♡𝐿𝐸𝒳𝐼 ♡
*٭ 𓆣 ♡ 𓆣٭ *

you can call me honey if you want

[lexeevee]

My name is Lexi, I am 22 years old, female, anxiety ridden, a barely functional adult, a swiftie, and here are some links to the stuff I make!

Masterlist

Dividers

Your Birth Month, Your Supernatural Episode

My main interests: Supernatural, Resident Evil, Gravity Falls, Marvel, Stranger Things, Taylor Swift, Sabrina Carpenter

[deathbyapril]

Leon Kennedy, the hard and stern DSO gets a visit from his sunshine and rainbows wife who brings him lunch and many are surprised to see him soften.

☀️ Sunshine in the DSO

A Leon S. Kennedy x Wife!Reader fanfiction

Leon’s office was the kind of place where sound went to die — all steel edges, low voices, and the constant hum of fluorescent lights. Agents walked the halls with the same expression he wore: focused, sharp, carved from stone.

Which is why the entire floor practically short‑circuited when the elevator dinged and you stepped out.

Bright dress. Warm smile. A lunch bag decorated with little doodles you’d drawn on the train ride over. You were a burst of color in a grayscale world, and every agent you passed blinked like they’d just been hit with a flashbang of pure positivity.

“Hi!” you chirped at a pair of analysts. They stared. One waved back in slow motion.

You knocked lightly on Leon’s office door before pushing it open.

He didn’t look up at first — jaw tight, shoulders squared, posture perfect. The picture of discipline.

“Leon?” you said softly.

His head snapped up.

And just like that, the steel melted.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, voice dropping into that low, private register he never used around anyone else. He stood so fast his chair rolled back. “What are you doing here?”

You lifted the lunch bag. “You forgot this. Again.”

A few agents walking by slowed down, blatantly eavesdropping. They watched the transformation with open fascination — the way his eyes warmed, the way the hard line of his mouth softened into something almost boyish.

Leon crossed the room in three long strides, one hand coming to rest at your waist, the other brushing your cheek with a tenderness that made the hallway gossip grind to a halt.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” he murmured.

“I wanted to.” You rose on your toes to kiss his cheek. “Plus, you get cranky when you skip lunch.”

Behind you, someone choked on their coffee.

Leon shot the hallway a look so sharp it could’ve cut glass — but when he turned back to you, he was all warmth again. “I’m not cranky.”

“You’re absolutely cranky,” you teased, poking his chest.

He caught your hand, lacing your fingers together. “Only when you’re not around.”

The agents outside collectively lost their minds in silence.

He took the lunch bag from you, but not before pulling you in for a quick, secret kiss — the kind that said I missed you more than I’ll ever admit in public.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your forehead. “You always brighten this place up.”

You grinned. “Someone has to.”

And as you walked back toward the elevator, the entire office watched you go — then slowly turned to stare at Leon, who was still standing in his doorway, looking softer than any of them had ever seen him.

One brave agent muttered, “Sir… was that your wife?”

Leon didn’t even bother hiding the small, proud smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s my wife.”

And for the rest of the day, no one dared complain about his mood — because for once, Leon S. Kennedy wasn’t the storm.

He was the man who’d just been kissed by the sun.

[honorarybrit]

On the First Date?!

summary: Rookie Leon finally musters the courage to ask reader on a first date. He's not sure if it was the few margaritas she had or if she really enjoyed his company that much—one thing he is sure of, though, is that he ended up in her arms at the end of the night. tags: re2!Leon x fem!reader, smut, p in v, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), whiny leon, unprotected sex, just all around fun! don't be so serious! note: this is my first time publishing on tumblr, so go easy on me! i wanted to see more re2 leon since there's so much hype around re9.

Leon stands across from you outside of your apartment, hands in his jean pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Goosebumps from the chilly night air rise on your bare arms.

“I had a really, really good time, Leon.” He grins, rubbing the back of his neck, bicep flexing through his button-up shirt.

“Me too.”

“Look, this sounds crazy—but do you want to come up? Have a nightcap or something?”

Leon’s brain goes blank. He remembered how it felt to have a crush on you—to stare at you from across the police department, watching you as you filed papers or answered phone calls. He remembers how it felt to walk up to your desk, heart pounding, to ask you to dinner. He remembers the roar in his ears when you actually said yes.

After a moment of silence—you feel yourself getting a bit worried—he agrees.

~*~

You two stand in the dim light of your kitchen, chatting over boxed wine. You giggle as you pour it from the box into a regular glass.

“Sorry, I’m a bit low rent.”

“No, no—this is great.” Leon stares intently at you, analyzing your features in this soft lighting. Somehow, you’ve become even more beautiful; his eyes trace the curve of your nose, the arch of your eyebrow, the small upturn of your lips. God, he can’t get enough of you.

Your fingers touch as you hand him the over-filled glass—you let the moment linger longer than necessary, enjoying the small bit of contact.  

Conversation is light and easy, just as it had been for the duration of the night. Eventually you make it from the kitchen to the couch, where you sit facing each other, leaning on the seatback.

“Leon, you’re so funny.”

“I think you’re just a cheap laugh.”

“Hey!”

He gives a big smile before reaching out to grab your hand.

“You know, I’ve been waiting a while for this moment.”

“Have you now?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re gorgeous. I thought that the first time I saw you.” You place your other hand over his, savoring how his warm skin feels against yours.

“Don’t think I was oblivious to your good looks, either.”

“Jeez, that means a lot coming from you.”

You’re quieted by the cuteness of his answer. You take the pause to look deeply in his eyes.

“Um… can I kiss you?” He asks, retracting his hand from yours. Without answering, you lean forward to connect your lips. It’s soft at first, gentle, just barely touching.

You realize quickly that you want a lot more than just a peck.

You scoot closer to him on the couch, deepening the kiss. One hand flies to his hair while the other begins to rub his upper thigh. He’s clearly caught off guard, a sound between a grunt and whine escaping his sealed lips.

You slide your tongue along the slit of his lips, and he eagerly separates them; your tongue enters his mouth as your hand slides higher, higher until your fingers just meet his waistband.

He groans again as your hand reaches under the hem of his shirt, your fingertips touching his bare stomach. It’s so firm—every part of him is irresistibly toned muscle.

You tug on his hair with your other hand, releasing another strained groan. The noise excites you. You want to know what other noises he’ll make, what else you’ll have to do to him to elicit them.

Your lips continue in an easy rhythm, but it’s still not enough for you. You need more.

The hand that was exploring his stomach snakes back down, gripping the bulge that had appeared in his jeans. At that, Leon pulls back. A line of spit connects your lips.

“God, um, do you really want to do that?”

You smile.

“I wouldn’t have touched you if I didn’t want to feel you.”

His face is a beet red. You lean back in, and he meets your lips halfway. You continue to stroke him through his pants before breaking the kiss to leave little pecks along his cheek, up to his ear. His breath has become raggedy.

You whisper:

“I think I’d like to suck you off, Leon.”

“Oh, man.” He reaches out to grab your waist, stroking the curve of it. You push back, moving from your place on the couch to kneel on the ground between his legs. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he mutters.

You begin to work on his belt buckle while he strokes your hair. He lifts his hips up so you can pull down his jeans and boxers. His cock springs out, tip red and leaking. From this angle, it looks massive; you doubt that you’ll be able to take it fully in your mouth.

First, you kiss the tip. You can taste the precum, salty and warm—it leaves your head spinning, a dull pulse appearing between your legs. The moment feels unreal; you’re giving the rookie Leon Kennedy head on the first date.

You then lick a strip from the base to the tip, swirling your tongue around the thick head of it before opening your mouth and taking his cock in your mouth. You start slow, just bobbing gently, before reaching for his hand; you grab his hand, leading it to the back of your head. He catches the idea, collecting your hair into a makeshift ponytail before adding a light pressure.

You suction your cheeks in, making a loud slurping sound while you trace a vein with your tongue.

“Holy shit,” he moans, hips jutting up involuntarily. You gag and he pulls your hair back, cock slipping from between your lips up. You look up at him with teary eyes and spit dripping from your mouth.

“I’m gonna… I don’t want to finish like that.” His eyes dart around your face for a moment, lips parted, gasping. “Can I touch you?” His question comes out barely as a whisper, as if he were too shy to say it out loud. It endears you.

“Of course you can.” You stand up, moving to straddle him on the couch. He stares up at you in total awe, his hands stroking up and down your thighs.

You lean back toward his ear, whispering for him to keep going. His hands slide up from your bare thighs, exposed by your skirt, to fiddle with the hem of your blouse. It takes a bit more encouragement for him to finally reach under your top—he does so with a soft exhale. His hands are calloused yet tender and your skin tingles everywhere they go. His cock is still out, pressing hard against your clothed cunt. The mixture of his precum and your slick has completely soiled your panties.

“Oh, you’re so hot,” he squeaks out, grinding his hips into yours. His hands finally reach the underside of your breasts; your loose blouse allows for full access—you didn’t wear a bra, and this thrills him beyond belief. He looks up at you expectantly before sliding a finger across your nipple. You release your first moan of the night, and he’s completely intoxicated by the sound. The fact he could bring such a noise out of you fills him with confidence and he drops his right hand down to your covered pussy, sliding a finger along your slit. You moan louder, and he rests his head on your chest while his own heaves for air.

He continues to draw shapes along your cunt before you let out a breathy “more”, and he slips his fingers underneath the soaked fabric.

“God, you’re so wet,” Leon moans before teasing your hole with his middle and ring fingers; with a gasp, you sink down onto them. He begins to pump his fingers into you, curling them just right. Breathy, whiny sounds are pushed from your lips, and he stares up at your contorted face.

His other hand stays on your tits, teasing them—the sensations together are almost too much for you to bear. It makes you hungry for what you know is coming: his long, thick cock. At the thought of it, you push his fingers away and out of you.

“Need all of you.” You whisper, and he groans. With that, you slide your panties to the side and drop down onto him. You inhale sharply, straining to fit his entire length.

“Oh god, you’re so—oh, god, I’m not going to last very long,” he whines, moving his hands to brace your hips. He feels as if he’s died and gone to heaven; how did you guys go from chatting over dinner and drinks to fucking raw?

You lift up and down, trying to get to the base of him. Every time you lower onto him you go a centimeter deeper, until suddenly you are flush with his pelvis. He makes an “Aah, aah, aah,” sound before thrusting up into you. You squeal at that, and he grins. Knowing that he has such an effect on you has begun to stroke his ego, and he’s gaining the confidence he needs to fuck you right.

He grabs a firm hold on your hips while thrusting up to a steady rhythm, his strong thighs flexing visibly in the dim light. God, he’s driving you crazy.

“Oh, Leon!” You say his name like a prayer, hoping that he won’t stop, hoping that he’ll keep drilling you just like this.

“Mm, fuck, fuck, I really can’t last,” he mutters as his hand snakes down to rub soft circles around your clit. You feel a coil tightening deep in your core.

His thrusts become jittery as he clearly begins to reach his limit—his fingers continue rubbing you at that constant pace, treating you so good.

“Oh god, oh god, I’m gonna cum in you!”

“Just like that, keep fucking me just like that—”

He moans loudly, and the sight of his head thrown back, hair slicked to his forehead brings you to your climax, and you grind into him, riding it out. He presses hard into your clit, sending ripples through your body.

You collapse down onto him, and he reaches his arms around to hold you. You peck him cheekily before saying:

“Now, what are we going to do about this mess?”

[lapis-lights]

04 | I Love You For Infinity

'Falling From Grace' Series Finale

[Vendetta!Leon Kennedy x Reader]

Song Title: Infinity by Jaymes Young

Content Warnings: Near death, Lots of gun violence, Experimental Stuff, They finally get to be happy :D

Word Count: 13.9k

Author's Notes: Here we are at the finale :') I really really hoped you guys liked this series as I spent such a long time on it. I know some things were out of character but hey! We live and we learn, yeah?

I'm working on drafting up potential ideas and blurbs for the next big story project so I hope you guys will stick around for that :D

Posts are scheduled for 8 a.m. EST every day until the series is complete!

Series Masterlist

Ao3

Summary: You and Leon have finally found common ground as you take your final stand against the J.I.E., but not everything comes up roses. Though, no matter what, Leon's hand is in yours and it was something you would face...together.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

'Cause you're the reason I believe in fate, you're my paradise. And I'll do anything to be your love or be your sacrifice. 'Cause I love you for infinity....

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The next days are spent meticulously losing yourselves in the files you’d recovered from the J.I.E lab but also losing yourselves in each other. 

A switch had flipped in the atmosphere between you two and the abrupt shift from avoiding Leon to not being able to stand being away from him for more than a few minutes was enough to give you emotional whiplash. 

There are nights where he takes it nice and slow, worshiping your body and rolling his hips deeply into you just to watch your face contorted in pleasure. There are times he fucks you so desperately that all you can do is hold on for dear life and let him do all the work. There are days where you tug each other away from papers and reports and bioweapons to relax, offering up the suggestion of stress release that usually ends with one of you blissed out while the other takes gentle care of them. 

Sometimes Leon will go on errand runs that leave you regrettably on your lonesome, until he returns and catches you by surprise. You don't even get a chance to greet him at the door before his head is between your thighs, licking hotly into your core eagerly while you mewl helplessly above him. You're sure housekeeping is frustrated with your constant requests to change the sheets daily. 

It's not just sex, though. There are times you doubt that this is as permanent as he promises. There are moments where you stare listlessly and wonder when Leon will realize that you're not what he wants before leaving you in a cold bed one morning. While it never happens, he's always quick to soothe those fears with a gentle kiss and an offer to make cups of coffee for the both of you. Never does he berate you for thinking so sillily as your past partners had done, but rather he listens and quiets those thoughts with a tender press of his lips to the back of your hand. 

You're hopelessly in love with him, it's not even funny. You try and give back tenfold of everything he does for you, holding him during restless nights and staying up as late as you can when he can't find the strength to go to sleep. 

One night, you had read to him, voice laced with sleepiness but persisting nonetheless because you wanted to help him. Leon's head rested against your chest, reading along with you but not really doing but more than staring at patterned ink on the page. In reality, he would later tell you he was simply listening to your voice.

"Death is of happenstance, when we ebb and fade from the minds of others long after our indestructible destruction. We live and die in memories," you read sleepily, having selected a random book from off one of the shelves in the room. "The bittersweet taste of your absence on my tongue is nothing compared to the confectionary hope that you will be in my arms upon reunion."

Leon makes a noise of recognition, moving to look up at you. "I like that."

"Yeah? Do you read much?"

“Nope,” he says candidly and rolls so that his nose is buried in the slope of where your neck connects to your shoulders. One of your hands keeps a hold on the book as the other starts running mindlessly through his hair. “Love it when you do, though, sweet thing.”

That’s the other thing: his nicknames. Leon’s oddly obsessed with calling you anything sweet–sweet girl, sweet thing, sweetheart…While he does use others, those types happen to be the most common occurrence. They never make you fail to feel giddy, something like a schoolgirl finally getting the popular boy to look her way. Only for you, he seems to be just as obsessed as you are.

Admittedly, Leon's said he prefers you saying his name just because he likes the way it sounds alone, but you don’t pass up the chance to give him nicknames of your own. 

Things don't always go smoothly, though.

There are times you shy away from him, unfamiliar with his efforts. Times you question if what he promises is really true and try to not flinch away every time he reaches for you. Leon never hurts a hair on your head and while you know this, old habits do tend to die hard.

It's one night when it's raining lightly that Leon pulls you away from your analysis on one of the J.I.E.'s version of regenerators that the Los Illuminados cult created. You go whiningly, complaining that he was being too needy but secretly exhausted in a way that was probably all too easy for him to spot. 

Leon holds you in place on the bed next to him like he's afraid you'll try and run away back to the desk if he doesn't, but you don't necessarily complain since he's warm and the proximity is enough to make your heart do backflips in your ribcage. 

"You work too hard," he mumbles as the weight of the world settles into your bones. "Try and get some rest."

"Yes, dear," you mock, but kiss him all the same to let him know that you weren't truly mad. 

He makes a nice satisfactory noise, pulling you closer and kissing wherever he can reach, hands rubbing along your skin gently and leaving sparks of electricity in its wake. Just from his touch and warmth, you already feel yourself anchored down and sleep touching your eyes.

Leon lulls you, hands starting to mess and play with your hair as you allow yourself to be anchored down and down until the images fly behind your eyelids and sift through your unconscious memories.

You roll over and your face hits the sand. 

You stumble to your feet, the familiar weight and feel of a gun in your hands as the sound of helicopters roar in your ears as they fly overhead, shooting down the infected natives of the island you'd been sent to investigate. Nearly all members of the team assigned to you lie dead at your feet, crimson blood flowing in rivers from explosions, gashes, and bullet wounds. There's no time to worry about them, though. 

There's mixed screaming all around you, and aiming is second nature. A clean headshot and a well-charged kick is all it takes to take down the guy in front of you, and you swap out your handgun for a shotgun as multiple people form into a small crowd. 

You pull a grenade from your pocket, pulling the pin and throwing it into the sea of people. Stepping some paces back, you wait for the explosion before picking off the rest of those who survived the blast. It's then that your earpiece clicks and a voice comes through from your field managers back at headquarters.

"Come in, Python," they say, "according to our data, the source of the virus is right through the jungle. You need to gather whoever else is alive and head that way."

You grit your teeth, chest pricking with annoyance as you press on the earpiece and snap, "That's practically a suicide wish. We will not be doing that."

"May I remind you that you're not the director of this mission," the person on the other side snaps but their voice sounds fuzzy–muffled. "You follow whatever orders you're given and right now, you need to get to that virus."

You reload your submachine gun, and open fire. "Are you crazy?! There's only ten of us, maybe less. Who fucking knows how many are protecting the virus?"

"You signed up for this. We're expecting results."

They really were trying to work you to death.

The line cuts and you mumble a curse under your breath. A back hits yours and you glance to see one of the other team members has covered you from behind–a talented sniper who has played a role in more than a few of your successes in the past. It's a relief that she's been assigned here too and together, you mow down the bodies that are continuously shuffling and moving towards you.

There's too many coming close to her and enough that were far away from your side. You duck, twisting around her to shoot at the oncoming attacks at point blank while she props the muzzle of her rifle across your back to stabilize her aim. She takes out the ones that were a good distance away. You motion to her and together, you take off towards the heart of the island. 

"F.O.S. is insane," you grumble to her, swapping the magazines in your gun. "Sending two people for the virus."

"Better get a hell of a paycheck out of this one," she agrees. "When we get back, drinks are on me."

The two of you trek for what seems hours and time bends and warps in on itself. The next thing you know, she's not next to you anymore and nothing but the sound of nature and the wind blows through your ears. Confused, you whirl around and call out her name in hopes of a cheery response. You're met with silence and the creeping sense that something is watching.  

Your stomach drops as you aim your gun, anticipating an attack from any direction. 

Instead, a rumble is heard from far away and a flock of birds flies from the top of the canopy, squawking in distress.

A force knocks you off your feet as the island begins to undergo an earthquake. The ground sinks beneath your body as you fight to get back up, panic settling deep in your bones as your arms refuse to cooperate. You scream out for help, to see if anybody was alive left from the bloodbath on the beach, but you know the irrevocable horrible truth.

Everybody but you died that day on the island. The sniper had jumped in front of you to take a hit and sacrificed her life to give you a chance to get the virus. You had shown up at the J.I.E. with a small vial that contained a strain along with the blood of your innocence staining your hands.

The earth seems to try to swallow you whole, opening up as if to send you straight to hell. The heat is enough to burn the flesh off your bones and it feels like you're melting from the inside out. Another scream claws its way from your throat as the tears cascade down your cheeks in wet rivulets. You know you're going to die the way you should have with everybody else on that damn day. It was unfair, leaving you to be the lone survivor and the target of the trainers who worked their agents to death. 

You wait for the burn, for the fire to sear you alive when you feel that familiar touch. It's the same one that causes that controlled blaze inside of you–that melted the ice and saved you. 

It pulls you from that earthquake and right into reality, a sob escaping your lips as you scramble to upright yourself. You're sweating, eyes still leaking and your throat on fire as if you'd been shouting. Your whole body is numb and cranked to a hundred all at once, shaking like a withering leaf on an autumn day. 

Then, "Sweetheart? Are you with me?"

You flinch away, curling up before you realize who it was and what was happening. 

The bedside lamp turns on and bathes the room in a gentle yellow glow and you see Leon worriedly glancing over you, hands twitching like he didn't know if he should touch you or not. You've only had one episode before in front of him. When the night terrors bled into real life and he had woken you up then too. Back in the motel, it was nothing but awkwardness and the assumption that he didn't care whether you were suffering subconsciously or not. 

Now, things are different. They had to be. 

You sniff, trying not to look more puffy and bloated than you already do before reaching out, fingers searching for his own in a way they never have before. Leon sighs in relief, threads his hand around yours, and urges you closer. You fall against his chest and he tucks you into his body as if he could shield you from the outside world and hide away from all the distresses of your life. He doesn’t say anything–doesn’t ask for an explanation–just holds you and stays throughout the whole thing.

Once the adrenaline faded and you’re left with the exhaustion that comes after crying, Leon finally pulls away to get a good look at you. The care is more than enough to make you burst into tears, but you hold them back in favor of not sullying his shirt more than you already had.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice hoarse from sleep and screaming. 

“Don’t be,” he affirms, cupping your face and checking you as if making sure you weren’t hurt. “Bad dreams?”

“They usually are,” you admit and lean into his touch. Leon laughs gently when your eyes flutter shut, the warmth emission from him more comforting and grounding than anything else. 

He brushes strands of hair away from your forehead before twisting to grab the water bottle from the nightstand on his side. Leon doesn't pry into what happened–just stays with you as you drink to soothe your throat and settle down. You look at the digital numbers glowing on the clock. 

3:45.

"We should go back to sleep," you wince and fidget with the sheets beneath you but the reluctance is evident just by your body language and tone alone. "We should."

"We don't have to, baby," Leon soothes. "We can just stay up and do whatever until the sun comes up."

You don't want to return to that bloody beach–the start of many missions that would leave you in shambles and with less humanity than you started out with. It's almost laughable that once upon a time, you'd been a bright starry-eyed girl dreaming of changing the world. If you could rewind time, go back to when you were thinking of what you wanted to be when you grew up, you'd tell yourself to be an engineer or a veterinarian. 

Anything but this. 

Has Leon suffered through the same thing? How many people under him has he lost due to stupid mistakes and things that could have been prevented? You two really had to be so similar yet so different, but somehow, you'd found solace in each other.

"I got your shirt dirty," you frown, eying the dark patch that was no doubt a gross mix of your tears and maybe even snot.

He shrugs, pulling it by the hem and over his head. "Don't sweat it. I got a million more like it."

You can't help but stare at his perfectly sculpted chest that your hands have run over so many times. You can almost feel the heat of his skin beneath your palms. However, Leon's breathy chuckle pulls you out of your light fantasy. He flicks your forehead lightly, and you squeak as he rolls off the mattress.

"Quit staring, perv," he snorts, rummaging through his bag for another shirt. "My eyes are up here."

"We've literally fucked," you grumble, earning a surprised laugh from him. 

Upon getting another shirt, he disappears into the bathroom before returning with some tissues and picking up another water bottle along the way. You graciously blow your nose and clear all that gross mucus from your system. He allows you to finish off the rest of his old water bottle before tempting you back into his arms to lay back down.

You don't hesitate to get comfortable, breathing out serenely once you finally settle down. Reluctancy lies in your mind just thinking about going back to sleep and having to carry another gun or watch another person die, and Leon seems to catch on just as quickly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks gently, open to a yes or no. 

Gosh, you never would have expected the grumpy guy that used to insult you freely would be this caring. If you'd known that this is how he really was, you would have cut yourself off early, though it's a miracle something like this hadn’t happened sooner.

You take a deep breath in and blow it out. "It was years ago," you begin, picking up Leon's hand and starting to trace his palm lines in an act of distracting yourself. "I was sent to an unnamed island just off of Cuba where Umbrella had set loose a virus as an experimental field run. It was my first time giving commands."

Leon hums, shifting your position so that he can rest his head on your chest, listening to your heart and your voice while you continue brushing your fingers along his skin. 

"I was sent with a fairly large team but they overestimated us. There were infected natives that we were instructed to take out, but there were so many." You close your eyes and frown. "I remember the bloodshed–the screams of anguish of all the people I couldn't save in that first fight on the beach"

"Oh, (Y/n)." 

You open your eyes and smile, albeit a little watery. "I was the only one to get on the chopper that left the island that day. Stealth became the foundation of our training from then on and I was the one who bore the brunt of it all since I was able to make it out."

Leon scowls, all dark and lips curling back into a near snarl. "So they worked you into being their perfect little soldier." 

"Like a dog." You cup his jaw and run a soothing thumb across his cheekbone. "But, I'm here now with you. That's what matters, right?"

He breathes out, regaining his sense of control and nods. "Yeah. That's what matters."

You sit there throughout the night, holding and soothing each other through touches and the occasional kiss that borders on something more if the two of you weren't tired from being woken in the early hours of the morning. Instead, you relish in the presence of him. There's many things that go unsaid, including what your relationship is labeled now, but that's a worry for another day.

The next time your face hits the sand, your eyes fly open as you find yourself in an unmarked place that you can't identify. 

No longer is the feeling of silky sheets and Leon underneath your hands, but rather the rocky grains of sand that have already begun to stick everywhere. The sky stretches with the Milky Way, white stardust streaking across a navy canvas that seems to shudder the longer you look at it. Behind you is an island, the silhouette of trees rising up like a daunting wall and tittering with the sound of nocturnal animals. Somewhere, a bird squawks. 

Water rushes up the shoreline with puffy white seafoam before receding gently and restarting the cycle all over again, but its efforts never even come close to where you were sitting. You imagine it would be cold. The sound of waves crashing calms you and on this beach, things are peaceful. It's quiet, and soft. 

There's no blood, no voices, no guilt. 

You lay back down, let the sand pillow around your head, and smile.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

“Babe, come look at this.”

Leon perks up at your call, immediately getting up to join your side on the bed where multiple files scatter across the sheets. You’ve been drawing links between experiments for a few hours now while Leon makes sure you take a break every once in a while to clear your thoughts and make sure you aren't working yourself into a hole.

“They’ve been tampering with copying DNA strands,” you point out, reading a paragraph on the top of a page titled ‘Somatic Cell Nuclear Transfer’. “‘Multiple test subjects have been shown falling apart or melting into a pile of unidentifiable yet useless substances. Dr. Walker theorizes that this may be a result of unstable skeletons and has proposed we build the structure akin to that of a machine. However, development would take too long so for now, we must continue perfecting the process’.”

Leon’s eyebrows furrow as he takes the paper from your hands and scans over the rest of the report briefly. “They’re trying to clone something.”

Your blood turns cold. “But what? They’ve been bulk creating bioweapons so surely that would be pointless.”

“Unless it’s not a bioweapon they’re trying to replicate,” he points out. “They could be trying to create a replica of a political figure or something.”

“But how would they have the sources to pull that off? They can’t get close enough to someone with power for a DNA strand or something of the likes.”

“I don’t know anymore about that than you do, sweetheart,” Leon mumbles, focusing on the report as his chin hooks on your shoulder and rests there. “Can you think of anybody that they’d get an advantage from?”

“Nobody else that you can’t think of,” you parrot, going through every person that they’ve targeted in the past. “Mostly I’ve been sent out to intercept the progress of rivaling companies and shadowing after you for information so your guess is just as good as mine.”

“We have to go back to the lab,” he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face and tucking it into your neck. His breaths tickle your skin. “Can’t catch a fucking break.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Kennedy,” you shrug your shoulders a little so that it jostles him enough to emit a mock aggravated groan. “I think you’ve had plenty of breaks since our last breach into the lab.”

He glances up at you, a red tint glowing on his face and you would have made fun of him for it if you weren’t going through the exact same emotions as he was. 

There’s a tense moment as your thoughts align on the same page for a minute.

“Wanna make it one more?” he prods suggestively and you have to laugh now, reaching up and patting his cheek affectionately.

“As much as I’d love to, I’d rather be able to walk when we head out. You really seem to enjoy folding me like a damn pretzel.” you tease.

“Start stretching more.”

“Give me time beforehand then.”

He falls dramatically onto his back, making a pitiful little noise as if you’ve wounded him. You snort, pick up the map, and begin marking down the route the two of you had agreed on but not yet finalized. The safe rooms are already circled in blue, and the major areas to avoid are in red. The best course of action was to pull an alarm and cut through the offices to the labs that connected to the computer room, and there, you could find the information you needed.

It was risky, and there were a lot of factors to be considered before the two of you immediately dove in. 

“That’s another cause for concern on the list,” you note, “along with the other ones we’ve listed down.” 

“Perfect,” Leon retorts. “As if the all-seeing heat detecting monsters and the eyeball motherfuckers weren’t bad enough.”

Throughout your view over of the list of bioweapons they’ve created, you managed to narrow down the ones they’ve deployed as a means of defense. One attracts to that of thermal senses and another that purely uses sight as it’s only dominant means of living, which means they’re going to be your biggest problems alongside the potential undead waiting to pop out. 

It’s also possible each one of them was injected with a variant of Las Plagas to make things even more fun. Total obedience was needed for them to function as a reliable defense system, and if they went rogue, it would cause too many heavy casualties. 

“This sucks.”

Leon huffs. “You can say that again.”

“We need to settle on a date,” you tuck everything back into the binder neatly before snapping it shut. With no grace, you fall onto Leon’s chest and he grunts as his arms circle around your waist instinctively. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Sure. We could go to the movies or take a walk in the park–”

“I will sleep in the other bed tonight.”

“I’d say a week’s time.”

You laugh gently, resting your chin on his sternum. He sighs, exasperated but lovingly all the same, and in this tender moment, it’s easy for the daunting mission to fade away. The outside world doesn’t exist when you’re with him and some part of him mourns that you’ll never be able to return to this suite when everything’s said and done. 

The future is terrifying since there’s no telling what’ll happen when he has to report back to the government.

Leon had explained to you that he was able to prod his bosses for an extended vacation after his former one was rudely interrupted by their request for his aid in dealing with the situation with Arias. You have no doubts that they wouldn’t hesitate to call him back though, so it’s a miracle he’s lasted this long. He assures you there’s nothing to worry about so you try not to be too bothered by the unnatural radio silence. 

“What are you thinking of, sweet girl?” Leon asks, running a hand through your hair and beginning to gently work out the tangles that bind together some strands. 

“You.” The answer is simple yet honest. He’s always on your mind nowadays, isn’t he?

“Yeah? What about me?” He tests and you know exactly what he’s trying to instigate.

“I’m gonna have to teach you some self-control, mister,” you chide, closing your eyes and reveling in the soothing motions through your hair. “You’re worse than I am.”

"Is that a good or a bad thing?"

"Whatever you decide," you say while stretching, yawning in the midst of the afternoon glow through the suite windows. "I wanted to ask you something, though."

Leon tilts his head and begins weaving a section of your hair into a braid. "I'm listening."

"Where do you see yourself in the future?"

He pauses, his motions stuttering before resuming almost cautiously this time. "What brought this on?"

"I was wondering what your plans are when we finally can rest," you close your eyes and make a noise between contentment and hesitancy. "We can't be worked forever and that pension's gonna be fan-fucking-tastic."

"Well," Leon breathes in like he's confessing a secret–like the two of you are children whispering things into each other's ears and pinkie promising not to tell, "I'd like to move into a suburban house–maybe one with a picket fence–that's in a small no-name city. The community would be nice but know how to keep to themselves. Maybe I'll have a couple kids running around. Work never really allowed me to think about having a family."

"That sounds really nice," you say wistfully, imagining it behind your eyelids. 

"I'd like to be able to paint and alter the walls however I'd like since I can easily afford something like that," he keeps on going. "A kitchen space just big enough to cook with someone and maybe even a window where I can watch the sun. I'd like a nice, cozy bedroom that's not neat or messy so I can bury myself in bed no matter what time I come home."

He wants such an idyllic life–one that you see in movies that everyone lives vicariously through because in this society, it was practically unachievable. Would you be so willing to have such a peaceful way of living as well? You can't fight forever, but all you've known for years is blood and gunpowder and pain. Could that world be something you deserve after everything you've done? 

Leon stops, rests his hand on the back of your skull thoughtfully, and says, "...And I want you to be in it."

You open your eyes and look at him, caught off guard. "Me?"

"Who else, sweet thing?" He laughs. "I hate to break it to you, but I'm not letting you go after this."

“Stockholm Syndrome,” you hum. “Are you really sure you want me there for all that, though?”

“There’s nobody else,” Leon says seriously. “Only you.”

You breathe in, then out and focus on the heat of his touch and the weight of his words on your heart. “Okay, Leon.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. We’ll have a house together away from this all and you won’t have to worry about the monsters anymore.”

His eyes crinkle with joy when he smiles and you’ve learned what it’s like when he expresses any genuine happiness. It’s a sight to behold but surely, it’s one you would never ever forget.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Your heart beats in your ears harshly, finger twitching to pull the trigger on your handgun as you watch carefully for any signs of movement around the corner. 

The world around you sucks a breath in, watching and waiting for any possible movement that would trigger an event. 

Nothing but the hum of electricity can be heard, a constant drone in the background as sweat accumulates on the back of your neck and your stomach rolls nervously. Your arms shake and you're already aching for the welcoming feeling of the hotel suite. Unfortunately, things aren't that simple.

You and Leon had left early in the morning, once again, focused solely on making it out alive by the end of the day. Following the route and plan the two of you had finished up and agreed on, it wasn't hard to find and trip the fire alarm to the offices. People came rushing out–as predicted–but what you didn't expect was for the monsters to be roaming freely among the workers.

You and Leon had done the best you could, using the walls of the cubicles to hide away from the eyes of the monsters who could only see, with ugly pink bat wings and the body of a fleshy larva. It was only when the thermal searching bioweapons came in that you were positively fucked. Computers came crashing down, wires fizzing electricity and the lights overhead spark angrily as bullets were shot with desperation.

There were so many of them–so much that the rubble and the amount of monsters combined separated you and Leon.

You panic when you can't see him anymore but hope that you'll regroup soon enough, running through a doorway and barricading it with a quick glance at the room and seeing that he's nowhere you can find.

Hence your position now. You have to be careful since you're in an uncharted section of the laboratory that you didn't study in depth like you had for the rooms that you planned for. Carefully, you get up from your position and walk. The atmosphere is not helpful, and it feels like the walls have eyes. You shoot down any security cameras you see and somewhere along the way, there's a safe room. 

There's nothing but a few boxes of ammo, a dusty old typewriter, and a plant that smells suspiciously like the vials of herbs that Leon had made you take all those weeks back. The thought makes your frown as you root out the plant from its pot. 

Your time in that snowy motel seems like such a lifetime ago. It's hard to believe that just last month, you were ready to kill him on sight. Between everything that's happened and all the emotions that have purged, this story of yours seems like just the beginning. Catharsis–or something like it. Now, you're ready to have a life with your sworn enemy just because you were stupid and fell in love. 

Who knows if Leon really was playing the long game or not?

Once you've checked and reloaded all of your guns, you step out of the safe room and back into the long hallway. The door at the end leads to some kind of boiler room and the heat only makes you more inclined to collapse. However, you push forward and take in the environment. 

There's a large pod-shaped machine in the middle exhausting steam and monitoring its pressure on the side, which would be the heater. All around is a metal platform that winds up upwards with stairs at every level, and there's no telling where the top door might lead to. Instead of dwelling too hard on it, you begin climbing. 

The lack of any enemies or things to shoot lets you know that any destruction to the boiler would probably be too large of a causality so they didn't want to risk the chance of the thing exploding. You're about halfway there when the hairs on your neck stand up and your gut pangs. 

You grab your knife and parry the incoming attack. 

The woman backs away, clearly surprised that you managed to sense her despite the silent stealth she employed. It takes about two seconds to recognize who it is and your blood runs cold. Ada blinks innocently, sheathing her knife and jutting out a hip. Expertly applied make-up refuses to run even under the heat and humid steam of the boiler room and infuriatingly, you understand why Leon might've been attracted to her in the past. 

"Ada," you say, hesitantly putting away your own weapon. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I see he's told you about me," she tuts, moving to walk past you. "All these years and he still can't let go of me."

You think she's just trying to get under your skin, and you follow her just to see what she might say. "How long have you known Leon?"

"Mm...We have a history. One I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand."

You clench your jaw, reminding yourself that if it's a fight she wants, she'll have to work harder for it. What was the point in taunting you like this? Was it because of personal feelings that she had tried to get the jump on you earlier or was it part of a mission that she was on as well?

"You know," Ada begins, climbing another flight of stairs. "He's gotten good at acting–lying. He's not as predictable as he was before."

"So?" You reply irritably, ready to get away from her. 

"So you never know," she looks up wistfully, "he might be using you for information. When this is all said and done, Leon will get his hands on the data he needs and you'll be free from your contract. The business deal will be done and you can go your separate ways."

"Is that what you really think?" 

She looks back at you, something like pity or sadness in her eyes. "Maybe. I'm just trying to warn you before you do something you might regret."

You can't say anything about that. 

The two of you continue up the stairs until you finally reach the final door at the top. Upon opening it, you sigh in relief at the cold air and turn to find Ada isn't following. She only shakes her head slightly, backing away like she's disappointed or something.

Ada takes a deep breath in like she's trying to steel herself. "You're good for him. Better than I would've ever been. Don't fuck it up."

You open your mouth to retaliate, question what she means, promise you won't–maybe say something. You don't get the chance when she swivels around and vaults over the railing of the platform falling down and disappearing. You gasp, rushing forward to see call out for her, but the words die in your throat when you realize she's nowhere to be found. 

Left confused by the brief interaction, you glance back at the open door that leads into a narrow corridor. A lone door lies on the other side of it, and you try to remember if there was anywhere that it would lead to. However, you fail to, and decide that there’s really nowhere to go but ahead. You press forward, and the door to the boiler room slams shut behind you. 

You whip around, hearing the harsh click of a lock echoing through the small space.

You yank on the handle but to no avail. The thing’s bolted tightly.

An intercom crackles overhead and that voice that had spoken to you before when you and Leon had faced off the spider audibly clears the static.

“What do we have here?” they muse. “You two had better get to the main lab with all our fun little experiments. I’ve got a surprise–and perhaps you’ll find your way back to each other eventually. Don’t keep me waiting. Oh! Try not to die on the way, will you? It’s been a while since our animals have had a good hunt so I do hope you’ll be good sports and provide some much-needed entertainment.”

The static cuts off and rapid banging erupts from above. The sounds of the ventilation stagger and a shriek emits from the ceiling. You swap out your handgun for your reliable shotgun, making a beeline for the exit at the end of the corridor just as the door to the vent crashes down and you hit the floor to dodge the tentacle that comes flying at your head. 

You get a good look at what you’re up against–a pile of wet flesh that has eyes embedded into it like gems encrusted on a globe. Multiple limbs stretch outward from the main hub, wriggling hair-like tendrils spreading across the floor towards you rapidly. You get to your feet, breath coming out in ragged gasps. Your hands pump your shotgun and aim. When the hit lands, the thing screeches and puss explodes outward from its body. 

Being in such a confined space barely provides any advantages for you, and coupled with the fact that the mass of the bioweapon nearly takes up the entire corridor along with the lack of any environmental resources, it’s up to your combative prowess to get out of this one.

You grab an incendiary grenade and pull the pin. The fire is quick to make work of the thin tendrils on the floor and you sever the tentacle inching towards you from the side. You’re not quick enough to pivot around. A limb bashes into your torso and sends you flying, your ribs pulsating in pain as you slam on the ground. The concrete scratches your knees as you get up shakily, and you see your shotgun has landed a few feet away.

Upon not seeing you dead, the monster screams and focuses all of its efforts into trying to kill you. 

“Goddamnit,” you curse. “This isn’t good.”

You evade an oncoming attack, crying out when one tentacle wraps around your ankle and yanks. You fall on your back with a harsh thud and it begins dragging you towards the center where the monster opens up to reveal a mouth full of lines of rotating teeth. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you pull your knife and hack away at the restraint on your leg. The grip tightens enough so that you can feel the monster trying to crush your tibia and fibula together.

You have enough of it, dangerously close to the heated saliva of the bioweapon’s mouth. You stab your knife into the tentacle, and it splits  apart with a gush of hot blood. The shriek that emits from the mouth is enough to make your ears ring, but there’s no time to think about that now. 

Swapping out your submachine gun, you roll to your feet and begin targeting the spots where the tentacles source from. When they explode, the smell is so horrendous that you have to take the time to gag before reloading and letting the bullets do all the work. 

“You need a bath, buddy,” you mumble under your breath, wrinkling your nose in disgust. “Fuckin–this is what being an irresponsible pet owner does to a bitch.”

You sidestep another swipe and work on getting rid of the last few joints. Blood pours down the main body of the bioweapon and stains the floor beneath it, and as the last tentacle has been disarmed and popped, all that’s left is the main hub. 

It’s really unfortunate that you assumed it would be easy, but as the mouth closes suddenly, gurgles, then hurls a ball of acidic saliva at you, it proves that it won’t be as simple as you had hoped. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

The saliva leaves a burn bark in the ground and you know that it would be hot enough to melt the flesh right off your bones. You duck and roll, barely managing to avoid another shot for your head.

“I thought I wouldn’t have to play dodgeball after PE in highschool,” you groan, trading out your submachine gun for your hard hitting reliable magnum. “Alright, I’ve had enough of your bullshit.”

The next time the mouth opens up, you can see the glowing heart of the monster beating behind a thin wall of translucent flesh just at the back of its throat. You only get a few sections to work out a plan before it spits at you again, you use the time to jump out of the way before firing a couple of shots right into the heart. 

It shrieks but persists and you take the period after the next attack to reload your magnum as fast as you can. Fingers dance quickly as you push every bullet into a designated hole in the round, aiming, and emptying all of it into the heart as quickly as you can. Just to be safe, you take a hand grenade and launch it into the still-open mouth,

The monster seems to swallow it, trying to prepare another acid attack, but it doesn’t get the chance. You duck, shielding your head as the grenade detonates and erupts. Guts and eyeballs go flying everywhere, and blood spatters across your clothes and skin. The monster finally rolls over limply and stays down this time as you finally stand to breathe in gulps of air.

It feels like you’ve just run a marathon, and your ribs ache from when you had been thrown across the corridor, but at the best, it might have been bruised. It doesn’t feel like they’ve been broken at least, which really was the only positive side to this whole thing. The bad part is the fact that this gives you a taste of just what the J.I.E. had been working on this entire time, and that didn’t bode well if they managed to get farther along than what you just encountered.

You pick up your discarded shotgun and find you’d only been two bullets away from being empty. You’ll have to manage your inventory better the next time. Taking the time to reload everything and check through your belongings, you observe the cuts and scratches you obtained during the fight. It doesn’t seem too bad, all things considered, and you decide to wait on trying to eat the mysterious herb you had picked up before.

The lock clicks again and you try the door again to find that this time, it unlocks easily. 

On the other side, you find a more open space. The room holds large test tubes that line along the far left wall with bodies of people floating inside of them, and tubes connect to various points on their limbs. On the right are monitors that track the progression of every corresponding subject and you go to the nearest one.

You walk slowly, realizing that every one of them were incredibly similar in terms of appearance. They hold the same face shape, the same nose, the same skin color. There’s only minor differences between each of them like the curve of the upper lip not matching or the varying heights by a couple of inches, but in general, they remain fairly similar.

You travel to the other side of the room and work one of the monitors that list it’s for test subject number six. There were a few tabs you were able to access, including the general review of the experiment as a whole. The computer screen casts blue light as the report loads and your stomach drops upon seeing the title. 

"The (L/n) Project - Molecular Cloning Process

Two weeks since Agent (L/n) escaped the facility. She has left behind all devices and managed to disarm the tracking chips installed within her weapons. We suspect that the tracker we injected into her has been damaged as well–Mr. Williams theorizes it must have occurred during her fight with T-X108 and therefore, had rendered us unable to pin down her exact location. The search parties sent out have not managed to find her.

However, she has allowed us to go forth with the cloning process. Her rebellion had greenlighted the project, appropriately named The (L/n) Project as we try to replicate her favorable traits and create a bioweapon capable of her abilities and more. 

This project utilizes a mix of the T-Virus as well as the Las Plagas parasite to ensure total and absolute control over the subject. Many defects have been formed due to the incompatibility between the mix of the virus and plagas, however, Dr. Stills remains optimistic and claims that we need only to find the right combination. Our last resort only banks on the chance that (L/n) will return and will ensure her capture and re-initiation. 

Should we apprehend her within the lab, she will immediately be injected with a plagas egg. From then on, she will be kept in confinement until the parasite reaches full maturity. 

Until that time comes, we will continue the cloning process in hopes of favorable outcomes. We have already gotten this far. All it needs is time."

The files about the J.I.E. dabbling in cloning flash through your head, and your stomach jumps into your throat. You return back to the test tubes and swallow harshly, now seeing that those are your features being reflected back at you through the glass. Those things are supposed to be replicas of you–formations that they took of your DNA strands and molded into your image in hopes of replicating your performance on the battlefield but better. 

They've had plenty of chances at getting your DNA through blood work and any hairs you might have misplaced or left behind. Think about it, you had willingly provided them all the resources to your genetic code on a silver platter simply because you believed you were working for the greater good.

You back away, shaking nervously as terror fills your system. You need to find Leon and you need to do it now.

You start running, stumbling out of the room into one much larger. It's like a factory, walls whitewashed and outlined in varying glass containers that hold a multitude of different bioweapon shrieking and clawing to get out. In the center is a control board that seems to operate a giant claw. Whatever this shit is, it meant no good. 

A door flies open ahead and you gasp, looking up to see none other than Leon stumble through. You're about to call out to him until you see him hold the door just in time for somebody else to follow after. A woman, it looks like, and your chest boils with something sharp. She's not wearing the same red get up Ada had been in, so she must be somebody new. At least, you hope that's the case.

You back away, watching as they head down the stairs together and go straight for the control panel. Before one of them can touch anything, you come out, gun securely held as you nervously shout out to him. 

"Leon?" 

He whirls around immediately, but instead of his expression twisting into relief like you thought it would, it morphs into one of confusion. His features set into harsh stone as he loads his gun and aims it at you.

You stop in your steps toward him, slowly putting your own weapon back into its holster and putting your hands up in a surrendering position. Wondering why he would turn the gun on you now if all times, you think with a pang that this is where he might betray you and has alerted an accomplice to aid him in this final stretch of the mission. 

This is soon cleared when the person walks out from behind him and you find you staring at yourself. 

"Leon," the fake you says, all nervous and matching your pitch perfectly. "This must be what they were talking about–with the cloning."

A bitter taste fills your mouth, insulted that this copycat would even have the audacity. "You would know since you're one of them," you snap, turning your attention to him. "Please, you've got to believe me–you've been traveling with a clone."

"Stop trying to manipulate him!" The clone's eyes shine with fake tears and you scowl. 

Leon hesitates, strung between two identical people and you can't believe they somehow created the perfect replica. How they even managed it is beyond you, but what matters is that there was a chance Leon could accidentally kill you without knowing it until it was too late. How could he handle it if his intuition is the very thing that had kept you alive and killed you all at once?

“Don’t fall for it,” the clone frowns, forehead wrinkling just in the same way yours did when you were determined about something. "She's just trying to trick you so we'll get separated again."

"You're one to talk," you seethe, knowing that losing your temper right now was akin to fighting a losing battle.

"Leon," she croons, circling around to look him in the eyes earnestly, "don't you remember all those nights we spent together? How free it felt to finally love me openly after all this time?"

He softens but only slightly, the grip on his gun loosens as he hears her recount the events of something so recent. 

"I've loved you for so long and didn't even know it," she says, so open and vulnerable like a mirror to your own emotions. It was eerie and creepy in a way you loathed, unsettling just how it was to see a reflection of yourself sweet talking the man you love. "Shall I tell you when I first admitted that I love you so that I can prove it really is me?"

She doesn't even wait for an answer before she's leaning in and whispering in his ear. Whatever she says, it must be something wild judging by the way his face flushes so violently crimson. Usually, it's you doing all that work, knowing what subjects will make his face burn in such a way that it's nearly impossible not to cradle it just to feel the heat beneath your palms. However, it's not you this time, and the fact makes you want to throw up and gag at the sight of it.

When the clone leans away, she scrutinizes his face before letting her expression fall. "You still don't believe me fully."

"I can't make a mistake."

"Then ask us a question," the clone suggests suddenly, matching your tone and body language down to a T as if you really just had a bright idea. "One only the real (Y/n) would know."

Leon's eyes turn focused, looking between the two of you trapped in front of him in similar stances. Really, what could he ask that the clone wouldn't know? She had apparently inherited all of your memories–all of the time you spent in the motel leading up to this second had been meticulously recorded. 

"When did we first meet?" He finally asks. "When did we really first meet?"

"Operation Counterpoint," the clone says immediately as if this were some twisted game show. "You caught me on an espionage mission gaining intel on Umbrella through your own mission. You almost killed me that day."

Leon looks at you and the raw emotion in his eyes as he waits for your answer makes you falter. You always knew him better than anybody–knew the things that made him tick and do the things he did better than you know your own quirks. You hope that intuition doesn't fail you now, needing it more than ever in this bizarre situation. Leon asked a simple question, but something underlined it. He was looking for something else–something more.

You understand what he's asking and you duck your head.

"When you saw my scars," you say quietly and nothing but the hum of electricity could be heard like the atmosphere had sucked in a breath and was holding it. "When you found out what the J.I.E. had been doing to me–how they were hurting me, that's…that's when we met. When we really first met."

Leon pivots and shoots the clone in the head, the throat, then the heart and as she falls to the floor, he reaches for you.

You sag in relief as you let yourself fall into his arms. The tension drains from your body as you find yourself in the clear once again. Leon–your rival, mortal enemy, and savior–pulls you to his chest in a real hug that you melt into. You haven't felt the warmth of an embrace from anyone but yourself in years before him–didn't allow yourself to. You suspect that he's just the same, or perhaps even more, starved of the touch than you were

His arms wrap across your back, pulling you right into the space that has become reserved for you against his body. His hold on you is so firm that it would take an army just to get him to release you from his sweet embrace. To be fair, you're not keen on leaving it anytime soon.

"Oh, sweet girl," he mumbles against your hair, grip tightening as if he'd rather die than let you go. "Angel, is it you? Tell me, please–please."

"It's me," you reassure as genuinely as you can. "Leon, you did good–you did so good. Thank you, oh my god."

The tension from the situation dissipates as you relish in the feeling of being alive and well. You can feel him shaking and you pull away only slightly just to get a good look at his face. Leon never cries even though he's seen a fair share of your tears and you've seen the nightmares that plague him every time his insomnia lets up and allows him to sleep. Now, you see that familiar well of hot saltwater welling beneath his eyelids and your heart hurts for what confliction he must have gone through while making his choice. 

You wipe them away before they even have the chance to make a track down your cheeks and his forehead presses onto yours desperately. 

“Leon, we have to keep going,” you prod, however just as reluctant to let him go. “We have to make it out of here together, okay?”

He lingers stubbornly and you think you might have to walk with him wrapped around you but he manages to pull away all the same and nods. You know he’s back with you now on a level head and that things were very possibly going to be okay again. You’ll live to see the day, and that was a true promise that passed wordlessly between the two of you.

Together, you approach the control panel and begin operating the system to tell you what has been happening.

Every single creature on the wall is registered to a number and every one contains at least one or more virus or parasite. Some of them mix together the T-virus and Las Plagas, even going as far to see if the plagas and Uroboros could be compatible somehow. The creatures maintain some sort of semblance of what they once were, ranging from rats to dogs to humans. 

This is more fucked up than you could ever have imagined. While the binder you had gotten had prepared you somewhat, even then, they only had one page of review and. This was the whole report, elaborately written for each of the bioweapons they had been creating.

“What the fuck could they be doing this for?” Leon mumbles angrily under his breath as he sifts through file after file.

“They wanted to take the bioweapon war to Umbrella,” you reply, nudging aside his hands so you can pull up the command prompt for the system. “With enough power, they could take down the pharmaceutical company and be revered as heroes for the anti-terrorism.”

“But the government would’ve shut them down the same way they did Umbrella.”

“Not quite.”

You enter in the string that brings up an overview of the J.I.E.’s plans, letting Leon read through it as you pull out an external hard drive to plug into the USB port hidden discreetly away from the open. Beginning to copy the information that was showing on screen, Leon sighs and catches your attention. 

“They’re gearing towards the favor of the public,” he realizes and you nod. “And this whole plan is why…”

“Why I left, yes.” You select all of the creature reports and start uploading them on the drive while talking. “They think that bringing a whole entire war to the companies is the only way to deal with them–they don’t think about civilians or people or the moral justice of those who do wrong. They want the advantage, which makes them no fucking better than Umbrella or Tricell or anybody else.”

“Who’s behind all of this? Do you know?”

You take a deep breath, trying not to think about what names or relations meant to you–especially higher ups who didn’t know how to keep their nose out of other people’s business. “Mr. Williams is the head of the J.I.E.–the one who made the company and announced its making under the false pretenses of making the world a better place. He built it on the trust of those who witnessed him jailing a couple criminals until he successfully apprehended an Umbrella team member. He was revered, and the J.I.E. received a lot of funds for his deed.”

“But?”

“But he’s been disillusioned ever since.” You look up at him seriously, taking his hand and clasping it between your palms. “Leon, promise me that if he manages to make an appearance, we run. He’s charismatic and knows how to get underneath your skin–you won’t get anything out of talking to him.”

“You’re sure about this?” he asks, squeezing your hand back gently.

“One hundred percent.”

Leon nods, trusting you. “Then we’ll run.”

The next moments are spent analyzing the creatures in the glass cases. You can see the wriggling parasites beneath the bronze flesh of some of the animals, stretching from Las Plagas to Uroboros to other possible variations. The animals with viruses don't have any wriggling tendrils but they do still snarl and rot from the inside out. It's disturbing, knowing that this was all right under your nose while you'd been willingly working for the J.I.E. 

When the hard drive is finished uploading the reports, you navigate away from the experiments and instead turn your focus onto the U.S. government. Leon makes a noise of confusion upon seeing you type in the buzzwords, but is effectively silenced when you open a file that introduces the world of hacking. There were so many files about getting through firewalls and securities that it's almost impossible to believe that they kept track of all of it. 

"This is how they're bypassing the protections the government has been putting up," you tell him, cutting and pasting all of the files. "With this, you can fortify it."

Leon doesn't say anything, just simply pulls you closer by the wait and kisses the crown of your head. You can't tell what he's thinking right now, but if anything, you're glad you can help him. He looks like he has something on his mind and you almost ask what he's thinking about, but instead resign to let him have his moment instead.

When you have all the information you need and have stopped needing to upload things to the hard drive, you unplug it and tug it into your bag. Together, the two of you start making your way to one of the exits you theorized. Sure, you might not be able to find the entrance you came through by means of the dressing room but at the very least, you could find a way out.

