Summary: The first time you sleep over at the manor, and the first time Bruce steps foot in your tiny one bed room apartment.
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The first night you stayed at Wayne Manor felt strangely intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. Not because of the mansion itself. If anything, the manor should’ve felt impersonal. Too large. Too polished. The kind of place where you were afraid to touch things because they probably cost more than your rent. Instead, it felt… lived in.
Warm.
There were books left open on side tables. Half-finished mugs of tea abandoned in sitting rooms. A sweater tossed over the back of a chair that was very obviously Dick’s because no human being besides Dick owned that many neon hoodies. And Bruce—
Bruce somehow made the entire massive place feel smaller just by existing in it. You were standing in the kitchen nursing a cup of tea when he walked in wearing the robe. You physically had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
Bruce paused immediately. “What?”
“Oh my god,” you breathed. His brow furrowed slightly. “That robe is pink.”
“It is not pink.”
“It’s satin.”
“It’s silk.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
Bruce looked down at himself with a tiny frown like he was reconsidering the robe for the first time in his life. The robe was absolutely pink. Not bright pink. But definitely some rich wine-colored silk situation that looked unbelievably soft and expensive and absurdly domestic on a man built like Bruce Wayne.
Your laughter finally slipped out. Bruce sighed the long-suffering sigh of a man who’d apparently dealt with this before. “Damian bought it.”
You gasped dramatically. “Damian picked this out?”
“He said it looked distinguished.”
“That child thinks you’re a divorced millionaire in a Nancy Meyers movie.”
Bruce’s mouth twitched. And there it was. That tiny almost-smile he tried so hard to suppress sometimes. You pointed at him immediately. “Don’t you do that.”
“Do what?”
“That little smile thing where you pretend you’re not smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“You literally are right now.”
Bruce took another sip of tea to hide it. Coward. You wandered closer, unable to help yourself, fingers brushing lightly against the silk sleeve of his robe.
Your eyes widened instantly. “Wait, this is actually insane.”
Bruce looked down at you quietly. “What?”
“It’s so soft.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I thought rich people fabric was all for aesthetics. This feels illegal.”
A quiet laugh escaped him then. Actual laughter. Low and warm and rough with sleep. It startled you enough that you looked up immediately. Bruce rarely laughed fully. Not like that. Usually it was restrained amusement. A quiet exhale through his nose. Tiny smiles hidden behind coffee mugs. But this?
This was softer. Sleepier. Real. And maybe because it was late, maybe because the kitchen lights were dim, maybe because Bruce looked so comfortable standing there in his ridiculous robe with messy hair and reading glasses halfway down his nose, you suddenly felt unbearably fond of him.
Your hand stayed resting lightly on his sleeve. Bruce glanced down at it before looking back at you. Neither of you moved for a second. Then Bruce quietly asked, “You tired?”
“A little.”
“You’ve been trying not to yawn for twenty minutes.”
“I was being polite.”
“You fell asleep during the documentary earlier.”
“In my defense, it was about architecture.”
“It was about sustainable city planning.”
You stared at him flatly. “Bruce, that’s worse.”
Another tiny smile. God, you loved making him smile. Bruce set his mug down before reaching out gently, fingers catching your wrist. Not forceful. Just guiding. He pulled you closer until your hip bumped lightly against his. And then, because apparently this terrifying man was secretly affectionate beyond belief in private, he simply wrapped both arms around you and tucked you against his chest.
Your brain short-circuited immediately. “…Oh.”
Bruce hummed softly above your head. “What?”
“You’re clingy.”
“I am not clingy.”
“You literally just bear-trapped me in a kitchen.”
“You walked into range.”
You laughed against his chest, and Bruce’s arms tightened slightly in response like the sound itself relaxed something in him. That was another thing you were learning. Bruce touched constantly when he loved someone. Not publicly. Never publicly.
But in private? A hand at your waist while passing behind you. Fingers brushing your knee during conversations. Pulling you absentmindedly against his side while reading. Small things. Quiet things. Like he was always reassuring himself you were still there.
You tilted your head back slightly to look at him. “You’re really different at home.”
Bruce’s expression softened almost immediately. “Is that bad?”
“No,” you said quietly. “I think it’s my favorite version of you.”
Something vulnerable flickered across his face so quickly most people probably would’ve missed it. But you didn’t. Bruce leaned down slightly, pressing a slow kiss against your forehead. Not rushed. Not heated. Just tender. The kind of kiss that felt like being cared for. “You should sleep,” he murmured softly.
“Mmm. Don’t wanna.”
“You said you were tired.”
“I am.”
“Then come to bed.”
The words were simple. Casual, even. But warmth still flooded your chest embarrassingly fast. Bruce must’ve noticed because the corner of his mouth lifted slightly before he brushed his thumb along your cheek. “C’mon.”
He took your hand then. And despite the size of Wayne Manor, despite the endless halls and towering ceilings and all the wealth surrounding you, walking through the quiet manor half-asleep with Bruce’s hand wrapped around yours somehow felt more like home than anything else.
The first time Bruce came to your apartment, you nearly canceled three separate times. Not because you didn’t want him there. That was the problem. You wanted him there too much. Which meant suddenly you were painfully aware of everything. The old radiator that hissed like it was possessed. The tiny kitchen with exactly three feet of counter space. The fact that your couch cushions sank weirdly in the middle.
You spent an embarrassing amount of time cleaning despite the apartment already being clean. Fluffing pillows. Lighting candles. Hiding the one chair that had become The Laundry Chair. And still, by the time Bruce knocked on the door, your stomach was in knots. Because Bruce lived in Wayne Manor.
Wayne fucking Manor.
Meanwhile your apartment building had a flickering hallway light and a neighbor who blasted music every Thursday night. You opened the door still wearing one sock because you’d lost the other one halfway through panic-cleaning. Bruce immediately noticed. “…You’re missing a sock.”
You stared at him. “Hello to you too.”
His mouth twitched slightly. And just like that, some of the tension eased. Bruce stood there dressed down in dark jeans and a black henley, one hand holding takeout bags from your favorite little noodle place across town. Not chauffeured-driver Bruce Wayne. Not billionaire gala Bruce Wayne. Just Bruce.
Your Bruce.
“You brought food?”
“You forgot dinner yesterday.”
“You remember my meals now?”
“You forget them often enough for it to qualify as a pattern.”
“Wow. Judgmental.”
Bruce leaned down slightly as he stepped inside, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead as he passed. “You’re nervous,” he murmured quietly.
Your eye twitched. “No I’m not.”
“You reorganized your bookshelf alphabetically.”
You froze. “…How did you know it wasn’t already like that?”
Bruce slowly looked at the stack of books beside the couch. “…Because those are still piled by color.”
You stared at him in horror. Bruce kissed the side of your head to hide his amusement. “You missed one,” he informed you gently.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Unfortunately, he sounded very sure about that. Bruce moved deeper into the apartment while you shut the door behind him, and you couldn’t stop watching him. Not because he looked out of place. But because he didn’t. That was somehow worse. Bruce Wayne should’ve looked ridiculous standing in your tiny kitchen setting takeout containers on the counter. Instead, he looked… comfortable. Like he’d already decided this place mattered because it mattered to you.
His gaze wandered quietly around the apartment, not critical, not assessing financially, just observing. The string lights around the windows. The tiny framed movie posters. The books overflowing from shelves because you’d run out of room months ago. The blanket draped over the couch. He noticed everything. Of course he did. “You have more mugs than dishes,” Bruce observed after a moment.
“That’s because mugs are important.”
“Hm.”
“That was judgment in rich person.”
“That was observation.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Same thing.”
Bruce’s smile deepened slightly. God. That smile was unfair in normal lighting, but in your apartment with the warm lamps on and rain tapping softly against the windows? Lethal. You turned away before he noticed the effect he was having on you. Too late. Bruce’s hand slid lightly against your waist as you passed him. Effortless. Automatic. Like touching you had already become instinct for him.
“What?” you muttered suspiciously.
“You’re pacing.”
“I am not.”
“You’ve walked in a circle around the kitchen three times.”
“…This kitchen is like four feet wide.”
Bruce hummed thoughtfully. “Still counts.”
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I’m being perceived.”
“You invited me over.”
“I regret allowing you to have observational skills.”
Bruce laughed quietly then. Actually laughed. Low and warm and fond. And suddenly your tiny apartment felt warmer for it. Bruce leaned back against your counter afterward, watching you plate noodles while soft jazz played faintly from your speaker. There was something deeply surreal about the image.
Bruce Wayne.
In your apartment.
Looking absurdly handsome while holding chopsticks.
You pointed at him suddenly. “You’re too relaxed.”
One brow lifted slightly. “Meaning?”
“You’re acting like you do this all the time.”
“I spend time at your apartment often.”
“You have been here for six minutes.”
“And yet.” You narrowed your eyes harder. Bruce only looked amused. Then, because apparently the universe enjoyed humiliating you, the shitty apartment radiator suddenly let out a loud metallic BANG. You flinched. Bruce didn’t even blink. “…Did it just do that naturally?” he asked calmly.
“Yes.”
“And you live like this willingly?”
“It builds character.”
“I think it builds tetanus.”
You laughed so suddenly you almost dropped your bowl. Bruce looked disproportionately pleased with himself for causing it. A little later, after dinner, you found Bruce sprawled across your couch like he belonged there. Which was insane. Truly insane. Because this was Bruce Wayne.
Billionaire CEO.
And he was currently wearing one of your fuzzy gray blankets over his lap with a green face mask spread across his face. You stood frozen in the hallway staring at him. Bruce glanced up from his phone. “…What?”
“You look ridiculous.”
“You put this on me.”
“I didn’t think you’d actually wear it!”
“You said it helps with dry skin.”
“You’re Bruce Wayne.”
“And?”
“And you look like a sleepy TikTok boyfriend.” Bruce looked entirely unashamed. Worse, he looked comfortable. Feet propped on your coffee table. One arm stretched along the back of the couch. The face mask somehow failing to make him look any less intimidating. You collapsed beside him laughing into your hands. “This is the weirdest moment of my life.”
Bruce looked over at you quietly then. Really looked at you. His expression softened in that private way he reserved only for the people he loved most. “I like it here,” he said softly.
Your laughter faded a little. “You do?”
Bruce nodded once. “It’s yours.”
The simplicity of it hit embarrassingly hard. Because he meant it. The apartment wasn’t impressive. It wasn’t glamorous. But Bruce looked around at your tiny living room like it was something precious because it belonged to you.
You shifted closer without thinking. Bruce immediately opened one arm for you on instinct alone. You curled against his side while rain tapped softly outside and the face mask on his stupidly handsome face cracked slightly when he smiled down at you. “You know,” you murmured, “if Gotham could see you right now, your reputation would be destroyed.”
