Risk

She|her Posting random works I write here🐈‍⬛ 21, toddler mom, cat mom currently MIA but I’ll be back

[khonsus-heart]

Masterlist

(Yippie!)

Here you go divas! Bare with me here

Video games ⬇️

Death stranding:

First words (Sam porter established relationship)

Baby you’re killin’ me (Sam porter x wife!reader)

God of war:

In this life and the next (5k words)⤵️ FINISHED

Part 1️⃣ (Kratos x reader)

Part 2️⃣

Avatar frontiers of pandora:

I will not fly before I say this. (so’lek x sarentu!reader)

I am yours (so’lek x sarentu!reader)

Fatherhood suits me (so’lek x na’vi!reader)

I will not leave you (12.9k words)⤵️ FINISHED

Part 1️⃣ (so’lek x sarentu!reader)

Part 2️⃣

Resident evil :

Mrs. Kennedy (Leon x wife!reader) NSFW

Mr Kennedy (part two⬆️) NSFW

You still married me (Leon x wife!reader)

You’re stuck with me (Leon x f!reader)

You said you’d fix it (dad!leon x daughter!reader)

Movies/tv shows⬇️

Dracula:

My love Dracul (currently 36.8k words)⤵️

Chapter 1️⃣ (Vlad Dracula x f!reader)

Chapter 2️⃣

Chapter 3️⃣

Chapter 4️⃣

Chapter 5️⃣

Chapter 6️⃣

Chapter 7️⃣

The 100:

The ice kings debt (currently 3.9k words)⤵️

Chapter 1️⃣ (king Roan x f!reader)

[khonsus-heart]

I will not leave you! Prt 2

So’lek x sarentu!reader (8k words)

A/N: Holy shit, please don't throw stones at me for this taking three months; I truly don't know what got to me. Furthermore, I told you they would reunite, but I didn't say it wouldn't be heartbreaking! This may be my last Avatar fic for a bit but not forever; I still love you all.

Translation:

Tsmuken: brother

Yawne: love or “my” love

Tsaheylu: sacred bond

Warnings: War, grief, violence, mentions of blood, death, and other things. Multi pov. Prisoner of war, very sad, So'lek.

Summary: Captured by Mercer and hidden deep within an RDA mountain base, you’re forced to survive steel walls, isolation, and the terrifying possibility that So’lek may never find you. But grief turns violent when So’lek learns you’re still alive, tearing through mountains, fire, and an entire compound to bring you home.

Prt 1

The light had long since vanished by the time you were left to rot on the floor.

Cold, merciless concrete pressed against your aching back, seeping into bone and muscle alike. You weren’t sure how long it had been. Hours. Days. Time had lost all meaning here. The only thing you could still cling to was the image of So’lek’s face. The way he had dropped to his knees before you, fury and terror warring in his eyes, held back only by Nor’s grip anchoring him in place.

The memory tore at you every time it surfaced. And it surfaced often.

In the silence, the long stretches of nothing, it replayed behind your eyes, unbidden. You were alone now. Trapped inside a glass box, hidden away from anyone who might care enough to come looking. The walls hummed softly around you, alive with machinery you did not understand but had learned to fear.

You hadn’t seen a living soul in a long while.

Luckily they redressed your wound, or else you may not have made it much longer. The last time they came, it had taken reinforcements to hold you down. Cold hands. Restraints biting into your wrists. Needles. Vials. They took your blood and called it research. They tested and prodded as if you were nothing more than another specimen—no different from the days before. No different from the cage you thought you had escaped. 

The memory returned in violent waves when they burst into your cell.

Mercer.

Your sister.

You had barely escaped him with your life the first time. When they left you alone again, the door sealing shut with a mechanical hiss, you cried until your chest ached. You cried for your people. For So’lek. For Nor and Ri’nela. And for your sister most of all.

You had thought you had fled this. Thought you could prove her life—your life—was worth something more than what they had taken from it.

You had told him to run. To leave you behind, knowing it was not something he would ever do lightly. Even now, you could still feel his hand at the hollow of your neck. Still feel the feather-soft kiss he had pressed to your temple before he flew.

You wondered where he was now. What he was doing. What he was feeling.

How had it come to this?

–

“So’lek.”

Draw. Drag.

“So’lek?”

Draw. Drag.

The blade hissed against the stone, sparks biting the air, the vibration traveling up his arm and into his shoulder.

“So’lek—”

The knife was at Nor’s throat before the sound finished leaving his mouth.

Teeth bared, vision narrowed, So’lek staggered back as recognition struck too late. Nor stood rigid, hands lifted in instinctive defense, fear flushing his skin. The sight cut through So’lek like iced water, shock and regret crashing down his spine.

All Nor had done was touch his shoulder.

That was all it took.

“Nor”

“It’s alright,” Nor said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry.

The word curdled in his chest. He had heard it too many times, spoken softly and carefully, like the beginning of an ending. You weren’t dead.

He hadn’t lost you.

Two weeks. That was how long you had been gone. Taken by Mercer and his men, swallowed by the night. For what purpose he did not know. What they could want from you now gnawed at him, hollowing him from the inside out.

Nor’s hand on his shoulder dragged him back to the cliffside, uttering reassuring words of confidence birthed from ignorance. Then, being held in place while you were torn away, the prayers to Eywa vanishing as the doors closed before him. To the moment, he had been forced to live instead of die for you.

He would have given his life. Should have.

“Leave.” He dropped the knife onto the workbench, the clang swallowed by the ever-present hum of the resistance base. Machines whirred. Voices passed. The world continued, indifferent and intact.

“So’lek,” Nor said quietly, “I came to pull you from this cave. Not watch you die in it, tsmukan.”

Everything felt heavy. His limbs. His chest. His eyes burned constantly now, sleep refusing him, food turning to ash in his mouth. There was only the ache where you belonged—an absence that dragged him lower when anger loosened its grip.

And anger loosened rarely.

The first week, he flew until his muscles screamed, scouring the skies with Iley until exhaustion forced him down. No sign of you. Only targets for his rage. Places to carve it out of himself. No one had heard word of Mercer or his men, but survival clung to him as it always did. His drill base, however, lay in ruin. The rubble and pollution were bleeding into the land, a wound Pandora would remember long after the smoke cleared.

Now in this second week, he hadn’t worn his vest in days.

Not since the skies had yielded nothing but silence. Not since the endless flight with Iley had carved the wind into his bones and left him hollowed out by hope. The straps lay discarded now, forgotten where he had torn them free without thought.

Nor had noticed.

Anyone would have.

The faint mark still lingered on So’lek’s chest—a ghost of pigment against blue skin, barely visible now unless the light caught it just right. A handprint, once bold and deliberate, softened by time and sweat and grief. So’lek had worn the vest constantly after you painted him, refusing to let it rub away, guarding it as if it were something sacred.

As if it were you.

Now it was exposed, fading slowly with each breath he took, each moment you remained gone. Nor’s gaze flickered there only once before snapping back to So’lek’s face, understanding settling heavy and unavoidable in his eyes.

Now, standing still, he let Nor see him. The darkness beneath his eyes. The fracture that was running straight through his center.

“No,” So’lek said.

“Tsmukan—”

“I said no.”

Nor exhaled sharply. “You will kill yourself with grief.”

Nor knew now. What you were to him. What the two of you had chosen. What had been stolen before it could be completed. Something that had been ripped away too early, splintering So’lek from the inside out.

So’lek’s jaw tightened. “You do not get to decide what I do with grief,” he seethed. 

Nor lifted his chin, his face hard as the stone around them. “Fine. Do as you see fit.”

When he was gone, So’lek picked the knife up again, stuck the sharpening stone between his legs, and went back to scraping a blade that no longer needed attention. 

—

The walls hummed endlessly around you.

At first the sound had driven you toward madness, the constant vibration threading through the glass and metal like a living thing buried beneath the facility. It swallowed silence whole, filling every waking moment until there was no room left for thought. For grief. For sleep. Yet somewhere between the hours bleeding into days, you had stopped fighting it. Stopped clawing against the cage until your nails split and your muscles gave out beneath restraint. Pandora still breathed beyond these walls. You could feel her if you sat still long enough.

Eywa was difficult to hear here.

The metal disrupted everything. Thick walls, reinforced glass, machinery buried deep beneath the earth. The Sky People had built this place like a wound carved directly into the land, something meant to sever connection and isolate anything trapped within it. Still, beneath the humming and the vibration of engines, beneath the artificial lights that never truly dimmed, she remained.

Softly.

Faint as distant rainfall.

You sat cross-legged near the center of the cell now, eyes closed, breathing deep and steady as your fingertips rested against your knees. The ache in your body had dulled over time, settling into something familiar. Even your wound no longer burned the way it once had. They kept it clean now. Kept you alive. You had learned enough from the scientists moving around you to understand that meant you were useful.

Useful things were preserved.

Your thoughts no longer circled endlessly around violence and bloodshed. The memories still existed, sharp and ugly, but they no longer consumed every waking moment. Instead, you found yourself clinging to gentler things. So’lek’s hands in yours. Ri’nela’s laugh carried through the resistance caves. Nor teasing you beside the fire while the smell of roasted fish drifted through camp. You remembered the way Pandora glowed beneath eclipse light and the way So’lek’s breathing changed when he finally allowed himself peace beside you.

Those memories became a sanctuary.

You hold them close now, turning them over carefully within yourself like precious stones polished smooth with time. Eywa lived in memory just as much as the roots beneath the earth. You understood that now.

The sound of heavy boots eventually disturbed the stillness.

You did not open your eyes.

The footsteps slowed outside the glass, followed by the familiar hiss of machinery cycling nearby. Another visitor. Another scientist, perhaps, coming to prod and extract and study what remained of you. Your breathing never faltered.

“Well,” Mercer’s voice drawled from beyond the barrier, “that’s disappointing'."

Your eyes remained shut.

“I expected screaming. Maybe throwing yourself against the glass again.” His boots echoed softly as he paced before the cell. “This is just sad.”

Still you did not respond.

Mercer hated silence. You realized that quickly. Men like him preferred reactions. Fear. Anger. Anything that proved they still had their hands wrapped around your throat. Your calm unsettled him in ways rage never could.

The glass reflected him faintly even through your lowered lashes. Broad shoulders. Human arrogance dressed up as authority. Alive.

A mistake.

“You know,” he continued after a moment, “I was beginning to think maybe you finally broke.”

The hum of the room filled the pause between his words.

You focused instead on the pulse beneath the floor. On the distant feeling of roots buried somewhere far below steel foundations. Eywa was here. Faint, but present, and the thought steadied you.

Mercer eventually stopped pacing. “No questions?” he asked. “No begging? No heroic threats today?”

Your jaw tightened slightly.

That alone seemed enough encouragement for him to continue.

“That warrior of yours,” he said casually, “the scarred one. He’s making a real mess out there.”

The world stopped.

Your eyes opened slowly.

Mercer smiled the moment he saw the shift in you. There it was. The reaction he’d been digging for.

“So’lek,” you breathed before you could stop yourself. “He’s alive?”

Mercer leaned one shoulder against the glass. “Very much alive. Angry too. Hell, my men are practically scared to leave camp now.”

Hope struck so violently through your chest that it almost hurt. For weeks you had buried every thought of him beneath grief, terrified that Mercer had taken him from you too. Yet the moment his name crossed Mercer’s lips, you felt him again as clearly as if his hand still rested against your skin.

Alive.

So’lek was alive.

A slow breath filled your lungs as something inside you settled into place. Not relief.

Certainty.

Your spine straightened as you rose carefully to your feet, stepping closer toward the glass for the first time since he’d arrived. Mercer’s amusement faltered slightly beneath the weight of your stare. You could almost see the exact moment he realized he’d made a mistake speaking So’lek’s name aloud.

“He will come for me,” you said quietly.

Mercer scoffed. “You really think one Na’vi is enough to—”

“He will come for me,” you repeated, firmer now, your voice carrying through the room with chilling certainty. “And he will not stop until every one of you is dead.”

The humor faded from Mercer’s face completely.

You stepped closer still, enough that your reflection merged faintly with his against the glass.

“Or worse.”

—

The resistance base had begun to feel like a grave.

Not loud enough to be alive. Not quiet enough to rest.

The walls breathed with machinery and distant conversation, warriors moving through the caverns with purpose while So’lek remained trapped within them, pacing the same worn paths until the stone itself felt carved by grief. Every corner of the caves held memories now. You are laughing beside the fires. Your voice echoes through the tunnels. Your hand brushes his arm in passing. He could not sit without seeing you there. Could not close his eyes without imagining the sound of your breathing beside him.

It was suffocating him.

So’lek stood abruptly from the cot he had not slept in, the movement violent enough to rattle the weapons laid beside it. His chest felt too tight again, grief wrapping around his ribs like constricting vines, squeezing until breathing itself became labor. He needed air. Needed the sky. Needed movement before the darkness inside him swallowed what little remained.

His bow was slung across his back first, movements sharp and practiced despite exhaustion weighing heavily through his limbs. The rifle followed, secured against his side, before he gathered the remaining blades from the workbench. The resistance caves were dim this late into the cycle, lit mostly by low fires and glowing fungi along the walls, but even in the muted light he could see the vest where it hung untouched nearby.

His hands stilled.

For several long breaths he only stared at it.

The material still carried the shape of him from constant wear, worn soft along the seams from battle and flight and sleepless nights spent searching the skies for some trace of you. Slowly, his fingers closed around it, gripping tighter than necessary as memory struck him again with merciless precision. Your laughter while painting his chest. The warmth of your palm pressing against his skin. The teasing look in your eyes when he asked you to paint him. 

As if preserving it could preserve you.

His jaw tightened as he dragged the vest over his shoulders. The faded handprint vanished beneath the leather once more, hidden close against his chest where no one else could see it.

Alive.

The word had rooted itself deep inside him these past days despite the silence. He did not know how. Did not know if it was instinct, hope, or desperation refusing to rot. But somewhere beneath all the grief and fury clawing through him, certainty remained.

You were alive.

And if you were alive, then he had wasted enough time suffocating in these caves.

So’lek turned sharply toward the exit tunnels, feet striking hard against stone as he moved through the resistance base with purpose for the first time in days. Several warriors glanced toward him as he passed, sensing something unsettled in the force of his stride. He ignored them all until a familiar voice cut through the cavern behind him.

“So’lek!”

He did not stop immediately. Only slowed enough for footsteps to catch him.

A resistance scout rounded the corner, breathless, rifle still slung over one shoulder. “A report came in from the northern mountains,” the young warrior explained quickly. “There is another RDA base hidden within the cliffs. Concealed beneath the fog.”

So’lek’s pulse slammed against his ribs.

“Where?”

“Due north past the black rivers, but the skies are too thick to fly safely right now. Ri’nela says we wait until—”

“I am leaving now.”

The words came sharp enough to cut.

The scout visibly faltered. “We need reinforcements assembled first. The fog—”

“I said I am leaving.”

The cave shifted with tension. Nearby warriors paused their movements as So’lek stepped forward again, shoulders squared with dangerous intent. The thought of waiting another hour, another moment while you remained trapped somewhere beneath human hands, made his vision darken.

“They are preparing a larger unit,” another voice interjected carefully. “If there truly is a hidden base—”

“I do not care.”

The admission echoed more harshly than intended.

Several heads turned fully now. So’lek barely noticed. His breathing had quickened again, anger and desperation twisting together beneath his skin until they became unbearable. Every second spent talking felt like failure. Every delay another moment you suffered alone.

Then Ri’nela appeared from deeper within the cavern.

She slowed the instant she saw him.

Not the weapons. Not the pacing tension surrounding the gathered warriors. Him.

The exhaustion hollowing his face. The darkness beneath his eyes. The grief he wore now as openly as bloodstains.

“So’lek,” she said carefully, stepping closer. “What is this?”

“I am going north.”

“Into the mountains alone?” Her ears flicked back slightly. “Through fog thick enough to blind Ikran?"

“They have her.”

The words cracked from him before he could stop them.

Silence settled heavily through the cave.

Ri’nela studied him for a long moment, something softening behind her eyes as understanding slowly took shape. “So’lek,” she said, quieter now, “what does she mean to you?”

His throat tightened violently.

Everything in him wanted to reject the question, to move past it, to leave before another moment slipped away. Yet your face rose inside him again with painful clarity—the sound of your laugh, your hands against his skin, the certainty that his soul had begun intertwining with yours long before either of you named it aloud.

“Everything.”

The word left him rough and unsteady.

Ri’nela’s expression shifted.

“I am nothing without her,” he admitted quietly, the truth scraping its way free from somewhere deep and wounded inside him. “Nothing.”

Several warriors lowered their eyes at the confession, as though witnessing something sacred they were never meant to hear.

Ri’nela stepped closer. “You have formed tsaheylu?”

So’lek froze.

The answer caught painfully in his chest.

“No.”

The silence afterward felt heavier than stone.

Ri’nela looked almost startled by it, perhaps expecting denial or shame, but instead she found only grief. A bond unfinished. A love formed so deeply it rivaled tsaheylu itself without ever needing completion.

For a moment she looked ready to scold him like some ancient tsahìk lecturing foolish lovers beneath the trees. Yet whatever sharp words first came to mind died quickly behind her eyes as she remembered you. Your loyalty. Your strength beside them in battle. The way you fought for these people as if born among them.

Ri’nela lifted her hand slowly, pressing her palm against the center of his chest over the hidden handprint beneath the vest.

“If your love for her outbids Eywa’s will,” she said softly, “then your love is the strongest of all.”

The words nearly undid him.

His eyes shut briefly as grief surged again beneath his ribs, violent and aching.

“Do not die being foolish, So’lek,” Ri’nela whispered. “She needs you alive if she is to return to you.”

The cavern remained silent around them, and slowly, painfully, the fury in his chest loosened enough for reason to breathe through it.

Though not gone. Never gone.

But waiting.

—

The resistance caves stirred long before dawn.

Warriors moved through the tunnels in low murmurs, gathering supplies beneath dim firelight while the mountain winds howled faintly through cracks in the stone overhead. The fog rolling down from the northern cliffs had swallowed most of the skies through the night, thick enough to blind even experienced riders if they flew too deep into it. Yet, still, the resistance prepared. Weapons were sharpened. Medical packs assembled. Scouts whispered over rough maps scratched into the stone floor while Ikran handlers moved through the outer caverns, checking harnesses and flight straps beneath flickering lantern glow.

The entire base carried tension now.

So’lek stood near the mouth of the upper caves where cold air spilled through the opening and curled around his skin. The mountains beyond were barely visible through the dense wall of fog swallowing the horizon. Somewhere beyond it, hidden within stone and steel, was you.

The thought settled heavily beneath his ribs once more.

Alive, you had to be. 

Ri’nela’s words had lingered long after the cavern emptied. They haunted him now in the quiet moments between movement, burrowing deep into places grief had already hollowed thin. She needs you alive. The truth of it sat uneasily inside him because it forced him to confront something far worse than death itself.

Hope.

Hope meant there was still something left to lose.

His hands tightened slowly around the leather straps he was fastening across his forearm guards. The motions should have been familiar and effortless after years of battle, yet exhaustion made even simple tasks feel distant. His fingers slipped once against the worn buckles before he cursed quietly beneath his breath and forced them steady again.

A low chirr echoed from behind him.

Iley.

The ikran rested within the upper perch carved into the cliffside, her massive wings tucked close against her body while she watched him carefully. Even in the muted cavern light, her colors shimmered faintly beneath the bioluminescent moss lining the walls. She had sensed his unrest for days now. Perhaps longer. Each flight had become harder to pull her from, the creature reluctant to land once she felt the direction of his grief carrying them endlessly across the skies.

So’lek approached her slowly, the tension in his shoulders refusing to ease even now. Iley lowered her head slightly as he neared, rumbling softly deep within her chest. The sound reverberated through him in a way words no longer could.

“You are restless too,” he murmured.

The ikran nudged against his shoulder hard enough to nearly unbalance him.

A humorless breath escaped his nose.

“I know.”

He rested his forehead briefly against the side of her neck, eyes falling shut as the familiar warmth of her skin grounded him. Beneath his palms he could feel her breathing, steady and alive, tethering him to something beyond the fury threatening to consume him whole. The caves, the warriors, and the distant preparation behind him all seemed to fade beneath the weight pressing endlessly through his chest.

You should have been here.

You should have been beside him preparing your own gear while teasing him for the way he overtightened every strap when anxious. You should have been laughing softly beneath your breath while Ri’nela scolded reckless scouts nearby. Every future he saw still carried your shape within it so completely that imagining the world without you felt impossible.

And that impossibility terrified him.

“I cannot lose her,” he admitted quietly against Iley’s skin.

The words nearly vanished beneath the wind.

No warrior stood near enough to hear them. No one except Eywa herself.

Iley rumbled again, softer this time, pressing her head more firmly against him as though sensing the fracture threatening to split him open beneath the surface. So’lek swallowed hard, jaw tightening violently as exhaustion and grief clawed upward once more. He had spent days forcing himself not to unravel completely, burying emotion beneath anger because anger at least kept him moving. But now, standing within the cold mouth of the caves with the mountains looming ahead like waiting ghosts, fear finally found him.

Not fear of death.

Fear of being too late.

A sudden burst of movement echoed through the tunnels behind him as several warriors approached, carrying packs and ammunition crates toward the flight perches. Their voices broke the moment apart before it could deepen further. So’lek pulled away from Iley slowly, forcing his breathing steady again as the walls around him hardened back into stone instead of memory.

One of the scouts paused nearby. “The ground team leaves within the hour,” he informed carefully. “The fog is beginning to thin along the lower cliffs. Ri’nela believes we can move safely by dawn.”

So’lek gave a single nod.

An hour.

The waiting already felt unbearable.

Yet now that movement had finally begun, the suffocating helplessness inside him shifted into something sharper. Focused and violent. Purpose carved itself slowly through the grief, turning sorrow into a blade with only one direction left to point.

North. Toward you.

—

The mountains swallowed the skies whole.

Fog rolled thick between the cliffs in endless waves of white, devouring everything beyond a few strained feet of visibility as the resistance riders pushed north through freezing winds. Even the bioluminescence of Pandora struggled here, dimmed beneath stormclouds and stone so towering they seemed to split the world itself apart. Iley’s wings beat hard beneath So’lek as they cut through the mist, her screeches echoing faintly somewhere ahead of the others before vanishing back into the storm.

The flight had become miserable long before dawn.

Rain lashed against his skin in sharp bursts, soaking through leather and collecting beneath the collar of his vest while the fog reduced the skies to blind instinct and memory. More than once jagged cliff faces emerged from the white without warning, forcing riders to veer violently away at the last moment. One young warrior nearly clipped the mountainside entirely before Ri’nela shouted a warning through the storm.

Still, they flew.

So’lek barely felt the cold anymore.

His hands remained locked tightly around the harness as Iley dove lower through the cliffs, her body weaving effortlessly between narrow passages hidden beneath curtains of mist. Every beat of her wings carried him closer to you. The thought had consumed everything else now. Hunger. Exhaustion. Reason. There was only movement northward and the violent certainty waiting beneath his ribs.

Several riders called signals to one another through sharp whistles when visibility vanished completely, their ikrans forced dangerously close together as the storm worsened. So’lek hardly heard them. His eyes remained fixed forward through the fog, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. Somewhere beyond these mountains, you were trapped behind steel and glass while he wasted precious time fighting weather and distance.

The fury of it threatened to hollow him all over again.

Eventually Ri’nela’s signal cut through the storm ahead.

Land.

The riders descended reluctantly toward the lower cliffs, where narrow ledges carved into the mountainside offered enough shelter to regroup. Iley landed heavily against slick stone, claws scraping loudly as she folded her wings against the rain. So’lek dismounted before she had fully settled, feet striking hard against the cliffside while the others secured supplies nearby.

The fog was thinner here near the ground, though only barely. Dark pines stretched endlessly down the mountainside beneath drifting sheets of white while freezing runoff rushed violently through the ravines below.

Nor approached first.

“You should eat.”

So’lek ignored him, checking the chamber of his rifle instead.

“You have not slept properly in days either,” Nor continued carefully, lowering his voice beneath the sounds of the storm. “Your hands are shaking.”

“They are steady enough.”

The words came flat as Nor watched him for a moment longer, concern deepening across his face before his attention shifted toward the valley below. “Scouts found signs of RDA movement further down the cliffs,” he explained. “Ri’nela believes we are close.”

Close.

The word struck like a blade sliding beneath So’lek’s ribs.

He turned immediately toward the slope descending into the trees below, already moving before Ri’nela’s voice stopped him.

“We move together.”

So’lek’s shoulders tightened visibly.

“She may not have time for together.”

Ri’nela stepped closer through the drifting fog, rain clinging to the braids against her shoulders. “And if you die rushing blindly into the mountains, then neither of you survive this.”

The truth of it only made him angrier.

His fists clenched once before finally loosening at his sides as several scouts emerged from below the ridgeline carrying rifles and scattered equipment. One of them looked shaken.

“There was fighting,” the warrior reported breathlessly. “Near the lower pass.”

So’lek moved before anyone else could speak.

The group descended quickly through slick stone and dense forest until the scent of smoke and blood cut sharply through the rain. The remains of an RDA patrol lay scattered along the ravine floor below. Broken equipment. Torn packs. Blood washed slowly across the stone beneath the storm runoff.

The bodies were fresh.

So’lek’s pulse thundered.

One soldier had been pinned violently against a tree by an arrow buried so deep through his chest that the shaft had splintered from impact. Another lay crumpled near the rocks below with his throat torn nearly open.

The resistance warriors spread cautiously through the wreckage while So’lek descended into the clearing alone.

Then he saw it.

Half buried beneath mud and rainwater near the edge of the ravine rested one of your arrows.

The arrows he had watched you sharpen beside the fires countless nights before, the feather coloring at ends unique to you.

So’lek stopped breathing.

Slowly he crouched, lifting it carefully from the mud. Fresh blood still stained the tip, as if it had been torn free from a wound.

Not old or abandoned.

Used.

The realization hit him so violently it nearly staggered him where he knelt.

You fought back.

A strange sound escaped him then, something between relief and rage as his fingers closed tightly around the blade. Every ounce of grief twisting inside him sharpened instantly into purpose.

Alive.

You were alive.

A sudden explosion ripped through the mountainside before the thought could fully settle.

The ground shook beneath their feet as fire erupted somewhere deeper within the valley ahead, bright orange flames momentarily illuminating the fog in violent flashes. Several ikran shrieked from the cliffs above while warriors immediately reached for weapons.

So’lek’s head snapped toward the source.

North. Towards the hidden base. 

Towards you. 

—

The moment Mercer spoke So’lek’s name aloud, something inside you changed.

Hope was a dangerous thing. You understood that now more than ever. It rooted itself deep inside the ribs and refused to die, even here beneath steel ceilings and fluorescent lights, where Eywa’s voice struggled to reach. Once you knew he was alive, truly alive, there was no longer room left inside you for surrender. The grief that had kept you motionless upon the cold floor sharpened into purpose so quickly it almost frightened you.

So you began watching. Listening.

Learning the rhythm of the facility the way you once learned the pulse of the forests. Guards rotated in predictable patterns. Scientists lingered too long while speaking outside your cell. The medical staff grew careless once you stopped resisting. That had been your first advantage. Compliance made humans arrogant.

So you let them believe you were broken.

The next medic who entered your containment room alone did not even notice the shift in your breathing until it was too late.

You moved the instant the restraints loosened.

The sound he made was short and wet as you slammed him hard against the glass wall, ripping the injector from his grip before driving it straight into his throat. Alarms erupted immediately. Red lights flooded the room in violent flashes while you stripped the access card from his belt and ran.

The hallways stretched endlessly.

Metal corridors twisting in every direction beneath screaming sirens and pounding footsteps as soldiers flooded through the lower sectors searching for you. You barely recognized your own body anymore as it moved. Faster. Sharper. Instinct carried you through every turn while gunfire sparked against steel walls behind you.

One guard rounded the corner too slowly, and you took his weapon before he could fully raise it.

Another came from the left corridor.

Then another.

The facility became chaotic around you.

You remembered very little after that beyond movement and survival. Blood slicking your palms. Human shouting echoing through ventilation shafts. Your own breathing roaring inside your ears as you carved your way through the maze, searching for one thing only.

Your gear.

When you finally found the storage room hidden behind reinforced doors, the sight nearly stopped you cold. Your clothing had been thrown carelessly across a steel table beside your weapons, cataloged and tagged like trophies. Rage surged so violently through you that your vision blurred.

You snatched your knives first.

The familiar weight settled instantly into your palms like returning pieces of yourself. By the time soldiers breached the doorway moments later, you were already moving again.

The first died before crossing the threshold.

The second managed half a scream.

From there, the base began collapsing from the inside outward.

You moved through it like wildfire. Vent shafts. Catwalks. Supply corridors. Every piece of knowledge stolen through observation turned against them now. One by one perimeter guards vanished beneath arrows fired from the smoke while isolated patrols never returned to their posts. Bodies fell silently into mud outside the compound walls while alarms screamed endlessly into the mountains.

You needed them to notice.

