You try to even out your breathing, calm your erratic heart, but the heavy weight guiding you back to where the nail remains wedged in the ground has you pliant.
Grumbling followed, then sluggish and inconsistent footsteps. Through the hair obscuring your eyes, you see them β and you feel just a little bit of hope flourish in your chest.
A village ganado is dragging two men by the wrists, his free hand holding a small axe, his eyes fixed on you. It grumbles, all incoherent and in a foreign language.
Honestly, if you knew you'd be those isekai protagonists you read about at 2 a.m., you'd put in more effort into your high school Spanish class.
"Stay," the man behind you whispers, his voice and breath warming your ears as he steps away. You can only stare at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as he casually steps over Leon Kennedy's unconscious body. You think he huffs a small laugh at your reaction. If you didn't know anything, you'd think you were growing on him. But having a cult lunatic as an admirer isn't exactly ideal, so you scratch that idea. Instead, you let your gaze fall to the steady rise and fall of their chests.
You don't even realize how your shoulders have relaxed, or how the edges of your eyes have begun to sting from unshed tears.
Only when they're fully out of view do you finally let yourself relax. Knees buckling and throat threatening to unload what little food you have in your system.
This is real. You're here in this rundown, and very cult-shaped village in Spain. Further away from home, from the safety of the little normalcy you've indulged in. When you slump your back against the creaky wooden walls, eyes filled with misplaced hope in your new unconscious roommates, you think to yourself, "Two years is too short."
You look up to the ceiling, watching the light sway in a dazed trance.
"For someone who wants to leave, I sure as hell can't get enough of it."
You don't recall ever falling asleep. Which should worry you, in all honesty. You have always prided yourself on being able to remember things well, but right now, your memory is slipping through imaginary cracks.
You brush it off. It's not really every day you get knocked out twice in your own home by a stranger and then kidnapped into another country. Not a very normative experience for someone your age, but hey, your grandkids will be having a field day when it's your turn to tell stories. Taken, you manage to get out of here alive, and not being too traumatized that you won't turn into a recluse.
After a few minutes of getting your bearings, counting how many times the light has flickered β something you've grown familiar with after days of not being able to do anything β your eyes sweep over the room before settling on your new companions.
Bound by the wrists like you, but they're back-to-back. Instead of being restricted by a nail hammered to the crust of the Earth, a pulley is above their heads. You feel your heart flutter at the thought of what will happen next. Actually, you almost, almost, feel the drool pooling at the edge of your lips as your eyes stare at the veins going up his arm, the way his sleeve hugs the meat of his bicep, andβ
JINGLE.
You're snapped out of your blatant thirsting at the sound ofβ¦ keys? With furrowed brows, you carefully stand up, stepping over the new plate of food β placed a little closer to you this time β and poking your head to see the entryway. For a while, you slowly start to convince yourself that you have lost your mind for a second time since you've got here, when your eyes can only see darkness. But there's a shift. A purple kind of shift as a man with a mask and a heavy bag suddenly passes through the other side.
"Hey!"
You didn't mean to call out to him and certainly not to further irritate your sore wrists, but your excitement got to you.
Realizing your mistake, you internally scold yourself over the rookie mistake, before your eyes landed on the hook near you again. Like an absolute idiot, you try to break the chain. Why? You don't even know why when your ticket home is still getting his beauty nap.
Wavy hair, a slight stubble decorating his chin, and a leather jacket thrown across his upper body. You should have smiled, felt that excitement and relief at meeting one of your favorite characters. But all you feel is dread. Unbidden curiosity and fear of its consequence when his eyes flare with recognition.
Luis Serra knows you from somewhere. And your brain finally decides to be useful because it reminds you that the 'you' of this world was a doctor. That mysterious man in the crumpled photo inside your desk could be him, just obscured by the bloodstain.
"Do Iβ¦ know you?" It's a stupid question, one you know deep down you shouldn't have to ask β because you do. Almost disgustingly so, now that you think about it. But having Luis Serra in front of you, staring with wide eyes and an agape mouth, sends a feeling of dread straight down to your stomach.
Luis, who finally comes back to his senses, shakes his head. Messy, curly hair swaying with the movement as his eyes fall to stare at his cuffed hands. "Pardon me, cariΓ±o. Mistook you for someone else."