Bruce kissed the top of your head lazily. “They’d survive.
they addressed the whole stupid schtick people do about super “girl” once and for all when they said supergirl isn’t because she’s a girl who is a hero, it’s because she is a hero for girls
it’s about a movie that says to be a girl is to be treated as an object, a commodity, goods, and also says that girlhood is something that is murdered not grown out of, something stolen not softly kissed farewell at a beautiful coming of age, it’s something that can be gone at the age of thirteen while someone’s full grown adult cousin can still be “young”, Supergirl is a film about the grief thats held inside and the anguish at losing that girl, at her being ripped away by the cruelties of reality and the desperate ways we cling to the preservation of others, to protecting those who come next, because it’s a generational story across planets, across histories, across cultures
i really really loved how the supergirl 2026 movie subverted the 'if you kill them ur no better then them' trope, i loved that the conflict was not that he doesnt deserve to die but rather that ruthye deserves to not have to kill him, that she is just a child and should not have to carry that burden along with everything she had already been through. i really loved how kara killing him recontextulizes her actions leading up to that moment, how it becomes clear that it was never her intention to let him live, but to keep ruthye safely away from the fight.
ive always disliked the anti revenge narrative because sometime people do just do things that are unforgivable and wont be stopped by the current system, but here kara never said ruthye should forgive him, but rather that ruthye deserved to live on and it is made far more impactfull by the fact that it is in the same fight where kara accepts the suit and truly becomes supergirl. superman is the shield, supergirl is the sword, supergirl fights so girls like ruthye dont have to.
AND ANOTHER THING about Supergirl is that I was really worried the movie would be all “take the high ground” about killing human traffickers and shit, but then at the end Kara just fucking stabs that guy TWICE and I realized the movies actually about cycles of abuse and protecting the innocent
There seem to be a lot of people who don’t understand why Lobo was in the movie, so I’m just gonna say it: Lobo is who Kara is at risk of becoming.
Kara is at a crossroads, and one road leads towards Clark and one leads to Lobo. Or rather, one path leads to embracing the responsibility of the life and powers her parents gave her, and the other is continuing to drink her life away, not caring about anything or anyone but her and hers.
Lobo is immensely powerful, and the last of his planet. Just like Kara. And when we meet him, he’s passed out drunk in a bar, oblivious and uncaring of violence and exploitation around him. Just like Kara was trying to be when she first met Ruthye.
Lobo is Kara’s future if she gives up on trying to be good. Drunkenly stumbling through the galaxy not helping anyone or anything and only caring about herself. Maybe not mindlessly cruel, but not kind or good or caring of the pain of the people around her.
It’s why they both get Ruthye’s spiel, it’s why Lobo’s whole introduction mirrors what Kara was just doing demanding to know about the Brigands, it’s why they’re both “the ditz from the bar”, it’s why they both have the gag with the space suit collar.
It’s why Lobo crops up each time Ruthye and Kara are faced with choices, sometimes acting as a devil on their shoulders, sometimes just a big lurking ominous warning of their bleak future if they make the wrong choices. It’s why Lobo says “let Ruthye have her revenge”, uncaring of how the violence might haunt Ruthye for the rest of her life. He’s a big constant reminder why Kara cannot let this thirteen year old girl be consumed by violence, and of who her parents didn’t want her to be.
Lobo is Kara’s foil and shadow.
I don’t think the movie always executed this well, it could have been done better, but I don’t think it was subtle either. The parallels between Kara and Lobo are right there in every scene and always highlight the choices Kara makes to be kind, and I do wish people would take the time to actually think about them before writing Lobo’s presence off.
i will not be accepting any james gunn or craig gillespie slander. ABSOLUTELY NONE. after watching gunn's rendition of superman and gillespie’s rendition of supergirl, i am absolutely sold on the DC universe. i haven't been into DC before now because of my special interest in marvel, but MAN. they both so perfectly captured the meaning of heroism and the humanity of these "inhuman", invincible superheroes, from clark's emotional crisis over his parents' mission for him to kara's consistent instability throughout the movies. NOT TO MENTION that there wasn't a single moment where clark or kara were sexualized. especially kara! she was such a real and authentic woman—the ENTIRE movie she was a hot mess emotionally, mentally, and physically. she had depth beyond just being "look!!! girlboss superhero slay!!!! women can be heroes too!!!!!". it wasn't ABOUT that. it wasn't about her gender or her appearance, it was about her decision to be the hero her parents called her to be in the face of personal tragedy. contrary to clark, who decided to be a hero in spite of his parents. idk anyways so i love james gunn and i wanna give him a fat forehead kiss. special shoutout to ana noguiera who wrote supergirl, she’s amazing. OH ALSO JASON MAMOA AS LOBO I AM HIS BIGGEST FAN, IN THIS ESSAY I WILL
You know what I loved about the new Supergirl movie? It's not about a world-ending, or universe-ending threat. It's a smaller scale, personal story that the viewer can get emotionally invested in. That's what I feel a lot of superhero movies have missed in the last 10 years. When every movie is about saving the planet, or the universe, it doesn't seem very high stakes anymore. I don't have any emotional investment in the end of the universe, but my dog dying? Fuck yeah, I'd do anything for my dog.
Nora, Ashley, and Luis follow Leon as he leads the group with tense shoulders and a pointed gun. The moon is high in the sky by this point, and the agent has to use a flashlight to illuminate their surroundings of trees and rocky grounds. The Spaniard, who is at the tail end of the group with his own pistol raised, is serving as a guide as he instructs the bunch where to go.
Many thoughts run through Nora’s head as damp leaves stick to her sneakers in her steps. She hasn't spoken a word to the agent, and she does not plan to unless strictly necessary. But she wonders how long she can keep up the façade that nothing happened. The others don't know what he did, they don't know who he really is, and she doesn't know if keeping quiet is the smart or stupid thing to do.
A sudden hacking cough shakes Ashley’s body, her hand coming up to her mouth where blood sputters onto her palm. The alarming sight attracts the attention of the others, with Luis frowning in a knowing look.
“You’re infected too…” he murmurs, then glances at Leon. “Between you and Sancho, we have our hands full, eh?”
Nora places a comforting hand on the young woman’s back as a look of panic flashes through the latter’s eyes. “Infected?” she squeaks in fear.
“Sí, with the plaga… The thing that the villagers have that makes them worship Saddler. We call them ganados—cattle.”
The term rings a bell in Leon’s mind, and he recalls it as one of the first things Nora said to him while he pointed a gun in her face. The memory makes something inside him twist.
He is fully aware she is not addressing him on purpose, which, in many ways he is grateful for. He can barely look her in the eye without feeling the intense urge to blow himself up in shame. The worst part is that Luis and Ashley seem to be completely unaware of what he’s done, which implies she has not exposed his rotting insides to the others just yet.
“I could get you medicine to help delay the symptoms, but that would mean going into Salazar’s castle…” the biologist continues, looking between the two blondes. “And I don't know about you, but I would rather not go back to the local crazyhouse.”
“So what then? I-I’ll just turn into one of them?” Ashley shudders at the horrifying thought.
“No, there is a solution… You see, at the early stage of infection, there's still a chance for a cure. I happen to have equipment made specifically to get rid of the parasite, and I’ve tested it on myself—it works.” Luis pulls at the collar of his leather jacket to reveal a faint scar on his chest.
“Wait, you too?” Leon frowns as he looks over the line marking the man’s tanned skin.
Before the Spaniard can respond, a rustling of leaves in the darkness prompts the group to go quiet and the agent to turn off his light. They crouch, trying to make out the source of the noise through the foliage, when a chilling voice resounds between the trees.
“I know you’re here, Luis. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.”
Nora feels her heart stop at the sound of Krauser’s rough timber, and she subconsciously reaches to grip Luis’s forearm. The latter barely notices, his own heart thundering in his chest, but it's the agent beside him that does see it, his eyes fixating on the movement for a split second before looking away.
“I’ll make a deal for you. If you hand me the girl and the amber, I won't make it too painful—call it a mercy kill... Which is more than what a rat like you deserves.”
The voice is growing closer, and Leon knows they will eventually be found, especially with the way Ashley is trembling so hard you can nearly hear her bones clatter. He steals another glance at Nora, taking note of her eyes still puffy from all the crying she has undoubtedly gone through, and then he makes a decision.
“The three of you go. I’ll deal with him.”
“I appreciate the heroics, amigo, but I really don’t think you should take on that guy alone,” Luis answers in a hushed whisper.
“I can talk to him, or stall him, at least. You, on the other hand, are his target. So get out of here, and keep them safe. Now.”
The stubbled man finally agrees with a click of his tongue, and after he’s handed spare ammunition from Leon, he eclipses between the bushes with Ashley and Nora right behind.
The latter does not let her mind dwell on the agent’s selfless act even for a second. She doesn't believe a thing about his supposed saint-like persona anymore. So even as they escape thanks to him, she chooses not to concern herself with Krauser finding him—or at least she tries not to.
Leon, watching the others leave and the threatening man approaching, turns his flashlight back on to attract the latter’s attention on him. Sure enough, only a few seconds pass until the ex-commander appears before him in a sudden jump. It’s supernatural the way he leaps into view with so much speed, and Leon quickly understands the man must have abnormal abilities.
“Long time no see, rookie,” Krauser chuckles darkly, his ice blue eyes piercing through Leon’s despite the LED’s flash that should be blinding him.
“Major.” The shorter blonde’s answer is clipped, his jaw locked tight with tension. “Can I ask what you're doing here?”
“You don't look too surprised to see me rise from the dead…,” the other smiles wickedly. “Were you expecting me?”
Leon does not answer. Instead, he lifts his hand with the intention to aim his gun, but his old mentor moves in a blink, and suddenly, there’s a knife to the agent’s throat.
“Too slow. Didn't I teach you better?” Krauser drawls with a head tilt. He then proceeds to twist the gun out of Leon’s grasp, and kicks him with a powerful foot to the chest that launches him a few feet into the air, just for his body to thud violently on the rocky ground with a roll.
Leon groans in pain as he rotates to his side, the air knocked out of his lungs from the force of the hit. Any suspicions he may have had about Krauser’s superpowered capabilities are confirmed—that was no normal kick.
“We’re just getting started, rookie.” The tall man approaches with slow, confident steps, twisting and turning the knife in his hand like he has all the time in the world. The flashlight that rolled onto the dirt from the attack illuminates his face in harsh shadows that accentuate his sharp features, and somehow, makes him look even more frightening.
With a labored grunt, Leon stands with a stagger, unsheathing his own knife. His chest hurts with every ragged breath he takes as he gets into position for a bloody fight.
“Are you being controlled by the cult?” he hisses between clenched teeth.
The appearance of the man before him is still something he has a hard time believing. He remembers the last time he saw him, two years prior, when they had just survived a gruesome mission where the major faced BOWs for the first time in his life.
Leon, having survived the horrors of Raccoon City, was already well versed in monster fighting, which put him at an advantage despite being a rookie. His skills came especially handy when the government abandoned them for dead, forcing them to face the nightmare alone.
In the end, the agent received news of Krauser’s death in an accident a few weeks after the mission, to his great chagrin. Now, however, the man standing in front of him seems to be nothing like the one that taught him everything.