Needed someone beyond these walls to hear the destruction and come searching.

So you made the loudest statement you could.

The AMP suit had already been disabled when you found it abandoned near the eastern loading platforms, smoke pouring from exposed wiring while nearby fuel canisters sat unsecured in the panic. Your remaining arrows were few now. Precious.

You tied the explosive charge directly beneath one shaft with shaking fingers.

“Come find me,” you whispered.

Then you fired.

The arrow struck dead center, and for one suspended heartbeat nothing happened.

Then the world erupted.

The explosion tore violently through the compound in a chain reaction of fire and metal, fuel igniting so rapidly that the shockwave lifted you clean off your feet. Heat engulfed everything. Steel screamed. Smoke swallowed the sky as the blast hurled you backward across the platform.

Your spine slammed hard against the stair railing as pain exploded through your body.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as the impact knocked the air from your lungs entirely. The world was ringing violently around you while flames climbed higher through the base behind you, black smoke rolling into the mountains in enormous waves.

Coughing hard, you forced yourself upward onto trembling arms.

And then you saw them.

Dark figures burst through the fog overhead as Ikran riders broke across the horizon.

Your breath caught. They came.

Eywa, they came.

Ikran's screams pierced through the smoke while riders descended from the clouds like wrath itself, silhouettes cutting through firelight and ash. For one impossible moment, relief struck you so hard it weakened your knees.

So’lek.

You tried to stand fully, but pain lanced violently through your side, forcing a limp instead as dizziness spun the world unevenly beneath your feet. Blood ran warm down your arm now. You had not even noticed being hit while gunfire erupted somewhere below.

You staggered through smoke and wreckage, weaving between burning debris while soldiers shouted over each other in panic. The base had become a battlefield. Fire illuminated the fog in violent flashes while alarms still screamed without pause.

Then a voice stopped you cold.

“Well,” Mercer drawled from somewhere ahead through the smoke, “there she is.”

You froze, thinking to yourself, This is where he dies. This is where you kill him.

He emerged slowly from the wreckage with a rifle already trained on your chest, ash drifting around him like black snow. One side of his mask was streaked with soot and blood now, though the smile pulling at his mouth remained infuriatingly calm.

“You are becoming a real pain in my ass.”

You bared your teeth despite the blood coating your tongue. “Funny,” you rasped. “I was just thinking the same.”

Mercer laughed softly, adjusting the rifle higher against his shoulder. “You really thought you were getting out of here?”

Behind him, the mountains thundered with distant explosions and ikran cries.

“They found me,” you shot back, breath uneven. “And they are going to tear this place apart.”

Something dangerous flickered briefly across Mercer’s expression then. Not fear.

Calculation.

“You won’t get away,” he said flatly.

Then he fired, but not at you. 

The bullet struck the fuel barrel beside you as light consumed everything.

The explosion ripped violently through the platform with enough force to shatter steel beneath your feet. Heat slammed into you like a living thing as the world vanished into fire and noise and unbearable white pain.

And then—

Nothing.

—

The hidden base burned beneath him.

Smoke swallowed the mountains in violent black waves as So’lek and Iley burst over the compound walls like something torn free from Eywa’s wrath herself. Gunfire erupted immediately from below, tracer rounds ripping upward through the fog while soldiers screamed over alarms and collapsing structures. So’lek barely heard any of it. His rifle thundered endlessly in his hands as Iley dove low over the rooftops, her screeches cutting through the firestorm while bullets sparked against metal beneath them.

“Where are you?!” he roared into the smoke.

Everywhere he looked, there was destruction.

Burning AMP suits. Dead soldiers. Explosions still rippling through fuel lines beneath the compound. The entire base had been ripped apart from within before the resistance had even arrived, and somewhere deep beneath the chaos a fierce, almost painful pride surged through his chest.

You did this. You fought and survived.

He spotted arrows buried in human throats. Bodies dragged into shadows. Blood trails weaving through the maze of platforms and stairwells like marks left deliberately for him to follow. Every piece of it carried your handprint. Your fury.

And Eywa, he had never loved you more.

Iley landed heavily atop one of the upper platforms, claws shrieking against steel as So’lek rose immediately from the harness, scanning the battlefield below through drifting smoke and flame. Warriors descended through the skies around him now, resistance fighters flooding into the compound while gunfire erupted from every direction.

Then he saw you.

You stumbled through the wreckage below with one hand clutched tightly against your side, blood soaking through your fingers while smoke curled around your body in thick waves. Even injured, even barely standing, he recognized the shape of you instantly. The sight nearly brought him to his knees.

His heart stopped, and his chest ached.

Yet a man stood before you. Mercer, and the rifle in his hands glinted through the firelight.

So’lek did not think; he couldn't. Only instinct took over. “Iley!”

The ikran launched instantly from the rooftop beneath him as he fired blindly into the compound below, rage consuming every coherent thought inside his skull. The world narrowed into violent tunnel vision. There was only you. Only the man standing before you. Only the unbearable distance between them.

You did not see him, did not hear his screams, or see his face. 

Then everything slowed as Mercer fired.

The fuel barrel beside you erupted in blinding white light as the explosion tore through the platform with enough force to shake the mountains themselves. Fire swallowed the world whole as the shockwave slammed violently into Iley mid-flight, sending both rider and ikran spiraling hard through smoke and debris. So’lek hit the rooftop brutally, rolling across burning metal before crashing against the railing hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.

Pain screamed through his shoulder, yet he barely felt it.

“No!”

The roar ripped from him, raw and animalistic, as he forced himself upward through the smoke, one arm shielding his face from the consuming heat. Fire climbed everywhere now. The entire upper platform had collapsed inward beneath the blast, steel twisting and groaning beneath flames while debris rained endlessly from above.

You were gone; your presence missing from the place he just found you. 

So’lek staggered through the inferno anyway.

“Sarentu!”

Nothing answered him beyond screaming metal.

Then he saw Mercer.

The human commander was being dragged backward through the smoke by surviving soldiers, one of his men shouting frantically while blood streamed down Mercer’s face. The moment So’lek recognized him, something murderous detonated inside his chest.

Mercer.

The man who took you.

The man who caged you.

The man who—

So’lek moved before thought could catch him, fury surging violently through every nerve as he reached for the blade at his side. He wanted Mercer’s blood beneath his hands. Wanted to rip the life from his body piece by piece until the mountains themselves remembered his screams.

But then another thought cut through the rage.

You.

The realization struck so painfully; it felt like another wound.

You were more important. More important than vengeance or rage.

So’lek hissed sharply through clenched teeth, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from Mercer despite every instinct clawing toward violence. His chest heaved violently as he searched the burning wreckage again.

Then he saw it.

Beyond the shattered railing where the explosion had torn through the platform, broken branches and crushed undergrowth carved a violent path down the mountainside into the forest below from your fall. The moment he saw it, So’lek ran.

He vaulted the ruined railing without hesitation as Iley screeched somewhere overhead, circling through smoke until his sharp whistle cut through the chaos. The ikran dove immediately toward him, wings folding tightly as she descended through the burning fog. So’lek caught the harness in one motion and hauled himself onto her back.

“Down!”

Iley hurled herself over the cliffside.

The forest rushed upward in blurred green and black beneath them as So’lek tracked the destruction left through the trees. Broken limbs. Blood against stone. Torn vines hanging where your body had crashed through the canopy. That's when he saw you. Crushed beneath twisted brush near the ravine floor.

Motionless.

“No no no—”

The words broke apart as he practically fell from Iley before she had fully landed, stumbling hard across the forest floor as he tore through the brush toward you. His knees slammed into the earth beside your body, hard enough to bruise.

You weren’t moving. Nothing was moving besides his frantic hands, tearing away the vines and sticks. 

Your skin was streaked with soot and blood, your chest terrifyingly still beneath torn clothing while one arm lay twisted awkwardly beneath you. Burn marks crawled across your side where the explosion had caught you.

For one horrible moment the world simply… stopped.

So’lek’s breathing shattered.

“No…” His voice cracked violently as his hands hovered uselessly over you, terrified to touch, terrified to confirm what his mind was already screaming at him. “No, no…”

His fingers finally found your face.

Warm.

Still warm.

Relief hit him so sharply it hurt, curling inside his chest with a sickening feeling. 

“Yawne…” The word collapsed from him brokenly as he gathered you carefully into his arms, cradling your body against his chest while panic and grief ripped through him all over again. “Stay with me. Stay with me.”

Your head lolled weakly against his shoulder as no response came. Fear unlike anything he had ever known consumed him whole then. Not battle fear or survival, but loss.

The unbearable realization that after crossing mountains and fire and death to reach you… he still might lose you anyway.

His forehead pressed hard against yours as his entire body shook.

“I found you,” he whispered desperately, his voice splintering apart. “Please… Eywa.”

The battle still raged somewhere above them, distant now beneath the ringing in So’lek’s ears. Gunfire cracked through the mountains in uneven bursts while flames painted the fog in violent shades of orange and gold, but none of it reached him fully. Not anymore. The world had narrowed into the weight of your body in his arms and the unbearable terror clawing through his chest.

So’lek pressed one shaking hand against the side of your face again, desperate for movement, for breath, for anything that would silence the horror building inside him. Blood streaked across his fingers immediately, mixing with soot and ash as he carefully pushed tangled hair from your face.

“You cannot leave me." The word broke apart in his throat. “Do you hear me? You cannot.”

His voice sounded unfamiliar. Raw. Fractured.

He had crossed mountains for you. Burned through grief and rage and fear until there was nothing left inside him except the need to reach you. And now that he finally had, now that you were here against his chest, warm and real, he could feel death lingering close enough to touch.

His forehead pressed shakily against yours.

The confession tore from somewhere deep and wounded inside him, stripped bare beneath the panic. So’lek’s hands trembled openly now as he searched your injuries, pressing carefully against the blood soaking your side while trying desperately to remember every healing technique Ri’nela had ever taught him. His breathing refused to steady enough to think clearly.

Something warm struck your cheek.

Tears.

The realization shattered something else inside him entirely.

So’lek had not cried since he was a child.

Yet grief and relief had hollowed him so completely these past weeks that now emotion poured from him uncontrollably, silent and shaking as he held you tighter against his chest. He buried his face briefly against your hair, breathing you in beneath smoke and blood and ash.

Your lashes fluttered weakly, and So’lek froze, breath catching for a brief moment.

A strained breath escaped you, barely more than air, but it hit him harder than any blade ever could. His head snapped downward immediately, hands tightening around you with terrified relief.

“Sarentu?”

Your vision swam when your eyes finally forced themselves open. Firelight blurred through the trees overhead in fractured pieces while pain pulsed violently through every inch of your body. For one disoriented moment, you thought perhaps Eywa had finally taken pity on you.

Then you heard him.

“Stay with me,” So’lek whispered desperately, his voice breaking apart again the instant your eyes found his. "Stay with me.”

Your breath caught.

He looked ruined.

Soot covered his skin and armor alike, smoke curling through loose braids while tears streaked openly down his face without restraint. His hands shook where they held you. You had never seen him like this before. Never seen So’lek—the warrior feared by both sky people and Na’vi alike—look so utterly undone.

“All this…” you rasped weakly, trying for humor despite the blood on your tongue. “For me?”

A broken sound escaped him somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“Yes,” he breathed instantly. “Always for you.”

Your hand lifted weakly toward his face, trembling from the effort until he caught it immediately, pressing your palm hard against his cheek like something sacred. His eyes shut the moment your skin touched his.

You felt him lean into it.

“I told him,” you whispered slowly, fighting through the dizziness pulling at you again. “Told Mercer… you would come for me.”

So’lek’s forehead dropped against yours once more, a trembling breath leaving him as his entire body seemed to finally crack beneath the weight of everything he had carried alone.

“There was nowhere in this world Eywa could have hidden you from me.”

The words settled warmly through the ache in your chest as your fingers curled weakly against his jaw, eyes tracing every exhausted line of his face. “You look terrible.”

That finally pulled a real laugh from him, soft and broken though it was. He shook his head once, overcome again as he pressed another desperate kiss against your forehead.

“You nearly died.”

“So did you it seems,” you whispered back.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

The mountains burned around you. War still thundered in the distance. Yet down here beneath the trees, held tightly in So’lek’s arms, the world suddenly felt impossibly small and quiet.

His gaze dropped slowly to your mouth then, hesitation flickering there for only the briefest second before emotion overwhelmed restraint entirely. One hand slid shakily against the side of your neck as he kissed you like a man dragged half-dead from drowning.

It wasn’t careful or restrained. It was truly desperate as every ounce of grief and relief and unbearable love was poured into it all at once. His lips trembled against yours as he pulled you closer despite the fear of hurting you, breathing you in like he still could not believe you were real beneath his hands.

You kissed him back just as fiercely as your injuries allowed.

The realization hit all over again as your forehead rested against his afterward, both of you breathing unevenly while the fires burned beyond the ravine. You were both alive by the will of Eywa. By the will of your trust and your bond. 

“I thought I lost you." So’lek admitted quietly.

You swallowed hard against the emotion tightening your throat before brushing your thumb gently beneath his eye, catching the tears still clinging there.

“You found me,” you whispered.

And this time, he wouldn’t let you go. 

Taglist (so sorry for the delay love you)

@grcsbluepen @saltedcoffeescotch @astarialin @r4y-cr34t0r @teapots-and-witches @1screentimedoesnotworkhere1 @coastalcowgirlie @bubblekitty18-blog @thewildside-21

[khonsus-heart]

Leon Kennedy would and I’ll die on this hill.

help

[khonsus-heart]

Yall ever see Leon Kennedy and get butterflies?

Fuck me I need to get a grip (on him)

[konigslittleliebling]

when i’m reading an ‘x reader’ and he calls me his pretty girl

[khonsus-heart]

Honest opinion, is anyone digging crimson desert?

I’m lowkey about to start writing for kliff bc this game has its claws in me but if no one likes this game is it even worth it.

I need a crowd vote here.

We reading kliff fics? Bc I aim to please. He is so fine

Crimson desert fic?

Please god yes.

What are you even talking about.

Voting ended onApr 7

[khonsus-heart]

Idk if you take requests, but I had ths idea for quite a while and the way you write would be a perfect match (at least, I guess, haha)

Leon lost his wife, because she was infected by the T-Virus. His only remain is their daughter (Reader), who also shows the first signs of an infection. Leon is desperate to find a cure for his daughter and himself, which leads to the events in RE9.

The scene in which he fainted, he saw images of his late wife and Reader, which brings him back and safes Grace's and his life.

At the end of RE9, Reader waits for Leon and runs to her father, which ends in a big hug <3

You said you’d fix it.

Dad!Leon/daughter!reader (13.6k words)

A\N: a drag path but it’s this FREAKING REQUEST. Anon you outdid yourself with this one because nothing in the world could stop me from writing this with my whole soul. Please enjoy any Easter eggs I pooped out from my other fics and don’t cry!

Ps: if you submitted a request i am 100% doing it. I just write too many words for my own good so bear with me!

Warnings: this is so depressing. I’m sorry. PTSD Mentions of death. Loss of wife. Happy ending!

Summary: When the memory of his former wife comes to haunt him and a long-buried infection resurfaces, Leon is forced to confront the one thing he’s always avoided...his own problems. As his daughter begins to show the same signs that took her mother, Leon races against time to fix what he couldn’t before. Because this time, he’s not just fighting to survive. He’s fighting to come back.

The long stretch of track ahead of them felt never-ending, rusted rails submerged in murky water trailing as far as the eye could see. They passed sign after sign in a foreign language, bold and red, warning them of what was ahead, though neither of them needed help understanding the danger anymore.

Leon hoped it led to an exit. Or at the very least, a way out of this suffocating tunnel.

The flickering lights above them only made his head pound harder as they pushed forward, one arm slung around her shoulders while she limped beside him on her bad ankle—his partner, his wife, her weight leaning heavier into him with every step.

“Just a little further,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You can make it.”

She winced each time her foot touched the ground, trying to drag it behind her instead of lifting it fully, her breath catching every few steps no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

The dogs had gotten her good.

They’d come out of nowhere, fast and vicious; one of them had taken a chunk out of her ankle before Leon could put it down. He’d told himself it was just a bite. Just a wound. Something they could manage once they were out of here.

That’s what this was supposed to be.

In and out.

Contain the threat. Stay with the team.

But an ill-timed explosion had split them from the others, collapsing the path behind them and forcing the two of them deeper underground, into the abandoned transit system beneath the old Eastern European city. It was something repurposed, repainted, and rotting with the remnants of illegal biohazard containment.

Now it was just them.

Something clattered in the distance behind them, metal against concrete, sharp enough to make them both turn. The movement pulled through her entire body, and the second she shifted her weight, a sharp gasp tore from her as she doubled over, her hand flying to her ankle.

Leon’s grip slipped as she went down.

Her hands hit the cracked tile, her body folding in on itself as the pain finally caught up with her.

“Hey—” he dropped with her immediately, reaching for her, trying to pull her back up, but she couldn’t stand. Couldn’t even push herself up. The blood had soaked through too much already, spreading dark across the concrete beneath her.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice tightening as he hooked his hands under her arms and dragged her back against the nearest wall. He steadied her there, one hand braced at her shoulder before moving quickly to her leg, pulling out his flashlight and flicking it on.

The beam cut through the dim light, landing on the wound.

And then—

She started coughing.

Hard.

Doubling over beside him as it tore through her chest, sharp and violent, blood hitting the gray floor in uneven splatters before it lingered at her lips. When she looked back at him, something in her eyes had shifted.

Fading.

“Hey—hey, just hang in there,” Leon said quickly, his voice rushing now, his hand moving instinctively to steady her. “Okay? I’m gonna get us out of here. We just need to—”

“Leon—”

“We just have to get you up—”

“Leon.”

It stopped him. The way she said it.

He lowered the flashlight slightly, the beam dipping toward the ground as his eyes found hers again, really looking this time as her head rested back against the wall.

And then it was a lot clearer.

The dark veins creeping beneath her skin, stretching up her neck, threading down her arms like something alive beneath the surface. The blood. The coughing. The way her breathing had already started to shallow.

Her T-virus. Stage 3.

His stomach dropped.

He reached for her ankle anyway, his hand wrapping around her good one, squeezing like he could anchor her there, like he could still fix this if he just moved fast enough, thought hard enough, and refused to accept what he was seeing.

He would carry her. He would drag her if he had to. There was still a way out, there had to be.

“You’ve gotta get out of here,” she said through a strained breath, her eyes lowering to him where he knelt in front of her.

“Don’t,” he shook his head immediately. “Don’t say that. We’re getting out of here. We just—just need to get you up—”

“No.”

The word landed heavier than anything else.

Leon rocked back slightly, the breath leaving him in a slow, controlled exhale as he set the flashlight down beside them, the beam casting uneven shadows across the tunnel.

“I’m not letting you give up,” he said, quieter now, but no less firm. “Not like this.”

She coughed again, her hand coming up to catch it, blood staining her palm before it fell back to her side.

“I’m not giving up,” she said, a faint, pained laugh slipping through despite it all. “It’s only giving up if there’s still a chance.”

Leon’s gaze dropped for a moment, catching on the darkness stretching down the tunnel behind her. Somewhere far off, water dripped steadily, rhythmic, echoing like a clock counting down something neither of them could stop.

When he looked back at her, her eyes were heavier now, her breaths shorter, each one taking more effort than the last.

He didn’t know it would move this fast.

Didn’t know it would take her like this.

If he had—if he had known—he never would’ve let her come. Never would’ve let her step onto that plane. Never would’ve—

But she hadn’t told him. Had carried it alone until recently, and now it was too late.

She reached for her holster.

Leon’s head snapped up as she pulled her gun free, checking the chamber with practiced ease despite the tremor in her hands.

His chest tightened instantly as he pushed himself to his feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Leon, you have to—”

“No.”

She extended her arm toward him; the grip of the gun turned in his direction. Offering it. Asking him.

“No,” he said again, sharper this time, shaking his head as he stepped back like distance alone could undo what she was asking.

“Don’t do that.”

Her arm didn’t waver.

Her eyes stayed on him.

“You know what happens next,” she said quietly.

Leon shook his head almost immediately, taking a step back, like putting distance between them might change something, like if he moved far enough away from it, he wouldn’t have to face what she was asking. “No,” he said, the word rough, uneven, his voice already slipping despite how hard he tried to keep it steady. “No, we’re not doing this.”

Her grip tightened around the gun, though her arm didn’t waver; her eyes locked onto his in a way that didn’t leave room for misunderstanding.

“Leon.”

“No,” he repeated, louder this time, his hands coming up like he could physically push the moment away. “We’re getting out of here. I’ll carry you if I have to; I don’t care how far it is, I’ll get you out—”

“You won’t make it.”

“I will,” he shot back immediately, his voice tightening with something desperate now, something that didn’t sound like certainty so much as refusal.

“You won’t,” she said again, firmer this time, though there was a strain beneath it now, something slipping under the surface. “And neither will anyone else if you don’t do this.”

“That’s not your call,” he snapped, the control finally cracking as he shook his head, pacing a step before stopping again, his chest rising too fast. “You don’t get to decide that. Not for me.”

Her expression didn’t soften. If anything, it settled further, something resolute taking hold as she looked at him.

“You don’t get to pretend this ends any other way.”

That hit him harder than anything else she’d said.

He stood there, staring at her like if he looked long enough, he’d find something that proved her wrong, that gave him another option, another way out, another path that didn’t end with this.

“There’s always something,” he said finally, quieter now, but the desperation in it hadn’t gone anywhere; it had just settled deeper. “There’s always a way out of this. I just need—”

“There isn’t,” she cut in, and this time her voice broke through clean, not loud, not angry, just final in a way that didn’t leave space for argument. “Not for me.”

The tunnel seemed to close in around them then, the drip of water somewhere down the line echoing louder than it should have, each second stretching too long as the weight of it settled between them. The lights barley hanging onto their last flicker.

Leon didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Because he knew. God, he knew.

She took a breath, unsteady now, the first real crack in her composure as she pushed the gun further toward him, forcing it into his space, into his hands whether he wanted it there or not.

“Please,” she said, softer now, her voice thinning under the weight of it. “Don’t make me become something you have to fight.”

His hand hovered there, just inches from the grip, his fingers trembling despite himself as he stared at it like it didn’t belong in this moment, like it didn’t belong between them.

“I can’t,” he said, barely above a whisper, his eyes dragging back up to hers. “I’m not doing that to you.”

Something flickered across her face then, hurt, maybe, but it didn’t last, didn’t take root long enough to change her mind.

“Then you’re doing it to everyone else,” she said quietly.

That landed. Harder than anything.

Leon’s breath caught as his hand finally moved, his fingers curling around the grip of the gun like it weighed more than it should, like it didn’t belong in his hand like this, like it never should have.

His arm didn’t lift right away.

He just stood there, staring at her, waiting for something to stop this, for something to change, for something, anything, to pull them out of this moment.

But nothing did.

She exhaled slowly, her shoulders sinking back against the wall as she looked at him, really looked at him, like she was committing him to memory in the seconds she had left.

“I love you,” she said.

That nearly broke him.

His vision blurred, his grip tightening as his arm finally, slowly, began to rise, the motion heavy, unwilling, like every part of him was fighting it even as it happened. The light bar above her head began to tick, flicking off, then on. 

“Don’t,” he breathed, shaking his head, his voice cracking now despite everything. “Don’t say that right now—”

Her voice cut through him. Sharp. Final.

“Do it.”

“Do it!’

–

Leon jolted awake, sweat clinging to his exposed back as he shifted through the sea of blankets twisted around him. His breathing came heavy and uneven as he threw his legs over the side of the bed, grounding himself against the scratched wood beneath his feet. His hands pressed firmly into his knees as he forced himself to take breath after breath, trying to slow the panic still clawing its way through his chest.

It had been weeks since he’d had that dream.

Weeks since he’d seen himself back in that tunnel, standing in front of her like it had all just happened yesterday—like ten years hadn’t passed, like the pain hadn’t dulled even slightly, like the wound never had the chance to close in the first place. The memory still sat just beneath the surface, raw and waiting, and every time it came back, it took everything in him with it.

Morning had barely begun to seep through the crooked blinds when Leon finally lifted his head, dragging a hand through his greying hair as he forced himself to push away from the mattress. The right side of the bed remained untouched, as it always did, but his restless movements had still managed to leave the sheets in disarray, twisted and pulled like he’d been fighting something in his sleep.

He didn’t bother making it.

Not yet.

He needed the bathroom. Needed something cold. Something real.

It had been a while since he’d been out in the field, taking time off he’d told himself he needed, though it had mostly turned into days spent sitting in this house, letting time pass without much thought. The quiet had settled in too easily, filling spaces that used to feel lived in.

When he stepped into the connected bathroom, he flicked on the light, immediately squinting as the fluorescent bulb flickered before fully coming to life. He shut his eyes again, longer this time, like he could block it out before it had the chance to settle in—before it could remind him too much of that place, of those same flickering lights hanging above him the day everything changed.

The cold water handle turned sharply under his grip, the stream rushing to life as he shoved his hands beneath it, barely hesitating before leaning forward and dragging the water up over his face. He stayed there longer than necessary, letting the cold bite into his skin, grounding him in something that wasn’t memory, wasn’t her voice, wasn’t that moment replaying itself over and over again.

It helped.

Not enough.

But enough to move.

When he finally pulled back, he grabbed a nearby towel, dragging it over his face slowly, deliberately, lingering just long enough to avoid looking at himself in the mirror. But eventually, he did.

And it was worse than he expected.

Dark circles had settled deep beneath his eyes, heavier than just lack of sleep, something more permanent etched into his features. The exhaustion wasn’t new, but it looked different now, older, worn down in a way he couldn’t ignore anymore.

And then there was the infection.

Faint, but there.

Darkened veins just beneath his skin, subtle but unmistakable, clinging to him like a reminder he couldn’t shake no matter how much time had passed. The same thing that had taken her now sat quietly beneath his own skin, waiting, patient in a way that felt cruel.

Leon looked away.

The towel slipped from his hands, left hanging loosely over the bar beside the sink as he stepped back into the bedroom.

The light had started to creep in more now, revealing the state he’d let the place fall into. A pile of clean laundry sat untouched on the chair by his desk, while worn socks had found a home beneath the edge of the bed. His watch lay discarded on the nightstand next to two empty glasses that had once held milk, left there longer than they should have been.

He winced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as he crossed the room, digging through the clean pile for something to wear. A loose shirt and a pair of shorts would do.

After pulling them on, he grabbed the empty glasses and made his way toward the kitchen.

The moment he stepped through the threshold, rounding the island, he was met with a loud, insistent meow at his feet.

Leon blinked down at the small blur weaving between his legs.

Whiskers.

Or rather—

his daughter’s cat.

The little thing circled him relentlessly, brushing against his ankles as it cried out again, far too loud for something its size. Leon adjusted his steps carefully to avoid stepping on it, setting the glasses down in the sink with a quiet clink.

“Hang on, furball,” he muttered, his voice still rough from sleep. “I’ll feed you in a second.”

The cat, unsurprisingly, did not care.

As Leon reached for the clear container on the counter, he glanced at the microwave, the red numbers blinking back at him. 6:45.

Too early.

He scooped some food into Whiskers’ metal bowl, the kibble clattering softly as it hit, before turning to refill his other bowl with water. The routine was automatic, something his body did without much thought, but it was in that pause, that small moment between movements, that something began to feel off.

It didn’t click right away.

Not until he looked down at the cat.

Whiskers was always with her.

Curled up at her feet, sprawled across her pillow, or tucked somewhere beneath the blankets she inevitably wrapped herself in. Half the time, she’d shut her door just to keep him inside so he wouldn’t wander off in the middle of the night.

So why was he out here?

Leon’s gaze lifted slowly, squinting through the dim light of the house as he looked down the hall, toward her door at the far end past the living room. The light beneath it was off, which wasn’t unusual this early, but the door itself was shut—fully shut, like she’d pushed him out.

He let out a quiet huff of amusement, the thought coming easy enough.

“Got caught acting a fool, little guy?” he muttered, glancing back down as Whiskers tore into his food like he hadn’t eaten in days, despite Leon feeding him not even a few hours ago before heading to bed.

Still.

Something about it lingered.

Leon looked back down the hall one more time, his gaze resting there just a second longer than it needed to before he finally turned away, moving deeper into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and reached for the carton of eggs, the cool air brushing against his skin as he pulled them free.

He just hoped you’d slept better than he had.

–

You woke to the smell of bacon and immediately started coughing.

It was like the first breath you took scraped past your throat and came back up with a vengeance, sharp and hot, your chest tightening as you pushed yourself deeper into the mattress. The heat was worse, clinging to your skin in a way that made you uncomfortable, too warm beneath the blankets you’d been wrapped in only seconds before.

You shoved them off instantly, letting them fall to your waist as you stared up at the ceiling, your eyes landing on the glow-in-the-dark stars still scattered above you.

You never took them down.

Not after all this time.

They were the last thing you saw every night, just like they always had been—right after your mom leaned over to kiss your forehead, and your dad reached for the light switch, the room falling dark as the stars slowly lit up above you.