There's a dizzying amount of doors to get through and everything seems to be going fine. Nobody's come for your head yet and there's no monsters that have fallen from the ceiling looking for blood just yet. 

It's only when you make your way to one of the first floors that a strange clicking sound is heard and you and Leon halt to pull out your guns. It's reflectively dark so you have to click on a flashlight just to be able to see a small portion around you. The mysterious noise seems to be coming from ahead behind a crate of boxes and since there's no telling what it might be, the two of you proceed with caution.

Your footsteps are light, breaths even lighter. You monitor yourself in the way a doctor might, and the adrenaline already begins building. You approach the crate, lift your leg, and kick it in.

When the boards crumble, a shriek is heard, and you barely manage to dodge and roll out of the way of the humanoid that lunges for you. The figure screams, dressed in rags and streaked with dirt. One good look at it makes your heart twist harshly upon recognizing it: it's one of the failed clones, evident by the way her cheek is rotted away to show the inner workings of her mouth and her eyes are a stained color that vaguely reflects yours. Larvae wriggle within her gums and she stumbles to her feet, groaning incoherently as she sets her sights on you. 

"The fuck?" Leon hisses. "What is that thing?"

"It's one of the failed clones," you provide, aiming your gun again. "C'mon, let's get this over with."

You shoot the clone in the eye, blood spattering outward from the socket. She feels back with a mangled noise, clutching the wound as Leon takes his chance. He approaches rapidly, plants his foot, and roundhouse kicks the clone into the wall hard enough that her neck completely snaps from the impact. 

You whistle lowly. Showoff. 

"Overkill," you tut, shining the flashlight over the dismembered body that refuses to move even when you prod it with the toe of your boot. "It's probably safe to assume they've got a million more of these just lying around so let's proceed with caution, shall we?"

"Roger that."

The two of you press forward, coming across more defects that are bursting through the seams with incompatible parasites. Some explode outward with grotesque flesh and wriggling limbs that you have to shoot down while others seek to take a bite from your neck. Leon covers your back and you watch out for his, and together, you fight your way through the failed mirrors of yourself. 

You come upon a main lab that's circular in shape, guns held defensively and on high alert. It's strangely silent considering you'd just come from a room full of monsters and shrieking clones with skin melting off their bodies. 

You walk forward, finding a circular platform in the middle set up like a stage and metal stairs line around the whole thing. You're about to turn around to ask Leon what he thinks this room could be used for but you're suddenly grabbed from behind. A scream leaves your throat as you thrash, and Leon shouts your name. The cold barrel on a gun presses to your temple and an arm clasps around your neck as a sleazy yet familiar voice spits in your ear. 

"I suggest you stop struggling or I'll kill you right fucking now."

You stop, but choke upon seeing Leon being apprehended by a bunch of soldiers dressed in gear marked with the J.I.E. logo. He's strong, but certainly not enough to break from them as they pull and hold his hands behind his back. 

"Please," you whisper, barely able to breathe from the grip that's across your throat. "Don't hurt him."

"You know I don't run things like that," Williams snears. "Especially from dogs like you. You just couldn't sit still and be obedient, could you (L/n)?"

You scowl, fighting against him to breathe in before he shuts off your airways again. "You know I'd rather die than lick the boots of some greaseball who thinks he's some big head honcho hotshot."

"You never know when to fucking shut up, do you?!" The gun presses harsher to your temple and you squeeze your eyes shut. "Drop your weapons and this will all go a lot smoother."

This situation seems too against you, too harsh. Maybe you should comply for now, give them the ultimatum of taking you and sparing his life. You'd do it without question, but who's to say they won't kill you before he can make it back to you? You drop everything from your bag to your guns to your knife, and completely give up. Upon feeling you give up and going slack in his arms, Williams lets you stand, slowly letting go as to make sure you won't run. After all, he's got six soldiers pointing automatics trained at your body to make sure you don't try to do anything. He scoffs, laughing at your pathetic state before turning his attention to Leon who's refusing to remain still or quiet.

“Stay away from her!” Leon screams, pushing against the arms that hold him back, barely able to restrain his lean muscular body. Your chest tugs as if magnetizing you to him and your eyes sting with hot tears. “You put one fucking finger on her, I’ll kill you!”

“Oh?” Williams taunts and he raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Leon Kennedy defending (Y/n) (L/n)? My ears must be deceiving me.”

If looks could kill, everybody in the room would be dead with the way Leon’s eyes darkened. A hand touches back and you instinctively jerk away before roughly being tugged closer. Somewhere, chains clink and your whole posture goes rigid.

“The perfect soldier we could never replicate,” Williams muses, pressing a firm hand to the scars that shape your backside. “Not without discipline, of course.”

The room falls silent as Leon processes his words. 

"You're dead," he spits venom, dripping with promise. "I'm going to kill you and I'll make it fucking hurt, motherfucker."

"Don't listen to him," Williams waves Leon off as if he were just some bothersome fly before focusing his attention on you. "Haven't we taught you anything, Agent (L/n)? This fool doesn't love you. At the very best, you're just some lively entertainment for him before leaving you in a cold bed in the morning." 

Leon thrashes even more violently than before. You keep your eyes on the concrete beneath your feet. 

"You can't save him the same way you couldn't even save yourself."

"Shut up!" Leon's desperation leaks so candidly though his voice. "(Y/n)! Don't listen to him!"

"Oh, she'll listen to me," Williams circles around, forcing your head up with an iron clasp around your jaw as his face comes into view. "Dogs don't like to be chained up and beat, after all, don't you know?"

You curl in disgust when he lets go, and he continues up the steps to look down on the spectacle beneath him. Just as you told Leon, it's always power he wants, and now is more apparent than ever. 

"Mr. Kennedy, listen to me." You know he doesn't want to hear another word from the man's mouth. "I don't like to do things like this, you know. But, the girl you act like you love so much is more than just the foolhardy agent you've met on the battlefield."

Leon knows you better than that. He knows the way you cry and laugh and love. He knows how willing you'd be to take a bullet to the heart for him in the same way he'd put his head in a guillotine for you. Williams doesn't know the extent of your love, doesn't understand it. He might still believe you hate each other given your past passive aggressive reports on him–but it's clear as day that those feelings have changed since you attempted to cut ties with the J.I.E.

"She's special, isn't she?" Williams croons as if he thinks praise will have you sitting at his feet like a loyal little lapdog. "However, she still has killed so many of your allies–even almost you. Is that something you'll let go of so easily? She could be a traitor trying to get under your skin. She could be our specially engineered clone and you had killed the very real one. How do you know that she's loyal? Certainly, if she wasn't loyal to the very company she agreed to contract to, she'll never be loyal to you."

"You're insane," Leon spits. "Of course she wouldn't want to stick with the guy who's ordered her to be fucking abused into submission. Do you treat all your agents like this or just her?"

"(L/n) is special, like I said. Every special agent deserves special treatment, don't you think?"

Leon glowers. "You'll regret saying that."

Williams just his chin out. "And what makes you think that?"

The lights power down with a groan. The insistent humming drone of electricity stalls and goes silent. The emergency lights fail to come on. The darkness is black enough that you can't even see your hand in front of your face. 

A gun cocks and your heart drops. 

"Get down!"

You hit the floor as bullets start ringing through the air. It's wild, confusing, and you don't know what's happening or why. Your breaths start coming out in panicked puffs as you cover your head, and stay on the ground. Somewhere, someone screams and the blast of a shotgun is heard. The soldiers are commandeering orders and radio static voices are heard all over the place. 

Somebody touches your shoulder and you gasp, scrambling away from them, feet kicking blindly until they're held down. You almost scream before a comforting voice talks to you in a low tone and cuts all those defenses short.

"Sweetheart–baby–it's just me, don't worry,” Leon's thoughts run a million miles a second and they translate easily to his tongue and out his mouth, “C'mon, get up, we have to go. I can carry you if you can't walk on your own. Shit, he didn't hurt you too bad, did he?" 

You can't form a coherent thought but merely wrap your arms around him with a sob, too keyed up and overwhelmed with everything that's happening around you. Why did the power go out? Did Williams escape in the mess? Who was behind everything that was happening?

"It's okay," Leon soothes, gathering you up in your arms and you feel the floor leave from beneath you, "C'mon, we're getting out of here."

"What…"

"You can ask later. For now, we're leaving."

You bury your head into his chest and let him take you away to wherever he chose fit. The world seems like a blur as more men start shouting over the blasts of gunshots and Leon does his best to get the two of you out. You hear a hum running as lights dance behind your eyelids. Time seems to drag on and flash by in a second as Leon's body jostles beneath yours until eventually, you feel him jump and the roar of an engine fills your ears. 

You open your eyes as he sets you down on a stiff bench, vision blurry as you watch him leave. You don't know where he had taken you or if he'd ever be back, but weakly, you want to reach out for him. There's no energy in your body, exhausted from fighting for so long. People are still shouting and the smell of gunpowder invades your nose. 

You fight to stay conscious, afraid that if you sleep, you might not be able to wake up. Before, you'd been vehemently unafraid of death, but now? Now you're terrified of it. 

Leon comes back into your view, and he seems conflicted, but nonetheless is here. He gently moves your body so that you rest on his lap comfortably, your head nestled against his collarbone as he starts rubbing the palm of his hand across your head. You can still hear the screaming, the gunshots, the blood and pain. 

It feels like you're staying between life and death, back on an island and being with Leon.

"Sweet girl," Leon says just loud enough for you to hear against your hair–the first nickname he ever seriously used with you. "You've been fighting all on your own for too long. Let me take care of you."

Unable to hold back, you allow the tears to spill over at the weight of the truth his proclamation holds. How long has it been since someone's held you like this? Has anybody ever held you like this?

"You can rest," he croons gently. "I've got you, baby. You can let yourself go." 

A lifetime ago, it would have sounded like poisoned words from a wolf in sheep's clothing. But now? 

Now it kind of sounds like he loves you.

And that's perfectly alright with you.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

During the entire time since you showed up at the motel, Leon had been in close contact with the president back at the white house. You feel like you should have known, would’ve thought it was obvious, but he was very good at distracting you at the best of times.

Leading up to your final stand against the J.I.E., he’d been arranging a squad to be ready on standby in case anything went wrong. When you’d been grabbed, he’d sent out the signal for them to be able to track him down just before he’d been apprehended. The B.S.A.A. was ready, and they successfully cut the power and utilized their nighttime equipment to navigate the sudden battlefield. 

Williams had been captured and taken in for questioning. That much had put your heart to rest.

Leon had ordered an escape chopper, which is what he had carried you into in those final moments. Surely, things must have been more intense for him but you’d been so out of your element that you had completely shut down. A trauma response, maybe, from having to face the possibility that you would die that day.

You stand in the waiting room, wearing a nice little dress as you fiddle with the dark black hard drive in your hands. Your nerves won’t allow you to sit down or rest to any capacity and you anxiously blow out a breath. This moment would determine your future for the rest of your days. Maybe you’d be sent to jail for a lifetime to atone for your crimes against them, but you know Leon wouldn’t let that happen.

The door unlocks and a young man in a stiff suit waves you in. “Miss (L/n). They’re ready for you.”

You nod nervously, take one more deep breath, and enter the office.

The president is already there, hands folded stiffly on the desk as Leon stands to attention behind him. Right now, it was nothing but business, and you shakily nod your head. Reminding yourself that this is a lot more than the times you reported to Williams, you wipe your clammy hands on the back of your dress.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” you say, and thank the heavens when your voice doesn't crack.

The president only smiles non-threateningly, and motions to a chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat–and do loosen up, please. We’re just here to have a conversation, nothing life-changing.”

“Sorry, sir.”

He laughs not unkindly as you take your seat and clasp onto the hard drive in your lap for dear life. 

“From what I understand, you’ve been working with Agent Kennedy for the past month or so, yes?” 

“Correct,” you answer. “The Justice for Inhumane Experimentalists had been keeping me under a contract to pledge my mind, body, and soul to them and when I differed from their plans to begin a bioweapon war, they nearly killed me. I managed to escape and track the coordinates Mr. Kennedy was at."

"I see." The president nods to the hard drive in your hands. "May I?" You slide it over to him and he turns it over in his hands briefly before smiling. "You've done us a great service today, Miss (L/n). For that I would like to formally pardon you from any and all offenses."

A huge weight is lifted from your shoulders as you breathe out in relief. "Thank you."

"Although…" he interjects. "We would rather have you put under watch, which is why you'll be staying with Agent Kennedy for a couple of weeks. I'm sure there's no objections?"

"None at all, sir."

"Good," the president smiles. "There's one more matter I'd like to discuss before I let you go."

You steel yourself for the worst. "Yes?"

"I'd like to personally extend an invitation to you to join the D.S.O. as Agent Kennedy can show you the ropes and you'd fit right in." Your mouth drops open. "Of course, you don't have to accept, but it would be the best option for you right now and we'd hate to lose such a capable soldier who's survived enough things that would kill the average person."

"I…" You look at Leon who only looks back at you with a blank expression, but you can practically hear him begging in your head. 

"You'd be helping people–for real." The president looks at you earnestly. "And surely, you'll get many more benefits than the J.I.E. had granted you. From what I hear, you didn't even have time off."

You think about it, about how the trajectory of your life is changing now. What would happen if you said yes? If you said no? Surely there was no life for you outside these four walls, but could you really afford keeping on going with agent work? You look at Leon again, biting your tongue. You're a ruinous person–scum of the earth. But…if he thinks you can be redeemed then…

"It would be an honor to join, sir," you answer.

The president smiles. "Then you're dismissed. Do be sure to rest up, will you?"

You get up as Leon walks forward and motions you to follow. Dutifully, you trail behind him as the president waves a little goodbye on your way out. The weight of the world lifts from your shoulders as you breathe out in relief when the door closes behind you and Leon immediately slips his hand into yours.

"That wasn't so bad, now was it?" He chides.

"Actually, it was horrible," you correct. "I don't think I've ever been scared shitless in my entire life."

Leon laughs, pulling you along to where his little sedan is waiting in the parking lot. You’re sure that if you hadn’t been driving, he would've crashed it upside down in a ditch somewhere while he walked out fine. It seemed like something Leon would do.

He takes you to his home, an expensive apartment overlooking the District of Columbia that he claims he only had because it’s near the office and that meant less driving for him. You call him a dork and roll your eyes but feel that adoration for him simmer just under your heartbeat. 

While you shower, he orders food and claims he’ll help you settle in after you’ve had something to eat. 

When he finds you staring listlessly out the window to his balcony, he comes up from behind and rests his head on your shoulder, arms winding mindlessly around your waist and sighing peacefully when you lean back into him. It’s oddly domestic and comfortable, and it’s something you don’t want to let go of.

"This is temporary, isn't it?" You mumble brokenly, thinking about what Ada had said back at the lab. "You don't really…you don't."

Leon's eyebrows knit together in confusion as he cups your face and turns your head so that you're forced to meet his eyes. "What gave you that idea?" 

"If you just want me for the pleasure, you can say it," heart twisting painfully as tears well hotly in your eyes. "You can tell me. I can let go."

"No, no," he chastises, holding you close like the nonexistent distance between your bodies was enough to kill him. "When our job is done, we'll go wherever you want. No matter what."

"You don’t get it, Leon," you sigh, pulling away from his grasp. It feels like you're tearing your soul apart. "I've always been unlovable. No matter what I said or what I did, I always ended up alone–and I can't bear to get attached to someone who doesn't reciprocate the way I want them to. I can't do that to you."

He doesn't talk for a moment, frowning upon seeing your hands massaging into your upper arms. Self-soothing, and the feeling of your own touch makes a sad sort of feeling gather in your chest like dew collecting on leaves on crisp early mornings.

"(Y/n)," Leon murmurs your name with so much emotion behind it that you almost start crying all over again. "You know I love you, right?"

The whole world seems to stop.

"For infinity. Forever," he turns you around from your position and reaches out, hand waiting for your own. When you hesitantly rest your palm in his, warmth radiates from his body into yours. "You're not unlovable. Never in a million years. Not if I have anything to say about it."

You really can't hold back the tears now and his other hand comes up, thumbing them away as they cascade. 

You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him close enough to kiss him properly, unable to vocalize just how much his affirmation meant to you.

Leon kisses you like he needs you to exist. His hands rake across your body and your skin tingles with anticipation. When had you gotten to the point where the line between hatred and need blurred so intensely? When did you start needing his touch to be able to function properly? When did you start craving Leon in the ways that you would have loathed just a few months prior?

You love him, infinitely and eternally. Who knows what the road ahead holds for you both? But, as he carries you to his bedroom and closes the door tightly, you find you’re not as afraid of the future as you had already been.

An angel, fallen from grace. 

But, if this is the consequence, then hey.

You’re not one to complain.

[lapis-lights]

Chapter 03 | Kiss the Skin From My Lips

'Falling From Grace' Series

[Vendetta!Leon Kennedy x Reader]

Song Title: Call Me What You Like by Lovejoy

Content Warnings: NSFW (18+ ONLY), Unprotected p in v, Porn with feelings, Creampie, Some dirty taking but nothing too intense, The lovers in enemies to lovers

Word Count: 14.1k

Author's Notes: Chapter three of the Falling From Grace series! Sooooo....this is really my first time attempting a smut scene so criticism would be really appreciated if you have any! Otherwise, I hope you guys like this chapter :)

Posts are scheduled for 8 a.m. EST every day until the series is complete!

Series Masterlist

Ao3

Summary: As tensions ride high between you and Leon, you execute your first infiltration mission of the J.I.E. lab. What you find inside is more than just a few simple monsters, but rather a life or death situation and an experience that leaves you and Leon absolutely breathless.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

And you can kiss the skin from my lips if it makes you feel good... I'm not sure if you want it; I'm not sure if you need me too.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

When you wake up, there's a deep ache in your bones and you think sourly of how you're getting on in your years. 

At this point, don't people start planning their retirement homes or something? You've led anything but a normal life so really, you wouldn't know, but from what you've heard, it's gotta be something along those lines. When did your twenties end and your thirties begin?

Jesus Christ, you've let yourself go.

You start your morning routine, ignoring Leon who's still happily snoring away, and taking a trip down to the first floor to the gym room. There's some flimsy equipment down there and it's definitely not the high quality stuff you get at actual gyms or at the J.I.E.'s professional training programs, but you'll have to make do for now. 

You start with simple stretches to warm up as you ponder everything that has happened last night. 

You think about the way Ada had looked and by proxy, Leon. He's never mentioned her to you ever so you suspect there must be a reason for that. Maybe he wanted to protect her from you in case you decided to go on a rampage or something, but that didn’t make sense either. Was Leon into the type of woman that could fend for herself or did he just care if she was a looker or not?

If that’s the case, you were definitely crossed off the list. The scar tissue bears a heavy burden. 

You lose yourself in the familiar burn of exercise and it feels oddly good to hurt in the ways that tell you your efforts weren’t going to waste. Eventually, this moment of peace will come to an end just like all good things, but right now, you stay in the intensity of your workout. You don’t even notice the door opening.

It’s a guy you haven’t seen before, clean shaven and muscular. You can tell he keeps himself fit but whether it’s for work or just for show, you don’t know. He doesn’t look bad at all with dark doe eyes and light brown hair that sweeps across his forehead enticingly. 

“I didn’t know pretty girls vacationed here,” he says and you rip your eyes away from the floor to meet his. What little respect you had deluded yourself into making for him bleeds away and in a split decision, you decide to play with him just a little.

“And I didn’t know good-looking men frequented these parts,” you fire back, batting eyelashes and giving him the most innocent look you can muster. “No need to flatter. I’m sure you could pull someone better than lil’ old me.”

“Don’t put yourself down so fast, babe,” he snorts, heading for the weights and you mentally roll your eyes as you see his intent to try and impress you with reps. 

However, you keep up the disguise and take a seat on a nearby medicine ball while watching him carefully. “I’m not putting myself down–it’s the truth.”

He doesn’t answer but he does make sure to put extra emphasis on choosing a fairly heavy hand weight and beginning to rep without any warm up. Silently, you know he’ll pull a muscle eventually and all for a woman he’ll likely never see in his life again. Womanizers like him never made much sense to you, but you suppose human instincts can make people irrational at the best of times.

“So you got a boyfriend?” he asks and you hum.

Would you? Should you?

“Nobody you need to worry yourself over,” you decide on answering, which wasn’t much far from the truth itself in all honesty. “Why do you want to know?”

“I want to know if there’s anybody keeping me from taking you out.”

“You’re at a hotel,” you scoff. “Do you have anybody waiting for you back in your room?”

“Nobody you need to worry yourself over,” he grins.

So he did come here with someone. How disgusting. You’re not the most morally correct person in the world, but even you understand the basic agreement of being in a relationship, and furthermore, you kow the importance put on the concept of loyalty. Well…you know how it’s supposed to be.

“Right,” you sigh, “and what are you proposing we do?”

His eyes flash suggestively and if you had the energy, you’d projectile vomit. “I’d take you out for a real nice dinner then bring you back to mine so we could-”

He shuts up when the door flies open and Leon strides in so confidently you forget that he’s supposed to be back at the suite stuck in dreamland. However, the stormy glance he gives you is nothing compared to the downright murderous glare he directs at the guy you hadn’t bothered to get the name of.

"Woah, man," the guy says, blissfully unaware. "You must be riled up for a serious workout."

"No," Leon answers, voice clipped and tight in a way you've never heard him before. "I was just looking for my wife who happened to get a headstart in her day without me."

The guy's face pales when he motions to you and you shrug non committedly before getting up and opening the door that leads out. Leon is hot on your heels as you make your way out and it's not long before he's gripping your wrist and pulling you back to stop your stride.

"Mind telling me what the fuck that was?" He demands, keeping his voice just quiet enough to not disturb the other residents.

"I was having fun," you hum, "since you're providing no entertainment for me."

"You can't just go wandering off where I can't see you."

"I'm not a child."

“Of course you’re not, but you’re practically a walking target for any undercover agent,” he sighs as you wrench your hand from his grasp and scowl. “You scared me is all.”

The sentiment might’ve been sweeter if your brain didn’t remind you of his latenight amorous meeting with Ada and it sours your whole mood even further. Long gone is that steadily growin soft spot and it only gets replaced by stone cold bitterness. Had the world always been this dark?

You spin on your heel and ignore the confused sound Leon makes as he follows closely like he’s afraid he’ll lose you again.

“You’re losing your edge, Kennedy,” you sniff dismissively.

“What?”

“Isn't this all some complex business partnership to you?” The walk to the room seems to drag on longer than you like and the nagging feeling of his eyes on you makes you want to scream, cry, and break all at once.

“Where the hell did you get that idea from?” he asks as if this whole thing would be any different than past encounters.

You ignore him, approaching the suite and unlocking the door with your keycard and pushing through roughly, not waiting for any protest from Leon. Your brain flies with so many unanswered questions and they’re so loud that you want to fall to your knees and beg them to stop.

Unable to take it anymore, you whirl around and he almost runs into you from the abrupt halt.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?!” You demand, bordering on a plea but he doesn’t need to know how deep the desperation went. 

His dark eyebrows knit in confusion. “Like what?”

“Like–” you struggle to form a coherent line of thought, “–with those eyes.”

You know you don’t make much sense but you can see it register in his expression, dusty blue darkening into electric and the atmosphere rapidly shifts from one emotion to another. He’s so close now, less than an arm's reach away, and he looks at you from beneath his lashes in a way that’s enough to drive you to insanity.

Why was he doing this? How was he doing this? How was Leon of all people drawing you in deep enough to get under your skin? How could he command the tension between you like it was a simple race down a one-way street and simultaneously provide no context behind his motives?

Why did Ada come by last night and how did she know who he was? How did she know you?

These questions sprout one after another like those depressing time loop videos of flowering plants. He answers none of them and it’s only all the more infuriating.

“Leon,” you swallow harshly and stand your ground. “What do you want from me?”

The question is left hanging in the air, an unoccupied noose. It’s intimidating, dread on your shoulders like a heavy burden as you wait for an answer that never comes. Leon just looks at you like he was waiting for you to come to some revelation and answer the question for yourself but no such reason comes forth.

Ridiculous. 

He does nothing, and his nonchalant exterior only makes you more infuriated and frustrated with the sensation of talking to the equivalent of a brick wall. Instead, Leon’s eyes flick around your face as if he was soaking every detail, absorbing as much as he could. You watch him warily like a hawk, wondering just how much longer the two of you could dance around this issue of unspoken feeling and silent motive.

Then, his eyes travel down to your mouth in a way you would’ve missed if you blinked. Your lips part as his tongue darts out to wet his own, the muscle gliding along his skin and leaving a light sheen of saliva behind.

The movement is miniscule but addicting all the same, and you’re almost knocked breathless with the urge to pull him close just to get his hands on your body. You want to kiss him so badly until his lips swell with the imprint of yours and his passion matches to suit your own. You want the taste of that spearmint gum he always carries around and the aura of alcohol that always stays with him no matter where he goes. 

Craving flares in your stomach as tears well in your eyes, confused and angry as to why this was happening now.

Did Leon know how much he was torturing you? Was he just pupeteering you around just to leave you cold and alone like your family, friends, and past lovers did? You wouldn’t be able to handle that–you can feel it. That would be your breaking point, your hamartia. 

Your death.

It takes all of your strength to pull away from him and his hypnotic spell though you’re not sure if he even had an inkling of the self-torment you’re undergoing with this new revelation.

He doesn’t stop you as you escape onto the balcony, slamming the sliding door closed, and gulping in the oxygen like you held your head underwater too long.

An ugly sob rips from your throat and self-loathing burns bright and hot in your gut. The heat is almost too much to handle as you hate yourself for allowing yourself to cry like this over something so miniscule and especially because of something Leon had done. He doesn’t even have the audacity to be sorry.

Still, emotions are nothing new even if your understanding of love is so warped beyond repair. You’re stronger than this. You’re better. You have to be.

Your knees give out and you have no choice but to fall onto one of the patio chairs and let the numbness spread through your body. The tears begin drying tracks on your cheeks as new ones follow the path of the old, but you don’t have the heart or energy to wipe them away.

What were your feelings about Leon truly? It’s obvious you don’t hate him as much as you had before and the thought of him dying now scares you more than ever. There’s still some old hate there, just behind your ribcage just waiting to explode outward again, but dulled by an entirely new portion of your brain. 

The portion of your brain that wants to kiss him. The one that wants Leon to take you out on dates and make jokes as your husband and admire him under the golden lighting of the sun. The one that charges into your old self with a fierce snarl and starts a battle for your wishes and dreams. 

Your head hits the back of the chair and you screw your eyes shut, trying to make sense of the whole entire thing. 

Nothing but the image of that desolate and dead landscape from your dream comes to mind. You can still hear the rolling thunder and cracking lightning as if it had happened right in front of your eyes. You can still feel the sticky blood on your hands and the metallic scent permeating the air as lifeless eyes had stared up at you.

Devoid of passion. Devoid of anything.

Is that what you wanted–what you wished for? Is that your happy ending? 

Somehow–for some inexplicable and unknown reason–you don't think so.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Guns weigh heavy in your palms, but in a cruel twist of fate, it also means home.

The power to kill someone lying in a variety of sizes are the only way to survive in your profession. That much is obvious. You've been through the same song and dance a million times over and then some–so this? This is nothing new. 

Tensions have been high in the suite as you do your level best to avoid Leon while confined to such a small space with him. Over the past couple of days, your interactions have lasted with only a few clipped words and making plans to infiltrate the lab you'd found in the clothing department dressing room. Today was the day you'd decided to put your plans into action despite how poorly they've been communicated.

You know for tag team missions like this, communication is vital. However, you can't bring yourself to care. Being dealt potential death seems much better than having to face Leon and grapple with the warring thoughts tugging between wanting to end him and wanting more with him. He doesn't make it any easier.

He's not bitter. The exterior he puts up paints him as a grumpy middle-aged man whose experiences have only made him all the more angry at the world. You know him better than that, though. That's just how he is naturally, and if he was anything but that, you would know best how to spot the signs. However, this new attitude of his is something you’ve never encountered before so it’s hard to pinpoint just exactly what state of mind he was in.

Over the course of just a couple days, you find yourself struggling to hold on to that composure you worked so hard to craft. Leon leaves you alone and allows you to have your space, but even then, it takes all of your willpower just to not stare openly. 

You indulge yourself late at night when his breathing deepens and your thoughts are just between you and whatever potential god there was. There were nights where your thoughts run rampant and take whatever chance you allow to admire him. You wish that there was something more between you emotionally and nothing physically. You want that sensation of his body on yours and what that might entail, and you want him deeper than you ever have before.

Shamefully, you wonder if he would burn just as deliciously as you imagined or if it would be more just because it's Leon. Would that controlled blaze turn into a wild forest fire under his advances? Would he steal your breath away roughly or would he take his unrelenting time to savor you all? Would he aim to watch tears roll down your cheeks or would he kiss them all away with whispers of sweet nothings?

Your enemy, putting you at the mercy of his hands and body, was a thought you kept sealed away tightly. Nobody could ever know about it.

When the morning came, you had checked your back and was delighted upon knowing that the wound had healed thanks to the full effect of Leon's questionable herbs. You'd put on your tactical gear over it, stretching to get the blood flowing and downing a coffee for good measure. 

While he's in the bathroom, you check over your weapons once more and make sure all of your guns are loaded and stocked. Running out of ammo has been the reason for near-death multiple times so it’s especially crucial that you don’t make that mistake today.

Alone with your thoughts, you finally grapple with what you’re trying to do today.

For so many years, the J.I.E. had silenced you and molded your mind and body into a perfect little war soldier under the pretenses that you were making the world a better place. You’d been a fool, blind to the millions of deaths that were paying for the price of a few lives until that veil was snatched away and revealed the horrors of humanity to you.

Your eyes shut as you remember the chains, rubbing your wrists raw as you were forced into discipline. The memory of cold metal kissing your skin before breaking through it, promising worse if you hadn’t obeyed was fresh as a morning bloom in your head. Your own screams had sounded like they were from someone else, leaving your throat torn and your vocal cords frayed. 

Leon would never know the extent of the pain you had gone through, even if he’s the only one that knew the basics. You were afraid of what he would think of that–of you.

He emerges finally ready and you stare wordlessly at him. A silent understanding passes between you and the two of you jump into action. 

The car ride there is a blur. Despite having walked before on your small outing when you first got here, you'd figured it would be much easier to have a getaway vehicle ready and parked a couple blocks away just in case. The store opened early, and just in time for you to sneak in inconspicuously.

Avoiding employees was easy, especially after you had swiped a keycard from the manager’s stand upon finding it carelessly abandoned. 

The dressing rooms were easy enough to get into and you led Leon into the one that you had changed in while you tried on that pretty little dress he recommended. It’s only been a few days but that night feels like it was so long ago, especially with how many cycles of emotions you’ve been subjected to since then. 

Upon removing the middle panel, holding the keycard up to the gray block causes a loud click to sound out that notifies the door has been unlocked. Uneasily, you breathe in deeply and push in. 

The interior is something you’re familiar with since it took on a similar appearance to that of the lab you’d been assigned to. However, the layout is foreign so it’s a toss in the air as to where anything could possibly be. The walls are lined with thick cords that are warm to the touch and the vibration of the lab's electricity current hums under your feet. You take out your handgun, keeping your finger off the trigger but staying alert all the same. 

Leon fires off a shot and you whirl around just in time to see a camera falling to the ground brokenly. 

The initial entrance is a straight shot but eventually you reach a hub of sorts where there are multiple tunnels branching off into different directions. Above them are signs that list the area of interest that each one led down to, ranging from dormitories to experimentations. The offices were the most dangerous to try and breach since multiple people working meant a bigger crowd to try and disperse if you got caught, though you're convinced that this place must be overrun like an ant colony.

"Where do we go from here?" Leon asks and your stomach flips. 

You haven't heard him speak since your fallout a few days ago so it's an emotional whiplash being reminded of what exactly the most miniscule things about him do to you. Things that shouldn't elicit such reactions, making your skin spark with invisible electricity and putting your brain on high alert when he so much as breathes heavier.

"Anywhere we go is gonna be crawling with workers," you answer, keeping your composure. "They're usually confined to their assigned station for the whole day before being let off to go home. We should try and go to one that has the least amount of people or the biggest advantage for us."

"Where do you propose that might be?"

You look up at the labels above the tunnels before settling on one. "The observation deck. They use it to record the progress of their bioweapons and monitor any potential dangers they might pose so they're on a tight schedule. We might be able to find something about what they're doing there."

He nods and together, you make your way through the tunnel, shooting down any more security cameras you see and testing for any potential defense mechanisms they might have installed. It's eerily quiet besides the atmospheric noises and suspicion rises in your mind as you wonder why you haven't seen anybody thus far in your journey. You'd expected a flood of scientists or at least one assassination attempt as soon as you stepped inside, but maybe this wasn't as uptight as the lab you were at.

The observation deck was a series of catwalks crossing over a large arena, presumably where they let their bioweapons roam free while they stayed a safe height away from it. From where you entered, it happens to be in the 4th level, though the platforms stretch to multiple stories above your head. It looked almost similar to the pictures of the lab beneath the white house that Wilson had hidden away with the whole incident with Jason, though this one lacked any chemical experiments in the middle. 

“Let’s go,” you whisper, pointing up to a space encased in glass. “They might have reports we can get into over there.”

Just as you go to begin walking, the static cracking of a speaker jumping to life immediately halts your steps. Leon whips around, pushing his back to yours as you defensively cover each other with your guns at the ready. There’s no telling where the speaker might be or where it was located, but the fact that it was active at all is a problem.

Then, the crackling dissipates and the voie comes through, muffled by the poor quality of a microphone.

“So you’ve finally made it,” the voice purrs through the intercom. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Neither you nor Leon answer, swiveling around and searching for any oddities while keeping your wits as the speaker crackles again and clears.

“Unfortunately, we don’t appreciate outsiders much, Agent (L/n). You should know that more than anybody.”

You grit your teeth, trying not to let their words get underneath your skin. 

“Ah, well. You were a valuable asset to us. It’s so unfortunate we’ll have to do some clean-up, so to speak.” 

Beneath you, something crashes against the wall with a violent boom and the dark growl of something massive reverberates through the whole entire room. A sick sort of dread grows as you look down before glancing back at Leon who’s sharing the same thought process as you are. It’s not that hard to deduce what would happen next, and silently, you pray to whatever’s out there that you would make it out of this thing alive. 

“You really need to work on your speeches, pal,” Leon snaps and you would’ve laughed if you weren’t stuck in such a precarious and unpredictable situation. 

“And you need to work on your manners, Mr. Kennedy,” the voice cackles, all ugly and sounding like they were hacking up a lung. “You’ll be regretting those words when you’re dead. Entertain the animal for me, will you?”

The speaker clicks off just as a metal door below flies off its hinges and nearly blows through the wall of the arena below. You break from the formation you and Leon had set up to look down at what you’re up against and your eyes widen with horror. It’s got multiple appendages whipping out from every limb, taking on the sick appearance of some mutated spider. Multiple eyes glow yellow as it glances around before zeroing in on you above it.

“Leon,” you mumble, backing up and he only gets a sparse good look at what you're up against before he’s grabbing your wrist and sprinting down the catwalk. 

The beast screeches upon seeing its target on the move and one of those long arms shoots upward to latch onto the railing of the walkway. You just barely make it onto safe ground before it’s yanked away and the whole path crashes to the ground. Panic curls in your chest as you remember what had happened the last time you had faced off a bioweapon, and you start running after Leon once you gain your bearings.

All along the sides are countless offices that hold large filing cabinets, though they hardly matter in this chase scene. The monster hisses, spitting something before launching upward and beginning to climb the walls rapidly towards you. You’re able to deter it with a couple well-aimed shots to its head but, it only makes it angrier as well.

Once it’s up, your stomach jumps into your throat upon seeing that the thing is almost twice as tall as you are. It lumbers toward you with a hiss as it secretes acid that burns into the ground. Leon stops in front of you, pulling out a rifle and pressing the scope to his eye. You’re confused as to what his approach is until he shoots and the monster reels back in pain with a scream. When you look, you see that he’s hit one of the multiple grotesque eyeballs that embed along the legs of the mutated spider. It’s not hard to see where Leon was going with this so you take out your own rifle to join him.

Gunshots ring in your ears as you and Leon rain down hellfire, backing away every so often to put distance between you and the bioweapon. 

Leon runs up a flight of stairs before shoving himself into a crevice that's only large enough to fit one. You stumble up after him and turn onto another catwalk, looking back and almost vomiting. The ugly monster's wounds are leaking pus that chews holes into the ground it walks on, eyes flicking wildly before finding you–entirely missing Leon–and heading frantically in your direction.

Of fucking course they made all of its bodily fluids acidic. What else would you expect?

You switch out your rifle for a magnum and shoot around Leon as he brings up the rear. He works on picking off the rest of the leg eyeballs while you set to getting the fucker right in between it's menacing yellow eyes. The recoil is almost unfamiliar, but you swiftly get back into the rhythm of handling the weapon, walking back before reaching to your tactical utility belt and yanking off an incendiary grenade. 

You pull the pin, throw it, and shield your eyes from the burst of flames that erupt and start licking along the spider's body. It shrieks so ungodly loud that you would've almost clapped your hands around your ears if you didn't remember where you were and what your goal was. You reload your magnum as quickly and accurately as you can manage, and keep shooting. Leon sprints out, using the weakened legs as leverage to swing himself onto its back and start stabbing it with the combat knife he'd been hiding. 

He's a genius and lunatic all at once.

You suppose this must be nothing new to him since Leon's faced who knows how many bioweapons at this point, but this is your first time seeing it up close and personal. He fights like it's second nature–like he's simply just breathing. It's mesmerizing to watch, but the moment is over when he gets thrown off into your direction and lands heavily in front of you directly onto his arm with a pained grunt.

You wince, hoping that it hasn't been broken or dislocated, reaching out and hauling him to his feet when he accepts your hand. Together, you keep shooting as Leon pulls the pin on a hand grenade and throws it at the spider's feet. You halt, palms covering your ears as it flashes multiple times then explodes, taking the mutated monster down with it. 

Organs go flying everywhere and you duck to avoid the majority splatter of the acidic blood. The explosion causes a creak and only the middle portion of the catwalk sinks before crumbling down into the wreckage already created by the first ruined walkway. 

Leon stands up, panting heavily as he looks down into the mess below that has sparked a fire and was burning merrily as if you hadn't just killed a man-made monster. Speaking of which, whose body had joined the metal below and had speared onto the sharp pieces that jutted out like a homemade spike pitfall trap. 

He turns to you, going to open his mouth to say something but is rapidly silenced by a creaking groan and then he shouts in panic when the ground beneath his feet gives way. You gasp, lunging forward and grabbing his hand on instinct as the portion of the walkway falls into the void below and he's left dangling precariously from a fatal height with only you to hold onto. 

He glances down then back up at you, desperation in his eyes as you both come to the same realization and conclusion. 

You could kill him right now.

All you had to do was let go and it would all be over as if this never happened. He would be out of your hair and all that torment he subjected you to would dissipate like cotton candy subjected to water. This would all end if you would just take the chance to drop him into that dangerous trap where you would never have to see him again, never have to worry about him again. You could drop him and turn away without a second glance to see if he survived or not.

Leon’s eyes flash and you know exactly what it is despite never seeing it before. It’s pure unadulterated fear, with his life hanging in the balance of someone who had expressed distaste for him a healthy amount of times and whose certainly not favorable towards him in any way at the moment. Even if he saved your life, were you so willing to give up this once-in-a-lifetime chance?

You have the high ground now.

You determine his fate.

You could end it all right now by just yanking your hand away and taking back everything you had done to improve your relationship with him. 

Your heart thuds marathons in your ears as all your muscles twitch and have a war in your mind. The thoughts curl and shriek around each other, fighting for what they believed the right thing to do was and it felt like the whole world was watching you for some sort of revolutionary choice.

You wince, knowing what your decision is.

Hauling Leon up, your legs burn as you lift his weight from the ledge and onto safe ground, rolling away when he finally lands on the stable ground that the catwalk had been attached to. Your lungs beg for air and you pant, faintly registering what just happened as you ride out that high of adrenaline. Leon must be out of it if he hasn't made a sarcastic quip about almost dying.

"We need to get to safety," you say, shakily getting to your feet and almost stumbling back down from the shock factor.

He only nods and you reach out to help him up. Even though you didn’t drop him to his untimely death, he looks at you warily before accepting the offer, almost falling to his knees again before you shoot forward and catch him. His body heat radiates through your skin and your cheeks set ablaze at the proximity even as you sling one of his arms around your shoulders and support some of his weight as you begin walking.

“There’s a safe room I saw on the way while we were running,” you mumble, avoiding making any sort of eye contact. “We can go over there and make sure you’re not hurt.”

“What about you?” He rasps and it leaves you wondering why he’s so adamant about the state of your health when he’s just looked death between the eyes.

You laugh breathlessly, almost sarcastically if you weren’t still riding the high of that fading adrenaline. “Don’t worry about me.”

You and Leon make your way to one of the cubicles, and you set him down carefully on the office chair that he manages to unceremoniously slump into. It’s clear that his almost-death is impacting him, though you now well that this isn’t the first time he’s had a touch of the afterlife. It really did make you wonder what about this time made it any different. 

While he squeezes his eyes shut and massages the shoulder he’d landed on, you reach into your bag and pull out a first aid spray for him to use when he’s ready before standing and taking in your environment. The computer is innocently waiting on the stand with the J.I.E. logo set as the wallpaper, and there’s a filing cabinet that you try to open. It doesn’t give way and you mumble out a curse under your breath as you start poking around the desk drawers for a possible key.

Leo pops the top off the spray bottle and starts healing his wounds while you flip through various pages inside. Most of them are unhelpful and just detailing things you already knew until you tumble on a report for the spider you had just killed.

You put it into a manila folder that you put in your bag, rummaging around more until you find a hidden compartment that holds the key to the file cabinet. Upon opening the locked drawer, you find reports on agents–including your own–and details on the imports and exports the company had been engaging in. 

Then, you hit the jackpot.

First and foremost was a folder of maps that laid out every level and room there was in the entirety of the lab. Then, there was a large binder that recorded every experiment the J.I.E. had engaged with the creation of their bioweapons, even detailing a new virus that they were meddling with. You flip through, finding monster after monster that has failed and succeeded. For now, this would be enough until you could figure out a plan using the map and going over the particulars of the experiments.

“We should go now,” you decide. “This is more than enough to figure out where we’re going and what we’re up against.”

Silence.

The lack of response causes you to turn around and peer questioningly at Leon who just nods mindlessly and gets up. He doesn’t meet your eyes and this attitude only makes you all the more confused. What had gotten into him?

Nonetheless, he follows as you make your way to an elevator that you go up in to return to the main hub that you had entered through. You suppose that nobody had watched you through the cameras and just automatically assumed you were being taken care of by the spider bioweapon since it's still suspiciously dead silent. 

You still stay alert, and if you hadn't been so on edge, Leon would've walked right into the wire trap that had been meticulously strung across the tunnel. You pull him back sharply without thinking, fingers lacing with his as you yank.

He grunts as you pull away, going to carefully disarm it, figuring this was their way of alarming anybody you made it out alive. The explosion surely would have let someone know that there were two unauthorized people still running around, so it was good you had seen the thin wire and the two dark devices flashing red lights. Then again, you'd expected Leon to be just as attentive as you were to your surroundings. 

Something was bothering him. Seeing him like this wasn't helping you much either, dying to know just what had him so distracted. 

The two of you finally make it to the exit carefully pushing outward into the dressing room whose door had been locked when the two of you entered to prevent anybody seeing things they shouldn't be. A quick pack of wet wipes is enough to make yourselves look decent enough to not look like you’d been playing around in dirt and gunpowder, and you make plans to shower once you got back to the hotel.

All throughout your way back, Leon still stays infuriatingly silent from the lab to the suite, and the question as to why teases the tip of your tongue. 

You get inside, let him know you're going to run yourself a bath, and retreat to the restroom as you sigh out with a whimper almost escaping in the process. In the solitude of your own thoughts, you finally let yourself feel that pain and anguish and confusion that you always hold back in the presence of Leon.

Fighting didn’t help at all. If anything, it only made it all the worse feeling guilt or something akin to it.

Would he ever tell you about Ada or was that just something you would have to figure out for yourself? Could you ever be closer to him knowing that he had said you meant nothing to him? It must be true if he had said it without expecting you to hear, and somehow, that sentiment causes a stabbing pang in your chest. It’s a wonderful and horrible thing–wanting someone so badly but knowing they would never want you back.

It’s a bittersweet taste on your tongue with a pungent aftertaste stinging your tastebuds, dooming yourself in the process.

Emotions were always so easy to stomp down and kill before. What about this whole ordeal could possibly make this any different?

Some dark part of your mind whispers that you know. You know what this provocative emotion is that makes your head spin and act irrationally, but you’d die before ever admitting it out loud. This may as well be worse than a death penalty–or rather, it is your death penalty. 

The sound of rushing water acts as a soothing white noise until the tub is full and submerging yourself in the warm water causes a sigh of relief to fly past your lips in a gentle exhale. You take your time, washing your hair and massaging fingers into your scalp to help focus on releasing all of that tension that has built up over the past few days. The water turns gray from all that built up grime and dust and the soapy suds merely adds to the discoloration once you actually start scrubbing.

Once you’re done, you feel more human, more in control. The thoughts have quieted, and you finally start to feel like you can get a grasp on yourself again. You think you’re ready to see Leon and just simply resign to the watching the city on the balcony or going to sleep early like the past few days have allowed you. You can live with this. You can do it.

Once this is all said and done, you can part ways. You can forget him.

You could…

You have to. Right?

You step out, steam chasing after you as if beckoning you back into its warm embrace and you find Leon staring out the window mindlessly. You get hit with deja vu as it reminds you of the first morning you’d gotten here and watched the sunrise together. That was when you were nothing more than unlikely but eager allies. Now? You don’t know what you are. 

You don’t want to be the one that wants him while he just wants the entertainment. You’re smarter than that.

“Hey,” you call out and he turns slightly, acknowledging you. The atmosphere turns slightly awkward when he provides no verbal answer. “I’m just going to go sit outside for a bit since I guess you want to be alone right now. If you need me, I’ll be-”

"Stop."

His command makes the words fade from your tongue and you swallow harshly. The first words he’s spoken to you since asking how you were at the lab are spoken roughly, making your heart drop into your stomach. When had you started listening to him when he ordered you around? You weren't one of his rookies or agents on his team, but right now, you were completely and totally at the mercy of whatever he might do.

"Why did you save me?" He asks tightly, turning around and finally getting a good look at you in an oversized t-shirt with pajama shorts barely peeking out from underneath the hem. His eyes wander and he swallows harshly. "You could have killed me–ended this feud and finally been the hero of this whole story. Why did you do it?"

You don't have to think about the answer, but it's shameful. After giving him the cold shoulder upon hearing him with Ada and sealing your emotions in a tight little glass bottle, they come spilling out now for Leon to pick through and judge. 

"I don't want you to die," you whisper, taking a step back, afraid of whatever he might say. 

He moves toward you at an excruciatingly slow pace, expression unreadable and more intimidating than the literal bioweapon you had survived just hours ago. You match his footfalls backward and you think this fear must be what prey feels like when death has locked eyes on it.

"I can't–We can talk about this, yeah?” You try explaining, wondering if there was any possibility you could talk your way out of this. “It doesn't matter–not really. We just…"

You're rambling now, trying to find an excuse to stop those blue eyes from piercing your soul and peeling away every layer of defense you've built up. He keeps getting closer and you're running out of room to escape to. You've never been more scared of him than in this moment–even when he almost killed you the day you met, you've never felt like this. A deer in the headlights, electricity coursing through your nerves as your brain struggles to choose between fight or flight. 

Did he know? Did he know about all those lingering gazes and words that held guilt behind them and all those emotions that you weren't supposed to be having clogging up your chest?

Your back hits a wall and you're fucked.

Leon's hand finds your waist when he's close enough, your skin rushing hot as his breath fans your face and you smell spearmint. It's addicting. He's addicting. Your heartbeat rushes in your ears, pounding anxiously as the nerves in your body light up like a Christmas tree.

When he speaks, it’s all low tones and so fucking attractive.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs, affectionately raw in a way you never would've imagined him to be. His other hand comes up, cupping your jaw delicately and all the blood rushes to your face.

He's called you many things before, and has used more than enough adjectives to convey this disdain for you. Annoying, disgusting, naive, revolting, repulsive…but never in a million years would he have called you sweet. You must be dreaming, and if you are, you never want to wake up.

"I'm actually a very indulgent creep," you wheeze out and barely conceal a whimper. "Leon, you-"

He cuts you off as his lips press onto yours and all rational thought leaves your brain in an instant. His mouth molds to yours, fingers on your waist mindlessly beginning to run circles as he presses heavily onto you as if this is what’s been wanting just as much as you. All you can feel is him, his hands on your body, his mouth working your own in such a sinful way that makes your head spin and your stomach do cartwheels.

You close your eyes, let yourself fall from grace, and plummet.

His tongue licks into your mouth and you moan as he presses you further into the wall as if it were possible. His grip turns almost bruising on your skin as he guides the hand that had been caressing your waist down to your thigh, prompting your leg to wrap around him. When you get the hint, he uses the momentum to haul you up and you squeak as he gets his arm underneath you with ease and stabilizes you. 

Leon laughs breathlessly, and he kisses on your neck. Your fingers thread through his brunette locks while you work on refilling your lungs with air. This small hint of joy–this humorous moment in something so tense–is what really matters. You can’t believe this is happening, but the way his touch burns is more than enough of an indicator that this is real.

He moves with you in his arms like you weigh nothing. Leon lets you down onto the hotel suite's bed gentle enough to not hurt you but still rough enough that you bounce from the buoyancy of the memory foam. Your back hits the mattress and everything seems to fall into place the way it should be.

Leon's hands are all over you, trailing from your hips to your stomach and up to your chest. The touch of his palms burns your skin like trails of heated lava pleasantly oozing along your veins. He burns so brightly but yet so so good. Leon hikes up your shirt, exposing your stomach to the cool air that blows across your burning body as his tongue pries your mouth open again. You hum in satisfaction as his wet muscle curls around yours hotly and arousal sparks in your gut as you feel slick just starting to begin pooling uncomfortably in your panties.

He pulls away, kissing the corner of your mouth as he pants, your legs still straddling around him even while you lie down. He looks so fucking pretty. 

"Cat got your tongue?" He teases and you kick him lightly in the back with your heel. 

"You wish," you retort mockingly. "You're all bark and no bite."

Leon raises an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"

You smile, something genuine and soft and so beautifully crafted just for him. "It's whatever you want it to be."

"Then let me tell you how I want it to be." His hot breaths fan across your skin and you really do feel like you're already burning as his fingers pull your shirt further and further up your torso. 

"Go ahead," you pull him closer, noses bumping together as you press a feather-light kiss to the stubble on his cheek. "I'm listening."

"I want you underneath me," he admits it like he's in a confessional, but whatever this is is far from holy. "I want to hear how you sound when I make you feel good, sweetheart." He nips at your neck, soothing the tiny burn with the flat of his tongue. "Can I do that for you? Will you let me?"

You wouldn’t just hand everything over to him on a silver platter. A little teasing never hurts, right?

"I don't know," you hum, though every instinct in you screams to submit just so he can do whatever he wants with you. "All this just for a little entertainment? You sure do go all out, Kennedy."

"Is that what you think this is?" He pulls away and you almost protest at the lack of contact until you get a good look at his expression. Something like sadness and doubt lining those electric blue eyes that you've come to stare at for hours. 

You don’t like the sudden shift in atmosphere so you shake your head in hopes of clearing those shadows away from his head. “Of course not–I’m sorry. That was a bad choice of wording on my part.”

He laughs, nervous and still lingering with some semblance of unease. “You sure know how to keep me on my toes.”

“I haven’t been this close with someone in a while,” you admit and shift your eyes to a random spot on the ceiling, trying to ignore the giddy feeling that came from him still hovering above you from between your legs. “You should know I’m not very…experienced or anything. I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologizing,” he chastises, fingers tilting up your chin so he can lean upward to press a warm kiss to your forehead. “I won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

You take the time to consider this, knowing that whatever was about to unfold would be something big in your relationship. It feels like there hasn’t been enough time to process your undying devotion for him or the questions that still linger behind Ada’s appearance, but you do know that this is something you can work out. This is something you want.

Still, there’s just some things you can’t let go of.

“Before I answer that,” you sigh, hating that you’re bringing down the mood with your fears. “Can I ask what Ada was doing here–what she wanted?”

Leon’s eyes take on a new emotion and his whole body tenses. You’re afraid that you’ve struck a chord he wouldn’t want to discuss and you fearfully wonder if this would sever any chance you have with him.

“You know Ada?” he asks and it’s painful when he says so. Whatever she means to him, it must not herald any good will.

“No,” you frown. “I heard you talking a few nights ago on the balcony. You…” The words don’t come off your tongue stubbornly, trying to stuff themselves back into your throat. “You said I was nobody–that I meant nothing to you. I mean, if that’s true, then what could you possibly want me for?”

The sting of it all comes rushing back in this incredibly vulnerable moment. You were never good with intense emotions nor did you have a good handle on them when they exploded outward like a volcanic eruption. It’s no surprise when the tears start threatening to fall, though you curse them and hold them back in an attempt to keep your dignity.

Leon makes a wounded noise deep from the back of his throat. 

“I was trying to protect you.”

It doesn’t make sense. “What?”

He ducks his head, and you desperately try to understand. “She’s backstabbed me more than once. I can’t count how many times Ada’s used me for her own gain, and I just–I couldn’t just let her get her hands on you that easily.”

“So…?”

“I lied,” Leon pleads, and the ice melts away from your burning heart. “You mean everything to me, (Y/n). I can’t lose you like I’ve lost everyone else.”

“Leon,” you whisper, all too vulnerable and drowning in that unnamed emotion. The answer to his questions and advances pours from your lips like a sacred waterfall, ready and yearning. “I want you. Make me feel good–I’ll let you.”

His pupils dilate and he dives back down, claiming your lips with his in a rougher kiss than the ones previously before. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair when he moves down, tugging on your shirt so that it could finally come off over your torso. The cool air blows across your hot skin, moaning when he massages the pad of his thumb around one of your nipples, and the pleasure sends your thoughts into a whirlwind. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve thought of this,” Leon murmurs, eyes slipping shut as if he was trying to map out and memorize your whole body.

You don’t get to ask what he means by that when he opens his mouth and licks the flat of his tongue wetly across your tit. Your head tilts back of its own accord, a strangled moan escaping in the process before you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise. Heated shame rushes to your cheeks as you look down, already finding Leon gazing up at you, mesmerized.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he prompts, pulling your arm away. “Let me hear you, sweetheart.”

Why was he so persistent with the pet names? If he keeps this up, you’ll be nothing more than just putty in his hands. 

“Stop,” you whine, covering your eyes like that would change anything. “You’re gonna drive me insane if you keep saying things like that.”