“This has nothing to do with them. I am a free man, and I have made my own choice. Something you still don't seem to get, do you? You government puppet,” Krauser spits venomously. Then, he moves for a quick attack that Leon barely manages to parry, their blades clattering against each other like swords.
The younger man retaliates with a slash to the other’s arm that has him jerking back, which allows the agent to roundhouse kick him to the floor. Krauser lets out a pained sound when he falls to his knee, his red beret flying off his head.
“Is that what this is about? Some fucked-up illusion of free will?”
“No, no, no, rookie… This is not an illusion. This is true power.” The major slowly stands, a look of pure hatred on his scarred face. “What they did to us two years ago—killing our men without mercy. Don't tell me you forgot already?”
He accentuates his point with another attempt at a vicious attack, this time succeeding when he cuts the skin on the dark blonde’s forearm.
“Of course I didn't,” Leon grits out, parrying another strike that came right after the previous one. “But hurting innocents is… unforgivable.”
That last word tastes like acid on his tongue. He fully knows that if Krauser is damned, then so is he. The image of Nora bent over his lap flashes through his mind for a split second, when a kick to his knee jolts him out of his thoughts.
The burly man snickers at the sight of Leon staggering back. “You’re still a kid holding on to fantasies of what's right and wrong.” He shakes his head, his eyes glacial with vitriol. “They used devastating power on us, what's wrong with wanting the same for myself?”
“You’ve lost it completely, Krauser,” Leon scoffs in disappointment.
Their knives clash, their fists connect, and every move that one pulls is matched by the other. Like two sides of one coin, their quick motions mirror each other in a violent display of highly skilled combat, until a distant scream freezes Leon in place.
He knows that voice.
Krauser uses the opportunity to lacerate his thigh and knock him back with a kick of his boot—hard enough he hits his head against a tree trunk on impact.
“Looks like America’s sweetheart is still nearby. I hope you don't mind me cutting our date short, golden boy, but I have important affairs to attend to.”
Through his blurry vision and concussed brain, Leon sees the platinum blonde turn on his heels, and stride in the direction of who he believes to be Ashley. But the agent knows—that scream is one he couldn't forget if he wanted, its tune burned into his memory from mere hours ago.
Nora is in danger.
Clearly, Luis did not succeed in protecting her, and now everything is about to turn to shit when Krauser finds them—finds her.
Leon can't let that happen. Not when he’s the reason she’s here in the first place.
While making their way in the dark, weaving between trees and bushes, Nora, Ashley, and Luis try to be as silent as they can not to attract attention. In the background, they can hear pained grunts and blades colliding, indicating a gruesome fight between the ex-soldiers.
Suddenly, an involuntary shriek is ripped out of the tanned woman when the skin on her ankle is pierced by jagged teeth. When she looks down in shock, she finds her foot caught in a bear trap, the rusted metal digging wounds into her skin.
“¡Joder!” the Spaniard exclaims at the sight, rushing to her side in a skid.
Ashley covers her mouth in horror as the other woman continues to whimper in pain and panic. “Oh my God,” the blonde chokes out behind her palm.
But then, an eerie silence falls on the woods, and the trio quickly realizes the distant fight has stopped, which could only mean Krauser is now coming their way.
“¡Mierda, mierda, mierda!” Luis curses frantically as he attempts to pull at the metallic jaws, but that only results in Nora wailing again.
“J-Just leave it—you need to go!” she pleads in a trembling voice, tears already pooling at the rims of her almond eyes.
The brunette shakes his head frantically. “Are you crazy?! ¡No te abandonaré!”
Despite the intense dread and pain, Nora is able to make a quick calculation in her mind to figure out their chances of survival. She knows Krauser needs Ashley for the cult’s plan, as well as the infamous amber containing a powerful plaga specimen. And she knows the moment he sees Luis, he will be the first one to be murdered, without hesitation.
If the two leave, however, Krauser will find her and most likely kill her instead. But, if she's ‘lucky’ he might infect her so she joins the rest of the zealots in servitude of Saddler.
With the decision made in mind, she tugs at Luis’s jacket urgently. “You need to leave and take Ashley to your lab. Please just go!”
“W-wait, how do you know about my lab?” he frowns mid-panic, still refusing to move.
Finding herself in a desperate situation, she calls for a desperate measure, and slaps Luis square on the cheek as hard as she can.
“I’m telling you to fucking go!!”
He sucks in a sharp breath, completely taken aback by the stinging strike, but that finally manages to get him to cooperate as he begrudgingly stands.
“No te mueras,” he pleads, before finally pulling Ashley’s crying self along with him.
As she sits there, bleeding, trapped like an animal, all she finds herself hoping is that Krauser will make it quick. She's suffered enough for the day.
“What do we have here?” his chilling voice suddenly rasps from behind her. “You’re not who I was expecting.”
Nora doesn't answer, keeping her eyes on her injured leg, as if meeting his gaze would be fatal. She can hear him approach, until his combat boots plant themselves in front of her, his looming figure blocking out the moonlight.
“Krauser!” Leon’s voice calls out in the distance, prompting the big man to snicker.
“Aw, the government’s lap dog is being a hero again. Looks like he’s trying to save you from me. How noble.”
He crouches, examining her trembling form and where the metal teeth are keeping her in place, not caring for the agent running towards them in labored breaths.
Krauser knows Leon is too concussed to be a real threat at the moment. So, with a dark smile etched on his hardened face, he yanks open the trap abruptly with his bare hands, grinning wider when Nora makes a blood curdling scream.
Through her teary vision, she sees him throw away the metallic device with a clunk, then reach for her throat with a large hand that encircles her neck with ease. Her heart drops in her stomach at the first squeeze to her airways, her hands scrambling to pry his grip open to no avail.
Slowly but surely, dark spots cloud her sight, her body growing limp, and the last thing she hears is Leon’s frantic “don’t touch her!” before her consciousness fades to black.
Nora stirs from a tormented sleep at the sound of clinking chains. Her head pounds in throbbing beats, her muscles so exhausted she can't bring herself to move, and for a moment, she wonders if she is finally truly awake and back in the real world.
Until, a strained voice calls out to her.
“Nora, please wake up.”
She recognizes its owner immediately, the sound being associated with warmth and comfort in the deepest nooks of her brain despite his betrayal. The overwhelming wave of memories of everything that happened washes over her, and she feels a sudden urge to throw up.
At the sight of her face twisting in nausea, Leon sighs in relief, tugging at his chains once again to keep her awake.
“Thank God…” he whispers in gratitude.
His wrists behind his back are chafed raw from the metal restraints digging into his skin, and his legs are bound together in a way that forces him to stay kneeled. He can't believe this is the second time he’s been chained during this never-ending nightmare of a mission, but his own discomfort matters little to him at the moment. All his worry is focused on the young woman that was left laid on the bare floor.
Krauser had threatened to break her neck earlier the moment he realized Leon valued her life. Which then allowed him to order the agent to strip himself of his weapons and proceeded to knock him out as well. They were both unconscious as he brought them to a private island not far from the northern Spanish shore, where Osmund Saddler is headquartered and the plagas research is conducted. The fortified island being protected by a militia of gun-wielding ganado soldiers, makes escape a nearly insurmountable challenge.
Now, as Leon tugs repeatedly on the chain bolted to the wall, he can't help but steadily feel hope drain when he realizes just how fucked the situation is. Blood that was dried on his forehead slowly washes down with his beading sweat, and his heartbeat continues to be frantic no matter how much he tries to steady himself.
The one consolation in the midst of everything, are the secure bandages around Nora’s wounded ankle that Krauser seemingly treated. Though, it does not take a genius to figure out it’s because he wants her alive and healthy for ulterior use.
When she sits up slowly, rubbing her pounding head, she realizes that unlike the man before her, she wasn't chained. Perhaps Krauser knows how little of a threat she represents in comparison.
“Are you okay?” Leon asks softly, his worried eyes searching her face.
Naturally, she doesn’t respond, only pursing her lips in a way that has him lowering his gaze quickly. He doesn't dare speak again despite all the things he wishes he could say.
He wants to apologize profusely and beg for forgiveness. He wants to promise he will do everything to protect her and keep her safe. He wants to explain just how much his identity was broken by the reveal of the nature of his world. But he knows none of his excuses, apologies, or promises are worth saying out loud. Not when none of them can change the past.
From the corner of his eye, he can see her take in her surroundings in the empty concrete box of a room they're being kept in. There is nothing of use around—he checked already, so all he can do for now is pull at his chains in hopes of loosening them.
The heavy, metal door in the corner suddenly opens with a creak, and Krauser’s large body fills the frame as he enters and shuts the gate behind him. He looks between his two captives, a ghost of a smirk on his lips when he finds them both awake, before he moves to Nora.
“Krauser!” Leon exclaims in a mix of panic and anger as the man completely ignores him.
He snickers when the young woman backs away in fear, when he comes to an abrupt stop just to crouch in front of her. He reaches to graze his fingers on her bandaged leg in mock gentleness, before retreating his hand just as fast.
“You’re very lucky that old, rusty trap wasn't firm enough to break your little bones.”
Nora trembles in place, her teary eyes tracing his sharp features in fear, and she finds herself glancing at Leon in reprieve—just or a split second, before looking down at the floor.
“What's your name, little girl?”
She shudders at the nickname, and wishes nothing more than to spit at his feet, but knows better than to disobey.
“N-Nora…”
Krauser looks her up and down, assessing, before he gestures to the chained man with a head tilt.
“How do you two know each other?”
The odd question makes her pause. She’s not sure why he would be interested in that information, but then she remembers his canonical obsession with Leon. Hell, everyone in the fandom found it funny that he casually keeps a picture of the agent on his person. Though at this moment, his unhinged behavior is frightening and not in the least bit amusing anymore.
“We j-just met,” she whispers shakily.
Krauser tuts in disapproval and wraps a hand around her ankle, which causes her to startle and makes Leon pull so hard on the metal he can feel his wrists bleed.
“Don't fucking touch her!”
The large man continues ignoring him, keeping the threatening grasp on Nora’s wounded limb as he leans closer.
“Don't lie to me, you stupid girl. I can tell when I’m being lied to.”
Her mind races to figure out an answer that will satisfy his anger. She did not exactly lie, but it is true that she knew Leon for years before their meeting. However, the true reason for Krauser’s suspicions must be the agent’s intensely nervous behavior. Sure, he would be upset if any other innocent was in her place, but not to the extent he’s displaying.
When she doesn't answer quickly enough to his liking, the grip on her bandages tightens enough to make her hiss as he scoffs.
“He was crying like a pussy over you, so don't sell me that bullshit—”
“If you fucking hurt her, I swear to Christ—” Krauser is interrupted by Leon’s raging threat, every muscle in the latter’s body painfully tensed up.
The older man turns his head slowly to look at him past his broad shoulder, a sadistic twinkle in his eyes at the sight of the agitated agent.