You turned onto your side, reaching for your phone on the charger beside your bed, your nightstand cluttered with candy wrappers and hair ties that never quite made it back to the bathroom. When you clicked the power button, the brightness made you squint immediately.

7:10.

You groaned softly, dropping the phone back onto the table before rolling over again, burying your face into the pillow like you could steal another few minutes of sleep.

You coughed again.

Harder this time.

It rattled through your chest as you pressed your face deeper into the fabric, trying to muffle it, brushing it off the same way you always did. You probably slept with your mouth open again, snoring like an idiot, drying your throat out. That’s all it was.

It had to be.

It took you a few more minutes to finally drag yourself out of bed, the smell of breakfast strong enough to pull you the rest of the way into the morning whether you were ready or not. You shuffled into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and running a hand through your hair, doing just enough to feel somewhat put together before slipping on your bunny slippers and adjusting your pajama top across your chest.

Your body still felt sluggish, heavy in a way that didn’t quite make sense, but you ignored it, stretching your neck as you scratched absentmindedly at the back of your head before pushing your bedroom door open.

The light hit you immediately. Too bright and real.

Morning had fully settled in now, and with it came the smell of bacon and eggs drifting through the house.

Your dad stood at the stove, moving like it was second nature, shaking pepper into a pan of scrambled eggs as if this were just another normal morning.

You weren’t sure how he did that. How he woke up every day and just… kept going.

Like everything wasn’t sitting right there under the surface.

Whiskers was sprawled out across the hardwood floor in front of the glass doors, stretched out in the sunlight like he’d been there for hours, soaking in warmth that had only just begun to reach inside.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Your dad glanced over his shoulder at you, already stirring the eggs again like nothing had changed.

You just groaned in response, making your way further into the kitchen, deciding you’d become a person once you had coffee in your system. You slid onto one of the barstools at the island, pulling yourself up just enough to slump forward against the counter, rubbing at your eyes.

“Morning,” you mumbled through a yawn.

He was already plating the food, scooping eggs onto a plate before grabbing a few strips of bacon and stacking them neatly beside it. By the time you blinked your eyes open again, he was setting the plate down in front of you, licking a bit of grease from his fingers like it was routine.

“You’re up early.”

You looked down at the food, your brows lifting slightly.

It smelled really good.

“Coffee?”

Your eyes flicked up to him just as he grabbed a mug from the counter, setting it down in front of you before reaching into the fridge for your creamer like he’d done it a hundred times before.

And for a second—

It almost felt normal.

Too normal.

“Dad… what’s up?”

He glanced back at you, creamer still in hand, brows pulling together slightly. “What do you mean?”

“This…”

“Oh.” He shrugged lightly, pouring the creamer before sliding the cup toward you. “I don’t know. Just hungry. You hungry?”

You hesitated.

Your eyes drifted past him, landing on Whiskers stretched out in the sunlight—and just like that, last night came rushing back all at once.

You’d kicked him out.

Shut the door on him while you sat on the floor crying because he’d knocked over your music box, the one your mom gave you, and shattered it like it didn’t matter.

Like it wasn’t one of the last things you had left of her.

Looking at him now, you knew he didn’t mean it.

Couldn’t have.

But that didn’t stop the way it felt.

Your gaze shifted back to your dad, taking him in properly this time—the way he moved, the way he talked, the way he tried.

And then it clicked.

He was doing the same thing you were. Distracting himself.

Because whatever last night was, whatever it stirred up, it hadn’t just stayed with you. It showed in the dark circles under his eyes, the ones that never really went away anymore. You were starting to get them too.

“Yeah—yeah, I’ll eat.”

He was about to say something, like the words were right there on the tip of his tongue, but instead he turned back to the stove, grabbing himself a plate as if the moment had already passed. “How was class yesterday?”

You were already halfway through a piece of bacon when you answered, barely looking up from your plate. “It was alright.” You’d been taking classes at the community college just up the road, close enough that he could convince himself you were safe, and it was the first time in a long time you’d been around people again. 

But…Alright was an understatement. 

You still hadn’t pulled yourself together enough to talk to anyone, and sitting in a room full of strangers felt suffocating more often than not. On top of that, walking into the school therapist’s office, quietly, without telling your dad, was hard enough on its own. He didn’t know, but you needed it. You just wished he would consider it too, though you were pretty sure he wouldn’t. His definition of PTSD was “Push that shit down," and it showed.

“My grades are good,” you added, quieter this time, like that part might make it easier for him to accept everything else you weren’t saying.

He sat across from you, pouring himself a cup of coffee before shaking a little too much pepper onto his eggs, like the motion itself gave him something to focus on. “That’s good,” he said with a small nod. “I’m proud.” But he didn’t look at you. Instead, he hunched over his plate, eating quickly, distracted, like finishing the food would give him an excuse to move on from the conversation altogether.

You slowed down, lifting your coffee instead, letting the warmth settle into your hands as you took a sip. Pumpkin spice—your favorite. The vanilla creamer swirled through it just right, exactly how you liked it. You watched him over the rim of the mug, really watched him this time, taking in the way he avoided your gaze, the way his shoulders stayed tense even in a moment that was supposed to be normal.

“Dad…” you said finally, your voice softer but steady enough to pull his attention.

He looked up, his fork hovering midair as his eyes met yours.

“Did you… sleep at all?”

For a second, something flickered across his face, something real, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came. He shoved the last of his eggs into his mouth, barely chewing before standing and draining the rest of his coffee in one go, already turning toward the sink like the question hadn’t landed at all. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, his voice too quick, too easy. “Don’t worry about me.”

You didn’t respond right away. You just watched him, tracking every movement—the way he rinsed his plate too fast, the way his hands moved with too much urgency, the way he reached for the pan like he needed something to do, anything to keep from standing still.

“Dad.”

He stopped completely. The water shut off, just a trickle left in the sink basin, the sudden drip of it louder than anything else in the room as he wiped his hands on his shorts before turning to face you, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed like he was bracing himself.

“Listen—”

“I knew it,” you cut in, pushing your chair back slightly as you sat up straighter. “That’s what this is. A distraction.” You gestured toward the counter, toward the food, toward the forced normalcy of it all. “Why can’t you just talk to me? You won’t talk to anyone else and I’m right here.”

He looked away for a second, just long enough for you to notice, and then let out a quiet breath as he shifted his weight forward. “It’s not that simple—”

“It is,” you snapped, your hands lifting in frustration before falling again. “It is that simple. You just won’t do it.”

You waited then, giving him a chance to say anything that mattered, something real, something that didn’t sound like the same excuse he always fell back on. But he didn’t. He just stood there, still and quiet, like whatever you’d said had landed harder than he was willing to admit, like he’d already lost the argument before it even began.

And that was worse.

You let the silence sit for another second before reaching forward, grabbing the last piece of bacon from your plate more out of habit than anything else, pushing yourself off the stool as you turned away. “Whatever,” you muttered under your breath, already heading back down the hall.

You didn’t wait for him to stop you.

Didn’t wait for him to try.

You just walked back to your room, the weight of it all pressing heavier into your chest with each step before you shoved the door open and stepped inside, letting it slam shut behind you harder than you meant to.

–

Leon turned slowly, pressing both hands against the edge of the sink, his head dipping just enough for his hair to fall forward into his face as he stared down at nothing in particular. The faucet continued to drip in front of him, each drop echoing louder than it should have in the quiet kitchen, the sound stretching out, lingering longer than water ever should, settling somewhere deep in his chest in a way that made it impossible to ignore.

Drip. 

Drip.

It didn’t sound like water anymore. It sounded like a clock, steady and patient, tick.

Tick. 

“Do it!”

Leon’s hand shot out before he could stop himself, slamming beneath the faucet to cut the stream mid-fall, the sound stopping instantly, violently, leaving behind a silence that rang just as loud in his ears. He twisted the handle tighter than necessary, forcing it closed until there was nothing left—no drip, no echo, no reminder—and for a second he just stood there, his hand still resting against the metal, his breathing uneven as he tried to ground himself in something real, something that wasn’t memory.

That conversation could have gone better. It should have. He knew that. But the moment that dripping started, it was like everything else had been pushed out, like he couldn’t hear her anymore over the sound of it, like his mind had already left the room before he even realized it. 

He was supposed to focus on her, on what she was saying, on the fact that she was right there asking him for something he couldn’t give, but lately everything felt like it was pulling him backward instead of keeping him present, every small thing dragging him back to what he’d already lost, to what he could still lose if he wasn’t careful.

He heard her cough from down the hall again, faint but sharp enough to cut through everything else, and it settled into him immediately, threading through his thoughts in a way that made his chest tighten before he could stop it. 

It was a sign he hadn’t seen soon enough. Signs his wife had hidden from him until it was too late to do anything about them. The same signs he carried now, buried beneath his skin, quiet but present, something he kept to himself the same way she had, the same way he swore he never would.

He pushed himself away from the counter, turning toward the hallway without thinking, his focus already shifting back to her door, to the sound he’d just heard, to the need to check on her, to make sure—

His work phone rang.

The sharp, uptight tone cut through the house, echoing from his bedroom and snapping him out of it just enough to pause mid-step. His jaw tightened as his eyes flicked toward her door one more time, lingering there just a second too long before he forced himself to turn away, moving down the hall in the opposite direction as the ringing continued, insistent, impossible to ignore.

By the time he reached his room, the screen was already lit with Sherry’s name, a picture from years ago still set behind the contact, something he’d never bothered to change. He answered without hesitation, bringing the phone to his ear as he dragged a hand down his face, trying to steady himself before speaking.

“Hello?”

“Leon. It’s Sherry.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as she said it, his eyes closing briefly like the confirmation was unnecessary, like he didn’t already know exactly who it was. “Is this important?” he asked, his voice edged with impatience he didn’t have the energy to hide. “I’m on leave.”

“Very,” she replied without hesitation. “You might want to check this out.”

His phone buzzed again almost immediately, and he pulled it away from his ear, putting her on speaker as he dragged the notification down, his eyes scanning the file as it loaded. Crime scene footage.

His thumb moved instinctively, scrolling through the images one by one, his focus sharpening despite himself as the details came into view, the bodies twisted and deteriorating, skin darkened and splitting, black veins spreading beneath the surface in patterns he recognized far too easily.

“There have been recent reports of Raccoon City survivors turning up as victims,” Sherry continued, her voice steady and measured, like she already knew what he was seeing. “Two confirmed dead, one missing. I know you’re off right now, but this one seems personal.”

Leon moved toward the nightstand without thinking, grabbing his glasses and sliding them on as he pulled up the full report, his eyes moving faster now, scanning, connecting, searching for something that didn’t line up, something that didn’t lead back to the same place. But it all did. Every name. Every detail. Every single one of them traced back to Raccoon City like it had never really let them go.

“Leon? You there?”

“Yeah—yeah, I’m here.” His voice came out quieter now, more focused, though there was something else underneath it, something tighter, something harder to ignore as he kept scrolling, trying to find a break in the pattern that wasn’t there.

“When did this start?” he asked, his gaze narrowing slightly as he pushed further into the report.

There was a brief pause, the sound of typing filtering through the line before she answered. “Within the last week. All recent.”

Leon pulled his glasses off, dragging a hand over his face as he brought the phone back to his ear, the weight of it settling heavier now, pressing into something he didn’t want to fully acknowledge.

“Alright,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her. “Alright… just give me some time. I’ll figure something out and call you back.”

“Leon… is everything okay?”

Of course she asked. Sherry had always been like that, too aware, too quick to pick up on what people tried to hide. 

Much like his daughter. 

For a second he almost said something, almost told her the truth, that he hadn’t been sleeping, that the nightmares were back, that what she was talking about wasn’t just in those files, that it was already there, already under his skin, already moving in ways he couldn’t stop.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

“Yeah,” he said instead, the answer coming too easily. “All good. I’ll call you later.”

He ended the call before she could respond, cutting off whatever she was about to say, the silence that followed settling into the room in a way that felt heavier than before. And for a moment, he just stood there, the phone still in his hand, his thoughts pulling him in too many directions at once—toward the past, toward the present, and toward the door down the hall he hadn’t gone back to yet.

—

The pieces of your mom’s music box sat on your dresser, carefully wrapped in a towel from your bathroom so none of the porcelain would go missing. It had always been beautiful. White, worn soft with age, passed down through hands that had held onto it long before it ever reached yours. Gold trim lined the edges of the lid, delicate and slightly faded, and when you opened it, a small ballerina stood at the center, waiting to be brought to life. If you wound the cog at the back just right, she would spin slowly, the soft, warped melody filling the room as she danced.

The song had never sounded quite right, not anymore, but your mom used to hum it anyway, brushing your hair back as she tucked you in, promising she’d see you again soon.

She always said that.

Your chest tightened at the thought, your gaze lingering on the broken shape beneath the towel before drifting away, like looking at it for too long might make it worse. It wasn’t just the music box. It never really was. It was everything it stood for, everything tied to it, everything that felt like it was slipping further out of reach the older you got.

And then there was your dad.

The way he moved through the house like nothing was wrong. The way he avoided things. The way he shut down instead of talking. You knew he was struggling; you weren’t blind to it, but that didn’t make it easier when he refused to let you in.

You wished he would just talk to you.

Just once.

You fell forward onto your bed, burying your face into the soft sheets as a quiet groan left your chest, hoping it might ease the tightness building behind your ribs. It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse, pressing it deeper until it felt like something was sitting heavy right beneath your lungs. Followed by the worst cough of the morning. 

It almost made you cry.

Over a broken music box.

Except…it wasn’t really about that.

It was just another reminder. Another piece of something you were losing too fast.

You pushed yourself back up slowly, curling your legs beneath you as you reached for your phone, unlocking it without thinking, your eyes skimming over the flood of notifications that didn’t matter. Your gaze dropped just beneath the time.

October 8th, 2028.

You stared at it for a second longer than necessary before locking the screen again and tossing the phone toward the end of the bed, letting it land wherever it did. Something twisted in your stomach then, sharp and uncomfortable, not quite pain but not something you could ignore either, and you leaned back slightly, your eyes settling on the door like you expected something to happen.

And then—

It did.

Three soft knocks.

You could see his shadow shift beneath the door, the subtle movement of his feet giving him away before he even spoke.

“Hey, I—” he hesitated, his voice quieter than before. “Can we talk, honey?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

The handle turned anyway, the door opening just enough for him to glance in, one eye peeking through like he wasn’t sure what he was walking into. The second he saw you sitting there, shoulders slumped, something in your expression giving you away, he pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside.

“Is everything okay?”

He stayed near the doorway at first, like he didn’t want to crowd you, like he was waiting for permission he hadn’t been given. You didn’t look at him. Your eyes stayed fixed on the dresser instead, the tears already threatening to rise before you could stop them.

“Whiskers… he—”

Your voice caught, and that was all it took.

He followed your gaze, his own landing on the uneven shape beneath the towel before he moved toward it, slower this time, more careful. He reached out and unwrapped it gently, like he hoped it wasn’t what he thought. 

The second he saw it, his shoulders dropped.

He stood there for a moment, looking down at the towel wrapped around the music box like he was trying to piece it together without touching it, before he finally exhaled and turned back toward you, his expression softer now, something careful settling into place.

“We can fix it,” he said, nodding slightly like he needed you to believe it as much as he did. “It’s porcelain, right? There’s people who restore stuff like this. I’ll find someone; we’ll get it put back together—good as new.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t answer.

Your arms stayed wrapped around yourself as your gaze drifted back toward the dresser, your chest still tight in a way that had nothing to do with the broken pieces. “It’s not about that,” you muttered, your voice quiet but strained.

He hesitated at that, shifting his weight slightly where he stood, like he didn’t quite know what to do with your answer. “I know,” he said after a second, his voice softer now. “I just… wanna help.”

The room went quiet again, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful, just full of everything neither of you were saying. You looked up at him then, really looked at him, taking in the way he hovered near the dresser instead of coming closer.

“Then talk to me,” you said, your voice steadier now even if your chest still felt tight. “What’s going on with you?”

That seemed to catch him off guard.

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes dropping for a second before he looked back at you, like he was deciding how much he wanted to say. “That’s… actually why I came in here,” he admitted, his tone shifting just slightly. “I haven’t exactly been—” he paused, rubbing at the back of his neck before letting out a quiet breath. “I haven’t been truthful.”

Your brows pulled together, confusion settling in quickly. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated again, longer this time, like whatever he was about to say didn’t come as easily as the rest.

“It’s just been a hard week,” he said finally, settling on something that didn’t quite answer your question. “That’s all.”

You stared at him for a second, and then it clicked.

“Is that why you took off work?” you asked quietly. “Because it’s her anniversary?”

He went still.

Not completely obvious—but enough. His shoulders tightened just slightly, his jaw setting as his gaze shifted away from you for a second before coming back.

“…Yeah,” he said.

You nodded slowly, your eyes dropping to your hands as you twisted the fabric of your sleeve between your fingers. “It’s been affecting me too,” you admitted, your voice softer now, the frustration from earlier fading into something heavier. “I just didn’t think you’d want to talk about it.”

You could see something change in his expression when you said that, something you couldn’t quite name, but he didn’t get the chance to respond.

You coughed.

It hit harder this time, suddenly, enough to pull you forward slightly, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as your chest tightened again. You tried to breathe through it, but it came again, sharper, dragging through your throat in a way that made your eyes water.

He moved instantly, stepping closer as your shoulders curled in.

“Hey—”

You coughed again, your hand pressing tighter against your mouth until it finally eased just enough for you to pull it away—

And freeze.

There was blood.

Not a lot.

But enough.

Your stomach dropped as your eyes snapped back up to him, panic hitting all at once. “What—” your voice shook as you looked down at your hand again. “That’s never—it's never been that bad before—”

He was already reaching for something, grabbing a towel from the dresser and pressing it into your hand before guiding you back slightly toward the bed. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said quickly, his voice steadier than yours felt. “Just sit back for me.”

You didn’t argue.

Didn’t question it.

You let him ease you down onto the mattress, your head still spinning slightly as you tried to slow your breathing, the panic sitting heavy in your chest.

“Let me see,” he said, reaching for your arm.

You held still as he pushed your sleeve up, your eyes following the movement until he stopped.

You saw it too.

Faint.

But there.

Dark lines just beneath your skin, subtle but wrong, spreading in a way that made your stomach twist.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

His hand lingered there just a moment longer before he pulled your sleeve back down, slower this time, like he didn’t want to draw attention to it even though you’d already seen it.

“We’re gonna figure this out,” he said, quieter now, his voice more controlled than before. “Okay? I’ve seen worse than this.”

You searched his face, trying to find something solid in it, something you could believe.

“You have?” you asked, your voice smaller now.

He nodded once.

“Yeah.”

He stepped back then, creating just a little distance like he needed the space, like he was already thinking ahead to something you weren’t part of yet.

“I need to go back into work,” he said after a second.

Your head lifted slightly. “Right now?”

“I won’t be gone long,” he added quickly. “I’ll call Sherry, maybe Jill too. I’ll have them check in on you while I’m gone, make sure everything’s okay.”

You stared at him, something uneasy settling in your chest that had nothing to do with the coughing, your fingers still curled loosely around the towel as your breathing tried to even out.

“Dad—”

“I’ve got it,” he said, not harsh, just firm enough to stop you, his voice steady in a way that made it hard to argue with. He stepped closer again, just enough to reach out and rest his hand briefly against your shoulder, grounding, familiar. “Stay in bed for now,” he added, his tone softening slightly. “I’ve got something you need to take for me, okay? I’ll call Sherry.”

You looked up at him, searching his face again, trying to figure out what he wasn’t saying, what he had already decided without telling you.

“…Okay,” you said after a second, even though the answer didn’t feel right sitting in your chest.

He gave a small nod, like that was enough, like that settled it, before pulling his hand back and stepping away again, already turning toward the door like he had somewhere else to be.

You watched him go. Watched the way he paused for half a second at the doorway, like he almost turned back, like he almost said something else—

But he didn’t.

The door opened.

Then closed.

And just like that, the room felt too quiet again.

—

It took Leon all of six seconds to make it from her bedroom to his, already pulling his phone out and dialing before he fully crossed the threshold. It only rang once before she picked up, like she’d been expecting it, like she’d been waiting for him to call the second something went wrong.

“That was fast,” Sherry said, the faint rhythm of her keyboard clicking through the line.

“Sherry, I need you to get ahold of Jill for me,” Leon said, already moving, already pushing into his closet as he tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. He shoved aside boxes and old clothes without care, digging straight for the safe built into the back wall. “Tell her to get out here. Now.”

He punched in the code—032296—faster than he meant to, the numbers muscle memory at this point, and pulled the door open harder than necessary, the metal giving with a dull, hollow sound.

“Why—what’s going on?” The typing on her end stopped abruptly, the silence on the line tightening. “Is everything okay?”

Leon didn’t answer right away. He was already digging through the contents—paperwork shoved aside, ammo rattling faintly as he moved it, the edge of a locked case catching against his hand—until his fingers closed around the smaller secured metal box sitting at the bottom. He pulled it free and flipped it open, revealing the foam-lined interior.

A syringe rested in the center. Three vials to the right.

Two empty. One full.

“I’m coming in,” he said instead, his voice lower now, more focused, like he’d already moved past the question entirely. “Send me the location of that last victim and get Jill on the phone.”

“Leon—”

“She’s got it, Sher.”

The words came out before he could stop them, before he could soften them, and the second they were in the air, something inside him tightened hard enough to make his grip falter for just a second.

He reached for the vial anyway.

“Just like me,” he added, quieter now, the admission settling heavier than he wanted it to. “Just like you.”

A pause.

Longer this time.

“…Just like her mom.”

“Shit,” Sherry breathed, the word slipping out as the weight of it landed on both ends of the line.

Leon didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Not without letting too much of it bleed through, not without saying something he couldn’t take back, so he focused instead on the motion in his hands, clicking the vial into place, tapping the syringe to clear the air bubbles like he’d done it a hundred times before. It was a mixture Sherry’s team devised to prolong the effects of his virus, and now was the perfect time to use it. 

His hands didn’t shake.

That was the problem.

“I’m gonna need someone to stay with her while I’m gone,” he said, switching the phone to his other hand as he finished prepping the dose. “Can you handle that?”

“Y-Yeah, of course,” Sherry answered quickly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Claire?”

Leon stilled for a second, the question catching somewhere deeper than it should have. Claire. Raccoon City. If this was spreading again, if this had anything to do with what they’d all walked away from, then she wasn’t safe either.

None of them were.

He set the syringe down on the bed, turning back toward the safe, forcing himself to keep moving.

“No,” he said finally. “Send Jill. But call Claire into the office. Get her checked. If we have it, she has it.”

“On it.”

He reached for the gun case next, flipping it open with practiced ease as his fingers brushed over the familiar weight of it before lifting it free. The metal caught the morning light as he turned it slightly, checking it without really needing to.

“And Sherry?”

“Yeah, Leon?”

His grip tightened just slightly.

“Call in a request for Requiem ammo.”

– 

You’d skipped school, calling out with a note from your dad’s medical office claiming a “viral infection,” even though you knew it was complete bullshit. This wasn’t a viral infection. It felt worse than that, something heavier, something that sat wrong in your body in a way you couldn’t explain. It made you sluggish, itchy, and paranoid, like your skin didn’t quite fit right anymore, like your thoughts were always just a step behind where they should be. It felt like you were one step away from losing control entirely, and the fact that no one would tell you what the hell was actually going on only made it worse.

After giving you a terrifyingly big syringe filled with something he swore would help, your dad had called Jill Valentine to stay with you, which in theory you didn’t mind. Jill had always been around, a constant in your life for as long as you could remember, someone who felt more like family than anything else. But did you really need a babysitter? You could barely get out of bed as it was, your energy draining out of you faster than you could keep up with, and now you’d ended up planted in the chair by the large glass doors leading out to the back porch, a blanket wrapped around your legs while a cup of tea sat forgotten beside you, long since gone cold.

It had started raining sometime after your dad left, slow at first, then steady, the water sliding down the glass in uneven streaks that blurred the world outside. You watched it without really seeing it, your reflection faint in the pane, the gray sky stretching endlessly beyond it. It felt like the moment he walked out the door, everything shifted, like the house had hollowed out around you, leaving behind something quieter. You didn’t know where he’d gone or what he was doing, but you knew enough about his job to understand it wasn’t safe. And you knew him well enough to know he wasn’t thinking clearly right now.

He was leading with emotion.

Just like before.

Just like mom.

“I’ll see you soon.”

The words echoed back at you whether you wanted them to or not.

Jill must have picked up on it, because she spoke from the kitchen table without even looking up at first, her voice cutting through the quiet like she’d been listening the whole time. “I’m not here as surveillance,” she said, flipping a page in her book before finally glancing over the top of it. She took a loud, almost exaggerated sip of her drink before setting it down. “I’m here to make sure you don’t pass out or something.”

You glanced at her from the corner of your eye, giving her a look you didn’t bother softening. You didn’t want to be upset with her—you didn’t—but she was holding onto the same information your dad was, and right now that felt just as bad.

“And why would I pass out, Jill?” you asked, shifting slightly in the chair, your legs still pulled in close to your chest beneath the blanket. “Wanna tell me what the hell’s wrong with me?”

She looked at you properly then, her expression changing just enough to show she was weighing her words before she closed the book and set it face-down on the table. She finished her drink in one last sip before pushing herself up, carrying the glass to the sink and setting it inside with a quiet clink.

“Listen—”

You groaned immediately, turning your head back toward the window, pulling the blanket higher around yourself like it might block her out. She was just like him, standing there, about to give you some half-ass answer that didn’t actually explain anything.

Your dad had been gone for over twenty-four hours.

Not a single update.

And at this point, you were starting to think they had one; they just weren’t giving it to you.

“Oh, come on,” Jill said, a little sharper now as she leaned her hip against the counter. “Don’t be like that. Your dad asked me to keep it on the down low. What do you want me to do?”

You didn’t answer.

You just kept staring out into the backyard, watching the sky grow darker as the rain picked up, the steady sound of it filling the silence between you. Whiskers had long since disappeared under the couch after a poorly timed crack of thunder sent him flying off the windowsill, leaving you alone in the chair with nothing but your thoughts and the sound of the storm.

“Fine,” Jill said after a moment. “You want the truth?”

That got your attention.

Not enough to fully turn toward her, but enough to shift slightly in your seat, your grip tightening just a bit on the blanket.

“The truth is, I don’t know what the hell he’s doing out there,” she admitted, her tone more grounded now, less guarded. “All I know is that he’s doing the same damn thing he always does when he goes out.”

You looked at her then, the question already written across your face.

“Risking his life for someone else.”

Your shoulders dropped at that, some of the tension leaving you even as something heavier settled in its place. It didn’t surprise you—not really—but hearing it out loud made it real in a way you couldn’t ignore.

Jill leaned forward slightly, her hands braced against the counter, her short hair falling just enough into her face that she had to push it back. “And I know him well enough to say this,” she added, her voice quieter now but no less certain. “He wouldn’t be risking his life the way he is if this wasn’t important.”

You looked back out into the rain, sighing, because that was the same thing everyone said about him. 

Jill watched you for a moment longer, something in her expression softening as she pushed herself fully away from the counter, her arms folding loosely across her chest as she stepped a little closer into the room. The edge in her voice from before faded, replaced with something steadier, something quieter.

“Hey,” she said, gentler now. “I get it. You’re upset. You’ve got every right to be.” She paused, like she was choosing her words carefully instead of just brushing you off. “But you gotta trust him. I did. More times than I can count, and it never led me wrong.”

You didn’t respond right away, your eyes still fixed on the rain streaking down the glass, but you listened.

“He’s a good man,” Jill continued, her tone firm in a way that didn’t feel forced. “Stubborn as hell, sure. Drives everyone around him insane. But he’s good. And he’d do anything for you.” There was a brief pause before she added, softer this time, “Just like he did anything for your mom.”

That made you shift.

Your gaze finally pulled away from the window, settling on her as something more curious replaced the frustration that had been sitting heavy in your chest.

“What were they like?” you asked, your voice quieter now. “Together. When they were working.”

Jill huffed out a small breath, something almost like a laugh slipping through as she shook her head slightly, like the question alone pulled her back somewhere else.

“They were…” she trailed off for a second, searching for the right word before giving up on finding just one. “A nightmare, honestly. Not in a bad way—just… you couldn’t separate them. Wherever one went, the other wasn’t far behind.”

You leaned back slightly in the chair, your attention fully on her now.

“There was this one op,” she continued, shifting her weight as she spoke, her tone easing into something more natural. “Italy, some underground lab that should’ve been wiped off the map years before we got there. Whole place was crawling with infected, barely any visibility, comms were shot halfway through, and we got split up almost immediately.”

You could picture it.

Too easily.

“Your mom took point without even thinking about it,” Jill said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Didn’t wait for backup, didn’t wait for a plan. Just moved. And your dad—” she shook her head again, softer this time, “he didn’t even argue. Just followed her straight into it like that was always the plan.”

Your chest tightened slightly at that.