He looks amused at your obvious dilemma of speaking more than you should. A chuckle leaves as he takes a tentative, experimental tug on the chains wrapped around his wrist. A grunt leaves him when he finally realizes who he's chained to.
"You shouldn't do that," you warn with furrowed brows.
"I think I've got it, cariΓ±o."
"What the hell does that even mean?"
"You mean 'cariΓ±o'?" Luis asks, a little baffled, mostly enjoying how you're shuffling your feet in restlessness. "I thought everyone took Spanish in high school?"
"Never said I paid attention."
"Shame then."
"You really shouldn't do thatβ"
"Relax, tesoro,β"
"Don't make the nicknames a habit."
"β I've got it handled."
You can only begin to imagine what expression you're wearing. All you know is that it must be hilarious if Luis is casually pulling at the constraints binding him to a federal agent that could kick him into the afterlife. You try to dissuade him from doing anything more, like elbowing the said federal agent behind him like a traveler poking a sleeping lion.
As he tries to get up and kick him awake, you muster all your strength to swing the length of the chain binding you at his feet, miraculously tripping him. You feel a little bad when Lui's chin makes contact with the ground, a flurry of Spanish curses following suit as a hand cradles his jaw. When his eyes land on you, your hands are intertwined with each other in a white-knuckled grip.
"Geez, you should warn me when you decide to swing that thing around."
"And you should learn to heed warnings," ironic, that it's coming from you. But that's unimportant. "There's a saying about not poking a sleeping lion. Or whatever."
Luis grins. "I think you mean 'poking a sleeping bear', tesoro."
You wanted to bury your face in the heart of your palms at your obvious fumble. It was a bear, it's always been a bear. So why the fuck did you say lion?
"Okay, fine, you got me there. But the idea is still the same."
"You know the Yanqui?"
You pause too long.
"β¦ No."
"Convincing."
"Shut up."
Surprisingly, a moment of silence lapsed. You give up trying to break free from using the hook at your disposal, instead choosing to plop yourself down in front of Luis. Your knees tucked to your chest with your chin resting on top of them. Luis continues to watch you with that strange, amused, familiar tint in his eyes.
You wet your lips, and the question of 'how do you know me?' sits heavily on the tip of your tongue. But the consequences of that question feel heavier than the lack of waking up Leon is doing. You know Luis knows that you've been anxiously staring at the entryway since he woke up.
Tearing your eyes away from him, you heave out a sigh and shut them closed. You think the light flickers again when Luis calls for you.
Briefly, you raise your head. "What is it?"
This time, it's he who hesitates.
"What brings you here, cariΓ±o? Not exactly a popular tourist spot."
"β¦ I don't know."
The answer comes out more honest than you cared to admit. Maybe a little too vulnerable, granted, you have just met the guy. But his eyes β when you see them again β it is so soothing. The kind of expression you'd find on the face of your favorite aunt or uncle, who always got you out of trouble and gave you extra candy.
"It'll be okay," he reassures you, a finger tapping at the edge of your muddy and soaked shoe. "When our sleeping beauty wakes up, I'll find a way for us to get out."
You smile and let the comfort settle in your chest like a weighted blanket during a stormy night.
Another moment of silence passes before it's you who's questioning him.
"And you? What are you doing here?"
A loopsided grin, but more so a grimace than his usual confident, laid-back smiles.
"Let's just say⦠unfinished business."
"The same one in the cheesy movies?" You ask with a raised brow, the tension leaving your body enough to fully ease into playful banter.
Luis brightens at your jab. "Oh tesoro, it is way better than the movies."
"Or worse," you shrug. "For all I know, you could be a spy working for some mysterious man out to kill me."
"Trust me, if I were, the job would be done. Easy peasy."
"Scary."
"Very scary, cariΓ±o."
You laugh. The sound is airy and free. Just like the feeling of sneaking into the breakrooms at work when there's been too many pastry deliveries, and you're eating a bunch of muffins with Mason and laughing at Evan.
Hours pass in a blur. The kind where the environment becomes a distant echo as you ride on a family vehicle, destination unknown, but the comfort of a familial presence is grounding.
It's easy to get lost in conversation with Luis. You've lost count of how many times you've let out a chuckle or a breathy laugh. You've moved a little closer, too. No longer tucked in your own shell, and instead, you've allowed yourself a little physical connection by letting Luis be at arm's length. Not necessarily a big change, but it's a step in the right direction.