“You seem a little too worked up, soldier. Are you scared I’ll do something she won't like?”
Leon seethes, his jaw clenching hard enough he might crack his teeth before he spits out, “I just didn't think you’d be interested since you play for the other team anyway.”
The large man’s eyes widen, and he suddenly releases his hold to stand, striding fast towards his old mentee with clenched fists and flaring nostrils. Nora watches the scene unfold in terror, holding her knees against her chest to make herself smaller in hopes they forget her presence.
“Say that again?” Krauser challenges when he comes to a halt in front of Leon.
“You heard me, Major.”
The title is spoken with so much sarcastic contempt, it makes the ex-commander’s left eye twitch.
“You think you're real smart, don't you, pretty boy?” His ice blues shoot like lasers, and he leans closer until he can whisper intimately in the other’s ear. “We’ll see how smart you’ll be when the parasite turns you into my personal little bitch.”
Leon’s breathing stutters at the suggestive implication, and his mind scrambles for a retort, when his hair is suddenly yanked back by Krauser’s firm grip.
“It’s not like you’ll be able to complain then. And neither will she,” he snorts in sadistic delight, tightening his hold in the blonde locks. “I think you two make a good pair. I can keep you in rotation—have a different kind of entertainment every night… Then we all can play for all the teams, huh, rookie? What do you say?”
Leon mutters something between clenched teeth that Krauser can't make out. When he pulls back to ask him to repeat himself, the agent responds by spitting crudely on his scarred face, saliva splattering on his hardened features.
Nora gasps behind her palm, knowing that the punishment for such a devious act is going to be severe. And sure enough, a violent crack of knuckles resounds loudly against Leon’s delicate features, the sound so harsh it makes the woman squeeze her eyes shut with a flinch.
With his body thudding hard onto his side from the force of the hit, he spits out blood onto the concrete, pain radiating through the entire left side of his face. But despite the agony, there's an unmistakable smile on his lips over successfully getting under his old mentor’s skin.
The latter stands over him with trembling fists, fury radiating off him with every rise and fall of his chest, and at the sight of Leon’s bloodied grin, he bends to grab him by the collar to deliver more pain.
Then, right as his fist rises threateningly, a loud boom fills the room in a deafening blast that breaks the eastern wall and shakes the ground brutally. Krauser staggers to the ground from the force, pieces of concrete and debris flying everywhere. A hot cloud of dust engulfs the three, and it's only after a moment that the loud noise settles to be replaced by their coughs.
With burning lungs, Nora slowly peers into the scene when she lowers her shielding arms. There, in the opening that has just been created by the fiery explosion, stands none other than the great Ada Wong, a grenade launcher resting on her shoulder.
Next chapter.
krauser you freaky sob 🥵 might end up writing a one shot with that premise... we shall see :)
The squelch of mud under Nora’s soles resounds with every step she takes beside Luis. They weave between tombstones as they approach the fenced church gates, the storm having finally subsided. Thankfully, no ganados are in sight around the graveyard, but they stay crouched nonetheless for extra measures of inconspicuousness.
During their walk through the shadows of the village, Luis found out about her half decent Spanish to his great delight, and that has resulted in him displaying an even more playful demeanor—if that was even possible.
“This is ridiculous,” the Spaniard grumbles in a hushed voice. “You know, the yanqui—Leon—is here to save her. Let him deal with this.”
Nora feels her gut twist at the mention of the agent, and she quickly dismisses the argument with a shake of her head. “He can't help her right now. Just trust me.”
The leather-wearing brunette pauses, turning to her with a raised brow. “Wait, what do you mean? I thought you didn't know him.”
“I don't. Not really,” she snaps abruptly, before softening her tone. “It’s just… I met him, and, uh, he’s not doing okay.”
“Do you mean…”
“No, not dead. Just probably some PTSD making him act weird... American soldiers, am I right?” She offers a weak attempt at humor.
Luis chuckles dryly in response as they reach the outer fence encircling the building, pushing open the gate and ushering her in.
“Tell me about it,” he sighs in frustration, “things were already bad, and then Saddler had to bring in ese enfermo de mierda Krauser. Some army colonel or major, yo qué coño sé.” He huffs, then gives her a sly grin. “Sorry for all the cursing, by the way.”
Nora waves a dismissive hand at his half-serious apology. She knows exactly what he’s talking about. Krauser is sick and a massive asshole, and as much as she liked his character as an interesting villain, she does not wish under any circumstance to be faced with his real life counterpart. Especially knowing he assassinates Luis in the game’s story, which is something she has avoided thinking about at all costs.
No. She won't let that happen. If she is saving Ashley, then she is certainly preventing Luis’s death.
“Nah, I completely agree. Ese puto loco.”
He laughs at her grumbled curse, nodding in approval with his charming smile, “I like your style.”
An animalistic growl echoes suddenly in the night air, and they turn their heads to find an infected wolf stalking from around the church’s corner. But what makes it even more egregious looking than its jagged teeth and foaming muzzle, are the fleshy tentacles that protrude from its back, writhing and squiggling as they prepare to lash.
“¡Mierda!” Luis curses, taking out his semi-automatic pistol and aiming at the ugly creature. “Stay behind me!”
Nora covers her ears before he even fires, already anticipating the loud gunshots that quickly follow. The cracking sound reverberates through her skull, and she startles no matter how much she tries to get used to it. She was never a fan of guns, but that fear has now reached exponential levels.
“Damn it, I’m running out!” the man curses when his bullets begin to deplete.
Fortunately, he’s a good shot, and right as the wolf attempts to strike with its tendrils, he fires at one and causes it to retreat with a shriek. He then shoots its grotesque mug repeatedly, until enough rounds pierce its brain and it staggers to the ground, howling pathetically.
“Por fin… I wasted all my bullets on that mutt,” Luis tsks, checking the remaining measly amount left in his pocket.
“This place is a fucking nightmare,” Nora whispers to no one but herself.
“You’re telling me… Come on, let's go rescue the princesa.”
She watches him make his way around the dog’s lifeless corpse, and follows behind with a faint smile. “Princesa Dulcinea?”
He whips around with twinkling eyes, pointing his finger at her like she just said the most genius thing he’s ever heard. “I was just about to say that!”
Chuckling at their synchronized thinking—or really Nora’s prior knowledge of his jokes before he can even utter them—they stop by the iron palisade gate. At its center, lies a circular indent for the medallion key needed to open it, which they naturally do not have.
However, on their way to the location, Nora gave the matter some thought, and remembered the way in through a window at the back of the chapel. It's the way from which Leon and Ashley escape when he comes to get her, and she wonders why he didn't just go in from there in the first place instead of running around searching for the insignia.
Video game logic, she concludes.
“You seem to know your way around.” Luis pulls her out of her thoughts when she begins to lead the way around the back.
“Um, I passed by here before,” she mutters out a half-lie. “I heard the poor girl cry through the walls, but couldn't find a way in.”
He eyes her curiously for a moment, before a warm smile etches on his stubbled face.
“You’re a brave one, you know?”
Her chest warms and she suddenly feels the urge to give him a hug. Here he is, the poor, gifted guy whose passion for biology led him down a hellish road. And now, he's trying to do the right thing by risking his life to save others, when he’s on the cult’s list of most wanted.
“You too,” she murmurs sincerely, feeling the first shred of hope illuminate her heart since she spawned in this godforsaken world.
“Sure…” Luis smirks with a small nod, but despite his best efforts to seem casual, she can tell the words affect him.
They walk through the arched passageway that leads into the rear yard of the house of worship. There is an elevated ledge built into the stone wall, with a terrace-like platform at the top. All they need to do is to get up there, and then from that point find a way through the window and into the church.
Except for one glaring difference.
“There's no ladder…”
Luis raises an eyebrow at Nora’s dejected comment, before laughing incredulously.
“Well they're not gonna make it that easy for us, are they, cariño?”
“Right,” she nods with a sigh. She then looks around, hoping to find something to use instead, when her eyes land on an old, discarded dresser leaning against the wall. “What about that closet over there?”
The Spaniard walks up to the piece of furniture, giving it a nudge to attempt to push it, but the heavy wood barely creaks. He huffs, then ushers for the woman to lend him a hand, which she doesn't hesitate to give.
With each on either side of the dresser, they hold onto its edges in preparation of dragging it to the desired spot.
“Let's hope I don't break my back. Because then you’ll have to carry me bridal style,” he winks and she rolls her eyes playfully in response.
When he gives her the signal, she pulls with all her muscle power while he pushes, the both of them straining as they move the cabinet at a snail’s pace.
“God, this is so fucking heavy,” she grunts in frustration.
Nora finds herself wondering how in the actual hell did the blonde agent push it out of the way during his escape with Ashley. But then, she remembers how freakishly strong he is, and discards any more thoughts spared on the mentally unwell man.
“Come on, just one more push,” Luis groans with a final bout of effort, before finally bringing the cabinet under the terrace’s ledge. “There, we did it!”
He holds up a hand for a high five, which Nora meets with a slap of her palm gleefully, smiling despite herself. Even as the dulling pain under the back pockets of her jeans throbs, the grinning man before her still manages to bring a smile on her face, and that has her wishing he was the one she fell on top of hours prior.
Opening the furniture’s doors, they use the shelves lining its inside like steps of a ladder, climbing onto the ledge of the open balcony. The view from above is dizzying, and the woman avoids looking down to not add to her already consuming nervousness.
“I’ll hoist you up,” Luis announces, gesturing to the glass-less window above them.
Nora ponders the idea. She's never had to do something like that in her life, and she is far from an athletic person. There is also a shameful insecurity concerning the plumpness of her figure. She is what is colloquially known as ‘midsize’—at least in her time, 2024. Right on the range of average, but by no means thin, and the idea of being carried by a rather scrawny looking man makes her uncomfortable. Especially after her freshman year college boyfriend tried, and it ended with her face on the floor and a scraped elbow. Never again.
“I’ve never done this before…” she murmurs nervously. “Can I be the one to give you a boost?”
The man’s eyebrows shoot up as he laughs, but then he notices her awkward expression and understands she must feel discomfort at the idea.
“Ah, what kind of gentleman would that make me?” He teases lightly in hopes to soothe her nerves. “But fine, I’ll be the pretty damsel, again. You and Ada would get along.”
Being unfamiliar with how exactly one offers a leg up, she listens to his instructions and crouches with one knee on the floor. He gives her a thumbs up, checking for her readiness, and once she nods, he places a boot on her propped up thigh and pushes. Her leg nearly gives out from the weight of an entire adult man, but she holds herself in place not to let him fall.
After a bit of effort, Luis is able to haul himself through the window, kicking at the wall for leverage and propelling himself inside the building’s attic. A second later, and he’s looking down at her from the opening.
“¿Estás bien?”
“SÍ.”
He grins at her response, then holds up a finger, “hold on, I think I see some rope.”
After a moment, thick cordage dangles down the wall, with the man looping it around his forearms for a secure grip.
“There. Just hold on tight and don't fall, eh?”