“They fought like hell, don’t get me wrong,” she added. “Argued over everything. Who was right, who made the better call, who almost got the other one killed. But when it mattered…” She let the sentence hang for a second before finishing it more quietly. “They trusted each other completely.”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly in the blanket wrapped around your legs.

“They got us out of that place,” Jill went on, her voice quieter now, more reflective. “Not clean, not easy—but they did it. And I remember thinking after, watching them stand there covered in god knows what, still bickering like nothing happened…” She let out a soft breath. “They were made for each other. No question.”

The room fell quiet again, but it felt different this time.

Heavier.

Softer.

“I’m sorry,” Jill added after a moment, her voice losing some of that steadiness. “That you lost her.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

Didn’t know if there even was something to say.

Your chest felt tight again, but not the same way as before, something deeper sitting beneath it, something you couldn’t quite sort through—

Jill’s phone rang.

The sound cut clean through the moment, sharp and out of place as she straightened slightly, reaching for it almost immediately. She glanced at the screen, and whatever she saw there wiped the softness from her expression in an instant.

“Hold on,” she muttered, already turning away as she answered, stepping toward the back door to give herself some space. You didn’t catch everything she said, just pieces, low and controlled, her tone shifting into something more professional and guarded.

You stayed where you were, watching the rain, your thoughts drifting back to everything she’d just said, the image of them together settling into your mind whether you wanted it to or not.

It felt warm.

And it hurt.

The door slid open, then shut again a moment later as Jill stepped back inside, her posture different now, her expression tighter than before.

She didn’t sit back down.

Didn’t pick up her book.

She just looked at you.

“It’s about your dad.”

—

He’d been out here all night, fighting his way through hell and back more times than he could count before he finally caught up with Grace. This was supposed to be simple: get in, fix it, get out, but nothing ever worked that way anymore. Not for him. Not when it tied back to something like this. He came out here to set things right, to get ahead of something before it spiraled out of control, and instead he could feel it catching up to him, settling deeper beneath his skin with every step he took.

His infection wasn’t waiting anymore.

It was moving.

The thought of his daughter hit him harder than anything else, flashing through his mind in quick, fractured pieces that refused to settle. The way she looked at him that morning. The way she tried to push him to talk. The way she didn’t know what was happening to her yet. Grace was a lot like her—same stubbornness hidden beneath something softer, same way of looking at the world, like it still had something worth holding onto. Grace was just… more hesitant. Less sure of where she stood. His daughter wasn’t like that. She had fire in her, even when she didn’t know what to do with it.

He wondered, briefly, if she would’ve made it out here.

If she would’ve been good in the field like this.

Then the thought twisted.

Maybe not.

Maybe she’d stay far away from all of it if he didn’t come back.

The idea settled heavy in his chest, but he pushed it down the same way he always did, forcing himself forward, forcing himself to focus on what was in front of him instead of what was waiting at home.

He would come back.

He had to.

“Go,” he urged, his voice tighter than he meant it to be as he motioned Grace forward, keeping himself between her and whatever was still chasing them. He watched her jump from the platform, his eyes tracking her until she landed safely below, until he knew she was steady enough to keep moving.

Then he followed.

His hands caught the edge as he hauled himself over, dropping down into the pit below, his boots hitting the ground harder than he intended, the impact sending something sharp up through his legs as he steadied himself. Grace was already pushing herself back up, still catching her balance, still trying to orient herself—

And then the world shifted.

It started slow.

A tilt.

A pull.

Like the ground beneath him wasn’t where it was supposed to be anymore.

“Grace—”

The word barely made it out before everything slipped.

The edges of his vision blurred, the weight of his body suddenly too much to hold, something inside him dragging him under faster than he could fight it. The sounds around him dulled, stretched thin, his thoughts scattering before he could grab onto any one of them—

And then it all went black.

—

When the darkness settled, it didn’t feel like nothing.

It felt warm.

Leon stood in the doorway of his home, the familiar creak of the floor beneath his boots grounding him in something that didn’t make sense and yet felt completely real. The air was soft, untouched, carrying the faint scent of something cooking in the kitchen, and for a moment he didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just stood there like if he took a step forward, it might all fall apart.

Then he heard it. Laughter. Light, easy and alive in a way that didn’t belong to the world he had just left behind.

He stepped inside before he could stop himself, his eyes adjusting to the warm glow spilling through the house as it wrapped around him like it had been waiting. The kitchen came into view first, sunlight catching along the counters, and then he saw them—his daughter perched on the counter, legs swinging idly as she leaned forward, laughing at something just out of his sight.

And then she stepped into view.

His wife. Alive. Whole. Untouched.

She moved like nothing had ever happened, like time hadn’t taken anything from them, like the world hadn’t carved itself into something unrecognizable. She reached up, nudging their daughter’s knee with a soft smile, saying something he couldn’t quite hear, and for a moment Leon forgot how to breathe.

Neither of them questioned why he was there. Neither of them looked surprised.

They just accepted him. Like he had always been there. Like he had never left.

His daughter looked up first, her eyes finding him instantly, lighting in a way that hit him harder than anything else. “You’re late,” she said, her tone light, teasing, but something about it didn’t sit right.

Leon stepped forward slowly, his gaze flicking between them, trying to hold onto every detail before it slipped away. “Yeah,” he said, quieter than he expected. “Traffic.”

His wife smiled, something soft and knowing in the curve of her lips as she turned toward him. “You always have an excuse.”

It should have felt normal. It should have felt like home.

But something was off.

The music box sat open on the counter behind them, the ballerina spinning perfectly in time to a melody that wasn’t broken anymore, the tune clear and clean in a way it hadn’t been in years. It was too perfect, too whole, and Leon’s gaze lingered on it for just a second too long before something shifted.

The warmth thinned. The light dimmed.

And when he looked back at her— The kitchen was gone.

Cold replaced it.

Damp.

The air was thick and suffocating, the sound of distant dripping echoing through the space as the world snapped into something darker, something real. The subway tunnel stretched around them, cracked tile and rusted metal swallowing the edges of his vision, and his wife was there, on the ground, slumped against the wall, blood soaking through her clothes, her breathing uneven as her hand trembled against the concrete.

Leon staggered back a step, the shift hitting him all at once as his chest tightened, his gaze locking onto her as if he looked away, she might disappear again.

“You always leave,” she said, her voice raw, quieter than it should have been for something that carried so much weight. Her eyes lifted to him slowly, glassy but aware, and the look in them made something in him falter. “Why did you leave me?”

His head shook immediately, the words pushing out before he could stop them. “I didn’t want to—”

“You did,” she cut in, not raising her voice, not angry, just certain in a way that left no room to argue. “You always do.”

Leon’s breath caught, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides like he didn’t know whether to move toward her or stay where he was, like any choice he made would be the wrong one.

“I came back,” he said, his voice tightening, grasping for something that sounded right. “I’m here.”

She looked at him for a long moment, something soft flickering through the pain before it settled into something else entirely.

“Not in time.”

The words landed harder than anything else.

The tunnel seemed to close in around him, the dripping echoing louder now, rhythmic and relentless, and she shifted slightly against the wall, her breath hitching before she spoke again, quieter this time, but no less heavy.

“Don’t make her watch you disappear too.”

His chest tightened, something sharp pulling through him as the words settled in, and for a moment he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stand there as the weight of it pressed down.

Then the world shifted again.

The damp air vanished. The tunnel dissolved. And suddenly he turned around—

He was standing in a doorway.

Not the kitchen.

Hhis daughters room.

The glow-in-the-dark stars flickered faintly above, even in the daylight, casting soft shadows across the walls as she sat at the end of the bed, the broken music box resting in her hands. The porcelain pieces were cradled carefully in her lap, like she was afraid they might fall apart further if she held them wrong.

When she looked up at him, she wasn’t scared or confused. She just waited.

“You said you’d fix it.”

Leon stepped forward, something tightening painfully in his chest as his eyes dropped to the broken pieces, then back to her. “I will,” he said quickly, the words coming out sharper than he meant. “I just need—”

She coughed.

The sound cut through everything, sharp and wrong, and his focus snapped back to her as her hand came up to cover her mouth. When she pulled it away, the blood was there again, and the sight of it made something inside him twist as her sleeve slipped just enough to reveal the dark veins threading beneath her skin.

“You said you’d fix it,” she repeated, softer now.

His breath faltered as he took another step closer, reaching out like he could stop it, like he could undo it before it spread any further. “I’m trying,” he said, his voice breaking despite himself. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t reach back.

She just looked at him.

“You always say that.”

The room fell quiet. There was no music. No movement. Just the weight of everything sitting between them.

Then—

The sound cut through everything, pulling at him, dragging him back toward something he couldn’t see yet, something just out of reach.

“Dad.”

Leon’s head turned slightly, his focus shifting, the room around him beginning to blur at the edges as the warmth faded, the light dimming, everything slipping—

“Dad, wake up.”

Leon coughed hard as consciousness snapped back into place, air catching wrong in his lungs as everything rushed him at once, sound, light, and pain, all of it colliding as he dragged in a breath that didn’t feel like enough. His hand came up instinctively to his chest as he forced himself upright, his body lagging behind the command as the world tilted slightly before settling again.

Grace was already there, moving into his space the second he stirred, dropping beside him with a sharp exhale of relief that she didn’t even try to hide. “Leon—are you okay?” Her voice wavered despite herself, the question coming out faster than she could steady it as she hovered close, unsure whether to touch him or give him space.

“Yeah—” he rasped, still catching his breath, dragging a hand over his face as he blinked hard, trying to force the last of the haze away. “Yeah… I’m good.” His voice didn’t quite match the words, but he pushed through it anyway, shifting his weight until he felt grounded enough to sit up properly. “How long was I out?”

“I—I don’t know,” she admitted, her hands tightening slightly in her lap as she glanced at him, then away, then back again. “A while.”

Leon nodded faintly, more to himself than to her, his breathing still uneven as he pulled himself the rest of the way up, steadying through the motion until the spinning stopped fighting him. His body felt heavier than it should have, slower to respond, but he forced it into line, forcing himself back into control one piece at a time.

“Those marks…” Grace’s voice was quieter now, hesitant, her eyes fixed on him in a way that told him she’d already seen more than he would have preferred.

Leon followed her gaze briefly before looking back at her, already knowing what she was seeing, what it must look like from the outside. “It’s T-virus,” he said, the words coming out simpler than the truth behind them. He hesitated for just a second before adding, “Stage three infection.”

The silence that followed wasn’t long, but it was enough.

She shook her head slightly, confusion and disbelief mixing together as she tried to make sense of it. “If you’re that sick… why would you come here?”

Leon let out a quiet breath, something almost humorless pulling at the corner of his mouth as he looked away for a second, his gaze landing somewhere past her, somewhere distant.

That was the question, wasn’t it?

The one he didn’t have a clean answer for.

Leon let out a slow breath, like the answer wasn’t sitting in front of him, like it stretched somewhere further back, somewhere heavier. “Because this is my last chance to change things,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, steadier in a way that felt practiced. “My last chance to make things right that I’ve screwed up since the very beginning.”

He shifted his weight slightly, one hand still pressed faintly to his side as if grounding himself there, his jaw tightening before he continued. “I’ve lost people to this,” he added, the words coming out more plainly than he intended. “And I will keep losing people to this if I don’t do something about it.”

A small, breathless laugh slipped out of him then, barely there but enough to catch, like the weight of it had finally found a crack to push through. It didn’t sound amused. It sounded tired. “You know… all this time I’ve been dealing with it, carrying it around like it was mine to fix, and I couldn’t even tell my daughter about it.” He shook his head faintly, his eyes dropping for a second before he dragged them back up. “Thought if I kept it from her… she’d understand. Or maybe I just didn’t want her looking at me like that.”

Grace stared at him for a moment, something softer settling into her expression despite everything else still pressing in around them. “You have a daughter?”

That got something different out of him.

Not lighter.

But… softer.

“Yeah,” he said, and this time the word came easier. There was something almost grounding in it, like saying it out loud pulled him back into something real. “She’s twenty-four. Still lives in my spare bedroom.” A faint breath of something warmer touched his expression before he shook his head slightly. “Though I guess it was never really a spare. It was always hers. Always will be.”

For a second, the noise of everything around them seemed to fade, like the chaos had pulled back just enough to let that sit.

Then it came back.

Leon straightened slightly, his expression shifting again, settling into something more certain, something harder to shake. When he looked at Grace this time, there was no hesitation left in it.

“I’m here for her,” he said, his voice firm now, steady in a way it hadn’t been before. “Because I refuse to let her watch me disappear.”

—

The moment the call ended, everything moved fast.

Jill didn’t waste any time. The second she heard that your dad and the agent had been picked up, she was already grabbing her keys, already moving toward you, already pulling you up from the chair before you could even process what was happening. Her hand was firm on your arm, steady, guiding, as if she didn’t keep you moving, you might collapse right there.

“They found something,” she said quickly as she helped you toward the door, her voice sharp with urgency but edged with something else, something almost like relief. “Something that can help you. Something you need.”

You didn’t ask questions.

Didn’t have the energy to.

You just let her lead you, your body lagging behind your thoughts as she got you into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut before circling around to the driver’s side. The engine roared to life, and then you were moving—fast.

Too fast.

The world blurred past the windows, the rain still clinging to the roads as Jill pushed the car harder than she probably should have, weaving through turns with a focus that didn’t leave room for hesitation. You sat there, curled slightly into yourself beneath layers of fabric, long sleeves, a hoodie pulled tight, and sweatpants bunched at your ankles, your fingers gripping at the seat as your heart pounded harder with every mile.

You didn’t know what you were about to walk into.

But you knew it wasn’t good.

When you finally arrived, it was chaos.

Sirens cut through the air, flashing lights bouncing off wet pavement and broken ground as emergency units swarmed the scene. A helicopter had landed just beyond the clearing, its blades slowing as agents and medics moved around it in controlled disorder, voices overlapping, radios crackling, everything too loud, too bright, too real.

You’d never seen this side of his world before.

Not like this.

And for the first time, you understood.

Jill was already out of the car, moving to your side as she pulled the door open and helped you out, her grip steady as your shoes sank slightly into the mud beneath you. Your legs felt weak, your body heavier than it should have been, but none of it mattered, not when your eyes were already scanning, already searching.

And then—

You saw him.

Just across the clearing.

Standing near the helicopter, talking to a shorter-haired blonde girl sitting inside, his back turned slightly as he leaned in, like he was making sure she was okay.

Alive.

There.

Something inside you snapped loose.

All the worry, all the fear, all the thoughts that had been building over the last twenty-four hours came rushing forward at once, crashing through you so fast it almost knocked the breath from your lungs.

“Dad!”

Your voice broke as it left you, louder than anything else in the chaos, and he heard it.

Of course he did.

He turned immediately, scanning for the source, and the second his eyes landed on you, everything else around him seemed to fall away.

You were already moving.

Running—if it could even be called that—pushing through the weakness, through the ache in your chest, through whatever was trying to drag you down, because none of it mattered anymore.

He was here.

And that was enough.

He moved toward you just as fast, closing the distance in seconds, and when you finally collided, it was messy and uncoordinated and perfect all at once, your arms wrapping around his neck as he caught you, pulling you tight against him like he wasn’t letting go.

“You’re okay,” you said, the words tumbling out between breaths, between tears you couldn’t stop as they spilled over. “You’re okay.”

He held you tighter at that, one hand pressing firmly against your back as the other came up to steady you, grounding you against him before he finally pulled back just enough to look at you.

“I’m okay,” he said, his voice softer now, steadier than you’d heard it in a long time. His hands came up to your face, brushing your hair back gently as he wiped at your tears with his thumbs. “I’m okay, baby girl.”

That was all it took.

The tears came faster, hotter, and overwhelming as you leaned back into him, your arms wrapping around him again, as if you let go, he might disappear.

But he didn’t.

He felt… different.

Better.

The weight that had been sitting on him, the exhaustion, the darkness in his eyes—it wasn’t there anymore. Or at least not in the same way. There was something else now, something steadier, something that looked a lot like hope.

He held you there for a moment longer, like he was grounding himself in you just as much as you were in him, his hand steady at your back as your breathing slowly began to even out. The chaos around you didn’t stop; sirens still cut through the air, and voices still overlapped, but none of it seemed to reach the space the two of you had carved out in that moment.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far.

Just enough to look at you again.

His hands stayed at your face, thumbs brushing gently beneath your eyes to catch the last of your tears as his gaze searched yours, like he was making sure you were really there, that you were okay, that he hadn’t come back too late.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said again, quieter this time, but no less certain.

You nodded, even though your throat still felt tight, even though the tears hadn’t fully stopped. You believed him.

For the first time in a long time—

You believed him.

His hand dropped slowly from your face then, and for a second you thought he was pulling away again, that the moment was over, but instead he reached for something else. You watched as he slipped his glove off, the movement familiar, practiced, revealing faint marks along his skin that were fading. 

Like they had never been there at all.

From his pocket, he pulled something small, something you recognized immediately even before he turned it in his fingers.

His wedding ring.

The metal caught the light for just a second as he looked down at it, his expression shifting, not breaking, not falling apart, just softening in a way that made your chest ache for a different reason now.

Carefully, he slid it back onto his finger, settling it into place like it had always belonged there, like it had just been waiting for him to come back to it.

“And neither is she,” he said quietly.

You knew exactly what he meant.

Not gone.

Not forgotten.

Not something that would fade with time just because it hurt to hold onto.

You stepped forward again without thinking, wrapping your arms around him one more time, and this time when he held you, it felt different.

“Now how about we get you all fixed up, huh?”

You laughed into his chest, through your tears and suffocated emotions. You weren't holding onto him so he wouldn’t slip away.

But instead, like he was finally home. 

[godsfaith]

this is what i look like when im writing fics for yall btw

[khonsus-heart]

i need like 18 more parts to mr and mrs kennedy like your writing is seriously phenomenal i love the way you write leon and his wife i’ve been thinking about it all week

I love all of you times 10 billion HELLO. Writers block? Whats that when I have all of you to push me through.

My requests are also SOOOO OPEN. I genuinely would love to write everything our collective brain cell has to offer.

My real question tho. Is anyone gonna stop me if I write about vampire Leon? I have free will.

(1 @mellowclancy on X )

(2 @acidqzon on x )

(3 @bloodp0tato )

I fear I’m down bad guys.

[kswwxr]

[khonsus-heart]

You’re stuck with me.

Leon Kennedy x f!reader (9.8k words)

A/N: this was lowkey inspired by THIS by @2yai bc why did I yearn for mom Kennedy? Other than that, I actually have no idea what compelled me to write this apology in advance.

Warnings: angst, pregnancy, slight re9 spoilers, children (lmao) Leon POV, all four Leon eras, (re2,re4,re6, re9) Leon is a workaholic, low-key.

Summary: Leon has spent a lifetime saying goodbyes at doorways, in passing, and over distance, always promising he’d come back. But when the life he’s built finally stands on the edge of being taken from him, he’s forced to confront a truth he’s avoided for too long. Some goodbyes don’t wait for you to be ready.

1998

Leon had already checked the time twice in the last minute, his gaze flicking back to the grandfather clock that sat to the left of the stairs. He still didn’t know how his girlfriend managed to get that massive thing through her front door when the rest of her apartment barely fit two people and a couch, but somehow, she had made it work. It ticked loud enough to fill the whole space, each second landing a little heavier than the last. 

Glancing at it a third time might have been excessive, but today wasn’t exactly a normal day. It was his first day. His first real assignment. The first time walking into the station as something more than a name on paperwork. 

He adjusted the collar of his uniform in the small mirror by her front door, smoothing it down like it might somehow make him look more put together than he felt. His palms were a little clammy beneath his gloves as he dragged a hand through his hair, trying to convince himself he looked fine, like he belonged in it. 

“You’re staring at yourself like you’re about to go on stage," she said from behind him. 

Leon huffed out a quiet laugh, glancing over his shoulder. “Feels like it.”

He turned a little more, giving her a half spin like he was showing it off. “What do you think?”

She was still in her pajamas, and it was five in the afternoon. The soft pink shorts barely brushed mid-thigh, one of his button-ups hanging loose like she’d thrown it on without thinking. It clung to her in that effortless way that made it look like it always belonged there. She must have finally dragged herself out of bed after sleeping most of the day glued to him, doing everything she could to keep him from leaving. 

If he didn’t have to go, he’d be fused to her instead of those clothes. 

Her eyes dragged over him slowly, far more dramatic than necessary. 

“I think,” she said, stepping closer, “you’re going to make every other cop there look bad.”

Leon snorted. “That’s the goal.”

Her oversized bunny slippers shuffled softly across the floor as she crossed the room, one hand lifting to scratch absently at the back of her head. She looked half-awake, like she hadn't fully decided to be a person yet. Messy hair. Sleepy eyes, probably still thinking about coffee. It was… distracting, in the best way. 

As she reached for him, he turned back toward the mirror, watching her reflection instead. She lifted her hand, adjusting something on his shoulder that didn’t actually need fixing, her fingers lingering against the fabric. 

“You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” he said quickly, meeting her eyes in the mirror. 

She raised a brow.

Leon paused. 

“... Okay, maybe a little.”

Her smile softened, and for a second the teasing slipped into something quieter. 

“You’ll be fine.” 

He turned toward her and nodded, because of course he would be. It was just his first day. He’d go in, do his job, come back, and be right here again tomorrow like nothing had changed. Still, he leaned into her touch when she lifted her hand to his face, her thumb brushing lightly across his cheek, giving him that look that made his chest feel just a little too full. 

He’d been staying here with her the last few days since her place was closer to the station. His apartment sat halfway across town, and he hadn’t been too eager to spend his last stretch of freedom alone. She hadn’t hesitated when he called, already halfway through listing everything she could cook before he’d even finished asking. 

They’d done all of it—dinner, dishes, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch while she made him watch her favorite movie, staying up far too late tangled together in her bed like time didn’t matter. She was a night owl in every sense, completely opposite to the routine the academy had drilled into him. Early morning, coffee, runs, structure. Her messy hair and barely open eyes now told him everything he needed to know about how that usually went. 

They’d only been together for a little under a year, and somehow it still felt like this every time. New. Easy. Like he was still learning her, still wanting to. He caught himself thinking about it more than he probably should, whether the job, the hours, or the things that came with it would ever be too much. Not everyone loves cops. 

But she never made it feel that way. 

If anything, she looked at him like he was something worth holding onto. 

His eyes flicked to the clock again, more out of habit than urgency this time, but they didn’t stay there long. They drifted back to her instead, catching on the way her shirt rode up slightly when she shifted the soft line of her thigh where the fabric ended. It was distracting in a way he wasn’t entirely proud of, especially given the fact that he was standing here in uniform, about to walk into his first day like he had everything under control. 

He didn’t. 

Not really. 

Because part of him was still in her bedroom from a few hours ago, half-asleep and tangled in her sheets, her legs hooked around his like she had nowhere else to be. It would have been easy to stay there. Too easy. Call in, make something up, and spend the day exactly the way they had been—lazy, quiet, and wrapped up in each other like the rest of the world could wait. 

He could already hear the lecture he’d get for even thinking it.

Still… the thought lingered longer than it should have. 

His gaze dropped again, slower this time, like he wasn’t even trying to stop himself anymore. He wondered, briefly, if she was doing it on purpose—walking around like that, looking like that, knowing exactly what it did to him. 

Probably. 

That alone made him laugh.

He leaned down to kiss her, laughing softly into her lips as his arms slipped around her waist. Without warning, he lifted her a few inches off the ground, catching her completely off guard. She melted into it anyway, wrapping her arms around his neck as he gave her a small twirl before setting her back down, her slippers brushing against the long strip of carpet that led to the front door. 

When she pulled away, her hands stayed planted against his chest as she huffed out a laugh, still a little breathless. “What is it?”

Leon tilted his head, his gaze dragging over her like he was trying to memorize something without meaning to. Seeing her like this, hair a mess, barely awake, still wrapped in sleep and warmth, did something to him. It made everything else feel a little less important, like the day waiting for him on the other side of that door could wait a few minutes longer. 

The words slipped out before he could stop them. 

“I just... love you.” 

The second they left his mouth, reality hit him like a truck. 

She pulled back just enough to look at him, brows lifting slightly, and Leon felt his stomach drop straight through the floor. They hadn't said it yet—not out loud  now he was standing there in full uniform, blurting it out like it hadn't been sitting in his chest for weeks. 

He almost physically recoiled from himself. 

But then she smiled. 

Not just smiled—lit up. 

“Leon S. Kennedy, the man you are,” she laughed, shaking her head as she gave his chest a playful shove. “I look like a cave rat and this is when you decide to tell me you love me?”

Leon's brows furrowed immediately, confusion overriding the panic. He thought she looked perfect. Better like this, actually. 

"I—"

“I love you too.”

She didn't give him time to recover before she rose onto her toes and kissed him again, soft and certain, and whatever lingering panic he had left dissolved instantly. His arms tightened around her without thinking, pulling her in closer like that alone could keep the movement from slipping away. 

Leon barely had time to process the fact that she’d said it back before she pulled away, her hands still resting against his chest as she looked up at him, that smile lingering on her lips. 

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

He let out a quiet breath, something warm settling in his chest as he shook his head slightly, like he couldn’t quite believe how easily that had just happened. For a second, he just looked at her, thumb brushing absent circles against her side before he finally took a small step back, his hand slipping from her waist. 

“Hey,” he said, lighter now, that familiar teasing tone slipping back into place as he hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “I’ll be back when I get off. You’re stuck with me, right?”

He said it lightheartedly, carefree. 

He’d see her in the morning, and she knew he’d come straight back here. 

She smiled right back, not missing a beat. “Right.”

And for a second, that was enough. Leon turned, heading toward the door, already halfway into leaving, already shifting back into the version of himself that has somewhere to be—

“Wait,” she said, her hand catching his wrist before he could make it any further. 

He glanced down at her hand, then back up at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What?”

She tilted her head slightly, like she was considering something, then tightened her grip just enough to pull him a step closer. “Give me five minutes.”

Leon blinked. 

“Five minutes?” he echoed, a quiet laugh slipping through as he glanced instinctively toward the clock again. “I’m already cutting it close."

“Then you better make it count.”

There was no hesitation in her voice, no room for argument, and for a second he just looked at her, caught somewhere between responsibility and the very obvious fact that she was standing in front of him now with that look in her eyes, asking him to stay. 

His grip on his own schedule slipped faster than he’d like to admit. 

“You’re gonna get me written up on day one,” he muttered, but there was no real protest behind it, not when he was already letting her pull him back, not when the bedroom door clicked shut again behind him like it had never even been opened. 

"Worth it,” she said.

Leon let out a breath through his nose, shaking his head as his hands found her again without thinking, settling at her waist like they belonged there. “You’re a terrible influence, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are.”

Yeah. 

Here he was.

He told himself it was five minutes. That he could spare five minutes. That nothing was going to fall apart if he showed up a little late, that it wasn’t the end of the world. 

It wasn’t like anything important was going to happen today. 

His eyes dropped to her again, slower this time, taking her in like he wasn’t even pretending not to. “Five minutes,” he repeated, quieter now, like he was convincing himself more than her. 

She didn’t answer. 

She just smiled. 

And that was enough. 

Leon closed the distance himself this time, his hand sliding up her side as he pulled her back into him, already forgetting whatever time the clock was trying to keep as he kissed her again, slower at first, then not at all. 

Five minutes wasn’t going to be enough. He knew that the second she melted into him, he just didn’t care. 

And so Leon kennedy was late to his first day of work. 

2004

Leon noticed the ring before anything else. 

He always did. 

It caught the light when she moved, subtle and easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it, but his eyes found it anyways, watching the way her thumb rolled over the band like it had become second nature. She did it when she was thinking. When she was nervous. When she didn’t want to say something out loud. 

He’d learned that. 

Seven years had taught him a lot. 

The airport buzzed around them in a constant hum of pieces and movement, people coming and going like none of it meant anything, like goodbyes were just another part of the day. Leon stood just slightly behind her, one hand resting at the small of her back, not guiding, not pushing—just there. Grounding. His eyes moved without him thinking about it, scanning the exits, the people, and the space around them before settling back on her like that was the only place they ever really wanted to be. 

She turned toward him, still absentmindedly twisting the ring, and he reached for her hand without thinking, stilling the motion with his thumb. It wasn’t a large ring, light on her finger, simple in a way that didn't match how much it meant. 

There hadn't been a plan. No drawn-out proposal, no perfect moment. Just a courthouse that smelled like old paper and had heavy fluorescent lighting, a pen that didn’t work the first time he tried to sign his name, and her standing across from him like none of that mattered. Only he did. 

He hadn't wanted distance. 

That had been the whole point. 

After Raccoon city, after everything he’d seen and everything he’d been pushed into, the only thing that had made sense was her. Keeping her close. Making it real in a way no one could take from him. He hadn’t even asked in a way that felt like asking. Just stood there with her hands in his and said it like a fact. 

Stay with me. Marry me.

She had... And now he was the one leaving. 

His grip on her hand tightened slightly, just enough for her to feel it, and she looked up at him again. There was something softer in her expression than before, something that hadn’t been there years ago when goodbyes still felt temporary. 