“Do you not like me calling you names?”

You peek through your fingers to find him all the more attentive, trying to find what you don’t like and what you want. That love, care, and attention was something you never had–never deserved. How could you tell him that he’s giving you everything you want while not discouraging him from doing so?

“It’s not that,” you swallow shamefully. “Nobody’s ever told me that. Or called me anything, for that matter. It’s just new–I think I’m trying to figure out how to handle it all.”

His expression darkens and you think he might tease you or tell you to suck it up. Instead, Leon almost growls out, “Nobody?”

You make a noise of confirmation.

“Oh, baby.” He rests his cheek on your stomach and traces patterns on your skin. “Your last partner didn’t?”

You scoff, deciding to be vulnerable just this once. “My last partner was in highschool, honey.” The pet name feels foreign, but good nonetheless. You can understand why he seems so insistent on using them with you. “Like I said–it’s been a while.”

“Even so.” He picks up his head and shakes it, moving even further down and hooking fingers into the waistband of your shorts. “They didn’t appreciate you like you deserved then.”

Your voice cracks as you rest your head back onto the pillow and whisper, “I don’t think I did.”

Down, down, down your shorts trail along your legs, leaving you in nothing but a lacy pair of underwear and all too vulnerable emotionally and physically. You make a noise of dissatisfaction, tugging on Leon’s shirt as he was still unfairly dressed. 

He chuckles and gets the hint, leaning up to throw it off as you get to admire his body. There’s multiple scars from the tussles he’s engaged in with fighting bioweapons for a living, but one in particular catches your eye. Set proudly on his shoulder is a bullet bound that looks to be years old, all knotted and improperly healed. He must’ve not had the right care available to him when he got it. Leon sees you eyeing it, and smiles, albeit a bit sadly.

“Don’t worry about it,” he urges, falling back over you and kissing you softly, leaving a peck on your chin as he keeps going down. 

“I’ll worry about it later,” you compromise.

Leon lifts one of your legs, trailing featherlight kisses down your calves and into the inside of your thighs before swapping to the other and repeating the action. You sigh blissfully, letting that arousal build like a growing fire in your belly until you absolutely need something to quell it. You need him to do it–nobody else. 

There’s nobody else in the world you would be this exposed to. There’s nobody else you need.

“Leon,” you whine, hips gyrating as the accumulated wetness has become noticeably uncomfortable. “C’mon. I’m dying here.”

He actually laughs at that–not a chuckle or a huff of a breath that you’re so used to. A laugh, warm and genuine and painting lines across his features that you commit to memory in case you can never have this moment with him again. The possibility that this is a one-time thing is terrifying, but it gives you all the more reason to savor it.

Granting you some reprieve, he finally, finally, presses a heated kiss to your clothed clit and you cry out, hips bucking up of their own accord because you needed more than just the slight touches he was teasing you with. Leon gets his hands on you, driving your pelvis down and holding it in place as he licks a heated stripe up the outside of your panties. It's a warm, wet, and wild sensation–one that gives you a taste of Heaven without actually being there.

The feel of it is enough to drown you as you struggle to writhe beneath his restraint, head tossing back and heart fluttering to the beat of hummingbird wings. Your fingers tangle in his hair instinctively and pull, earning a delicious groan from him that reverberates through the room. You’re obsessed, or something along the lines of it, and you hope this never ends.

"You're so beautiful," Leon murmurs, eyes fluttering shut before he begins yanking off your panties like they offended him personally. Your glistening core is exposed to him, positively dripping from just the small things he's given you so far. "Jesus Christ, sweet girl. Is this all from the little I've done?" 

You squeak as he positions your legs over his shoulders, breaths puffing right over your waiting cunt that impatiently pulses with the need to be filled. He still doesn't allow you much room to move and a desperate little noise makes its way from your throat as he teases you with everything you want so close yet so far. 

"Use your big girl words," he prompts gently, tilting his head so that it rests on your inner thigh. "I need to know that you want this."

"I do," you whimper immediately, trying to find solace in tweaking one of your nipples for some sort of pleasurable reprieve. All that dignity you'd been trying to preserve goes out the window. "I want you so bad, Leon. I can't take it anymore–please, please."

"Good girl," he purrs, all sultry and seductive. 

You choke on a gasp when his lips close around your folds, sucking sharply and swirling his tongue in your clit roughly. Instinctively, your hips break free and shy away from his touch, but Leon has none of it and merely pulls you back down to keep attacking your poor cunt. You moan freely, hand tugging on his hair as he laps up your arousal like a dying man and when his eyes flick up to meet yours, the fire in your belly flares.

You cry out his name, unable to vocalize or convey just how good he was making you feel. You've never had this before–this attention and euphoria.

Leon's head nods into you as his tongue fucks you deeper and you squirm under his ministrations, pushing against his face in vain as if he could grant you more than he could. He sinks his middle finger into your wet heat, tongue circling on your clit as he pumps in and out of you. The noises your pussy makes when he adds his ring finger and starts rocking them in and out of you would almost be embarrassing if you weren't so focused solely on how he was making you feel.

He eats you out like this would be his last meal, savoring the taste of you on his tongue as he fingerfucks you brutally. Experimentally, he curls his fingers up and you squeal, babbling incoherently and just settling on begging him to let you go. You can feel it building up just as he brushes against a spot deep inside you that makes you ascend, and you squeeze your eyes shut as the pleasure pricks tears in your eyes. 

He moans appreciatively, sending vibrations throughout your whole body and as you grind desperately against him. He keeps you as still as he can manage, but you're not a world-class agent for nothing. Even as Leon tries to control the thrusting of your hips upward, he also has to work on keeping your legs spread open in case you crush his head in between your thighs. 

Maybe he wouldn't object to it.

Leon pulls away, watching his fingers disappearing into you with a nonexistent resistance, cooing over your whimpers. "Does that feel good, sweet thing? Fuck, you taste amazing."

You keen at his words, face blazing hot as he momentarily takes the time to rub his wet fingers all across your folds so that cool air kisses between your thighs. "Leon!"

"You say my name so prettily," he sighs erotically, pushing his fingers back into you and scissoring harshly as he's knuckle-deep. "You gonna let me stretch you out? Gonna let me fuck you so good, all you can think about is my name?"

"Please," you whine again, and you have a feeling you'd be asking him for a lot tonight. Trying to think of any way to speed up the process so you can get what you really wanted, you whisper desperately, "Baby, I need you inside of me."

"Fuck," he hisses, voice gravelly as he begs. "Let me fuck you, angel. Let me fuck that pretty pussy of yours."

Your legs spread even wider as he works on getting his jeans off, and you eye the happy trail that takes route from his belly button and disappears into the waistband of his boxers. He's leanly muscular, though he's nothing short of attractive to you. 

To think that only a couple weeks ago, you would've killed yourself before even thinking about having sex with Leon Kennedy. Now, you think you would offer up yourself to whatever god existed just to be able to have this again–to be able to have him again. This vulnerable moment where all he wanted was to make you feel good and to hear you scream his name is something that has come straight out of your fantasies.

Fantasies during nights where you thought about touching yourself because of him but holding back because trying to hold back your noises while the man was literally sleeping in the same room was a horrendous idea. All that time you thought about what he would do to you and craving a touch you never thought you would get is paying off as he eyes you hungrily from above, licking the slick you'd left off of his fingers and palming the obvious tent in his boxers.

"You're staring," he comments slyly and you roll your eyes.

"And you're thinking about me," you accuse.

A smirk grows on his face, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes as he shuffles down the waistband of his underwear only slightly but just enough so you can see the implications of his sculpted v-line. 

"How did you know?" Leon hums and you blush furiously as if that persistent heat could burn any hotter. 

You turn your face away, unable to hold eye contact without getting flustered all over again. "Take it off before I do it for you, asshole."

"Would you?" He croons and you hide your face in your hands from the embarrassment of his unspoken words. "You're so cute when you're embarrassed, sweetheart."

It doesn't feel like you're adults right now, but rather two stupid teens getting up to something they shouldn't and acting like they were grown ups. It doesn't help the fact that you've had a playground rivalry for who knows how long, something so childish that you can't believe you'd let your icy emotions get the better of you for all those years. You can't help but wonder if this is something you could have had if you hadn't been so blind-eyed by the J.I.E. 

You feel the mattress shift beneath you and you pull your hands away from your eyes just in time to see Leon throw his discarded boxers somewhere else in the room, but it doesn't take long for your eyes to trail down. Leon's cock stands stiffly at attention, already leaking precum from the angry red tip that he hadn't even touched yet. Your mouth waters, and your hand twitches to wrap around it though you haven't had this experience for maybe over a decade. 

"See something you want?" He teases, though the words barely reach your ears as he climbs back to hover over you. 

You're crazy, and you know it by the way the words fall from your lips without a second thought. "Yeah. Was it from just…?"

His cockiness fades for a moment and his eyes soften, a genuine smile spreading across his features and lighting up his already-flushed face. "You're incredibly sexy when you're enjoying yourself, princess." You startle, and he laughs lowly, pecking your cheek. "Liked that one, huh?"

Leon kisses you deeply and you moan upon tasting yourself on his tongue as he feels up your torso and wipes a thumb over your breast. Blindly, you feel down his stomach, appreciating the definition of his well-deserved abs, and finally get a shaking hand around his dick. The action elicits a rich groan from him, even though you've barely even touched him. 

You slide your thumb across his slit, beading wetness sliding down your palm and providing the moisture you needed to stimulate him just right. Your motions aren't smooth by any means, and Leon can probably tell that you're not used to this, but he must be getting something out of it by the way his mouth drops open and his eyes screw shut with that beautiful blush spreading across his skin like wildfire. 

"Careful," he warns, but it ends with a guttural moan when your fingers brush delicately across his balls. "Shit, you're gonna make me go insane."

"It's payback, baby," you simper, groaning when he runs a finger up your folds in punishment. In revenge, you pump your hand a little faster around his length and you can feel the throbbing veins pushing into your palm. 

Leon pulls your wrist away, and you go to protest, wanting to give him more like he'd given you, but he shakes his head and cuts you off with a well-meaning kiss. "We'll do that another time, doll. Right now, it's about you."

"But-"

"C'mon," he cradles your face so gently that the words die on your tongue. "Trust me, sweetheart. I'm right here–I'm not going anywhere. Not not, not ever."

His words cause your emotions to soar, tears leaking vulnerably from your lashes and he wipes them away gently with the pads of his thumbs. Nobody ever stays like he promises and the threat of him breaking that vow hangs precariously in your mind on whether you'll truly take it to heart or not. All around you is him, hands on your body and voice floating richly in your ears. Could you have this again and again? Would he stay long enough to let you?

"Don't leave," you beg pathetically, looking up at him through shamefully teary eyes. "Just don't go."

"I promise," his forehead presses against yours as he whispers vows under the cover of this private moment with just the two of you. "I promise."

You lock your legs around his waist and pull him downward so that his cock taps impatiently against your stomach and Leon quickly gets the hint as he reaches down to pump himself a couple times in preparation. He kisses you deeply, passionately, as he lines up with your entrance and the weight of anticipation causes all the blood to rush to your head. He grinds for an agonizing moment, dick sliding between your folds tantalizingly slow before he finally gives in.

The head of his cock presses into your cunt and your mouth drops open, skin flushing as you pull him closer to get your lips on his to muffle the desperate sounds you make as he sinks inch by agonizing inch into you. Your thoughts scatter until nothing but Leon fills them and your heart beats marathons in your chest.

Your hands find his broad shoulders, hanging on for dear life as he pushes further into you as you adjust to feeling him inside of you. It's been literal years since you've last had sex and though you'd never expected it to be with Leon, it feels a lot more sentimental and pleasurable than the affairs you'd had with past partners.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good," Leon groans out, rolling his hips so that he bottoms out and the euphoria washes over you so deliciously that your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

"Le–on," his name falls brokenly from your lips, head spinning as you glance down and spot the outline of him bulging from your skin. 

Leon's forearms land on either side of your head, his nose bumping yours as his lidded eyes search yours. "Say it again. Say my name again, sweet thing." 

Fucking hell, his nicknames were going to be the death of you. 

"Leon–" you cry out when he sharply thrusts once, twice, then slowly begins setting a pace that has you seeing stars. As he adjusts to being inside of you, his speed increases in increments. You allow yourself to be loud, because right now, you could care less about dignity when Leon was just getting started.

His hips slam against you harshly, and he has you almost screaming when you can feel your plush walls hugging every vein and definition of his cock that he drags through you sweetly. His balls clap noisily against your skin and just the sound of it alone was enough to get you high and ever so closer to that sweet release. Leon's lips land on yours, kissing you roughly and the euphoria you were gifted from him abusing your hole was enough to keep you on cloud nine for at least a week. 

"Do you know how much I thought of this?" Leon grunts out, moving down so he can kiss the skin behind your ear affectionately. "Getting to fuck you so good that you don't remember anything but my name?"

His words make you whine and writhe beneath him until his hands hold your hips down so he can continue jackhammering into you at that relentless pace. You can feel the tip of his cock kissing your cervix bruisingly and the fact that he's so deep inside of you is enough to leave you absolutely dripping. 

"Leon–fuck, fuck!" You cry out as he folds one of your legs up and settles your knee into the crook of his elbow, using that leverage to fuck your sweet cunt even harder. 

"All mine," he mumbles, pussy drunk and caught in a brain fog. "So fucking beautiful and all for me, yeah?"

You barely manage to hum out an affirmation but the torturous pleasure he subjects you to makes it sound borderline pornographic. Your thoughts scatter in the wind and only leave you enough sense to rack your fingers through his hair as he rocks his cock in and out of your hole, addicted to the feeling as you lose yourselves within each other. 

Higher and higher Leon takes you, licking up the column of your throat and biting hickeys into the skin of your neck as if to mark you as his. The pleasure burns brightly, a traveling firework climbing up to the sky in hope of exploding outward. This sensation–something you've never had before–is what makes you obsessed and afraid to ever let go. All those years that people came into your life and left without prompting is negated by the fact that he's stayed.

Leon stretches you into a full-on mating press, your knees kissing your chest as he fucks you deeper than before. You sob brokenly, clasping your arms around his neck and holding on for dear life as he pistons his hips harder into your dripping heat. The weight of him on your body as he works you both up to your heights drives you crazy and you can feel all that tension building up–that firework ready to burst.

"You know how pretty you looked?" He grunts out, working his thrusts as if he could go any deeper than he already was and you squeak as he gives your tit a slap. "All dolled up and wearing that pretty little dress I picked out for you? Fuck, I was so close to taking you that night."

"Leon," you whimper as those clear blue eyes bore into yours, hooded with lust and swirling with more emotion and passion than you've ever seen before. "Shit, if that's what you really think, why didn't you do this sooner?"

"Do what, sweet thing? Fuck this pretty pussy 'til I was rearranging your guts?" 

You whine submissively at his words, tugging him closer, and hiding your face in his neck. His cock ploughs into your shopping heat, fucking you like the two of you are animals. Leon swallows your gasp, tongue lolling out to beg for air until he captures your mouth and steals all the breath from your lungs. His tongue wrestles your one into submission before pulling back, a trail of saliva connecting your moist lips. 

"I wanted to," he admits vulnerably, "so many times we were alone–wanted to bring you to a quiet little place where we could forget about the missions and rivalries and show you what you were missing.."

You weren't going to last long if he kept revealing secrets like this was some sort of steamy confessional.

"I thought you hated me," you gasp, keening when his pace slows and begins favoring hitting you deep and hard over speed. Your eyes roll upward before squeezing shut and just revealing the feeling of him all around you in the best case of sensory overload. "I thought you wanted me dead where I stood."

He tilts your chin up, rutting deep into you that makes you see stars. "That cocky little girl who was unkillable, maybe. But, you showed yourself to me and there you were."

"But, you-"

"I didn't want to scare you off," he sighs, something soft that contradicts the way he's still balls deep inside you. "I was ready to kill you when you landed on my doorstep at that shitty motel, but…I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t lose you."

There's a gap where he trails off, looking into your eyes as you realize that all while you scorned him and loved him, he was going through the same tortuous emotions as you. Those encounters, shooting bullets in each other's directions and painting scars through wounds was all one-sided. Leon knows you genuinely hated him in a past life as he hated you too, wished he was dead in the same way he was so close to putting a bullet through your skull, and yet he's still here.

"I did hate you." You bury your nose into his neck. "I preyed on your downfall for so many nights and loathed that you kept me alive just to prove a point."

"And now?"

You open your eyes, looking past through tears that have started to prick your lash line. Your chest swells with an emotion you haven't felt in a long while, reigniting flames on a piece of cold coal that hasn't felt the kiss of fire for so long. This feeling that has caused you so much conflict before has a name on your heart, your mind, then your tongue. 

"Now?" You reach up, brushing bangs away from his moist forehead, and bring him closer like you were telling him a secret. Your lips ghost over his as you answer. "Fuck, I love you, Leon."

That declaration seems to be the breaking point as he squishes you between his body and mattress, sinking his weight onto you as he desperately begins pounding you into the bedsheets. You moan loudly, unbidden as you relish in the feeling of Leon and trailing your fingernails down his back in angry red lines. The pleasure tips you into overdrive, and you almost scream as you feel yourself just beginning to tip over the edge.

“Leon, I,” you stutter and his hips never break stride, seemingly spurred on by the implication of your words hot and heavy in your ear, “I’m close, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

You choke on your breath as he wedges a hand between your bodies, rubbing furiously at your clit while muffling your sobs with an open-mouthed kiss. 

“Cum for me,” he pleads, eyes squeezing shut like you were tormenting him. “Cum on my cock baby, and I’ll cum for you too.”

Your head slams back onto the pillow, gasping and choking for air as you finally crash and that firework explodes outward. Your mind reels as you see white, gushing hotly around Leon who’s still chasing after his own high. You take the overstimulation, tears running freely now as you hold on for dear life he uses you to achieve his own orgasm, his grunts and breathy moans making home inside your memory as the sweetest sounds you’ve ever heard. You call out his name like a chant–a mantra, sweeter than any prayer you’ve ever had to utter.

When he pulls you in his arms, settles his full weight onto you, and kisses you so desperately like you’d disappear the moment he opened his eyes, you know he’s reached it.

Leon rams his hips so that he drives as far as he could into you, cum shooting white hot ropes and painting your walls white. You choke on your own breath as warmth spreads through your body, addicted already to the feeling of his cum spurting inside. You're mesmerized as you watch as his face pinches into something so beautiful and pretty to watch, and you wish you could ingrain the look of him coming undone into your head permanently. 

Nothing but hot pants fill the air as he lifts himself from your frame, hands bracketing either side of your head as he pushes himself up to get a good look at you, blissed out on his cock and almost fucked stupid. He brushes fair from your forehead and kisses you lightly in a deep contrast to the way he had nearly bruised your lips as he came.

You shift and he winces, slamming his hands on your hips to hold you still as he stays inside of you. 

"Stop," he breathes out as if it pained him.

"Leon? What are you-"

"Fuck–just please, I need–" he gasps, slightly moist forehead coming to rest on yours, "You're so good, baby. Just let me stay like this for a bit–just a second."

Your emotions take a hit as he begs you to stay despite the oversensitivity combating the need to be as close as possible to you. "Alright," you whisper, though a pressing question comes to the forefront of your mind. "Can I ask you something?"

"Hm?"

"Why did…Why’d you kiss me?"

He laughs, all gentle and real right from his stomach and it sends shivers down your spine. You want to draw the sight of his laugh lines into your permanent memory. "Of all the things that just happened, that's what you want to know?"

"Mhm," you affirm, having no strength to try and fight him on the matter. He's left you breathless and tired, and frankly, you just want to know what’s on his mind.

"Well, that's a bit of a stupid question." He nudges your chin up with the crook of his index finger and those blue crystalline eyes catch yours to sweep you off your feet again. "I kissed you because I wanted to, sweetheart.”

You breathe, working on keeping it level as he finally slips out of you, mixed fluids leaking out of your spent cunt upon not being plugged anymore. Leon leans back, admiring his work and laughs to himself. His eyes trail up your body and your gazes connect. You find him looking at you, searching for something like he usually does, but this time, he finally seems he found what he’s looking for.

“Did I let you find it?” you ask tiredly.

“Hm?”

“Back at the cafe,” you explain with exhaustion lacing your voice. Leon gets up, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment, and you hear the sound of running water. When he comes back out, he grabs a water bottle from the fridge that was provided from the hotel and returns to the bedside, running the warm cloth against your oversensitive skin. 

“Yeah?” He murmurs to show he’s still listening even as he carefully wipes down the inside of your thighs. “What about it?”

“You said you were looking for something, but I wasn’t letting you find it. Did I do it?”

Leon pauses in his actions, takes a good look at you though you don’t know what’s happening in that complicated head of his. Nonetheless, he smiles and crows feet crinkle his eyes as he leans over to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “You did,” he affirms sweetly, then once he deems you clean enough, he says, “You did good, baby.”

The praise goes straight to your head as you try uprighting yourself, but almost miserably failing before Leon catches you. One of his arms curls around your rigid upper back and the other tucks beneath your knees as he easily lifts you and carries you to the pull-out bed that he’s been sleeping on since you got here. Gently, he deposits you on the mattress with the water bottle before beginning to wipe himself down. 

You take gentle sips, watching him as he finishes up and joins you at your side on the bed, sinking down in the much cleaner sheets and tossing the fabric over you. Quickly, you fall into place with your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat and legs intertwined. One of his arms lazily tosses over your waist as he buries his nose into your hair.

Never before has your heart felt so full and alive before, pumping strongly and emotionally just for the man in front of you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, feeling sleep weigh heavily on your mind. “For everything.”

“You make it sound like you’re dying,” he jokes, hand running cautiously up and down your back. You shudder as he feels along every scar with expert care, but you find it's not as bad as you thought it would be. “We still have a long way ahead of us.”

“We do,” you agree thoughtfully before hesitating. “Do…you feel the same way I do?”

Leon kisses the crown of your head affectionately, polling you tighter and more securely against him. “Oh, I adore you, sweet girl. You’ve got me at your beck and call, I can promise you that.”

“Okay,” you settle down, finally at peace. “You’ll stay?”

He tilts your head up, making you stare into those blue eyes that have carried you through so many years of torture and conflicted love. Leon Kennedy, this masterpiece of a man weighed down by years of his job who has tried to kill you and in turn survived your attempts to slit his throat wide open loves you. Even when you hated him, you couldn’t stay away as if the stars and the universe had destined for you to always be connected.

Maybe this is what it means to be in love–to be devoted to someone that you need then like you need the air to breathe.

“I promise,” Leon says, sleep edging on his voice warmly but still persisting to lay your fears to rest. “You’ll have to kill me to stay away from you, (Y/n). I’m yours, whenever and wherever you need, no matter the time of day. I’m staying for you because I love you.”

What a strange thing it is to be in love. But, perhaps in this moment, where you feel so incredibly warm and rich like a healthy fire with plenty of fuel to go on forever, you decide it’s not so bad. 

No longer does your heart stay frozen and bitter from years of misuse, but who would’ve guessed that the man who you swore to hate for the rest of your days would be the one to finally melt it down into a blazing fire of emotion?

Far away, miles away from you and Leon, the blizzard that had forced you under the same roof all those weeks ago dissipates, finally satisfied.

[lapis-lights]

Chapter 02 | You Could Kill Me And You Should

'Falling From Grace' Series

[Vendetta!Leon Kennedy x Reader]

Song Title: This Is Love by Air Traffic Controller

Content Warnings: Leon is a Bad Driver (most important warning), Mostly tension building, They're getting better until they're not, Some nightmares

Word Count: 12k

Author's Notes: Second chapter of the Falling From Grace series! What did you guys think yesterday? I hope it was good enough in your guys' opinion! Anyways enjoy I hope you enjoy part two :D

Posts are scheduled for 8 a.m. EST every day until the series is complete!

Series Masterlist

Ao3

Summary: As you and Leon start working as allies, the more you start having second thoughts about him. Surely it couldn't mean anything...right? Conflicting emotions and a surprise visit shatter your whole view of him and you can't help but wish Leon would reveal his true intentions already.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

"You're no good, you're no good. You could kill me and you should. I'm an idiot for thinking this was anything but blood..."

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

You're really considering your life choices.

Currently, you hold on for dear life in the fancy little sedan Leon owns as he races down the street, pushing fifty-five on a road where the speed limit was set to forty. It's only been a couple minutes since you left the motel and you wonder in amazement how this man manages to get anywhere with his horrendous driving skills. A stop sign comes up on the horizon, and he at least has the decency to slow down. You think it'll be smooth sailing but he slams his foot on the brake right before the sign and the entire damn vehicle jolts beneath you as your head almost crashes into the headrest. 

Maybe this was how he was trying to kill you. You never thought Leon would be interested in vehicular manslaughter.

Before he can even think about pressing on the gas, you unbuckle your seatbelt and earn a confused look from him. 

"Get out," you command, opening your door. "You're playing passenger princess now."

You feel much safer as you adjust the seat and mirrors and Leon lands into the space you had just occupied. As revenge for your abrupt change in seating, he cranks the religious Christian rock station on the radio and subjects you to guitars lamenting about Jesus as singers mourn the death of their savior. 

Truly, right now you wish Jesus would take the wheel.

"How did you even pass your driver's test?" You mumble, checking the street both ways (which you're sure Leon wouldn't have done if he still had the unfortunate privilege of driving) before tapping the gas and climbing up to a very safe forty-two.

"They said that while my driving was unpleasant, it technically wasn't unsafe or hazardous," he shrugs. "I got it on my third try."

"They lied to you, then," you frown. "Probably gave you pretty boy pity points or something."

“Pretty?”

When you glance at him, his eyebrows are raised suggestively and you scowl. “You’re so right, my apologies. Mediocre boy pity points.”

“Hey.”

When you get onto the main interstate and turn on cruise control, you finally let yourself relax, seeing that practically no other vehicles were out at this hour of the morning and gaining some sort of comfort that nobody was tracking you. For now, at least, you're safe.

The city Leon found that was near the laboratory you were planning on infiltrating was fairly large and he'd rented out a suite at the top of one of the prestigious hotels with government money that he spent without a glance. You'd simply stared at him when he revealed this information to you and he'd only smiled and told you to pack your things. 

Ridiculous. He was going to drive you crazy. 

The song on the radio switches and you're surprised that you know it. Leon seems equally surprised when he hears you humming the melody of the chorus under your breath. 

"You know these songs?" He asks.

You turn your left blinker on and check the rearview despite the lack of any other car. "Just this one so far. My family was heavy on this kind of music when I was a kid so it's mostly backed by nostalgia."

"Huh. Mine were too."

That surprises you. It's weird knowing you have something in common with him, especially with a childhood core memory like this one. He also didn't strike you as the type to have grown up on cheesy Christian rock, but the more you know. Maybe if you knew him earlier on, it would make more sense. After all, you'd only gotten to know him a little after the incident with Wilson and his business with working with viruses right under the president's nose. 

Of the course, the J.I.E. had wanted you to check it out before you firmly reminded them they were asking you to infiltrate the white house. 

After a few minutes of nothing but roads and listening to music, you hear light snores to your right. One glance is all it takes to know that Leon’s been lost to the gentle rock of the car and being lulled to sleep. The sight makes you soften a little as you return your eyes to the road and snake a hand to the knob that controlled the radio station. You twist until you find something you like, settling back into the seat as you keep on, singing the lyrics to some choruses you know mindlessly as the streetlights fly by in patterns of aged yellow. 

You only have a vague notion of where you are so it really is unfortunate that Leon had allowed himself to fall asleep so quickly, but you don’t really fault him. The guy technically was supposed to be on vacation but with your sudden intrusion, it made it near impossible to get the relaxation that a getaway insinuated. You feel bad, but also consider that he had volunteered to accompany you for this whole plan.

At the most, he could’ve nursed you back to health and let you go, blackmailing you later into telling any information you might gain. You know the government isn’t above doing something petty like that. 

But, here he was, snoring softly away in the seat of a car that’s being driven by one of the greatest threats on his life. Leon must’ve been exhausted if he was able to go unconscious despite all the risks. Not that you would ever dream of trying to engage in a fight while you’re going seventy on the interstate, but more so that you do owe him. You’re not the model of an upstanding citizen, but you try to keep your morals as best as you can in this industry.

You sigh, glancing out the windshield to see the bare trees lined with frost on their trunks flashing by as they bordered the interstate. Snow covers where grass usually sat so the blizzard must've been large having covered this much ground in the span of only a few days. 

Truly alone with your thoughts now, you reflect on everything that has happened. Of course, you’d told Leon what had happened at the J.I.E. when you left, but he never knew how you got wrapped up in all of that kind of stuff. For all he knew, you just showed up one day and found a new threat to his missions. 

As a high schooler, you’d always dreamed of doing something big. Despite being talked down by your partner at the time, you’d been determined to help those in need and care for the ones who’d been lost and needed guidance. ‘Justice for Inhumane Experimentalists’ was the title of those hopes and dreams so landing an internship there felt like you were one step closer to everything you wanted.

They promised you more. They promised you’d be helping masses of people. 

You’ve killed more than you can count on your two hands and have gotten a whole bunch of scars that you can’t even bear to think about now. That youthful hope has been sucked out of your soul, but your parents still think you’re in some city with a regular nine-to-five living your best life. You haven’t seen them in years, but frankly don’t care to try now.

You don’t care to open that can of worms.

You notice a green road sign that lets you know that the city is only a couple miles off of an exit, and you recognize the name of it uttered by Leon in passing when you asked him where you’d be heading. As you vear off the main interstate and merge onto the exit road, you hear a grumble and an odd noise of recognition. 

There’s a pause before Leon speaks, voice heavy with sleep and tiredness still lingering in his tone. “You’re thinking really hard over there.”

Confused, you slow down at a stoplight and actually turn to get a good look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, for one, you’re holding onto that steering wheel like you’re trying to choke someone to death–” you loosen your grip and your knuckles flood with color, “–and you’ve got that wrinkle in your forehead that you get when you’re really focused on something.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve almost killed you enough times to know when you’re trying to think of something to get you out of tight spots,” he reveals as the light turns green and you tear your gaze away from him to carefully turn left across the intersection. “You’re easy to read.”

“To you, maybe.”

“Are you saying you can’t say the same about me?”

He’s got you there. “Touché.”

“Thought so,” he leans back smugly.

Maybe you should have crashed the car while he was sleeping. You’d have to mourn the missed opportunity later. 

Lights appear on the horizon, and you feel better upon seeing the large silhouette of the city rising over the landscape. A green sign lets you know that you've breached the border as Leon begins directing you down the unfamiliar streets to one of the bigger storied buildings. You park easily into a free space and volunteer to start unpacking the bags so he can go check into the room. 

The ground is lined with ice and snow from the recent blizzard that had carried over this way too. Today, you and Leon would be setting yourself up for recon work on the J.I.E. but more importantly, buying you some much-needed clothes and necessities. Now that you were close enough to actual stores, you could pick up some things you've needed since you showed up at the motel. 

When Leon reemerges, he has a key card in hand. 

The two of you don't say anything, but each takes a suitcase to at least make it look like you brought something. The light hits your eyes as you enter through the sliding doors and wave politely to the hostess who's sitting alone at the front desk. 

"I hope we'll provide you with a nice place for your honeymoon," she calls out and your stomach drops. "If you need anything, just let me know!"

"Oh! Thank you so much," you enthuse with an exaggerated smile. It drops as soon as you round the corner to get on the elevator and you whirl around to Leon who's acting like he did nothing. "Really, Kennedy? A honeymoon?"

"It made the most sense since I booked the suite," he shrugs placidly, reaching around you to press the button to call the lift. "So try to behave and be a good little wife, yeah?"

That old flame of hatred reignites in your chest and you remember just exactly why you and Leon had such an intense rivalry. You frown when he tilts his head up to watch the numbers tick down on the small screen above the door frame, and before he can get the chance to even think, you elbow him sharply in the gut earning a pained wheeze and a satisfactory double over. 

The elevator doors open, and you walk forward with a grin, the suitcase rolling behind you. "Come on, husband. We've got a room waiting for us." 

The glare he gives you is probably one of the nastiest you've ever seen.

"So much for a peace treaty," he mutters under his breath and you roll your eyes as he gets on.

Really, you shouldn’t have let your guard down after all the vulnerable moments you’ve shared with him and you’re reminded that this partnership is merely temporary on both ends. Once Leon gets what he wants and your little vendetta has been quelled, you’d part ways and end your feud by never having to see one another again. 

Thank god for that.

The room is decorated modernly, with crisp white sheets and polished wooden floors that seem to be upheld in the most pristine condition one could afford. In all honesty, getting to spend the night in something like this after having to live in the motel for a couple of days was a blessing. If you weren’t still pissed at Leon’s surprise cover story, you might have thanked him.

He really couldn’t come up with some better excuse, huh? Maybe you should handle all the talking during this mission proceeding forward.

You let the suitcase in your hand come to a stop as you take in the view. On the far wall, large velvet curtains cover the entire space and curiously, you peak through them. You find that the entire wall is just one big window and t view is breathtaking, showcasing a city waking up as the sun just barely begins to rise up from over the horizon. The sparse amount of sunlight stays easy on the eyes and you sigh quietly as you simply resign to watch. 

“I hope a skyline isn’t enough to wow you,” Leon’s voice breaks you from your quiet stupor and you crane your head around to look at him unimpressed.

Did he ever know when to keep his mouth shut? 

“I’m sure liking a skyline is a better sight than all the pornstars you probably blow all that money off on,” you bite back, moving away from the window and wrapping your arms around yourself. 

“Are you still hung up on the cover story?”

“Yes.”

“You’re immature.”

“And you’re insane.”

Leon groans and you choose to ignore his theatrics in favor of looking at the brochures provided by the hotel on what to do. There was a large shopping district near here that caught your eye. The title of it shared the last name of one of the officials in the J.I.E., and having it be located so near to one of the hidden labs must be no coincidence. 

You’re about to bring this point up to Leon when you notice he’s standing a lot closer than you were expecting. You hadn’t even heard him moving and your heart leaps up into your throat, effectively killing any words you were about to say. 

“Look, if this is gonna work out, we need to get along as best we can,” he begins and you already feel like he’s chastising you like a kid who got caught with their hand down a cookie jar. “I’ll consult you on any more cover-ups we might have to pull off in the future, but we need to cooperate if we’re gonna make it out of this alive.”

You know he has a point, but you won’t let yourself be told off as if he wasn’t being a fucking instigator. “You wanted to come on this road trip, Kennedy. Remember that.”

You brush past him roughly and decide to slam into the bathroom, breathing out and leaning against the door when you get inside. The mirror is bordered by a bright white light that reflects in your eyes when you look into it. As per usual, you’ve seen better days, and you think bitterly about how much your appearance has deteriorated since your primetime, so to speak.

People your age should be having kids and going out drinking every weekend to take off the end of dealing with coworkers and customers–not fighting a constant war against unnatural bioogical weapons. 

Unless you hopped on a dating app or something stupid after this whole thing is said and done, there was no hope for you. 

You pretend like you’ve gone to the bathroom, flushing the empty toilet bowl and washing your hands to get rid of the persistent feeling of dirt on your palms. When you walk out, Leon’s got the curtains drawn and was standing right in front of the window. He turns upon you exiting, awkwardly motioning to the view. 

“You should come see the sunrise,” he says, hands rubbing the back of his neck like he’s a boy asking out the baker’s daughter. “It’s pretty. You’ll like it.”

Cautiously, you join him and look out. Leon’s right–it’s pretty.

The sun doesn’t intrude on your eyes but only slowly rises as a ball in a shade of fiery orange, lighting up the skyline until you can make out the finer details on buildings that reach the height of the hotel. It illuminates the entirety of the suite in a golden glow, and you look up at Leon to ask him why he’d done this but the question catches on your tongue.

He looks beautiful in this setting, some dark and repressed part of your mind croons. His features are framed just right and the shadows pronounce and contrast all the parts of him that you neglect to notice just for the sake of having known him for so long. The only other time you’ve reluctantly admired him was the last night you’d spent together in the motel under the cover of darkness in the middle of nowhere.

You decide that despite your history together, this is how you want to remember him.

“You’re right,” you murmur, catching his attention and those blue eyes find yours. He’s almost as breathtaking as the skyline is. “It’s really pretty, and I do like it.”

He’s so close, you can almost feel his body heat if you focus hard enough, and that deranged part of your mind grows and grows until you finally have the clarity to shut it down. You shake your head mentally, breaking your eye contact to actually look at what he’d meant for you to.

What the hell just happened?

Had you really just indulged that impulsive little voice in your mind again? You could admit that Leon was attractive objectively, but you’re not just any woman who would fall for his charms and smooth-talking tongue. You know him too well for that. 

Some feeling curls in your chest, crossed between disgust, glee, hate, and excitement. Whatever it is or what it means, you don’t like it. 

For now, you allow yourself to stay in this quiet moment–one of the rare things you hardly ever get–and admire the sun. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Bustling cities had never really been your style, but you've been forced to deal with them one too many times.

For some reason, you hadn't expected the sleepy city you watched wake up would turn into such a tornado of chaos once the sun had climbed up into the sky enough. For this reason, it was important you and Leon stayed close together so that you wouldn't lose each other in the storm. 

If only you had a phone for emergencies, but that was too easy of a way for the J.I.E. to track you down simply. It was safer to be off the grid entirely. 

The effects of winter were still in play unfortunately so the snow hadn't left the streets just yet. Icicles persistently formed wherever they could and the wind still swept with an icy chill that made you shiver under the clothes you decided to wear for the day. 

It was nearing lunchtime and Leon was adamant about finding someplace to sit down to eat after walking aimlessly around town trying to find the location in the brochure you'd found, though you both agreed on going when it would be less busy. The fatigue would have worn you down if he didn't force you into a sweet little café that just happened to be along the sidewalk you'd been strolling on.

“I could’ve kept going,” you defend, and Leon levels an unconvinced look at you. 

“We needed a break anyways,” he refutes, motioning to a menu written in chalk above the counter where a glass display case sits. “Go find something, and don’t worry about the price.”

You want to taunt him for having to buy his enemy something as if you really were on a date, but the overwhelming hunger that hits you is enough to make your mind wipe clean. As Leon begins ordering his things, you peek into the display case where all the little cakes and pastries are displayed while listening to him talk with the cashier.

“How do you like working here?” he was saying.

“Oh, it’s good work,” the cashier answers. He’s got dark hair with shocks of silver lining it and a full mustache. His eyes seem honest enough. “I’ve been the store owner of this old place for my whole life, really.”

“Store owner?”

“Got it from my dad,” the guy says before glancing your way–though you pretend like you aren’t watching him through your peripheral–and teases, "Your girlfriend?"

"Oh, no," Leon deflects easily, shaking his head. "She's not my girlfriend."

Upon hearing that, something must have possessed you at the moment for some inexplicable reason. In a split-second decision, you straighten up and give a sugary bright smile to the store owner.

"I'm his wife."

You can feel Leon’s stare burning holes in your head.

“Oh!” the store owner seems mildly surprised. “I should have known–we get married couples younger than you two all the time.”

You resist looking at Leon in favor of ordering what you’d decided on during their shared conversation. He has enough consciousness to slide a card into the reader when it was time to pay, but you know he’s just bursting at the seams to ask what the fuck you were pulling.

To be honest, you didn’t even know yourself. 

“What are you doing?” he hisses quietly once you slide into a booth in the corner. “I thought we were discussing any cover stories we were doing.”

“You came up with that.”

“You weren’t on board with it.”

“It just took me by surprise this morning.”

Leon sighs, massaging the bring of his nose like this whole thing was giving him a headache. To be fair, it probably was, but you weren’t too keen on trying to push it. After all, you were the reason he was on this wild goose chase during his vacation time even if he was the one who practically forced you to take him along.

“Playing house isn’t going to kill us,” you assure, glancing at the other customers minding their business. “We can be the absolute picture of a newlywed couple until this is all finished.”

Leon peeks up at you with uncertainty. “You’re sure about this?” 

“I’m sure.”

“Right,” Leon breathes out, folding his hands and leaning forward on his forearms, fixing you a look that says he's settled on a decision about something. “Just for now.”

The store owner comes by, placing your drinks in front of you and a few paper bags with what you’d ordered. He sends a not-so-subtle wink at you, saying, “It was nice meeting you guys. You keep him in line, alright?”

You giggle and poise yourself in a way that makes you nothing but innocent. “I always do, don’t I?”

“To some degree,” Leon mumbles under his breath, taking a sip of the coffee he’d chosen. 

Your thoughts clear when you get proper food in your stomach and you finally gain enough sense to properly take in the café you'd found yourself in. It's definitely small, with only a few tables being occupied including you and Leon, but the service seemed nice enough. There's no time to let your guard down, though, so you shift in your seat and clear your throat, getting Leon's attention.

“So Williams’s place is just a couple blocks away,” you begin. “He’s the operator of exports and imports of the J.I.E. so he was absolutely vital within their operations.”

Leon busies himself with taking a bite out of the banana bread he'd gotten. Did he even really like it? “Did you have to encounter him often?”

The question leaves a bad feeling rolling in your chest so you choose to avoid making any more trouble than what was necessary.

“Not much,” you say. “He’s good with his words, though. You’ll want to be careful if we do happen to see him since he knows both of our faces.”

“He’d attack us in broad daylight?” Leon’s brows furrow.

“No,” you shake your head, sipping on your own drink as you try to form a way to explain it to him. “Agents in the J.I.E. are trained especially in stealth so if I were to hazard a guess, he’d have someone stalk us and then send an assassin to put us out of the big picture."

"Is that what they did with you?"

You tilt your head, trying to think since it's been a good while since you were on a rookie's level. "I was taught a little more than just typical stealth. I was only dispatched to your location once they knew I could get myself out of a tight situation effectively."

Leon hums, leaning back in his seat and giving you another look that you can't discern. "I see."

The question rolls off your tongue before you have the sense to stop it. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're trying to find something, but you can't." He's never done that before when you'd been fighting. It's frustrating, knowing that even though you've picked out his mannerisms on a microscopic level, you couldn't catch it all.

Leon blinks before leaning back forward and saying lowly, "Maybe I am looking for something, but you're not letting me find it."

What?

"What's that supposed to mean?" You huff, folding your arms across your chest. Instinctively, your thumb rubs circles on your upper arm. "C'mon, Leon. When are you going to stop being so cryptic and just give me a straight answer?"

"I could do that," he muses, crumbling up his now empty paper bag, "but, it's more fun not to. You're a smart girl–you can figure it out."

 "Flattery won't get you anywhere with me, Kennedy."

"I'm not trying to flatter you."

The two of you come at a standstill as you try to decipher whatever puzzle he thought would be funny to put you in and he waits patiently for your answer. This whole rivalry between the two of you was a battle of the minds just as much as it was of strength when actually fighting, but this has to be one of the most confusing things you had to unravel about him. When he wanted to, Leon really could be an enigma. 

He holds his emotions close to his chest–you know that much. 

People have recounted that he's charismatic and charming, though you've seen less of that side and more of the stone-faced agent who doesn't let any of his internal feelings show. You only know this because you'd been trained to do the exact same thing. Thinking about it, the J.I.E. had just been building you up to be someone who could stand up against someone of Leon's caliber, and the realization that you really were just a weapon in their eyes makes your whole mood sour.

"We have to get a move on," you interrupt the tension and put an end to your small staring contest. "We should get this visit over with as fast as possible."

Leon frowns, not used to seeing you give up so easily but shuffles from his seat to follow you out of the booth. The two of you throw away your trash and push back out into the blinding sun that causes you to shield your eyes, looking around and finding a gap in the crowd to start moving in. Leon trails close behind, his hand brushing yours as he fits himself next to you in the sea of bodies. 

Your heartbeat quickens for a moment and you wonder why his touch suddenly burns in a good way. 

You make your way past the multiple stores looking for the familiar sign that you'd seen before while watching your surroundings. Even though the city isn't the largest you've ever been in, it's still pretty big and the buildings stretching up to touch the sky aren't anything to play around with. The air is still cold but with the peak of the sun, it provides a source of heat to combat it. 

When a certain sight catches your attention, you glance back to Leon and point at the building. "There it is."

You break away from the crowd with him hot on your heels as you approach the automatic sliding doors. The rush of warmth from the temperature outside is a blessing, and you adjust yourself to your surroundings. It seems to be just an average clothing department, though you're determined to figure out if it was anything more than that, which was highly likely. 

You and Leon had agreed that you should do your shopping here so that you could knock it out within the day before washing it at the hotel's laundry room unless you get caught. It's a low possibility, but a possibility nonetheless, so you resolve to be extra careful as you stray towards the women's section and start picking out clothes. 

You stay simple with some t-shirts, a couple pairs of pants and shorts, socks, and a pair of shoes. An employee catches you browsing and she makes her way over, looking between you and Leon before her eyebrows raise at the sight of him. 

"Hello," she greets overtly enthusiastically. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

She's talking to him more than she is to you, but it's not something that concerns you really. At the most, she'd ask for his number and he'd give her some burner digits before you left. 

"I think we've got it all handled, thanks," Leon answers, and you can feel him keeping an eye on you as you pretend like you're looking for something you like even though you have enough outfits to last a week. 

"Good!" She says, pausing awkwardly before speaking again. "I'm sorry, you're really good looking. Has anybody ever told you that?" 

"Some, I guess."

"Well–um–can I get your number? If your friend doesn't mind, I mean."

You catch his eye and the discomfort in his expression is evident. You understand why, what with the employee coming incredibly strong onto him for a stranger who just thought someone looked nice. Sparing him some grace, you move closer just enough for him to use you as a scapegoat if he wanted. 

He takes your incredibly subtle hint immediately. 

"This is actually my wife," Leon rushes out, a little too fast if you were critiquing him, but you can't fault him for it. "We're here on vacation."

You give her a little wave, and her eyes latch onto your hand where absolutely no ring lies on your bare ring finger.

"Oh," she says flatly, all of the false bravado she built up wilting immediately though her disappointment is shadowed over quickly by the customer service facade. "Right, sorry. Then you guys should go to the Silver Orchid. It's a fancy restaurant around here that makes for a good date spot so I'd recommend going."

"We'll look into it, thank you.” You smile and she falters. 

"Okay, well, let me know if you guys need any help," she says and walks away, going faster than the usual gait.

Once she's out of ear shot, you hear Leon mumble. "Thank you."

"Of course." The earnesty in your own words surprises you. "Should we start investigating?"

"You don't want anything fancy?" He asks, motioning vaguely in the direction of the portion of the women's section that held dresses, skirts, and flowy tops. There was really no reason to dive into it. 

"I don't really need that kind of stuff," you frown, confused as to why he was asking. 

Leon, for the first ever time in all the years you've known him, is flustered. "Well it looks like I'm treating you to dinner tonight, so…"

You stare at him in wonder, mouth dropped open in slight amazement at the tension lying in his shoulders and the way his skin reddens with embarrassment. Never before have you seen him like this and if you didn't know any better, you might've thought he really was asking you out on a date. He wouldn't ask you of all people, though, so why he'd ever want to go out pretending to be your husband more than he needed to baffles you.

Perhaps he just wanted to make the most of his actual vacation. That made sense.

Right. That must be it. There was absolutely no other reason for him insisting shyly to go to dinner at a fancy restaurant that couples frequented, and there was definitely no reason that him insinuating this fact made your palms clammy and your stomach flutter like those romance novels always talked about with the butterflies. 

"You're sure about this?" You ask, parroting his question from earlier when he asked if you really were okay with posing as a married woman. "We can just hit a pizza place on the way back or order something at the hotel, you know."

He doesn't meet your eyes, which is uncharacteristic of him. 'I'm sure."

Softening, you feel vulnerable in a way you haven't felt ever since he stitched up your back–maybe even more so now. "Alright. You'll have to spend a couple extra so I can doll myself up properly."

"You know money's not an issue."

"I know, but I just wanted you to know."

What was happening? What happened to hating him to the point of being ready to shoot him as soon as your finger got to lay on a trigger? What happened to heated words and fighting viscously and being ready to cut each other's throats open whenever there was a chance for it? Sure, you had agreed on civility, but you're pretty sure a peace treaty didn't involve going out on faux dates and feeling things you shouldn't. 

When did this all change? When did this all shift?

Has saving your life really been the turning point in this situationship?

You ponder over these questions as you go through the dresses in your size. There were multiple in a myriad of colors in a variety of shades that you couldn't even name, and they were all cut in different shapes and unique designs. However, you really couldn't think straight enough from being torn between picking something nice and wondering about the things you were feeling when Leon unknowingly left you in torturous suspense. 

"You'd look good in this one."

His voice pulls you from your wandering and you look up to see him tugging on a navy blue number that wasn't too flashy and wouldn't show off much of your back. It could easily be remedied with a cardigan, and he had a point that it was a very pretty dress.

"You think so?" You ask, shuffling through the hangers until you find it in your size. It's nothing you've never worn before and a slit is revealed in the side that would trail up to your thigh. You've worn more revealing things before, but this is the first time you’ve done it for something that isn’t necessary to the mission.

"Yeah," he agrees. "You should go try it on, and maybe try and see if there's anything in the dressing rooms that piques your interest."

Oh, that smartass.

"You're right," you murmur. "They might be hiding something in there, huh?" 

"Couldn't hurt to check."

You pick up a black cardigan that would fit with the whole outfit along the way before finding the dressing rooms, picking one at random, and getting into one of the small cubicles. You're alone with nothing but the soft glow of the lights that surround the full-length mirrors that show off every angle of the body needed.

First and foremost, you touch around the walls for any possible hidden panels, but you come up empty handed. As far as you know, activation mechanics could be hidden anywhere but perhaps that's not what they used here. You check the hooks which turn out to be just an average rack screwed into the wall, and find your last resort in the mirror panels. 

You tug on the bottom of the central main panel and it gives away to your surprise.

There's a steel door hidden behind it with a thick gry block affixed next to the handle. The metal is warm and faintly, you can feel the hum of some sort of electricity going on behind it. Whatever they were hiding here, it sounded complicated and big, and there's no telling what was behind it. You make a mental note about it as you close the panel back and make sure it was firmly reattached. 

You nearly walk out of the room before realizing that the dress you’d picked up was still hanging innocently on the hook.

A frown makes its way onto your face with uncertainty, insecurity rolling in your chest before deciding to give in. It’s been a while since you went out for a nice dinner since you preferred not to get pity looks ordering a table for one and dates were practically nonexistent. You’ll play along for now. It wouldn’t hurt, right?

Turns out, it hugs your figure just right and you wonder silently how for all Leon’s worth, he’s managed to pick out something that you agreed looks at least decent. The addition of the cardigan adds to the flair, making you something dark and mysterious, and your imagination provides a candid shot of you and Leon side by side clad in navy blue hanging on each other’s arms.

He’d look good in a suit.

You hurry to change back into your previous attire, cheeks flushing as if someone had caught you fantasizing about something you shouldn’t be. Making a mental note to pick up a pair of fancy shoes next, you make your way out of the dressing room with the dress slung in the crook of your elbow and find Leon absentmindedly browsing belts.

“You’ve fortunately got an eye for women’s fashion,” you say, and he perks up upon hearing your voice.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Have you got anything fancy enough for a date night, Mr. Kennedy?” 

He seems to process the teasing lilt to your voice, blue eyes conflicted before he turns away, not looking at you as he replies, “You underestimate me, Mrs. Kennedy. Of course I’ve got something.”

Your mouth drops open, staring after him as he begins striding away, clearly intending for you to follow. Disbelief covers your expression as you trail behind him, still trying to understand what he was trying to do other than lightening the mood. Surely he wasn’t as forward as this when he really was trying to flirt with someone?

Then again, playing pretend for a mission could hardly count as flirting.

“We’ll hit shoes and make-up then go, Sound good?” Leon suggests, stopping when you don’t answer him. 

He looks down at you as you shake your head slightly, clearing your overanalyzing moment and blink. “What?”

He doesn’t explain anything for a second, only giving you that soul-searching gaze again, before smiling gently as if he found a hint of what he’s been looking for. “Nothing you should worry about. C’mon, the sun will be setting by the time we get back to the hotel if we keep going at this snail’s pace.”

You nod, following behind him, eager to get out of this place so you could safely tell him what you’d found in the dressing room out of earshot of any potential enemies. Well…you also might be entertaining the idea of getting to know him better over some good food.

And outside, the persistent ice finally begins to melt.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

It's been a long while since you had dealt with makeup, fancy outfits, and elegant things. 

For a good while, you had nothing that was ever soft or fragile, but rather your training had hardened you and roughened your personality around the edges so much that they had sharpened into something dangerous. You were an agent, meant to live a secret life in the shadows gaining information for your bosses, and survival was the key term to your success. Fragility wasn't an option, and your looks didn't matter when bruised and bloody out on the field.

However…this hasn't ever hurt anyone.

When you and Leon had returned to the hotel suite with arms full of shopping bags and aching feet, you took hold of the bathroom to resign yourself to doing your preparation of your look in there. A hot shower was the perfect distraction from the heart beating strongly in your chest in anticipation of what may happen tonight, and your fluttering nerves weren't any help either. 

A shame to say that the makeup brushes felt foreign in your grasp and it takes a moment to remember what everything did and what they were used for. 

It comes to you eventually, and you fall into a vaguely nostalgic and familiar routine as you pick through all your products carefully and choose what you'll use. Going for a natural look with accents to pop, you steady your shaking hands and lose yourself in the delicate motions of dolling yourself up. It doesn't look bad at all for someone who hasn't touched this stuff in years.

The dress comes next, and when you slip it on, you feel like a whole new person. Even just standing barefoot in the bathroom only halfway done with your whole set, it already feels like you could forget about the life you're leading. Maybe for tonight, you and Leon could be normal for once without any bioweapons or governmental duties or even feuds. For tonight, you could be whatever you wanted.

With this new mindset, you heat up a flatiron and wait patiently to spruce up your hair. There was no need for any intense changes, but just a touch up went a mile and once you'd gotten it to where it flowed with the look, you hair sprayed it and let it sit. All that was left was the shoes and once you had those on, you'd be ready. Some small part of your thoughts wonder what Leon would think of your whole get up. 

When you step out, the cool air hits you, but it's not wholly uncomfortable. 

Leon turns around when he hears you exit, and he's in a simple navy button-up paired with slacks that probably cost more than your salary. Your face reddens when he doesn't hide the way his eyes rack up and down your form, taking in this new version of you like sweetened honey on his tongue.

"You look good," he murmurs, almost as if in a daze. "Really good."

His words make that simmering fire in your gut rise like a title wave and every sense gets cranked to a hundred. Sparks travel along your skin as you manage to keep your composure and not melt.

"You don't clean up too bad yourself, Kennedy," you reply, despite your head swimming with shameful thoughts of how damn good he looks when he's not in sweats. It's unfair dealing you these cards when you're supposed to hate him. 

You pass by to grab shoes and go to check yourself in the mirror, bending down to adjust the straps before standing straight and looking at your reflection. You really did look like a whole different person. A faint feeling of pride pulses in your chest and you turn to ask Leon if it was really okay, but the change in your position makes your small rare smile fade.