Nora tests the line with a tug before gripping it firmly. She then places a foot on the wall, and with a muttered prayer, begins to climb. Her arms and core muscles activate to the fullest, the rope pricks her palms with tiny fibrous needles, and her shoes are too slippery from mud, but she tries nonetheless. Luis does not give up on gripping the rope either, his own foot pushing on the brick wall for added strength.
“Ngh—you can do it,” he exclaims in a strained voice, though she isn't sure if he's cheering on her or on himself.
With a final exertion, she reaches the ledge and pulls herself inside with a tumble to the floor. The man chuckles, chest heaving from effort, before offering her an open palm.
“Eso, guapa.”
Nora huffs out a small laugh as she takes his hand. She’s not a fan of this whole pushing your body to its limits thing, and she hopes they can retrieve the president’s daughter and get the hell out without alerting the cult. Though, the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes the plan is naive wishful thinking.
“We can't waste time, we need to get to Ashley.”
Luis nods at her comment, and gestures for her to follow him as they make their way to an opening on the floor, then kicks down the folded ladder that leads into the church hallways. He descends first after checking if no one is around, before Nora joins him with a trembling breath.
The place is as eerie as in the game. The upper level they have landed on is a mezzanine-like walkway that overlooks the ground floor of the chapel. Downstairs, rows of pews face a pulpit, and behind the latter is an illuminated, multicolored glass with the Los Illuminados symbol at its center. The insignia looks almost like the shape of an insect with its jagged, pointy lines reminiscent of the plaga itself. Nora shudders at the thought of that thing nesting inside human beings.
They need to get to Ashley fast.
Passing by the tall windows filtering moonlight that paints the stone walls silver, they come to a stop before the ornate door behind which the girl is kept.
Luis reaches for the handle, when Nora suddenly stops him just to whisper a warning. “Um, you should probably stand back. Trust me.”
He raises a quizzical brow, but mutters a small ‘vale’ nonetheless as he pushes open the door, keeping a safe distance.
Sure enough, a blurry swing of a candelabra flies right where his head would have been if he had not been warned. A blonde young woman comes into view, the makeshift weapon in her grasp held tight as she prepares to make another attempt.
“Wait, Ashley!” Nora interjects with hands held up in surrender. “Stop! We’re not here to hurt you, I promise!”
“Who are you?! Stay away!” she answers frantically, her green eyes wide in panic.
“You weren't kidding…” the man huffs, but then holds his palms up too in a display of peace.
“I’m Nora, and this is Luis. We're here to get you out, but we need to move out of here fast.”
Ashley gives them a wary look, though the way she focuses on the young woman indicates that perhaps the presence of another girl helps comfort her.
“Do you work for my father?” she asks in a small voice, slowly lowering the heavy candleholder.
Nora and Luis look at each other in an almost comical manner, the latter holding in a snicker to not to seem rude, before he settles on shaking his head.
“Definitely not.”
“But we’ll still help if you’ll let us,” Nora adds with a kind smile.
“O-okay… I just wanna go home, please.”
Finally cooperating, the three of them make their way back down the hallway in the direction of the ladder. Their footsteps come to a halt, however, when someone drops from the attic onto the stone floor with a thud.
Luis grins, a flash of relief passing through his stubbled features. “Oye, there's the yanqui! I have to say, you have some perfect timing, hermano.”
The yankee in question, Leon, straightens up as he takes in the sight before him. He has spent the last few hours in a headspace that can only be described as bad, and after debating with himself for a long while, he finally decided to resume his mission and save Ashley.
But now, as he stands in front of the unexpected trio, his heart lurches in his chest when his eyes land on the young woman he had bent over his lap just hours prior.
“Nora.”
Her whispered name on his lips feels like a lightning strike in her soul, the murmur so soft it sounds like a prayer. And, if his wide, desperate blues are anything to go by, it feels like one for him too.
Before she can decide whether to hide behind Luis or confront him for his cruel actions, the gates downstairs open with a loud creak.
The four of them turn their attention to the lower level where they can see a broad figure enter the nave with slow steps. When the latter stands between the pews, the kaleidoscope of stained glass colors illuminate his scarred face.
Krauser.
“What the…” Leon mutters with scrunched brows at the sight of his old mentor—someone he believed to be dead for over two years.
The resuscitated man does not appear to have noticed them, but his sharp, icy eyes scope the perimeter nevertheless. The bright red beret on his platinum blonde head and the tactical clothes on his shredded frame are reminiscent of his soldier days. If nothing else, the man is certainly stuck in the past.
Nora, panicked and confused, does not understand why he is here. He’s not supposed to appear in the story until much later when… he kills Luis.
Oh, God, he must be here to do just that in search of that stupid amber.
Leon would be tempted to ask the major what he’s doing in this place, but the terrified look on the brunette's face is all the convincing he needs to understand the man is up to no good. He may have punished her for her knowledge before, but he knows better not to trust her at this point.
His training habits kick in, a surge of protectiveness in his chest as he crouches with a hiss, “get down.”
The other three follow when he leads the way to the ladder as silently as possible given the growing panic in the room. He can feel Ashley’s fear radiate off her when she moves beside Nora, subconsciously seeking companionship in her.
The agent’s gaze lands on the latter’s frog printed t-shirt. It's damp with rain water and stained with mud, and something about that bothers him more than he understands. She shouldn't be in this hellhole.
Before he can think it through, he gestures for her to climb the rungs first, forgoing his own mission’s prime objective of prioritizing his employer’s daughter.
Nora blinks at the sudden request, but she doesn't even address him when she turns to the blonde woman beside her.
“You go first, Ashley.”
At that, Leon stands back with a tight chest and a locked jaw. He knows not to argue.
Once the girl’s trembling form reaches the attic, Nora follows, and is then succeeded by Luis who gives the somber agent a wink on his way. They manage to all retreat into the roof space without too much noise, and hope Krauser is still oblivious to their presence as they reach the window.
“That's the man that k-kidnapped me,” Ashley whispers shakily.
Leon’s eyes widen at the revelation of his ex-commander’s involvement, and when Luis grabs the rope that was left dangling over the ledge, he interferes knowing the urgency of the situation.
“No time to waste. Jump.”
The Spaniard scoffs, and even in his nervous state chooses to argue, “it’s too high!”
“Fine. You stay here, then.” Leon doesn't spare him another word, glancing past his shoulder at the two women before dropping onto the terrace with a tuck and roll.
He stands up swiftly after, then looks up at Ashley who’s peering down at him in shock.
“Come on. I can catch you.”
“No way!”
Leon feels his nerves rise, but keeps his voice calm when he spreads his arms. “I’ve got you.”
The blonde girl looks back at the others standing beside her, and when they give her reassuring nods, she finally sits at the ledge, and lets herself plummet with a yelp.
As promised, the agent catches her with skill, and as he settles her down on the ground, her shoulders seem to relax at her safe touchdown.
“Shit, I think I just heard something,” Luis mutters to Nora standing beside him, turning his head in the direction of an echoing thud then back to her. “Your turn, quick.”
The woman feels her soul leave her body at the prospect of jumping in Leon’s arms. She begins to consider staying behind, but being undoubtedly annihilated by Jack Krauser does not sound like an easy way to go.
Still, she hesitates, finding it difficult to blindly trust the single person who has betrayed her the most just earlier in the day.
“I-I don’t—” she stammers.
From below, Leon’s face is contorted in a pathetically pleading expression. The idea of not being able to save her because she cannot trust him anymore suffocates him in dread.
“Please,” he begs, his supplicating eyes boring into her fearful ones.
When Luis squeezes her shoulder in encouragement, she realizes she is risking his safety just as much as her own by stalling. So, eventually, she takes the literal leap of faith, and lets herself drop through the cold, night air.
Mid-fall, with her hands clutched to her chest, she wonders for a fraction of a second if she had made a mistake. After all, if this is the monster that humiliated her with his belt, what stops him from letting her fall to the hard floor?
The image of him looming over her with a cold expression as blood seeps from her cracked skull flashes through mind, just to be instantly shattered by her safe landing in his arms.
His secure grip around her shoulders and the backs of her knees feels like it's burning through her clothes despite the nearly freezing temperatures. His breathing is uneven when he peers down at her face, but she refuses to meet his gaze, or even acknowledge him whatsoever despite being cradled in his embrace.
Leon holds her for a second longer than necessary, before placing her down and backing away to allow her ample space. He can feel his arms tingle from the ghost of her shape, and finds himself wishing he could feel her for a moment longer.
“My turn,” Luis announces from above, calling his attention.
Whatever hazy thoughts swimming in the agent’s mind are discarded at the idea of catching the Spaniard, and he shakes his head with a scoff.
“Yeah, no, screw that.”
“You wound me, Sancho,” the peering man answers with a smirk despite the serious situation. He then places his foot on the windowsill and jumps, landing with a pained grunt in a crouch. “Cabrón, that hurt.”
Leon doesn't wait for him to stand before leading the way again, motioning for the girls to climb down the tall dresser that stayed there from earlier.
As he begins to descend as well once Ashley and Nora are situated on the ground, he can't help but grumble at Luis with a confused frown.
“Who're you calling Sancho anyway?”
“Well, you're saving the princesa, aren't you? Or I guess, in this case, two princesas,” the stubbled-man snickers as he follows.
Next chapter.
i would love to hear what you guys think of leon's not to subtle reactions :')
Leon does not let himself think yet of what he has just done as he lays Nora on her side on the humid planks. His movements are methodical when he takes out two instant cold packs usually meant for blunt force trauma, then cracks them in half to activate their cooling effect. He places each one on the reddened, tingling skin of her bruised-up ass with care, as if he wasn't the cause of her pain in the first place. His fingers twitch as he pulls up her jeans to hold the pouches in place—and to hide the carnage he mercilessly inflicted.
Only when he knows there is nothing else to be done to help, does he sit by her outstretched feet, leaning his back against the fishing shack’s creaking wall. He stares somberly at the now darkened lake, the rising moon in the night sky casting a silver light on his tense features and her sleeping ones.
Leon knows he’s going to hell.
He has known that for a long time. From the moment he had to blow Marvin Branagh’s brains off, to the second he heard Robert Kendo end his and his daughter’s lives before the T-virus could.
He has paved his road to damnation every time he stood powerless while watching those around him suffer. Every time his mother screamed for help while he hid in the closet under the stairs. He always knew he was cursed.
But even for a damned individual like him, the demonic act he just performed is something beyond his moral standards. He has never done this before, at least not to unwilling participants, and certainly not using a belt. He reaches for the latter, grabbing it with a trembling hand off the floor to examine its weathered dents and creases as if to make sure he isn't in a nightmare—one out of his own doing.
How else was he supposed to turn out when his very own parents told him repeatedly they regretted his birth? Including his abused mother, who in turn abused him. Leon is fully aware he has been a burden since the day he was born. He continued to be one after their death when no family wanted him and he was dumped into the foster system. What better way to make a child feel unwanted than exactly that?