“You keep doing that,” he said quietly, nodding toward her hand. 

Her lips curved just a little. “Doing what?”

He brushed his thumb over her ring again, slower this time. “You’re gonna wear a groove into it.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, but her fingers didn’t stop moving entirely, just slowed under his touch. “Maybe I like reminding myself it’s still there.”

Leon's jaw flexed faintly at that, something unspoken passing through him before he looked away for a second, eyes dragging over the terminal again out of habit more than anything. He didn't like that she needed reminding. Didn’t like that this—standing in an airport, watching him leave—was becoming something she had to get used to. 

He’d offered to take her with him once.

No—more than once. 

It hadn't been some grand conversation, not planned or thought through. It had slipped out of him the same way everything else with her seemed to, unfiltered and a little too honest for his own good. Come with me. He’d said it like it was simple, like it was something he could just offer her without consequences, like the life he was living was something she could step into without it changing her. 

She’d looked at him the way she always did when she was choosing her words carefully, hands wrapped around his like she needed him to stay long enough to hear her. 

"Leon... I can’t do that.”

He’d wanted to argue, almost had, but he knew she was right. 

He didn’t realize he’d moved closer until his hand was already at her back again, settling there like it belonged. His thumb brushed lightly against the fabric at her side, a slow, absent motion that didn’t need attention drawn to it. 

“I won’t be gone long,” he said, the words automatic, practiced. 

Safer that way. 

He felt her shift closer to him, her hand tightening around him as she looked up, searching his face like she was trying to decide if she believed him or not. 

Leon held her gaze, steady and controlled, giving her just enough of what she needed without letting the rest slip through. That part had taken time. Learning how to leave without making it harder than it already was. 

He exhaled slowly, his grip on her tightening just a fraction as he looked down at her. 

“If something—"

The words stopped before they could fully form. 

His jaw shifted, the rest of the sentence dissolving somewhere behind his teeth as he shook his head once, subtly, like he could erase it before she noticed. 

“Just… call me if you need anything,” he finished instead. “I’ll call you when I land," he added, quieter. 

She softened at that, a small breath leaving her as she shook her head just slightly. “I know you will… it’ll be okay, Leon. I’ll be okay. Okay? Just…come home in one piece."

He watched her as she said it, really watched her, like he was trying to catch whatever she wasn’t letting show. She’d gotten better at this over time, better at smoothing it over, at hiding the worry behind something steadier, something meant more for him than for herself. The fidgeting was still there, the way her fingers twisted at her ring, the small tells he’d learned to read without thinking, but her voice stayed even, calm in a way that didn’t quite match. 

It should have reassured him. But it didn’t.

If anything, it made something in his chest pull tighter, knowing she was doing this for him, holding herself together so he wouldn't have to carry it with him when he left. 

Leon’s jaw shifted slightly as he stepped closer, his hand finding hers again, stilling the motion of her fingers as his thumb brushed over the band again. “Hey,” he said, quieter now, not correcting her, not arguing. Because the truth was he knew she would be okay. 

“Love you," he said, the words low as he hovered just inches from her face. “Distance won’t change that.”

He leaned down, pressing a slow, steady kiss to her lips, his hand tightening around hers as he pulled her gently against his chest. His suitcase sat forgotten just a foot away, abandoned in the middle of the terminal like the rest of the world had been put on pause. For now, he let himself stay here, let himself take what he could from the moment while it was still his to have, memorizing the feel of other lips against his like it might be weeks before he got it again. 

When she pulled back slightly, her expression had softened, the tension easing from her face in a way that almost made it look like none of this was real, like she wasn’t about to watch him walk away. Like she already knew he’d come back. 

“I love you too, stud,” she said with a small smile, her hand settling against his chest as her fingers moved absently over the fabric of his shirt. 

Leon let out a quiet breath at that, his hand covering hers where it rested against him, holding it there for a second longer than needed. 

“You missed a spot,” she said suddenly, reaching up without warning. 

Leon blinked as her finger brushed just under his jaw, thumb swiping lightly like she was fixing something only she could see. He stilled for it, letting her adjust him like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“There,” she murmured, satisfied. 

He huffed a quiet breath, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You gonna start checking me over every time I leave now?”

"Someone has to make sure you look presentable.” 

He shook his head, but the small smile stayed. 

When the woman over the intercom called his flight to Spain, the sound cut through the moment like it didn't belong there. Her brows pulled together instantly, her hand returning to his chest, gripping him a little tighter like she could hold him there just by wanting it hard enough. 

This wasn’t like his first day. He couldn't make that mistake again; he couldn't afford it. 

Leon glanced over his shoulder toward the gate, watching as the doors slid open and the flight attendant stepped out, already preparing to board. For a second, he just looked at it, like he could delay it by not moving. 

Then his attention shifted back to her. 

She was already watching him, studying his face the way she always did right before he left, like she was trying to read something he wasn’t saying; the worry had slipped back in, quiet but impossible to miss. 

Leon didn't say anything. Instead, he took her hand and brought it to his lips, closing whatever space had formed between them. He kissed her this time with more weight, his hands coming up to frame her face as he pulled her into him, like he could make it last longer if he just held on hard enough. 

He couldn't 

When he pulled back, his thumb brushed gently beneath her eye, catching the tear that had managed to escape despite everything she’d tried to hold together. 

It was always like this. No matter how many times he left. No matter how much they told themselves it would get easier. 

His hand lingered against her cheek for a moment as he exhaled quietly, and then he said the same thing he always did, the words familiar, almost practiced. 

“You’re stuck with me, remember?”

She let out a small, breathy laugh, even as her eyes welled again, lifting her hands to wipe them away before they could fall. “Yeah…” she said softly, the smile still there even if it trembled a little. “I remember.”

Leon nodded once, like that settled it, like that made it easier, before leaning down to press a quick kiss to her forehead. It lingered just a second longer... Then he stepped back. 

He grabbed his bags, the weight of them nothing compared to what he was leaving behind, and turned toward the gate before he gave himself the chance to hesitate. 

He didn't look back right away. 

Not this time. 

2012

He’d gotten the call a few hours ago, an outbreak in Tall oaks, bad enough that they needed him there immediately. No timeline, no estimate, nothing to anchor it. Just go. 

That alone had almost been enough to make him say no. 

It had been happening more often lately, that hesitation sitting heavier in his chest than it ever used to, pulling him back right at the edge of decision. Especially now. Especially with how things had been at home. 

Leon set his bag down by the door, the sound quieter than it should've been, like even that felt too loud in the space they were in. His eyes drifted across the room, landing on her where she sat on the couch, facing away from him, a small pile of freshly washed baby clothes to her left and a neatly folded stack to her right. 

She didn’t look back at him and just kept folding. 

He watched her for a moment longer than he meant to, taking in the way she moved, slower now, more careful, the weight of the last seven months settling into everything she did. She sat for most things these days, and he couldn't blame her. With only a month left before their daughter arrived, he could only imagine the strain on her back, the constant ache she never complained about as much as she probably could have. 

It wasn’t always like this. 

There had been days, more than he could count, where he’d come up behind her without a word, sliding his hands around her middle just to take some of the weight off, lifting gently until he felt her relax against him. She'd always let out that quiet breath, the one she always held after a long day, her head tipping back against his shoulder while he stayed there, holding her up while she finished whatever she’d been doing. 

Other times it was simpler. 

A passing comment about something she wanted, something small, and he was already out the door before she could tell him she didn’t actually need it, coming back with whatever it was in hand like it had been the easiest thing in the world. Like taking care of her wasn’t something he had to think about. 

Because it wasn’t. It had become instinct, all of it had. 

Watching her change, watching her body shift and grow to carry something that was theirs… it had done something to him, something quiet but permanent. There was a new version of her in front of him now, softer in some ways and stronger in others, and he found himself drawn to it just as much as he had been to every version of her before. 

Maybe more. 

Still, he could see it now… the way she pressed the fabric a little too firmly when she folded it, in the way each piece was set down with just a bit more force than necessary. 

She was upset. 

Hell, so was he.

When they’d told him the president's life was in danger, it hadn't even felt like a choice. Obligation came first. It always has. This was what he knew—what he’d been shaped into over years of doing the same thing over and over again until it was second nature. There wasn't really a version of him that walked away from something like that. 

But there wasn’t really a version of him that had this before, either. Her. A home. A child on the way. 

The thought of it has shifted something in him, deep and quiet, changing the way he looked at everything whether he wanted it to or not. 

He moved toward her, slowly, like he was approaching something fragile, his hands settling gently on her shoulders as his thumbs pressed into the tight muscles there, working small, careful circles into the tension he could feel without even trying. 

She didn't stop, didn’t lean back into him. Didn't even pause for a second. 

She just kept folding, picking up each tiny piece one by one, smoothing it out, and stacking it with the others, like if she kept her hands busy enough, she wouldn’t have to acknowledge anything else. 

He'd offered to help earlier, more than once, but she’d shut that down immediately. Something about him not folding them right, about how they wouldn't fit in the drawers if he tried. Normally, he would’ve pushed back, teased her a little, and made a joke out of it. 

Tonight, he let her have it. 

His hands slowed slightly against her shoulder, thumbs pressing just a little deeper before easing off again, his gaze dropping to the small clothes in her lap. They looked impossibly small. Too small. It still hadn’t quite clicked for him, not fully. Not until moments like this, when it was right in front of him. 

A quiet breath left him as his hands stilled for a moment, resting there like he didn't want to let go just yet. “You’re gonna run out of things to fold at this rate,” he said finally, his voice low, softer than usual, like he was testing the space between them instead of filling it. 

She didn’t answer right away. Just picked up another onesie, smoothing it out a little harsher than necessary before folding it with practiced precision. 

“Then i’ll unfold them and do it again,” she said, not looking up. 

Leon huffed quietly under his breath, something almost like a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite everything. Despite him having to go again. So he moved around the couch instead, stepping over a laundry basket into her space until he lowered himself in front of her, his back brushing the glass coffee table in the middle of the floor. 

He crouched there, one knee pressing into the floor, close enough that she couldn't keep pretending he wasn’t there anymore. 

“Hey,” he said softly, his hand coming up to hers still mid-fold, the small piece of fabric caught between her fingers as he gently pulled it from her grip and set it aside. “Look at me.”

She didn’t at first. Her jaw tightened, eyes fixed stubbornly on the pile beside her, like if she ignored him long enough, he might disappear back to the door, back to the version of the night where none of this was happening. 

“Hey,” he repeated, quieter now, his hands sliding up her thighs, his head moving into her line of sight so that she couldn't avoid him anymore. 

Her eyes met his. 

And there it was. Everything she’d been holding in. 

Leon's expression softened instantly, something in his chest pulling tight as one hand moved from her thigh, settling instead at her stomach, his palm flattening gently over the curve of it like he was trying to understand something he still hadn't fully caught up to.

“You’re gonna wear yourself out,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of her stretched-out shirt, the words “coming soon” cheesily printed out over where her stomach goes. 

She let out a breath that sounded more like it had been forced out of her, her hands finally going still in her lap. “I’m already tired, Leon,” she said, her voice wavering just enough to give her away. “That’s not the problem.”

His gaze flicked up to hers again. He knew. Of course he knew. 

“You said you wouldn’t go,” she continued, the words coming a little faster now, like they’d been sitting there waiting. “You said you were going to stay. That you were done for a while. That you were going to be here.”

Each word landed heavier than the last. 

Leon swallowed, his hand stilling where it rested against her, his fingers pressing just slightly like he needed something to hold onto. “I know,” he said quietly. 

“No, you don’t,” she snapped, her voice breaking as she shook her head, her hands finally pulling away from her lap just to gesture helplessly in front of her. “You don't because if you did, you wouldn't be standing here with a bag by the door like this is just another job.”

“It’s not just another job,” he said, more firmly now, even if his voice stayed low. "It's Ashley’s dad. I don’t get to—"

“And what about us?” she cut in, her eyes glossing over as she leaned forward slightly, her hands hovering over her stomach like she didn’t know where to put them. “What about her?”

The room went quiet.

Leon's gaze dropped instantly, drawn to where her hands rested, where his own still hovered just beneath them. 

Like the question had weight. Like it mattered more than anything else she’d said. 

“She’s coming in a month,” she said, softer now, but somehow worse. “A month, Leon. What if you're not here? What if something happens and you’re not here? What if I have to—"

Her voice cracked, cutting herself off as she looked away, her hand coming up to press against her mouth like she could stop the rest of it from spilling out. 

And that– That killed him. Not the words. Not the fear. He’d heard fear before. Seen it. Lived in it. 

But this?

This was hers. 

After everything they’d been through to get here. 

Getting her out of Raccoon city when the world had already started to fall apart around them. Finding his way back to her after spain, after ashley, after everything that mission had taken out of him. The years that followed, being pulled in and out of operations with chris, disappearing for weeks at a time, or something longer. Every time he left her behind with nothing but a phone call and a promise he couldn't always explain. 

And she’s stayed. 

She’d been there every time he came back, every time he walked through the door like he hadn't just crawled out of hell again, grounding him in something real when everything else felt like it was slipping.

He thought about her constantly when he was gone. More than he should have. Enough that it got hard to carry. 

There had been too many nights where he’d sat alone in some dim hotel room or safehouse, the silence louder than anything he’d faced in the field, and he’d reached for a drink just to take the edge off it. Just to quiet the part of his mind that kept picturing her here, waiting, worrying, living a life that kept getting interrupted by his. 

He hated himself for it. Still did. 

Because it never actually helped. Especially when Chris started to notice. 

It just made the distance feel worse when it wore off. 

But this, sitting here now, watching her try to hold it together like this, knowing exactly what it felt like on the other side of it. He couldn't let her carry that. Not like this. Not now. 

Leon didn’t let it go any further. 

His hand moved fully over her stomach again, covering hers this time, grounding it, steadying it, his thumb brushing slow, careful strokes like he was trying to calm something he couldn't fix. 

“I’ll be here,” he said, quieter now. 

She let out a small, broken laugh, shaking her head. “You can’t promise that.”

He didn’t answer right away. Because she was right. 

Instead, his hand shifted slightly—and then he stilled. 

Not in confusion, but recognition.

His fingers pressed just a little more against her stomach, his gaze dropping as he felt it again, that familiar movement beneath his palm, small but strong enough to catch his full attention every time. 

“...Hey,” he murmured, softer now, like he always did when this happened, his thumb brushing lightly over the same spot like he could follow it. 

She felt it too, her hand settling over his, guiding it without thinking, her breathing still uneven from everything that had just spilled out of her. “She hasn’t done that all day,” she said quietly, The edge of her voice dulled by something else entirely. 

Leon huffed a quiet breath through his nose, something shifting in his expression as he kept his hand there, like he didn’t want to miss it this time. 

Like he never did. 

His thumb moved again, tracing a small path over her stomach as his head dipped slightly, his voice low and almost absentminded as he spoke, more to her than anything else. “She always does this when im here.”

The tension in the room changed. 

Not gone, but... Different. 

Leon lifted his head, leaning forward slightly, his forehead coming to rest against her, his hand still spread protectively over her stomach, holding both of them there in that small space between everything else. 

“I’m coming back,” he said, low and steady, not rushed. “I’m not missing this.”

Her breath hitched again, but this time she didn’t pull away. Didn’t argue. 

She just leaned into him, her hands finally settling against him instead of fighting him, gripping his shirt like she needed something solid to hold onto. 

“You better not," she whispered.

Something soft broke through the weight of everything as Leon huffed, pulling back just enough to look at her, his thumb brushing once more over her stomach. 

“You’re stuck with me,” he said, like so many times before, the faintest hint of that familiar tone slipping back in, quieter now, but still there. “Both of you.” 

2028

This goodbye was different from the rest. 

It wasn't the kind at the door, a kiss on the cheek with a bag in his hand as he said he’d be back soon. It wasn’t an airport lobby, his hand wrapped around hers while she stressed over the flight. It wasn’t even the kind where he got to hold his family a little longer before turning, taking a job he already knew he’d end up hating. 

No. 

This time it was different. 

"Sherry?” 

Victor’s office felt cold. Too cold. Cold enough that Leon’s back straightened from where he leaned over the desk, the computer screen still lit with the reality he hadn't figured out how to process yet. 

"Yeah, Leon?” 

He took a steady breath, trying to pull his eyes away from the screen long enough to keep himself together. “Can you—" he paused, shutting the computer off before pushing away from the desk completely, his hand dragging briefly across his face as he closed his eyes for a second. “Can you patch me through to my wife?”

There was a pause on the other end. A long one. Then Sherry let out a quiet, sympathetic sigh. “Of course.” 

He heard the line connect. One ring. Two. by the third, he was sure he couldn't breathe, the thought of her not answering settling heavy in his chest in a way that felt worse than anything he’d just seen on that screen. 

Then—

“Daddy!” 

His ears were flooded instantly with the overlapping voices of his daughters, Casey first, loud and excited, and Ellie right behind her, already trying to take over the call. He winced, leaning back against the desk as he crossed his arms, his head tipping slightly as the noise hit him all at once. 

Fifteen years ago, he told his wife he’d come back. That he wouldn't miss this. 

Now, listening to them fight over who got to talk first, his shoulders felt heavy with the sudden realization that he may not be able to keep his promise this time around. 

“I wanna talk to him first, Casey!” 

"No, Ellie. He called mom not you.”

"Girls—" he tried, but it didn’t land. 

“Girls.”

Casey must have finally gotten control of the phone, because the noise shifted, her voice coming through clearer this time. “Hey Dad. What ya up to?”

Hearing her, both of them, did something to him he hadn't been ready for. It filled something in his chest and twisted it at the same time, the normalcy of it almost painful in contrast to everything else. 

They sounded calm. Happy. 

“Sweetheart… where's your mom?"

There was a brief shuffle on the other end and muffled voices as she turned away from the phone, probably shoving Ellie back just enough to get a word in. 

"Uh—outside, I think. Want me to grab her?”

“Please.”

For a second, just a second, the sound of their voices eased the weight pressing down on him. He listened to them bicker in the background, the familiar rhythm of it pulling at something deep in his chest, memories stacking over each other faster than he could keep up with.

Casey. 

The first time he held her, how something in him had shifted instantly, like that was it. That was the moment he was supposed to walk away from all of this. Be done. Be present. Be home. 

Ellie. 

And then her, years later, smaller, louder, just as stubborn… and somehow that had been the moment he stepped back into it, convincing himself they still needed him out there. 

Why? 

The question hit harder than it ever had. 

Why couldn't he let go? 

Years of this, of leaving and coming back, of telling himself it was worth it and now it all felt like it was crashing down on top of him at once. The guilt. 

Casey must have handed the phone off again, because the sound shifted, smaller this time. 

“Hi daddy.”

It made him smile.

“Hi, baby girl," he said, his voice tightening just slightly as he forced it to stay steady, like this was just another call, another day. 

“When are you coming home?” her voice was so small. Softer. Too innocent for the weight behind the question. 

He paused. Just for a second. He didn’t want to lie to his little girl. But he had to. 

"Soon, baby," He said gently. “I just need to talk to Mommy first, okay? Is your sister getting her?”

There was a quiet pause, like she was looking around, checking, “Mmm…. yeah.” 

He heard the front door open and then soon after her voice filtered through. “Elousie anne give me my phone.” 

That made him smile again; despite everything, the sound of her moving through the house grounded him in a way nothing else could. He could hear her footsteps across the hardwood, the soft shuffle of movement, a bit of protesting and a bit of shooing as she directed the girls away. 

“Please, Ellie, thank you—hey—hey, hon, sorry, I was outside watering the plants. Everything okay?”

He didn't answer right away. He just listened. 

The faint creak of the front porch door as it shut behind her. The hollow shift in the sound of her voice as she stepped outside, and the house falling away from the line, replaced by something quieter. Open. He could almost hear the wind brushing past the receiver, the distant hum of cicadas and the soft scrape of her shoe against the wood as she settled in the same spot she always did when she needed a second to herself. 

He could see it. 

The porch light was casting that warm glow across the railing. The hanging plants sway just slightly, the ones she insisted on keeping alive even when he wasn’t there to help her water them. He’s killed every plant he’s ever had, but at least he had her. Then the chair she always sat in, angled just enough to face the yard. 

He could picture her standing there now. 

Phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. One hand resting absentmindedly against her hip, the other probably still damp from the hose.

Waiting. 

“...Leon?”

Her voice softened as she said his name, just enough that it pulled him back. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, quieter now, like the air had been knocked out of him somewhere between hearing her and realizing how far away he actually was. “Yeah, i’m here.” 

There was a pause on the other end. Not long. Just enough. 

“You don’t call like this unless something’s wrong," she said, and there it was—that steadiness. Not panicked. Not accusing. Just…knowing. 

God. 

After all these years, she still knew. 

Leon closed his eyes, his head tipping back slightly against the wall behind him, the weight of it pressing in all at once. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice rougher now. “Something’s wrong.”

The line went quiet again. 

He could hear her shift on the porch, the wood creaking beneath her as she sat down, like she needed something solid under her before he said whatever he was about to say. 

"...Are you safe?” she asked finally. 

Leon let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was nothing light about it, his hand bracing harder against the desk behind. “I’m… still here.” he said, the words careful, like he was choosing them for her and not for himself. 

That wasn’t what she asked. And she knew it. 

“Leon.”

Just his name… but it carried everything. 

He swallowed, his jaw tightening as he stared at the ceiling for a second, like maybe if he looked anywhere else, he wouldn't have to say it out loud. His free hand dragged slowly down his face, pausing at his mouth as he exhaled through it, steadying himself before he spoke again. 

“I’ve been getting worse,” he admitted, quieter now, the truth settling into his voice in a way that made it impossible to take back. “Last couple of days… I thought it was just stress, or bad air, I don’t know…" he shook his head slightly, eyes closing again as the memories lined up clearly now. “It’s not.”

The coughing. 

The blood. 

He paused, his gaze flicking briefly to his arm, to the faint dark illness beneath his skin that he could feel even if he couldn't fully see it. 

“I know what it is now.”

The silence on her end sharpened. 

“You’re saying that like you’ve seen it before,” she said, something tight in her tone, something already bracing for impact. 

Leon swallowed, his grip tightening slightly as he leaned his weight back into the desk. “I have, it's—" he paused, contemplating giving too much away. “It’s the T-virus," he said simply. “And I know what happens when it takes hold.”

The words didn't shake. He didn’t let them. 

“I’m not going to sit here and wait for it to take me,” he added more firmly, like saying it out loud made it real, made something he could push back against. “I’m going to figure this out. There's something here—data, labs, whatever the hell they want from Grace—I just have to find it.”

The porch creaked again. 

“Leon…” She breathed, and this time there was no mistaking it. The steadiness she’d been holding onto was slipping, not all at once, but enough that he could hear it. 

“If you know what this does to people—"

He didn’t answer. Because he did, of course he knew. But that didn’t matter. 

“I’m not them,” he said instead, stubborn in a way that hadn’t left him in all these years. “I’ve walked out of worse.”

“You’ve walked out of lucky," she corrected, her voice breaking just slightly now, the truth pushing through whether she wanted it to or not. “You don’t get to pretend this is the same thing.”

Leon's jaw clenched, his eyes finding the ceiling again, like he could will himself into believing what he was saying. “I’m coming home,” he said, more firmly now. “You hear me? I’m not done yet.” 

He was met with silence, heavy and unsure. 

And then—

“You don’t know that.”

It was quiet. Too quiet, and Leon's hand tightened against the desk, his fingers curling as he pushed off it, pacing once across the room before stopping again. Like he needed movement to keep himself grounded. “I do,” he said, almost immediately. “I’m not leaving you like this. I’m not leaving them like this.”

Her breath hitched on the other side of the line. He heard it. Felt it, and it hit him harder than anything she’d said so far. 

“You think I don’t know what that looks like?” she asked, her voice thinner now, the control finally cracking in a way she couldn't hold back anymore. “You think I haven’t seen what that virus does? What it turns people into?”

The porch creaked faster this time, like she’d started pacing, the same way she always did when she couldn't sit still with something. 

“You got me out of raccoon city,” she continued, her voice shaking now, emotion bleeding through every word. “I watched what that place did to people, Leon. I watched what it almost did to you. Don’t stand there and tell me you’re just going to walk it off.” 

Leon's chest tightened, something sharp cutting through him as he stopped pacing, his hand coming up to rest against the back of his neck, gripping it like it might keep him steady. “I’m not saying that,” he said, still holding the line. “I’m saying i’m not giving up.”

“You don’t get to decide that!” she snapped, and this time it didn’t hold together, the control finally splintering in a way she couldn't pull back from. “You don’t get to just fight this because you want to. That’s not how it works—”

Her voice just… cracked open.

Leon froze where he stood, the shift in her hitting him harder than anything she’d said so far, his hand tightening at his side as the sound of it carried through the line.

There was a shuffle on her end, hurried and uneven, like she’d turned too fast or lost her footing for a second before catching herself. The porch creaked again, louder this time, and then softer as she sank back down into the chair, the movement small but heavy enough that he could picture it perfectly.

And then—

She cried. Quiet, uneven sobs that she was trying to swallow down and failing, her breath catching in between them like she didn’t want him to hear it but couldn’t stop it either.

It broke him.

Leon’s chest tightened so hard it almost hurt, his hand coming up to press against it like that might steady something that was already slipping out of his control. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just listened, the sound of her trying to hold herself together on the other end of the line cutting deeper than anything else could have.

“You have to come home,” she said finally, the words barely holding together between breaths. “You always come home.”

His jaw clenched.

“You always do,” she repeated, quieter now, like if she said it enough times it would make it true again, like it had every other time.

Leon closed his eyes, his head dipping forward slightly as he fought to keep his own voice steady, but for a second, just a second, he couldn’t find it.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispered, and that one… that one didn’t sound like a fight anymore. It sounded like something she already knew the answer to and didn’t want to say out loud.

“The girls need you,” she added, her voice shaking again as another quiet sob slipped through despite her trying to stop it. “They need you, Leon. I need you.”

God.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight as he dragged a hand down his face again, trying to pull himself back together because if he lost it now, there’d be nothing left to give her.

“I’m coming home,” he said, quieter now, but not weaker—just… heavier. “You hear me? I’m not leaving you like that.”

The words didn’t land the same anymore.

They didn’t fix it.

They just hung there, something he needed to say even if neither of them fully believed it.

He took a step forward, then stopped, his hand bracing against the desk again as he tried to ground himself in something solid, something real. “I’m gonna figure this out,” he added, more firmly this time, like saying it again might give it weight. “I’ve handled worse than this. I just need time.”

A quiet, broken breath left her on the other end, and he could hear it—the way she wanted to argue, wanted to push back, but didn’t have anything left to fight him with.

Because she knew.

That was the worst part.

“I know you’re gonna try,” she said finally, softer now, her voice worn thin from the effort of holding it together. “I know you are.”

A pause. Long.

Heavy.

“But you don’t know if you can win this.”

Leon didn’t answer right away. Because she was right

And for the first time since the call started, he let that sit between them, the truth of it settling into the silence without either of them trying to fix it.

“…No,” he admitted quietly.

Another quiet sob slipped through the line.

And still—

He held onto what he had left.

“But you’re still stuck with me,” he said, softer now, something familiar threading through his voice despite everything, something that had always been there between them. “Until I die.”

There was a small huff of air through the line, but it didn’t feel like the rest of the conversation. It felt full. Too full of everything they weren’t saying, everything they didn’t have time to say… everything that sat between then and now with no clean way through it.

On the other end, her breathing was still uneven, quieter now but not steady, the kind that came after you’d already cried and were trying to convince yourself you were okay when you weren’t. Leon stayed where he was, his fingers digging into his earpiece like letting go of it would take her with it, his other hand braced against the desk just to keep himself grounded in something.

It was right then he understood why this goodbye felt different.

Because it wasn’t one.

Not really.

He wouldn’t let it be.

Not when he could still fight. Not when there was still something left to hold onto. Not when she was on the other end of the line, breathing, listening, still there.

“I didn’t call to say goodbye,” he said finally, his voice low, quieter than before, like the fight in him had settled into something steadier. Something more honest.

A small, broken sound left her on the other end, not quite a laugh, not quite anything else.

“I know,” she whispered.

He swallowed, his throat tight as his gaze dropped to the floor, his fingers curling slightly against the edge of the desk. “I just…” He paused, exhaling slowly, trying to find the words that didn’t make this sound like what it was.

“I needed to hear you,” he said, softer now. “All of you.”

Because that mattered more than anything.

He let the words sit there, not rushing to fill the space after them, letting them carry their weight without trying to soften them into something easier.

“They sounded good,” he added after a moment, quieter now, something fragile threading through his voice. “The girls.”

A pause.

“They’re okay,” she said, her voice still thin, still trying to hold together. “They’re waiting for you.”

That one landed harder than the rest.

Leon closed his eyes for a second, letting it settle somewhere deep in his chest, somewhere he knew he’d carry no matter what happened next.

They would see him again.

He had to believe that.

“Tell them…” he started, then stopped, his jaw tightening slightly as he shook his head. “Tell them I’ll call again,” he corrected quietly, choosing the version of the truth he could live with. “Soon, and that I love them.”