Without the cardigan, the scars are on full display for anybody to see and pick through. The rosy filter falls away and you're left with the brutal reality of what you really are–that this is all temporary no matter how much you avoided returning to the truth. 

Your eyes can't seem to tear away from the view of your back, pulling all of your attention away from Leon, and you don't even notice when his reflection joins by your side in the mirror. 

"Hey," he murmurs, earning a faint flick of your eyes toward him in recognition. "None of that, okay?"

"But-"

"But nothing," he says firmly, and the words of protest die on your tongue. "C'mon. You look great."

"What's the catch?" You ask sullenly, snatching up your cardigan and throwing it over your shoulders–anything to get those reminders of shame away from your vision. "You'd never compliment me without wanting something in return."

Leon shakes his head. "Nothing. I can't compliment my not-wife whenever I want?"

That pulls a huff of a laugh from you as you roll your eyes, but you know he can probably read the reluctant amusement pulling at your painted lips. Since when did he know how to lighten up your mood so easily?

"You can compliment me when we're in public and have to convince people we're actually married," you decide, moving past him towards the door. "And yet I don't even have a ring on my finger. What a shame."

"I didn't think you were interested in material goods," he comments, opening the door.

You walk out into the hallway, waiting for him to close the door and make sure it was locked. "They say diamonds are a girl's best friend."

"I thought your best friend was that magnum you almost took my eye out with."

"...You got me there."

You don't trust Leon to get there safely without crashing the car into a pedestrian so you convince him to fork over the keys once you reach the vehicle. He only pouts minimally, but eventually gets over himself after you tease him for being the optimal passenger princess. He has a map built into the screen on his dashboard so you look up the name on the search bar and find the address. 

You put the vehicle in reverse and back out, pulling out of the parking space and navigating out into the city roads. 

Honestly, the sunset looks just as pretty as the rise was in the morning, but this blaze lasted just a tad longer. It's so bright that you have to lower the sun visor just so that it isn't intruding into your eyes. 

"I'm curious," Leon begins from your side and a spark of interest rolls in your chest. You've been doing that a lot lately, being constantly attuned to whatever he was doing at the moment and whatever he says. It's ridiculous. "How come you've never been here if it's so close to the location you left?"

You frown. "You're curious a lot."

"Sure."

"Well," you breathe in, taking the chance to switch lanes and find some small comfort in the rhythmic beat of the turn signal, "I was pretty wrapped up in work to travel too far from the lab they had me at, and vacation days were rarely given out but it was more than enough to pay the bills. My apartment was in a different direction from here in a sleepy town that was off the map."

"That sounds nice," Leon murmurs and you have to huff out a laugh at that. 

"It was when I got to go. Landlords were a bit disgruntled since I was almost never home, but they got the payment from me and that's what mattered." You think about it, missing your old place already and how you'd tried to make it your own. It's not much, but it was nice enough in case anybody came over. 

Nobody ever did.

"Is that something you see yourself having in the future?" Leon asks.

"What?"

"Like a home that's away from all this crap. You know, something…quiet. Peaceful."

"I'd like to think so," you shrug and toss him a sad sort of smile. "But, I never got to experience it for real so I wouldn't know."

He doesn't say anything after that and you continue down the road in a settled sort of silence. The place isn't packed that much when you arrive, and you make a mental note to pay Leon back for everything he's done so far. At the least, this was some plot to get you in his debt to cash in a favor later, but at the most, it was light charity work.

You park into a vacant spot and turn the car off, lifting the visor up and opening the door. 

It's hit golden hour and it's evident when you spot Leon on the other side getting out. The small breeze sweeps his locks slightly and the glow of the sun casts him in an entirely new light. It was almost like this morning in your quiet moment at the window but magnetized and bumped to a hundred. In this setting, you think that some women would have killed to be in your spot, even if this wasn't a real date. You imagine he must have a lot of suitors at home. 

It makes you wonder if he had someone waiting for him and was just playing this whole thing out for fun. Maybe you were just his weekly entertainment for now.

You shake off that uneasy feeling and tear your eyes away, walking to the back of the car. He doesn't immediately follow, and a glance back lets you know he's staring after you as if he'd found something in you again that he'd been searching for. He still refuses to elaborate on that point, but it doesn't seem like anything to be worried about so perhaps Leon was just a naturally weird person. 

"You coming?" You call back to shake him from his stupor and he ducks his head, embarrassed. You'd almost call it cute. 

Almost. But you don't.

The Silver Orchid appears to be an incredibly expensive dining space, with a patio strung with strings of lights and set out with tables that were currently occupied by a few people. It's an incredibly modern black and white design complete with silver accents. When you walk up to the door, Leon pulls it open and holds it for you, and you can't stop the smile that crops up at the action. 

A chandelier hangs in the entrance, and the pathways behind the host stand splits into two ways. The gentle chatter of people could be heard in the background as the sound of a soft orchestra rang out from the speakers overhead without being overbearing. Even just from here, you can see the extravagance of the building and you almost feel out of place. You almost forget you're just standing in the middle of the doorway until Leon taps your arm to remind you where you are. 

The hostess greets you with a genuine smile–or at least much more convincing than the girl in the clothing store–and asks how many she'd be seating. 

"Just two," you answer, folding your hands politely. 

"Great!" She gathers up two menus and rolls of silverware before asking, "Would you like to be seated inside or outside?"

You look at Leon who shrugs helplessly.

Forming the perfect picture of a couple, you giggle and turn back to the hostess who waits patiently for an answer. "We'll take it outside."

"Perfect," she grins and waves you to follow her. "Let's go get you seated."

Outside reveals a wooden patio with floorboards that are more stable than the ones at the motel, and an aesthetically pleasing set up. Only a few people are out here, and as forewarned, most of them are couples. The hostess seats you at a table in the corner that gives off a view that isn't just parking lot and road, and assure you your waiter will be by shortly. 

Before you get a chance to move, Leon pulls out your chair and allows you to sit and adjust before placing himself on the opposite side of the table.

You raise an eyebrow, slyly asking, "You really know how to show a girl a good time, huh?"

"Only ones who can treat me right." Leon slides over a menu, winking in a way that would have had you on your knees.

He's given you the same answer you had said way back in the motel when tensions were high and you'd agreed not to kill each other. You're surprised he remembers such an insignificant moment, but then again, he was Leon Kennedy–the agent who always had to be on alert twenty-four seven and wasn't allowed to let any details slip. 

"Smooth," you allow, picking up the menu and glancing over it. "Jesus Christ."

The prices were insanely high for meals that were portioned incredibly well–you'd definitely be taking something to go seeing how much the pictures depicted the dishes. The numbers were making you anxious for no reason, though you felt bad that Leon would have to be paying for both you and him. 

His foot nudges yours under the table. "I hope you're not thinking about what I think you're thinking of."

"I can't help it," you mumble. "You're taking most of my paychecks when we get out of this whole mess."

"Haven't I already told you money is an issue?" He asks, though it's not unkind and more bordering on a playful scold rather than him being actually irritated. You've seen him angry and this definitely wasn't it. "I'm under direct orders from the president. One of my paychecks could probably pay your rent and utility bills five times." 

"Show off."

"I'm just saying," he holds up his hands as if surrendering. "Get whatever you want. When's the last time you ever did something like this?"

He has a point, unfortunately. 

"I'll pay you back somehow," you insist, though in what ways, you don't know. 

A waiter comes by, eyes light and smiling cheerfully. A notepad is in his hand and a sunny disposition to greet you with, he clears his throat like he was ready to recite some memorized speech. 

"Hi, welcome to the Silver Orchid, folks. Can I get you something to drink to start off?" 

Leon lets you order first, then chooses a beer that you purposely wrinkle your nose at. Before giving the go-ahead, he also orders a bottle of champagne and raises an eyebrow when the waiter disappears and asks, "Not a big drinker?"

"Not beer," you answer truthfully. "Tastes like fermented motor oil–but I didn't peg you to be the type to like it."

"Nah," he shakes his head. "Beggars can't be choosers, though. Hope you like champagne."

"It's been a minute. You're not trying to get me drunk and get me to spill all my secrets, right?"

He tilts his head, trying to get inside of your brain to see the way it works and what your line of thinking might be. "Whatever secrets you might have can stay yours. Maybe this is some big ploy of mine to finally get your number after all this time."

Your mouth drops open, and that smug little smirk causes that war of conflicting emotions to start warring in your chest. Leon leans forward on his forearms as his foot knocks into yours again, and it's something that strikes you as peculiar though you can't exactly place why. He's got enough spatial awareness to know where you were and definitely has enough reason to need to know what you were doing, but his advances were confusing you. 

He wasn't really trying to romance you. That much had to be obvious. 

Sure you both could play husband and wife all you want, but at the end of the day, you don't have a ring on your finger and you've given each other more wounds than you could count on both hands. Leon must really be letting loose if he's in a mindset that is willing to come onto you of all people. 

'Believe me, you're the last person in the world I'd ever try to flirt with.' he had said. 

You suppose even a broken clock is right twice a day. 

"You're ridiculous, Kennedy," you roll your eyes and lean back in your seat, kicking him lightly back. "I don't even have a phone number to give you so you're out of luck." 

"Ah," he mockingly sags and frowns. "I'll get 'em next time."

You snort, challenging him with a jut of your chin. "There won't be a 'next time' since you'll be distracted by the next decent-looking woman you see."

His eyes flash dangerously and a shiver rolls up your spine. You try not to show it. "Is that so?"

"I'm sure of it."

Leon doesn't get to answer since the waiter comes back with your drinks in hand and two champagne flutes alone with a dark green bottle. He sets it carefully on the table, setting to work on pouring your first glasses then taking out a notebook to take your order for meals. 

You'd decided on something that wasn't too astronomically high but also just enough so that you were indulging yourself the way Leon had encouraged. Still, you can feel his gaze on you as you order before smoothly doing the same. The waiter smiles, assures you he'll be back, and takes your menu before leaving. You curiously pick up a glass of champagne, watching how the bubbles fly inside of the liquid. 

"I'm surprised they had this brand," Leon mentions passively as he picks up his own flute before holding it out to you expectantly. "To truces?"

You smile and huff out a small laugh. "And to successful missions."

The glass clinks against each other sharply. 

"Amen," he mumbles before bringing the flute to his lips. You find yourself staring at the action longer than you should, watching the way his mouth is shaped around the rim of the glass so minutely perfect. Your thoughts stall, wondering just how many people he's kissed with that mouth. 

Would you be willing to be added to that list?

You almost drop your glass at the sudden thought, avoiding his questioning gaze as he looks back up at you. Your cheeks flush darkly as you busy yourself sipping your own champagne to avoid the obvious tension hanging in the air that asks why you were acting the way you were. Instead, you focus on the crisp bubbles popping over your tongue and hum appreciatively on the fruity taste that didn't stray to overbearing.

Your lipstick leaves an imprint on the glass. 

"That's better than I remember," you say, hoping the color would drain from your face eventually. "It's been too long since I had a good proper drink."

"They really kept you busy, huh?" Leon's mouth turns down into an unsatisfied frown. 

You trace the rim on your glass thoughtfully. "They did. But I got to see a lot of new places since I was shadowing you a lot."

"Yeah? Mind telling me about it?"

You search for any kind of lie in his eyes, the way you might try and see what he was hiding up his sleeve or if he was planning anything but you find no such facade. At this moment, it really feels like everything will be okay. Maybe right now, it's okay to allow him to see the person who'd been trapped under so many layers of disguise and hatred.

Somebody who loved to travel and see sights and only put her roots down when she was dead. Somebody who had no concept of home but had a love for the thrill of adventure. Somebody who couldn't possibly be trapped under contract with a company that held all her free will.

"Alright," you sigh, thinking back. "Where do you want me to start?"

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

There's nothing but rain. 

Thunder rolls darkly in the sky as lightning illuminates the near-black clouds and large puddles create mirrors on the muddied ground. All around you is nothing but wet wasteland dead knotted tree roots braiding up from the ground and curling around before diving back beneath the soil. There's no green or splashes of color from wildflowers–there's just ruin and destruction.

A whispering voice invades your mind, murmuring sinisterly. 

"Look at what you've done," it says. "Is this what you wanted?"

Nothing but death and decay–is that what you wanted? Was this the wish you had? You look down and find your hands coated with thick blood that does not wash away even under the sharp assault of raindrops that fall hard enough to nearly pierce through your flesh.

No matter how much you scrub, no matter how much you pray to some false god, there was blood on your hands. A fact you cannot change. 

"Is this your happy ending?" The voice says this time.

You look past your bloodied fingers and find cold lifeless eyes staring up at you. They're the color of the sky, the ocean, of sapphires gleaming in dark and rough places, and you've looked into them enough times to know who they belong to. His body lays in your arms, and blood–his blood–drips down your skin. 

Leon is cold. You should give him a jacket…or something to protect him from the rain.

"Why did you lie?" The whispering has risen into a tidal wave that threatens to tear you apart. "Why did you lie?! Your words meant nothing–nothing!" 

"I'm sorry," you mumble and your eyes sting sharply. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry won't bring him back," you stare at yourself across the wasteland, your expression betrayed and so so angry. "Sorry won't change the fact that you killed him!"

"I didn't mean it."

"I hate you."

"I should've…" Your mind becomes detached as you look down at Leon again, and realize that he's not just cold. He's turning blue, going into rigor mortis right there under the same hands that had killed him. The tears roll from your eyes and suddenly, you can't tell what came from the rain and what came from you. 

"Am I to pay for this?" The other version of you pleads, voice cracking and failing. "Am I to pay for you killing Leon?"

"Who are you?" You mumble brokenly, bringing up one of your filthy hands to caress his face that has long since gone. "What does he mean to you?"

"I'm you," they say, "and you killed the love of your life."

Thunder shakes the whole terrain enough to cause your eyes to fly open as you gasp sharply for air. Your eyes are wet and your cheeks itch with dried tear tracks as you pull yourself up to wipe them off furiously. The dream blossoms in your mind like a memory, a haunting little night flower unfurling its petals for the moonlight. What did that whole thing even mean? 

The dinner last night had resolved beautifully in a way you'd never expect before. The champagne had made you lighter than ever and the food was better than anything you've ever tasted in your life. You'd exchanged stories over the bottle, sharing perspectives of missions you were dispatched on after him and for the first time ever, he felt more like a friend than someone you had fought tooth and nail to try and kill. It was wonderful, something new and fresh and exciting. 

What about that could possibly herald such a horrendous dream?

You look around the room, trying to gather your bearings. Leon had insisted you take the master bed while unloading the pull-out bed the couch had inside of it. You'd been hesitant about him having such a flimsy mattress, he's reminded you that he's slept in worse places. It didn't bring much comfort to you, but you could tell he wasn't budging on the subject. 

Right now, though, he wasn't in bed. 

The covers had been tossed carelessly aside and the pillow had an indent of where his head must have been. You look towards the bathroom but find no light shedding underneath the door. Upon waiting for a few minutes, you don't hear the toilet flush or the sink running so you get up, padding across the soft carpet silently and carefully twisting the knob in case he really was inside and could alert you that it was occupied. 

Unfortunately, no such call came. 

The bathroom was empty, and the little night light inside provided just enough visibility to prove as such. Confusion spreads through your mind as you wonder where he could possibly be. Surely he wouldn't pay for a hotel suite just to leave you on your own? He wouldn't just abandon ship like that and besides, you saw his luggage still in the room when you had gotten up to investigate. 

It's then that you turn around from the bathroom and realize the curtains over the sliding glass door to the balcony are drawn only slightly, making a crack where they should have overlapped. It wasn't enough to arouse suspicion under normal circumstances, but you had made sure they were drawn tight right before you'd gone to bed under the paranoia that anybody could peek in.

You quietly look through and spot Leon's shoulder just around the corner. He's not pressed up against the railing as if he were stargazing, no. His arms look to be folded tightly across his chest, body swaying as if he were talking to someone. 

You reach toward and crack open the door, ears straining as their conversation becomes audible. 

"You don't need to worry about her," he's saying. "You need to let this go."

"Leon," a sultry feminine voice reaches your ears and your heart flips in the cage of your ribs. "You never know. What if she's just waiting to get you close enough to kill you? What would I do without you?" 

"You need to find a new trick," he sounds like he's scowling. "Ada, believe me when I tell you she's nobody. She means nothing to me." 

The sting of unsaid rejection almost knocks the wind out of your breath and effectively kills anything you were planning to say. Leon moves and you get a good look at the woman he's talking to, finding her staring up at him through seductive lashes that would be enough to entrance any man. 

Red flashes on her body and you think that she's enchanting enough to be a perfect match for Leon, darkness in her eyes as she looks defiantly up at him. 

"Come on, Leon," she sighs. "We both know that's not true. It's not safe where she's going–you could die in that lab."

"I know."

"And yet you'll still go?"

"I have to," he grunts stubbornly. "It's a part of my duty as an agent. I expected you of all people would understand that."

"Believe me, I do," she snaps. "I just don't see why you would aid her of all people. I'm trying to help you out here."

"And I don't need it."

The two stare down in a tense silent match until Ada finally relents, backing away and pulling something out of her pocket. She shakes her head in obvious disappointment, and you think you even see a hint of sadness that he won't see her line of reasoning. 

"Until next time," she promises and presses the trigger. 

A grappling hook shoots out from the end of the gun and there's a moment of goodbye where Ada tugs him down to her level, pressing a chaste kiss to Leon's mouth. She backs away, hand lingering on his cheek before flying off the balcony and disappearing into the night. 

You don't know how to feel as Leon stares at where she'd disappeared to. 

Did he really mean it when he'd said you meant nothing to him? Why did you feel like he just tore your heart out and stomped on it until it stopped beating before spitting on it for good measure? You ache, pushing the door back closed and stepping back towards the bed. A war rages in your head, chastising you for being so dumb and mourning that he had said you meant nothing to him, though you don't have enough sense to form a coherent opinion about any of it.

You burrow back under the blankets, pretending like you were still sleeping when Leon eventually comes back in as silently as he can. You can almost feel him looking at you and you wonder if he's debating on letting old habits die hard. Maybe he'll take out a handgun and end it now. You don't have any conviction to stop him. 

There's a pregnant pause before he whispers, "Did I wake you up?"

You don't answer, choosing to remain blissfully silent with a smoothed out browline to paint the perfect picture of slumber. He doesn't say anything else but only chooses to go back to bed as if nothing had happened, and the almost inaudible creak of the springs in the mattress let you know he's settled back in. 

All your hope drains from your body in that moment, unhappy and feeling understandably betrayed. Even if you hadn't made up, you'd assumed you meant something to him in the same way he meant something to you when you'd been fighting. Could it be possible that you were just another side piece in his story? Perhaps Ada was his lover trailing behind him and making sure that nobody was trying to advance on him. Would she be after you now that she knew you were sleeping in the same room and playing husband and wife with him?

You weren't after him anyway. Were you? You couldn't tell after all this time. All the moments you catch yourself staring at him longer than you were supposed to and pondering what it would be like to be able to kiss him in the way she had probably meant something unless it was just the hormones speaking, though you sincerely doubt it. 

You're too tired to make any sense of it.

Images of your dream flash in your mind–to his lifeless eyes and dead body in your arms, feeling a pain worse than any torture you'd been subjected to purely for the fact you knew he wasn't coming back. That you'd been the one to end him only made matters worse, and those lasting words you'd said to yourself still resonate in your head loudly. 

You'd been told you killed the love of your life in that cryptic little dream of yours.

Surely he wasn't that to you. He was nothing more than an impromptu business partner at best for right now, right? But, he was so charming and knew all the ways you ticked like the back of his hand. Is that what made you nothing to him? Were you no longer mysterious and exciting enough for him to keep on going like this? 

Night terrors were nothing new. They'd been a constant ever since your first mission where you'd been forced to toss a hand grenade into a crowd to stay alive, and you remember the limbs flying as the blood spattered across your skin warmly. With each new mission comes a new setting for your fucked up brain to twist every night. Some are easy to get over–easy enough that they don't affect you for the rest of the day. However, some showcase some of the most abysmally crude deaths you've ever had the misfortune of witnessing, replaying it like a radio stuck on a loop. 

This? This was something new. You've never had night terrors about something that never happened. 

You know this by the way Leon's breaths transition from that uneven pattern to something more steady and peaceful until he's letting out light snores that tell you he's completely under. He's alive, quite the opposite of dead, and certainly not a living flesh bag controlled by a virus or a parasite or something insane like that. 

Still, uncertainty reigns in your mind. 

Something bitter touches your tongue and you flinch, feeling that cold and angry feeling buzzing in your bones. Something in your mind that doesn't allow that grudge to die the way you want it to, urging you to end it all now and trying to convince you this thing either ends with you or him. You know better, but it doesn't make anything much nicer. 

You close your eyes, a frown on your face and hesitancy in your heart. 

Well…it was only a matter of time. 

[lapis-lights]

Chapter 01 | Choke Yourself to Sleep

'Falling From Grace' Series

[Vendetta!Leon Kennedy x Reader]

Song Title: Choke by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Content Warnings: Heavy Injuries, Enemies Phase, High Tensions, Two Emotionally Constipated Characters, They Get Better Towards The End

Word Count: 11k

Author's Notes: First chapter of the Falling From Grace series! I'm excited for you guys to see what's coming up :DDDD

I wanted a good ol' fashioned enemies to lovers that dealt with two characters who actually have a dislike for each other and honestly, the longer I outlined the events I wanted to happen and estimated the word count, the more I was like "Oh shit this needs to be like a SERIES". So here we are at chapter 1. Lmk what you guys think in the comments if you'd like! My ask box is also open if you'd like to send in something through there too ^^

Posts are scheduled for 8 a.m. EST every day until the series is complete!

Series Masterlist

Ao3

Summary: Having freshly escaped from an elaborately disguised company, you show up on the doorstep of your enemy's dingy motel room. Tensions roll high as you try to recuperate all while trying not to kill each other until a secret lets loose and his perception of you shatters into a million pieces.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

"Now shut your dirty mouth. If I could burn this town, I wouldn't hesitate to smile while you suffocate and die.

And that would be just fine, and what a lovely time that it would surely be. So bite your tongue and choke yourself to sleep."

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The air is freezing, but your body feels like it's on fire.

In a cruel juxtaposition to the chilly weather and violent wind that nipped at your skin, pain is all you know, licking flames up from a twisted ankle and into your weary muscles. Your shoulder burns, tugged on by the weapons and equipment that weigh you down but are vital for survival nonetheless. One of your joints is probably dislocated and would need an amputation or something drastic with your luck.

You’re sure you must look a sight, streaked with dirt and oozing blood from more than one place on your body. The bruises you’ve been so graciously granted are probably turning purple by now, and you wince knowing that this wouldn’t be something you could try and joke your way out of at a hospital. 

Hence, your second, more unfortunate, option.

You’ve been walking all night since you escaped after weighing the options in your mind. Actually, it’s less walking and more hobbling as fast as you can.

The trees are bare all around you, bordering a stretch of a lonely dirt road that nobody has driven through since you set foot on it. Not even given the chance to hitchhike, you consider that just laying down and dying alone of starvation might be the easier option.

Every part of you hurts, and you think that you might die anyway from your wounds. Your breaths have become shallow and hitched, your body sore from the excruciating limits you've been pushing it to. However, that all didn't matter when it came to survival. You've lived through worse before–surely something like this couldn't kill you.

The bare forest breaks and you almost cry at the sight of your destination. 

It’s a rugged little motel hidden away in the recesses of the forest, often providing shelter to hunters who were taking advantage of the seasons. However, the person you're looking for is not a hunter.

Not of animals, at least.

It’s the kind of motel that doesn’t have any stories and the rooms are all lined up along one long stretch of building bordered by rotting wooden rails. It’s not a sight to behold, but it was somewhere safe to some capacity. Either you’d die here or live to see another day.

You trip up the wooden steps, muffling a cry of pain into your palm before counting down the rooms and finding the one you need. Your knock probably sounds more like a bang and you know that this is probably the stupidest plan you’ve ever had yet. Maybe you had the right idea when you were considering just dying on the side of the road like an unfortunate piece of roadkill.

However, much to your surprise, the door swings open, and tired blue eyes meet yours.

"(Y/n)?" your name rolls off his tongue like venom being spat out. "What the fuck?"

He sounds good–really good–so you must be incredibly delirious. Whether it's from the blood loss, the adrenaline, or the sleep deprivation is a toss in the air.

"Hey," you manage a shaky smile and collapse.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

When you come to, the first thing you hear is the creak of old wood, presumably from the aged floorboards.

You're sure this motel doesn't have the funding to renovate often, judging by the run-down state it was in when you first arrived. Already, you feel better physically than the last time you had been conscious–but you were still incredibly sore–though the same couldn’t be said mentally. If you weren’t so bent on staying alive, you’d roll over and sleep yourself to death. 

Roughly blinking open your eyes faintly, you’re met with an old popcorn ceiling that has more than one questionable stain on it. Gross. 

“You know,” a voice intrudes the confused fog of your brain as your thoughts abruptly try and catch up, “if you’re trying to kill someone, showing up half-dead on their doorstep isn’t really the way to go.”

Panic blossoms in your chest as you open your eyes all the way, fully wide awake now. You tug your body upward and a jolt of pain spreads through your body as you take in the dusty motel room you’ve cursed yourself to be trapped in. You've been laid down on an old couch whose covering was printed with the abhorrent floral pattern that's only found in ancient grandmother households and the fabric scratches uncomfortably on your sensitive skin.

 It’s not hard to find the source of the voice.

Leon's already watching you from a chair positioned on the other side of the room at a small desk, fringe falling over his eye as his handgun is securely held. You have no doubt that the safety is probably already off.

"You have five minutes," he demands, not kidding around like when you've traded playground insults. "I want an explanation."

"Fair enough," you wince.

You and Leon have a rocky history of going for each other’s throats on field missions and nearly killing each other over a grudge that began years ago. He works in the D.S.O., an infamous division in the US government for only the best and most elite members of the agency. Leon Kennedy, revered for his survival in Raccoon City and preceding successful missions afterward, is one of–if not the–best of the best.

You’d been on contract with a company that was researching bioweapons independently and investigating Umbrella through rather illegal matters. The J.I.E., or Justice for Inhumane Experimentalists, had dedicated their purpose to bringing people like those who advocated for Umbrella to be rightfully exposed. Your involvement with the company was surprisingly unintentional where you’d been admitted as an intern for work experience before they offered you training for fieldwork and higher pay. 

Regrettably, you had agreed.

Oftentimes, you’d be dispatched to the same locations that the government was looking into. It was only a matter of time before your stealth mission failed and you were pitted face-to-face with Leon.

Your first encounter was rough, as your only objective was to escape alive. It was understandable why he was considered the best agent as his aim was spot on, his attacks swift and incredibly calculated. You managed to leave with a hair’s breadth away from death. 

Every preceding time you met with him, it began an all-out battle that staved mostly off of that grudge–you wanting revenge for him nearly ending your life and for him, wanting to patch up his bruised ego from letting an easy target slip through his fingers.

It was a miracle Leon didn’t just shoot you in the head when you went unconscious, though he probably only kept you alive for the potential intel you could provide.

“There was a conflict of interest is all,” you say vaguely, and he’s obviously unsatisfied with your response. “There’s not much more to it.”

“The J.I.E. finally dump your ass?”

“I left, thank you very much.”

"Bullshit," Leon snaps. "You have three minutes left to tell me why you're really here."

"I can't visit my favorite archenemy?" You huff, then wince when a new sharp pain blossoms in your shoulder and races down your arm before soothing to a burn. "Son of a bitch."

Leon exaggerates a snicker and you want to beat the sarcastic smile off his stupid expression. "Your dumbass managed to dislocate your shoulder and twist your ankle. Hope you weren't planning on going into any Olympic sports."

"My dreams are crushed," you deadpan. "Might as well put me down like a racehorse with a broken leg."

"I almost did." His gaze darkens and then fixates on you again. "Speaking of which?"

You go silent, staring back at him with the blankest expression you can muster. All he was trying to do was get under your skin to get whatever answers he wanted from you before ending your life, burying you in the woods, and checking out of the motel with a cute little innocent smile. Leon's not the type to commit a felony without a valid reason, but your little schoolyard rivalry was probably a good enough purpose for him. 

You were going to get out of here alive somehow. You just didn't have a coherent plan for it yet. You'd rather die than admit to Leon of all people what really happened at the J.I.E. before you had excused yourself–though, excused was an extreme understatement.

He probably senses that you weren't going to answer his questions before huffing and standing. His hands work roughly on his signature handgun, and it clicks sharply in the air as he disappears around a corner. You wouldn't be too surprised if he re-appeared with a loaded magnum ready to play bad cop interrogating you. 

At this rate, you'd accept him blowing your brains out.

The sudden sound of rushing faucet water running reaches your ears and it jars you enough out of your tense stupor. Silently, you wonder what in the world he could be doing. Maybe Leon needed a refresher before committing murder right in the middle of his motel room, though you suspect that he's probably not the best at cleaning up a crime scene. Would he be fully pardoned if he was found guilty? 

Actually, thinking about it, he could come up with a good enough cover story as to why a dead body was hidden under his floorboards. That was some Edgar Allen Poe shit.

Footsteps have you looking back up to see him with a plastic cup of water in one hand and something held securely in his other that you couldn't see. Leon places the cup of water on the end table that stands right by the armrest of the couch you're leaning against. 

Something clinks onto the wooden surface and you glance over to find two white pills sitting innocently next to the cup. 

You raise an eyebrow at him as he retreats, sitting on a creaking bed whilst grabbing a rifle to start polishing as if you weren't someone who's tried to kill him on multiple occasions.

"Cyanide?" You guess, poking at one of the pills and losing your appetite more than you already had. "You're getting lazy, Kennedy."

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffs dismissively. You didn't know it was possible for him to piss you off more than he already has. "It's painkillers."

"You should take them then since you're being such a pain in the-"

"I really don't care if you die on the couch," he interrupts and sends a dangerous glare your way. "I don't want to hear anything from you unless it's about why you're here. Capiche?"

You search his gaze trying to find any fault in his words, yet come up with none. A quiet sense of annoyance and rage boils in your chest as you slump down into the cushions of the couch. "Aye aye, cap'n."

He hums non-committedly before remarking mindlessly, "Good girl."

You wish he would step on a landmine.

Because you have nothing better to do, you snatch up the pills and choke them down with the water. Truthfully, you didn't realize how parched you were until the touch of liquid hit your dried-out throat, and you hope the bastard isn't gaining any satisfaction from your reluctant compliance. 

You note that there's dried blood still on your clothes and only the obvious wounds that were exposed have been cleaned up. It was some sort of cold comfort knowing that he didn't try anything shady while you were knocked out. 

As you settle into the couch again and close your eyes, you realize one thing before sleep reclaims you. 

Your shoulder definitely didn't feel dislocated nor did it step over the intense soreness that came after the initial painful sting the entire time you'd been awake. Surely Leon didn't set it back once he noticed, right?

He wouldn't.

The painkillers were probably the farthest his kindness reached with you. He probably thought it was dishonorable to kill you when you were injured or something stupid. He'd want a fight before getting the satisfaction of having your blood smeared all over his hands.

That must be it. It had to be.

You're conflicted as one excuse gets blocked by another, but none of it can change the fact that you hate him. When you get out of here, you'd definitely owe him a favor on your end, but after that, you'd go right back to your old ways trying to get the edge on each other on sight. 

As you fall asleep, you decide that nothing will change in the end. You'll make sure of it.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Images dance behind your eyelids, violent in every way you could think of. 

It's filled with viruses and experiments and monsters larger than life. You see people, you can hear them screaming in anguish and immense pain. Small children cling to your legs, sobbing and crying for their parents and for you to do something to help. You don't even get the chance to formulate a plan before they're harshly turned into nothing but rotting flesh and guttural sounds being pulled from their dead throats.  

You reach out desperately for them but they disappear in wisps from your fingertips. A sharp stab pierces your neck and you cry out, struggling against the undead that has latched its teeth into the supple muscle that lies in the junction at the base of your neck that slopes into your shoulder. Managing to gain momentum, you grasp it by the plaid shirt it was wearing and flip it over your shoulder. It slams to the invisible ground with a shriek.

The grip it had on you dissipates with the body of the undead into the black void, but the blood that flows from the wound in rivers is enough to make you lightheaded immediately. Before you can dwell on this fact too long, an invisible force pushes you to the ground, holding you down even as you aimlessly struggle as much as you can. It's a futile effort. 

There's the sound of chains, of a knife being sharpened right before searing white-hot pain floods your backside.

A sound that couldn't even be classified as a scream tears from your throat. It's pain, it's burning alive, it's being bitten by a million fire ants at once, it's familiar-

You wake with a gasp, tears in your eyes and sweating as Leon immediately backs away from your reactive–and now very conscious– state. 

It takes a moment for you to get your bearings and to realize where you are. 

You're not in a lab or an arena or even in another virus-infected city–just a crappy motel in the middle of nowhere stuck with the last person you ever wanted to associate yourself with. Upon getting this fact straight, you force yourself to relax as you dry your face and stubbornly refuse to look at Leon who simply watches carefully for any other possible extremity you might commit.

You can feel the question on the tip of his tongue, just barely managing to restrain himself from inquiring about what the fuck just happened. You don't even know what time it is. You don’t think you really care to find out right now.

"Do you have night terrors often?" He asks but there's no care behind the question. You know all he wants is more information regarding you and what the J.I.E. was doing. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" The response flies from your lips sharply, and you don't even bother to try to have the decency to pretend to be apologetic. Really, you don't feel like dealing with his bullshit after you've just woken up. 

"Well, excuse me, princess," Leon huffs, shaking his head frustratedly as he recedes. "Here I am letting you bloody up my couch and you can't even let me know if frequent nightmares are another thing I should be concerned about."

"I'm fine," you insist as he brings out another cup of water and more painkillers just like he'd done the first time you woke up. This time, you take them without hesitation and wait for a minute to see if they'd kill you as swiftly as a poison pill would. Once you're in the clear, you ask, "What do you mean by 'another thing' you should be concerned about?"

"I'd like to get a good night's rest without getting murdered," he frowns, sitting at the desk and folding his arms. "You know, I would've loved a vacation that didn't get interrupted again but you just had to show up, didn't you?"

"Interesting spot to vacation out to," you raise an eyebrow. "Any reason why?" 

"Nice try. You'll have to be more subtle."

"Can't blame a girl for trying."

"People say that about wallflowers trying to hook up with captains of football teams," Leon scoffs. "Not about spies trying to gather information on the opposing side."

For all you care, he could go die in a hole. You have more important things to worry about–namely your injuries and how fast you could recuperate from them so you could get out of here. Leon was decent enough to tell you that you had a twisted ankle and a dislocated shoulder he potentially set back into place, but there are wounds that he didn't even know about.

Along your upper back had been a particularly nasty gash, but it wasn't anything you weren't used to. You were more so concerned with the bullet grazes you'd caught while escaping the factory you'd been trapped in. J.I.E sports multiple talented sharpshooters so you'd consider yourself lucky to have been able to get out without a piece of metal lodged into your leg. 

The big bad that they'd sent after you did more of a number on you than any group with some lousy firearms could possibly do. The memory causes you to wince.

“Do you have a first aid kit or something?” you ask, moving to get up and ignoring the wave of pain that crashes into you violently, it nearly leaves you breathless. 

“Whoa, hey–wait,” Leon immediately gets up to try and push you back down. You smack his hand away stubbornly. “Alright, fuck you too, then.”

“I need to get the injuries on my back and I’d prefer doing it on my own,” you ignore him, standing shakily and almost stumbling upon the first step. “Also I probably stink so I hope you don’t mind if I use your cheap motel shower.”

“You’re not going to get far trying to do it by yourself,” Leon protests, and irritation pricks your skin.

“I’ve made it this far on my own. I can do it.”

You know your unmoving insistence isn’t something he’s unfamiliar with because the trait is reflected right back at him. Too many times were you caught in crossfires trying to get at each other despite the obvious obstacles and the inconvenience of it all. Usually, Leon can keep his composure on the battlefield, juggling carrying out his assigned mission and preventing you from completing yours, however, there are times you were able to push him over the edge and gain the advantage.

His jaw tenses as he considers you. It’s glaringly obvious you’re not as okay as you’re trying to pass off, but in all seriousness, you need to tend to yourself. You both knew that you’d never trust him in such a vulnerable environment, and even less so showing him exactly where all your current weak spots were. The only option left really was to let you do your best while he played standby.

“At least let me help you to the bathroom,” he relents finally. “If you’re going to slip and die, do it where I can’t see.”

Figuring that this is the best you were going to get with Leon, you accept the hand he outstretched and allow your weight to be shared with him. Because of his profession and the fit form he maintained, you’re sure that it was no issue for him.

Though, it didn’t help that you were completely disgusted upon having to have him in such close proximity. Actually, you think this is the first time the two of you have interacted like this that wasn’t in a violent way.

You half-expect him to dump you onto the bathroom floor, yet he allows you enough time to grip onto the doorframe and limp inside yourself.

“Kit is under the sink,” Leon says, turning away and wiping his hands off on his jeans. “Don’t die."

The door closes and you finally breathe out in relief at being alone. 

Your reflection stares back at you in the bathroom mirror and you know you've definitely seen better days. Shadows hang beneath your eyes, probably the only purple on your body that wasn't a result of a blossoming bruise, and your hair was full of filth you didn't even want to get into. Really, the past few days haven't been the most successful.

You take a deep breath and shuffle your shirt off the best you can with one arm. 

The shoulder that had been dislocated has dulled itself down into a mild burn instead of flooding with soreness with every waking moment as it had been before. Whatever painkillers Leon had gotten his hands on, they were hella fucking good since you'd only taken four so far–definitely better than the OTC pills you usually took periodically after missions. Your ankle fares better than it had been as well, but putting any weight on it was a no-go. 

Jesus Christ, you hated this.

As you throw your dirtied shirt to the floor and start shimmying your pants down your thighs, you think resentfully about your weakened state. For fuck's sake, you were supposed to be stronger than this–you were supposed to be theoretically invincible because being anything less meant you weren’t good enough.

Really, being at Leon's was your own fault seeing as you'd hobbled here after weighing the equally horrible options before picking the lesser of the two evils, and while it wasn't at the forefront of your mind and definitely not your biggest concern at the moment, it still wasn't pleasant. That he even took you in was a miracle in itself and you intend to milk as much hospitality as you can get from him before leaving. 

Finally, you wrench your shirt off and turn to see your backside in the mirror. You find that the gash on your upper back is bad and you wince at the state of it. It extends diagonally from your deltoid muscle downward to your trapezius, but what lacks in length is made up for by the alarming width of it.

You're definitely no looker with scar tissue knotting up your flesh and making rough patches of skin that surely would be anything but soft to the touch, but this has gotta be one of the worst ones. You'll live, of course, but it's nothing you'd be proudly parading around.

Noted: B.O.W.s tend to cut a little deep when they're attacking.

You start up the shower, deciding that you should start washing away the grime and dirt before tackling the scratches that have started to prick blood again.

The warm water is welcome, though it provides little comfort as the droplets sting the opened wounds. It's a relief to finally be able to feel some semblance of cleanliness as you poke around for the motel-provided shampoo, conditioner, and bar of soap. Dirt, blood, and gunpowder wash down the drain and you sigh in contentment, letting your mind wander as you work on washing yourself without putting strain on your shoulder and ankle.

Your need for shelter vastly eclipses the disdain you have for Leon, but you do have to admit that this was incredibly kind of him. His treatment of you right now is wildly different from practically all your other encounters where it's nothing but bullets, blood, and insults hurled at each other intended to hurt. You're used to the aggressive Leon who scowls every time he sees you, but definitely not this Leon who matches your witty comments and gives you painkillers without question every time you wake up.

It feels wrong. 

It feels like at any moment, the barrel of a gun is going to be held to your temple as he forces his desired answers out of you. Leon never struck you as the type of person to be like that, which gives you somewhat of a relief, but it still puts you on edge. He's gotta have some ulterior motive for keeping you alive. The fact that you don't know why is the most concerning part.

Maybe you had answers of your own you needed to search for.

Once you had gotten yourself to a place that felt like tiny bugs weren't crawling all over your skin and the water had begun to clear after vigorously washing your hair over and over, you finally shut off the water and brace yourself to take care of your wounds. It’d be much easier now that you were free of all that grime and build-up. 

You breathe a tired sigh and get to work, numbing yourself to the sting of antiseptic and focusing on wrapping your arms and legs with bandages in a familiar routine. Back at the J.I.E., the medics were adamant about teaching agents extensive medical techniques in case they found themselves stranded and unable to access proper care. Back then, it was obviously an excuse for them to do less work, but now you appreciate the rigorous training they’d put you through.

As for the cut on your back, you couldn’t necessarily reach it, though even you could tell it would need stitches. You definitely wouldn’t be able to do that on your own so you settle on rubbing a disinfectant gel on as much as you could before wrapping your upper torso in a long winding bandage. It would have to do for now.

Moving around as much as you have exhausted you and to be honest, you’d be more than happy to lie down and sleep on the cold linoleum floor, though you don’t think Leon would appreciate it as much.

Speaking of which, there was an alarming issue with clothing…

You grimace, looking at the ragged state of your former outfit, and cringe upon thinking about having to put it back on. You didn’t necessarily have time to pack before you fled the J.I.E.

A harsh knock scares you nearly out of your skin and you mentally curse Leon as his voice muffles from the other side of the door. “You doing alright?”

“Sure,” you answer back, frowning. Well…you’re as fine as you could be with two compromised joints and a dangerously large gash on your back. “I’m trying to figure out what I’m gonna do with my clothes.”

There’s a heavy silence before Leon mumbles some unintelligible. You’re about to ask him what he said until he speaks before you get the chance to. “I’ll stop by the motel office. Pretty sure they had clothes up there for sale.”

“Okay.”

“Size?”

You tell him and you hear the sound of things being shuffled around before the front door slams shut. Immediately, you try the knob and huff upon the handle refusing to give which meant the fucker likely jammed it on the other side to lock you in. Smartass.

It felt like a lifetime before he returned, jiggling out whatever he had blocked the handle with and cracking open the door to put up the goods onto the counter. It was just a white t-shirt made of rough cotton, gray sweatpants, underwear, and a pair of thick socks but in your eyes, it was just as good as a ball gown made of exotic silk.

When you stumble out of the bathroom, Leon looks up from his place on the bed as you slowly make your way out.

For a second, neither of you speaks a word as he finally takes you in without all the dirt and crap you’ve been covered with for the past few days and you try to piece together why this was happening in the first place. This hospitality–this unnatural kindness–it had to be for something.

You tear your eyes away from him, making your way back over to the couch where Leon had set up one of the pillows and a thick blanket, which you spread out gratefully. 

It’s really hard to hate him when he does things like this, but it’s easy to turn that into some type of annoyance to use against him. It was all too easy to find things to dislike about Leon, with the years you’ve watched him, you could nitpick his faults down to memory.

You settle down and the exhaustion hits you like a semi on the interstate. 

Sleep anchors you, yet you remember your manners, managing to yawn and mumble out, “Thank you.”

The silence that follows is deafening and you almost think he didn’t hear you until he says, bordering on the softest tone you’ve ever heard him with yet, “Yeah, sure.”

And just because you have to remind him this doesn’t change anything in your dynamic, you quip, “You’re still a conniving bastard.”

“You know me so well,” Leon mutters unamused.

“Oh, go choke on a day-old cashew.”

“Hope you suffocate in your sleep.”

As you let yourself slip into unconsciousness, you think to yourself that it’s the same as it ever was. Somehow, it soothes you knowing that this aspect of your rivalry will never change. No amount of questionable tolerance from him could ever affect that, and you know you’d be quite content to turn the gun on him once you were back in good condition.

He was your enemy. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Just the way it was supposed to be.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The next time you wake up, Leon's already moving around the room restlessly.

You don't see it, but goddamn, could you hear it. The floor was not doing your already growing headache any favors and coupled with the occasional mumbles from Leon to himself, you think your brain might explode.

You squint, trying to figure out what has him in a frenzy before noticing that you're positioned close enough to the window that you can peek through the crack between the glass and the curtain if you stretch. One moment is all it took before your eyes widened because all that was outside was white. Vaguely, you remember something about snow being said on the news the morning you'd left the J.I.E. but never did the weatherman mention that it was going to be this bad. 

Leon must've noticed you were awake because he immediately moved away and you can hear the faucet running just like the last time you were conscious. 

You consider this as he comes around the corner and wordlessly hands the cup of water and pills off to you before going to stoke a fireplace you hadn't noticed before due to its inactivity. His silent disposition is off-putting at the very least as you drink and take your painkillers and watch him mess with the wood that fed the flames. The motel must be ages old if it was still relying on fire for some extra heat.

"We're blocked in," Leon says gruffly, not even sparing you a glance. "It's not going to stop for at least a day or two."

You can read what he means: the two of you were stuck together until the snow calmed down enough that you could survive on your own.

Joy. You're sure his resentment for the situation matches yours.

"Quality bonding time," you quip, shifting and wincing at the soreness that seems to encompass every muscle. "We can make friendship bracelets and sing kumbaya together by the fire."

He shoots you an unimpressed look, only to furrow his eyebrows when your stomach gives an intense growl that reverberates through your diaphragm. You flush, embarrassed for the impeccable timing and you try to play it off, looking away to watch the flurry of snow whipping violently outside.

You hear rustling before it falls into silence.

Then something solid hits your head softly and lands on the floor by the couch with a crinkle.

You swivel and look down to find a protein bar lying on the ground, obviously the chosen projectile your unfortunate savior had chosen. Shooting him the rudest glare you can muster, you lean over and take the snack while the annoyance starts simmering in your chest. 

"Hope you can at least stomach that," Leon says passively.

"If I can't, I'll throw up on you."

"You really know how to show a guy a good time, don't you?"

"Only ones who can treat me right."

He puts his arms up as if surrendering, shaking his head. "If saving your life isn't treating you right, then you must have some pretty high standards."

"If I recall correctly, you've also tried to kill me multiple times." You roll your eyes while unwrapping your protein bar and biting into it. The taste manages to soothe the anger in your stomach as you eat and luckily, it was the type of bar that was meant to be filling so it left you somewhat satisfied. 

"Hypocrite," he clicks his tongue and if your shoulder wasn't out of commission, you'd pull your gun out and shoot him in the leg to get even.

Well…if you had your gun.

"Where'd you put my weapons?" You ask curiously, balling up your now empty wrapper and tossing it into a nearby small trash can. "Those are kinda important to me."

"Very funny. I’m not looking forward to being shot or stabbed when this is supposed to be my vacation."

"Well, excuse me for trying to make small talk," you fold your arms and just your chin out. "Hope you're ready for an eventful few days getting the damn silent treatment."

The two of you stare at each other from across the room, both unmoving and equally stubborn. The only good thing that came out of this whole thing was that you've learned each other's body language well enough that you could practically read each other without saying any words. Granted, the words usually said were threats to kill each other.

Leon analyzes you and your determined silence before he sighs and shakes his head. "You have a good taste in firearms, at least."

"I really hope that's not how you try and flirt with every woman you meet."

"Believe me, you're the last person in the world I'd ever try to flirt with."

“Rude,” you scoff.

There’s something different in the atmosphere. You watch as Leon finishes messing with the fire and starts getting out supplies to clean out his guns. Not wishing to dwell on it and deciding you have nothing better to do, you return to watching the blinding snowstorm outside. Some part of your mind fears that the J.I.E. were looking for you even in this intense weather, but surely even they weren’t stupid enough to try and track you down in this whole mess.

Perhaps they presumed you were dead. They did send a whole bioweapon to end you, though if they were serious about it, it would have tracked you down and not stopped until it had crushed you itself. 

You shudder, vaguely remembering the fight and running off of nothing but pure adrenaline while escaping. It was your last obstacle before you had managed to stumble out into the frigid air and start struggling to the motel.

You glance at Leon from the corner of your eye.

Truthfully, he wasn’t your first choice. There were multiple people you could have called to play getaway driver for you, but the potential of someone hijacking the signal and finding out about your plans was too high. It ran the risk of trading safety for comfort so that had definitely been off the board. Staying wasn’t an option either–not after what they revealed they were trying to do.

You’d located Leon’s location not long after the events in New York City with Glenn Arias. You don’t know the entire ins and outs of it, but he had suffered from a lot of blunt force trauma and as a result, had to be hospitalized for a few days. It wasn’t that hard to find his medical records in the doctor’s database, and furthermore, it was easy to then trace where he was planning on getting away.

Fortunately, it was near enough to the lab you were stationed but the walk was arduous. He was the only viable option.

“Do you always stare so openly?”

His question pulls you out of your thoughts and you blink before raising an eyebrow in a silent prompt.

“You’ve been giving me a side eye for the last minute or so,” he points out, cleaning out the barrels on one of his guns. “It’s kind of unsettling.”

“I thought you’d be used to a woman watching you,” you hum, leaning your chin into the palm of your hand. “Are you telling me that you don’t have as much game as you say you have?”

“It’s a little different with you.”

“Aw, are you saying I’m special?” 

Leon’s lip pulls up in disdain and you have to resist the urge to laugh lest you pull a muscle or something. “Don’t get any ideas. God only knows what happens in that little fucked up brain of yours.”

“You wound me,” you simper mockingly. "I thought we had something good going."

"I worry for your past relationships if this is your definition of good."

He doesn't need to know that you've never put yourself out there after high school. The J.I.E. didn't leave any relationships to be had outside of the workforce and the people you'd worked with were far from interesting. Besides, you'd be putting them in danger if they were outside of your work sphere.

The last guy you'd given a chance only ended up with him knocking up another girl at a house party so your track record isn't anything to sneeze at either. 

"Alright," A sigh escapes your lips as you shift your body so you can look him in the eyes and he stares back just as defiantly. "Let's make a deal."

He obviously doesn't like the ominous tone that’s used primarily when you’re about to say something to get underneath his skin. "What are you proposing?"

"It's simple," you smile. "As long as we're stuck together, we don't kill each other. Like a peace treaty without the officiation.”

“I thought that was a given.”

“Well, you keep alluding that you assume I’m gonna put a rusted pipe through your gut while you’re asleep, though I’m pretty sure I sleep more than you do.” You frown. “Are you saying you don’t agree?”

“It’s not that,” Leon shakes his head. “I just never thought I’d see you trying to keep the peace.”

“What kind of girl do you take me for?” Like a little drama queen, you sniff exaggeratedly. “I know how to behave when the circumstances call for it.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“You fucking suck.”

“Don’t forget that you’re the one who came to me,” Leon grumbles. “I could’ve left your ass in the snow to freeze over.”

“Maybe that would’ve been the better option for both of us.” The words are sharp, biting out with aggression even you didn’t expect. “You can get real pissy sometimes, y’know.”

“I think I have a good reason,” Leon snaps, and the gun he’s polishing suddenly seems a lot more dangerous in his hands. “All you do is fucking whine when I could’ve finished what I started.”

You grit your teeth, falling into silence as the two of you maintain deadly eye contact. All the exits and where they were located flash through your head and you know it would take too long to try and escape while you’re injured. You could barely slip away from his perceptive nature when in full health.

Maybe it was time for another nap.

For some reason, the instinct was reminiscent of the times your parents would argue so loudly, it shook the house, and a younger version of yourself turned on her nightlight and tucked herself into bed to sleep away the pain just to wake up to blissful silence. You just didn't expect the old habit to resurface here. 

You turn away from him, folding in on yourself, and try not to think about the snow piling outside, the monsters out to get you, or the fact that Leon's eyes are still burning at your backside as he watches. It's less creepy and more irritating and you wonder if he knew how to let someone sleep in peace. 

Your eyes close and you try to fill your head with mindless thoughts until he forcefully pulls you out of it. 

"I…Let's just try and get through this without going at each other's throats. Okay?"

You don't have the energy to fight him nor did you particularly want to right now. "Okay."

Refusing to look at him, you resign to watching the swirling white outside rather than face the tension that obviously was brewing in the room. Even with this uneasy peace treaty, there was no guarantee that it would be upheld without efforts made by both of you. 

In the background, you hear Leon begin shuffling around and you sneak a glance over to see he's elbow deep in one of his bags before he pulls out a sleek silver attache case. He finally seems to find what he's looking for when he takes out a vial that's filled with green, red, and yellow. It's small, probably a little longer than his middle finger, but the contents concern you a little–especially when he saunters over and holds it out to you like you know what to do with it.

"Are we getting high as a celebration of our camaraderie?" You ask, raising an eyebrow as you take it. The colors are all crushed-up leaves of some kind and you silently wonder if Leon's been a stoner this whole time you've known him. "I don't do blunts, Kennedy."

"Slow your roll, crackhead," he scoffs. "It's herbs that'll put you right as rain."

"And you want me to…?"

"Eat it."

You blink dumbly at him, trying to figure out if this was all some kind of joke that he was trying to play on you. "What?"

"I had to take doses of it all the time when I was in Spain," he assures, though you don't feel any better about the prospect. 

"I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse." 

"Take it with water if you're so worried."

You watch him carefully as you uncap the vial and cringe at the strong smell of the plants and the powerful aroma of an herbal scent. In fact, if you stayed here for a bit, you're sure your eyes would probably water as if you were standing in front of an onion while chopping it. Looking at Leon with uncertainty, he just nodded like that made this whole situation viable. 

You didn't really have a choice. 

You pour the contents of the vial into your mouth then choke down as much water as you can as fast as you can. It's alarming the way your body seems to jolt and the nerves beneath your skin start buzzing. If this is what dying felt like, it wasn't as bad as you thought it would be.

"You should sleep," Leon suggests, turning around and making his way to the bathroom. "You've been awake for a while and the herbs need time to settle."

"Alright."

He spares you a glance, looking as though he wanted to say something. It doesn't make it off his tongue though, as he turns back around and closes the door with a soft click. Soon, you hear the sound of running water, and the sounds of the shower provide a comforting white noise as you settle down on the couch. 

Your eyes close, and it doesn't take long before you find yourself in the middle of a smoking battlefield covered in the debris of fallen buildings. Somewhere, a grenade goes off.

Some things never changed. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

“I’m serious, Kennedy,” you frown, trying to work it all out. “Where the hell did you even get something like that?”

He shrugs but the small shit-eating smirk he tries to suppress is more than enough to make your blood boil just a little.

When you had woken up, your body seemed to have rewound back in time while you were asleep, putting you back at peak health. The injuries that you had been nursing for about three days vanished without a trace and didn’t leave any after-effects. The autonomy you had almost made you fall off the damn couch when you realized this fact and it had devolved into trying to get Leon to tell you what the hell was in that vial and how he had gotten his hands on it.

Your questioning has not been successful so far. He’s scarily good at evading giving an answer. 

You fall back to sit on the couch, rolling your shoulder and ankle this way and that, trying to find a fault in the healing process, but come up empty-handed. It really was as if nothing happened at all. 

“Just in case,” Leon speaks suddenly, “I’d like to check you over for any extra injuries. Even those herbs can’t catch everything if we’re not careful.”