Still, nothing justifies brutalizing a poor soul simply because she dared tell him of an ugly truth. His psyche is not rested enough to know whether to fully believe her yet, but the words she spoke and the things she knew were mind-shattering.
A game. His whole life, a game.
Not only that, but he is meant to be some kind of protagonist, as if a man as broken as him could ever have a positive impact on the world.
The jokes write themselves if someone like him was ever hailed as a hero. He was never one and never will be. Each life he successfully saves is just a futile attempt at atoning for the ones he didn't. His hands are permanently stained red, and now they’re rotting from the indents of where he held her in place to hurt her.
As he lays his head back against the humid wall, he realizes he just walked the line of no return. No matter what happens, if he completes this mission or doesn't, if he saves Ashley or not, he will always be a man who harmed a woman. It seems he isn't so different from his father after all.
Hot tears brim past his eyes and fall silently down his cheeks, and for once in his life he does nothing to hold them back.
The minutes pass, and he feels more hollow with each one. In the pit of his stomach lies the feeling that never leaves him: guilt. A bone crushing shame that is now morphing into something far more overbearing as he sits with the sin he just committed. He’s not sure how he's supposed to live with this one.
Maybe Sherry will be okay without him. Maybe if this world is made up he can wake up in a better one, or better yet, not wake up at all. A single curl of an index, and he never has to deal with himself ever again.
As his hand twitches towards his handgun, he hears the rhythm of his victim’s breathing change. Slowly, her eyes flutter open as she takes in her surroundings. Her face is pressed to the moldy decking and her head hurts terribly, her mind confused. But it’s the heated flesh of her ass contrasting with cool plastic that brings her back to the present, the cold effect not enough to fully soothe the lingering sting of belt lashes.
When Nora’s consciousness catches up to her reality, her heart lurches in her chest at the memory of what happened, of what was done to her, and by whom.
She hears him shift, angling his body towards hers, and her muscles coil impossibly tight. He looks like he wants to say something but isn't sure what, his tear stained face sporting a pained frown as if he was the one who got whipped like an animal.
Before he can say or do anything, her fight or flight triggers to a success, and her foot connects with his face before she can calculate if it's even a good idea. On impact, his head hits the wall behind him with a crack, completely caught off guard by her violent kick despite his sharp training.
By the time he's holding his bleeding nose with an anguished groan, she’s already scrambling to her feet, her sneakers squeaking on the lumber planks beneath them.
“Fuck— Wait—” he curses, pushing himself up to go after her with a stagger.
He’s not even sure why. What could he possibly have to do or say that won't forsake him further? He should let her go and carry on with his gun-involving-plan. And yet, as she sprints away, his heavy steps thud right behind hers.
Nora’s body runs on pure instinct as she bolts to the still attached motorboat, a single loop of rope keeping it from floating away. She thanks the universe, or her mind, or whoever is responsible for this fucked up reality as she hops onto the boat with a thump. She nearly falls into the water before regaining her balance and immediately undoing the tethering line.
Leon races despite his dizzying concussion. But right as he reaches the edge, only two feet away from grabbing her, the motor roars when she pulls on the cord with all her frantic might.
“Nora, please—” He falls to his knees, resorting to pathetic begging as she begins to sail away.
With zero experience navigating a boat, she does her best to cruise as far away from the man she thought she knew and further into the dark lake.
His fingers grip the border of the dock, and he considers if he should dive after her. It wouldn't be the most unhinged thing he’s done, and maybe if he can just get to her, talk to her, then the gnawing feeling inside him won't consume him whole.
But then he looks up and meets her pretty brown eyes. There's fear in them, undoubtedly so, but anger too—betrayal. And when her face contorts into a furious scowl, he doesn't even fault her for cursing him. He welcomes it.
“Go fuck yourself, you fucking psycho!!” she shouts across the murky water, her scream rageful enough to be heard through the sound of the booming engine.
As her figure gets smaller and smaller the further she sails, Leon stays there, on his knees, face wet with tears and blood. Then, when she disappears into the entrance of a cave—one of many lining the lake—he feels an intense churning in his guts.
He attempts to stand, but the nausea only makes him double over further, dry heaving the more the memory of her screams echoes in his mind. Soon enough, he’s emptying what little contents he had in his stomach with a retch directly into the water that reflects his distorted image.
After a final gurgled cough, he wipes his mouth with the back of his shaking hand, and takes deep, shuddering breaths to steady himself. He then looks over to the cavernous opening she eclipsed into, his heart physically hurting from guilt and contrition.
“I’m so sorry…” he whispers to no one but the cold, quiet night.
The boat crashes loudly when it rams into the wet rock, nearly sending Nora into the water. She was attempting to dock it, but clearly has no idea what she's doing. So, with a whispered prayer, she jumps, landing on a small decaying pier with a tumble. Somehow, she makes t out of the water dry, and then stands upright with a grunt as she watches the motorboat float away before she can even try to tie it.
With labored breathing, her mind reels from the previous incredulous events that have made her day from bad, to worse, to outright horrendous. She doesn't even know what to think anymore, she just knows for certain she needs get the fuck out of here as soon as she can.
The sound of the plastic crinkling of the cold packs makes her pause mid-step, and she reaches under her pants to retrieve the small, palm sized pouches to examine them.
He hurt her and then had the audacity to try to soothe her. That is unprecedented levels of fucked up she doesn't even begin to try to understand. She knew Leon Kennedy suffered from trauma, it's a big part of his character lore, but this? This isn't a trauma-ridden man. This is a monster.
Nora’s eyes begin to collect tears again before she can stop them. She throws the ice bags into the lake with a splash, not caring one bit for littering. The shock still thrumming in her has her whole body trembling with each step she takes further into the cave, and soon enough she’s sobbing loudly.
The air is cold and heavy, her measly t-shirt not enough to keep her warm. And yet, the sting on her bruised flesh is piping hot, making her wince with every movement and only prompting her to cry harder.
Her mind is a blur and her heart is heavy, but her natural instincts that want to survive force her to steady herself. She sniffles and wipes her face with the hem of her top roughly, trying to focus her thoughts on what to do.
Luis. Luis is her only hope. She rakes her memory to try and remember what he was doing at this point in the story, then recalls he was meant to wait for Ada in the big villa near the windmill.
How she is supposed to get there unscathed, she isn't sure, but she has to try at the very least. Hopefully her knowledge of the area’s layout will help.
Once out of the caverns and back onto the village grounds, Nora weaves her way through the rocky hills of the thick forest, forgoing manmade paths. If she wants to survive, she can by no means be noticed. The moment she is seen, she is certain she is dead.
Passing through jagged trees and thorny bushes in the darkness, she jumps at every noise, every distant voice, and every rustle of leaves. At one point, she startles at her own shadow like a cartoon character, her heart jumping out of her chest. But even that doesn't compare to the paranoia of being bit by a snake amidst the dark foliage. She has never felt more grateful for her sneakers.
Advancing slowly, with many pauses needed just to calm her pounding pulse, she finally sees the windmill standing tall up ahead, and feels herself take a breath of relief.
The problem arises, however, when she realizes she needs to pass by the stone building to get onto the bridge leading to the villa. Meaning, she can no longer hide in the hills now.
Nora feels her vision blur with tears from the sheer fear of having to sneak around angry cultists. It feels like an insurmountable task that no amount of deep breathing is helping convince her she can do. She crouches into a ball—not that she was walking straight in the first place—and lets herself cry silently for the umpteenth time.
Why is this happening to her? Why is she being punished for simply loving a game a bit too much? Earlier, when she had the blonde man in her arms, it felt like heaven. Now, she wonders if this is her personal hell. To take something she thoroughly enjoyed and turn into a bloodcurdling reality.
There is no one around to answer her questions, so she stays there, waiting for help that will never come, crying every tear in her body. Until, rain droplets begin to splatter on the forest, the air turning colder and making her shiver.
She remembers now. The storm. The heavy downpour and the strong wind that is meant to occur and prevent radio communication. And sure enough, the rainfall is growing ponderous, and lightening cracks in the sky with booming thunder.
This is her chance. The harsh weather will help cover her noises and hopefully keep the villagers distracted while she passes through.
After a minute spent repeating ‘you can do this’ to herself in a hushed whisper, she starts to move out of the woods and towards the windmill.
As she approaches and begins hearing the crazed zealot’s voices, terror nearly paralyzes her but she perseveres, pushing through her fear. Because she knows for certain, if she wants to survive, she has no choice.
Nora’s crouched form hides behind a barn where cows and pigs are kept, their legs restless from the loud thunderstorm. She prays that unlike in the game, they don't ram into her unprovoked, because that would be the absolute most ridiculous way to die.
She can see the large open gate leading into the villa, and with uneven breaths, she walks slowly towards it while constantly looking around for any lurking infected. When she passes the opening and holds onto the wet, rope railing of the swaying bridge, she feels immense relief shoot through her.
She made it. She weaved through the dangerous area without so much as a scratch. Now, all she needs to do is cross the suspended walkway that is heavily swinging from the wind, and hopefully she won't topple over if she just walks steadily enough.
Her plan is quickly intercepted, however, when a loud roar resounding from behind her rocks her to her core. When she turns to look, she finds one of those dreadful things. A large man with a bull’s head replacing his human one—by which horrible experiment? She does not wish to know.
The good news is this one is not holding a sledgehammer half her size. The bad news is it does not need a sledgehammer to completely obliterate her.
With a choked scream, Nora’s legs move before her mind registers. She runs on the rocking bridge, the storm relentless, and she nearly feels her soul leave her body when the man—the thing—follows her and makes the suspension ropes sway harder.
The villa is right up ahead, all she needs to do is get there. The second she’s inside, she will be okay. She has to be.
Her tennis shoes keep slipping on the wooden slates and she nearly falls at least three times before making it on solid ground. The monster snarls again but she doesn't stop to look this time. She bolts straight for the large double gates of the looming house and pushes to open them, only to sob when she finds them bolted shut.
Her fists connect with the wood with all her might, terror seeping out of every pore of her body as she screams louder than she ever has in her life.
“HELP! OPEN THE DOOR! PLEASE! HELP!!”
The bull-headed abomination is closing on her and the door won’t budge, her already fleeting hope decaying even more.
She then hears a door swing open on the other side and footsteps—multiple footsteps—along with muffled voices she can barely pick on through the loud storm and her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
“Don't open that door, Luis,” a cold female voice orders.
“Someone needs help, I can't just listen to them die!”
“Luis, I swear to—”
The gate opens, revealing the man in question in all his glorious self. The ornate leather jacket on his slender frame is already wet from the pouring rain, his nape-skimming dark waves equally damp. Behind him, stands the woman Nora would recognize anywhere by her sheer presence and beauty—Ada.
“Get in!” the spaniard exclaims, and she doesn't need to be told twice before bolting inside. She hears him shut the door with force, then slide the large bolt lock in place right before the monster can reach in.