She didn’t argue.

Didn’t correct him.

She just let it sit.

He wasn’t sure what that meant—if she was trying to come to terms with it, or if she was holding onto his determination the same way he was—but she didn’t take it away from him.

“I will,” she said.

The porch creaked again, softer this time, like she’d leaned back into the chair, like she was staring out into the yard the way she always did when she needed to think. He could picture it so clearly it almost felt like he was there, standing just behind her, his hand resting at her shoulder the way it always had.

He wished he was.

“…Leon?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m right here," she said softly. 

Not "I love you." Not “come home. ” Just that. Simple...and somehow that hurt more than anything else she could've said. 

Leon let out a slow breath. “I know," he said quietly. 

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It just lingered. Neither of them moved to end it, neither of them willing to be the one to let go first, like staying on the line just a second longer meant something. Like it could hold this movement in place a little longer before everything else caught up to it. 

“Call me,” she said after a while, softer now. 

“I will.” 

Another pause. 

“...Okay.”

The line stayed open for just a second longer. Then—

A quiet click. 

Leon stayed like that for a moment, standing in the silence left behind by the receiver, the absence of her voice settling heavier than anything else in the room. For a second, it threatened to hollow him out completely, but then something else followed it, slower, steadier. Determination. It crept in quietly, filling the space she’d just left behind, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

He had to push through.

Had to keep going.

For Sherry. For Grace. For Casey and Ellie.

For his home.

For her.

–

When he set his bags down on the front porch and knocked softly against the door, it felt like something had finally lifted off his shoulders.

Not all of it.

But enough.

After the dose of the cure, he felt… different. Clearer. Lighter. Better than he had in longer than he could remember. Coming that close to losing everything had forced something into place inside him, something he wasn’t willing to let slip again.

He wasn’t going to almost lose this.

Not ever again.

The door barely had time to open before his two girls came barreling into him, all momentum and noise, hitting him full force like they always did. He laughed—real, unguarded—as he caught them, lifting both of them halfway off the ground, steadying himself as he stepped back into the house, swaying them slightly like he had when they were smaller.

This.

This was what it meant to live.

All those years he’d spent chasing that feeling, through work, through missions, through places that never felt like home, thinking maybe the next one would give him something he was missing.

And it had been here the whole time.

Standing right in front of him.

His wife stood a few steps back, arms crossed, dressed in casual sweats and a loose tank that hung at her hips, watching them with that same quiet smile she always had when he came home. There was something softer in it now, something that hadn’t been there before. Something that looked a lot like relief.

The second he saw her, everything else faded.

He pressed a quick kiss to each of the girls’ heads before setting them down, barely giving them time to protest before he was already moving, closing the distance between him and her in two strides.

He didn’t stop.

His hands found her waist, pulling her into him as he kissed her, firm and grounding, like he needed to make sure she was really there. His hands moved to her face, holding her there as she melted into him without hesitation, whatever had been left from that phone call, from that night, dissolving into something warmer. Something real.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers for just a second before he drew her in again, softer this time, his arms wrapping around her as he bent slightly, pressing his face into the crook of her neck like he could anchor himself there.

She held him just as tightly, her arms coming up around his neck as she pressed closer, like she wasn’t willing to let him go just yet.

Behind them, the girls groaned loudly, already booing the display, their voices echoing through the house and pulling a quiet laugh from him despite everything.

And in that moment, right there, in the middle of it all, he knew.

He was done with goodbyes.

“I guess I really am stuck with you,” she murmured into his coat, her voice softer now, her grip tightening just slightly.

The breath that left him was shaky, like the last of everything he’d been holding onto finally slipped free.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at her, his hands coming up to frame her face again, his thumbs brushing lightly over her skin.

“Until I die.”

[khonsus-heart]

I’m not sure if you’re taking requests rn but i have an idea i hope you like! (btw i absolutely loved Mrs Kennedy it was perfection.)

I was thinking how at the very end of the game where leon and grace get saved by The hound wolf squad.

We obviously know when leon removes his glove he places a ring back onto his finger.

The whole idea is that Reader (Leon’s wife ofc ofc) shows up there as well and is idk apart of whatever field (your pick) Now ofc the people around reader know to be serious when on the job.

Anyway the whole point is Reader walks up to Leon and grace, the reader is basically acting tough and seeming professional (Deep inside though they were literally terrified of losing leon)

But then they both move over to the sidelines alone and then ofc the tough personality drops and immediately starts checking him for any injuries etc.

I hope you like the idea and sorry if it wasn’t clear enough i don’t usually request things often 💖

You still married me.

Leon Kennedy x wife!reader (3.3kwords)

A/N: babe wake up. I got a request. THANK YOU ANON FOR THIS I LOVE REQUESTS. I also love wife, Kennedy; she’s a baddie, let’s be real. This was so fun to write! I genuinely think this one is adorable.

Warnings: a tad bit of angst (wifey thinks he’s hurt, okay)

Summary: Chris’s team found Leon and the missing FBI agent he went looking for, so when you get the call that they’re alright. Nothing's stopping you from seeing for yourself.

The moment you heard the update crackle through the team’s radio, you were already moving, grabbing your medical pack and heading straight for the nearest emergency truck before anyone had the chance to call your name. 

“We got em’.”

That was all it took. 

Your feet hit the pavement faster than they had all night as you hauled yourself into the passenger seat, barely waiting for the rest of your team to pile behind you. You weren't far from the extraction site, already staged just outside the search perimeter in the desperate hope that they’d be found somewhere—anywhere. Since Leon had gone off-grid after heading into raccoon city, you’d been pacing the breakroom like a ghost, chewing at your nails, trying to ignore the way every minute stretched longer than the last. 

The trauma response breakroom wasn't much: a shared space, old tile floors, a coffee bar that barely worked half the time, a couple of cots shoved against the wall for whatever sleep you could steal between calls, and a table in the center that usually saw more card games than paperwork on slower nights. 

Tonight had not been one of them.

Being DSO trauma meant things were always moving, always going wrong, and always urgent, but it had never been him. Leon had always handled himself, always come back, and always made it look easier than it probably was. Still did. But these last eighteen hours had carved something sharp into your chest, something you hadn’t felt this deeply since the day you married him. 

The truck was packed tight, your team crammed shoulder to shoulder, each carrying basic kits while the heavier equipment rattled behind you. Hound Wolf squad had already called in full trauma for other areas of the estate, redirecting units to where they were needed. 

You hadn’t moved. You weren’t letting them pull you from Chris’s team. 

Not when they were the ones who had pulled your husband out of whatever hell he'd been buried in. 

Your grip tightened around the rail near the window as the truck sped forward, your stomach rolling hard enough to make you think you might lose it if you let yourself breathe wrong. Your face, however, stayed neutral and controlled, exactly what they expected from you. 

To everyone else you were steady. Focused. Professional. 

Or else they wouldn't let you tag along to work on Leon, and the only thing keeping you upright right now was the fact that he was alive. 

When the truck skidded into the muddy clearing just outside the site, the world looked like it had been left to rot. Wet earth, broken ground, and the air thick with something that clung to the back of your throat. 

The chaos hadn’t settled—it had just shifted. 

Sirens cut through the air, red lights flashing across cracked pavement as medics moved quickly through the scene, voices overlapping in sharp, practiced commands. The threat was gone, but the aftermath lingered heavy in the air, clinging to everything it touched. 

You stepped out with the rest of the team, already moving before anyone could direct you, your expression set, your posture straight, every inch of you falling into the role you’d trained for as your eyes scanned the area. 

Then you saw him. 

Leon stood near the back of an ambulance, shoulders slumped, the weight of everything he’d just been through written plainly in the way he held himself. The missing FBI agent Grace sat nearby on the edge of the vehicle, a blanket wrapped tightly around her as she spoke to him, her face pale and shaken, just as much a part of the aftermath as he was. 

You registered it. Then let it go. 

Because your focus had already locked onto him, pulling tighter with every step you took, the world narrowing until it was just that one point, just him, standing there, breathing, alive in a way that didn’t quite feel real yet. Your gaze caught on the axe strapped to his belt, dark with someone else's or something else's blood, the metal dulled by it, not even wiped clean yet. 

If you didn’t keep your shit together, they’d pull you off the field, and that wasn’t an option, not now, not when he was right there. The urge to break formation and run to him hit hard enough to make your chest tighten, but you forced your pace to stay measured, even as your grip tightened around the handle of your medical bag. 

It wasn’t Leon who noticed you first. It was Grace. 

Her eyes landed on you as you approached, soft but alert, taking you in like she was trying to place you. She didn’t know who you were, but everyone knew her. Knew she’d been missing. Knew what it meant that she was sitting here now, alive. 

“Agent Kennedy,” you said, voice level and professional, like this was just another routine assessment, like your pulse hadn't been racing for the last eighteen hours. 

His head lifted at the sound of your voice, his attention following Grace’'s line of sight until it landed on you. 

And for a second—just a second—something in his expression shifted. 

Recognition. Relief.

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his mouth before it disappeared just as quickly, tucked neatly behind the same guarded composure he wore for everyone else. 

“You’re late,” he muttered, dry as ever. 

It almost made you smile. 

Almost. 

Instead, your gaze moved over him, clinical and precise, cataloging everything without letting yourself linger. Blood. Some his, some not. Dirt, and the remnants of something far worse than either. 

“Status?” you asked, already stepping closer. 

“Still breathing,” he said. 

Of course he was. 

You nodded once, sharply. “Good. Stay that way.” 

“I—I'm Grace."

You peeled your attention away from him to look at her, huddled inside the back of the ambulance, the blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. Up close, she looked worse. Shaken and exhausted. Trying to hold herself together in a way that felt all too familiar. 

Your expression softened just slightly. “Hi grace,” you said, stepping closer as you set your bag down beside her. “Have you been checked yet?” 

She hesitated, her eyes flicking back to Leon like she was looking for reassurance, and you followed that instinctually, catching the way he gave her a small, steady nod. The same quiet reassurance you’d seen him give a hundred times before. 

The movement passed quickly as she looked back at you. “Yes, ma’am.” 

You gave her one last reassuring nod, adjusting the blanket more securely around her shoulders, your hands steady even if everything else in you wasn’t. As you did, your gaze flicked up briefly and caught him watching.

Leon didn’t say anything. He never did in moments like this. He just stood there, quiet, letting you do your job, like he trusted you with it without question. Like he always did. 

You only held his gaze for a second before pulling your attention back to Grace, your hands moving automatically, checking what has already been done, making sure nothing had been missed. Yet your mind didn't stay where your hands were. It never did when it came to him. 

Because even now, standing there like nothing had happened, you could see it. The way he held himself just a little too still. The exhaustion he tried to tuck away. The way he stayed close enough to Grace without hovering, like he needed to make sure she would be fine. Safe. of course he did; that’s who he was. The man stepped in front of things no one else would touch. The one who carried people out when it would’ve been easier not to. The one who gave everything he had, again and again and again, without ever stopping to ask what it cost him. 

Your fingers adjusted the edge of the blanket again, smoothing it down like you had something to fix, something to focus on. 

Grace. A girl he didn’t know, a mission too risky. Still... He stayed. You didn’t need details to know what had happened in here. You didn't need a report or a debrief to understand the look in her eyes when she glanced at him or the way he hadn’t moved far from her side since you arrived. 

He’d protected her, like he always did. Like he had for so many people before her. 

Like he would again. 

Your jaw tightened slightly as you kept your attention where it needed to be, your movements controlled and practiced, and your voice calm as you spoke to Grace, but the thought settled anyways, heavy and familiar in your chest. 

If it had been you… he woudlve done the same. Without hesitation. Without question. Given everything. 

Always. 

You slipped into autopilot with Grace, telling her to stay put, that someone would be with her shortly, your voice steady even as your attention had already shifted. You caught the movement out of the corner of your eye when Leon pulled his glove free, flexing his fingers slightly. His hand looked…normal. No dark veins, no sign of the infection that had been eating at him. Just skin. Just him. Then he slid the ring back into place, settling it over his finger like it had never left. 

His wedding ring. 

It caught for a second, something tight pulling in your chest as it settled there like it belonged. Like he needed it there, even now. 

Grace said something, but you barely registered it, already turning, already shifting your stance just enough to move. 

“Will you give us a minute?”

You offered her a soft smile, the same calm, reassuring expression you’d been holding onto since you arrived, even as your hand closed around Leon's arm, guiding—no, pushing—him gently away. Grace nodded, her eyes flicking between the two of you, something curious there but no questions. 

You didn’t stop walking until you reached your truck, the tailgate still folded down, equipment scattered where it had been hastily pulled out. You maneuvered him in front of it and gave him a small push to his shoulder, just enough to get him sitting on the edge before you dropped your bag beside him. You glanced around once, quickly, making sure no one was paying too close attention. 

Then you broke. 

Your hands were on him instantly, firm and urgent, moving over his shoulders, his arms, and his ribs, checking, searching, needing something solid to tell you this was real.

“Where are you hurt?" You demanded, your voice low but tight, the control slipping at the edges. 

Leon caught your wrist, not stopping you, just slowing you, grounding you. “I’m okay.”

“No,” you snapped, your eyes snapping up to his, something sharp and raw cutting straight through what little composure you had left. “You don’t get to say that to me.”

Your hands didn’t slow, pressing more deliberately now, searching for any sign of damage, any flinch, anything out of place. Your fingers brushed along his side and lingered. 

He flinched. 

“Damn it kennedy.” 

You were tugging his shirt up before he could protest, your movements sharper now, more frantic as you tried to get a better look, and your heart climbed into your throat. 

"Hey—" he started, trying to catch your hands again, but you didn’t stop. 

“Ah,” he huffed, half a breath, half a protest, as he tried again, softer this time. “I said i’m fine, hon.” 

If anything, your hands moved with more purpose, tugging his shirt higher despite the way he tried to catch your wrists, your fingers pressing along his side again like you were trying to force the truth out of him through touch alone. “That wasn’t a suggestion,” you muttered, already scanning for anything out of place, your voice tight. “You flinched.”

Leon let out a quiet breath through his nose, something caught between a sigh and a tired laugh, as his hand came up to steady your wrist again, not stopping you so much as trying to slow you down. “Yeah,” he said, dry even now, "because you’re digging into it like you’re trying to make it worse.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you’d stop lying to me.”

That made him pause, just for a second, the smallest break in that usual deflection of his before he shifted, his grip loosening as he reached down himself and hooked his fingers into the hem of his shirt. He lifted it just enough for you to see, not making a show of it, just giving you what you’d been looking for all along. “Already handled,” he said, quieter this time, the edge gone from his voice. 

Your eyes dropped immediately, locking onto the clean wrap around his side, the bandaging tight and deliberate, already doing its job. It wasn’t fresh, and it wasn’t ignored. Someone had taken care of it, or he had. Either way, it wasn’t what your mind had been bracing for. 

Your hands were still for a moment before settling back in, slower now, more careful as your fingers brushed along the edge of the bandage, checking the placement, the pressure and the heat of his skin beneath it. 

“Who did it?” you asked, your voice softer without you meaning it to be. 

“Field kit,” he answered easily. “Had help.”

Of course he did. 

Of course he managed. 

Your thumb traced along the wrap again, this time not searching, just confirming, your movements losing that frantic edge as your shoulders slowly started to come down from where they’d been sitting since you got the call. 

“You could’ve started with that," you murmured, the words slipping out more to yourself than to him. 

Leon watched as you said it, really watched you this time, the way your hands had changed, the way your breathing hadn't quite settled yet, and the way something was still holding tight beneath the surface even after you’d found what you needed to. 

That was the moment it shifted. 

His hand came up again, not to stop you this time but to guide you, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist as he eased your hands away from his side and back toward him. "Hey," he said, quieter now, waiting until you looked at him, until your eyes finally met his instead of the injury. 

“I’m okay.”

No deflecting or brushing it off. 

Just steady. Serious. 

Your jaw tightened like you wanted to argue anyways, like you weren’t ready to let it go that easily, but the fight had already started to slip from your grip. 

“I thought—” you started, then stopped yourself, shaking your head slightly as your gaze dropped for a second. 

Leon didn't let it stay there. 

His hand shifted from your wrist to your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek as he tipped your face back up toward him, grounding you in the same way you’d just tried to ground him. “You don’t get to go there,” he said quietly, his voice softer than it had been since you walked up to him. “Not when im sitting right in front of you.”

Your breath caught, just enough for him to notice.

His hand lingered there for a moment before sliding back to the nape of your neck, pulling you just a little closer, not enough to draw attention, just enough that you could feel him, solid and real and right where he was supposed to be. “I told you,” he added, the faintest hint of that familiar tone slipping back in, “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

Your lips pressed together, something between a breath and a laugh threatening to break through as you shook your head, your hands finally settling against his chest again. Not searching this time, just resting there. 

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered, the tension in your voice loosening just enough to let it sound like you again.

Leon huffed quietly, the corner of his mouth lifting as his hand covered yours where it rested against him, holding it there for a second longer than necessary. “Yeah,” he said, softer now, “and you still married me.”

And just like that, the edge of it all dulled, not gone, not really—but easier to carry.

Leon’s thumb was still brushing slow, absent circles over the back of your hand where it rested against his chest, the two of you standing just close enough to forget, for a second, that you weren’t alone.

Your breathing had finally started to even out, the panic ebbing into something quieter, something steadier, and in its place was him, solid, warm, and alive under your touch. Your fingers curled slightly into his shirt, like you needed to feel the fabric shift just to remind yourself he was real.

His gaze dropped to your mouth.

It was subtle. Quick.

But you caught it, and just like that, the air shifted again.

Your hand slid a fraction higher against his chest, your thumb brushing along the line of his collar as your eyes lifted back to his, something softer settling there now, something that had nothing to do with triage or protocol or the dozen people moving around you.

“Still think I’m late?” you murmured, quieter now, the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips.

Leon’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly, his hand tightening slightly at the back of your neck as he leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping with you. “Yeah,” he said, eyes flicking between yours and then your lips again. “Could’ve been here sooner.”

“You’re alive,” you whispered back, like that alone should settle it.

“It’s a start.”

The space between you closed without either of you really deciding to do it, instinct pulling tighter than reason, your forehead nearly brushing his, his nose just barely grazing yours. His hand slid a little firmer at your neck, your fingers tightening in his shirt as the world around you blurred into noise you didn’t care about.

It wasn’t a kiss.

Not yet.

Just close enough to feel his breath, warm against your lips, just close enough that if either of you moved—

“Alright, Romeo.”

And there it was.

Leon’s eyes shut for half a second, his forehead dropping lightly against yours in a quiet, of course, before he pulled back just enough to glance over your shoulder.

You didn’t even have to turn to know who it was.

But you did anyway.

Chris stood a few feet back, arms crossed over his chest, looking entirely too amused for a man who’d just come out of hell himself. One of the Hound Wolf guys behind him muttered something under his breath, earning a low chuckle from someone else as they tried and failed to pretend they weren’t watching.

“Didn’t realize we were running a reunion special out here,” Chris added, brow lifting slightly as his gaze flicked between the two of you.

Your hand dropped from Leon’s chest immediately, professionalism snapping back into place like it had never slipped, even if the warmth was still lingering in your cheeks. “He’s cleared for transport,” you said smoothly, like you hadn’t just been half a breath away from kissing your husband in the middle of an active scene.

Leon snorted quietly beside you, dragging a hand down the back of his neck as he stood a little straighter, composure sliding back into place just as easily. “You always this nosy, Redfield?” he shot back.

Chris didn’t miss a beat. “Only when it’s entertaining.”

There was a pause, then, just long enough for the tension to settle into something lighter, something almost normal despite everything around you.

Leon glanced at you again, just for a second.

Quick. Quiet.

But it was there.

That same softness.

Like the moment hadn’t actually been interrupted…just…delayed.

And something told you he’d finish it later.

Guys I just fucking realized grace is in a god damn helicopter not an ambulance why didn’t none of y’all mfs say something 💀💀

[khonsus-heart]

hi hi! i just wanted to say i just binged your mr and mrs kennedy fics and ohmygod they were PHENOMENAL!! im obsessed with the way you write, give me 100000 more of them! i absolutely adore all the tiny details you include like leon putting a towel on the sink so the marble countertop isn’t cold against skin. it makes my writer heart and my leon loving heart so happy <3

HELPPPPP. You guys are making me jump for joy with the feedback for this fic.

Literally have me like:

I kid you not when I first got the idea to write for Leon I was like “let’s just do something soft like the rest of my characters” and then low and behold I just happen to have a feral brain eating demon that said Make them get freaky.

My little things I think are a huge inspiration from my (real) hubby bc I fear he’s so caring I could eat him alive. And I just feel like Leon is the embodiment of soft on the inside hard on the outside. Plus I have a tendency to like Litterally insert myself into these characters and ask myself questions about how I would react if I’d been through all this shit LMAO.

More fics to come! So overjoyed people read what I write bc I’m in the middle of writing my own novel right now and you guys are like lowkey my test group lmao ily.

Also please feel free use my ask box for requests! I work best with a prompt and almost always will write what people want (please god don’t ask for creepy shit I’m not insane)

Anyways enjoy these Leon pics

[khonsus-heart]

girl omg i just read mrs kennedy and i legit can’t take it it’s so good🤤🤤😳 would you do a part 2 ?

Mr. Kennedy

Leon Kennedy x wife!reader (7.2k words)

A/N: ask and you shall receive! HELLO? You guys LOVED the first one and I’m freaking kicking my feet and giggling. Like I literally am so happy you guys liked it. So without further ado here’s my SECOND ever smut post. Enjoy Leon’s pov.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem reader, kissing, fingering, oral, edging, Leon POV, eventual smut, p in v, unprotected sex, long distance marriage,

Summary: after the long drive back to the hotel, Leon promised you a shower, but he’s an easily distracted man.

Part 1 HERE

Leon Kennedy had spent four months imagining what it would feel like to have his wife within arm’s reach again. The reality, it turned out, was better than anything his sleep-deprived brain could come up with.

The drive back to the hotel was a quiet kind of bliss, the kind that came after adrenaline finally burned out of his system with the help of the beautiful woman next to him. His hand moved slowly through her hair while he drove, the soft rhythm of it almost automatic now.

She had her head leaned back against the seat, eyes half-closed, looking like she might fall asleep right there in his passenger seat.

Leon couldn't blame her.

Hell, he could probably fall asleep too if he stopped moving for more than five minutes.

The hum of the Porsche filled the quiet space between them, and for the first time in months there wasn’t a radio in his ear, a mission clock ticking down, or a report waiting for him when he landed somewhere new.

Just her.

Just this.

It almost felt normal.

He’d dug through the suitcase earlier and pulled out the soft gray sweats he knew she liked to wear when she was tired. Let her change in the backseat while he cleaned up the mess they’d made back there.

His car was going to need a detail when he got home.

Worth it.

“Might need a shower when we get back,” he’d said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

The way she’d looked at him after that had nearly convinced him to pull the car over again.

Four months. Of sleeping in safehouses, flying across time zones, and pretending during their phone calls that everything was fine.

Four months of things he’d never tell her about. Yet the second she’d climbed into his lap earlier, it had been over. Work was a distant concern.

Leon turned the wheel and eased the Porsche into the curved pickup lane outside the Watergate. The car rolled to a smooth stop beneath the overhang as the building lights washed over the windshield. His hand slipped from her hair, and he shifted the car into park.

“We’re here.”

She sat up slowly, blinking like she’d just woken from a dream, and then she looked out the window. Leon watched the exact moment her brain processed what she was looking at, and her mouth opened slightly, nearly dropping all the way.

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. The Watergate wasn’t exactly subtle.

Floor after floor of white stone and glass curved outward in a massive half-circle, the entrance glowing under the canopy lights. The word "WATERGATE" was stretched across the wall in large wooden letters framed by greenery beside the sliding doors.

She stared at it like someone had just dropped her in the middle of a palace.

“Please tell me they put you in a suite.”

Leon glanced over at her. One hand was gripping the window ledge like she might launch herself out to inspect the place personally.

He huffed a quiet laugh and reached for the door handle.

"Come on, gorgeous,” he said. “Before you catch a fly.”

He stepped out and tossed the keys to the valet without breaking stride. The kid behind the stand looked about as stunned as she had, elbowing the guy next to him and nodding toward Leon like he’d just been a celebrity.

Leon ignored it.

The only person he was paying attention to was still sitting in his passenger seat.

He reached the door just as she started to open it herself and beat her to it, offering his hand. She took it without hesitation, and cold air swept through the pickup lane the moment she stepped out. She pulled her shoulder in slightly as the wind caught a few loose strands of her hair.

Leon lifted a hand instinctively, blocking the worst of the gust from hitting her face.

“Wait a second,” he said. “I’ll grab your bags.”

She looked innocent now, beautiful, standing beneath the glow of the hotel lights with the city wind brushing around her. The night he’d left, he’d watched a taxi pull away from their driveway while she stood on the porch waving, pretending she wasn’t worried. Seeing her here now, within reach again, made something in his chest settle in a way it hadn't in weeks.

She nodded while he walked around to the trunk, wrapping her arms around herself against the cold.

It took him maybe ten seconds to get the luggage. Two rolling suitcases and another bag strapped to the larger one.

Leon glanced down at the collection.

Yeah. That tracked.

He grabbed the handles and fell into step beside her as they headed inside. He made a point not to walk ahead, keeping pace with her instead while they crossed the lobby toward the elevators.

The inside of the place was massive. High ceilings stretched overhead, chandeliers hung from nearly every open space, and light reflected off the polished floors and elevator doors.

Leon barely looked at any of it.

He’d been in enough government-paid hotels to stop caring.

She hadn't, though.

He glanced sideways and caught her scanning the entire lobby like she was trying to memorize it. The smirk returned before he could stop it.

She definitely saw, so when she stopped walking, Leon made it two steps before realizing she wasn’t beside him anymore. He turned back just in time to see her standing there with her arms crossed, the look on her face already telling him she was about to say something ridiculous.

“Why aren’t you holding my hand?”

Leon stared at her for a second. Then his shoulders sagged as he narrowed his eyes slightly when realization hit.

She was messing with him.

Of course she was.

For a second he just stared at her. The question was absurd considering both his hands were full of her luggage, but the small challenge in her expression made it clear she knew that already. She wasn’t asking because she expected a reasonable answer. She was asking because she knew exactly what she meant to him.

Also because she knew exactly how to push his buttons.

Leon felt the corner of his mouth pull upward before he even realized he was smiling. Four months away from her had been long enough that if she’d asked him to carry her through the entire hotel lobby instead of the luggage, he probably would have done that too.

Yet Leon didn’t take the bait as he turned back toward the elevators. Then, he stuck out his ring finger and pinky without looking back.

Two empty fingers. That was the best she was getting while he was carrying three suitcases.

Behind him he heard her start walking again, and then, a moment later, her hand wrapped easily around the two fingers he’d offered. Leon felt the small pressure of it settle there like it had always belonged. It was ridiculous, really—standing in the middle of a government hotel lobby holding onto each other like that—but the quiet warmth of it made something in his chest loosen anyway.

The elevator ride up was quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way. She was always soft and familiar; Leon stood beside her with one hand resting on the handle of the suitcase while the other absently brushed against the back of her arm every time the elevator shifted floors.

She hadn't stopped looking around since they stepped inside, her eyes flicking from the mirrored walls to the floor numbers lighting up one by one above the door like a kid counting down to something exciting.

Leon watched the reflection of her instead of the numbers, the soft curve of her shoulders and the way the warm hotel lighting caught the edges of her hair, a faint flush still lingering in her cheeks. It would have been easy to reach out, to pull her against him again like he had earlier in the car, but something about the quiet moment made him hold back. So many nights of staring at unfamiliar ceilings had made him forget how loud a room could feel with her in it, even when she wasn’t saying a word.

When the elevator doors finally slid open, she stepped out first, already scanning the hallway while Leon followed behind with the luggage.

"435," he said as the carpet swallowed the sound of their footsteps, walking down the curved corridor.

He had checked in hours ago, right after landing in D.C., before he’d gone to pick her up. At the time, the room had felt like any other paid hotel—quiet, too clean, and temporary.

That would change with her.

By the time he unlocked the door, she was practically vibrating beside him. The suite opened into a wide living space, all pale stone floors and soft lighting, the massive windows along the far wall looking out over the city like a glowing grid of gold and white. She stepped inside first and stopped just past the entryway, turning slowly as she took everything in.

The reaction was immediate.

“Oh my god."

Leon closed the door behind them and leaned the suitcases against the wall, watching her instead of the room. She moved through the space like someone exploring a new house, crossing the living area to press her hands against the back of the couch before turning toward the windows. The entire wall was glass, the traffic lights flicking below between buildings like distant fireflies.

“Leon,” she said, turning back toward him with wide eyes. “Look at this place.”

He glanced around briefly, mostly out of obligation. The government loved places like this when they were footing the bill—large and anonymous. Nice enough that nobody asked questions, impersonal enough that you could disappear from them without leaving a trace.

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “It’s alright.”