Your lips purse as you reel back at the idea. That was something that required trust, which very little of ran between you and Leon. Exposing yourself to him for an easy shot at your back wasn’t the most appealing scenario and you’d rather avoid the chance of it altogether. He had a point, though, since you couldn’t see the cut on your back and knew that if it didn’t heal correctly, it could get infected which was less than ideal.

“I want all weapons on the other side of the room,” you concede and he immediately sets to work discarding everything away from the couch as you venture to the bathroom for the first aid kit. 

Nervousness rolls in your gut as if you were about to go out on a stage and perform at an opera in front of thousands of eyes–actually, that would probably be better than this. Every muscle in you twitches as if reminding you what typically happens when you or Leon see a vulnerability in each other.

That was rule number one: you see a weakness, you exploit it. 

When you return, Leon’s already sat down and removed his jacket so that all he was left with was a gray t-shirt and pants with pockets that were comfortingly flat and empty-looking. You sit down with your back facing towards him, set the kit in your lap, and breathe out in hopes that it would soothe your nerves. 

It does not.

“There was a nasty cut on my back,” you begin, deciding fuck it and strip off your shirt. The cooler air hits your skin and you shudder. “I couldn’t reach it so I just slapped some disinfectant on it and called it a day.”

“How you managed to wrap it with one arm is beyond me,” he remarks, tapping the bandages that you begin to remove when you get the hint.

The wrappings fall away and the room falls silent. Too silent.

Afraid, you mutter, “Leon?”

“What the fuck?”

The last time he had said that was when you had shown up on his doorstep, and his tone concerns you so much that you pivot your torso around just enough to look at him.

His eyes have locked onto the scars on your backside, and you can feel the ghost of a grip that nearly ground your radius and ulna together as a blade had carved itself into your skin. You know what it looks like, having avoided mirrors that had any view of the rigid flesh that decorates your back like a mutilated canvas. The scars are ugly, forcefully healed and you realize why it might look odd to someone who hasn’t had to bear the curse of looking at them every morning.

A collection of punishments you had deserved. You hadn't been careful enough and you paid the price

When he talks again, Leon sounds like he's ready and poised to kill, though it wasn't directed at you which was incredibly uncharacteristic of him. "Who did this to you?"

You look away. "It's not important."

The silence hangs tensely in the air, just waiting to burst open. Of course, it's awkward being half-naked in front of Leon bearing old scars that you tend to try to forget for a reason. This was supposed to be just a check-up–maybe some aid in patching up that horrendous cut on your back–nothing more.

"They did this," he murmurs, almost inaudible. "Didn't they?"

You don't look at him, hoping that if you will yourself hard enough, you could just disintegrate. You'd do anything just to get away from the demanding gaze his blue eyes pin you down with even with him not having touched you at all.

"(Y/n)." He's never said your name like that before. As if you mattered to him. As if anything that hurt you hurt him too. "What happened at the J.I.E.?"

Well…there was no point in trying to hide it now, was there?

“They began understanding that Umbrella wasn’t backing down from their advances no matter what they did.” You flinch when the pad of his fingertip brushes the wound from the bioweapon. “Careful.”

“Sorry,” he says and it still feels weird to hear him apologize. “It’s still open so I’ll have to stitch it. You’re lucky it didn’t get infected.”

“Okay,” you open up the first aid kit and hand it over to Leon and he begins the process of numbing the area. “Anyways, um, the J.I.E. got it into their heads that the only way to take down Umbrella was fighting fire with fire so they started developing their own bioweapons–which I didn’t agree with.”

Leon pulls away and rummages through the kit for a needle and thread. 

“I tried getting them to understand that starting a B.O.W. war was gonna do more harm than good, but of course, they didn’t listen to me. Instead, they only resolved to keep me in line and continued with their work.” You close your eyes. “Oftentimes, they’d chain me up in one of the labs and…well, you can see how that turned out.”

The point of the needle pierces your flesh and you talk to avoid the feeling of the thread winding through your skin. “I didn’t learn my lesson the first few times and I could only take so much before I had enough of it.”

“So you left.”

“I left, but not without a fight. They sent a titan after me while I was making my escape, and I barely managed to get out alive,” you hesitate, “and that’s when I came to you.” 

“About that,” he mumbles, hands steady as he makes his way up the injury, “how’d you know where I was?”

“They kept tabs on you specifically since you posed the greatest threat. I was sent to your locations because of my experience in encountering you so they knew I’d have the most success rate following your missions.” You bite your cheek to avoid twitching from the needle hitting a tender spot. “It wasn’t hard to track you after the incident with Glenn Arias in New York since they also held your medical records. After I found out you were here, I corrupted your files and removed them entirely from the database.”

“Smart.”

“I try to be.”

The rest of the stitching only lasts in silence as he finishes up, pulling the wound together and sealing it with a patch. Together, you re-wrap your torso and he snaps shut the first aid kit. 

“Thank you,” you say, reaching out to take the plastic box off his hands so you can return it to the bathroom. “By the way, do you know when this blizzard is going to end?”

“Should be done the day after tomorrow,” he answers before his expression twists in confusion. “Why? You have somewhere to be?”

“I need time to plan if I’m going to be taking down a whole company,” you tuck away the box and close the cabinets, poking your head out of the bathroom to peer at him. “I also should do some recon work to see what I’m really working with. They don’t tell agents much, y’know?”

“You’re going back?”

“I have to.”

“You shouldn’t be doing that alone,” Leon argues as if you haven’t run through this decision a million times in your head already.

“What am I going to do?” You roll your eyes, walking out of the bathroom and sitting on the couch a good few feet away from him. “Amass an army? This is really the only way to do it.”

Upon seeing his stony expression, you struggle to understand why he was making such a big deal out of this. Were it any other day, he would tell you to go die if you really wanted to and leave it at that, so what could have possibly changed that made him concerned over how dangerous this self-imposed mission of yours was?

“Let me come with you,” Leon says and your stomach drops. 

You could barely formulate any words. “What?”

“I already told you that going alone is a surefire way to get yourself shot in the head,” Leon shrugs as if you were discussing what you had for lunch. “Are you really going to say no to an extra pair of eyes?”

“No, but–” this whole conversation is turning your whole entire world upside down, “–what the hell would you be getting out of this? Are you out of your mind?”

Leon gets up, and the muscles on his back flex. “I’d be finding out how J.I.E.’s been getting through the government’s defenses, which has been a particular thorn in our side. Really, there’s nothing to lose.”

“Except your life.”

“There’s always been that possibility.”

You breathe deeply through your nose, trying to sort out the confusion of this whole situation. It’s a wonder how he always manages to do this. “Leon. I need you to be completely honest with me.”

“Fire away.”

“Why did you really let me live? When I showed up.” Your gaze looks past him through your lashes and he considers you for a brief moment, seemingly thinking over his answer. “You could’ve killed me–ended this all and gone on with your little vacation. I really need to know now.”

“Well that one’s easy,” he leans down and takes a black duffel bag up in his arms. He tosses it over and it lands at your feet. “I couldn’t leave you to die when you were so helpless.”

You unzip the bag and find all of your belongings in there from your guns to stocks to the boxes of bullets you’d brought along. Everything is left untouched to your relief and you take out your handgun, running a finger over the inscription lined in gold on the side. In this state, you make up your mind and mentally curse yourself and Leon. 

“Alright,” you finally allow, looking up at him with new determination. “We get out of here when the blizzard stops and we figure out a way to get into the lab.”

“We take it down from the inside.”

“We end their operations, apprehend any officials, and let the government handle the rest.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Leon huffs out a breath, taking a protein bar and handing it over to you. “I take it our peace treaty has been extended for a period of time?”

“I hope so,” you accept the bar from him and peel it open. “Otherwise I’d have to question your motives all over again.”

“You don’t have to worry about a thing,” Leon flashes you a look you can’t quite decipher. “We’ll leave when the blizzard stops and we can get to the motel’s laundry mat so you’re not trekking out in the snow with sweats.”

“So considerate of you.”

“I try to be.”

The two of you lapse into your own separate worlds as Leon goes through his supplies and you begin doing checks over your equipment. Your knife glints under the low light and J.I.E.’s logo shines proudly on the hilt. You scowl, sheathing it and tossing it carelessly back into the bag.

You really need to upgrade a few things. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The night is crisp, cool, and calming.

You never expected the cold to be comforting, but here you are. After the rollercoaster of emotions the past few days have been, you were eager to find someplace to be alone. Of, course, it’s not because of anything Leon did, but it was nice to just be by yourself with your own thoughts from time to time.

A windbreaker jacket is all you have to shelter yourself from the frigid temperature, but you find that it isn’t as intrusive as you expected it to be. 

You sigh and a cloud of breath spills from your lips, puffing up into the air and floating away like less elegant smoke rings. Your eyes follow it until the miniature clouds disappear, your body leaning back into the wooden wall of the motel. One thought springs after another and with nothing but the wind whistling in your ears, something akin to peace stirs in your chest.

It's quiet out here.

While tension still ran between the both of you since Leon had stitched up your back, you’d be lying if you said nothing has changed. The atmosphere has drastically shifted within the motel room from simmering hate ready to boil over to something much milder. Obviously, old habits die hard and you can’t help but be cautious every time he gets closer to you than usual, but he never does anything out of line.

You can’t tell if that’s more alarming or not.

Snow cascades like white q-tips, gently fluttering to the ground rather than swirling violently as it had just yesterday. It’s almost mesmerizing to watch and in this space of solitude, it’s nice to know that nature takes its course no matter what may be happening. Despite all the B.O.W.s and corrupted companies, places like this stay safely hidden away from all that drama and exist like an external part of the earth. 

A safe space–or haven, even.

Out in the distance by the gap in the fence where you had come in is a street lamp with two lanterns positioned symmetrically on each side of the pole. While one shines proudly and sheds light onto the snow below it, the other stays dead and dark. You wonder if it had just broken one day or gotten too old, but nonetheless, it's sort of a sad sight altogether.

The door creaks open and you perk up.

Leon comes out slowly but his shoulders relax upon seeing you as he shuts the door gently behind him as he says, “I thought you might’ve booked it.”

“Don’t be silly,” you chastise lightly, though not really mad at all. “I thought I would come outside to watch the snowfall before I have to jump into all the action later.”

He comes to stand beside you and together, you watch the flurries fall. You haven't been able to enjoy a moment like this in a long while since the J.I.E. always held you on such a short leash. When one mission ended, another began, and you'd been stuck in a loop ever since they found out that using physical means kept you fighting to stay alive.

Leon clears his throat awkwardly. "I don't remember the last time I just…watched the snow."

You glance at him and a smile threatens to tug on your lips, knowing that he's trying his best but all too unfamiliar from being emotionally constipated. It's not like you're not the same way, but it's nice to know he's at least trying. "Yeah. I remember last Christmas Eve when I got to, but it didn't last long. Got a damn email telling me I'd be dispatched the next day."

He seems surprised. "You didn't spend Christmas with anybody?"

"Nope." You pop the 'p'. "The night I got to my destination, the receptionist at the hotel I was assigned to looked like I kicked her puppy or something when I told her it was just me."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh," you snicker. "It's alright, though. I got to walk through the town square at night and it was really pretty. Had all those fairy lights crossing overhead and it gave it this almost golden glow to it."

If you tried hard enough, you could remember it all. The sight of dim lights illuminating shops and hearing the sound of people conversing with each other enthusiastically. The snow had covered the ground in a thin layer and the sound of a rushing fountain had run in the distance, standing as the centerpiece of the town with colored bricks in a perfect circle. 

A breeze sweeps through the air and you shiver, trying to curl into the material of your windbreaker that provides no heat at all. "There were so many people there. Friends, families, couples…and then there was just me. It was pretty funny."

"Did you get to do anything?"

You finally look up at him only to find him already staring down at you. Your heart seems to kick harshly in your chest before returning to its regular pace, and you don't give your brain time to dwell on it before answering. "Well, I got to help a little boy find his parents."

"What?"

"He came up to me crying," you reminisce, shifting your gaze away from him and back out to the road that led up to the motel. "Grabbed me by the pant leg and started telling me about how he lost his mom in the middle of a crowd and now he couldn't find her."

"Jesus Christ."

A small laugh escapes your throat. "I walked with him on my hip for about three hours looking for her until we finally found her and his dad at a café. They tried paying me but…" The toe of your boot digs mindlessly into the floor beneath you. "I refused. Helping someone who's lost their way shouldn't be a monetary gain, y'know?"

Leon doesn't answer you on that, and you lock eyes with him once more as you try to discern what has him in such a stupor. You don't get to ask when you catch sight of his dusty blue irises that seem to shift in shade with every expansion and contraction of his pupils. He looks like he's trying to find something in your expression, but whatever it could be, you don't know. It's nearly unnerving. Nearly.

"Is that really your philosophy?" He finally asks after an extensive lapse of only quiet filling the spaces between your bodies.

"What do you mean?" You shake your head before rephrasing, "What do you really mean?"

A breathy laugh escapes him and you realize that in all the years you've known him, you don't even know the most basic things about Leon. You know how to read the undertones of his questions, can interpret his body language better than any lover he's ever had, but you don't even know what his favorite color is. You don't know his favorite time of day or what type of foods he likes or what his favorite subject in school was. 

You don't know what his laugh sounds like or how his lips will pull when he genuinely smiles or how he expresses joy to any capacity. 

You've only seen an agent, devolving into something darker as he lost his dirty blonde hair along the way and gained a  deep brunette that made his eyes all the more electric. He's gotten careless about the stubble that peppers his jawline and you realize that objectively, he looks good at his age, though you'd take that realization to the grave.

The two do you have really let your lives slip away that easily, huh?

"You'll understand one day," he says vaguely, and though you're unhappy with the response, you decide to let it slide just this once. "You're shivering–let's go inside."

"Sure," you murmur, giving the landscape one more forlorn look before following him inside. 

The heat encapsulates you and immediately, the cold drifts away into something warmer. Leon's already there in the middle of it all as he heats up something on a pan over the fire, claiming that since it's your last night, he'd use the better food he brought so that it wouldn't go to waste. After all, he's already set sights in an actual hotel in a real city that he plans on traveling to and has already run through the possibilities with you and what to expect. 

Something about the whole scene is oddly domestic, though you push down the feeling to go join him by the roaring fire. Since you've been here, the sound of wood splitting beneath the flames and the smell of smoke have become a comfort that you know you'll miss once you get out of here. 

The night drags on as you eat and discuss your next plans with Leon, out in the middle of nowhere with nobody but each other to confide in. Two incredibly unlikely allies working in tandem after years of a heated feud–truly a sight to behold and even more so impressive considering that you've been at each other's throats for such a long time.

Outside, out of sight from you and him, the dead lantern on the street lamp sparks once, twice, then illuminates just as strongly and brightly as its counterpart.

[lapis-lights]

Car Lights [Part 2]

[Leon Kennedy x DSO Archivist!Reader]

Song Title: Car Lights by James Marriott

Content Warnings: Light NSFW in this part (18+ only), Female Reader, Slow Burn, Friends With Tension, Arguments, Angst, Pining, Gun Violence, Experiments, Near Death Experience, Alcohol Use, Smoking, Blood, Fluff, Happy Ending

Word Count: 13.2k out of 30.3k

Author's Notes: Part two! What did you guys think of the Capcom spotlight yesterday? I'm very excited!!!! Anyways, hope you guys like this part. I'm working on my next write so ye :D

Part 1 here

Summary: As Leon pinpoints your location and devises a plan to rescue you, you're enlightened to some grave news. Your humanity's time is a ticking clock, and there's no telling what may happen. The possibility that you may never get to tell Leon your feelings weighs precariously on your heart, though it seems that this is the end of the line for you.

As far as endings go, in your opinion, this one couldn't have gone worse.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

"You can hold my hand in a crowded place, but just hold me close and hope that they don't see my face..."

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Voices ring around you like a distant dream.

They fade in and out of your ears, floating delicately around your head as if determining whether or not they really wanted to be real. Your sight is dark, but you try reaching a hand out to follow the sound of people. You find it’s incredibly difficult to move at all–in fact, you can’t.

It’s alarming with the limited mobility, but it’s something you’ll have to try and work with. 

You strain to zero in on the voices, trying to make out the words and get a clue as to what was exactly happening. However, it’s difficult seeing as every syllable is muffled to the point that you can’t decipher what they say, and it’s frustrating that so many of your senses are limited. 

Was this a dream or were you strung in some sort of limbo in the real world? It’s hard to tell.

What happened? What led up to this moment?

You think hard about it, remembering that you’d woken up before the sun as usual, went to the office, and got a coffee before slipping quietly into the office with Ingrid. Ignoring her looks of sympathy, you’d immediately gotten to work trying not to think about a certain DSO agent who had your emotions in the palm of his hand. At the end of the day when the reports finally slowed down and you had pushed your body to its limit, you went home.

You wrote in your journal, tears drying on your cheeks as you admit your undying love for Leon for the thousandth time. 

That thought makes you pause.

You really do love him, don’t you? Or was it something else?

Where did the line draw itself between love and obsession? Were you just happy that someone you admired for so long finally noticed you back or did you genuinely like what you saw in Leon? 

Leon…

His harsh words had struck a chord in your heart, but for some reason, you still can’t help but be hopelessly drawn to him. You think that if the world was ending, you might still follow him to the ends of the earth. You’d stare into those azure eyes that provided a window to his soul and agree to go with him wherever he wanted to take you. That was what trust was, at least, but what did it entail?

Silently, in your mind, you apologize to Leon.

Silently, you say goodbye.

And you wake up.

The first thing you notice is the texture of the walls, carved out roughly like it was a rock wall and you notice that it's damp, wet stone beneath your palms and the air pumping with humidity. The space you had been lying in was cramped, barely giving you enough height to stand up and wide enough just to fit your form into it. Rusted iron bars keep you trapped with torches providing dim lighting. 

Where were you?

A sense of dread hangs over your shoulders and an uneasy churning begins stirring in your stomach. The more important question to ask was if anybody in the world knew where you were at. The possibility of the answer being no only made you silently panic even more.

"Ah, so she finally awakes!"

The sudden voice causes you to scramble back as far as you can get, which isn't much to be honest. You focus in on the figure who steps into the light, gray skin and unnatural eye color coming into view. It looks like a human man enough, but something about it doesn't seem right, though the scene is all too familiar in the wrong ways.

"Who are you?" Your throat is incredibly dried out and attempting to speak only draws attention to your thirst. Your limbs feel weak, your body exhausted, but from what, you can't tell.

"You should know more than anybody, no?" The stranger smiles and it's all rotting teeth. "After all, you've read the reports. You know the stories. But I supposed you could call me…Lucifer. How about that?"

“Very creative,” you say, unimpressed. “I’m sure Satan is down in Hell shuddering right now. What about you should I know? As far as I know, we’ve never met.”

“Never directly, no,” Lucifer tilts his head. “Think about it.”

It takes a moment of staring before it clicks in your mind. The appearance of a human, but truly nothing more than an overly animated corpse. The rotting, the gray skin. Eyes that were unnaturally yellow in a way nobody's could be unless you were…

"You're a member of Los Illuminados."

"Very quick witted! I'm impressed," he says giddily. "Though, I should expect nothing short of the archivist for the DSO, should I?"

Something isn't right. It isn't adding up. "How do you know who I am?"

"We have some time, I suppose," he muses, checking a watch that isn't there. "You're not going anywhere anytime soon, after all."

You don't answer him on that, but you get up and cross your arms close to your chest. Still, doubt hangs on your mind, untrusting of this guy. Almost all the members of Los Illuminados were wiped out when Leon saved Ashley from them, but only a sparse set of them survived. You didn't expect that they were still in operation, and less so targeting anybody DSO. 

"We had the right idea with Ashley Graham," he begins, pacing across the span of your prison so you can keep an eye on him from the other side of the bars. "But, of course, our plans were rather rudely disrupted by an unwelcome guest...You know him well, don't you?"

Your glare at him.

"Right," Lucifer chuckles as if this were all some joke. "We still intend to implant a mole in the DSO to pass us the information we need. Thankfully, you'll be happy to know that we developed a new branch of Las Plagas, and what better subject to test it on than the most informed member we could think of?"

You purse your lips tightly, finally understanding. "You intend to infect me. I'm supposed to be the mole."

A statement, not a question.

"Close, you're very close." He finally stops his steps, coming closer and wrapping his hands around the bars, leaning forward so that his face is pressed against the spaces in between the rusted metal. "Your humanity is slipping as we speak, for we already implanted the parasite."

Horror. 

Terror wracks your body as his words ring in your ears and your body suddenly gives in so violently, you have to sit down and tuck yourself into the corner of your cell. For some reason, it just doesn't process. "So I'm just ticking down to becoming some mindless flesh bag for your use."

"Not at all," he seems delighted by your response. "I know you're a rather intelligent young woman. Beautiful too. I'm honored that you'll be under my control when the Plagas takes hold of your body, and I'll be sure to let you have your conscience when I'm all done playing with you."

You want to vomit at his feet just to prove a point. "Bold assumption."

"It's not an assumption, my dear," Lucifer smiles wickedly. "It's only a matter of time."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"You wound me with your words," he backs away from the bars, sending you a smile that makes your skin crawl. "But, I'd seriously consider your plans. You could be powerful, you know. This strain of Las Plagas has abilities that go beyond your wildest imaginations."

That's exactly what you're afraid of. "I'll pass."

"A shame," he simpers, shaking his head. "Humanity was a good look for you."

You close your eyes and lean against the wall as the member's footsteps retreat and a door slams somewhere, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

It seems that this is the end of the road. 

In the middle of nowhere, you don't have any form of communication with the agency and definitely no way to contact anybody. It's just been revealed your time is limited since Los Illuminados already infected you with the Plagas, presumably the strain that DSO had centered the meeting around. If that's true, it's likely that you only had a day or so, depending on how long it took for the Plagas to hatch and attach itself to your nerves.

When Leon was in Spain, he was able to stay conscious enough to locate an extraction device, which judging by his report of the incident, targeted the Plagas inside of his body by some form of radiation that killed off the parasite. You sincerely doubt there's something like that around here, and moreover, you doubt you have the ability to sneak out and find it without a problem. 

You know basic defense. You know simple hand-to-hand strategies and you know how to use a gun, but that wasn't enough. 

It's hard not to cry, but you try to think rationally about what might happen. Your conscience might stay, but your will won't be your own. You'll become a weapon for these people, and you won't have a choice in the matter. You'll have to watch the bloodshed be on your hands as you kill without hesitation.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you finally admit it.

The next time you meet Leon, it's very very likely you won't even be yourself at all.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Nothing but the engine could be heard in Leon's ears, but his thoughts are just as equally, if not more, loud. 

He'd been on edge ever since the search in your apartment, and only a few mere hours later, the agency had pinned down your potential location. The abandoned lab, which the squad had been due to anyway, was the prime suspect since that's where they were most likely keeping the new Plagas infection, and by extension, you. 

There was hardly any time to pack. There was barely any need to.

The objective was clear as day–recover you and destroy the lab upon leaving. 

While the government clearly only cared about your return because of the information you have on them regarding their activity, Leon cared about your safety and whether you would be alive or not. He needs to see you with his own eyes, hoping that you weren’t just another life added to the endless list of the dead. 

A hand drifts up and his fingers lightly brush over his lips. 

He needs to bring you home.

It only took two more hours before Leon was gearing up, loading all of his guns with ammo and making sure his knife was sharp enough to slice through any dangers he might encounter. The rest of the soldiers accompanying him were performing similar tasks, readying themselves for the fight ahead. 

One of them glances at Leon and he can feel the weight of their gaze.

“Hey, man.” He sounds incredibly awkward. “We’ll save her, okay? Then we can go back and you guys can finally get together like everybody in the agency has been waiting for you to.”

Leon stops, staring at the soldier. “What?”

“Nobody’s blind.” The guy’s eyes crinkle with a small smile. “We can all tell that you’d give her the world if she asked for it, yeah?”

He would. He just didn’t expect it to be that obvious.

Wordlessly, Leon nodded and resumed his work, organizing his thoughts and taking deep breaths in and out. He can’t screw this up for a second. He may be DSO’s best agent, but he’s also just a man who’s susceptible to emotion just as much as anybody else when it comes to you in particular. 

The comm comes on overhead notifying the agents that the plane was landing near the site. It was only a simple trek to the lab from there.

“Alright, listen up,” Leon says and all the men sit to attention. He looks at them one by one while speaking. “We all know our goal–DSO’s archivist has been kidnapped for information and our top priority is to find and secure her safely back to the rendezvous point. Our second goal is searching for any research regarding the Plagas virus, which means that there’s every possibility that the undead are gonna be roaming around here. Aim for the head. Shoot their legs if you need time. Remember the procedure if one of you gets infected, and do not hesitate. The third goal is to plant the explosives so we can blow this place apart when we're done. One of our own is in that lab right now waiting for us. Are we clear?”

A chorus of, “Yes sir!” goes around.

Leon nods and feels the plane dip lower and lower. He quiets his nerves as the ground comes into view and everybody prepares to move out. You’re so close now, he can almost feel your presence looming in the distance, watching and waiting. 

The moment his shoes hit the dirt, his mind flies into business mode. All of the stress bleeds away and all that’s left is the familiar thoughts of analytic strategizing. 

“Straits and Levy, lead into the left wing. Santos, Novak, go right. Hudson and Reed, center field. The rest of you divide up evenly. I’m going down into the basement. I’ll call for backup if I’m having complications, and you all do the same. Understood?”

Affirmations ring through Leon’s earpiece and he pushes forward. 

The lab is overgrown. Covered in ivy and rusted to the point that the walls themselves looked like they were peeling. It didn’t take long to locate an entrance and break it open. Leon simply shot the lock and the door swung inward. 

A Ganado flees from within as if just waiting to be freed. It hisses, spits saliva, and shouts profanities at the sight of the DSO agents. Some of the rookies shout in alarm before Leon shoots it down easily with a few handgun bullets. He motions the others to follow him inside, and some share quiet words as they step over the limp body and head inside. 

Flashlights on their guns provide just enough light to illuminate the dark space. As the others split up into the groups Leon had instructed them into, he finds the hallway that leads down into the basement just as he had been looking for.

When he opens the door, undead that weren’t of the Ganado type, screech at the intrusion. Leon dodges the first one that lunges for him, ducking a second’s attempt to catch him off guard. They fall down in a tangle of limbs and two bullets to each of their heads take them out. He returns his gun to his holster, sidestepping another that comes up behind him. He latches onto one of its arms and twists it so that he could slit its neck with his knife. It falls down with an anguished moan as he presses forward without a second thought.

Leon finds a labyrinth of prison cells that are hardly more than large holes carved into the rock walls. Some had dried blood streaked on the rocks and others held shackles containing severed arms and limbs that were stripped down to bone. It's obvious that they were doing more than just researching at this lab, though it's not uncommon for Umbrella to be performing unethical human experimentation. 

Actually, it's no surprise at all. 

He pulls his gun out and shoots a zombie that rounds the corner of the corridor he walks in, and the bullets sound louder in the echoey cavern. It's humid down here and Leon can already feel the perspiration on his skin. 

He strains to listen in the following silence and freezes when he hears something very human. It's gone just as quickly as it came and Leon begins to think that he had just imagined it until a violent cough rings out. 

He takes off, following the direction of the noise as one cough had led to two and then broke into a whole fit. It sounds painful, like the person was hacking up an entire lung or something along the lines. Whoever it was, they were lucky to be alive considering all of the presumed deaths judging by the earlier cells. Speaking of which, there were countless more of those tiny jail cells, with broken iron bars and more dried blood. Just how many people were sacrificed down here? 

Finally, Leon approached the source of the coughing, sliding to a stop in front of a cell that had its door locked tightly. 

There, cramped inside of it was you. 

Your skin was streaked with dirt, sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, the last thing you were wearing before you were kidnapped. Your hair was greasy and tangled to the point that it would take hours just to unravel it all. Your eyes were sunken in, dark bags hanging under them like you hadn't gotten a wink of sleep since you got here. To be fair, you probably didn't, and he can't fault you for that.

Worst of all is the blood pooling around your mouth, dribbling to your chin, and staining your shirt. Your veins are colored black, threading through your body and reaching up towards your eyes.

Your gaze finds him, and though he didn't expect an entire celebration, he's alarmed when you have little to no reaction at all. Instead, you tuck your head back into your knees from where your legs fold against your chest.

"Your hallucinogenic gas doesn't work on me anymore, asshole," you mumble brokenly, and Leon's heart manages to fracture more than it already had at your state. "I know he's not really here so fuck off already."

He steps forward, places a hand on the bars gently and frowns. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, unable to stop the nickname from falling from his lips. "What the hell did they do to you?"

Your head shoots up immediately, that old fire returning to your eyes, even if a mere spark. "Leon?"

"Yeah. It's me," he assures, rattling the bars of your cage. "How do we get this open?"

Instead of immediately jumping to your feet to assist him like he hoped you would, your expression turns panicked, shaking your head furiously despite flinching at the pain it causes. "Wait, Leon, no, save yourself." You beg weakly, curling up tighter. "It's not safe. I'm not safe."

Unintentionally, he growls. "What did they do to you?" He demands, ignoring your pleas. 

There's an aching in your bones, tension rippling beneath your skin just waiting to burst through. It's just a matter of time, and it was terrifying. Your internal clock is counting down the minutes, and there's no telling when you might turn.

"They injected me with a variant of Las Plagas," you rush out. "The one that the DSO met us about–it’s already hatched and clearly I don't have much time yet. You need to go!"

"Absolutely not," Leon snaps. "I'm taking you home."

"Listen to me," you plead. "I don't know when this thing is going to take hold of me, but when it does, there's no telling what I'll do. You need to find the Los Illuminados member responsible–he's somewhere in this building–says his name is Lucifer, which is fucking stupid if you ask me-"

"Heard on that, and I'll let the squad know to be on the lookout," he grits his teeth. "But to hell with him, I'm getting you out."

"Why won't you just go already?!" You shout, frustrated with his stubbornness at the moment. "I'm a liability, Leon, you can't-"

"Because I'm not leaving you again, goddamnit!" Leon's voice echoes harshly like a cannon's blast, devastating and deafening. 

You can't immediately form a response to that. The silence hangs tensely in the air as Leon breathes in and out shakily, before looking up at you with pleading ocean eyes. His hands wrap around the bars desperately. 

"I can't lose you again," he says quietly, softly. "I can't–not when you're right here in front of me."

You stared at him only a moment longer, thinking maybe it was time you stopped trying to self-sacrifice in the name of good, even if it was something you didn't agree with. Perhaps it would save you both from a lot of heartaches in the future. 

You finally give in.

"Okay," you finally concede. "Let's get this door open."

Leon perks up at your allowance, immediately scanning to lock to try and find a weak spot in it. "I'd try shooting it, but your space is so small, I could hit you."

"Do you know how to lockpick?" You ask hopefully. 

"I do, but not with anything I have on me right now," Leon admits. 

You blink owlishly at him before suppressing a laugh, earning a confused look from him. "You could use your knife, silly."

He's missed you. God, Leon's missed you.

Even with bloody lips and a virus pumping through your blood as you spoke, he finds that little comfort in knowing you're still the same you even for this moment. 

He pulls out his knife and holds it out to you as you get up and groan, hand on your chest as you gasp for air. Alarmed, Leon startles so harshly that the iron bars clash violently, but you merely give him a strained smile. 

"I'll walk it off," you attempt at humor, accepting the knife and jamming it into the lock. As you feel your way through the mechanisms, you glance up at him. "Thank you for being here."

"Of course," he watches as the lock clicks and his breath hitches. "Even if I wasn't under orders, I'd have torn down this place looking for you."

The door swings open and you look up at him, holding the knife back out to him. The blade flashes and the RPD logo shines in the torchlight. When Leon takes and sheaths it, he hesitates, eyes flicking from the passageway he came to you. You almost want to ask him what's wrong, but before you can speak he cuts you off.

Arms wrap around you and pull you to his chest, but it's not alarming the way it had been when you were kidnapped. This is warm, like finally coming home after a long arduous journey. It was familiar and yet foreign–you almost forgot what being in his arms felt like. It didn't take any time for you to return the embrace, squeezing your arms around his torso just as hard as he held you. 

His nose buries into your hair, not caring about its condition and just caring that you're here and alive. He ensures you are real under his embrace on your waist and back, feeling the heat of your skin beneath his calloused palms, and it soothes him knowing you weren't completely infected yet. He didn't have to gun you down–didn't have to harm you in any way like he had been fearing. 

"I missed you," Leon mumbles, so softly you almost miss it.

The vulnerability in his words catch you off guard, but it makes your chest tingle in that familiar way that he always made you feel. There's something underlying his words that you can read between the lines for. He didn't just miss you now. 

Leon's missed you since your argument. 

The realization makes you soften immediately. Safe to say, the sentiment was mutual. 

"I missed you too," you sigh, pulling away but threading your fingers with his. "We need to figure out a way to get rid of the Plagas in me before I lose my will, and I don't know if there's an extraction device anywhere around here." 

"Right," Leon nods, pressing on his earpiece. "Come in. I've located and recovered Agent (L/n), but she's infected with the new variant of Las Plagas and it's spreading fast. We need to either find an extraction device or get her to one of our labs as soon as possible."

"Copy that," one of the agents replies. "I'm fairly certain that I saw something similar to one in the left wing of the lab, though it looks more complicated than the one you and Graham used."

"It's a more advanced strain, so I'm not surprised," he begins moving down the passageway, pulling you by hand and refusing to let go. "We're heading up now. I need as many men as possible to meet us at the stairs and provide cover."

"She doesn't have any way to defend herself?"

"There's nothing more I would like than to give her a gun, but there's no telling when the Plagas might kick in. It's too high of a stake."

"Heard on that. We're heading to you now."

You and Leon make your way out of the dungeon, and you almost cry out in relief at the feeling of fresh air free of the crushing humidity you'd been forced to endure. However, you don't get too long to dwell on it before Leon tugs you along to a different portion of the lab.

Some of his men join you, bump arms with you and send their relief that you're alright. You thank them with a smile, letting Leon lead you to your next destination. There are countless sections, and they're a lot more modern than the workings of the torture dungeon. Each one contains some kind of advanced equipment that you couldn't even begin to attempt to name. 

Somewhere along the way between labs and quarantine rooms, a stabbing pain floods your chest. It catches you so off guard that you stumble, alerting Leon immediately when he feels your grip almost slip from his.

A wriggling feeling in your head starts up like something was trying to finger its way out. You panic, thinking of the parasite in your body and that it might be breaking out now, and you look to Leon for any guidance. The pain and soreness travel down your body, and you fall to your knees with a cry.

"What's wrong?!" Leon jumps to your aid, kneeling by your side and pressing his fingers to the pulse point on your neck. "(Y/n), you gotta tell me what's happening."

You wheeze, struggling to breathe. "We need to hurry," you manage to whisper. "It's happening-"

A cough tears its way from your throat and it feels like the tissue of your muscles is ripping you apart from the inside out. Tears prick at your eyes as if it feels like something is trying to rip its way from inside your body. Time was running out, the last few minutes hanging precariously in front of your eyes. Your body turns cold to the touch but it feels like you’re burning alive. Your life begins flashing before your eyes and you struggle to hold on.

Leon takes the initiative and scoops you up into his arms, supporting your knees and back. You curl graciously into his chest, but you can’t find the strength to voice it, more blood dribbles down your chin and your conscience begins slipping. 

You can tell Leon’s trying to run as smoothly as he can, but the urgency in his footsteps makes it difficult. The effort is appreciated nonetheless. A door bursts open in your ears and Leon places you rather haphazardly onto a seat that’s vaguely reminiscent of the ones you dread during dentist visits.

As you close your eyes, Leon begins navigating the screen to extract the Plagas and the machine whirs to life, locking your arms down to the chair. He finds the x-ray to be horrific, seeing the parasite had attached itself to your lungs, which explains your difficulty breathing, and has grown to almost cover the whole organ. 

Leon is about to press the option to remove it, ready for this whole damn thing to be over.

His hand hovers over the screen…

…And you grab his arm.

It’s an iron-tight grip with a strength that you’ve never had before, breaking through the iron restraints on the machine. Your eyes open to reveal red pupils, your expression simply blank as your head slowly turns to look at him. Leon opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t get the chance to when you get up from the chair with inhuman speed. 

He doesn’t even get the chance to process what was happening before you were at his backside, kicking him down and backing away to stand at the other end of the room.

Leon groans, getting to his knees, looking for you desperately. Behind you, a figure approaches in Los Illuminados robes, and a sinister smile on his dead lips. This must be the guy that was behind it all, Leon realizes. 

Lucifer. It really was a dumb fucking alias.

“You didn’t think I would really make it that easy, did you Mr. Kennedy?” he taunts, tilting his head and you copy the action. “Such an obedient little puppet I have here. Do you want to play with her?”

“You have thirty seconds to let her go,” Leon spits, holding up his hand for his men to be on standby. “You don’t want to know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

“Or what?” the man muses. “You’ll kill me? You’ll have to get through her before you get to do that.”

He falters, looking from you to him while slowly formulating a plan. Somehow, he needs to separate you from the cult member controlling you and get you into the chair so his men could handle your extraction while Leon took on taking the fucker’s last breath. He keeps his eyes on the man, pressing on his earpiece and relaying the message to his squad.

Leon removes the gun from his holster, reloading it so that it was at full capacity, and sends a stiff glare to the man. “Thirty seconds are up,” he says. 

The man smiles, too wide and with nothing but yellowed teeth. 

Leon lunges and you copy his movements. You shriek, gurgling like you were drowning in your own lungs as you go to grab him. He dodges your attempts, numbing himself to the feelings as he kicks you roughly in the gut and sends you reeling back with a cough. 

Your red irises lock onto him and you scream incoherently, faking left and going right to tackle him to the ground. Leon grunts, losing the grip on his gun in favor of apprehending your wrists, twisting his head away from where you try to bite him. He struggles before managing to roll onto his side and kicking you away. He just knows there's going to be bruises forming when you get out of here.

Leon gets to his feet and grabs his gun, sprinting toward you and sliding down to crouch by your side. He roughly pins your arms behind your back and motions to his men. 

"Now!" He shouts and they all replace his hands and hoist you up to carry you to the extraction device. Your figure flails wildly as you scream, though it sounds all wrong and too animalistic to really be you.

The guy’s expression is so priceless, Leon almost laughs at it, but even he didn’t deserve that privilege. 

As his men start strapping you down into the chair, the cult member himself screeches angrily, lowering his hood and revealing almost paper-white skin. His own red eyes are filled with rage as he stumbles to the ground and screams.

Leon watches as Lucifer mutates with pained shouts, gruesome in a sort of Las Plagas way he hasn't encountered in a long while. The skin slides off of him in slimy puddles to reveal bone and a wriggling parasite underneath on his chest. It’s grotesque with his ribcage exposed and arms and legs bulging with pus-filled flesh as he grows in size almost to the size of the El Gigantes he’s faced before in Spain. 

The ceiling arches up high enough to fit him, and Leon realizes this must have been the plan all along. Hollowed-out eyes direct themselves to him and the newly mutated cult member roars.

With one worried glance to check that his men were still working on operating the extraction machine, he faces this new version of Lucifer with a grimace.

To be fair Leon’s survived worse.

“Same as it ever was,” he mutters under his breath, pointing the barrel of his gun to the mutant.

Meanwhile, you were thrashing wildly in the chair as the team of men strapped you in and one of them operated around on the screen. There were multiple configuration settings, having to choose which parts of your body to attack and options on what type of parasite they were killing. Your veins grow darker and you screech, struggling violently against your bindings.

“There’s not much time until the bastard can cause her to mutate too,” one of the agents points out. “We need to hurry.”

Leon slides under the incoming blow from Lucifer, rolling to his feet and seeing the ground broken where he had just been. He shoots the exposed parasite that was pulsing in the chest. Yellow pus explodes from where the bullet had hit. A couple more shots have the mutant screaming in rage and frustration, barreling toward Leon with heavy steps that shook the whole room.

He shoots the parasite two more times before dodging the mutant grabbing at him. He dances around Lucifer, peppering him with bullets, and the sound of gunshots from other agents conjoined with his. 

Leon watches as the mutant shrieks, blood running down its body and oozing pus as it grabs a cabinet and rips it off the wall. 

In a display of timing, he manages to dodge it when Lucifer launches it at him. Wood splinters upon its impact on the wall. Leon backs away, covered in body fluids that weren’t his, and aims his gun at the parasite once more. He only had one more bullet before he had to reload, thinking it was time to use the rifle he was equipped with. 

Lucifer lunges unexpectedly, and Leon goes to dodge. Large hands close around his torso and he’s lifted off the ground. He immediately struggles, coming face to face with the ugly fucker and working to remove his right arm. Though, it’s proving difficult when the grip around him is becoming tighter and stronger.

“Fool,” Lucifer grumbles out, his voice octaves deeper and reverberating off the walls. “I’ve had enough of you.”

“That’s a shame,” Leon wheezes out, wriggling his wrist rapidly. “The party was just getting started.”

He frees his hand and grabs his knife from its sheath on his shoulder. Leon plunges the blade into the mutant’s thumb, and it lets out a horrid screech before dropping him to the floor.

He grunts upon impact, lifting himself shakily and looking up at Lucifer with heaving breaths of air. He scrambles for the knife that drops with a clink  to the floor next to him and returns it to his scabbard. A shrill scream draws both of their attention and Leon sees that the men seem to have figured out how to operate this version of the extraction machine. The machinery whirs to life and mechanisms descend downward towards you. 

It seems that the mutant understood what was happening as well.

Lucifer howls, making a beeline for you and the other agents surrounding you. 

“Shoot the parasite!” Leon commands hotly, getting to his feet and loading the rifle from his back as he ran. “The knees!”

He passes the mutant, sliding to a stop on the frontlines and pressing his eye to the scope of his gun. Leon breathes out, aims, and pulls the trigger.

The Las Plagas parasite explodes.

It falls to the ground with a moist thud and Leon watches as the mutation seems to recede and rebuild itself back into Lucifer’s former image, though the bullet holes have left much to be desired. He’s still somewhat of a man, and apparently still alive as he pulls himself to his feet with a pathetic moan.

Leon aims his gun and shoots Lucifer in the knees. As he stumbles back to the ground worthlessly, he reaches for you with a cry. 

"My masterpiece," he wails and the blood only boils hotter in Leon. "You can't take her from me! She's my magnum opus! My life's work!"

Snarling, Leon rips his knife from its sheath and launches it so that it pierces into the cult member's arm and pins him to the ground. The man screams, but Leon has no remorse as he approaches him, ripping the weapon out and almost relishing in the way he started screaming in agony upon the blood that comes gushing from the wound. 

Leon flips him over and glares darkly into his rotting eyes. "Let's get one thing straight, fucker," he spits, grabbing a fistful of the cult member's collar and raising him up off the floor. "She's not your anything–she's mine."

That's the only last words Leon allows him to process before pressing the barrel of his handgun to the cult member’s and pulling the trigger. 

The silence that follows is nothing but the aftermath of a battle. Blood coats Leon’s skin thickly, though a majority of it isn’t his own. Throughout the whole fight, he only suffered minor injuries from scuffing the floor and being thrown around a little. In the bigger picture, he’s fought larger and worse bioweapons than some random guy who didn’t really know what he was getting into playing around with parasites and viruses. 

Not forgetting his top priority, Leon gets to his feet and swivels around, striding in your direction. The agents part like the Red Sea for him as the extraction device works its magic. It’s clear you’re in pain by the way you jerk roughly and whine weakly, though Leon simply bites his cheek and watches your x-ray on the screen. 

The parasite on your lungs wriggles desperately, trying to escape the assault. A few tense seconds of futile struggle pass before it gives up and disintegrates in on itself. As a result, you finally stop resisting and the blackened veins under your skin begin receding. 

Leon breathes out silently in relief. 

He looks at his team and nods.

They managed to have no casualties, and they'd completed all of their goals. All that was left to do was blow this place sky high and go home. 

He turns back to your unconscious body, knowing that you’re probably exhausted by the strain the Plagas had put on you. Leon gently caresses your hair, hoping that his intent reached you even as you were sleeping. 

And finally, he started to feel something similar to peace.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Unlike your dream in the black void of the dungeon, this time, you find yourself completely surrounded by white.

You can see yourself as you look down, find yourself able to move freely and willingly, though it feels floaty and not at all natural. It's not something you'll complain about, though. It's better you can move in a dream rather than not being able to at all.

You glance around, finding nothing but white space. 

This couldn't be real. Did you die during the extraction process? Surely not, though you hate to admit that the parasite had made you incredibly weak. Coughing up blood the first time was bad enough, but after the proceeding fits, you may as well have been throwing the stuff up. Still, you could remember everything during the time you were possessed right up until you had blacked out from the machine. 

You'd fought Leon briefly, yet he still insisted on helping you. 

"You know," a familiar voice yanks you out of your deep thoughts. "You really are in denial."

You swirl around to find the source of the voice, only to furrow your eyebrows in confusion as Leon seems to materialize from an invisible fog. He's the same as he always was with the same handsome features you've spent admiring for an untold amount of hours, but something seems incredibly off. Your gut doesn't like it and neither do you.

"Is that so?" You frown. "I don't suppose you'll tell me who you are?"

"C'mon, (Y/n)," he grins, holding his arms out. "It's just me."

"You're not real, though," you counter. "For all I know you're just a figment of my imagination telling me what I want to hear."

"If that was true, I'd tell you I hate you," Leon shrugs, coming to stand next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

His palm lacks the warmth it should have.

"What?"

"You've really gotta stop trying to be the hero of this whole ordeal," he says, facing you. "You're trying to protect his reputation in the workplace and the last thing you'd want to do is get him in trouble, so realistically you want him to hate you. But he doesn't."

"Bummer," you sigh and sit down. He joins you. 

It's odd, floating with an image of your best friend who is very much not real. For a dream, it's incredibly vivid, though. 

"Why do you insist on refusing to be with him?" Leon asks. "Since you like him so much and obviously he likes you too."

"Does he really, though?"

"That's the whole reason he had that argument with you, yeah? What was it he said? Something about how you were acting like it only affected one of you guys?"

You cringe. "Yeah."

"Well, did you ever consider what he might've really meant by that?"

You look up at Leon confused, drawing your knees to your chest. "What do you mean?"

He leans back lazily. "I mean, instead of him seemingly accusing you that you were only thinking of yourself, perhaps he meant that you were only thinking of him and his reputation? What it might entail for him was always on your mind–you're considerate like that–but did you ever consider yourself?"

You blink dumbly and shake your head. "Y'know you're really bad at impersonating Leon. He'd never try giving me a free therapy session."

"Ouch. I'm trying my best here."

"I know you are."

"I'm just saying," Leon says, "maybe you should start thinking about yourself. It would probably hurt him knowing that you don't think yourself worthy of him."

"That's because I'm not," you sigh. One big circle, this argument was. "He's the best agent DSO has to offer and I'm some coworker who keeps her head in the computers. Tell me how it would ever work out."

"You can maintain an appropriate workplace appearance while dating. It's just a matter if the two parties are mature enough to pull it off. Besides, I'm sure he doesn't care about status–which, you're a part of the DSO as well, so I don't really see the problem there–as long as you make him happy."

That shuts you up.

"You know that he loves you, don't you?" Leon asks after a bout of silence.

Your breath hitches–as much as it can in a dream, anyway.

The question makes you ponder everything that has happened. Everything Leon did, you just wrote it off as something of his flirtatious demeanor who had nothing better to do than hit on any woman he came across. Hunnigan was most notable in this scenario, but really any female coworker was fair game. However, you don't think he necessarily went to their house to have dinner and watch movies and just sit on a cheap couch to talk for hours without getting bored.

You always knew it. You were just scared to admit it. 

You were scared of Leon loving you as much as you loved him.

"Yeah," you answer quietly. "He really does, doesn't he?"

The Leon of your head smiles, familiar even as a facade. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest just like the night you had shared cigarettes together and it's just like you remembered. It lacks the warmth that made the whole hug worth it, but for now, you can deal with cold comfort. 

You close your eyes.

"Do you wanna go back?" Leon asks.

You shrug non-committedly. "Not yet. I kinda just wanna stay here with you for a second."

"Okay," he says.

"You're not real," you whisper, reminding yourself that this safe space is nothing more than temporary. "Leon's out there in the real world, isn't he?"

"Probably worrying his ass off if anything," Not-Leon muses. "Promise you'll make an effort once you get out of here? Not only for his happiness, but for yours as well."

It's a challenge, being told to care for more than just Leon and trying to do what you think is best for him. But…if you being happy made him happy by proxy, then there really was no argument to have, was there?

You love Leon S. Kennedy. 

And he loves you too.

"I promise," you say, and you know it's true.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The night is nothing but rain and stormy weather. While everybody was out celebrating their successful mission, Leon found himself in the confines of his own apartment–the very one he hated. 

Only a yellow light above his dinner table illuminates the space, and he has a glass of hard whiskey that attempts to quiet his nerves like an old companion. It doesn't work very well. After they had returned home, you were taken to a hospital immediately to record your body and search for any traces of the Plagas that might still reside in you. Leon wasn't able to go with you, but he supposes it's fair in a sense. He just hopes you're okay.

Hunnigan had contacted him soon after they had admitted you in, thanking Leon for bringing you home and doing everything he could. It was some semblance of comfort, though it wasn't very strong.

Thunder rolls in the background.

Leon sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose roughly and massaging the spot in hopes of relieving the headache he had gained. Sleep has been far and few in between since stress loves to keep him up often, but can anybody really blame him for being so worried for you? As much as he hates to admit it, you're not capable of keeping yourself safe the way you should. Leon thinks that he should give you personal training sometime to prevent something like this happening again, though he doubts he'll want you to leave his sight for a while.

The thought makes him pause.

Since when has he grown so possessive over you?

Fuck, he really was in too deep, wasn't he? How you had managed to break through the rough exterior he put up was beyond him, looking past his status and persona to see the real Leon, bruised and bloodied and ruinous. You disregarded the murder on his hands, understood him in a way nobody did before, and became a sanctuary that he felt safe enough to thrive in. 

Nobody else has done that before. Not even the likes of Claire or even Ada.

What would he even say when he saw you again? It was clear that you were on better terms than you had been previously, but the wound from your argument in the archives still hurt like it was fresh so the two of you definitely needed to sort it all out. He needs you to know that he fucked up, and it was something that wouldn't happen again.

He needs you to know that-

Three quiet knocks is all it took to pull him from his storm of thoughts.

Leon looks up, confused. He wasn't expecting any visitors tonight and all the likely candidates were already busy and never mentioned making a pit stop to him. Just to be safe, he grabs Matilda and loads it before getting up from the table and making his way to the front door. As he gets closer, he can hear the pounding of the pouring rain. It's heavy tonight.

When Leon opens the door, your figure stands on the other side completely drenched from the weather. Your eyes light up upon seeing him, but the bags beneath your eyes show how tired you really are. All that you have is a duffel bag and a backpack.

For a second, all you do is stare at each other, and the ambience of the pattering rain sounds like rhythmic drum beats.

"I had nobody else to go to," you finally say as a poor explanation. "But I can go somewhere else if you want."

Those words yank Leon out of his stupor and he shakes his head, opening the door wider and ushering you in with gentle sounds. He peeks out, making sure you weren't followed and shuts the door before double locking it and checking it. When he turns around, he finds you watching him anxiously and shifting from foot to foot like you didn't know what to do with yourself. To be fair, you haven't been in his apartment nearly as much as he'd been in yours. 

His whole body laxes as if just the sight of you was enough to put all his worries at rest.

"C'mon," he invites, pressing a hand to the small of your back and guiding you down the hall. "Let's go run you a shower."

Once he sets you up and offers to take your clothes to wash, he leaves you to settle in, telling you that you can pick any of the spare guest rooms (there were many unnecessary ones) and to make yourself at home. In the meantime, he decides that whiskey probably isn't the best thing to be having when the object of his affections just showed up on his doorstep.

Instead, Leon settles for something more mild. 

The coffee just finishes brewing when you walk in shyly, hair wet and an oversized t-shirt hanging loosely on your frame. You find that he's set out two steaming mugs alongside countless flavors of creamers and syrups. Your heart warms at the gesture as you slowly get closer to him. 

"Help yourself," Leon prods gently, nonjudgmentally as he stirs in his own choice of combination. "I don't use everything as much as I should be, to be fair."

"Thank you," you say because you won't forget your manners as you select your flavorings. The underlying tension is deep enough that you can feel it in the air like some bubble waits to burst open, scattering everything into a flurry of a mess. You'd just have to make sure it doesn't get out of hand. "Listen, Leon-"

"Let's go get comfortable on the couch," he interrupts not unkindly. "It'll be less stressful if we're in a familiar setting."

Side by side on a sofa, the place where you two seemed to always find yourselves no matter what scenario. It's your thing, and the sentiment makes you happy, even if only for a little.

"Okay."

As promised, you find yourself sitting across from him, stirring your coffee together and struggling not to lose your nerve. Maybe it was a mistake coming here right after you'd been released from the hospital. Maybe you just ruined his whole night.

"I'm sorry I showed up out of nowhere," you begin, keeping your eyes on the way the liquid swirls in your cup with the spoon. "I know you like to expect people rather than them suddenly invading your space."

Leon shakes his head slightly. "You're not invading. I've told you before that this apartment is here for you just as much as it is for me, yeah?"

He has. Those words ring a distant bell in your head. 

Another silence lapses as you try to gather the courage to just put out the words you've been meaning to say for weeks. There's theoretically nothing to be scared of, no monsters to run from, or any life or death scenario hanging in the balance. It was just Leon–it always has been. You just have to find the strength to show him the deepest parts of yourself and hope that you've molded your heart into something good enough to present to him.

You're not scared.

You're terrified. 

There's nothing to run from.

Leon's reaction will make or break you.

You love him. He loves you.

But does he really?

"I-" your voice cracks already and that's enough to make heat flame to your cheeks in embarrassment. 

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to," Leon assures, "but we do need to talk at some point."

"I know," you swallow, setting down your drink and twisting your hands nervously in your lap.

"How about we start with why you came here? I know you were being tested for any missed traces of Las Plagas that still might've been in your system."

Bless him–that was an easy enough question to start off with. 

"They dispatched me after giving me the all-clear and giving me doses of pills to take. They're the finalized versions of the suppressants that you took while you were in Spain to prolong the maturing of the parasites," you explain, pressing your lips together and breathing in and out. "They wanted me to stay with somebody, though. My apartment is a dead zone now since Los Illuminados and whoever else knows where I live. I would've asked Hunnigan but…"

You pause, wondering if you were really going through with this. Leon waits patiently, understanding without saying anything. 

"I wanted to go somewhere I knew I'd feel safe," you confess, finally ripping your gaze up to look at him. "I feel safe when I'm with you."

He doesn't answer that, expression blank. Usually, you can read his little telltales, things that people from the outside can't usually see, but right now, you can't make out what he might be thinking. For all you know, he could hate you right now.