"Pardon me for asking, cariΓ±o," Luis starts. His fingers are tapping a steady rhythm on your ankle. "But may I ask a question?"
You tilt your head curiously. "You've been doing that the entire time."
"Being a great company?"
"Asking questions."
"Tough crowd."
Another chuckle escapes you. You think the only reason you're allowing such instances to happen is to see Luis smile. It's a pretty thing after all. A little crooked, oozing that casual confidence he always carries himself with, but it's softer, maybe a little fond when your nose crinkles as you suppress your giggles.
A roll of your eyes, "Are you going to ask or not?"
Luis hums. "I was getting to that. So you seeβ"
The shifting of chains can be heard behind Luis, and it's embarrassing how your attention is immediately captured.
"Oh, what the fuck?"
Oh dear.
Oh, this was very bad for you.
Luis cocks an amused brow at you, and you only throw him a glare, kicking your feet in his direction and shushing him. It isn't very effective, not when you feel the flush on your cheeks and how your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.
Calm the fuck down, you internally scold yourself.
"Hey, stop it!" comes Luis's complaint, his arms raised above his head as you follow the faint outline of blonde hair. He shifts, hurrying to stand, and his eyes strain above him. "Oi, yanqui, got a name?"
"Leon." The reply is curt, straight to the point. You're surprised he hasn't noticed you yet, with how intensely you're staring at him.
Was he always this tall, or is it because you're just sitting down?
"Quiet type, eh? I'm Luis Serra, andβ" Luis pauses, his eyes eventually finding yours β still very much strained on how Leon is quietly tugging himself free.
For some reason, Luis doesn't say your name like you half-expected him to.
Luis only lets out a breathy chuckle, "Guess we all picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?" He doesn't grace him with a reply; instead, he moves further back into the room and pulls. "Hey, stop it. You move, I move⦠and I'm beat enough as is."
A snort escapes you. When Luis cranes his neck to glare at you, you flash him a cheeky smile, mouthing 'I told you'. He only rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. Luis eventually turns his attention back to Leon, leaving you to anxiously shift your attention to the entryway, fingers scratching your wrists raw.
Luis fills the room with his questions, Leon only replies with grunts and groans, the creaking of the pulley above their heads singing with him as he pulls and pulls. And with each tug, your eyes wander β to his gloved hands, the harness hugging his chest, the way his brows are set deeper when Luis finally asks the million-dollar question.
"Maybe⦠some missing señorita?"
It should be illegal when Leon turns to stare Luis down, the motion slows down in your eyes, giving you the perfect view of his set jaw, or the way his eyes finally grow interested, albeit it's a little rough and pointed.
"A young girl?" One strong tug, and Luis is dragged towards him. And it takes every fibre in your bones not to let out a low whistle and a murmured wish to swap places with the Spaniard. "Talk. Now." It should also be illegal how weak in the knees you are β you're not even standing!
You don't dwell on your borderline inappropriate thoughts of the federal agent when the lights begin to flicker. This time, there's a tingling sensation that starts with the tips of your fingers, before it shoots down to your toes. The feeling almost sends you toppling down if you had not used the wall for support.
"Holy shit, what is happening?" you ask yourself, clutching at your head as ringing resounds. The world tilts to the left before abruptly tilting to the right like an unsure camera. You think there are footsteps right in front of you, and you see it.
Hazy, but a clear amalgamation of colors before everything snaps into place.
POP.
The pulley is ripped out of the ceiling in line with the light bulb bursting. Luis falls on his back, and Leon sees it β or, well, sees you. There's no recognition, much to your delight, just bewilderment as your lips move faster than your brain can catch up, nearly tripping over your own feet when an unwanted guest makes an appearance.
"Luis!" The words tumble out again, this time, like a blaring siren sound. You catch Leon's eyes in that brief moment again, and for once, for the first time in two years, you have been stuck in this world with no means of going back homeβyou feel relief flood through you.
It's short-lived, though, when you're ducking under a zombie haphazardly trying to butcher you with a rusty axe.
Leon pulls the chains fast enough for Luis to be pulled away from the line of fire. Gathering the metal restrictions, Leon swings it in the ganado's direction, hitting it directly in the face. You, on the other hand, have frantically gotten over your little episode, using every curse word in your personal dictionary when the nail continues to budge, but not enough.