She shot him a look that clearly said she didn’t believe him for a second before wandering further into the room. In the living area next to the couch was a low glass table, and just beyond that sat a small desk near the windows.

His laptop was already open there. Screen black. A stack of paperwork sat beside it, the government seal stamped neatly across the top page, along with the quiet weight of his shoulder holster draped over the back of the chair where he’d left it earlier.

Leon held his gaze there for half a second before he looked away. He had spent most of the afternoon trying not to think about work, and tonight he wasn’t about to start again.

Behind him she was already moving toward the bedroom doorway. Leon followed at a slower pace, stopping just inside as she pushed the door open. The bed alone looked like it could swallow both of them whole, which he was hoping for, with white sheets stretched perfectly across a mattress big enough to feel ridiculous.

She walked straight to it, pressing her hands into the comforter like she was testing it before immediately letting herself fall backwards onto it with a quiet laugh.

Leon leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he watched her bounce slightly against the mattress before rolling onto her side to look at him.

“Don’t tell me this doesn't impress you even a little.”

“It impresses you,” he said simply. “That’s enough.”

She huffed softly at that and pushed herself back up again, immediately wandering toward the bathroom. The lights flicked on, and a second later her voice echoed through the open doorway.

“Honey! The bathtub is bigger than our couch!”

He let out a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he stepped further into the room. She reappeared a moment later with the same bright excitement still lighting her face, pointing back toward the bathroom like she was about to drag him inside to see it.

“Want that shower now?” he asked, eyeing the door behind her.

A smile played at her lips as she crossed her arms and cocked a hip. “Like hell I'm taking one alone.”

“Like hell I'd ever let you.”

As much as he wanted to strip her bare and drag her into the shower right now, he turned from her and headed toward the suitcases instead. He heard a small, displeased noise behind him as her footsteps followed.

“What are you doing?”

She might not realize it, but he did think about things that would be inconvenient for her in half an hour. For example, her bathroom bag, which was most likely the large one on top with the zipper running all the way around it.

He picked it up from the top of the suitcases and held it up for her to see, raising a brow without a word.

"Oh," she said, her shoulders slumping a bit, “Yeah.”

He walked over to her where she still stood in the bedroom doorway and leaned down to give her a kiss, resting one hand lightly on her arm. "Leon knows best," he said against her lips, smiling, before moving past her into the bathroom.

As he walked past, he caught her rolling her eyes playfully, her arms still crossed over her chest.

Leon stepped into the bathroom, the space illuminated in a warm, soft glow from when she turned the light on. The room was nearly as large as the bedroom, with pale marble stretching across the floor and halfway up the walls.

A large countertop ran beneath a mirror that spanned the entire wall; two wide sinks set several feet apart screamed expensive in that understated way hotels like this favored.

Just beyond the sinks sat a deep soaking tub tucked against the far wall, large enough that Leon suspected it could comfortably fit two people without much effort.

Something he was keen on testing this week.

The shower stood opposite, separated by thick panes of clear glass that made the entire stall visible from nearly anywhere in the room. From the angle of the mirror above the sinks, the reflection carried straight through the glass door, meaning anyone standing in the shower could see themselves clearly from head to toe.

Leon set her bag down on the long marble counter beside the sink he had already claimed earlier that afternoon. The other side of the counter sat completely empty, with an identical basin waiting with neatly folded towels and untouched glassware, but he ignored it without a second thought. Instead, he unzipped the bag and placed it beside his own things, her toothbrush and travel bottles settling easily next to the ones he’d unpacked hours before.

It was a small thing, barely noticeable in a room that large, but it felt instinctive. Even with two sinks and more than enough space for them to spread out, the idea of keeping their things separate had never crossed his mind.

Leon stepped out of the bathroom with a towel draped loosely over one shoulder and stopped when he saw her by the door.

She had started to kick off her sneakers she’d changed into earlier and crouched slightly as she tugged at the heel of one before setting it neatly beside the other. The small pile of shoes almost looked ridiculous sitting next to his heavy boots and the suitcases they had abandoned by the wall.

For a moment he just watched her. All this time apart had apparently done nothing to dull the way his attention locked onto the smallest things she did.

She straightened just as he stepped closer, noticing him out of the corner of her eye while he bent down beside her.

Without a word he began unlacing his boots. The thick leather gave way easily under his fingers, and a second later he tugged them off and nudged them beside her sneakers. The quiet domesticity of it might have felt ordinary any other night.

Tonight it felt charged.

She opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but Leon didn’t give her the chance. He reached down and scooped her clean off the ground.

"Leon—!”

Her protest came out halfway between surprise and laughter as he lifted her easily, one arm behind her back and the other under her knees. She grabbed onto his shoulders out of instinct while he carried her across the room like she weighed nothing at all.

He didn’t answer her. Didn't even slow down.

The mattress dipped under her weight a second later when he dropped her onto the center of the bed. She bounced once, then propped herself up on her elbows, narrowing her eyes at him as he stood at the edge of the mattress.

Leon’s gaze drifted down to the loose cuff of her sweatpants and he reached forward, hooking a finger lightly around her ankle.

“Shower,” he said simply. “Now.”

Her brows lifted slightly as she leaned back on her hands, studying him with the kind of low amusement she always wore when she knew she had the upper hand.

“You’re quite demanding tonight.”

Here we go.

Leon didn't answer right away. Instead, he gave a single tug on her ankle, pulling her a few inches closer across the mattress before leaning forward over her.

The movement was deliberate and controlled, the space between them shrinking until he hovered just above her.

“Four. Months.” He said quietly.

The words carried more weight than he intended, and for a second he could feel the truth of them settle between them.

Four months of distance.

Missions.

Pretending a phone call was enough.

His hands slid beneath the hem of her sweatshirt, palms spreading across the warm skin of her stomach as his thumbs brushed lightly along her side.

“You have no idea what that does to a man," he said quietly as his hands began trailing up and down her sides, slowly inching lower. He followed the movement, lifting her shirt just enough to press light kisses along the warmth of her stomach.

“What this does to me.”

He drew one of her legs up so it wrapped loosely around his waist while his fingers nudged the waistband of her sweats down an inch, just enough to give him access to the sensitive hollow of her hip.

“You.”

Her hands found his hair then, gently brushing the strands away from his face so she could look at him. From where he now knelt between her legs, Leon tilted his head up, meeting her gaze.

She was mesmerizing like this, stretched out across the bed, her eyes dark with that same familiar hunger he remembered far too well. He could see the rise and fall of her chest quickening with each breath, could feel the way her leg tightened around him while she watched him. Her tongue pressed lightly against the inside of her cheek in that small way she did when she was trying to hold something back.

It’d been too long since he’d seen that look. Too long since he’d been close enough to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his hands.

And god, he had missed it.

In fact, the way she was looking at him suddenly gave him the perfect excuse to delay the shower. They’d get there eventually, but right now he was far more interested in indulging in the thing he’d missed most.

She didn’t protest. He pulled the sweats down farther before leaning back enough to slip each of her legs free from the fabric. He tossed them aside with the towel as he rose, his gaze following the length of her body until his hands caught the hem of her sweatshirt. Slowly he lifted it, wordlessly encouraging her to raise her arms so he could pull it off as well.

When she sat up, her hands found his chest, untucking his shirt and sliding beneath, her fingers trailing across the warm skin underneath. His hands moved to the back of her neck, guiding her to look up at him as he stood over her, taking in the sight of her for a moment longer than necessary. Just her like this alone made that same tightness from the airport tug at his cargo pants, begging for release.

Leon hadn't realized how long he’d been staring until she shifted slightly beneath him. The movement was small, barely noticeable, but it pulled his attention right back to her like it always did. The distance had done nothing to dull the way he noticed the smallest things—the rise and fall of her breathing, the way her fingers curled against the sheets, and the quiet look in her eyes when she watched him.

There had been nights during those months when the only thing that got him through another briefing or another flight was the thought of coming home to this. To her. Spread beneath him and perfect.

He’d be lying if he said there hadn't been nights he lingered over the pictures she sent him—laid out across their bed, dressed in the things he’d picked out for her, smiling at the camera like she knew exactly what she was doing to him. On long nights alone in hotel rooms, it was the only thing that could give him some kind of release. Like he needed now.

He leaned down then, capturing her lips in a slow, consuming kiss before letting her tug his shirt free the rest of the way up and over his head. Her hands explored the broad plane of his chest while the fabric joined the growing pile on the floor.

Leon bent again to kiss her, easing her back on the mattress as the moment deepened. His mouth moved from her lips to her jaw, drawing quiet sounds from her as her legs instinctively wrapped around him once more. He continued lower, pressing warm kisses along her neck and collarbone until her fingers slipped into his hair again.

“What happened to a shower?” she murmured.

His hands settled on her thighs, squeezing lightly as he held them against his sides.

“Can wait,” he muttered against her skin.

When he reached the edge of her underwear, there was no hesitation. He hooked his fingers lightly at either side and eased the fabric down her legs before tossing it aside.

When he settled between her again, he did so on his knees, pausing for a moment to take in the sight of her laid out before him. She gripped the sheets beneath her while he gently lifted her thighs, guiding them atop his shoulders.

His mouth moved slowly along the inside of her legs, unhurried, while one hand spread across the flat of her stomach and the other traced slow circles at her hip. The touch alone had her breath catching again, soft sounds and uneven pants escaping as she reacted to every teasing movement.

Leon knew exactly what she wanted, and the truth was he wanted it too. But after so long away from her, the warmth of her skin beneath his hands was something he wasn’t in any hurry to rush through. For now, he let himself linger in the movement, taking his time as if reminding both of them that she was finally there, within reach again.

Yet, she was impatient, it seemed, just as pent up even after the car as she tried to shift her hips closer to him.

Leon pulled back from her thigh for a moment just to watch her. Her head tipped back against the mattress, teeth catching her lower lip as if she was trying to keep something from slipping out. He could read the tension in her body easily enough.

The hand resting on her stomach drifted lower, his thumb sliding between her legs until it brushed over her sensitive spot.

The reaction was instant.

Her back arched slightly as she pushed her hips forward, trying to create movement, one hand lifting to her hair as a breath caught in her throat.

Still, it wasn't enough. It was slow and light.

Leon loved it.

He loved watching the way she reacted to him like this, every movement of his hand drawing something new from her. His thumb continued its slow circles while his mouth returned to her thigh, this time lingering closer to her center as he took his time.

“So pretty,” he murmured between kisses.

He wasn't just talking about the way she looked stretched across the bed, flushed and frustrated from the slow pace he’d set. No, he meant all of her. The growing warmth of her skin beneath his hands, the way she squirmed to his every touch, and the still glistening wetness left behind from their earlier encounter.

His hand shifted again, sliding lower as he drew a quiet sound from her that made him pause for a second longer than he meant to. For a moment he almost abandoned the patience he’d been holding onto, but instead he stayed where he was, letting the moment stretch for a little more.

Leon adjusted his hand, sliding two fingers inside her with a familiarity that came from knowing her too well. The reaction was perfection—her breath catching, the tension in her body changing in a way he knew by heart.

He rested his forehead briefly against her thigh, watching her as she lost herself in the feeling while he curled his fingers the way she loved. The quiet sounds she made only deepened the ache building low in him, the one that he thought he’d satisfied in the car.

When she said his name, soft but unmistakable, that was the moment his restraint finally gave way. He shifted again, removing his fingers before replacing them with his tongue.

The moment he did, he saw her head lift slightly, her mouth parting as she watched him. Satisfaction moved through him when he rolled his tongue against her, her head falling back again, hands finding his hair as she shifted against him.

She tasted exactly the way he remembered.

The way he’d missed.

The way he’d thought about it on too many long nights. And he loved it. Taking in every bit that he could as he savored her, feeling her building pleasure, losing his composure with every second.

If this were his last meal on death row, Leon figured he could die a happy man, especially with the way she moved against him now, the louder sounds she made urging him on.

He knew every way to bring her close, every way to hold her there when the moment came. Years together had taught him that much. But not yet.

Not now.

When she finally reached that familiar state where her thoughts scattered and her legs forgot any restraint, tightening around him without mercy, Leon pulled back at the last second. He rose from the bed and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth as he stood, catching his breath.

“What the fuck!”

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, frustration from before crashing back over her as he stole her climax right out from under her. The furrow in her brow and the flush across her face only seemed to amuse him more.

Before she could say anything else, Leon grabbed hold of her thighs and pulled her down the sheets in one strong motion until her hips met the solid line of him through his pants.

The surprised sound that left her mouth was cut short as he followed the movement, pressing her back into the mattress while her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

Then, without another word, he bent and lifted her again.

Her arms looped around his neck automatically as he carried her across the room, her quiet protests dissolving as he kissed her once before heading straight for the bathroom.

Before he sat her on the counter, Leon grabbed a towel and spread it across the marble, the surface far too cold to be comfortable otherwise. Only then did he lift her up and settle her there, pulling her legs around his waist.

He found her lips again immediately, kissing her as she leaned back slightly, exposing the line of her neck. His mouth followed the curve of it, pressing slow kisses there, occasionally catching the skin with his teeth. While he kept her distracted, his hands worked at the waistband of his pants, tugging them down and off before returning his attention to her.

His mouth moved lower along the length of her chest, taking her breast in his mouth while drawing breathless sounds from her that only encouraged him further. Each reaction pulled another from her, the tension between them building again after the moment he had interrupted earlier.

Then he noticed her glance over her shoulder.

The large mirror above the sinks reflected everything in the room, the angle catching both of them clearly. The realization seemed to settle over her all at once as she watched the reflection.

Leon saw the exact moment it clicked. The reason he’d brought her in here, and it wasn’t a one-sided idea anymore.

He pulled back just enough to look at her properly, one hand lifting to gently catch her jaw so she faced him again. His thumb brushed lightly along her lower lip while she looked at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Turn around,” he said quietly.

She hopped off the counter without protest, trailing a hand up his chest before turning around and leaning against the towel, her palms splayed across the cool marble.

Seeing her from this angle nearly stopped him in his tracks.

His hands moved slowly down the length of her spine as he bent forward, following the same path with his mouth. The movement drew a quiet reaction from her as she shifted slightly beneath his touch.

When his hands reached her hips, he pulled her back against him just enough that the tip of him slid through her folds, her breath hitching. The contact alone pulled a shuddered gasp from her as her head dipped forward, her hips instinctively pressing back against him while she buried her face in her arms, grinding against him.

He let her enjoy it for a moment, moving himself back and forth against her wetness, already building back that peak from before.

Leon slid one arm up along her spine until his fingers found her hair, gathering a small handful before tugging lightly. The motion lifted her head from the counter, bringing her gaze toward the mirror in front of them.

When he leaned forward, his voice dropped low beside her ear, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection as he spoke.

“I want you to watch as I make you come,” he murmured.

His breath lingered along the curve of her neck, the words sending a visible shiver through her as she pressed her head back against him. The effect it had on her was clear, her hips reacting before she could even think about it.

“Can you do that for me, baby?”

She tried to nod, but his hand still held her gently by the hair. Leon let out a quiet breath against her skin before pressing a soft kiss near her temple.

“Good girl.”

Only then did he release his hold, his hand sliding down to her shoulder as he placed another kiss there. Then he shifted his hips, guiding her into place against him as the tension between them finally began to break.

She pushed her hips back onto him at the same moment he pushed himself inside her, pulling a low sound from his chest as she tightened around him. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth when she lifted her gaze to the mirror, watching him through the glass.

She knew exactly what this did to him. This angle. The way she moved against him. The way she felt.

This was different than the car—better. He could feel every shift, every bit of her wrapped around him, molded perfectly to take every last inch he had to give.

Leon wasted no time. He set a pace that was steady and deliberate, one he knew she’d love. He could see it in the way her focus slipped, her eyes struggling to stay on the mirror as the tension built through her, hitting her deeper than before.

His hands tightened at her hips, fingers pressing into her skin as he pulled her back again and again. One of his hands slid upward, bracing at her shoulder before moving to her neck, guiding her head just enough to keep her eyes lifted.

He wanted her to see it.

To feel it.

To stay there with him.

Her mouth parted, breath uneven, soft sounds escaping her as she lost herself in the moment. Leon watched her carefully, taking in every reaction, every shift of her body as she ground her hips against him, matching his motions.

He could have stayed there all night.

But the tension in him was already starting to crest, the steady control slipping into something hungrier. The way she responded to him, the way she moved, the way she felt—he couldn't ignore it. Getting a taste of her on the bed was already enough to send him into a frenzy; he needed relief.

Leon moved his hand up her jaw, hooking two fingers into the side of her mouth so she could suck on them, getting them wet for him. Then, his hand slid back down, moving between her legs again, his touch careful as he worked her closer to the edge he’d pulled her away from before.

He was greedy to feel her tighten around him, wanted her there first.

Always did.

The moment his fingers found her, her reaction was immediate. She leaned forward slightly, pressing herself against the counter as she tried to meet him, to match his pace, to take more of him.

Leon followed, one arm wrapping across her middle to keep her steady as he stayed close behind her.

“There it is, baby," he murmured, his voice low against her skin.

With how wet she was, it was easy for his fingers to keep a smooth, soft motion right on the spot she loved, and he didn’t need to ask if she was close. He could feel it.

The tension in her body. The way she moved, spreading her legs apart further for him. The way her breathing changed as she moaned through every thrust.

Years together had taught him everything he needed to know.

“Come on, beautiful."

Her hand found his where it rested against her stomach, fingers tangling with his as she forced herself to look back at the mirror again. To stay present. To follow him through it.

She always did.

“I’m so- close–”

The words broke apart between thrusts and breaths as he adjusted slightly, his hand returning to her hip, untangling from hers as the moment built.

He slammed into her harder, relentlessly, hearing her moans echo off the bathroom walls beneath him. He took all that she could give and more, sending her spiraling and tightening against him.

“Leon–”

Her voice faltered as the tension finally tipped, her body reacting in a way he knew by heart. Leon slowed slightly, holding her there through it against him, guiding her through the wave as it moved through her.

The reaction alone was enough to pull him under with her.

He followed a moment later, his grip tightening as the last of that tension gave way, pulling her hips back flush against him when he gave a final thrust, emptying inside of her.

The relief that crashed over him was enough to pull the air from his lungs. Being able to finish inside her alone gave him a sort of high he couldn’t explain, but this time, this second wave of release he let go of was perfection as he felt her walls spasm, begging for him to stay inside of her.

Leon leaned forward, resting his forehead between her shoulder blades, one hand braced against the counter as he steadied himself. The room felt warmer now, the air thick with them.

She stayed where she was, breathing unevenly as she leaned forward against the marble, her weight settling through her arms.

Leon’s hand moved slowly across her back, absent and grounding, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his palms.

The mirror had fogged.

Not from the shower they never took, but from the heat that had settled into the room long before either of them had thought to turn the water on. The marble beneath his hand was still cool, a stark contrast to everything else, and for a moment Leon stayed exactly where he was, standing behind her, one hand resting back at her waist like he wasn’t quite ready to let go yet.

When he finally pulled himself out, he felt her knees wobble beneath her. Leon reached out immediately, steadying her at the hips as his hands moved in slow, soothing circles over the spots he knew he’d held a little too tightly.

“Woah there, Bambi.”

She groaned against the counter and shot him a look over her shoulder, clearly unimpressed.

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn't comment. Instead, he kept one hand on her, holding her steady while he reached farther down the counter with the other, grabbing a cloth. He moved carefully, taking his time as he cleaned her up while she stayed leaned forward, catching her breath.

When he was done, he set the cloth aside and slid both hands back to her hips, guiding her gently upright. She swayed for half a second before he pulled her back against his chest, one arm wrapping around her middle as he held her there. He leaned down to press a small kiss to the side of her head, watching the flush slowly fade from her cheeks.

Her breathing was slowing, the rise and fall of her shoulders evening out. Strands of damp hair clung to her skin in the reflection, soft and blurred through the thin layer of condensation on the glass. Leon’s gaze lingered, taking in the quiet aftermath of her, the way she looked when all that tension finally left her body.

He had missed this.

Not just the closeness. Not just the heat of her skin beneath his hands.

All of it.

The way she came undone. The way she trusted him enough to.

Leon reached for the towel he’d tossed aside earlier and shook it out before draping it loosely around her shoulders. The motion was automatic, practiced in the same quiet way everything else between them had become over the years. His hand didn’t leave her right away, fingers pressing lightly through the fabric as if grounding himself in the fact that she was actually here, that this wasn’t another memory he’d have to carry with him onto a plane or into a taxi.

“You good?” he asked, his voice lower now, softer than it has been all night.

She nodded, pulling the towel a little closer around herself as she let out a slow breath. “Yeah… i’m good.”

Leon studied her reflection again, watching the way her expression shifted—how the sharp edge of frustration and want had melted into something quieter and steady. Something that felt a hell of a lot like home.

His gaze dropped slightly, tracing the line of her shoulder where the towel had slipped just enough to expose warm skin beneath it. He leaned in without thinking, pressing a slow kiss there, lingering just long enough to feel her relax under it before he pulled back.

He should step away.

Give her space.

Instead, his hand slid from her shoulder down her arm, fingers brushing hers as if he needed that small point of contact to stay there a second longer. It was ridiculous, really. He had spent months in places where touch meant danger, where getting too close to anything or anyone could get you killed.

And now here he was, standing in a hotel bathroom in D.C., unable to take his hands off his wife.

“Still owe you that shower,” he muttered into her shoulder, the words quieter now, rough at the edges.

She huffed a soft laugh, glancing back at him, and the look she gave him was so familiar it almost knocked the breath from his chest.

“Pretty sure that was your idea, Mr. kennedy.”

Leon let out a breath that almost passed for a laugh, dragging a hand over the back of his neck before reaching for another towel. “Was,” he said, a small shake of his head following. “Plans changed.”

His gaze dropped to her, slower, in a way that made the space between them feel smaller again for a second.

“You make it difficult to stay on track.”

Her eyes lingered longer than usual as she smiled, taking him in the same way he’d been watching her all night. There was something softer in it now. Less teasing. More... something else.

Something he didn’t let himself think about too hard when he was gone.

Most of all, she looked tired. He stepped forward again before the silence stretched too far, his hand finding her lower back as naturally as breathing. “C’mon,” he said quietly, guiding her away from the counter. “Before you fall asleep in here.”

The suite felt different when they stepped back into it.

Quieter.

Like the world outside the windows had dulled just enough to give them this space.

Leon grabbed one of his shirts from his suitcases and handed it to her without a word, watching as she slipped it on, enveloping her body. His eyes watched her in that same absent way, not out of hunger this time, but something steadier. The kind of looking that came from knowing someone so well it didn’t feel like looking anymore. It felt like living.

She climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers back just enough before settling in, and Leon stood there for a second longer than necessary, just watching.

He couldn’t get over the fact that she was here. Right in front of him.

Real.

There were days he walked into things he didn't expect to walk out of. Days when the thought of coming home to her felt more like a hope than a certainty. He didn’t let himself dwell on it when he was out there, but it had a way of catching up to him in moments like this.

Leon exhaled slowly before crossing the room and climbing in beside her; the mattress dipped under his weight, and he didn't hesitate as he reached for her, pulling her into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Because it was.

She curled into his side immediately, already comfortable, already half-melted into the pillows and sheets. One of her hands settled against his chest while his fingers found their way back into her hair, moving slowly, absent, like he was grounding himself.

For a while, neither of them said anything.

Leon just watched her instead. The soft rise and fall of her breathing. The way her lashes rested against her cheeks. The faint marks along her skin that would fade by morning. He traced them lightly with his eyes, committing them to memory in that quiet, instinctive way he’d developed over the years of leaving and coming back.

He brushed his thumb along her arm before letting his hand settle against her waist, his gaze lingering on her for just a moment longer before he finally spoke.

“Maybe a bath instead?” he murmured.

She shifted slightly against him, tilting her head just enough to look up at him, a sleepy sort of curiosity in her expression.

Leon huffed a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“That tub’s big enough to be considered a security risk," he added. “Pretty sure I could lose you in it and never find you again.”

A soft laugh slipped from her, quiet and warm, and it settled somewhere deep in his chest.

“Maybe in thirty,” she mumbled, the words soft and slurred as she settled back against him.

Leon smiled, his hand moving slowly along her arm as he felt her relax fully into him. It didn’t take long before her breathing evened out again, her body going loose in his hold like she’d finally let herself rest.

He shifted just enough to pull the blanket up and over her before settling back into the pillows. His hand found its place at her side again, holding her there without thinking.

The bath could wait.

For now, this was enough.

[khonsus-heart]

Mrs. Kennedy

Leon Kennedy x wife!reader (7.5k words)

A/N: chat I have NEVER written smut before. But Leon fucking Kennedy has inspired me to my fullest. Will this be good? Who fucking knows I’m lowkey ABOUT TO HAVE THE SMUT HUMILIATION RITUAL IF YOU GUYS HATE THIS. This is porn with plot sorry not sorry that’s why it’s so long

Warnings: 18+ mdni, later era Leon, kissing, eventual smut, p in v, fem reader, unprotected sex, car sex, fingering, riding, long distance marriage, fluff, some angst (gotta be squinting) GUYS IVE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE IS THIS RIGHT.

Summary: after months away on classified missions, Leon Kennedy finally has a lapse in his schedule. The reunion was supposed to happen at the hotel. Instead… the backseat of his Porsche will have to do.

Part two HERE

The woman over the loudspeaker called for the next outgoing flight just as you gathered the last of your bags. Luckily for you, yours had landed only minutes ago, though the moment the wheels had touched the runway, it felt like your heart had started racing faster than the plane itself. By the time you scooped up your luggage and hurried through the terminal, nothing in the world could have stopped you from bolting straight for the exit.

Except airport security.

Which, unfortunately, they did.

The flight into Washington Dulles International Airport had been miserable. Turbulence had rattled the plane for nearly half the trip, leaving your stomach knotted somewhere between excitement and nausea, and the anticipation of seeing Leon again had only made the sensation worse. Months had passed since the last time you’d seen him in person, months since that very thorough goodbye where he had held you a little longer than usual before climbing into the waiting taxi that carried him off to another classified destination he couldn’t talk about.

He always checked in when he could. A quick message. A brief call when the signal allowed it. Sometimes you couldn’t tell if those calls were meant more to reassure you or himself, as if he needed the reminder that somewhere in the world there was still a place waiting for him that wasn’t full of weapons, blood, and orders barked through an earpiece. Every conversation helped, but the silence between them always crept back eventually, whispering the same quiet fear that never quite left you alone: that one day the next call wouldn’t be Leon at all.

That it would be someone else offering condolences instead.

The security guards, at least, were kind enough to wave you through once your bags had been cleared. One of them gave you a curious look as you hurried past with your rolling luggage rattling behind you, clearly wondering why someone needed that much baggage for a single trip.

You were staying a week.

A full week with Leon.

After months apart, restraint had never been part of the packing process. Your suitcase held enough clothes to fill every possible moment you imagined spending together, though in reality you knew he was technically still working. It just happened to be the first time in months that his schedule had fallen into a rare lull. No active mission. No new deployment orders. Just a standing requirement that he remain in Washington for the time being. When he’d told you they’d put him up at The Watergate Hotel, barely forty minutes from the airport, the news alone had been enough to send you searching for flights.

The hotel hadn’t even been the part that caught your attention most.

It had been the car.

The “sweet ride,” as Leon had casually called it over the phone, was exactly what you were searching for now as you pushed through the final sliding doors and stepped out into the cold night air. The wind that rushed across the concrete lot nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. It blew up beneath the hem of your dress, the fabric lifting dangerously high against your thighs as the wind caught it, forcing you to grab at it with one hand before it climbed any farther.

After hours sealed inside a metal tube packed with overheated passengers, the chill was shocking enough on its own, but the sudden exposure made your pulse jump for an entirely different reason.

You smoothed the dress back down quickly, muttering under your breath as another gust tugged at it again, silently hoping the entire airport hadn’t just gotten a free show. The outfit had seemed like a perfectly reasonable choice when you packed it, something light and easy for a warm reunion night, but standing here now in the open pickup lane, you couldn’t help wondering if maybe it had been a little too optimistic.

After a moment you wondered if you had come out the wrong exit when you didn’t catch sight of him waiting for you nearby. 

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you tapped Leon’s name and reread the last message he had sent.

Meet you at gate three.

You looked up at the glowing blue sign hanging overhead.

Gate four.

“Damn it.”

Dragging your luggage behind you, you hurried down the sidewalk, weaving around other travelers and trying not to look like someone who had completely lost her composure after four months without seeing the man she loved. As you walked, you quickly typed a reply.

Came out the wrong gate. Be there in a sec.

The message was barely sent before another gust of wind swept through the pickup lane, tossing your hair across your face as you rounded the corner toward gate three. The closer you got, the more your nerves twisted in your stomach. Missing him had become its own quiet ache over the months, one that grew sharper the closer you came to finally closing the distance.

You missed everything about him. Not just the small domestic moments that most people took for granted, like falling asleep beside him or finding him already in the kitchen making breakfast in the morning. You missed the way his hands moved over you with quiet reverence, the way he treated your body like something precious he had almost lost and couldn’t quite believe he had again. Every reunion felt like a soldier returning home from war, desperate to memorize every inch of the life he might have to leave again tomorrow.