Your throat turns tight and the saltwater burns behind your eyelids. The tears are already cascading and you curse yourself for being so weak in the face of confrontation. "I understand if you don't– don't want me here, and I c-can really leave if you want me to-"

"Hey, hey," Leon sets his own cup aside on the coffee table and scoots closer carefully. "You're stressing yourself out–calm down and breathe for a second. I want you here. I always do, okay?"

It's hard to, and it feels like your chest is caving in on itself like it did when the Plagas was attaching itself to your lungs and transforming you into a monster. You certainly felt like one the night you'd-

"I took advantage of you," you gasp, struggling for the air you so desperately need but determined to push on because goddamnit if you weren't going to have this conversation right now after avoiding it for so long. "That night at the bar and I...I didn't even ask. I'm sorry."

"Follow me," Leon takes a hold of your hand and presses it to his chest, exaggerating his breaths. "You're okay."

The words are tumbling out of your mouth, running like a babbling brooke. He caresses your cheek with your free hand and throughout the whole ordeal, the two of you never break eye contact once. His thumb swipes aimlessly at the assault of tears and you think of how ugly and puffy you probably look right now. 

But all you can see are those sapphire eyes watching you.

"I didn't mean it," you cave into his touch, head tilting into the palm of his hand willingly. "I didn't mean it when I accused you of just wanting to get me into your bed. You're so much more than that–you're everything to me and I–I was scared."

Leon frowns, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. "Scared of what, sweetheart?"

The question is daunting, but you're already too far in to stop now.

"Of you. Of how much you might like me," you whisper, closing your eyes. Your head is spinning and it feels like the couch is tipping from underneath you. "I was scared of what people might say, how it would affect you. I didn't want you to hate me."

"Oh, baby."

The nickname rolls off his tongue like honey and you make a small whimper at how it makes you feel. Even after all this time, Leon knows just how to bring you to your knees with so little words. He sounds like he's in pain just listening to you, and the auditory distress causes you to peek your eyes open just a little, looking past the blur of saltwater to see him 

"How could I ever hate you?" Leon murmurs, expression pinched tightly in the way he did when he was in pain. He moves even closer until you can practically feel his body heat radiating off of him. For so many nights you've dreamed of having him this close, right next to you and hands holding you in such a loving way that almost brings you to tears.

Leon's light breaths fan your face and you close your eyes again, feeling his presence all around you. His lips press warmly against your forehead, then your eyebrow, then your cheeks. Your own skin heats beneath his ministrations, and he chuckles lowly at your adorable reactions. 

His nose bumps against yours.

"I'm no better," he says and you can smell the hints of whiskey on his breath mixing with the aroma of coffee. "I said you ruined everything–if anything, you should hate me."

You shake your head, opening your eyes and looking right up at him. He's so close, so intimate in this tense moment that you fall forward and rest your forehead on the dip of his collarbones. Leon wastes no time readjusting his hold on you until you're fully tucked into his embrace, his chin resting on the crown of your head. 

"Maybe," he whispers on accident, then clears his throat before saying louder, "Maybe you'd like to spend the night in my room instead?"

Butterflies erupt in your stomach like you're a teenage girl with a crush. "I'd like that."

Well…maybe it's not a crush anymore, but you're definitely obsessed. 

Leon gathers you up in his arms like he was carrying you across a threshold for a honeymoon, not even bothering to turn off the kitchen light or grab your coffees that were teetering towards lukewarm. To be fair, if he was on the same page as you, his priority wasn't the cleanliness of the apartment.

He sets you down on your feet once he gets into his room, closing the door and turning to find you looking around the space curiously. You stray towards the nightstand, leaning down to peek into the frame of one of the photos that's set there. It's a city landscape in the sunset, warm tones creating a fiery display across the sky in the background. You tilt your head at it, knowing Leon wasn't one to have an eyeball for photography or artistically deep metaphors. 

It only takes a moment for you to recognize the shape of it and what it meant.

"Raccoon City," you murmur.

Silence as he makes his way next to you, looking at the picture and frowning. "Yeah. I don't know why I still keep that around."

You turn to him as he sits down on his bed. "No, it's understandable, Leon. What happened in Raccoon City was a tragedy–it's a miracle you survived."

"I guess," he looks aimlessly out the window that has its curtains pulled back the way he had left it.

There was no telling what tragedies he had faced inside of that police station during his first day as a rookie cop. You had seen pictures when his face was rounder and his innocent eyes had been a little brighter, though the signs of trauma began setting in even then. Leon's grown into his role now, more mature and right here in front of you.

You watch him for a beat more, admiring the way he seems to glow in the moonlight. Something tugs in your chest, something magnetic, that draws you to him. Without thinking, you say, "You're really pretty, you know."

Leon's head snaps in your direction so quickly, you're surprised he doesn't get whiplash. "What?"

"You're pretty," you say simply. "Or do you prefer a more masculine adjective?"

"No, it's not that," he swivels his body toward you reaching out to take your hand in his. "You said that to me that night–at the bar when you were drunk."

You cringe, lacing your fingers with his. "At least you know I was honest then? I'm sorry, I don't remember much about that night besides kissing you."

To your quiet surprise, he tugs on your hand and pulls you into his lap, hand trailing to your thigh, warm and gentle yet firm. Your stomach seems to twist giddily at the action while your brain struggles to comprehend the sudden situation.

"Leon?" You breathe out.

"You're going to kill me," he murmurs, leaning forward and pressing his nose into the dip between your collarbones. "You're killing me and I'm letting you."

"What do you mean? Please, Leon, I don't understand-"

"I can't lose you," he cuts you off, eyes flicking up to your face. "I can't–they took you and all I could think was, 'Not her. Anybody but her.' You–You fucking torment me."

You freeze in his arms, mouth dropping into an 'o' as he pressed his lips to your neck. The way he recites the exact words you wrote in that stupid journal was enough to make your head spin. It was like he was sitting here putting out all his rawest emotions for you to pick through.

Even after all this time of being such a ruined man in the presence of every horror he faced, he watered himself down into something just for you. After everything that had happened between you two in the past weeks, Leon managed to mold and shape his heart into something suitable enough to give you.

"You read it?"

"Of course I did. Every word where you were in pain because of me," Leon pauses, breathing in shakily. His grip turns almost bruising on your thighs. "You weren't taking advantage of me, baby. You were just in love with me like I am with you."

Baby, he keeps calling you. Funny how that simple little word was enough to send you into overdrive, right down to your core. 

His words stole the air from your lungs as you were encapsulated with an intense want for him. You needed him like flowers needed the sun and the earth needed its axis to spin and the day needed the night.

"Leon."

"Hm?"

"Kiss me, please."

His mouth was on yours in a second without a thought, your fingers threading through his hair as he pulled on your waist to get you closer. 

It brought you back to that night after the bar, but this was better. You were conscious enough this time to memorize the shape of him and the way he tasted. His tongue ran across your bottom lip and darted into your mouth as soon as you opened up for him. Leon's grip was bruising, caught between shattering you and trying not to hurt you. 

Your lips mold perfectly together and when you part to gain air, nothing but pants and quiet sounds fill the air. Your chest feels like it's expanding with how much you love him and your mind goes dizzy by the way his hands travel upward and hike the shirt up on your torso, exploring the flesh of your stomach. 

Leon pulls you back in, kissing you feverishly as you grind down on him instinctively, drawing out a delicious groan that sounds so beautiful. You want more noises, more of him, so you move your hips again until he stops you, hands halting your movements. 

"If you keep doing that, I won't be able to control myself much longer, sweetheart," he chastises lightly against your lips, pecking the corner of your mouth to let you know that he wasn't angry. 

You feel particularly bold tonight, letting all your passion for him run wild. It's a boost of confidence that you didn't expect to be having, but it's not unappreciated. 

"You don't have to control yourself around me," you lean in until your forehead pressed against his. "I'm yours."

"Fuck, baby," Leon groans, eyes screwing shut as you roll on him again, letting you lick into his mouth. "Do you know what you do to me?"

"I have an idea," you hum against him, fingers getting into those silky locks of his. "But, why don't you tell me just to make sure?"

His hands travel up your body further until they brush right underneath your breasts as you hadn't bothered with a bra after your shower. He makes a noise of delight upon discovering this, fingertips brushing lightly against one of your nipples and you choke on a gasp from the sensation. As revenge, you swivel your hips so that you can feel him through the slutty gray sweatpants he'd adorned before you showed up. 

If you noticed an insistent hardness poking at you–well you weren't one to complain. 

Leon borderline moans and you have to resist begging him to fuck you right there just to hear him more. Instead, you lean into his touch as much as you can to absorb it all, head full of nothing but him. How many times have you thought about this? So many nights you thought about how it might feel to have his hands on your body and his tongue shoving into your mouth in the sinful way it was doing right now. 

If this is what brought you to hell, then you'd look the demons in the eyes and tell them that Leon had shown you heaven without you ever having to step foot into it. 

"You make me so unfocused," he begins, thumb pads running circles around your nipples as he hikes your shirt up even farther. "You distract me from my work and make me say and do things I never usually do."

"Then I suppose we're even," you quip sassily.

You cry out when his teeth suddenly latch sharply on your neck, sucking harshly and tongue swiping over the mark to ease the pain. One glance down shows mischievous blue eyes staring back at you, drinking in your reactions like a fine wine he needed to stay alive. Cheeky bastard.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs in awe. "How did I ever get so lucky to be blessed by you?"

"Blessed is a strong word," you laugh lightly, pulling your hands away to pull off your shirt eagerly. "I'm no angel, Leon."

His tongue darts out to lick those pretty pink lips that have swelled from the pressure of your mouth on his. A feeling of pride wells in your chest, knowing that even just for tonight, he was yours. 

"You're right," he runs a hand up and down your thigh, leaving a trail of warmth in the wake of his touch. "A goddess is a more fitting title. I'd worship you daily on hands and knees."

His sweet words make your head spin wildly and you need him more than anything. You hook your arms around his neck, pulling him down so that he hovers over you as your back hits the mattress. It's some sort of memory foam–probably the best kind one could afford judging by his salary.

"I know you hate your apartment," you whisper and he goes slightly rigid. Assuring him gently, you caress his face in your hand. "Let me make it a home for you. Let me give you a reason to like it."

You want the memory of you to be imprinted here everywhere you could, the same way that he left pieces of himself at your place like invasive little dust bunnies sitting in small corners waiting to be discovered. Everywhere he looks, you want him to see you.

"Make me yours," you beg, hands trailing downward and tracing the v-line through his shirt.

Eagerly, Leon's body covers yours, and you think that even if he kissed you with bloody lips, it would still be the sweetest taste you ever had.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The morning glow wakes him up slowly, kissing his eyelids and rousing him from sleep. Unlike every day he woke up in his apartment, the golden light doesn't seem as intrusive anymore.

Leon's brain lags momentarily, fingers skittering across the mattress next to him instinctively in a way he's never felt the need to before. He brushes against bare skin and latches on, pulling your naked body towards his own. You mumble incoherently but allow him to draw you in, making yourself comfortable against his chest as his arm circles your waist.

You fit together like pieces of a puzzle meant to be together. 

For a moment, all that's left is your quiet breaths as you avoid getting up. Since you were instructed to stay home due to medical concerns and Leon had his grace period after such an intense mission, the two of you were in no hurry to leave the bed. After all, the memory of what occured the night before just made cherishing the present all the more important. 

Moments of your night together flashes through Leon's head and he preens knowing that bruises in the shapes of his hands and love marks stretch along the length of your body. Surely, you'll scold him for placing them in such visible places for when you do inevitably return to work, but right now, he could just call it his masterpiece. 

That possessive monster in his chest is sated for now. 

You move in his arms, making a small noise of contentment before pressing a lazy kiss to his chest. Leon's heart soars.

"Good morning to you too, sweetheart," he laughs and the rich noise vibrates against you. You want to get high off the sound of his gravelly morning voice. "How'd you sleep?"

"Really good," you yawn, opening your eyes in a squint finally and looking up at him. "But, I am pretty sore. You really did a number on me last night, babe."

That shit-eating smirk he grows is enough to make you roll your eyes. You're sure that he considered your activity a light work out while you were exhausted by the end of round one. Nonetheless, you wouldn't have traded your time together for anything.

You trace shapes into his bicep, appreciating his muscle and wishing you could tell him all the things you've wanted to for the longest time. However, one of the biggest questions still lingers on the forefront of your mind that you can't help but ask.

"What does this mean for us?" You ask hesitantly. "We said a lot of things last night."

"We did," he agrees easily and tilts your chin up to face him. You notice that eye contact seems to be a big thing to Leon and you're not one to deny him that small comfort. "What do you want to be?"

“You really want me to say it out loud?” You frown.

“If you want to.”

The silence is almost deafening but it’s not uncomfortable as Leon awaits your answer patiently. There’s so many words left unsaid, so many things you want to pour out to him and beg him for. Instead, you pull a distant memory from your head and divert the heavy question you had asked yourself.

“Did you mean it?" You whisper, eyes fluttering closed when Leon cradles your face gently. His warmth is addicting. "I mean when you told that guy that I was yours."

He blinks in surprise. “You heard that?”

“Barely,” you admit sheepishly. “I was still conscious enough but I heard you.”

Leon doesn’t need to think about the response. "Yes," he replies without hesitation. "If you want to be mine, then I am yours."

"Okay," you smile, turning your face to kiss the palm of his hand lovingly. "We'll be each other's."

He swoons, melts in your presence and lets himself plummet like Icarus when he flew too close to the sun. 

After a period of silence, you finally say it.

“I want us to be lovers.”

Time seems to freeze in place as those words fell from your lips. Leon waits with a baited breath, to see if you might backtrack or regret it. No such denial comes and he buries his nose into your hair. 

“Alright,” he murmurs. “We’ll be lovers.”

“This sounds stupid. Like we’re kids playing house together or some shit.”

He laughs, kissing your forehead and letting himself revel in the feeling of love. This all-encompassing warmth that makes him feel so alive and in the moment–something he hasn’t felt in years–that you somehow reignited. You, a miracle in his life. You, who wanted to be lovers.

“Leon.”

“Hm?”

“I…”

You pull back, look him in the eyes and resist the tears that threaten to roll out of your eyes because this is everything you’ve dreamed of since you met him.

“I love you.”

Leon’s expression shifts, eyes widening like he couldn’t believe his ears before he’s on you in a second, kissing you everywhere he could reach. He steals the breath from your lungs as he tugs your mouth to his and grants you a bruising kiss, all of his emotions knocking over and translating through his actions stronger than any word could describe. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips, “I love you, I love you, I love you. I’ll say it every day until we grow old, I swear.”

You have to giggle at his cheesiness, though you don’t complain at all as you kiss him again.

“I’m not leaving you again. Move in with me, I–” He chokes on his words, “–We can make this apartment ours instead of just mine. There’s a high-tech security system installed so you’d be safe, and you won’t want for anything. Whatever you want, you'll have it.”

You can’t help but poke fun at him, even in this tender moment where you’re more than ready to drop everything and move your whole life into his place. “Even if I want kids?”

“Especially if you want kids,” he cooes. “Having a family with you would be a dream, baby.”

“Then I’ll make them come true,” you promise. Then, because you can’t help yourself, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

You love him and he loves you, just as everything was destined to be.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

You stumble out of the bar, a wide grin plastered on your face and cheeks alight with a strong blush. The world tips under your feet, though steady hands stabilize you and lead you through the fog of your thoughts.

Still never as much of a drinker as Leon is, you find yourself in a familiar setting as your fingers lace with your lover’s perfectly. This night is less innocent, less questioning as you blindly follow wherever you’re led. Tonight was a celebration, and you intend to cash in your joy entirely to the man who promises you only good things.

You land in a car seat, expensive leather under you as Leon shuts the door and crosses to the driver side. 

For some reason, you can’t stop smiling though you can’t exactly figure out why. Maybe it’s because you’re in love. Maybe it’s because you’re grounded with the knowledge he loves you too.

Lifetimes ago, you would have given anything in the world to hold his hand or be close to him as long as the intrusive watching eyes weren’t around to see it. Back then, you hid and concealed your feelings to save a reputation that wasn’t even yours. It seems so foolish now that you were so desperate to keep him away from you, whereas now, you don’t think you can live without him.

Maybe if you were in the same mindset now, you would be panicking at the blurry car lights that pierce through the windshield and spotlight directly onto your figures.

Two headlights, two watching eyes.

Without thinking, you turn in your seat and pull Leon close, kissing him eagerly as he returns the gesture enthusiastically. Your lips mold perfectly to his and it’s just like your first kiss all over gain, but even better.

Millions of years ago, you would reel back in horror and think about what this entailed for you two. Right now, you don’t really give a damn. 

Many things have changed since that fateful night, and equally, many things have evolved and developed within your relationship. No matter what happened, though, Leon was always there to assure you that he loved you. No matter what, he was there for you even when he was across the country on a mission. 

The Las Plagas incident had left a scar on both of you, and afterward, Leon was terrified to leave you on your own every time he was assigned to a mission. However, you assured him that you can defend yourself well enough now. After all, you never have a handgun too far away from your grasp at all times.

He’s trained you well.

Your shared apartment is more than safe, and you’ve successfully removed the bad taste in Leon’s mouth regarding the place. The walls have pictures of you two together and your plants thrive under the sun they gain from the large windows. Your couches are strewn with unique little pillows and hand-knit blankets and are large enough for both of you to sprawl out on movie nights.

It's warm, no longer cold and empty and bare in the ways that made his disdain for his own existence grow.

The bookshelves are full of novels of all kinds, though the most precious book resides in your nightstand.

A little black journal whose pages weren’t even used up all the way.

Leon had taken the time to read it thoroughly afterward when the minutes weren't counting down to your demise. You had sat right next to him, chin hooked over his shoulder as the tears welled hotly in his eyes at the messy emotions you had leaked onto the pages with your pen. You’d kissed them all away, assured him that things have changed, and promised that it was all in the past.

No regrets, no doubts, no more monsters.

The rational part of your head reminds you that all those reports waiting for you at the office tomorrow would be a pain in the ass. It doesn’t matter, though. Right now, the present matters, and right now, Leon was with you.

He was here with you after a night of drinking sitting in a car with matching dopey grins and flushed cheeks, totally and completely in love.

“I love you,” Leon murmurs affectionately.

"I love you too,” you return, just as enamored.

People could stare through the car lights, watch you, and whisper, but their opinions didn’t matter–not when you had an eternity of a lifetime ahead of you with him.

The matching wedding bands on your and Leon’s ring fingers agree.

[lapis-lights]

Car Lights [Part I]

[Leon S. Kennedy x DSO Archivist!Reader]

Song Title: Car Lights by James Marriott

Content Warnings: Light NSFW in Part 2 (18+ only), Female Reader, Slow Burn, Friends With Tension, Arguments, Angst, Pining, Gun Violence, Experiments, Near Death Experience, Alcohol Use, Smoking, Blood, Fluff, Happy Ending

Word Count: 17k out of 30.3k

Author's Notes: First Leon Kennedy write! My apologies for any story inconsistencies or errors to the canonicity of the RE universe. He also might a little out of character as well since this is my first attempt at writing him after binge reading a lot of the fics under the Leon x Reader tag and finishing an RE4 run. Any constructive criticism in the asks would be greatly appreciated!

Also not beta read fully through so I apologize for any grammatical errors.

I had to split up the story cause the og rough draft was 30k words long so two equally long parts! I'll post part 2 tomorrow :D

Part 2 here

Summary: Being in the DSO and placed in charge of filing and keeping records, your job is nothing short of difficult. However, getting to be friends with the president's golden boy, Leon Kennedy, is more than enough of a treat.

But, when a drunken accident causes a rift to form between you two, your life takes a turn for the worse. During a night of cataloguing your emotions in your notebook, you begin to wish that you had simply told him the truth and hadn't left all those loose ends untied.

Because you might not ever get the chance to heal your relationship again.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

"They're staring through the car lights...I hate what you're doing, I hate that it feels so right."

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The gentle hum of the computer fills the air, creating white noise in the form of an ongoing drone. 

Blue light fills the recesses of the otherwise dark room, and the screen displays a PDF of a highly classified report regarding the recent discovery of Umbrella's research. The images are gritty, filled with mutations and diagrams of viruses and parasites down to a molecular level. There are paragraphs to go through about the abilities and effects of these creatures, discussing how they attach themselves to cells and multiply within a matter of minutes. 

Typically, people die before they can realize what's going on, and eventually, they're just a puppet with a carnal desire for bloodshed and the need to spread the contamination. People die before they can properly say goodbye to any friends and family before succumbing to the virus.

People die.

A mouse clicks and the document saves.

You lean back in your office chair, and it gives a gentle creak at the movement. Tiredly rubbing your eyes, you glance at the small digital clock on your desk to find that the time is steadily creeping toward midnight. You've been at this for over four hours, and another astounding number of files just came through your email.

How the DSO managed them before is a complete and utter mystery to you. That's probably why it's a good thing they hired someone to play the role of archivist officially. Still, the job was nothing short of difficult, if not completely unbearable at times. A weaker mind would've given up on the first day. A better mind wouldn't have taken up the job at all.

Reaching out, you take a sip of lukewarm coffee and sigh, a melancholy noise that lingers before fading. You really should wrap up soon, but…if you could get a headstart on the next few, there was a better chance of you finishing sooner, wasn't there? 

A little nagging voice in your head tells you to go home, crawl into bed, and go into a coma for the next week or so. Another tells you to get the job done now so you don't have to deal with it all later. 

Decisions, decisions. 

Before you can officially make your choice, your phone rings and the ID displays a set of numbers and letters. 

It's the codename for Ingrid Hunnigan, your best friend and fellow DSO agent who'd practically landed you the job in the first place. Truthfully, your ability to pay rent and afford food is all thanks to her, but there's no time to dwell on that fact now. 

You answer, then cradle the phone between your shoulder and cheek as you begin typing. "Hello?"

"Please don't tell me you're still at the office."

You almost have to burst out laughing at that. It's no secret that you're a big workaholic, often staying overtime just to finish up a few measly papers. She does have a point though since your eyes have begun to sting. "I am, as a matter in fact."

"When I left, you told me you had one more."

"Well…they sent me some more copies to go over."

"What am I going to do with you?" Ingrid sighs, exhausted. "I'll have to come drag you out myself, won't I? Better yet–let me send Leon."

Her words make your heart suddenly jump into your throat. "Wait, don't tell Leon."

"Why not?" She asks innocently as if she didn't know what she was talking about. 

Leon Kennedy, DSO's finest agent as well as the president's golden boy and prized weapon. Suffice it to say he was practically a legend around the workplace, having been recruited from surviving the horrific events of Raccoon City and saving the president's daughter from Los Illuminados. Every time he came back from a mission, you'd take the time to pour over every report you received from him afterward with admiration and quiet support. 

When you were a rookie tied down to mainly desk work, it seemed that your worlds were never meant to collide. 

However, during a Christmas party held at the office, Hunnigan had taken it upon herself to introduce you two, tired of your little lovesick noises each time you received an email from him that simply held a document file for you to go over.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kennedy!" You subtly wipe your clammy hands on the back of your skirt. "Reading your reports of all your missions is truly inspiring, you know."

"Oh, don't be so formal–call me Leon," he flashes you a charming little smile with those azure eyes gleaming in the light, "and I could tell you all about those missions in person over dinner if you'd like?"

You struggle to keep on breathing, keeping your composure and shooting back a smile you hope looks at least halfway decent as his. "Very smooth. I just might take you up on that offer."

"Then may I get your name? I'd like to know what to call the person who's probably refined my distasteful reports."

"Hm," you pretend to consider it, then tilt your head at him. "My name's (Y/n), but you can call me whatever you like."

Since then, you maintain a vaguely flirtatious co-worker relationship with Leon. In the workplace, it usually only lasts with small conversations in the breakroom, greeting each other in the hallways, and him scaring you everytime he needs to drop by your and Ingrid's office. However, when you're off the clock, you find yourself sitting across from him on your couch watching movies with a bunch of snacks set out on your coffee table.

In essence, he's really your best friend only second to Ingrid who's been with you for a majority of your life.

When he's not off in another continent, you try and see him as often as your work lives would allow you to, and there's no doubt you wish that there was something more between the two of you. His status makes the chance of that happening nearly impossible, though, so it's clear he's way out of your league.

Unfortunately, these frustrations were made known to Ingrid, who has taken it upon herself to use it as blackmail as much as she possibly could. 

"Ingrid," you whine, fixing a grammatical error. "Don't."

"I'll hang up and call him right now if you don't get out of that tiny ass room. Actually, I don't think he's left the office either."

You grumble under your breath. "So he can stay as long as he likes, but the moment I do, it's trouble?"

You're met with silence, and one confused glance later, you find she really did hang up on you. It causes a huffed laugh to force its way from your chest before you set back down your phone and continue reading over the file in front of you. 

It's a recap of Las Plagas, the parasite Leon had discovered whilst in Spain and dealing with the Los Illuminados cult. Various images show people with leeches exploding from necks, lumbering towards the photographer. Others display them in a state that looks similar to a regular person if it weren't for the rotting and graying skin that indicated they were already dead. You can almost hear their screams, wood cracking and splitting with the stench of smoke in the air. 

You close your eyes in hopes of warding off the imagery. 

Two hands close around your shoulders and you resist the urge to scream, whirling around in your office chair to find none other than Leon Kennedy struggling to hold in his laughter. The unimpressed look you give him only makes him smirk in that shit-eating way he does, and you scoff with as much dignity as you can muster. 

"Fuck off," you grumble, spinning back around and scrolling down the document to where it begins detailing the basics of the parasite. "Don't you have work to do, Kennedy?"

"Oh, you wound me," he grins, resting an arm over the back of your chair. "You don't want to see me?"

"Not in that way, no."

"Then in which ways do you want to see me?"

If you weren't so used to his flirtations by now, you might've blushed at the suggestive tone lining his words. However, knowing it was all fun and games to him, well…

"I'd like to see you out of the office," you give him an exaggerated smile. "Besides, I've got things I need to do. Like a job."

"But I've got a job too," he defends. "A little birdy told me to come and rescue you."

"Hunnigan."

"I'm not naming names."

"Sure," you roll your eyes and save your work thrice just to be safe before making a copy onto the flash drive you always carry on your person. "I'll only go on the condition you go home too."

"Unfair."

"Absolutely not."

Shutting down your computer and packing your belongings into your bag, you occasionally sneak glances at Leon as he looks around your workspace. Countless manila folders and stacks of papers are ready to be sent down into the archives below, and in your trash resides many canned coffees you had picked up for a quick caffeine boost.

Your desk remains messy yet organized, though any outsider might have assumed a tornado of papers had swept across your workspace and yours only. It's alright since you always know where everything is–your job would be on the line if you lost anything potentially important.

Leon–perfectly sculpted handsome out-of-this-world Leon–looked incredibly out of place amid the clutter. a luxurious home with a bottle of finely aged wine would suit his image more–though you know he's definitely not a wine drinker.  While he's off on the president's order out of state or overseas, you're usually still trapped staring and typing away at a screen just like any other day.

Torturous, knowing he's so close yet so incredibly far away.

"Ready?" You ask once your jacket is on and your belongings are all packed away into your bag. "Thinking about it now, I am pretty tired."

"As ready as you are, beautiful."

You almost break your neck with how fast you go to look at him, but Leon's expression remains placid as ever with only a smug little smile as evidence that he did anything at all. Of course, the nickname was to just get a reaction out of you. It didn't mean anything.

"Alright, lover boy," you grumble, earning a snicker from him. "Let's go."

The two of you find your way out of the office and you make sure the door is locked up tight. With the dimming lights, it's clear you and Leon were one of (if not the) last few people that were leaving. The guards give silent nods as you pass by, moreso acknowledging Leon than you, as you make it out of the winding hallways and out into the open air. 

He walks you to your car like a gentleman, opening your door when you unlock it and waving you inside. 

Finally, it draws a genuine, well-meaning giggle from you. It lingers in the air between the two of you, curling like cigarette smoke before dissipating.

"There she is," Leon breathes out.

"Hm?" You blink, hearing him mumble under his breath, though he seems to snap out of whatever he was thinking of fairly quickly. 

"Nothing. Go home and get some rest, you."

"Thank you, Mr. Kennedy," you give him an appreciative smile. "I hope I'll see you tomorrow."

"Count on it."

"I'll hold you to it."

For a moment, it seems like the two of you were suspended in your own little world where nothing outside was happening. It was just the two of you. Under the moonlight, you silently wonder if Leon ever looks bad in any setting.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he whispers a gentle goodbye before closing your car door and walking away as you watch him. The engine rumbles to life, and you sigh to yourself, planting your forehead on the steering wheel. 

Fuck.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The night is young, and cool crisp air sweeps through the air. 

It's refreshing, to have a break from the stuffy office where you work tirelessly. It's a good job, and it pays incredibly well, but the workload has made you consider if it was all worth it at times. 

Today had been particularly rough, seeing as a new rookie had been promoted to DSO, and therefore had incredible trouble submitting his report properly. Of course, you were more than happy to show him the ropes seeing as he was more of an action type of person rather than one who would be good with computers, but the way he was so aggressive when he didn’t understand the concept right away was enough to make your skin crawl.

You breathe out and smoke curls from your lips. 

It's not often you take a smoke break, but it was the only way to quiet your nerves and get rid of the icky feeling lasting in your chest. Of course, you could always report the guy for his behavior, but then again, it was just his first day. 

Still, the comments he made weren't the best.

It's out here in a secluded spot by yourself that Leon finds you. He takes a moment, processing the fact that you're underneath the cloudy sky and obviously trying to ignore something that was going on. He's not the best at evaluating emotions, but he can tell you're distracted by something you're trying to forget. 

"I didn't think you would be one to smoke," he mentions, hoping not to startle you. 

You turn, looking up at him with those eyes he swears he can get lost in, and shake your head slightly. "I needed a break, and it's quiet out here."

"Well don't keep 'em all to yourself."

Wordlessly, you pass him the box and he takes a cigarette out for himself. His motions are fluid, and somehow, Leon makes the simple act of lighting it nothing short of attractive. You swallow nervously, hoping your stare isn't too apparent or noticeable. 

You can't help but watch the way his lips shift to take his first drag before the smoke exhales from his lungs.

Just the sight of him makes you consider your relationship. Sure, it's cozy and you're definitely middling out to be something more than just coworkers meeting each other at face value, but is it truly professional? The rookie's insults echo in your head and you cringe, deciding to focus instead of burning down your own cigarette. 

"You wanna talk about it?" Leon asks.

Do you? You don't want to burden him with something as insignificant as this, but it's flying around your head like an annoying gnat that keeps persisting.

"It's not that big of a deal," you half-heartedly shrug, flicking ash. "I'm being irrational is all."

"If it's bothering you, then it is a big deal."

"Leon."

"I'm being serious."

Of course he was. He was Leon Kennedy, always serious and closed off to everybody–including you at times. There are moments where you think he's showing his true emotions, remnants of a past life where he might have been more open and innocent to the nature of the human world, but they're gone as quickly as they come. The next thing you know, he's back to all business. 

“It’s just–” you sigh, twirling your cigarette between your fingers while wondering if you were going to tell him the truth or try to bullshit your way out of this. “I’m not sure if I’m cut out for all this.”

“What do you mean?”

The words don’t formulate in the way you want them to immediately. Leon’s met with silence as you try to come up with an answer he might be able to understand. 

“This job. This life.” Another exhale. “I don’t know if I’m good enough.”

There’s another run of silence that runs between the two of you like a quiet but content river. It wasn’t uncomfortable by any means but it was obvious that there were things going unsaid. Things that you weren’t ready to tell him quite yet. 

“You are.” Leon says it like a statement–a fact–as if it were that simple. “You don’t see yourself the way everybody else does.”

You tilt your head, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What?”

“Before you were recruited to the DSO, Hunnigan had to manage field operations and attempt to keep up with the constant flooding of reports,” Leon blew smoke. “I think that’s partially the reason she basically begged for you to join–though it didn’t take that much convincing upon seeing your track record.” 

“Is that so?”

“They had me go over your file when they were considering you, actually.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Knew I wanted you on the team as soon as possible, but I couldn’t find the time to stop by the office until that party. They had me dispatched when you came in.” Leon looked down at you, and his eyes are glow like sapphires. Your breath is taken away.

It’s slightly surprising that he knew about you beforehand, though maybe it isn’t. Maybe at the time, you were just another rookie that he didn’t have to train.

“That’s a lot of expectations to fill, though.” You bite your lip harshly, almost enough to draw blood. “I’ve been in this for almost two years, but what if it all comes crashing down at some point? What if I get so behind that they don’t want me anymore?”

What if you don’t want me anymore?

“Hey,” Leon places a gentle yet firm hand on your shoulder. “I don’t think that’ll happen–and we all make mistakes at the best of times. I can’t tell you how many soldiers I’ve lost from screw-ups on my missions.”

“But we’re in two different spheres of work.” A frustrated feeling curls in your chest, growing like ivy on an aged stone wall. “It’s part of your job. If I lose track of something potentially important in our fight against the viruses, it’s game over. More people could die because of me when I’m not even on the field, Leon. I don’t want that blood on my hands–I can’t-”

“(Y/n), listen to me.” You finally look up and meet him eye to eye. He’s closer than you thought, and your heart begins thundering in your chest. “You were brought into the DSO for a reason. Frankly, things have been running much more smoothly since you started.”

His thumb runs soothing circles on your shoulder. You can’t tell if he notices that he was doing it, but it sends tingles through your skin and makes your palms sweat slightly. 

“You’re doing good,” he murmurs and his voice surrounds you like a comforting safety blanket. “You’re good.”

The tight feeling in your chest boils over and it all comes down in tidal waves. The first tear is followed by many more and they streak hotly down your cheeks. In an attempt to spare your dignity, you lower your chin down and hide your face.

Leon’s hand travels from one shoulder to the other until he’s pulling you in and tucking you in against his chest. It hurts, the way fear hangs over your head like a pendulum swinging on a grandfather clock counting down your minutes. It’s scary. It’s terrifying. 

And yet Leon holds you throughout the whole ordeal, anchoring you down and keeping you grounded in the middle of the storm. 

He’s there, and he doesn’t let go.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Leon always wakes up cold. 

His apartment is set on the higher and richer ends of town, fairly close to the office and providing a spectacular view of the city. There was no plan to buy a house as an apartment suited his basic needs quite fine, and was as temporary as his residency was. There was no need for something so permanent as a house, though the extravagance of the location was quickly balanced out by the emptiness of the space, enough to kill any mood. 

Nothing was too valuable to a stranger, whereas the very few photos and trinkets he did keep were tied to memories he greatly cherished. Besides that, it was devoid of any decorations with bare walls that sported no pictures or paintings or shelves. Often, the counters were spotless from the lack of use in his kitchen, and the temperature was kept at a constant average temperature. 

At the most, it was a place for him to sleep and keep his belongings, nothing more. 

Once he had invited you over and embarrassed himself upon realizing how bland the setting looked. Something about your expression made him more insecure, though you put those worries to rest as you easily did with all his other little problems. 

"It's just a little empty," you'd shaken your head, and patted his shoulders. "Loosen up. I'm just used to there being more things in a home."

He didn't voice the nagging thought that his apartment could barely be considered a home.

"I have to be ready to pack up at a moment's notice," Leon shrugged as if the comment didn't make his chest tight. "You never know."

The look you gave him when he wasn't looking was soul-crushing, to say the least. 

On the rare days Leon actually is there instead of traveling twenty hours to who-knows-where, he spends his time either sleeping or staying out of the apartment in general. It's an experience, waking up with a sharp gasp and feeling like every piece of his body flicks on like a harsh light switch. The colors become too bright, too sharp, and every nerve in his body buzzes with a finger already twitching to pull a trigger on an invisible gun. 

There's no warmth–just the sun and its rays leaking intrusively through the windows no matter how much he draws the curtains. Leon would like to say he wasn't much for sentimentality, but the harsh truth is that he wasn't allowed to. With his job and the way it functioned, personal values were often null and void. 

There was always the chance of getting it snatched from right beneath his nose, and the more attached he might have been, the poorer his performance would be. The government didn't care about his wants or what emotional exhaustion he might be going through. 

He was a weapon. Nothing more.

Now, Leon doesn't have much of a preference for his apartment, but yours he absolutely adores. Your living space explodes with personality, lined with easy-to-care-for succulents and books of varying topics lining bookshelves and figurines and memories. Pictures of all kinds are hung up on the walls without any sort of organization. Some contain your younger days like when you and Ingrid had graduated and others nod to more recent times like a candid shot of you and Leon looking out into a blazing sunset side by side taken by a coworker. 

There were mismatched throw pillows on your couches, knitted blankets picked up from flea markets, and glass figurines that sported from small businesses that you couldn’t help but buy from. The air wafted with a different candle scent every day, and somewhere, music typically bled from a speaker. Rarely was it silent, but that was usually reserved for days when you had headaches and needed a lack of sound.

Unlike his place, yours is warm. It actually felt like a cozy home, stepping straight from reality into a novel-worthy scene. It was a warm fireplace and finally coming home after the end of a long day. At the center of it all is you, ready with some homemade miracle and a soft smile that leaves all of his fears and worries at your front door.

"Do you always have a staring problem?" 

Your voice pulls him out of the brief head fog and Leon blinks to find himself mindlessly watching you–though admiring might be more of an accurate word. Your relaxed nature in the comfort of your own home (you could call this a home, with the way you'd made it especially yours, it deserved the title), subconsciously causes him to relax on one of the throw pillows.

It has the heartwarming stitching of an owl.

"Only for pretty girls," he smirks, thoroughly enjoying how his words obviously affect you as you almost drop a plate.

It was rare to draw such reactions from you nowadays when his comments bounced off you like rain on an umbrella.

"Leon."

"I said what I said."

"You're insufferable," you scoff, closing one of your cabinet doors. "Absolutely crazy. Why do I keep inviting you here?"

"I'm irresistible," he cooes, letting the honey-sweet tone bleed into his words. "You love it."

"You wish."

"I do," Leon mourns, sinking further into his pillow.

You snicker at his dramatic state, though the sight softens your heart a bit. It's only on sparse occasions that you get to see him like this–outside of the office and acting like he wasn't always right beneath the president's command. The tension that usually wore itself with pride in his shoulders is almost invisible to the naked eye in this setting, and some part of you rejoices in knowing that he could look like this sitting on the cheap couch you got on sale. 

A smile draws itself on your lips, and you hide it behind the ceramic bowl you're drying clean before settling into the cabinet. 

"You sure you don't need help in there?" He calls out, almost a whine. 

Your heart flutters. "Absolutely not. You're my guest."

"I practically live here," Leon grumbles, getting up and padding toward you in socks.

He's not wrong. The man's got full access whenever he needs it–all he needs to do is give you a call–but it still feels wrong to have him help around in an apartment that wasn't even his. That would be something a couple did. 

A domestic couple accustomed to living together. 

Some part of you wonders if he would grab you by the hips and distract you from your chore, bugging you until you eventually caved into the want to dance with him. Would Leon spin you and laugh as you tried to follow his lead, kissing you when you finally got it right? How would it feel in that moment with perhaps only a refrigerator light to illuminate the floor and nothing but euphoria lining your joy?

The scene dissipates from your imagination as soon as it comes.

"Still," you protest, dodging his attempt to grab the dish from your hands. "Go sit back down, Leon."

You try to resume your task, though Leon gently takes a hold of your wrist, hindering your movements. His touch is firm yet kind, and your breath hitches at the sudden contact. 

You look up into those ocean blue eyes and the proximity nearly kills you. 

"You're stressed," he murmurs, words tinted roughly around the edges yet so attractive nonetheless. "Let me take care of it."

A spell–you swear he either has a way with words or knows black magic. Your teeth latch onto your bottom lip as you finally relinquish the dish and towel to him if only to see his relieved smile at your actions. It's not often you let people do things for you rather than just handling it all on your own. 

"Okay, Leon," you finally breathe and try to allow the voice in your head to tell you this was all wrong. "You can do it for me–thank you."

He pauses in his wiping, looking down at you, captivated by your allowance. "Yeah, no problem. Anything for you."

There's no hint of teasing, just raw emotion as he tries to hide just how far he really is attached to you.

"Only for pretty girls."

"Let me take care of it." 

"Anything for you."

'You're beautiful.'

'Let me take care of you.'

'I'll give the world to you.'

"You love it."

'You love me,' he wanted to say.

"You wish."

You didn't think about the weight behind what he had said or what you implied.

"I do."

 He does. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

"Ingrid, do you think I'm like…weird?"

"Huh?"

You lean back in your chair, chewing on your nail absentmindedly while reading about an abandoned Umbrella base that a squad had just explored. There wasn't much besides a couple of failed experiments with photocopies of the reports that you were to examine, and by extension, the team's report about the experience. To fill the silence, you make small talk with Ingrid. 

"Like I haven't dated in a while. Maybe I need to get an app and meet someone new," you shrug, and the paragraph you're on discusses how the effects of a failed virus needed a specific host to take to.

"You don't need an app," Ingrid huffs, typing around her own computer. "Remind me again how your last relationship ended?"

"He fucked his sister's best friend."

"Ah."

"It wasn't that big of a deal, though. Sometimes I couldn't stand him," you shrug. "Need me a big strong man to come sweep me off my feet or some shit."

"Look no further than in our own division," Ingrid muses. "All you need to do is give Agent Kennedy a little nudge and he'll be all over you."

You almost choke on your own saliva. "What?"

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed how he's practically head over heels for you?" She scoffs.

"He absolutely isn't."

"(Y/n)."

"I'm serious!"

"I am too," Ingrid shakes her head. "Anyway, word around the office says they heard that the big bosses are talking about you."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I'd try to finish up as much as you can if you don't want to be swamped with work when you get done."

"Story of my life," you sigh. “What would they even want with me?”

“I think it’s to go over a collection of reports. I’m pretty sure they’re planning their next attack on an Umbrella lab and you know about the ins and outs of the archive the best.” Ingrid flips a paper on her desk. “Most likely, you’ll just be pulling stuff from that big ol’ library.”

“Joy.” You back away from the desk and rub your eyes. You really should invest in some glasses that filter out blue light. 

Just as you do, an email notification pops up on your desktop which details an upcoming meeting just as Ingrid predicted. You’ll be roped into the next discussion about the advancements on Umbrella about the situation with the B.O.W.s, using the archive to pull specific examples from past reports according to the direction of the discussion and within the conclusion of the meeting itself.

“I have an hour until the meeting,” you groan, letting your body slouch as your forehead hits the desk. “I’m going to die.”

“Don’t do that,” Ingrid says placidly before hitting the button on her headset. “Agent Johnson, fill me in. Did you find the specimens as requested?”

While she communicated with the squad out in the field, you recap on how to use the archival system and the filtering methods. To be fair, you developed it yourself when you joined the DSO, finding their old fling system incredibly inefficient so you’d taken it upon yourself to develop a new one that they immediately accepted. All it took was a few cybersecurity specialists to fortify it and they haven’t asked you to change it since.

You gather up a laptop, notebook, pencil, and pen to take any notes that they might have you write down and continue on sorting reports until it was time to head to the meeting room. Upon bidding Ingrid goodbye, you gather your things and head on to the office you were directed to.

You’re only half-surprised to see Leon already sitting in there with a few other DSO agents. He perks up upon seeing you and gives you a subtle little wave which you reciprocate with a smile. 

“Agent (L/n), glad to see you,” the Chief of Staff, Ryan, greeted you. “It’s been too long since we’ve been able to collaborate.”

“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Ryan,” you reach out to shake his hand firmly. “May I ask what the meeting is about in case I can get a head start on pulling reports?”

“Always on top of things,” he muses before turning serious. “We’re having suspicions about the Las Plagas incident as some of our men recently found new strains of the parasite near the sight of the Los Illuminados base. Agent Kennedy can provide personal details if you can provide the recaps.”

“Of course. I’ll filter out the reports about Los Illuminados and Las Plagas, and open up the more recent encounters?”

“Excellent.”

You take your seat next to Leon, open up your laptop, and boot it on. He peeks over your shoulder and watches you idly as you open tabs and separate them into different groups by time and relevancy. He’s particularly delighted to see his own reports get their own group.

Everybody stands upon President Graham entering the room and arranges themselves into their seats as he clears his throat and shuffles through his papers. 

“I’m sure you’ve all been briefed as to why we’re here,” he begins. “Recently, we’ve had an issue regarding a potential new strain of the Las Plagas virus and the dominance of this version. Particularly, we’re worried this could be a variation that’s more powerful than any we’ve encountered before.”

“From the information we recovered from Los Illuminados, more dominant strains allow hosts to keep their free will,” Leon says. “We’re speculating this new form would allow a host to keep their conscience but would be under the complete control of those in a higher position on the hierarchy.”

“Well, what makes that different from previous variations?” One of the DSO agents jumps in.

You take the moment to pull a report and scan over it to make sure you were getting the information correct. “Mainly, it’s a matter of strength–like a more intense version of the Ganado. They were able to carry out basic tasks in their day-to-day lives but were controlled by their master. In the past cases, it was overlords like Mendez, Salazar, and Saddler."

“Right.” President Graham interjected. “We think that this version of Las Plagas may be able to mutate on command and then multiply.”

An uneasy feeling crawls in your chest. “Which means that a single host could mutate multiple times.”

“Correct.”

“This opens up the possibility for a new group of B.O.W.s if they can continue growing stronger and stronger whenever a higher power instructs it,” Leon’s eyes are hardened, no doubt considering what this meant for future missions. “These transformations can take place within seconds to hours to days depending on how long the master desires.”

“Do we have a motive behind this?” You ask.

“We don’t know,” President Graham shakes his head solemnly. “It could be a manner of attempting to create a market based upon it or it could boil down to simple greed for power. We’re not sure.”

“Do we know what company developed it at least?”

“As you know, we always have our sights on Umbrella. It’s more concerning if it’s a company we’ve never faced before.”

“Last we tracked it, Agent Kennedy reported that Umbrella was after the original dominant species of Las Plagas,” you open up a file and start raking through it. “By the encounters he reported in his recap, Ada Wong and Jack Krauser had been after the sample of the parasite. We believe that they'd been working for Umbrella. Kennedy, could you go through that portion of your journey specifically?”

“Certainly.”

As Leon launches into his story, you write down key phrases from his experience while trying to figure out where the line was drawn between all of this. Some piece of the puzzle was absent, though you couldn’t place exactly where one line ended and where it began.

Maybe it was a circle.

“We don’t have enough evidence to pin this down on one place,” Ryans concludes eventually after an hour of convening. “We’ll have to perform more research. Kennedy will take the rest of the field agents present to look into one of the stations where we found the experiment files. (L/n), we’re going to need any important information regarding Las Plagas that might be useful."

“Yes, sir.”

“Then before we wrap up, may I remind you that this is to remain entirely confidential,” President Graham folds his hands. “Any attempts at leaking this information will be dealt with swiftly and accordingly.”

The meeting concludes, and as you close down your equipment, Graham approaches you. You offer him a polite smile and an extended hand.

“I’ve heard much about you from Agent Kennedy,” he says as he shakes your hand. “It seems that you’ve done a remarkable job since you’ve been recruited.”

“It’s my pleasure Mr. President,” you beam, pride lighting up your chest. “I’m glad my efforts are proving to be useful.”

“Certainly. Operations have been more clear thanks to you.”

“Thank you, President Graham.”

The president takes his leave, though you immediately turn towards Leon sharply who’s already looking at you with that little smile of his.

“You talked about me to the president?!" you whisper-shout, folding up your notebook and sticking your pen on the flap of the cover. 

“Well, I can’t let your efforts go unnoticed,” he shrugs halfheartedly. “I had to brag a little.”

“You did not."

“Whatever you say,” he laughs gently, following you out into the hallway and his footsteps fall in line with yours as you make your way through the passages. 

Embarrassment colors your cheeks as you ponder over whether to be mad at him or not. You hate him, absolutely loathe him for being so forward in the way that he praised you, but some part of you sings upon being recognized, not only by the president but by Leon himself.

It’s confusing. 

You turn the corner to where your and Ingrid’s office is located. You half expect him to say his goodbyes and keep walking, but he slows to a stop just outside the door. 

“You know,” he begins, leaning on the wall and looking down at you, “you’re really cute when you’re talking business.”

The comment causes the breath to be knocked from your lungs and your heart begins beating at breakneck speeds. Your legs grow weak for a moment as you try to process his words, and with a blush, you stare back at him defiantly.

“You didn’t look so bad yourself,” you admit and his expression falls for a moment to a look of surprise. You think you made the wrong move until a vaguely hungry look in his eyes ignites again, more powerful this time. 

“Is that so?” He mumbles, eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips for just a split moment. It was so quick that if you blinked, you might have missed the action.

“Yeah,” you whisper, scanning his features and taking in just how perfect he looks right now in the hallway lighting. Nobody is around to hear you. “You looked good. Really good.”

Leon swallows and you have to admire the way his throat bobs. 

“Don’t say things you’ll regret.”

“I’m not.”

“Goddamn,” he mumbles, drawing nearer and nearer to you. The blood rushes through your head and your heartbeat resonates in your ears. “You sure about that?”

“I know what I want when I see it,” you reply, sweating hands struggling to keep a hold of the materials in your arms. 

“And what do you see?”

His breath fans your face. You close your eyes, letting your sixth sense guide you ever closer. He’s right there, just a hair’s breadth away from everything you’ve dreamed of since meeting him. Leon’s scent surrounds you, so close you can almost taste him–feel him on your lips–and the implication of what might come next suspends you in midair.

“I see you.”

The door to the office opens and the two of you jump away from each other as if you’d just touched hot irons. Your face burns with the embarrassment of almost getting caught and Leon looks just as winded. He avoids your gaze though he’s very obviously flustered and caught off guard. 

Ingrid pokes her head out and her eyes find you. “I was just about to come look for you. What took you so long?”

You can’t come up with a clear explanation fast enough because she finally notices Leon on the other side of the hallway. You can just see the way she looks between you and him, connecting the dots and understanding immediately before slamming the door without another word.

Jesus Christ.

“I should get going,” you mumble awkwardly and step towards the office door.

“Yeah, me too,” Leon agrees, equally unnerved. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah."

“Okay.”

He spins on his heel to walk away as you open the door to the office. Ingrid immediately gets up and strides toward you, shaking your shoulders so that your whole body shakes.

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

“Nothing happened,” you defend, pulling away from her grasp and going to set your things down. “Don’t be silly.”

“I ruined it, didn’t I?” Ingrid moans, falling into her office chair. “Fuck.”

“You’re fine. Again, nothing happened.”

“But you wish something did happen,” she points out astutely.

“I don’t.” You do.

“Whatever you say,” Ingrid shakes her head in disappointment. “One of these days, you’ll see that I was right all this time. Just wait and see–just you wait.”

You don’t have to wait–you already know she was right. 

Your fingers subconsciously fly to your lips, still feeling the ghost of Leon’s lasting presence. Some part of you yearns so desperately to rewind time and see what happens. The other part is terrified as to what this entails.

You always knew that Leon of all people was out of your league, but could it be possible he returned your feelings, even if on a less intense scale? The thought was enough to bring you to your knees.

Your gut seethes and rolls with a hint of guilt and it felt like your skin was crawling with an unclean feeling.

If you closed your eyes, you could imagine that innocent light pink love for him flaring into a bright, passionate, crimson red.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

"Do you have the files for two thousand?" 

"Any particular case?" You ask, already filtering out different files. "I have a couple, but most of them are incredibly vague since not much was going on at that time."

"Penamstan."

"Yikes," you hiss, pulling up the document. "What do you need the records on Penamstan for? It's been a while since that place was even mentioned."

"Top secret," Ingrid teases, waiting for you to send it over. "Actually, I was going to mention that there are a bunch of people that are planning to go out drinking tonight. Would you want to go?"

"I don't know. Am I invited?"

"Of course you are," Ingrid scoffs, turning to her computer once she gets the email alert. "You're literally in the DSO, I don't see why you wouldn't be."

"An archivist," you remind her. "I don't do much like you and Leon do."

"Tell that to all your overtime."

"I'll go, Ingrid," you roll your eyes, resuming your work. "If this is just so you can see that hot secretary guy, I'm telling you–French is not the sexiest language someone can speak and I'm tired of pretending like it is."

Ingrid huffs out a laugh. "Whatever you say."

Around lunchtime, you pause your work to get up and shuffle through some papers, setting them in the blue manila folder before saving the current document on the screen. 

"I'm going to photocopy these then eat lunch," you call out, hearing an affirmative hum in response."

"Have a good break," Ingrid says as you exit the office. 

Once in the breakroom, you set the coffee pot for a brew and you travel to the printer room. The photocopies were admittedly for one of the scientists who were researching variants of the virus, but it was something that intrigued and confused you.

Of course, the Las Plagas operated solely on a hierarchy-based hivemind. The more dominant species stood at the top, while more submissive variants fell under their will. It left the question of what this new strain would be considered, more powerful than the Ganado but still somewhat weak enough to be controlled by a higher being. 

It couldn’t be a new virus altogether since it obviously fell within the family of the parasitic group that Las Plagas had, but where exactly it placed itself on the hierarchy was a toss in the air. Would the host be completely mind-controlled or would they only fall under the influence of the master when commanded?

"Ah, didn't expect to catch you here," a voice shakes you from your thoughts and you look up to smile at the newcomer. 

"You usually don't follow me around. Finally getting to trail me like a little lost puppy?" You tease lightly as you put down another paper to scan. 

"You know me," Leon leans against the doorframe. "I just can't stay away from you."

"Keep your hands to yourself, mister," you snicker, finally turning around fully to face him. "So what can this poor peasant do for the great ol' Leon Kennedy?"

"I was just wondering if you were going out with us tonight," he gave a light-hearted shrug and those crystalline eyes gleamed with mischief. "It's never fun without you around."

"Totally because I'm always the life of the party," you quip sarcastically. "Save your pretty little lies for someone who'll believe them, yeah?"

"Who said I was lying?"

You give him an unimpressed look as you paperclip your copies together. Passing by him through the door, you're almost surprised by the way Leon immediately follows like he was trailing you like a lost puppy. Judging by the way your chest flares, it's clear your poor emotions won't be able to handle it if you keep thinking like this.

The image of him in the hallway flashes through your mind and you swear you could’ve folded right then and there. 

Since that little encounter, things have been much more suggestive between you and Leon. He visits your office more if only to deliver you a coffee and ask how your life outside of work is going. If he’d done this before, you would have assumed he was just simply clocking in his bonding time before having to go overseas, but after your near-kiss, it leaves you questioning the motive behind everything he does. 

The coffee's all finished when you set your things on the counter and go shuffling for your food in the fridge. Leon simply pours himself and you a cup, busying himself as if he needs an excuse to be near you. He doesn’t need an excuse since you would gladly sit in a room with him in silence if only you could be with him.

His line of work didn't allow him to socialize as much as he might have wanted to. He's good at pretending like it didn't bother him, though. 

"Do you want to have lunch together?" You ask, head still in the fridge. "Since you're here. I get quite lonely eating by myself."