"Come on, come on, come on, you lousy piece ofβ"
Dread fills you as flickers of possibilities flash before your eyes. You failing to get out and taking an axe to the face, Luis not rolling out of the way fast enough and having his throat cut open, and Leonβ
SNAP.
Without a moment's hesitation, the moment the nail on the ground is finally freed, you mimic Leon's movements and wrap the chain binding your wrists around the ganado's foot, limiting its area of cover as it swings its axe around aimlessly.
"Shitβ¦!" You curse under your breath, sweaty palms struggling to keep a firm grip on the metal chains to limit the ganado's movement. Warmth spills over your backside as an extra pair of hands enclose your own.
"Easy, cariΓ±o, that's no way to speak," Luis scolds with a playful smile.
If you weren't so adamant in not having your face axed off, you'd elbow him in the stomach, your current position giving you a hefty advantage. But you refrain β partly too scared your grip will falter, mostly too distracted when Leon brings his knee up before slamming it down on the ground with another grunt.
The ganado's movements finally cease, and you're left standing there, your fingers slowly losing their grip on the metal as you stare at Leon's hunched figure with your mouth probably hanging open. Observing with great intensity how his shoulders heave up and down, or when he turns to face you, his eyes practically freeze you on the spot as if Medusa had descended and granted him a blessing to turn you into stone.
You hold his gaze for a good few seconds or so, but you eventually break it off when the sound of a clink is heard behind you.
Luis only throws you an apologetic grin, twirling the key to your restraints on one finger before letting out a small huff of breath.
"Hey!"
"Hey, we're not done here!"
He looks between you two. His gaze lingered just a few more seconds on your figure β brows furrowed, a deep frown on your lips, and your chest trying to take in as much air as it can. "Later, amigo, cariΓ±o!" And on cue, he throws the key right between your feet with a low whistle.
You follow Luis's figure until you can't make out the outline of him anymore. With a vexed sigh, you kneel to pick up the key. A small sigh of relief escapes you when it slots perfectly, and your wrists are finally freed with a soft clink.
When you turn around, you don't know what possessed you to take a step too close into Leon's space, a hand open, waiting for him to take it as the key sits comfortably between your fingers. It's only when he takes a step back that you realize your rookie mistake.
You meet his eyes again β stormy, and furrowed β as they stray towards the key in your grasp. You swallowed hard before offering it to him. "Here," you say, voice a little soft and parched, as you take a generous amount of steps back with a small smile.
You turn around before he can question you, already checking the entryway and kicking the tray of "food" with the tip of your boots. You grimace at the feeling of water pooling in between your toes and the disgusting squelching sounds your socks made. When you throw a discreet glance at Leon, he has two fingers pressed into his ear. You tear your gaze away as quickly as it had settled on his figure to inspect the broken glass from the lightbulb.
You kneel, about to take a piece of it in your hands, when Leon speaks.
"Hey, that's dangerous."
"I think I've handled worse."
He raises a brow at you, "Like?"
You motion at the corpse at his feet.
A huff of breath that you think is a chuckle escapes him. Much to your surprise, he steps over said corpse, offering you a hand. "Come on. Let's get outta here," Leon motions his head to the entryway.
You can only muster a nod as you take his hand in yours, afraid of how you know your voice will break and stutter if you try to reply. And oh dear god, it's so much bigger than yours. You feel lightheaded when he singlehandedly hauls you up in one fell swoop. And you don't like how you miss his warmth β not even his actual warmth, it was probably the sweat and grime on the heart of his glove β when his hand slips out of yours.
When he moves forward, and you stay rooted in our sport, he asks, "You okay?"
"β¦ I need a shower."
Not exactly what you had in mind; you thought maybe "like a million bucks!" or something along those lines would be more⦠charming. But hey, at least your honesty lands you a grunt and another reply that isn't just one sentence.
"Yeah? Can't blame you. Probably need one, too."
Honesty really is the best policy.
"You offering?"
"What?"
"Nothing!"
Okay, maybe a little too honest.
Author's notes. admittedly... this is a week late due to me preparing for finals, so my apologies for the wait TT but hooray! luis and leon are finally here!! also, if your name on the taglist is bolded, it means i cannot tag you! you may want to change your visibility settings!!