The thought alone quickened your pace.

By the time you rounded the final corner and the sign for gate three came into view, your eyes immediately locked onto the sleek black Porsche idling in the pickup circle beneath the yellow streetlights.

Yet it wasn’t the car that stopped you in your tracks.

It was the man leaning against it.

Leon stood with his arms crossed over his chest, the dark navy fabric of his shirt stretched tight across his shoulders as though the material was doing its best to keep up with the muscle beneath it. The casual posture might have fooled anyone else into thinking he’d been standing there for only a moment, but you knew him too well. He had probably been watching the terminal doors for the last ten minutes.

The moment his eyes found you, he pushed himself away from the car.

That was all it took.

Your suitcases nearly tipped over as you abandoned them in your rush, covering the distance between you before he had time to say a word. Before you thought Leon could react, you were already in his arms, your hands sliding around the back of his neck as your lips crashed into his.

But he didn’t hesitate. 

He caught you easily, like he had expected the impact, his arms locking around your waist as he pulled you flush against him. The kiss deepened instantly, months of distance collapsing into a single desperate moment as his hands spread across the curve of your hips and drew you closer.

One of them lingered there for a moment longer, fingers brushing along the hem of your dress where the wind had betrayed you earlier. With a small tug he smoothed the fabric back down over your thighs, the gesture so quick and natural it felt almost instinctive before his hand settled firmly against you again.

He had to lean down slightly to meet you, the familiar warmth of him grounding the restless ache that had followed you across the entire country.

When you finally pulled back for air, Leon didn’t release you. One hand remained at your waist while the other slid higher along your back, holding you close as that slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.

His eyes roamed over you for a moment before settling on yours again, one brow lifting slightly.

“So,” he said, voice low with amusement. “Did you miss me, Mrs. Kennedy?”

You twisted the wedding ring around your finger as he said it, warmth already spreading its way lower before the words had even finished leaving his mouth.

“God, I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.”

The unpacking phase of your honeymoon had been the last time Leon had seen the house. At the time it hadn’t seemed strange. Just another goodbye before another trip, another stretch of days you assumed would pass quickly enough. You only wished someone had warned you what the first four months of marriage would actually look like when the man you married belonged just as much to the world as he did to you.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Your fingers slid up to the base of his neck, curling lightly against the warm skin there as he huffed out a quiet laugh. Leon dipped his head again, but this time he didn’t rush the moment. Instead, his mouth found the line of your jaw, slow kisses brushing across your skin while he spoke softly against you.

 “You planning on tackling me every time I pick you up,” he murmured, “or am I just lucky tonight?”

When he pulled back, your hand followed him instinctively, fingertips catching against the rough edge of his jaw. Your thumb traced along the week-old stubble there, the faint scratch of it unfamiliar beneath your touch. Leon always had a clean face, but you weren't against the scruff. 

“Four months,” you said quietly, eyes lingering on his face. “You are lucky that’s all I did.” 

Something in that answer softened him. You saw it immediately in his eyes. They drifted slowly across your features, studying you in a way that felt almost careful before continuing down the rest of you, taking their time like they had nowhere else to be.

Your gaze lingered on him in turn for a moment longer than necessary, taking in the lines of his face like you were committing them to memory all over again. Months apart had a way of doing that, making every reunion feel like rediscovering someone you never truly stopped missing.

A crooked smile returned to his mouth.

“You look different.”

He paused, like he was weighing the words.

“Good different.”

You smiled at the attempt to flatter you. Beneath everything he had become over the years—the hardened agent, the man who became quiet after so many weeks gone—there was still a piece of that rookie cop buried somewhere deep inside him. The one who had once been nervous taking you out for your first date, unsure of everything except the way he looked at you.

But the faint shadows beneath his eyes dulled the memory.

Your hands slid down the front of his chest, fingers spreading against the fabric of his shirt before your thumb began absentmindedly brushing back and forth along the seam near the center.

“Do you want me to be honest with you?”

Leon leaned back just enough to study you again, one brow lifting slightly in that familiar way.

“You look tired," you said. 

The smile he gave this time was different. Softer. Warmer. One hand came up, brushing a strand of wind-tossed hair away from your face with a gentleness that never quite left him no matter how many years passed.

“Hard not to be,” he murmured. “When you’re not here.”

You looked up at him through your brows. “That sounds suspiciously like you’re blaming me.” 

The same hand he had used to brush the hair from your face slid around to the back of your neck, his fingers settling there as he gently tugged you closer. For a moment it looked like he was going to kiss you again.

Instead, he stopped just short of your lips, hovering there, his breath warm against your mouth.

“I am.”

Your mouth dropped open in mock offense as you gave his chest a playful slap, pushing him back a step. Leon barely moved before his hand caught your wrist, his grip firm but easy as he pulled you right back toward him, closing the distance you’d tried to create.

His lips found yours again without question.

This time the kiss landed harder, like the teasing had snapped whatever restraint he’d been pretending to keep. You didn’t fight it, not for a second. Why would you? This was the exact thing you had missed most about him, the quiet confidence, the playful edge that always slipped through when the two of you were alone.

His hand slid back around you, drawing you close again as if the months apart had never happened. The moment your body settled against his again, the tension seemed to leave him all at once, like he had been holding it in since the moment you stepped off the plane.

You melted against him easily, your hands sliding up his chest again as he held you there, steady and warm, like he had no intention of letting you go anytime soon. Your body reacted differently than it had during that first kiss. When his thumb slid slowly to the hollow of your neck, pressing gently against the soft skin there and tilting your head, your mouth parted, letting him take exactly what he wanted.

The soft sound that rumbled low in Leon’s chest was enough to push you dangerously close to the edge. That, and the unmistakable way his grip on you had tightened, told you everything you needed to know about the storm building beneath his calm exterior. You could feel it in the way his body pressed closer, in the heat radiating from him like something barely contained. If the sliding terminal doors hadn’t suddenly opened behind you and a pair of passengers wandered out into the pickup lane, you were almost certain Leon would have taken you right there against the hood of his car without a second thought.

When he pulled back slightly, it wasn’t because he wanted to.

His attention flicked toward the newcomers as they passed, but his hand never left you. It stayed firm against your side, holding you in place like you might disappear the moment he let go. The brief interruption seemed to bring the reality of your surroundings crashing back over both of you at once.

You were standing in the middle of the airport pickup lane.

Very much in public.

Leon exhaled slowly through his nose as the couple moved past, his eyes tracking them for another second before he looked back at you again.

His hand tightened slightly at the back of your waist before he exhaled quietly through his nose again, the sound almost like he was steadying himself.

“We should go,” he muttered.

Then he pulled back.

The shift was immediate. The warmth in his eyes didn’t disappear, but something more controlled slid into place over it as he glanced briefly toward the terminal entrance behind you, clearly remembering where the two of you were standing as cars pulled in behind him.

Leon moved past you, grabbing the handles of your abandoned suitcases before you even thought about it, rolling them toward the Porsche with an efficiency that felt very practiced.

When he reached the passenger side, he stopped and opened the door for you, one hand resting against the top of it as he looked back at you.

His gaze lingered before he flicked his head toward the passenger seat, the motion quick and deliberate. The look in his eyes alone was enough to make you smile, quietly enjoying the way his posture had gone a little rigid as he fought the tension building slowly beneath the fabric of his dark cargo pants. 

As you stepped toward the open door, your smile widened just a little. Your hand slid across the front of his chest as you passed him, fingers brushing slowly over the firm line of muscle beneath his shirt.

Leon’s eyes dropped immediately to the movement, his jaw tightening slightly as he watched your hand trail away from him.

You didn’t miss it.

Still smiling, you gathered the hem of your dress and slipped into the passenger seat, settling into the soft leather while Leon remained where he stood beside the door. For a moment he didn’t move, one hand resting along the top of the frame as his gaze stayed fixed on you, following the motion of you adjusting in the seat

The door remained open for only a moment longer before Leon shut it with a solid click, the sound sealing you inside the quiet interior of the Porsche like the world outside had suddenly been cut off. Only the click of him fitting your suitcases into the trunk followed. 

By the time he rounded the car and climbed into the driver’s seat, the low hum of the engine filled the interior with a steady vibration. For a second he just sat there, one hand resting on the steering wheel as he glanced toward the terminal behind you in the mirror, checking the flow of cars pulling in and out of the pickup lane.

Then his eyes drifted back to you.

Something unreadable flickered across his expression before he shifted the car into gear, guiding the Porsche smoothly away from the curb and into the line of traffic leaving the airport.

Bright streetlights filtered past the windshield as Leon guided the car through the late-night streets, the glow rolling across the dashboard in slow intervals. The hotel was still a bit of a drive, but the space inside the car already felt thick with everything the two of you had been holding back for months. The moment his hand settled on your exposed thigh, the tension tightened even further, his thumb gliding slowly back and forth over the soft skin like he had every intention of reminding you he was there.

You had missed him enough that the simple weight of his hand sent a small shiver through you. Your own hand drifted upward along his arm, fingers tracing the strong line of muscle as you followed the path of the veins that climbed his forearm before disappearing beneath the cuff of his shirt.

You admired him.

Leon wore the same watch he always had, the dark metal band hugging his wrist, the face scratched just enough to show it had seen more than its share of years and hard use. The faint glow of the dashboard lights caught along the edge of it as his hand flexed against your leg, the movement drawing your eyes farther up his arm.

From there it was impossible not to notice the rest of him.

The dark navy shirt stretched clean across his shoulders, the sleeves pushed just high enough to expose the muscle in his forearms, while the black cargo pants he wore sat low against his hips as he shifted in the driver’s seat. Everything about him looked the same and different all at once, familiar enough to make your chest ache and changed just enough to remind you how long it had been.

You were staring. 

And Leon noticed.

One corner of his mouth lifted slightly as his eyes flicked briefly away from the road to you before returning forward again.

“You planning on staring at me all night,” he murmured, voice calm, “or should I be worried about the road?”

A quiet laugh slipped from you as your fingers drifted back down his arm again, tracing the same path absently like you couldn’t quite help yourself. “Sorry,” you said softly, the word carrying more warmth than apology. Your hand stayed there for another moment before you glanced toward him again, your voice gentler when you spoke next.

“I just… missed you.”

The words settled quietly between you, simple and honest in a way that made the car feel briefly calmer, the months apart shrinking down into the small space between the two seats. Leon didn’t answer immediately. The movement of his thumb against your thigh slowed slightly, the gesture softer now, like he was turning the words over in his mind.

“I’ve missed you too,” he said at last, his voice low.

A small pause followed, the kind that carried more weight than the words themselves.

“More than you know.”

His hand shifted as he spoke, fingers tightening slightly where they rested against your leg before sliding a little higher along your thigh as he kept his eyes on the road ahead. The streetlights continued to drift past the windshield while Washington’s late-night traffic rolled quietly around the Porsche, each one briefly illuminating the sharp line of his jaw as he drove, the faintest hint of that familiar crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Somewhere along the way, the tension softened just enough for conversation to take over. Leon's hand stayed where it was. 

You started asking questions almost without realizing it. About where he’d been the last few months, about the kind of work that had kept him away so long, about the places he’d seen and the things he’d been doing while you’d been counting the days back home. Leon answered every one of them the way he always did, giving you just enough to satisfy your curiosity without stepping too far into the classified edges of his job. He told you about long flights, unfamiliar cities, and the kind of work that kept him moving from one place to the next without much rest in between. It wasn’t the full story; you knew that much by now, but it was the part he could share—and the part he trusted you with.

In return you filled him in on everything he’d missed.

You told him about the house, about the little things that had piled up while he was gone. The leaky faucet you’d finally managed to fix after three attempts and a YouTube video that had made it look far easier than it actually was. The neighbor who’d started mowing his lawn at six in the morning every Saturday. The way the garden had somehow survived the summer heat despite your questionable watering schedule.

He listened to every word.

Now and then he asked questions of his own, small ones that showed he was paying attention even while keeping the car steady through traffic. You told him about your job, about the long days and the quiet evenings that followed, and about the empty side of the bed that never quite stopped feeling strange no matter how many nights passed.

25 minutes slipped by like that, conversation flowing easily in the space between you, the miles of distance that had separated you over the past months slowly dissolving with every exchanged word.

“I’ll be home soon.” His hand gave your thigh a firm squeeze before he passed a glance your way. “I promise.”

You knew he would. He always came home.

But some days the doubt still crept in anyway, quiet and persistent, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“You can’t promise that.”

Your hand curled around his arm as you said it, your gaze drifting toward the window as the Porsche rolled onto a bridge, the dark water below reflecting scattered lights from the city.

The change in Leon was immediate.

You felt it before you even looked at him.

When you finally glanced back, his grip on the steering wheel had tightened, the muscles in his forearm shifting beneath your fingers as his eyes remained fixed straight ahead on the road.

The hotel wasn’t far now.

And suddenly the car felt too quiet. Your tongue sat heavy in your mouth, like a stone you couldn’t swallow back down, the regret settling in almost as quickly as the words had escaped you.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“Don’t be.”

Leon exhaled slowly, the breath pushing a few stray silver strands of hair across his forehead before he brushed them back with a quick movement of his hand.

“You’re right.”

For a moment neither of you spoke. The low hum of the engine filled the space between you as the car carried the two of you across the bridge, the city lights stretching out ahead.

Then his hand returned to your leg.

This time when his fingers settled there, they slid a little higher again than before.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

For a moment you just watched him, the way the passing streetlights caught the lines of his face, the quiet determination that always seemed to sit just beneath the surface. It struck you then that every time he left, every mission that pulled him halfway across the world, it probably cost him more than he ever said out loud.

Being away hurt him too.

Leon wasn’t the kind of man who walked away from the things he believed in. You had known that long before the ring ever found your finger. The work, the danger, the endless string of places he could never fully talk about… it was part of him. Asking him to give it up would have been like asking him to stop breathing.

He couldn’t quit.

He wouldn’t.

And yet the thought that lingered in the back of your mind now was the same one that had been there the day he asked you to marry him.

If he knew the risks… if he knew how much of his life would always belong to that work…

Then why had he chosen this?

Why had he chosen you?

Your gaze drifted down to where his hand still rested against your thigh, the warmth of it steady and grounding as his thumb traced slow, absent circles against your skin. The motion wasn’t hurried anymore, but it wasn’t distant either. If anything, it felt more deliberate now, like something he was holding onto just as tightly as you were.

You reached for him again without thinking, your fingers sliding back along his arm, tracing the familiar lines of muscle beneath his sleeve until your hand settled there.

Stubborn.

That was the word for him.

The same stubbornness that kept him running toward danger again and again was the one that had brought him back to you every time.

And suddenly the tension in the car felt different.

Not sharp like it had been earlier.

Heavier.

Warmer.

Your thumb brushed slowly along his arm as you leaned back into the seat, your voice quieter when you spoke again.

“Good,” you murmured.

Leon glanced toward you briefly.

“Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The words lingered before you spoke again, softer this time. 

“I love you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched at that, but his hand tightened slightly where it rested against your leg, sliding this time inward a tad as the car continued through the quiet streets.

“Love you too.” 

It was simple, the way he always said it, but the quiet certainty in his voice made your chest tighten all the same. You could feel the shift in him too. The air inside the car felt charged now, like something had settled between you both that made the space feel smaller than before. His thumb continued its slow, torturous movements against your thigh, and the lingering heat from the airport kiss slipped back through your chest.

It was the shift your body needed to finally react.

The warmth spread lower, slowly at first, before building into something far harder to ignore. You found yourself wanting his hands higher, wanting them in places the cramped space of the car simply wouldn’t allow, and suddenly the hotel felt much farther away than it had five minutes ago.

Your fingers curled around his wrist, tighter this time, and you shifted slightly in your seat, your hips moving forward as if you were only trying to get comfortable.

Leon noticed.

His jaw flexed faintly as he glanced toward youl. The motion was subtle, but the quiet breath he let out afterward said enough.

“Keep doing that,” he muttered under his breath, “and we’re not making it to the hotel.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that spread across your face.

“Was that the plan?” you asked softly.

Leon didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he guided the Porsche through the next intersection, the low growl of the engine filling the quiet cabin as the car turned down a darker stretch of road lined with trees. The city lights thinned here, traffic nearly gone as the road curved alongside the river.

Only then did he glance toward you again, his eyes darker now.

“Starting to look that way.”

You noticed the exact moment he made the decision, like your small movements had been all he needed to finally give you exactly what you wanted.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just a slight shift of the wheel.

The Porsche rolled smoothly along the dark road, the river occasionally flashing between the trees as the headlights carved through the quiet stretch of pavement ahead. A second later the car slowed, Leon guiding it off the road onto a narrow pull-off overlooking the water, gravel crunching softly beneath the tires as he eased the Porsche into the empty space.

The engine idled for a moment, his jaw still set as one hand steadied the wheel. Then his other hand slid from your thigh so he could shift the car into park, right before they found their way back to your thigh.

Silence settled around the two of you.

For a brief moment it felt strangely familiar, like the very beginning again. Shared glances. The quiet tension of a nervous cop who hadn’t quite figured out how to admit he wanted you.

Except now the roles had shifted.

And suddenly you felt very small sitting beside the broad-shouldered government agent next to you, the same man who had crossed half the world more than once and still somehow looked at you like you were the thing he wanted most.

Your voice came out softer than you expected.

“Leon…”

He said nothing as he pulled your thighs apart, lifting your dress another inch.

Even though the thought of letting him do what he wanted out here sent sparks through your stomach, you still grew a little shy, your hand moving over his as he leaned across the center console toward you. When he did, he switched hands, replacing the warmth between your legs with his left one. 

“Leon—“ 

He leaned over to kiss you slowly, taking his time breathing you in, his hand inching its way toward your center and ghosting over the fabric of your panties. 

“Yes?” 

You shifted your hips again against him, nudging them forward slightly as you looked up at him through hooded eyes. 

He could already tell you were wet just by the way his fingers grazed over you. 

"I…" You didn't know what to say. 

This is exactly what you wanted, and he knew it. He knew you too well. Before any more thought could form, he kissed you again, looping his fingers around the fabric to slip underneath, feeling you entirely. 

You shifted again, the sensation pulling a soft moan from your lips into his mouth. 

“You wanna go?” he murmured between kisses. “Want me to stop?”

He dragged his finger in slow, slick motions up and down your sex without pushing further, causing a shaky breath to form. 

You shook your head, brushing your nose against his as you moved your hips against his hand. 

“Then take these off.” He stopped what he was doing, tugging at the fabric before pulling away and reaching for the car door. 

You did what he asked, shimmying them down your legs with little effort as he began to get out of the car. For a second the sudden absence of him left you blinking in confusion, the cool night air rushing in where his warmth had been only moments before. That wasn’t what you’d meant at all, and the thought that he might actually walk away made your stomach drop. 

You watched him round the front of the car, though, moving with purpose rather than distance. 

And then it clicked. 

He wasn't leaving. 

He was coming for you. 

Before you could even ask what he was doing, Leon yanked your door open. The night air was more prevalent as he offered you a hand, his expression unreadable but determined. 

“C’mon,” he said quietly. 

You slid your hand into his and stepped out, the gravel crunching softly beneath your feet. He didn’t let go right away. Instead, he glanced down, then suddenly bent over in front of you. 

The movement caught you off guard, a sudden flush of heat rising up your neck as your mind jumped to an entirely different conclusion. 

"What are you—"

But he only huffed a quiet laugh, reaching for the strap of your shoe. 

“Relax,” he muttered, slipping it off your foot before moving to the other one. “You’re not climbing back there in these.” 

For a second his breath hovered there, his hand sliding lightly up the length of your thigh before he pressed a quick kiss just above your knee. 

Then he straightened, your shoes dangling from his fingers, the same dangerous look settling in his eyes again. 

Without another word, he opened the back door. 

It took less than a minute for him to convince you into the backseat, where he pulled you on top of him, pushing your dress fully up over your hips. You claimed his mouth instantly, one hand braced against his chest while the other cupped his face. His head leaned back against the seat, and his hands enveloped your backside, pulling you down against him to match the needy movement of his hips.

You stole the air from each other, your mouths opening for one another as he claimed you like a starving man finally given what he wanted. When he left your lips to work at your neck, a pleading whimper slipped from you, overwhelmed with the feeling of his mouth against your skin. 

One of his hands left your hip to pull the straps of your dress down, exposing your chest to him. Without a second thought, he moved lower until he found your breast, biting and sucking at your skin. Your hand slid into his hair, and the moment his tongue brushed your sensitive peak, a wave of heat swept through your body, causing you to lean back for him as a soft moan sounded from you. 

Hearing you seemed to spur him on as his hand hiked up and under your dress completely. 

“Off.” He murmured against your chest, guiding it up your body as he spoke. He pulled away only long enough for you to raise your arms as he threw it to the side, leaving you bare on top of him. He found your lips again as he pushed his hips up, meeting your desperate movements to cause friction. His hands trailed over every inch of you before finally finding your hair, tugging your head back to trail his tongue across the length of your neck. 

You gasped at the movement, a shiver trailing across your skin as he slowed his pace, trailing his breath across your neck as he spoke. 

“So needy.”

A pathetic whine left your lips from the grueling tension building under you, feeling his length through his pants as you ground against him. 

"Leon—" you pleaded. 

His hand left your hair as he slipped a finger into your mouth, guiding your head down until your eyes met his.

"Yeah, baby?” 

You swirled your tongue around his finger before he slid a second in, eliciting a small sound from you as he let you lap at them, pulling your face closer. 

“Hmm?” He hummed, just inches from your mouth. “Use your words, baby.” 

He pulled his fingers out just enough to let you speak, his breath hot against your lips. "Please," you said. 

He smiled, leaning in to take your lower lip between his teeth as he reached between you, slowly gliding his now-wet fingers between your thighs. The second his touch found your entrance, a whimper slipped from your lips as you crashed your mouth against his again, gripping the back of the seat while lifting your hips to give him better leverage. 

He was so slow you thought the ache building inside you might actually kill you. But it wasn’t enough; his touches were feather-light, only scratching the surface of what you wanted.

The more he teased you, the more you shifted against him. Until he used his free hand to steady your hip. In the same motion he slipped his fingers deeper, curling them just enough to ease the burning tension for a moment. 

“Leon.” You breathed into his ear, frustration threading through your voice as you rolled your hips against him. 

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured into your ear, his fingers working achingly slow as he began to move his thumb right over your clit.

You could come undone like this if you wanted, but you hadn’t seen him in four months.

“I need you," you whispered, pressing your face against him. 

“You have me.” He breathed.

You bit at his earlobe, feeling every movement of his fingers as they worked you higher. You were a mess on top of him, exposed and desperate. You couldn’t take it anymore. 

“I need you to fuck me.” 

As soon as you said it, his free hand came up and gripped the space where your jaw and neck meet, pulling you just enough to meet his eyes. He was ravenous; it was like all this teasing was killing him just as much. 

He pulled his fingers free and brought them to his mouth, licking them clean before pulling you back in and claiming your lips again. He made sure you could taste it before pulling away. 

"Yes, ma’am.”

His hand left your neck, and he lifted your hips enough to work at his pants, freeing himself from the tightness of the fabric. 

You could feel your senses growing feral as he adjusted himself below you, gripping your hip with his free hand as he lined himself up. 

You dug your nails into his shoulder in anticipation as he claimed your mouth again, pushing you down onto him in one fluid motion. When you moaned into his kiss, you could feel his nails digging into your skin, holding you steady as you took him fully. 

It was everything and more, filling every empty need you’d carried for the last four months as you felt him stretch you completely. You didn’t move at first, only shifting your hips slightly as you adjusted to the feeling. 

“Fuck.” Leon let out a strangled moan into your mouth as you moved your hips forward, then back, little gasps melding with your kisses.

His patience ran thin as he helped you lift your hips right before pushing them back down, setting you into a toe-curling rhythm. 

You pulled back from his mouth, letting your head loll back as he set a devastatingly smooth pace, helping you work him. He took your movements to his advantage, his mouth finding your chest again as he sucked at your skin, leaving marks peppered across your breasts. 

For a moment it was pure perfection. Pure bliss. Everything you’d been waiting for, and now you were coming completely undone on top of him. 

Your breaths and moans melded together as he claimed every inch of you, marking your skin and fogging the windows of the car. The space was cramped, but he made the most of it, trailing one hand behind your back to support you as you leaned. Then his second hand found its way between your thighs, circling in just the right places to send you into a blissful coma. 

At this angle he hit you in just the right spot, each push filling you as much as you could take. You couldn’t tell up from down as he pulled moan after moan from your lips, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. 

He could tell, either by the way your eyes couldn’t focus or the way you began to tighten around him. He reacted instantly, pulling you closer as he kept his pace steady, the pressure of his grip mixing with the steady rhythm of his hips. 

“Come on, baby.”

You looked down at him, watching his eyes fill with lust as they found your lips, your mouth open in pure ecstasy. 

“I’ve got you.” 

He did. His grip on you was solid, hand splayed across your back as he supported you each time you rocked with him. 

“Fuck, Leon—“

“That’s it.”

You were so close. So close to coming undone. So close to letting it all go. You leaned forward, pressing your head against his. 

“Don’t stop—don't—"

He kissed your jaw, working his hand tirelessly as your climax was near its peak. He could feel how close you were, feel you clench around him right as it tipped. His hips were relentless as he took over, driving into you as you enjoyed every second. 

“That’s it, baby, let go.” 

A bright wave of ecstasy plowed through you, and you dug your nails into his back, clinging onto him now for dear life as you rode him through it, working his fingers in lazy circles while he dug his face into your neck. The moan you let out was mixed with curses, washing over you like cold water as you shuddered through the high. 

He must have been right behind you because his pace began to falter, his own moans and curses getting lost in your skin as he buried himself closer to you, staggered with each thrust. 

His hand left your center, coming up behind your back, and he pulled you flush to him, his movements finally ceasing. 

All you could do was breathe, collapsed against his chest as you buried your face into his neck. 

He stayed still, not pulling you off, your chests rising and falling in unison. His hands began moving slowly up and down your back before moving down to your thighs. He rubbed small circles in the places he held the hardest as he leaned his head back against the seat. 

"Fuck," he breathed. 

You let out a breathy laugh as you lifted your head, finally getting a good look at the disheveled mess he’d become. You reached up, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead, before kissing him there gently. 

When you pulled back, his mouth was still parted, panting, his eyes hooded as he searched your face. 

You pulled back another inch. “What?” 

He smiled, trailing his hands slowly back up your sides in soothing motions. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?” 

A heat flushed across your face as if you weren’t already married to this man, and you smiled giddily as your hand trailed across his stubble. 

He leaned forward to kiss your jaw again. “Especially like this.” 

He kissed your skin once more before pulling you back down against him, settling your head on his shoulder. 

You lay like this for some time, enjoying each other's warmth, basking in the backseat of his car until you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head, his hand gently settling into your hair. 

“I’m not goin anywhere.” 

You weren’t sure what he meant until you thought back to your earlier conversation. 

You can’t promise that. 

You lifted your head, looking at him as he stared out the windshield, absently stroking your hair. 

“I know,” you said, placing your hand on his chest. 

He looked at you then with a soft smile before kissing your forehead. 

“You got anything comfy in those suitcases?” 

You pulled back. "Yeah, why?" 

Then, you were rudely reminded that you were still sitting on him—still connected to him. When he lifted your hips from his lap, you gasped as reality washed back over you, and as he pulled out, the aftermath of your escapade dripped down your legs. 

“I’m not putting you back in that dress. Which suitcase? I’ll grab it.” 

He was so casual about it, helping you shift into the seat beside him while he tugged his pants back up and buttoned them before leaning over to give you a quick kiss. 

You just stared at him, star-struck. “Uh, well—” 

“Don’t think too hard. Whatever you pick is just gonna end up on my floor tonight anyway.” 

You raised your eyebrows at him, your lips parting slightly.

He seemed a little surprised too, though there was humor in it. “You think after four months I haven’t been dying for this exact fucking moment?” 

You blinked at him, a slow smile creeping across your face. 

“You know,” you said, leaning back against the seat, “most husbands wait at least five minutes before admitting that.” 

Leon's hand found your thigh again. “Do most husbands also fuck their wives in the back of a Porsche on the side of a greenway?” 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know,” you said. “But if they don’t, they're doing marriage wrong.” 

Leon laughed quietly under his breath before leaning over to press one more kiss to your temple. 

“That’s my girl.” He said, reaching for the door handle. “Now c’mon before I get distracted again, which suitcase?” 

You glanced at him as he stepped out of the car, shaking your head with a smile. 

Four months apart, and somehow he still had the power to make your heart race like it was the first. Night all over again. 

[khonsus-heart]

Currently thinking…. Brb while I write a bit

[khonsus-heart]

Currently thinking about if reader was the one Varang forced Tsaheylu with instead of Quaritch during the wind trader scene—

So later, when Quaritch goes to the Mangkwan clan and Varang reaches for her Kuru, he snaps with the, “touch her with that thing again and I’ll kill you.” Rent free.