When you turn to look at Leon, you can almost swear he seems brighter than before. The shadows beneath his eyes become a little less prominent and the tension relieves from his shoulders slightly. Happiness looks good on him, and you're almost knocked out by how much you want to see it again. 

"Well, I can't leave a damsel in distress, now can I?" He holds out a paper cup to you, an invitation. A small, genuine smile plays on his lips.

You want to kiss him.

The casual thought leaves you reeling, and you take the cup from him gratefully to distract yourself from it, sipping and humming with satisfaction. 

You miss the way his gaze lingers on the new lipstick stain that decorates the rim of the cup. A beat lasts and he tears his eyes away from it to join your side. 

His pinky brushes yours as he passes by to hold the door to the breakroom open. Giddily, you take his offer and thank him. 

Your lunch takes place in his office, which he suggested upon not being able to think of a better place between the two of you, and it consists of you telling light stories about your high school years and what you’d done leading up to becoming an archivist, which he listens to with deep interest and undivided attention. In the small space, you can smell his signature sandalwood cologne and the rough hint of alcohol that underlies it. It's rich, addicting, and surrounds you like a warm blanket. 

Just like it did when he was right in front of you and teasing you with every fiber of your being.

He doesn't talk much about his own past, which you find perfectly fine. In some way, you want Leon to know he can be comfortable around you–even if your feelings aren't reciprocated (which you theorize might be highly unlikely) and it's obvious his higher position would hinder such a relationship anyway. 

You feel guilty, knowing that you two had similar intentions, yet the opinion of the others was an obstacle that could hardly be cleared. Workplace relationships weren't against the code of conduct, and probably less so for Leon, but you don't want his reputation out on the line for that. His job was more important than you–loads more.

"My old best friend was wild in high school," you recount to him with yet another story, taking a bite of your food. "She always thought that anybody looking at her twice was enough to shoot her shot."

Leon scoffed lightheartedly. "Women."

You hum in somewhat agreement, though you keep your eyes on your hands in your lap, making sure you’re not looking at him twice.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The bar lights cast a warm glow in the entire establishment like a permanent state of golden hour illuminating your lonely body. While the rest of the customers leaned against each other and engaged in active roaring talk, you sat at a round table with the rest of your coworkers nursing some fruity drink one of them had recommended you get. 

Ingrid sat across from you (absolutely goggling over the French secretary you've seen her eyeing at the office on multiple occasions) and Leon had proclaimed a seat next to you, discussing work with one of the people next to him. 

Besides them, there weren't many people you interacted with that were past a surface level. Sure, sometimes the woman in her mid-fifties popped by to drop off reports and a rookie agent might ask for your assistance on how to properly format a document to send in, but they've never bled past that work barrier. 

Ingrid, being your best friend, breached that gap with ease while Leon was just oddly persistent in getting to know you.

The drink between your palms was a lot stronger than what you were used to ordering. The citrine taste was still there but the alcohol was much more prominent and the burn of it going down your throat happened to be a lot more violent. It wasn't anything you couldn't handle, but your mind was beginning to grow foggy. 

Leon, on the other hand, sat drinking like a champ without a blink of an eye. 

The moment you had walked through those doors looking gorgeous in his eyes as ever, he'd waved you over and basically begged you to sit next to him. A little embarrassing, if not desperate, he'd admit.

"You see some crazy stuff out there," he was telling a rookie agent. "Things you really never thought would be possible."

"How do you kill them?"

"Aiming for the head, but that’s not always the only option"

As the rookie turns to talk to the agent on the other side of him, Leon takes the moment to glance around the table, finding you unnaturally staring hard into the table as though you were spacing out. It had been a moment since you'd taken a drink, though the glass had been almost empty for quite some time. 

Carefully, as to not disturb you, he nudged the back of his hand against your thigh. 

Your unfocused eyes found him innocently and Leon suddenly wanted nothing more than to kiss you wild until you could barely breathe. There's no doubt about his feelings, so out of his control and nothing like what he felt for his previous partners. What had been a light flame turned into a blazing need for you, and if Leon could have anything he wanted, you'd be right at the top of his list. 

However, you usually deflect his advances, writing it as nothing more than his usual flirtatious demeanor. He doesn't know how to tell you it's genuine–that he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky because, to him, you did all of it and more. 

The day he almost got you outside the office, he mentally cursed and praised Hunnigan’s interruption. He imagined a more romantic scene to kiss you in rather than being fresh out of a meeting discussing the potential scenarios for a new variant of Las Plagas.

"You okay?" He murmurs, tempted to hold your hand. "You seem out of it."

"Just a little spacey is all," you giggle and your flushed cheeks are a dead giveaway that you probably won't remember this by tomorrow morning. "You're really pretty."

The compliment coming out of the blue was enough to make him swoon like a middle school girl. "Oh. Thank you."

"Like really pretty," you pout, and Leon might as well have swooned like a middle school girl. "Who gave you the right to look this good? Are you single?"

Were the words rolling off your tongue because of the lack of filter in your mind or were you just being irrational and not understanding the weight of your words? If he was a worse man, he'd sweep you off your feet and take you home right now.

"I am," he indulges with amusement, sipping his own glass set with rough whiskey. "Though I'm nothing compared to you."

In your drunken haze, it takes a second for the comment to register before you're blushing furiously and hiding your face in his shoulder. "Don't just say things like that!"

"Why not?" He coos, absolutely endeared by your everything. "Don't hide, beautiful."

"Stop," you groan out the vowel, squeezing your eyes shut. "You're not playing fair! You can't just say that and expect me to-"

You cut yourself off. 

The statement hangs in the air like an unfinished loose thread waiting to be put back into place. The suspense is so sharp that it may as well be the harbinger of the tension that follows.

Leon hesitates, debating his options before subtly running a soothing hand over your thigh, prompting gently, "And expect you to what?"

"Nothing," you whisper.

He doesn't want to push you. Having your body weight pressed up against him is doing him little favors with the way his heart has started beating a little harder and his hands have turned slightly clammy. You're adorable when you're drunk like this, but it doesn't mean that he can just take advantage of you to get the answers he wanted. 

Perhaps it was time to take you home–give Ingrid the keys to your car so she can return it. You probably weren't going to get very far if you kept on drinking. You hadn’t even had that much, and the drink was certainly nothing that would knock him off his feet.

He leans down, lips barely gracing the shell of your ear as he whispers gently, "Do you want to go home?"

Your sad eyes peek up at him and you think about it before nodding. "Yes please."

That was more than enough reason for Leon to leave. He would immediately drop everything he was doing for your comfort, and it was proof of it when he urges the other people in the booth to let him and you out. Ingrid shoots him a suspicious look, though he retrieves your keys from you and tosses them to her. 

Wordlessly, understanding passes between their gaze without having to say a word. 

Keep her safe.

I will. 

Leon nearly flinches out of his skin when you abruptly grasp his hand like you'd get lost if you let go. There was no warning, yet he allowed his fingers to close seamlessly over yours and it was difficult to ignore the way yours just for perfectly into his. His hands were fairly larger, enveloping your smaller form in a secure grasp–something about it made him light up from the inside.

He wonders if this is what it would be like if you were his for just a moment. 

After paying for yours and his drinks, Leon leads you outside and you swing your linked arms together with a little dopey giggle. You're cute, and under the moonlight, it's difficult not to ask you if all his efforts are going to waste. 

Forming relationships was especially rough, with all of Leon's unsaid trust issues and his most recent ex being the reason he was late for his first day of work on that fateful day in Raccoon City. Even though it's been over six years, he's never gotten into another relationship–didn't allow himself to. When Ingrid introduced you, she grabbed his wrist rather uncharacteristically and simply told him to follow. 

He doesn't usually let just anybody do that, but it was a trusted ally, so he only protested with a, "Hey, at least take me out to dinner first."

And there you were in the middle of the crowd hiding away by the snacks table. A champagne flute was held in your hand, and you wore a pretty little dress that reached your thighs and hugged your figure just right. He was smitten right away, wondering why he'd never seen you before. 

And you were so damn cute, stumbling over your words in his presence and subconsciously biting your bottom lip when you assumed you made a fool of yourself. 

He remembers the moment he met you so clearly, it's almost painful.

Leon opens his passenger door, helping you inside before jogging to the driver's side and starting the engine. The radio starts up, a station that his mom had listened to almost religiously, and he puts the vehicle in reverse to back out. Once on the main road, he fixates on the road while remembering to keep an eye on you. 

His trance is broken when he hears your soft voice humming faintly along to one of the songs playing on the radio–surprisingly, also one of his mom's favorites. 

Leon was in love. 

Of course he knew. He wasn't stupid. He knew why you made him feel like his whole world revolves around you and why all he wanted was to protect you from all the horrors he's seen. He knows why he wants a life with you that’s more than pizza on your couch and movie nights that leave him in a guest bedroom right across from yours. It just hits him especially now, when he sucks a breath through his teeth and keeps his eyes on the road. 

When he finally turns into your community from the main road, an apartment complex with spaces that only someone with your salary could afford, he counts down the buildings until he finds yours. Some part of Leon aches that you have to part so soon though another is glad you're home safe. It’s clear you wouldn't have been able to drive safely in this condition. 

He parks right in front of the stairwell, turning to you and smiling. "We’re here, ma'am."

You blink owlishly up at him, leaning on the armrest towards him and not saying anything. With you this close, he can smell your perfume and can count the freckles that dot your skin. His heart beats wildly, almost out of his chest. The silence is deafening, nearly too much for him to handle. 

It’s almost a perfect replica of the feeling he got in the hallway when you didn’t hide the fact that you were thinking about the same things he was. The tension was thick, the atmosphere perfectly hung in the balance of both of your breaths. Trying to keep his thoughts straight, Leon opens his mouth to break the silence to ask if you were alright and if he needed to walk you up to your door.

But, before he gets the chance to, your hand comes up to cradle his jaw and you kiss him. 

It's sloppy and unorganized, but your lips are on his and that's what mattered. You–undeniably smart and confident and absolutely too good for him–were sitting in his car finally giving him the chance to have everything he wanted with you. You taste like strawberries and lipstick and a faint hint of smoke. You taste like late-night drives and midnight snacks, like cigarettes underneath the moonlight, like alcohol drank in a bar alone while people watching. 

A large part of Leon wants to push it further, see how far you would let him take you, but the more rational part of him causes him to pull away, to ask if this is something you really wanted. It's certainly something he's wanted for a very long time, but in your state, it's a toss in the air as to whether you really meant it or not.

He doesn’t want this to be some drunken fling.

Your expression turns heartbroken upon feeling him breaking off the connection, staring up at him in confusion as your mouth is left cold. Mistaking his refusal for rejection, the fog clears around your head and you gasp to yourself in horror. 

You just kissed Leon.

You just kissed your superior.

Quickly you feel behind you for the latch on the door so you can scramble to get out of the car, ignoring Leon's calls of your name. Guilt rolls deep in your stomach and your hands shake as you fumble with the door and slam it closed. Fleeing through the stairway door and up the flight of stairs, you didn't even spare him a simple goodbye in the middle of your frenzy. 

Leon is left with more questions than answers and you're left with the horrid feeling of sinfulness wriggling in the pit of your gut. 

In this moment, you've never felt more unholy. An evil little voice in your mind chants that you'd taken advantage of him when he was only concerned for your obviously drunken well-being. Leon was just being a good friend, making sure you didn’t crash your car and die in a ditch on the way home. You're a horrible person, absolute trash for reading the room wrong and taking what was right in front of you selfishly without asking. 

The air was just so tight and you could smell the whiskey on his breath and that damn cologne became more prominent than it was in his office and all you could see in front of you was Leon. His concerned gaze was addicting, thick eyebrows knitting together in slight confusion and mouth parting with those perfect lips to say something.

You'd thrown out all rationality.

When you stumble into your apartment–the apartment that held so many memories of him–you let out your sorrows in a choked sob. 

You'd just ruined everything between you two, hadn't you? There was never a chance to be with him, of course, though the thought of all of those soft gazes he gave to you morphing into disgust was enough to make you sick to your stomach. Your lungs gasp for air as you break down and the tears taste like salt on your lips–the same lips that had just been on Leon's. 

Your body shakes and you hide your face in the blankets of your bed as it felt like all the spotlights in the world had just been pointed at you. Eyes watch curiously from every crack and crevice and there's something out there mocking you. Something that was watching, and waiting to laugh in your face and mortify you further than you already had been.

Another fresh wave of tears pricks your eyes.

It's everything you ever wanted.

And at the same time, it wasn't. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice-"

Leon slams his thumb on the button to end the call. 

Looking at the log on his phone would've shown an endless stream of calls to your number. Some had hours between them. Some were paced with a mere five minutes until he found himself calling you again. So far, you've answered none of them, and by extension, his flood of texts has gone unread as well. 

After that disastrous night, Leon found himself conflicted in more ways than one. His mind was strung between wanting to be with you and waiting patiently for you to come around. There was no doubt that as soon as you'd let him, he'd sweep you off your feet, but the lack of response indicates that time might not come very soon. 

The radio silence was unnerving, especially from you.

The days were counting down until Leon had to leave for his mission to return to Spain, and preferably, he’d rather have this whole situation sorted out beforehand. There was no worse place to be distracted than on the field, but the thoughts circulating around you made it near impossible to focus. 

He breathes out a heavy sigh and the frustration doesn’t leave.

The hallways at the office seem a bit darker now, shadowed by his agitation. No longer does it hold that rosy memory of almost having you after the meeting, but it now reminds him of that vacant space by his side that he’s so used to having you in. Leon wants answers, and he’s regrettably not above doing anything to get what he wants.

The door flies open a bit harsher than he meant to, only finding Hunnigan in the small space typing away aimlessly at her keyboard. She barely gives him a glance before resuming her task.

“Agent Kennedy,” she says mildly, immune to the stormy look he shoots her. “What can I do for you?”

“Where is she?” His tone is cold, cut from stone roughly in a way that even Hunnigan has never heard him despite being his informant out on the field. Even when he was on the brink of death, he never sounded like this.

“I hope you know that she has no personal interest in talking to you,” Hunnigan points out sharply. “I suggest you let her be and allow her to collect her thoughts.”

“Just tell me where she is.”

The two stare each other down–unstoppable force meets immovable object–before Hunnigan shakes her head slightly and turns back to her computer. “If you’re so keen on seeing her, find out where she is by yourself.”

Upon seeing that she has nothing else to say to him, Leon strides angrily out of the office and nearly slams the door. 

There’s no telling where you could be. It’s been ages since you used your old office which has been designated to a different desk worker ever since you conjoined your workspace with Hunnigan’s. Other than that, Leon has no clue as to where you could be hiding. 

Some little voice in his head berates him for being the reason you felt the need to. 

Ahead of him, he sees one of the newer agents looking lost with a pale manila folder in his hands. The dots don’t take long to connect.

“Hey, you,” he calls out and the rookie nearly jumps out of his skin. “What are you doing?”

“M-Mr. Kennedy!” he says, a little panicked clearly. “I was instructed to take this to the archivist so she can file it but–I’m lost. She’s usually in the office with Agent Hunnigan but-”

“She’s not there, I know. Did they tell you anywhere to take it specifically?”

“I was going to go down into the actual archives themselves,” the rookie admits nervously. “I think that’s where other DSO members are saying she moved to. I’m confused why she would choose to spend hours in that dusty basement, though.”

Leon holds out his hand. “I’ll take it to her myself. I was just heading that way.”

Relief floods the rookie’s expression and a little bit of color returns to his skin. “Oh, thank you! I actually lost my way and didn’t know where to go.”

“No problem,” Leon says shortly, turning on his heel and making his way to one of the elevators. 

You’re clever, choosing a location that barely anybody remembered since nobody really used it save exclusively yourself. Not many were allowed into the physical archives since the amount of information that was contained in there was vastly confidential and sensitive, but being on good terms with the president had its perks.

Leon scanned his ID card on one of the gray blocks and the elevator doors opened to receive him.

Down, down, down he went until it finally slowed to a stop and opened up to near-absolute darkness. 

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust before he could see the faintest hint of light. The room’s ceiling arched high up and then for a moment, all Leon could see was countless shelves stretching upward. It was intimidating at the least, though he pushed on and headed towards the small desk positioned at the center right before the archival system began. 

There you were, typing furiously and letting the sounds of the keyboard echo in the lonely space. It was so vastly different from the environments Leon was used to seeing you in (namely your apartment and even your shared office space with Hunnigan) that he almost wanted to tease you for it. 

It only took a moment for him to remember why the two of you were down here. 

“So you’re just gonna hide away down here and pretend like nothing happened,” he says. 

Your typing immediately ceases as you look at him. For a moment, neither of you says anything before you resume your work, tapping the counter of the desk absentmindedly. “You can put that here and I’ll add it to the pile. Thanks.”

The cold shoulder was definitely a treatment he didn’t like. “You know you can’t run away forever. Ignoring me is just gonna make this all worse you know-”

“I’m aware of that,” you snap and the violence takes Leon off-guard. “Why bother, though? I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t think you do,” he leans on the counter and peers at you, trying to decipher your blank expression. “Why won’t you just talk to me?”

“You know I’m not a confrontational person, Leon,” you sigh, printing something out and hole-punching it so you can add it to a binder. “You should go before this all blows over.”

“You couldn’t even call me back and tell me to stay away?” He demands, more antsy than ever and desperate for some sort of response from you that didn’t feel like talking to a brick wall. “I would’ve appreciated that more than fucking nothing.”

You spin in your chair and glare up at him. “I was doing it for the both of us.”

“Doesn’t seem like it. It sounds like you were doing it for yourself-”

“So you’re calling me selfish now?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, really?” You rise from your seat, nowhere near his height but more daunting than any bioweapon he’s ever faced. “Well, it sounds like that to me. Mr. Kennedy, may I remind you that we are in a workplace setting, and discussing this personal matter here is highly unprofessional.”

“Right, because all you cared about was professionality in the office,” he spits. His expression is hard, stoic and unlike any look he’s given you before. “Remind me again what happened after the meeting about the Las Plagas strain.”

“I don’t think you were thinking straight,” you scoff. “Every woman here and her mother knows of your skirt-chasing habits so I wouldn’t be surprised if it was some plan-”

“Plan?!”

“To reel me in and leave me by the next morning!”

“Do you really think so lowly of me?”

“Maybe I should.”

It felt like a hurricane growing between you, thrashing around your common sense and leaving nothing but anger and white blinding rage. You don’t even see him the way you used to at this moment. Right now, Leon’s just a man who only wanted answers to his own questions and disregarded any possible need for you to answer your own.

“So this is how you’ve always felt about me?” Leon scowls. “Some pig who just wants a woman in his bed?”

“Nobody knows your true motives since you decide not to tell anyone, not even me-”

“Maybe it’s because I can’t!” He explodes all at once, hands coming down harshly on the surface of the wooden desk hard enough that it might’ve cracked. His voice rises enough to echo in the room. “You sure as shit talk a lot about what I do when you know nothing.”

“And you really know how to keep your composure!” you match his volume, slamming binders on the desk and moving them. “Quite hypocritical for the president’s little lap dog.”

“You really want to go there, (Y/n)?”

“Maybe. I never knew you apparently so what does it matter?”

“What matters is us!” Leon shouts with desperation, voice booming that you swore it shook the room. “You! You matter, (Y/n) and I’m tired of you acting like this is only affecting one of us-”

“I did it for our own good!” You cut him off, lashing out sharply. “Do you know how it would look if someone of your position favored me over the other agents?! There’s no room for that in our division, Leon!”

“So now you only care about what others think?”

“It’s not a matter of what others think, its what the fucking government would see!”

“Right. Sure. That’s all it is,” he sneers, leaning forward. “You think I would care about that shit?!”

You stare him dead in the eye, planting your hands on your desk, and incline your head to his in defiance. “You should!”

"Well, I don't! What's so hard to understand about that?" Leon's anger rolls off him in waves, unstoppable.

"I expected you of all people to get it," you sigh loudly with exasperation. "Seems like I mistook you for someone who could see this from an actual objective standpoint." 

"Well since you're so wise, tell me which side you're taking since it seems you can't even make up your own mind–" Leon's voice rises, a tsunami, and crashes. "–I swear to fucking god, this is why you ruined everything!”

Dead silence takes over as his last word rings out. 

Your shouting has left both of your chests heaving and lungs begging for air. Adrenaline from the anger still pulses madly through the both of you but the high has faded and Leon realizes where the two of you are at. You're on opposite sides of the desk though your bodies have leaned in like they naturally couldn't stay away from each other. If Leon focuses, he can feel your breaths across his face.

He looks down at you, so close to him yet so far away and out of his reach, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass.

Your expression falls and Leon's heart shatters with it. 

You speak, though it's practically nonverbal compared to the volumes the two of you had been competing with just now. "One day you'll understand," you say quietly, submissively. Your words fracture apart, broken and beneath it, he can tell you've given up. "One day you'll hear what I'm saying."

“Just tell me this,” he pants, regaining his breath and steeling his nerves. He prepares for the worst, for the storm to rip away his final stand. “Tell me–do you regret it?”

Your gaze travels his face, from his eyes to his nose to his cheeks, then finally to his lips. A forbidden fruit, forever off-limits. Leon, one of your first and only friends in this business and whose friendship meant the whole world to you, can never be a part of your world. At this moment, your whole relationship hung in the balance of your response.

You look him in the eyes–the very sapphire blue eyes you fell in love with–and answer.

“I do.”

It seals the deal. 

Leon finally pulls away, backing up from the desk and adjusting his jacket. He clears his throat, and allows the empty feeling in his chest to spread. It’s hollow, devoid of life, of anything. It’s everything he was before meeting you–before falling in love with you. 

He doesn’t even grant you a goodbye, simply heading back the way he came to take the elevator up. The doors close and his figure disappears from your sight. 

The floodgates open and you crumble to the floor with a cry. 

It hurts, a stabbing pain that turns your body cold and takes back everything you’ve known. All those memories of Leon laughing in your apartment and clinking glasses with you after a long day of work disintegrate right before your eyes. You’ll never have that with him again. Never.

You didn’t mean any of what you said, blind words that were just meant to land and make a mark, but some dark part of your mind preens. Leon can find somebody better.

He deserves better. You made sure he had that chance.

“What matters is us!” Leon had said in the heat of the moment, barely registering in your mind at the time. “You! You matter, (Y/n)...”

After everything you had said? 

You don’t think you do. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

A pen weighs heavy in your hand. The tip scratches across the paper of the notebook with a flourish, and there’s no other noise to accompany the sound.

‘Today, the sky seemed a little more gray than usual. While I hate to admit it, the argument with Leon has been affecting me more than I anticipated. Some part of me believes that I set him free, let him go from a cage that he didn’t deserve to be in, but the more emotional part of my head is questioning whether it was truly the right thing to do.’

The sun has hidden a lot behind a collection of clouds that spread across the atmosphere lately. Even the weather seemed to agree with your mourning nature, though it seemed a bit hypocritical to be feeling sorry for yourself.

‘I cannot deny the depth of my feelings for him. From the day we met, I was attracted to him like a magnet, and I still am. I don’t deserve to by any means–surely I don’t. In his eyes, I should have just been another coworker. I don’t know how we managed to become closer or how he might have reciprocated the emotions I held so close to my chest. Who am I even fighting for at this point?’

Eventually, Ingrid convinces you to move back up into the office with her, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t grateful for the lack of dust that invaded your lungs now. However, the constant threat of seeing Leon anywhere was enough to keep you trapped inside the tiny space until it was time to go home. Ingrid gladly took it upon herself to run any errands outside of the room that you needed.

‘Intoxicating is the word I would use to describe him. Something forbidden and sinful but so deliciously sweet that you can’t help but not stay away from it. For so long I’ve dreamed of being able to express my emotions for him openly, but our positions make it practically impossible. How does he not recognize that? How can he just overlook that as if it were something so simple?’

The other members of the DSO tread carefully around you these days, knowing how fragile your emotional state is. You assure them with a bright false smile that everything is okay and that they have nothing to worry themselves over, but nobody falls for the attempted facade. You’re not too broken up about it.

‘He hates me now, I’m sure of it. Though he loathes me and wishes that what we had together never existed, I hold onto the ghost of those passionate feelings. Old habits die hard, I guess. Still, I wish he’d come sweeping in the way he did before with a snarky comment and a coffee from the breakroom just for me. He doesn’t visit anymore and he makes sure to talk to Ingrid as sparingly as possible. That’s good, I think. If I see him more than I have to, I think I might break.’

You take more smoke breaks now. The drug helps you relax slightly, but the memory of sharing a pack with Leon so many nights ago haunts the action. Then again, almost everything you do holds traces of him in some form. Back when you passed him a cigarette and watched the wisps curl from his lips, he gave you comfort in believing that he chose the right person for your job. It was akin to reminiscing about a past life when things were more innocent. 

‘He fucking torments me. I can’t help but live in the feeling, soaking it up like a flower drawing poison into its roots while knowing it's being killed. Is this really the pain of loving someone you can’t have? I didn’t think it possible for Leon to become more closed off than he already was, but being isolated from him has proved me wrong. When we pass by each other in the halls, he doesn’t look at me anymore. He doesn’t even falter.’

You finally got the bravery to go scan some reports yourself, nerves buzzing and eyes sweeping the hall for any trace of danger. You were almost safe until you reached the printer room itself, entering through the door only to find the object of your affections and nightmares already there. Leon doesn’t even look up before pushing past you silently and disappearing around the corner. The cold treatment and silent disposition he took on were enough to be like a gunshot to the heart. You almost burst into tears right then and there.

‘Does he know? Does he know how much he’s killing me? Does he know that with every missed interaction and every minute that I pretend like this isn’t affecting me, it’s slowly sapping away my life? Does he know that I pushed him away because I didn’t want the government to set its sights on him? The last thing he needs is a scandal, and if I am to sacrifice, so be it.’

When you went home, you wrote your bleeding heart onto the pages of a journal you started back when your fight with Leon had occurred. It’s only a few entries long, but the rants took up multiple pages as your pen bore the brunt of your frustrations over the past few weeks. Your muscles are laced with exhaustion, and there’s nothing more you want to do than crawl into bed and cry yourself to sleep, but the nightly writing sessions have become too much of a staple in your routine to stop now.

‘I didn’t mean it, Leon, I'm sorry. I was afraid. I’m sorry I took advantage of you that night and I’m sorry for everything I said. Even if things can never go back to the way they were before, I just want that touch of normalcy I had with you. Being with you was the light of my life–you are the light of my life.’

Your messy thoughts cause your words to fall off the lines and sloppily write themselves in a disorganized mess. Because you were engrossed in your cataloging, you failed to notice the shadows in the room with you until it was too late. A damp cloth covers your nose from behind and an arm wraps around your torso, locking your own arms to your sides. You thrash against their grip, trying to find footing while refusing to breathe in the chemical. You kick your chair over and knock a jar of pens and pencils off the desk.

‘I love you. Present tense. Forgive me.’

The next page was filled with illegible scribbles crossing out multiple words that can’t be read, frustration evident as the ink left deep indents on ever word that attempted to be written. 

Pots crash to the ground and the sound of boots scuffing the polished wooden floor fill the room. The sound of a taser zaps through the air before everything falls into a deathly silence.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The bar Leon was at tonight isn't very impressive. 

He has a nasty habit of reaching for the bottle whenever the emotions warring in his head became too loud, and his squad had invited him out to drink before they were set to dispatch in a few days. Their destination was a sleepy town that was barely even on the map, but images of the setting proved that it would provide a much-needed change of scenery. 

However, Leon’s head wasn’t thinking about the mission or the potential dangers it held. He, of course, was thinking about you. There wasn’t anything else he thought of these days.

Self-hatred boiled in him for what he had done, to himself and especially to you. At the time, it seemed completely rational to fight for something that both of you wanted, but in the process, he had carelessly disregarded your worries. All you had wanted was to be heard and even Leon didn’t think enough to grant you that.

He nurses a glass of whiskey and his reflection stares back at him–a monster stares back.

What made him better than any of those brainless corpses animated by a virus? 

Because of his line of work, the blood on his hands would never fully be clean, and it seems that even those he cares about weren’t safe. In many people’s eyes–and at times, even his own–he was just a murderer for the government. A machine that wasn’t supposed to have feelings, a weapon that was just meant to kill whatever they instructed him to. Even Hunnigan made that mistake.

You’d been the first to look past that and take Leon for what he was at face value: just a man. 

Even right now, he was just a man who was grappling with the guilt of his actions and determining how he could repent for his sin. You, his shining light and little ray of sunshine snuffed out so quickly by the things he had said, deserved so much more than someone so pathetic as Leon.

Leon saw the moment you gave up–the moment that what little bit of brightness you had in your eyes extinguished. He watched you give up and crumble under the pressure of needing to defend yourself and a part of himself inside died with you. Now he would trade the world just to see you smile at him again with the same warmth and familiarity you always greeted him with.

How could he hurt you?

If he’d just heard you and soothed your concerns like any other day you felt bad, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps you’d be right here with him with your own personal drink spending the last few moments you could before he was set to go back to Spain cherishing what little time you had left. In the end, he reflects on how things might have gone differently, the words he could have said instead of heated anger, and how much he hated himself at this moment.

From the few times he’s seen you around the office, your expression is closed off, emotionless. You don’t look at him, and just to spare both of your feelings, Leon opts to not say anything. God knows the last thing you needed was another agent hearing you arguing about something so private.

Leon does not cry. There are many instances of him wanting to burst into tears, but holding back that urge in order to protect his dignity and image. He’s lost soldiers, been tossed around and beaten into the ground by bioweapons, has been double crossed more times than he can count on his two hands, but this? This was somehow the worst.

He pushes away from the table and decides it’s time for a smoke break. Nobody comments on it as he leaves since he’s been silent ever since they had gotten to the establishment.

The night wind whips across his face and nips at his cheeks, almost as if chastising him for his screw up. He couldn’t blame it. No matter what Leon tried, you were always engraved into anything he did. Right now, as he pulls out a box of smokes and a lighter, he remembers the night from so long ago when he reassured you that you were the right person for your role in the DSO.

It seems like a past life that you caved into his touch so easily and molded perfectly into his side–when you let him hold you as you let your sorrows run rampant. 

Leon lights a cigarette and focuses on his breathing. He thinks that if you saw him now, you might scold him for being so tense before rubbing on his shoulders, thumbs digging into the knots of his muscles and smoothing them out. He’d sigh, try not to make any questionable noises, and thank you for always being there.

He would. He should. 

The ghost of you disappears when he opens his eyes, but the laughter in his head echos as if you were right there. As if you were within his reach, tangible and real. The pain returns tenfold and Leon’s heart aches.

Somewhere, a laugh rings out, and it sounds so like you that it almost gives him whiplash from how fast he looks for the source. However, he finds it's only a woman who looks nothing like you leaning against her friend, obviously drunk and staving off the high of alcohol. His shoulders drop and he listens.

“Oh, wait until your husband finds out about this!” The woman’s friend giggles are bubbly. “He’ll bring you through hell and back!”

The woman with a similar laugh to yours shakes her head, her expression morphing into a disgusted scowl. “I hate that man,” she snaps. A second passes before her hardened features melt into something softer, more vulnerable. It was like an instant change from hatred to something else. “But…oh, Bella, I love him. He takes care of me even when I do stupid things.”

“Then that is what matters,” the woman’s friend nods. “You deserve someone who loves you as much as you love them regardless of your faults.”

Leon decides he’s heard enough. 

He’s about to go back inside when the insistent buzzing of his phone in his pocket alerts him. Everybody knew that contacting agents outside of work on the burner phones provided by the government only meant something serious. Something just happened, and judging by the seeping gut feeling, it wasn’t anything good.

When he looks at the ID, he’s surprised to see that it’s Hunnigan, who has been passively hostile against him ever since your fight. Even though she didn’t know the full extent of what happened, she took your side without question and Leon’s grateful for it.

However, when he accepts the call, she’s all stressed and definitely not here for a pleasant little chit-chat.

“Leon, you need to go to (Y/n)’s right now.”

A pit drops in his stomach.

“What do mean?”

“She’s gone,” Hunnigan runs a hand through her hair nervously. “She didn’t show up to work today and DSO has already issued a search party. She’s not responding to calls and the activity feed shows that she hasn’t even opened her phone.”

Your smile flashes through Leon’s mind–your eyes, your voice, your laughter. You weren’t one to just leave without alerting anybody, and it’s evident that Hunnigan knew this too. At the least, you had just forgotten to tell anybody you were taking a day off.

At the worst–well–Leon didn’t want to think about it.

“I’m on my way,” he assures, already making his way to the car in the parking lot. “Catch me up on all the intel we have so far.”

“There’s a squad already waiting for you at her apartment,” Hunnigan says. “Considering that you knew her best out of the field agents, they felt it right for you to conduct the investigation to look for any possible clue as to where she might have gone.”

Leon starts the engine and backs out, tearing into the main road and stepping on the gas. “What happens if we find the worst?”

The worst was always rotting flesh and gnashing teeth with the stench of death hanging in the air. The worst was having to gun down someone you knew, even if it wasn’t really them anymore. Leon doesn’t think he can handle shooting you no matter what form you took on. 

“Let’s get to the site before we assume anything,” Hunnigan reprimands and Leon takes a deep breath in. 

He prays on hands and knees begging for you to be okay. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you were hurt–or worse, dead. 

Your argument can’t be his last words to you. They can’t–not when he’s been reciting amends during late nights and trying to think about the best way to go about it. He can’t lose you when your last impression of him is a monster who left you alone when he was supposed to be right there.

He didn't get to tell you that…

Leon floors the gas pedal and the engine gives a deafening roar as he surpasses well over the speed limit.

Time seems to pass in a second and simultaneously, stretch on excruciatingly long. When he gets there, your door is already taped off and as Hunnigan had said, a team was waiting on him. At the moment, it felt like all of Leon's worst nightmares were coming to life right before his eyes, but he reminds himself he has to remain level-headed. Freaking out wouldn't save you.

Your door opens easily when he tries it, and the lack of a lock makes his mouth run dry.

The inside is dark with no light save for one that comes from the end of a hallway that leads to your room. Tense, Leon pulls out his handgun and flicks off the safety, motioning for the others to follow. The clicks of guns and the shuffle of boots fill the air as they move in. 

Everything is as you left it. Hell, even the candle in your living room is still burning like you forgot to blow it out before you went to bed. Nothing seems too out of the ordinary which only makes the situation more alarming. 

It really was like you just disappeared without a trace.

In some cruel way, Leon hurts just looking at your apartment again. The couches have their blankets thrown haphazardly around where the two of you have had movie nights to take off the edge of work. The table is covered with papers and spam mail, right where you shared drinks and laughed with each other in the comfort of your home. The kitchen light is on and the stove reminds Leon of when you'd cook for the two of them with him hanging onto your every move because, in your words, he was "dog shit" at operating anything in the kitchen.

Every appliance and little thing reminds Leon of what he lost–what he ruined. 

Leon swallows harshly and begins the trek to your room. During your whole relationship, he's only been in it a spare few times, and even then, he only got a glimpse of the space before moving somewhere else. It feels like he was violating your privacy though it hardly matters in these circumstances. Still, it's like he can never run from guilt these days. 

Holding his breath, he reaches your door, placing a gentle hand on the wood. 

He glances back at his men who await his command. 

Turning back, Leon breathes out. 

Please be okay. Please be okay.

He pushes open the door, the hinges creaking, and his eyes widen. 

Your room is a mess. The blankets have been torn cruelly off your bed and pens and pencils are scattered all over the ground. Dirt streaks across the floor and multiple pots from the tiny plants you cultivated have been shattered. A lamp lays weakly on the floor, the bulb still on and providing a source of light for the room. 

In the middle of it, is a black notebook. 

As the rest of his men spread out and look for any hint of what happened, he bends down and hesitantly picks up the book. Doubt clouds Leon’s thoughts as he turns it over in his hands. Who knows what you could have written in it? Surely, he couldn't snoop around your belongings…

But confidentiality had no point when you were missing. 

Leon opens the book and begins reading. 

Pain. Agony. Torment. 

The flood of words makes him want to drop it like it was burning hot coals, but he can't stop soaking in your sorrows. Your rawest emotions spill out on the page, confessing your conflicting nature towards Leon himself, handwriting becoming more sloppy and messy as the pages go on. It's obvious your distress had an impact on writing these entries and Leon's throat stings. 

'Who am I even fighting for at this point?'

Leon's own shouts resonate in his head. It hurts. "Well since you're so wise, tell me which side you're taking since it seems you can't even make up your own mind–I swear to fucking god, this is why you ruined everything!”

His chest tightens.

‘He hates me now, I’m sure of it.'

His soul cries out and his hand twitches as if searching for yours, no longer pressing an invisible trigger on a gun. When did he start subconsciously seeking you out instead of the weight of a firearm in his hand? All he wants right now is you, but all he has is remnants in the form of written words that barely bring him any real comfort.

‘He fucking torments me.'

How could he do this? How could he fail to cherish you in the way you needed? Leon may be just a man, but he's wholly unfit to deserve to be by your side. He doesn't get that chance–doesn't deserve it because you should be with someone who would make you happy and not destroy you in the way he had. 

His lip wobbles.

'The last thing he needs is a scandal, and if I am to sacrifice, so be it.’

You, so ready to give up your own reputation in order to protect his own. Frankly, Leon didn't care if the DSO found out or hell, even the president, but he failed to look at things from your perspective–your angle. He can see now. He sees.

His eyes sting.

'Being with you was the light of my life–you are the light of my life.’

You look at him from across the room with that nervous wrinkle in your brow, biting on your lip anxiously as if waiting for his answer, that beautiful blush crawling up your face as you bashfully dig your toe into the floor before looking at him through your lashes. You smile softly as if to ask if he accepts your feelings.

‘I love you. Present tense. Forgive me.’

Your figure disappears and Leon feels hot liquid cascading, pooling like lava waterfalls on his chin. His breath shakes, but otherwise, he makes no noise. 

He finally allows himself to mourn, knowing you needed him just as much as he needed you. 

Leon does not cry. No matter through thick and thin, he doesn’t allow himself the luxury of expressing sadness the way everybody else was able to. He was supposed to be the rational one, not blinded by emotions in any capacity since he’s been in this business for so long. 

Then again, you always managed to surprise him by pulling the most uncharacteristic reactions from him.

You had made him happy in this dark world. You had made him fall in love when he wasn’t supposed to. You had made him cry when all you left of yourself was a book detailing the torment you’d gone through because of him.

Leon looks up, sight blurry, though he manages to make out a photo on your dresser.

It’s of you two, smiling at each other like some newlywed couple on their honeymoon. That had been your birthday last year, and Hunnigan had taken the sneaky snapshot when neither of you were looking. Leon never knew you had it framed and kept in the personal space of your room.

Just seeing the photo was enough to make his grip tighten on the bindings of the book. 

Determination flared in his chest as Leon dried his eyes and pursed his lips. The fog clears from his head, and he focuses on the mission at hand. This was something he was good at–something that he could do in his sleep.

Leon will find you.

And he will bring you home.

[midnightcrw]

When are you going to have kids?

Pairing: Husband! Leon S. Kennedy x Wife! Reader

Summary: No matter what you do, people keep asking you when you're going to have a child, and it's starting to take its toll.

a/n: This is about RE: Requiem Leon, as I'm currently obsessed with it. The reader is around the same age as Leon. This is very self-indulgent, I posted the reason for it as well.

It was always the same thing.

No matter how old you were, whenever you got a boyfriend or when you got married, the same questions would always come up.

"Do you want kids?"

"When are you going to have kids?"

"Why don't you want kids?"

The questions were so tiring that you could have started banging your head against the wall. It was as if the things you had accomplished didn't matter, or as if your choice over your own body needed to be given a reason for.

Ever since you were a teenager, you had known that you didn't want children. It's not that you despise them, you just don't want any.

And for some reason, nobody understands that.

Even your family and friends started asking when you were going to have a baby with your husband, as if having children were the only reason for getting married.

Slowly, it was starting to get to you.

Wherever you looked, there were babies with their happy parents, enjoying themselves, while you felt like there was something wrong with you.

Why can't you just be like them? Why can't you just want a child and make Leon happy?

Sometimes you'd catch yourself looking in the mirror and pulling your top up slightly to see what you'd look like pregnant - would that make you more desirable?

It's not like your husband doesn't love you. He does. In fact, he loves you very much.

Not a day went by without him complimenting you and showing you affection, but maybe it was all just an act. Perhaps he was just waiting for you to give in, and maybe he had changed his mind after all.

Before you got married, you made sure to have all kinds of talks. Especially when it came to having kids, and you were both glad to be seeing eye to eye. You had no interest in having children and just wanted to enjoy each other's presence.

But each day you were getting more and more exhausted. Sometimes you were so exhausted that you wouldn't even be able to respond, and you would find yourself ignoring others. Inside your mind, questions were giving you a headache.

And today... Today was horrible.

Everyone knows that Leon S. Kennedy is married to you. Yes, the golden boy of DSO is married to a failed agent who stepped down because she was foolish enough to get injured years ago. Now she's too afraid to start again as an agent - how pathetic.

Back then, you and Leon were one of the most talked-about agents. You were selfless, caring, smart and strong. While Leon's reputation improved, yours worsened simply because you gave up and took a desk job at DSO.

And if there's one person who hates you, it's Blaire - currently one of the best agents around, who has also been on missions with your husband.

No matter what time of day, she would find a way to ruin it for you. She would come into your office cubicle just to wind you up, and she was really good at it.

Today, however, her words hit you particularly hard, as you clearly remembered the moment, even though hours had passed.

You heard a knock on your cubicle, and that's how it started.

Turning around and looking behind your shoulder for a second to catch a quick glimpse, and after seeing that it was Blaire, you moved your head forward again to focus on the documents you were reading.

A couple of seconds passed, and you started to feel uncomfortable because you could feel her staring at you.

Huffing quietly, the blonde woman pulled out a spare chair and sat down beside you. She crossed her right leg over her left as she leaned back in the chair.

"Still boring as ever." she said quietly, but loud enough for you to hear as you curled your right hand tightly around your pen.

You couldn't focus on the words in the document. "Leon and I were on a mission. DSO booked us a really nice place to stay."

You closed your eyes for a moment before opening them and turning your chair around to make eye contact with her.

Blaire is a beautiful woman - that's a fact. She has long blonde hair, seductive green eyes, plump lips, and curves that could make anyone turn around to stare.

You're usually not the jealous type either. If your husband is that easy to have, they can have him. But you knew he only wanted you, and he was very vocal about his dislike of her.

You and your husband know that she wants him, following him wherever he goes. Coming way too close to him, putting a hand on his arm while he steps away with a glare.

But you were vulnerable. Having already been worrying a lot lately, she definitely managed to pick the worst possible day to make you worry even more.

"He's quite handsome, you know." She smirked as she leaned forward, never taking her eyes off you as you gripped the chair's handle tightly, your nails digging into it, while she continued, "A husband like that would surely make a woman want to stay in bed with him. It's surprising that you two still don't have a kid."

She giggled in a grating way that made you wince. "Or maybe he's disgusted to be with you." She looked you up and down, and you unconsciously leaned back to make yourself look smaller.

"You know," she said, abruptly leaning closer to you so that you couldn't move away from her breath on your face. "If you don't give him a child, someone else surely will." With that, she stood up and smiled at you - though it was definitely not a kind smile - and finally left.

You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding and reached into your handbag for the small mirror you always carried with you.

Looking at your reflection, you started to feel a heavy feeling in your chest and a tightening in your throat.

There are so many other women who are more attractive than you, and you still don't understand how he could have chosen you out of everyone.

You had wrinkles, and grey hairs were starting to appear as time passed.

Back then, you looked forward to getting older and seeing what you would look like in the future. Now, however, you can barely stand to look at yourself.

'Does Leon even like looking at me?' You asked yourself this throughout your shift, grinding your teeth together whenever you felt close to tears.

Being at home was good, you were able to relax a bit - but you soon realised that there was no escape.

Your mind was jumping to stupid conclusions, making it seem as if something was wrong. You could just lie in bed staring at the wall, hoping to finally fall asleep.

Hours passed, however, and rest never came, until you heard the door open and there he was, Leon.

He'd had a meeting today - an exhausting one, as you could see from the tired look in his eyes - but seeing you still awake made him raise an eyebrow.

"Couldn't sleep, baby?" he asked softly. His voice gave you goosebumps, as it always did, and he slowly took off his clothes to get into bed.

You forced a small smile, happy that it was dark enough for him not to notice. "I was thinking about the documents from work. Difficult case."

He nodded in understanding. Having finally taken his clothes off, he was now only in sweatpants. He lay down next to you in bed and turned around to face you.

"Workaholic," he whispered jokingly, getting a quiet laugh out of you. You gave him a soft slap on the chest, and he let out a fake sound of pain.

"You've taken worse hits," you said, he smiled lazily at you before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss on your forehead, making you relax a bit.

"You're quite strong," he responded, making you roll your eyes at him while he slowly leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss against your lips.

It started out softly, with only a chaste kiss on the lips at first, as if you were the most delicate thing, scared to hurt you. But once you moved your lips, Leon put a hand around your waist and pulled you tighter against him, and you started making out.

You didn't always have the time to enjoy each other's company, so on nights like this, you wanted to spend every second together.

When your husband bit your bottom lip, you gasped softly into his mouth as his tongue entered your mouth, pulling you even closer until you were lying on top of him.

Moving your legs to straddle his waist, you laid your hands on his chest, while he rested one hand on your waist and moved the other to the nightstand.

In the quiet room, all that could be heard were the quiet noises of you two kissing, followed by the sound of a wrapper as Leon started ripping it open.

You'd usually be excited, it's not like you didn't want him - you did, badly. But all you could hear were Blaire's voice and everyone asking why you weren't pregnant yet.

So, you slowly placed a hand on Leon's hand, which was opening the wrapper. This made him pull away slightly to look at you.

His pupils were blown wide and he was breathing heavily as he leaned his forehead against yours. "Something wrong, baby?" He stroked your cheek with his free hand while your heart beat rapidly in your chest and you weren't really able to look into his eyes.

"We don't have to do anything. Having you beside me is more than enough," Leon continued, pulling his hand out of yours to put the condom on the nightstand.

You sighed softly, then found the courage to speak up "We should try without it. I don't want to make you feel restricted."

Hearing this, Leon furrowed his eyebrows and suddenly pushed himself up so that he was sitting with the headboard against his back. He positioned you comfortably, ensuring you were still straddling his lap.

Leon was now focusing on your face. You started to feel nervous, silently cursing yourself for saying that and knowing he could tell something was wrong.

Using condoms had never been a problem before. Your husband always enjoyed himself, so it had never been an issue.

Slowly, he put his hands on your face and made you look at him. He had a concerned look on his face. "Tell me what's wrong," he said. His tone was gentle, leaving room for you to dodge the conversation if you weren't ready yet.

You inhaled shakily and felt the corners of your mouth tremble slightly. Feeling embarrassed, but also wanting to tell him what the problem was, you finally gave in.

"I just don't know what's wrong with me," you said, the first sob breaking out as tears started running down your face. Leon pulled you closer by your waist, gently rubbing the side of your thighs as he listened attentively.

"I... I just can't do it anymore. Everyone always asks the same fucking question, and I feel like I'm going insane. I don't want kids - you know that, and I know that - but ever since we started dating, and especially after we got married, people have been pressuring me to have kids." You balled your hands into fists and continued in a trembling voice, "I feel like I have to give you a child. What if you leave me if I don't? Am I a terrible-"

Before you could continue, Leon pulled you into a tight hug, cutting you off mid-sentence as you gave in completely. You wrapped your arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder. He let you stay in that position until you had calmed down a bit.

Once your sobs had stopped, your husband pressed a kiss onto your neck and asked, "Can I see your face? Is that okay?" You nodded slightly and pulled back a bit so that you were looking at each other again.

He wiped a couple of tears away, starting to talk "You're not obligated to give me anything. Your body is your choice, and there is no need for a justification."

"But-"

"No, let me speak." The voice was slightly stern, but not angry. It made you bite your lip while he continued, "I don’t want kids either. That hasn’t changed. Whatever people are saying to you, forget it. The only person I want is you. The idea of being with someone else? It doesn't even cross my mind. You keep me grounded more than you realise. Without you, things would feel pretty damn empty. So, whoever has been putting that idea in your head, don't listen to them. And the next time someone tries, tell me, alright?"

You nodded and he leaned forward, leaving a quick kiss against your lips. "I love you, and that's not going to change."

"I love you too," you whispered back, and you two lay down again. His arms never leaving your body as he pulled you tightly against himself, and you were finally able to sleep.

You knew that this wouldn't be the last time, but with Leon by your side, things would get better because you two had always faced everything together.

[multific]

The Ring in the Drawer

Summary: You discover a ring hidden in Leon’s drawer, bought months ago but never used.

You are not snooping.

At least, that is what you tell yourself.

You are just looking for batteries.

Leon’s office smells like leather and gun oil. Everything is organised. Too organised. Nothing is out of place.

Except for the top right drawer.

It sticks slightly when you pull it open.

Inside, underneath a folded document and an old watch, there is a small black box.

Your breath stops.

You stare at it for a long moment before picking it up. It is heavier than you expect. Your fingers shake just slightly as you open it.

The ring is simple. Elegant.

A clean band with a diamond that catches the light without screaming for attention.

It is exactly your taste.

Your chest tightens.

You do not hear him at first.

“What are you doing?”

His voice is calm.

You turn slowly, still holding the open box.

He freezes when he sees it.

For a second, neither of you speaks.

You do not smile. You do not cry. You just look at him.

“Were you going to tell me?” you ask softly.

He runs a hand through his hair. That nervous gesture he only does when he is cornered emotionally.

“I wasn’t sure,” he admits.

“Not sure you wanted to?” you tease lightly, though your heart is pounding.

His eyes snap to yours.

“Don’t.”

You soften immediately.

“Then what?”

He walks toward you slowly, like approaching something fragile.

“I bought it months ago, saw it. Thought of you. Didn’t think past that.”

Your fingers tighten around the box.

“Why didn’t you ask?”

He exhales quietly. Not dramatic. Not theatrical. Just honest.

“Because I’m good at a lot of things. But promising someone forever?”

He shakes his head faintly.

“I don’t exactly have the best track record with people staying alive around me.”

There it is.

Not fear of commitment.

Fear of loss.

You step closer to him.

“Leon.”

His jaw is tight. Controlled. But his eyes betray him. There is something vulnerable there. Something raw.

“I didn’t want to put a ring on your finger and then…” He trails off. He does not finish that sentence.

You reach up and touch his cheek.

“Were you scared?” you ask gently.

“Yeah.”

That word feels bigger than any speech.

You close the box carefully and place it back in his hand.

He watches you closely.

“I just need you.”

Silence fills the room.

Then you do something that makes his breath hitch.

You take the ring from the box.

And you slide it onto your own finger.

His eyes widen slightly. “Sweetheart.”

You look up at him.

“I choose you, not because it’s safe. Not because it’s guaranteed. But because it’s you.”

For a moment, he just stares at your hand. At the ring resting there like it belongs.

Then he steps into you and cups your face with both hands.

He does not kneel.

He does not make a speech.

He kisses you.

Slow. Certain. Deep enough to make your knees weak.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“I’m not good at this,” he murmurs.

“I know.”

“I can’t promise normal.”

“I don’t want normal.”

His hands slide down to your waist, holding you steady.

“But I can promise, that I’ll come home. Every time I can. I’ll fight like hell to.”

You smile softly.

“That’s enough.”

He presses one more kiss to your lips.

Then, almost like it costs him something and means everything at the same time, he says it.

“Marry me.”

Not loud.

Not grand.

Just him.

And you nod against his mouth, already knowing your answer.

"Yes."

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Sweet Goodbye's || Leon Kennedy ||

A/n: Felt the need to redeem myself with Ada on that cheating fic I wrote years ago

Leon’s apartment was quiet that evening.

The city outside hummed with distant traffic and the occasional passing siren, but inside the small space things were calm. The lights were low, a lamp near the couch casting a soft glow across the living room. Leon had kicked his boots off near the door and tossed his jacket over the back of a chair, settling into the rare luxury of an evening without paperwork or field calls.

He was in the kitchen pouring himself a drink when he heard the soft click of the lock.

Leon froze then sighed. Not many people could get into his apartment without announcing themselves. He turned slowly already knowing who it would be.

The door swung open with casual confidence, and the familiar silhouette of Ada Wong stepped inside like she owned the place. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, studying him with that same calm, knowing expression she always wore.

Leon exhaled slowly.“Ada.”

“Leon.”Her voice was smooth, amused, like she had just walked into a conversation already in progress.

“You really should upgrade your locks.”

“You really shouldn’t break into my apartment.”

She shrugged lightly as she stepped further inside, her heels soft against the floor.“I was in the neighborhood.”

Leon crossed his arms slightly.“You’re always in the neighborhood when something weird is about to happen.”

Ada’s lips curved faintly.“Still suspicious of me.”

“Still breaking into my place.”

She moved past him toward the living room, her gaze casually drifting around the apartment.

Then she paused.

Ada bent down slightly near the couch and picked something up from the floor.

Leon’s stomach dropped.

Her brows lifted just slightly as she examined the delicate fabric in her hand.

A pair of panties, cute.

Ada turned them over between her fingers thoughtfully.

“Well,” she said softly, amusement already creeping into her voice.

Leon moved faster than she had ever seen him move during a mission.He snatched them from her hand immediately.

Ada blinked once in mild surprise.Then she smiled as a soft laugh escaped her lips.

“Oh?"

Leon shoved the fabric into his pocket like it was evidence in a crime scene.“That’s not what it looks like.”

Ada tilted her head.“It looks exactly like what it looks like.”

Leon rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous this situation was.

Ada slowly walked around the living room, still smiling faintly.

“So,” she continued casually, glancing at the couch, the coffee table, the faint signs that someone else had been in the apartment recently.

“You finally met someone.”

Leon leaned against the counter with a quiet sigh.“…Yeah.”

Ada looked back at him.“What’s her name?”

He hesitated for a second before answering.Her eyes softened just slightly.

“Pretty name.”

Leon nodded.

Ada moved closer, resting a hand lightly on the back of the couch. “So tell me about her.”

Leon glanced down at the floor for a moment before answering. "She’s… good.”

Ada raised a brow.“That’s a very Leon description.”

He shrugged slightly.“She’s kind. Funny. Doesn’t put up with my crap.”

Ada chuckled softly.“That already sounds impressive.”

Leon leaned back against the counter again, his posture loosening slightly as he spoke about you.

“I met her at a bar.”

Ada’s brows lifted.“You? At a bar?”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not judging.”

“You’re absolutely judging.”

Ada smiled.“Continue.”

Leon sighed quietly before finishing the story.“She got stood up.”

Ada’s expression shifted slightly.“And?”

“Some drunk guy started bothering her.”

Ada didn’t need the rest of the sentence.“…You broke his arm."

“Wrist.”

She nodded slowly.“Of course you did.”

Leon rubbed his neck.“I drove her home.”

Ada studied him carefully for a long moment.