She feels tremors in every muscle of her body as her lungs finally exhale air she never realized she was holding. With a heaving chest, she looks up to find Ada’s disappointed face. The latter then clicks her tongue, before spinning around and heading back inside the villa.
“You’re gonna get us killed,” she mutters to Luis who huffs at her chastising.
“But look, we’re fine! Let’s keep a positive mindset, shall we?” He then turns to Nora with a grin. “Don’t worry about her, she doesn't mean it—”
His words are interrupted by the loud bang of the bull-man at the gate, making them both wince. Luis then gestures for the terrified woman to head inside and away from the noise.
“He can't do much about that door on his own. Let's just hope he doesn't call his friends, eh?” he smiles nervously.
Once inside the villa, he closes the door behind them, drowning out the loud ruckus into muffled noise. Ada, who is still looking displeased, crosses her arms and leans back against a dining table in the scarcely furnished home.
It’s only now that Nora takes a clearer look at her without the blurring rain. She looks stunning, as expected, but the stark difference between the game and the present is her outfit. Long gone is the red bodycon sweater dress and stiletto thigh high boots. Instead, she's sporting a black tactical shirt, pants, and combat boots, with a bulletproof vest and endless straps and pouches for gear storage. She’s shorter than expected, but God, does she somehow look even more badass than her digitalized counterpart.
“I’m Luis Serra, and this is…” he pauses, as if unsure if he should introduce her, but then ultimately decides to go for it. “...Ada. What's your name?”
“Nora,” the latter answers with wide eyes, still struggling to compute this new reality where video game characters simply exist. “Nora Sadik.”
“Well, señorita Nora, encantado,” he smirks with a head tilt.
Ada straightens with an exasperated sigh. “Alright, Romeo, are you gonna give me what I’m here for or not?”
The man holds his hands up in defense, putting on a disarming smile in hopes to charm the cold mercenary. “Hey, no need to get upset. I have exactly what you asked for.”
Nora watches as he retrieves a glass tube from his pocket, a golden rock suspended inside it that glimmers in the light of the lanterns on the wall. He shakes it in his hand with a taunting grin, and she recognizes the item immediately: it's the amber.
With a racing mind, she recalls how Luis held onto the resin stone in the game events in order to help Leon and Ashley first. He even made Ada fetch him ingredients needed for a medicine that helps delay the parasite’s effects.
Now, however, there was no Leon or Ashley in sight, which means the events of the night have already changed course from their intended path. It also means the president’s daughter is still being held captive with no savior in view.
Nora hates to even think of him, but she wonders if he has given up on the mission after what happened… After what he did.
Her attention is brought back to the two individuals before her when the woman is handed the amber, but her body instantly reacts to it with a wince. Ada retrieves her hand like she’s been burned, and dark veins pulse under her skin as she holds onto her head in pain.
Oh. Right. Ada is infected too.
“Mierda… It looks like the plaga is reacting to the amber. I told you you were infected, Ada. Just let me help you.”
“Help me how? Didn't you say I have to kill that thing to get rid of the parasite?” she mutters, the blood vessels on her sclera now black.
“You do. But I can get you medicine that can help delay the symptoms.” Luis pauses for a moment, then turns to observe Nora more carefully, the scientist in him on display. “You’re not infected.”
“I’m not,” she confirms with a headshake.
“So how did you get here?” the woman asks her in suspicion.
Nora begins to feel the same dread from before at being suspected like a criminal. Only this time she won’t make the same mistake. This world, whether imaginary or not, is dangerous, and she can't let her shock stricken brain start to blabber again about the game. So she comes up with a plausible lie right then and there, and hopes they believe her.
“I-I’m a tourist. I was, um, camping with a friend and— and we were kidnapped by these crazy people! I was able to get away when, uh, the church bell rang and they all left to go attend a sermon or something, I guess?”
“I will say, you may have picked the worst possible spot to camp,” Luis chuckles.
“Yeah, you're telling me…”
Ada, seemingly convinced with the answer as she knows she was the one that rang the bell to help Leon earlier, gives Nora a nod before turning her attention back to the smirking man.
“Keep the amber for now. I’ll go deal with that thing once and for all and come back for it.” She moves before Luis can answer, already making her way out through the back door. “Don't lose it.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it… So long as you get me that chopper ride,” he grumbles in response as he watches her leave.
Once they're left alone, with only the pitter patter of the rain against the windows to fill the silence, Nora feels exhaustion hit her like a truck, and she crouches down to sit on the bare floor.
“Hey, you okay?” the Spaniard asks softly.
“Yeah, I just… I need a minute.”
“Well, just know we can't stay for that long now that they know we’re here. They’ll come looking for us soon enough. But once Ada’s back, we can leave this hellhole—I’ll bargain for a spot for you on that helicopter, no worries.”
“Thank you, seriously,” she nods in relief, then rests her head on the wall, creating a wet puddle underneath her from her soaked clothes. She's shivering, both from cold and adrenaline, but right now she needs a moment to calm her heart enough not to have a heart attack.
“You know, at first I thought you were with the other American.”
Nora knows immediately who he’s talking about, but she feigns ignorance. “What American?”
“The one that has them all acting extra crazy. It would be a lot easier to move around this place if they weren't losing their marbles. But I guess he’s trying to sabotage their plan, and they won't have that.” Luis pauses for a moment, before leaning back against a wooden beam with crossed arms. “Disculpa, I know I’m not making sense.”
“Don't worry about it,” she shakes her head in dismissal, omitting the fact that he’s making perfect sense to her.
His words float around her mind as she thinks of the mission again—of Ashley specifically. If the agent has not made an attempt to save her now that things have gone differently, does that mean she is doomed? Or even worse yet, does it mean Los Illuminados will be able to execute their Machiavellian plan? Will they truly send the infected first daughter back to the U.S to begin their world domination?
It all sounds like too much, like she shouldn't know all of these things about the past and possible futures of this world. And yet, she does, and the information lays heavy on her conscience. Now, all she can think of is poor Ashley held captive in that church, alone and terrified, with no one coming to save her.
“Hey, Luis?”
The brunette lifts his head with a raised eyebrow, his coffee eyes meeting hers. “Hm?
“Do you think we could help out one more person?”
Next chapter.
oh leon you silly goober 🤥 i loooooove writing luis btw and it's making me wanna try out some luis x reader!
After a brutal hunt leaves everyone exhausted and bruised, Dean Winchester finally gets a rare quiet night in the bunker with the woman he loves. No monsters. No blood. No apocalypses waiting outside the door. Just soft music humming from an old record player, warm whiskey, lingering touches, and the kind of tenderness Dean usually hides behind jokes and smirks.
But somewhere between late-night teasing and slow dancing in the kitchen, the walls around his heart begin to crack open — revealing a softer, deeply devoted side of him that only she gets to see.
Warnings: pure FLUFF, little of smut
A/N: Let me know what you think 🫶
Requests are open 💞
The bunker was quiet for once.
Not eerie quiet.
Not something-is-about-to-kill-us quiet.
Just peaceful.
The kind of silence that settled warm and heavy into your bones after a long hunt.
You stood in the kitchen wearing one of Dean’s old flannels and fuzzy socks while coffee brewed behind you. Rain tapped softly against the bunker’s hidden exterior somewhere far above.
And from the other room came the unmistakable sound of classic rock crackling through vinyl.
A smile pulled at your lips instantly.
Of course.
A moment later, Dean Winchester appeared in the doorway carrying two beers.
“You’re making coffee at midnight?” he asked.
“You’re drinking beer at midnight.”
“Fair point.”
His green eyes drifted slowly over you.
Bare legs.
Oversized flannel.
Sleepy expression.
Dean looked completely distracted for a second.
Then he cleared his throat.
“You stole my shirt again.”
You wrapped both hands around your mug innocently. “Didn’t steal it. Borrowed it.”
“Pretty sure borrowing means giving it back eventually.”
“Nope. It’s mine now.”
Dean huffed out a laugh before walking closer.
The hunt had been rough.
A vampire nest outside Omaha.
Too many vamps.
Too little sleep.
Dean still had a healing cut above his eyebrow and bruises shadowing his knuckles.
But right now?
Standing in the soft yellow kitchen light with his hair messy and his Henley clinging to his shoulders…
He looked unfairly handsome.
Your gaze softened.
“You okay?”
Dean paused.
Because beneath all the sarcasm and charm, you knew him too well.
The exhaustion.
The nightmares.
The constant fear of losing people.
He shrugged one shoulder casually.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
Liar.
But a familiar one.
You stepped closer silently, setting your mug down before gently touching the bruise along his jaw.
Dean’s eyes lifted to yours instantly.
And just like that, all his defenses weakened.
His hands slid automatically to your waist.
“You know,” he murmured softly, “I had a whole heroic speech planned if we died tonight.”
You snorted. “Oh really?”
“Yeah.”
“What was it?”
Dean grinned faintly.
“Probably something devastatingly cool.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Definitely would’ve made you cry.”
“Sure, Winchester.”
His fingers tightened playfully against your hips.
Then the teasing faded.
His thumb brushed slowly along your side beneath the flannel.
“You scared me back there.”
The quiet honesty in his voice made your chest ache.
The vampire had nearly gotten you.
One second slower and—
You cupped his cheek gently.
“But I’m okay.”
Dean leaned into your touch immediately.
Always so touch-starved after hunts, even when he pretended otherwise.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “You are.”
The record changed songs in the other room.
Something slow.
Old.
Warm.
Dean glanced toward the sound before looking back at you.
Then unexpectedly—
“Dance with me.”
You blinked.
“What?”
He looked almost embarrassed now.
“Don’t make it weird.”
A laugh escaped you. “Dean Winchester asking me to dance in the bunker kitchen? I think I earned the right to make it weird.”
“Sweetheart, I fight monsters for a living. Let me have one romantic moment.”
Your smile softened instantly.
“Okay.”
Dean’s hand slid into yours.
The other settled carefully against your waist as he pulled you close.
And suddenly the kitchen felt smaller.
Warmer.
More intimate.
You swayed slowly together beneath dim lights and humming music while rain whispered somewhere overhead.
Dean rested his forehead lightly against yours.
No jokes.
No walls.
Just him.
“You know what my favorite part of the day is?” he asked quietly.
You smiled faintly. “Pie?”
“Besides pie.”
“That’s impossible.”
He chuckled softly against your hair.
“It’s this.”
Your heart stumbled.
“This?”
“Coming home to you.”
God.
Dean rarely said things like that aloud.
Which made it hit even harder when he did.
You tilted your head back just enough to kiss him softly.
And Dean melted instantly.
One hand slid up your spine, pulling you tighter against his chest while his mouth moved slowly against yours — warm, unhurried, loving.
Not desperate.
Not frantic.
Just deeply affectionate.
The kind of kiss that felt like safety.
When you smiled against his lips, Dean smiled too.
“Careful,” he murmured. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m not responsible for my actions.”
“Oh? And what actions are those?”
Dean’s eyes darkened slightly with playful heat.
“The kind involving me carrying you back to our room.”
Your cheeks warmed.
“Cocky.”
“You love it.”
Unfortunately…
You really did.
Dean kissed you again, softer this time, lingering long enough to make your knees weak.
Then his hands slipped beneath the oversized flannel at your waist, fingertips brushing warm skin gently.
You inhaled sharply.
Dean immediately paused.
“You okay?”
Always checking.
Always careful with you despite the bravado.
You nodded softly.
“Yeah.”
His expression softened with relief before he kissed the corner of your mouth.
Then your jaw.
Then slowly down your neck.
Heat curled low in your stomach instantly.
“Dean…”
“Mm?”
“You’re distracting me.”
“That’s kinda the goal.”
You laughed breathlessly as he backed you gently against the counter.
His hands never rushed.
Never grabbed.
Just explored carefully like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to love you this way.
Your fingers slid into his hair as he kissed you deeper, slower, smiling faintly when you tugged lightly.
“Pretty girl,” he murmured against your lips.
The nickname alone nearly ruined you.
Because Dean flirted constantly.
But this?
This was softer.
Real.
Intimate in a way that had nothing to do with sex.
He looked at you like you were something precious.
Something worth surviving for.
And honestly?
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
Dean rested his forehead against yours again, both of you slightly breathless now.
“We should probably sleep,” you whispered weakly.
“Probably.”
Neither of you moved.
A smile tugged at your lips. “Dean.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re still not moving.”
“Counterpoint,” he murmured, kissing you one last time, “you’re very comfortable.”
You laughed quietly against his mouth.
And somewhere deep in the bunker, old vinyl continued spinning while rain fell softly overhead and the world — for one fragile beautiful night — finally left the two of you alone.
The mark of Cain is destroying Dean Winchester from the inside out. Violent outbursts, sleepless nights, bloodstained knuckles — and the terrifying hunger growing beneath his skin become impossible to hide. You stay anyway. Because beneath the rage and brutality, Dean is still the man you love. But when a hunt spirals out of control and the Mark finally pushes him too far, you become the one person caught in the crossfire. Broken ribs, blood-soaked motel floors, and the horror on Dean’s face after realizing what he’s done force all of you to confront the truth: the Mark is turning Dean into something dangerous. Filled with devastating angst, emotional breakdowns, violent confrontations, desperate devotion, and a hard-won happy ending, this story explores how love survives even when darkness claws its way into the person holding your heart.
A/N: I didn’t know if I should release this, but I did and I don’t know what I think about it 🫣🫣🫣
Let me know what you think though! 🫶
Requests are open!
————————✨—————————
The first time Dean scared you, he didn’t even touch you.
It was the look in his eyes.
Cold.
Sharp.
Wrong.
You noticed it more after the Mark.
After Cain.
After Dean came back quieter and angrier, with bruised knuckles and a temper balanced on a razor’s edge.
Most days, he still tried.
Still kissed your forehead absentmindedly while passing through the bunker kitchen.
Still brought you coffee exactly how you liked it.
Still curled around you at night like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.
But then there were the bad days.
Days where he looked at monsters with something too close to excitement.
Days where violence lingered in his expression long after a hunt ended.
Days where you woke up and found him gone because he couldn’t sleep without hearing blood screaming in his veins.
And every single time you tried to talk about it, Dean shut down immediately.
“I’m fine.”
You’d started hating those words.
⸻
The hunt in Nebraska was supposed to be simple.
A vampire nest.
Quick kill.
Easy cleanup.
Instead, everything went to hell.
Dean tore through the nest with terrifying brutality while you and Sam tried desperately to keep up. Vampires dropped one after another beneath the First Blade, blood spraying across concrete walls.
Dean barely looked human anymore.
His movements were too violent.
Too fast.
One vampire tried to surrender.
Dean killed him anyway.
“Dean!” you shouted.
He ignored you completely.
Another vampire charged from the shadows toward Sam.
Dean intercepted instantly, slamming the blade through its chest so hard the body hit the wall behind it.
Then he kept stabbing.
Again.
Again.
Again.
“Dean!”
You grabbed his arm.
Big mistake.
Dean spun on pure instinct.
The back of his hand cracked across your face hard enough to send you stumbling sideways.
Pain exploded through your mouth.
You tasted blood instantly.
The room went silent.
Dean froze.
You touched your split lip shakily, staring at blood on your fingers.
And the look on Dean’s face…
Pure horror.
“Oh my God.”
The First Blade slipped from his hand and clattered onto the floor.
“Sweetheart—”
You stepped back automatically.
Not because you wanted to.
Because your body reacted before your brain could stop it.
That nearly destroyed him.
Dean looked like someone had driven a knife through his chest.
“I didn’t—” His voice cracked violently. “Baby, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” you whispered immediately, even though your lip was bleeding and your jaw throbbed.
Dean shook his head hard.
“No. No, it’s not.”
Sam moved carefully between the two of you, eyeing Dean warily.
And Dean noticed.
That hurt him too.
“You think I’d hurt her on purpose?” Dean snapped suddenly.
“Nobody said that,” Sam answered carefully.
“But you thought it.”
Dean’s breathing became uneven.
Wild.
The Mark on his arm looked darker somehow beneath the flickering warehouse lights.
Then Dean looked at the blood on your mouth again.
And all the anger vanished instantly.
Leaving only devastation.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.
He turned away abruptly.
Like he couldn’t stand looking at himself anymore.
⸻
The motel bathroom smelled like antiseptic and copper.
You sat on the counter while Sam handed you gauze for your lip.
Dean hadn’t come back inside yet.
“He didn’t mean it,” Sam said quietly.
You nodded weakly. “I know.”
But your voice shook anyway.
Sam noticed.
His expression darkened with worry.
“That thing is getting worse.”
You looked toward the closed motel door.
Toward the silence outside.
“I know.”
The truth sat heavily between you both.
Because this wasn’t just Dean anymore.
The Mark was eating him alive.
⸻
You found Dean sitting on the motel steps an hour later.
A bottle of whiskey rested beside him untouched.
That alone terrified you.
Dean usually drank when things got bad.
Now he just sat there staring at his hands like they belonged to someone else.
He heard you approach immediately.
“Don’t,” he said roughly without looking up.
Your chest tightened.
“Dean—”
“I said don’t.”
Pain flickered across your face before you could hide it.
Dean saw it instantly.
And immediately hated himself for causing it.
“Dammit,” he whispered brokenly, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m sorry.”
You sat beside him carefully anyway.
Dean shifted farther away instinctively.
Like he was afraid proximity alone might hurt you.
The distance hurt worse than the hit.
“You scared me,” you admitted softly.
Dean nodded once.
“I know.”
The honesty in his voice shattered you.
No denial.
No excuses.
Just guilt.
Raw and bleeding.
Dean finally looked at you then.
Your split lip.
The faint bruise already darkening your cheek.
Evidence of him.
And suddenly his breathing became shaky.
“I hit you.”
The words sounded physically painful coming out of his mouth.
Tears burned behind your eyes immediately.
“Dean—”
“I swore I’d never become someone who hurts you.” His voice cracked hard. “And now every time I close my eyes all I see is your face after I—”
He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Dean Winchester — stubborn, proud Dean — looked seconds away from falling apart completely.
You reached for him carefully.
Dean flinched.
Actually flinched away from your touch.
That nearly broke you.
“Don’t do that,” you whispered shakily.
Dean stared at the ground. “What if I lose control again?”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
His voice sharpened suddenly with panic.
“You didn’t see me in there. I couldn’t stop. I wanted to stop and I couldn’t—”
The confession hung heavily in the cold night air.
Dean looked terrified.
Not of monsters.
Of himself.
“I’m becoming something ugly,” he whispered.
You moved closer despite everything.
Dean’s eyes lifted to yours immediately.
“You are not ugly.”
“You should hate me.”
“I could never hate you.”
That finally shattered him.
Dean covered his face with both hands, shoulders trembling once beneath the weight of everything he’d been holding in.
You’d seen Dean angry.
You’d seen him grieving.
But seeing him broken was unbearable.
“I’m trying so hard,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m trying so damn hard to stay me.”
You wrapped your arms around him carefully.
For one horrible second, Dean stayed completely still.
Like he didn’t believe he deserved comfort anymore.
Then suddenly he clung to you desperately.
His face buried against your neck.
Hands shaking.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over against your skin. “I’m so sorry.”
You held him tighter.
And somewhere beneath the rage, the violence, the Mark clawing through his soul—
Your Dean was still there.
Still fighting to come back to you.
⸻
The breaking point came three weeks later.
Another hunt.
Another monster.
Another bloodbath.
Dean lost control completely this time.
By the time you reached him, the monster was already dead.
And Dean was still beating the body with blood-covered fists.
“Dean!”
He didn’t hear you.
Sam grabbed him first.
Dean threw him across the room without even thinking.
You froze.
Dean turned toward you slowly.
And for one horrifying moment…
His eyes looked black.
Not demon-black.
Worse.
Empty.
Predatory.
Your pulse stuttered painfully.
“Dean,” you whispered.
He stepped toward you.
Blood soaked his hands.
His breathing sounded inhuman.
Then his gaze dropped to the fading bruise still barely visible near your jaw.
The bruise he gave you.
Everything changed instantly.
Dean recoiled like he’d been burned alive.
“No.”
The word came out shattered.
He stumbled backward violently, staring at his own hands in horror.
“No no no—”
He grabbed the angel blade from the floor and shoved it into Sam’s hands.
“If I hurt her again,” Dean rasped desperately, “you kill me.”
“Dean—”
“I mean it!”
Silence crashed through the room.
Your heart broke completely at the look on his face.
Because Dean genuinely believed he was becoming a monster beyond saving.
You walked toward him slowly despite Sam’s protests.
Dean backed away immediately. “Don’t.”
But you kept going.
“Sweetheart—”
“You’re not alone in this.”
His eyes filled instantly.
“I hit you.”
“And you hated yourself for it.”
“That doesn’t erase it!”
“No,” you whispered tearfully. “But it means there’s still humanity in you.”
Dean looked wrecked.
Lost.
Terrified.
You cupped his bloodstained face carefully.
And this time—
Dean didn’t pull away.
“You’re still Dean Winchester,” you whispered. “And I’m not giving up on you.”
A tear finally slipped down his face.
Then another.
And Dean collapsed against you completely.
Holding you like you were the last piece of light he had left.
⸻
Months later, after the Mark was finally gone, Dean still woke from nightmares sometimes.
Still stared too long at your healed lip when he thought you weren’t looking.
Still carried guilt like a scar beneath his skin.
But healing came slowly.
Quietly.
In stolen kisses in the bunker kitchen.
In your fingers intertwined during long drives.
In the way Dean smiled again without forcing it.
And one night, while lying beside you in bed with your head resting over his heartbeat, Dean whispered softly into the darkness:
“Thank you for staying.”
You looked up at him sleepily. “Always.”
Dean kissed your forehead gently.
Carefully.
Like something precious.
And for the first time in a very long time—
The darkness inside him finally stopped screaming.
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