Then she sighed softly and leaned against the couch, folding her arms loosely.“So I guess this is the end of what we had.”

Leon looked up immediately.“Ada.”

She waved a hand lightly.“If it was anything.” She added. There was no bitterness in her voice.

Just honesty.

Leon stepped forward slightly.“Ada—”

“You don’t need to apologize, Kennedy.”She smiled faintly.“What we had was fun.”

Leon didn’t interrupt.

“But our feelings were always a mess,” she continued calmly. “It was never going to be serious.” Her eyes met his. “I was never going to stop my work.”

Leon nodded slowly then swallowed.

“And you…” she said softly.Ada reached out and placed her hand gently against his cheek.“You’re too much of a boy scout.”

Her thumb brushed lightly against his jaw.“Too selfless.”

Leon didn’t move.

Ada’s smile softened.“This is good for you.”

She glanced briefly toward the bedroom before looking back at him with a tilt of her head. “You’ll have little Kennedys running around soon enough.”

Leon huffed quietly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Ada chuckled. “You deserve this life, Leon.” For once, her voice carried no teasing.

Just sincerity.

She stepped back, her hand falling from his cheek as she gave him a wink. “Take care of her, Kennedy.”

Leon nodded.“I will.”

Ada gave him one last small smile before heading toward the door.As she opened it, she glanced over her shoulder.

“Oh…”

Leon looked up, brows furrowed.

“You might want to give those back.”

Leon frowned.“give what back?”

“The underwear.”

Then she disappeared into the hallway.

Leon stood there for a long moment before slowly pulling the fabric out of his pocket. He stared at it like it had personally betrayed him then a snort escaped his lips.“…Unbelievable.”

A minute later he grabbed his phone then dialed your number, a number he knew by heartbeat.

When you answered, your voice was bright, a relaxed sigh leaving his lips.

“Hey.”

Leon leaned against the counter again, running a hand through his hair.

“Hey.”

“What’s up?”

He held the panties up like you could somehow see them through the phone.

“…I found your underwear.”

There was a pause, a brief moment of silence and then you burst out laughing.

“Oh my god.”

Leon groaned.“Don’t start.”

“I thought I lost those!”

“I noticed.”

Your laughter softened, he like's the sound of your laughter.

“You miss me already, Kennedy?”

Leon smiled faintly despite himself.“…Maybe I do.”

You hummed playfully.

"Well...Keep them safe for now.”

He looked down at the fabric again. “Yeah...Yeah I will.” A small snort left his lips as his eyes softened as he walked to placed them in a draw that you claimed as your own.

“I will.”

[multi-fandom-imagine]

A very Sloppy Blow Job || Leon S.Kennedy ||

Warnings: Blow job ( Male receiving ).

A/n: Here is that Leon blow job fic I promised ya'll

Leon had barely sat on the edge of the bed,fresh out of the shower, hair damp, wearing nothing but the towel around his hips, when you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“Whoa....whoa...honey—!” Leon sputtered. “At least buy me dinner first.” Your fingers grasping the edge of the towel.

You grinned up at him, eyes bright with mischief and something warmer.

“You’re home, you’re cured, and you’re not gonna die,” you said matter-of-factly.

“So I’m gonna give you a very sloppy blowjob.”

Leon’s brain visibly short-circuited.His towel shifted a little as he adjusted himself instinctively.

“I mean, I won’t say no—”

You tugged the towel off him in one smooth motion.

Leon inhaled sharply. “Jesus...you're quick aren't you?.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, kissing the inside of his thigh. “You’re lucky I didn’t drag you to the floor the second you walked through the door.”

He softened just a little, brushing a hand through your hair. “You really missed me that much?”

You looked up at him with a sincerity that hit him straight in the chest. “I thought I lost you.”

Leon’s expression cracked, gentle, tender, wounded and he opened his mouth to comfort you.

But then your hands slid up his thighs, and his breath left him entirely. “…Sweetheart?”

“Yes?” you hummed.

“I love you, but if you touch me like that, I’m gonna forget every comforting thing I was about to say.”

“Good.”

You wrapped your fingers around his cock,warm, thick, already hardening under your touch as Leon groaned like he’d been waiting YEARS for this moment.

“Oh fuck...yeah...okay, yep, that’s...god, you’re perfect—”

You giggled, leaning in to kiss the head of his cock, tasting the faint salt of him on your tongue.

Leon’s hand flew to your hair. “Sweetheart...holy shit—”

You licked a slow stripe up the underside of him, watching his hips twitch.

“You’re very sensitive today,” you teased.

Leon laughed breathlessly, trying his best not to thrust into your mouth.

“I’ve been alive for twenty-four hours longer than I expected....cut me some slack.”

You smirked. “Poor baby.”

He opened his mouth to retort but then you took him into your mouth fully, tongue curling around the underside, lips sealing tight.

Leon’s head snapped back. “FUCK...sweetheart..."

You hollowed your cheeks, letting saliva drip down your chin, your hand stroking the base while your mouth worked the top half.

Messy.

Loving.

Desperate in the softest way.

Leon looked down at you, breath ragged, eyes dark with awe.

“You’re… you’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, brushing your hair back so he could see your face, his hips involuntary thrusting up. “Jesus—you look so pretty doing that—”

You pulled off with a wet pop just to tease him, saliva dripping down your chin. “I’m not killing you, Leon. I’m celebrating.”

“By murdering me with your mouth?”

You laughed, stroking him slowly. “Yup.”

Leon cupped your cheek tenderly, thumb brushing your lip. “You’re the best wife,” he sighed dramatically. “Five stars. Would marry again.”

You rolled your eyes and took him deep again, shutting him up instantly.

Leon choked on a moan.

“Oh....shot...okay, sweetheart—shit, I’m not—gonna—last long—”

Your hands slid up his thighs, squeezing gently as you bobbed your head, letting drool drip down your wrist. Leon’s thighs trembled, muscles tightening under your palms.

He was unraveling, heart pounding in his chest as one hand clutched the sheets as his eyes squeezed shut.

“S-sweetheart, please...slow down or I—I’m gonna—God—”

You went faster, Leon nearly whimpered. His fingers tightened in your hair, not pulling, just anchoring himself as pleasure ripped through him.

“Sweetheart...fuck, I’m—please—oh god—”

His breath broke, hips jerking despite himself.

And then he came,,hard—his whole body shuddering as he gasped your name.

You swallowed every bit he gave you, licking him clean before pulling back gently.

Leon collapsed onto his elbows, chest heaving, eyes glazed, looking at you like you’d just ended a world war with your mouth.

“You,” he panted, “are going to be the death of me.”

You climbed into his lap, kissing his jaw.

“Not anymore,” you whispered. “You’re cured. You’re stuck with me.”

Leon wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close until your chest pressed against his.

“Well,” he murmured with a dazed grin, “if this is the welcome-home package, I’m never leaving the house again.”

You kissed him softly.“Good.”

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Oh I NEED to know how the reader from ‘The First Date that didn't stay innocent’ reacted to Leon getting her number as you said he done it illegally. Was she shocked? Concerned? Flattered this handsome man went out of his way to find her again?

A/n: Ha I was actually gonna write it out but I thought it would make the fic too long xD. Yes, he asked Sherry to get it for him

Leon was stretched out on his back, muscles relaxed, hair messy from your fingers running through it.

You sat on his lap, wearing nothing but one of his old shirts, your thighs bracketing his hips as you looked down at him with that soft, curious squint that made him nervous every time.

He had one hand resting on your waist.The other loosely holding your thigh.

He looked borderline blissed out… until you asked the question.

“Leon,” you said gently, “how did you get my number?”

His entire body went stiff under you.

“Oh...uh...I...well, y’know—”

He waved one hand vaguely in the air like the explanation might appear over his palm.

You blinked slowly. “Leon.”

He winced. “I… may have… possibly… under specific circumstances… asked Sherry to… kind of… maybe… look you up.”

You stared.

He panicked.

“I KNOW HOW THAT SOUNDS,” he blurted, hands flying up defensively as if you might swat him, “it sounds REALLY creepy...I KNOW, but it wasn’t—well...okay it was a LITTLE creepy but I swear it made sense at the time!”

Your eyebrow arched.

Dangerously.

“Explain.”

Leon sank into the mattress like a man preparing for execution.

“Okay, okay...remember that night? The one where I took you home after the bar? That whole creep incident?”

Your chest softened a little.

Because you did remember.

The bar.

The drunk asshole who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Leon stepping in, calm, gentle, protective.

His jacket draped over your shoulders.

His voice low and steady as he drove you home o his bike, how he waited for you to wave from your window to make sure you were safe.

You’d thought he was too good to be real.

Leon continued, rubbing the back of his neck while you sat prettily on his lap. “You were shaken up, and I just...fuck, sweetheart. I kept thinking about that look on your face when I left you at your door. You were trying to be calm but I could see your hands shaking…”

He swallowed.

“And it bothered me. A LOT.”

Your lips softened.

“So,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands, “I asked Sherry. Just to check you got home okay. Just to make sure nothing else happened. I didn’t even ask for your number at first! I just....I just needed to know you were safe.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, gently tugging until he peeked up at you. “And my number?” you pressed softly.

Leon grimaced.

“She said I should have it in case of ‘future emergencies’ and I SWEAR I hesitated but also I really REALLY wanted to talk to you again so—”

His voice cracked.

“I took it.”

You fought a smile.

“So you used government resources… because you were worried about me?”

Leon’s jaw dropped. “No?! I mean yes! but NOT LIKE, okay fine, technically yes but it was for SAFETY and SECURITY and—”

You leaned down slowly, pressing your forehead to his. “You could’ve just asked me,” you whispered.

Leon’s face flushed bright red. “Oh, sweetheart… I was terrified. You were so pretty and, and nice and I thought if I asked you directly you’d never talk to me again...because look at me? I'm in my 40's flirting with a beautiful woman.”

You cupped his cheeks.

“Leon. You literally rescued me from a creep, gave me your jacket, drove me home on your bike and waited for me to go inside . You think I’d be mad you wanted my number?”

He blinked. “…Yeah?”

You laughed softly, kissing his brow. “You’re ridiculous.”

He swallowed, eyes warm and insecure all at once.

“So you’re… not upset?”

You shook your head, tracing his jaw with your thumb. “Not even a little.”

Leon let out a breath like he’d been underwater for an hour. “Oh thank god,” he muttered, hands sliding back to your thighs. “For a second I thought I’d have to explain to HR why I died of embarrassment.”

You snorted. “Do you even HAVE an HR.”

“Maybe,” he said dramatically. “Though that just means that no one would’ve found the body.”

You smiled down at him, and something in his eyes softened into pure, unguarded affection.

He squeezed your hips gently. “For what it’s worth,” he murmured, “getting your number was… the best decision I’ve ever made.”

You leaned down and kissed him, slow, warm, grateful.

When you pulled back, he looked up at you like the sun had just sat in his lap.

“…So uh,” he whispered, voice dropping into a low tease, “now that my crimes are forgiven… can I keep you here a little longer?”

You rolled your hips in his lap and felt him shudder under you. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

Leon’s eyes darkened. “Sweetheart,” he breathed, hands sliding up your thighs, "say that again and I’m not letting you off my lap for a long time.”

"Sounds like a dream."

[eurodynamic]

LEON KENNEDY Resident Evil Requiem (2026) dev. Capcom

[fawnela]

Ohhhhh god im CUMMING

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 56 - Watch It Glow

✦Read on a03! - Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist✦ ✦Chapter 55 - Chapter 57✦ ✦pairing: Dean Winchester x female!reader✦ ✦summary: Everyone goes on a hunt in an unlikely location✦ ✦warnings/tags: friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action, smut, no use of y/n✦ ✦author's note: when i'm in a being romantic competiton and my opponant is Dean Winchester.✦ ✦Chapter Title Pearl from by Mitski✦

The kitchen was a goddamn disaster.

Dean had been gone for less than two hours. He’d left Her and Sam cluttered at the table in all its usual disarray—laptops open, books open and stacked anywhere they could be fit, Sam on his third cup of coffee this afternoon and Her on her fifth—and he hadn’t expected them to clean, but he certainly hadn’t thought it would get worse.

Sam was staring at his laptop with red researching eyes. Jo was sitting on the counter eating cheese, having obviously given up on trying to get through to anyone, and Rowena was squinting at a book like it personally offended her. Overall, it would’ve been the normal scene, and Dean would’ve been happy with Sam blinking up at him when he walked in, the kid not entirely dead to the living world of non-book people.

But She was hunched over a large piece of paper, a pen gripped tightly in Her hand, scribbling like a crazy kid in a horror movie. The table was covered in similar papers, a few having even floated down to the floor, and Dean sighed.

He knelt down to pick one up, his fingers curling into the material.

It was a figure. A blacked figure that seemed to be dripping tar, in the shape of a human, but hollow pits where eyes were supposed to be and no defining features at all. Dean folded the paper up, tucked it in his jacket, and set down the takeout he’d gone all the way into downtown to get.

“Princess.” He crossed the room like he was approaching a wildcat, muttering Her name when she didn’t look up. “C’mon. It’s dinner.”

He placed gentle hands on Her shoulder, crowding her from behind, and she paused. That was something. Better than Her just grumbling an I’m not hungry and continuing to draw like she’d been possessed.

Dean sort of wished they hadn’t told Her everything about Edgar and the Leviathans. She’d spent the whole five days on ordered bed-rest—Her injury healing as freakishly fast as always, but still needing time to heal—researching, and wasn’t showing any sign of slowing now. But that was an old habit that wasn’t going to die easy, but it was also a bad one. Dean was already keeping one pretty damn big secret from Her. He didn’t keep to worsen that by lying through his teeth, and he didn’t need to taint the sweetness they’d fallen into by dragging them both back into old grounds. The ones they’d tread forever, lying to each other for safety.

He didn’t love leaving only to come back to Her acting like a mental patient. But She was his mental patient. And at least he got to come back to Her at all.

“Hey.” Dean leaned down, kissing the top of Her head.

She stilled entirely, slumping back into his touch, and he grinned.

“What’re you drawing?”

“Leviathans.” She mumbled, tracing over the frantic lines on the paper. “I’m trying to remember what I saw in Alabama, but- It was weeks ago now. I might be making things up, and Bobby say the one you talked to just looked like a guy-“

“A creepy guy.” Dean offered. “He makes your bones all cold and itchy. Like- Evil freakin’ motel ice.”

Sam’s head shot up from his computer with a deep frown. “You didn’t tell us that, Dean-“

“I was trying to remember the shit he said, not how he made me all gross and tingly- In a bad way.” He kissed the little wrinkle in Her brow quickly. “Nothing gets me going like you, sweetheart, you know that.”

Her lips twitched slightly, and Jo made a dramatic gagging sound from the counter. Dean just shot her a glare, was met with a smirk, and was stopped from being snapped at by Cas popping into the kitchen right behind him.

“Fuckin’- Cas-“ Dean grunted as Indy’s tail smacked him in the face. “Jesus Christ- “

She whistled, and Indy clambered off Cas’ shoulders, over Dean’s chest, a right into Her lap. She stroked the dragon’s spine, looking up to Cas with raised brows, and Cas smiled at her.

“We met the winds and candies. She ate the sky, but I am still turned to an island. We weren’t able to get higher. But we could have. Without the guns.”

“The guns-“

“Angels.” She muttered, dragging another notebook forward. “They can’t fly too high. Restricted airspace.”

Cas nodded solemnly, looking to Dean. “But we broke the clouds. We almost became like you, Dean.”

“Uh… Because I ignore trespassing signs?”

“No. You wished to be on another planet, as a boy. You love the worlds, and they love you back-“

“Cas.” She tapped the paper, a faint flush on Her cheeks. “Was Indy still breathing fire up there, or something else.”

He frowned. “She was not concerned with war. We took what the air gave us.”

“No, you were supposed to-“ She shook Her head, letting out a slow breath. “Never mind. Thank you.”

Cas nodded, and Dean leaned further over Her shoulder, trying to read her tight, scribbling words.

“Inky dancing California?” He frowned at Her, and she whacked his shoulder.

“Indy dragon Category.”

“Ah. Course.” It was not of course. Dean loved Her to death, and after, and all over again, but the woman had horrible handwriting. Her brain moved too fast for Her hand, and sometimes he thought She was moonlighting as a doctor behind their backs. “Why are we thinking about dragon categories?”

“We’re trying to figure out what breed Indy is.” She crossed a few things out, and Indy cooed happily, her ears perking up at the sound of her own name.

“There are different breeds?” Dean leaned down to scratch Indy’s horns, and Sam nodded.

“Dragons aren’t monster monsters, like vamps or ghosts. Those ones have variations more like race, dragons are like- Actual animals. There are different kinds, but all our texts are limited, so we have to patch what’s fake from what’s actual documentation, and- Get this, dragons are actually the easy one.” Sam beckoned Dean over, turning his laptop to the side, and Dean leaned over to squint at the screen.

There was a massive, color-coded spreadsheet, with a few basic things Dean understood—locations, monsters he recognized, hunter names and words like spiny and wet—but there rest of it might as well have been written in damn Greek.

“What am I looking at?” He asked, and Sam sighed.

“We’re compiling a list, Dean. Everything we know got out of purgatory, what kind of species and breeds people have run into, if they’re hostile or only attack if provoked, how they should be approached by hunters, like- If it’s possible for a solo hunt, or you’re going to need backup.”

“And how to placate them.” She added, frowning at the air. “If they’re docile or neutral. Most of these things are like Indy, they’re just fancy animals. Endangered animals. If we can avoid hunting them back into extinction…”

She trailed off, and Dean grunted. He might’ve argued that God wouldn’t just banish whole species for shits and giggles, if he didn’t know God was a massive dickhead, and he hadn’t run into that Unicorn family. It had backed down, when he’d explained the situation. But he had bonded with Dean. Because Dean was a deviant, apparently strong enough for a unicorn’s attention.

He glanced back to Her, pressing his lips in a small, tight line. As cool as it had been to have a unicorn bow to him or whatever, he was really trying not to be a deviant anymore. She deserved better than some sex-crazed, drunk loser. If She was choosing Dean, she’d want him to be the strong, chivalrous shadow of a knight She’d always deserved. The version of him that lined up with his silent oath, to always take care of Her. The type of man that even Dad wouldn’t have been able to find a fault in, that wouldn’t have needed to be bailed out of jail or steal food. A good man.

Dean couldn’t change what he’d been, as much as he silently wished he could. If he wasn’t such a dumb fucking ass, maybe they could’ve been doing this six years ago. If he hadn’t stuck his dick in most anything with a hole, She wouldn’t have ever worried that his gaze would wander, even if he’d only ever thought of Her while he chased any high. He was pretty sure She understood now, that Dean was pushing past his deviant days. He was from the mud, but he was trying to clean up. They were courting—he’d been secretly reading Her romance books, to study, and they weren’t half bad but man, they used some weird language—and he was so damn happy with that, they could wait another ten years to have sex again.

If Dad came back today, he wouldn’t recognize Dean as the trash cobbled, sweat-stained disaster of a son he’d had to beat discipline into. He wouldn’t recognize a lot of things about Dean, but that was the one he wanted to focus on. Clean hair that She’d cut last night, trying to care about the nerd shit She and Sammy were doing, no bruises or cuts from fight and no sickly stench of sex or booze on his body. He’d have a beer with dinner, or his head would start to really damn hurt. But that was it. He was in control.

She was holding the back of his thigh and pressing Her face near his torso, but Dean was in control. He bit down his boner, and the urge to just grab Her and carry her up to the room. Bend Her over the dress and show her just what it felt like to be teased like that, because he was certain She had no fucking clue what it did to him. But he was in control. And he wasn’t a deviant anymore.

His thoughts hadn’t caught up with the instinct. Or his urges. Or every bloody and bruised and angry part of him that didn’t want to be a gentleman. That looked at Her—being all sweet and pretty and soft—and remembered how She’d whined for him, and craved to hear that whine again. To make Her so fucked out and blissful her fingers would be trembling too much to hold a pen, to show Her the comfort that the mud offered—because it was dirty and low, but still warm, coating over Dean’s skin his whole life like a shield from harsh, daggered things—so that She’d never want to leave.

He’d been getting a new nightmare. One where he had Her like this, and then She decided that Dad had been right. That Sammy had been right. That every time She’d left him, she should’ve stayed away for good. They might be soulmates, but Dean didn’t get to have a claim over Her. It was one of the reasons he still hadn’t told Her. If She wanted out, he never wanted to shackle Her to the sewer pipe of a man that he was.

Well, he kind of did.

But those were the exact damn deviant instincts he wasn’t supposed to be giving into.

“We’ve got a lot of things already.” Sam was still talking about the spreadsheet. They’d worked hard on it, so Dean nodded along, pretending he cared a little more than he actually did. It wasn’t that he didn’t like knowing the lore. Just felt pointless sometimes, when he knew he was just a rusted blade She and Sammy were going to point to something, so he could rip it apart in their name.

“Uh huh.” He squinted at the screen. Unicorns. Loch Ness Monsters (new name needed? Not in Loch Ness), Rusalka, Mandurugo, Leviathans, Dragons- “No phoenixes?”

“Those weren’t banished.” She muttered, twisting a ring on Her finger. “They were killed off. There are still none left.”

Dean frowned. That was a lie. He didn’t know where the hell the lie was—weird thing to lie about, too—but it was one. He didn’t  get to push her, though, before the front door slammed, and Eileen and Claire stumbled into the kitchen.

He’d sent them back out to get the drinks he forgot. He liked Eileen enough to let her drive baby—especially only for ten minutes—and he liked even more how Sammy started smoothing his hair and sitting up taller when she appeared in the door.

She’d told him, about Eileen calling the kid short. Even if she hadn’t been helpful the past week with research and hunter dispatch, that alone made Dean like her enough to be trusted with Claire and Baby. He wished he’d been there when it happened. He sort of wanted her to do it again, just to take a photo of Sammy’s face for blackmailing.

He was sure he’d get a chance later. Even right now, Sam was red and wide-eyed as Eileen moved through the room. Dean had caught him looking up sign language a few days ago, miming and mumbling under his breath.

Fucking loser.

“Six pack and Arizona Mango Tea.” Eileen said, Claire holding up each item as it was listed. “Gatorade, root beer, Fanta orange soda.”

Dean frowned. “Who the hell got a Fanta-“

“Me!” Claire grinned, and Dean narrowed his eyes.

“You didn’t ask, kid-“

“De.” She squeezed his forearm, and he looked down to Her soft, amused smile. “It’s a soda.”

“’S not good for your teeth-“

“I drink them.”

“Yeah, but- You’re magic-“

“Maybe I’m magic.” Claire said haughtily, passing Sam his Gatorade and Rowena her tea. “I’ve never gotten a cavity-“

“That you know about.” Dean grunted, taking his beer. “You think you got perfect teeth, then suddenly there’s a mad angel telling you that you need to let some stranger stick his hand in your damn mouth-“

“You have to brush your teeth right after dinner.” She cut Dean off, and Claire nodded.

“Deal. Take that.” She stuck her tongue out at Dean as she opened the Fanta and he sighed.

“Whatever. When we go to the dentist I’m not paying.”

“Who’s goin’ to the dentist?” Bobby asked, walking into the kitchen with Jody on his tail, and She shrugged.

“Nobody. Any progress at the library-“

“Nothin’ since I last told you. We got, uh- Sidetracked.”

Dean raised his brows, exchanging a small look with Sam. Everyone got sidetracked. It usually didn’t end with unbuttoned shirts and red faces.

Felt best not to point it out. She didn’t need that picture in Her head, any more than Bobby didn’t need the one of Dean pinning Her to a wall and fingering her until her legs gave out, Her hand wrapped around Dean’s wrist as She moaned, eyes fluttering and mouth hanging open in a pretty O-

Dean mentally slapped himself. Those were deviant thoughts. The exact kind he was really goddamn trying not to have.

He let himself keep a hand on Her, though, as they got ready for dinner. Brushing the crook of Her elbow, holding Her hips while she cleaned up the table like he was some anchor and she was leaning over a cliff, resting his hand on Her knee under the table while they ate. Everyone was mostly invested in the food—good, Dean hadn’t spent a small fortune on that expensive Chinese place for no one to appreciate it—which meant Dean just got to watch Her, and nobody was going to complain about it.

She looked tired. There were lines under Her eyes, and a slight slump to Her shoulders, but nothing dangerous. No restless fidgeting, no scratching at Her own wrists, no gripping Her throat or tugging on Dean’s amulet under her shirt.

It always shot a small bit of white-hot pride through him, to see the leather cord under Her shirt. Paired with the ring she was keeping on Her finger—her ring finger, like she thought it could be what Dean wanted it to be—he had to drag back thoughts of just attaching himself to Her with needles and kisses. There was a small hickey, peeking out from under Her collar. She’d covered the rest of them up with makeup, but left that one, and Dean wanted to drag his thumb over it. She how She’d shiver and look at him with glossy, pleading and nervous eyes. She was still so damn bad at just kissing him, but it was adorable to watch her think about.

She’d pout and stare at him like he was supposed to read Her mind. If She was touching Dean, Her fingers would curl like she wanted to drag him forward, but was already so dazed she couldn’t find the strength. If Dean was touching Her, her whole body would shake and lean towards his, like she couldn’t even fight the gravity that had sent Dean crashing into Her before they even met.

Or at least, it felt like before they’d even met. He certainly knew it had been there after, and they’d been so young he might just not care to think about a time before Her, but some very deep, vital part of him—just to the right of his heart—was certain there had never been color in the world before Her, and if there had been it had all been dull lines, waiting for Her to show up and fill them in.

And now that Dean had Her, the world was vibrant. He reached up and wiped a little orange sauce from Her lip, and it was glowing like amber. Maybe it was that Silver light from Her soul, leaking out. Maybe it was just Her smile and flush, sparking everything else like kindling. Dean didn’t really care. He just knew everything tasted better, when She blinked at him like he could never do any wrong in the world.

“I have to be out early tomorrow.” Jody was telling Bobby. “They need extra hands at the airport, with all the disappearances.”

Her head shot over like someone had blown a whistle. “Disappearances? What disappearances?”

“Bunch of people have been vanishing in the middle of the oceanic flights.” Jody sighed. “News is saying they’re getting abducted, government is saying it’s some weird terrorist attack, but-“

“It can’t be a terrorist attack if it’s just one person vanishing.” She said quickly. “That doesn’t make any sense. And- Eileen.” She turned, probably making sure Eileen could see Her lips move. “Is that something you’ve seen before? Or that the Men of Letters might know about?”

Eileen shook her head. “No. Only cases I worked with those assholes were on land, when we had to. And if they do know now, they’re not telling me.”

She nodded slowly, glancing over to Rowena, who shook her head before She even spoke.

“I don’t pay attention to human news. That shite could’ve been happening since planes were made, I wouldn’t know, or care.”

“Well, it ain’t been happening since planes were made.” Bobby grunted. “It’s been all over the news, kiddo, you really ain’t seen it?”

“I’ve been busy.” She mumbled, glancing back to Jody. “Are there any survivors? People who come back?”

“A few. But all the reports I’ve read are mostly redacted, and everyone I know who’s met them said they were talking crazy. I haven’t gotten a chance to sit in on an interview myself, though. Yet.” Jody sighed. “But six have happened in our own damn airport, so maybe I’m getting the chance tomorrow.”

Claire sat up in her chair. “Oh, cool, can I come-“

“You’re not goin’ to an airport.” Dean grunted. “Those things are death traps.”

“Dean’s afraid of planes.” Sam whispered loudly, and Dean kicked him under the table.

“You’re afraid of clowns, bitch. Those don’t even kill anyone.”

“Some do! And- Planes are safer than cars, like, statistically-“

“Clowns aren’t as dangerous as books, statistically.”

“You’re just making things up, Dean, that’s not how statistics work-“

“You’re afraid of clowns?” Eileen cut in, staring at Sam. The kid went red, gaping like a damn fish, and Dean cleared his throat.

“Oh, yeah. He has been since we were kids, think he wet his bed ‘cause of nightmares about them-“

“Dean-“

“It’s okay, Sammy. We got you potty trained now.”

Dean grinned as Sam gave him a murderous glare, and Eileen tilted her head slowly. She hummed, and looked back to her food. Dean might about to be strangled over the table, but son of a bitch, it was worth it for the look on Sam’s face-

“Stop bullying him.” She hit Dean’s leg with a pointed glare, and he rolled his eyes.

“He started it-“

“Dean Winchester.”

Dean sighed, slumping in his chair and looking back to his food. She looked over to Jody, obviously about to press for more answers about the flight thing, but Bobby cut her off with firm words.

“You got ‘bout a week before school starts again, Claire. You need somethin’ to do, we can find an activity that ain’t a felony. Hell knows we’re all committing ‘bout fifty of them just by sitting here.”

Jody laughed, and Dean glanced over with a frown.

“Really? Kinda early for school, isn’t it-“

“No. Late August is normal.” Sam shrugged, poking at his broccoli. “You just know everything about school from TV, Dean.”

“Hey, I went to school-“

“Aren’t you a dropout?” Claire hummed, and Dean scowled.

“I had to focus on hunting. Didn’t have time for essays and lab reports.”

“Oh, can I drop out to focus on hunting-“

“No.”

She, Dean, and Bobby all said it at the same time, and Claire slumped with an exaggerated sigh.

“But school sucks. I can’t even bring my friends over here, it makes me weird!”

Eileen raised her hand, signing something with her mouth full. Dean glanced over to Sammy, and found him leaning forward with a tight, focused expression. Dean smirked.

“It’s a public school. Bobby could homeschool her, technically, but-“ She sighed, signing back as She spoke. “I don’t know. Claire, I really think it’s important for you to have this-“

“I didn’t do school.” Jo drawled, a noodle falling out of her mouth. “And I turned out fantastic. Only one here who did do school is Sammy, and he’s a fuckin’ loser-“

“Hey.” Sam frowned. “I got into Stanford-“

“Uh huh. And you’re still sittin’ here with all the dropouts.”

“I finished school.” Rowena cut in, tone bored and haughty, and Bobby snorted.

“What was it back in the day, count ten fuckin’ pigs and learn how to sew?”

Rowena scowled, and Claire’s eyes widened.

“Can I go to pig school-“

“You can do whatever you want, dearie.” Rowena hummed. “If you were to stay home, I could help you learn the ways of the witch-“

“Rowena.” She snapped, spinning Her fork in her hands, and Rowena rolled her eyes.

“I think you could bring people over here, Claire.” Jody interjected, voice more measured than pretty much anyone else’s. “If we cleaned up a bit, and-“

“Got rid of all the jars full of eyes?” Dean drawled, and She sat up.

“No, I need those-“

“Joking, Princess.” He squeezed Her thigh, giving Jody a pointed expression. “Look, I’m not saying we should stop making her go to school, but the kid’s got a point. She can’t bring civilians around her, we’ve got wards all over the property, and angel wandering around the yard gathering mushrooms, guns in every room, and a dragon eating out of a damn dog bowl.”

Bobby sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Dean’s right. House is becoming a damn magic motel, too, I’m runnin’ out of rooms. We’re lucky I got such a big place, otherwise I woulda had to saddle Eileen on the couch-“

“She could’ve had my room.” Sam said quickly, and Dean barely bit down a snort.

Sam wouldn’t fit on the couch, and he damn wellknew it. But Dean caught the hopeful glance in Eileen’s direction, Sam’s attention almost perked like a damn dog as he prayed for her to notice his dumb, pointless sacrifice. Nobody needed him to sleep on the couch. Eileen already had her own room.

But Dean knew that expression. He knew it from the mirror. He had years of experience, saying things like I’ll go first as they walked down a dark hallway, of his leg bouncing restlessly after he loudly declared that he could sleep on the floor or take the shower last. Of staring at Her, hoping She’d look up and swoon like a movie. Say wow, so handsome and kind of you, Dean. Do you want to get married right now?

She still didn’t do that now, but She came pretty close when Dean silently grabbed her plate and cleared it. Sam opened his mouth, ready to offer the same for Eileen.

Eileen cleared her own plate without a glance in Sam’s direction. Dean liked her. He hoped she stuck around for a while, if only so he could keep watching Sam squirm like a little bitch.

At least he’d never been that pathetic. Dean had been completely devoted to Her, but he’d been able to hide it pretty damn well. She’d never had a single clue, that every time they went on a hunt Dean was trailing after Her like a dog. That, like Indy waiting near the sink for scrapes, he’d been silently whining in his chest that She’d just give him one spared glance, one smile, one giggle at a stupid joke that would make him feel like a titan among men. He’d stood as close as he was allowed, until She’d never thought twice about it. 

Sam was just being obvious.

“So, um- If you filter it like this you can see all the ways we know how to kill them-“

“I am deaf. I can still read.” Eileen was looking up at him flatly, and Dean bit back a snort.

Sam blushed. “Yeah, but- Sorry. There’s just a lot here. You can poke around all you want. I can answer any questions-“

“I don’t have questions.”

“Right. Sorry.” Sammy was trying to sign as he spoke. Dean might not speak any himself, but he was pretty damn sure Sam wasn’t batting a thousand based on Eileen’s amused expression.

He smirked, watching Sam fumble with the back of his own chair, staring at Eileen like he was waiting to be dismissed. Slowly and carefully, he pulled out his phone and angled it at the kid’s pathetic face. He needed some ammunition, after the whole saferoom shit. Jo was—and remained—impossible to blackmail. Which left the brunt of revenge to Sam.

Dean knew he wasn’t supposed to be pissed at them about that. Not when it had worked out, and he was lying in bed with Her like he’d always wanted. But the two buttheads had gotten lucky. She’d still had an episode, when they’d closed that door. And it was more the principle, of not locking people in damn rooms.

Plus, Sammy wasn’t just going to get away with mooning all over a girl after giving Dean shit for years. And Dean had been right to moon. Sure, Eileen was cool—nice features, pretty badass, mouthy in a way Dean could appreciate—but no one was Her.

She was gorgeous, in the single lamplight of their room. Like a goddess, with glowing skin and flyaway hairs that gave the impression of a halo. She’d showered first, while Dean had been walking Indy with Clarie and Cas—which had been as productive and amusing as always—and changed into one of Dean’s flannels. She was sitting on top of the blankets with Her legs crossed, and he could see the fabric riding up to reveal Her perfect ass, only slightly covered by black underwear Dean wanted to rip off with his teeth. He’d returned all the other ones he took, deciding that—as long as She didn’t ask—he never needed to say aloud what he’d done with them. Especially while they’d still been fighting, and the unendingly hungry, perverted little fucker who lived in his head couldn’t be warded off by just hugging and kissing Her.

Dean had countless fantasies, about what he’d like to do to Her right now. Just off the top of his head, he could spread Her legs and bury his face in Her core, smelling like some street dog being given scraps from a five-star restaurant. He could crawl over Her and bully her gently down to the mattress with kisses, feeling her turn to breathless, needy putty under his hands. He could just hug Her and palm at her breasts until her head tipped back on his shoulder, and She was giving him those sexy, begging eyes, Her lip wobbling with desire. Desire for Dean.

That he was still earning. Still proving he really deserved, and that She hadn’t chose wrong. That’s where Dean had years of practice on Sammy. Patience.

He didn’t need more than this. This was already miles ahead of what he thought he’d ever be allowed to have. And when Dean would do anything for Her—from waiting on Her like a glorified sex-butler to making himself into a shield to keep Her here, in their small room, where God wouldn’t be able to take Her without dragging Dean up to Heaven too—keeping himself on a leash for a while longer wasn’t that big an ask.

Now She was over Her laptop with that little focused wrinkle in Her brow, lips pulled into a little pout Dean just wanted to kiss right away. He’d rested his head on Her thigh, not bothering to hide the adoration that was almost spilling out of him like an overfilled, boiling pot. She had Her fingers mindlessly brushing through his hair, and Dean was allowed to trace his hand up Her side, mapping every curve and soft spot of Her body, noting where Her breath hitched slightly, her gaze going briefly unfocused when his thumb brushed under Her breast-

“De.” She glared down at him, and he just grinned.

“Hey, Princess.” He  pulled his hand away, gently taking Her’s and kissing her knuckles. “What’s up?”

Her brow furrowed deeper, and She just sighed, looking back to her laptop. Dean chuckled, sitting up and wrapping his arm around Her stomach, dragging her into his lap as he settled against the headboard. She didn’t fight him, just let Dean handle Her like a doll, and he kissed under Her jaw with a wide grin.

Trust. That was trust. She trusted him, to handle Her right.  

“What’re we doing?” He murmured in Her ear, and She sighed.

“I’m looking into that thing Jody mentioned. It really sounds like out type of case, I don’t know why she didn’t tell me sooner-“

“I got a guess.” He drawled, holding his watch up. “’S past midnight, y’know.”

She just hummed, wiggling against Dean’s chest. Her ass was almost bare, rubbing right against his crotch, and he swallowed down a hiss. If She noticed how his hand flexed, pulling Her tighter against him, She didn’t mention it. He was still safe, in Her eyes. Still the heroic gentleman She somehow thought him to be.

“Most people sleep when it’s past midnight.” He added wryly. She didn’t even look up.

“Really? Who?”

Dean snorted, and pinched Her thigh. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. Laptop down.”

“Five more minutes.”

He said Her name, and she twisted in his arms. Leaned over Her computer like she was trying to forcefully stop Dean  from taking it.

“I think I’ve got something, just- Dean-“

As cute as it was that She tried, it didn’t take much for Dean to move Her. He tightened his arm around Her stomach like a belt, lifted her up with a grunt, and swiped the computer with practiced ease. She whined as he set it on the bedside table, but didn’t do more than wiggle in his arms. She couldn’t be that mad, because if She was, he’d be flat on his ass instead of kissing Her neck in apology.

“I let you stay up ‘till two yesterday, we gotta get some sleep-“

“I don’t need sleep.” She snapped, and Dean smiled fondly as her jaw strained with a yawn. “And you don’t let me do anything.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, kissing the corner of Her mouth. “But no more screen time. ‘S bad for you.”

“Whatever, dad-“

Dean let himself off the leash a little. She was earning it.

He flipped Her onto her back, and swallowed the high sound he recognized as delight, with a deep, messy kiss. She surged up to meet him, arching under his touch, and he smirked at the tiny little gasp that she let out when he squeezed his hand on Her ribs.

“You’re working too hard.” He muttered against Her lips, and he couldn’t tell if Her hum was annoyance or agreement. “You can stay up, but no more research.”

He was met with a tiny grumble. Annoyance.

Adorable annoyance, with the pout She was giving him. “I almost had it, I just needed to check something-“

“Then talk to me about it. Maybe I got something, right?”

It was a kind of pathetic offering. Dean had nothing, compared to Her. Hell, all he had was Her and Sammy, and they did all the work. He was still the grunt, running errands to churches and making sure nobody ended up a body on a pier.

But She didn’t look at him like that. She looked at Dean like he had a point, and She was still pissed with him, but couldn’t even bring herself to bark, let alone bite.

“I watched all the interview I could find.” She said slowly, tracing over Dean’s bare chest as she spoke.

It was distracting. His heart kept stumbling, and he wanted to grab those damn hands and pin them over Her head before he got hard and had to explain that maybe he was just turned on by her touch and attention, but nobody could blame him. She looked like an angel, talked like a songbird, acted like the princess Dean had known her to be since the first time he saw Her.

“There’s this… pattern.”

She continued, and Dean nodded, practicing active listening. He was really good at this attentive partner shit. She had no clue he was thinking about how he could see how perked Her nipples were.

“They all claim someone visited them when they were taking a bath. Which sounds like maybe a ghost, but-“

“Can’t be a ghost running around on separate flights and continents.” Dean muttered, and She nodded.

“Exactly. Even if it’s a haunted object, there’s no location pattern. The last two were in Bangkok, then Dublin. Within the span of forty-eight hours. The Bangkok flight was grounded for investigation, there’s literally no way that could’ve happened.”

Dean nodded slowly, rubbing Her sides as he thought. “Are there any links between the vics? All chicks, all dudes, maybe, uh- Bath kinks-“

“What’s a bath kink?”

“I dunno. Getting turned on by bathes?”

She frowned. “Is that a real thing?”

“Maybe.” His lips twitched. “People are into weird shit. Can’t control it. Hell, maybe you’ve got a bath kink we don’t know about yet-“

That got him smacked, and he knew he deserved it, but it was more than worth it for the frantic, flushed look on Her face. Dean caught Her hand on his chest and pulled it to his lips, kissing Her knuckles. She just glowered at him, and he winked.

“I don’t have a bath kink.” Her voice was sour, but uncertain. Dean chuckled.

“Alright.”

“I don’t. I- I don’t have kinks.”

Dean raised his brows. “Sweetheart, everyone’s got kinks. Some are vanilla shit, but still a kink. Hell, even Bobby’s probably got something-“

Her lips curled, and Dean sighed.

“I’m just saying it’s nothing bad if you do. And- You do.” Just from fucking you a few times, baby. I can tell. “I do. ‘S like a butt. Lot or a little. Everyone’s got one.”

He laughed, expecting Her to roll her eyes or just hide her face. Instead She was tilting her head at him, hair falling over her eyes, lips pulled between her teeth and eyes fluttering. That wasn’t fair. She looked like a sex painting. Like one of those hot naked ladies in museums, but better, and smelling like Apples, and warm below him.

“You have kinks?” She asked softly, and Dean swallowed.

“Uh. Yeah. I’m a part of everyone, you know-“

“Like what?”

Dean felt the blush burning at his ears. This was not a very gentlemanly conversation to have. “I’ll tell you later.” Or never. What I’m into doesn’t matter, Princess. All about what you want. “If it’s not a monster with a bath kink, what are you thinking?”

Usually, She’d be thrilled to be redirected to hunting talk. For once, She just looked a little annoyed, sighing and biting her lip before She continued.

“The pattern, and the interviews- Plus some footage released from the plane and passenger accounts- Time feeling like it was kind of moving though honey, the air smelling good, sunlight even on a red-eye- It’s a Pari. They’re old angels, pre-date Christian notions in the lore. I’ve actually hunted one before. But they were endangered, barely any left.”

Dean paused. “Well, that wouldn’t make them Purgatory convicts, right? Just a normal hunt, Bobby can send someone-“

She cut him off with a shake of Her head. “No, they were endangered endangered. Bobby and I didn’t even think there were any left until I found mine. I’ve only ever heard of one other case, too, so about fifty in a single month-“

“Repopulation.” Dean muttered, and she nodded.

“Maybe he rounded most of them up, left some behind, and didn’t care enough to check?”

He frowned. “You think God messed up paperwork?”

“I think he’s less detail oriented than he wants you to believe.” She sighed. “The good news is that Pari are like- Happy angels. Cupids but closer. My best guess is that they didn’t adhere to God’s strict heaven rules, so he decided to kick them out. I mean, they don’t fit the whole soldier thing angels like Cas are. They fall in love with humans all the time, abduct them to live in their kingdom.”

“Like hippies going against Vietnam?” Dean asked, and She laughed softly.

“Kind of, yeah. But that means if we catch one, they’re all so affectionate to each other-“

“We can slow them down with just that one.” He grinned, ducking down to kiss Her cheek. “You’re a genius, Princess-“

“Don’t say that yet.” She mumbled, sliding Her hand slowly around his neck. “You’re going to be pissed at me.”

Dean rose over Her with a frown, and She gave him an apologetic, soft look. He didn’t get what the problem was. These things were kidnapping people on planes, they needed to be stopped. She had a—hopefully—nonviolent way to stop them, which was going to save him the headache of holding himself back from just killing something She and Sammy wanted alive. They just needed to catch one in action, and-

Oh.

Son of a bitch.

Aug. 13th - 2011

Princess,

My love. If this is my last letter, I’m going to call you all kinds of sweet shit that’s going to make you get all flustered. I’ve earned it. I’m going to the damn gallows for you. Know I said I would, but goddamnit I was hoping it wouldn’t be like this.

I don’t see why Sammy can’t get on the damn plane for me. I get that someone’s gotta stay behind and tickets are expensive or whatever, but it doesn’t gotta be me. Indy loves me. She’d rather I’m the one stuck with her. And Sam’s bigger, he can tackle the damn thing, show off for Eileen. Shit, I meant to talk to you about that. I think he’s got a crush. We can get him back for all the shit he said to us.

If I survive.

You keep trying to show me plane stats about crashes, and I appreciate it, sweetheart, I do, but Jesus it’s not helping. With our luck we are gonna be that one plane that crashes. Or I’ll get a heart attack and there ain’t gonna be anyone to save me. Someone could poison us and there’d be no goddamn way to help. Nowhere to run. Humans should be that high in the sky, we need the damn land under us, we’re not fucking birds.

You’re the love of my stupid life. That’s the only reason I’m doing this shit. If I die I leave everything to you, except Baby. She goes to Sammy. But if he fucks her up, you get to take her back. Tell him he’s got my blessing about Eileen.

You’re about to come out of the bathroom. I should’ve gone into the shower. We could’ve had last day on earth sex. I could’ve knocked you up so you have something to remember me by.

I give you my blessing to move on, too. But show your new husband all these letters so he knows he better keep in shape, or I’m gonna come kick his ass for neglecting my girl.

I love you. I can still get you pregnant if you want. If it looks like we’re finished I’ll bring it up again, okay? I like the name Jack for a boy. None of that Junior shit, though. If it’s a girl, Mary. Christ, my mom would’ve loved you. I’ll tell her all about you, when I’m dead.

Yours,

DAW

You’re worried he’s going to make a break for it.    

It’s been fifteen minutes of sitting in the parking lot, rubbing his thigh while he grips the wheel with white knuckles. His eyes glazed, his chest heaving like you ran here, his whole body tensed, already braced for the impact. It’s cute, but you can’t tell him that. The genuine fear glazed in his eyes is enough to make you truly worry about him.

Later, when the hunt is over and you can’t feel his heart about to pound out of his chest, you’ll tell him how adorable he is when he’s scared. Wide green eyes and parted, worrying lips. You lean up to kiss his cheek gently, running your fingers through the hair that base of his neck, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“It’s okay, De. You can go back if you want, we already have enough hands to sell the story-“

He shakes his head, his hands flexing on the wheel. “Not leavin’ you. ‘S fine.”

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s hot outside.” He grumbles, and your lips twitch.

“Mhm?”

“And humid. A man can’t sweat in his own damn car, now?”

“He can.” You squeeze his neck gently, resting your chin on his shoulder. “But eventually he has to decide if he’s going to stay in that car, or start the walk.”

Dean makes a sour face, muttering under his breath. “You mean the freakin’ death march.”

“It’s a walk, Deano. And we’ve got like- Four hours until take off. A march implies urgency.”

He grunts, tipping his head back into your hand, his eyes squeezing shut. You just sigh, and leaning against him, meeting Bobby’s eyes through the windshield. He’s been going over the backstory with everyone else outside, and when he catches your gaze, he raises his brows.

You shake your head, and mouth not yet.

Bobby glances at Dean, snorts, and turns back to Jody. Neither of you are surprised by this. You’ve known about his plane aversion for years, and Sam’s told you about that one demon hunt they did. You’d expected this. Planned for it. There’s a chance that giving him a deadline—plane leaves in ten minutes, we’ve got to run—might’ve helped move him along, but you didn’t really want to handle that stress on top of everything else, and you couldn’t have lie to him about that if you tried.

You’re trying to make it easy. You let him drive to a further airport than Sioux Falls—to fucking Colorado—to cut the flight time down to eight hours. You’ve offered him a million chances to stay behind, or go back, or just call it and drop you off, but he won’t hear it. You don’t need to go through customs—you’re only going to Hawaii—but you’re still committing a pretty big felony. If any of you get flagged for secondary screening, you’re going to need your stories straight.

Bobby and Sam cobbled up the passports, and Sam they were his best work yet. Pictures, slightly altered names, social security numbers that link to an offsite mimicked database with fake information. He needed your help with the actual backstory part, and Eileen showed him how to get override the government address—and it’s still a little dicey if it will actually work, but worst case scenario a few TSA agents get knocked out and you run—but Sam did most of the work himself.

You think the work is helping him. Basic, grinding admin work, with everything in a nice, neat place. His visions haven’t been getting better. He’s just been trying to deal, but he’s a little bit of a liability on hunts. You’d still both agreed to offer that Sam come with you instead. Dean had turned it down with a grunt and pale face at the word flight. So you tried another variation, where Sam altered the passport you were giving Cas to be for you, then altered your passport for Jo, and that way Jo and Sam were the couple, and you were the sibling.

That had been another no. From Dean, and Sam and Jo, who’d been very adamant about never faking being a couple again. You couldn’t not bring Cas anyway, so it had been a weak suggestion. Pari were angels. You needed another person with soul-vision to look for them. And you would’ve rather brought Jo over Claire, but someone sane and clued into the wards needed to stay behind, and you hadn’t given Eileen the full run down yet.

Which meant Dean had to come. And he’d said that was fine.

You can see that it isn’t, but he says that it is.

“Do you remember the cover?” You ask him gently, trying to just offer a distraction. He grunts.

“We’re engaged.” He glances down to your ring finger, something strange crossing over his face. “Bobby ‘n Jody are you parents. They adopted you and Cas. Had Claire. Family vacation.”

You nod. “Which would be normal, for a fiancée not to come on-“

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“We could say you got held up at work, and have to take a different flight-“

Dean mutters your name, giving you a pleading look. “Please stop sayin’ that word.”

“Sorry.” You mumble, dropping your brow on his shoulder, biting the inside of your mouth. It’s not about you. This is about Dean, and his very real fear, and it’s a reasonable thing to ask of you. You know all that, very steadily.

You still bite until you taste blood, an angry voice getting loud in your head. All you do is make things worse. You’re trying to help but he never wants your help, because you just ruin everything you touch and make it worse and he hates you, he hates you and you’re forcing him to do something he hates because you’re a sickness, and you’re going to lose him and you can’t lose him, you need him, he knows you need him but isn’t that still just ruining him by trapping him-

“Hey.” You feel his lips on the top of your head, and you hug his arm tight. “’S fine. I just-“ He chuckles weakly. “I fuckin’ hate this. So much.”

“I know. But- I’m serious, Dean, you don’t have to do this-“

“Yeah, I do. I’m not leaving you up in that death trap alone.”

You look back up, and find him scanning over your face with that same, strange shadow of an expression from before. It’s not a dark shadow. More like shade on a hot day, or the dimmest corner of a loud room, where no one is going to look at you, and you can stay lost and safe with no reason to move.

Dean leans down slowly, brushing his lips over yours. You hum, and he smiles, pressing back down for a firmer, longer kiss.

“’m ready.” He mutters, and you hum.

“Sam got us first class. You can get drunk.”

Dean smirks against your mouth. “Yeah? They gonna serve me peanuts?”

“I don’t think that’s a real thing.”

“Then what’s the freakin’ point?”

You lean back with a small laugh, and he grins down at you. He’s still tensed, but the hazy, almost wild fear is gone from his eyes. You squeeze his hand once, just to give him one last out.

He squeezes back three times. All good.

You’re proud of him. He wobbles a little when he gets out of the car, but he throws his head back and his chin up the second everyone looks over, swaggering over to the trunk to grab the bag. Claire opens her mouth like she’s going to make a joke. Jody grabs her upper arm and gives her a stern look. Dean’s skating on his own, personal lake of thin ice. He doesn’t need anything to push him over the edge.

Cas still seems to be testing the strength, but that’s Cas. He gets a go-pass, half for being crazy right now, half for just being Cas.

“You look like you are made of zombies and ropes.” He tells Dean plainly, and Dean laughs.

“Bags under my eyes?”

“And in your hands. And all over your soul.”

Dean just raises his brows at you, and you shrug, deciding that one doesn’t need a translation. Dean’s Gold is pouring over itself with druggish, slow and infective fear. You can see it sink a little deeper, every time someone says the word flight or plane. It spills over him, out like thick ropes of sinew to you and Cas. Like he’s trying to tether himself, even with two feet on concrete ground. The bags are the pits where the fear sinks the deepest. All the way to the center of him, where it moves the fastest.

You take his hand, when he reaches it out. It’s less of an offer, and more of a plea. He needs something to hold onto.

And you don’t know why, but he wants that thing to be you. You’re not good at chasing off fear. You’re good at causing it. Good at pushing through it, although your feet often fail you before you’re fully out through the brush. Sometimes you think you’re just made of fear, and that’s why you never really escape it.

Dean deserves better than that. Better than you.

But he smiles when you twine your fingers through his, and you push the thought way down. He doesn’t want better than you. He wants you, and he’s better at knowing things. Better at making that kind of call. You trust him with your whole soul in his hands, knowing he could decide to smash it at any time, and you’d just be left bleeding out an infinite amount of love for the rest of time.

He squeezes you hand tight, sitting right next to you on the bus—your thigh almost forced over his, with the tight squeeze—and he’s holding on you like he thinks the same, or something close to it. You want to wrap around him until your limbs are so tangled they can’t be unknotted, you want to have him over you so that he’s trapping every bit of you beneath him, and the rest of the universe can have the Silver, but everything in you that counts is Dean’s.

And he kisses the top of your head like an instinct. The same one that has you hooking your foot behind his ankle.

You still think your love might be bigger. You fear it. That you need Dean like light needs planets and people to give it any meaning. Otherwise you’re just nothing and everything, hurdling meaninglessly through everything uncaring without ever really existing at all. Dean needs you like the Earth needs the Sun.

It does. But it’s not just the Sun. It could be any star, you’re just the closest one.

But you don’t really care, if that’s true. Your love is big enough to grow over the whole universe, until it’s all just color and flowers that bloom in Dean’s name, over and over and over again.

You’re happy to be his Sun, if he wants you. If he needs you. And despite that cruel, malignant little voice in your head that never seems to go quite—wrong, wrong, evil and sick and wrong, crude, vile, evil, wrong girl, you ruin everything you touch—you believe him. You believe that Dean needs you, as much as something like you can be needed.

And if you didn’t believe it before, you certainly do now.

“Heading to Hawaii, Mr. Winchester?” The TSA agent asks, glancing at his ID, and Dean tries a winning smile.

“Uh- Yeah. Vacation.”

The agent hums, looking between Dean’s photo and his strained face. You’ve never seen him act so horribly before. It’s kind of amazing.

“Going with the wife’s family.” Dean throws in, his voice weak. “Uh- You know. We’re- We’re flying-“

He swallows, like he only just remembered, and the man glances to you. You sigh, and rubbing Dean’s back as you speak.

“He doesn’t like flying. Lifelong phobia.” You smile at the agent. “Sorry.”

The agent looks between you and Dean, back to the ID, then shrugs and passes it back to Dean.

“’S alright. We get a lot of those. You got your ID, Ma’am?”

You nod, passing it over, and Dean doesn’t let go of your hand. Not as the TSA agent clears you and you start to move through security, not as you’re waved to the belt, not even as you take off your shoes and jacket. He kneels down and keeps his hand on your calf as he takes off his own, then keeps a hand on your shoulder as he shrugs off his flannel. You’re worried he’s going to pass out, when the agent manning the detector beckons him forward and he has to let go. He’s bouncing anxiously on the other side, and when you’re cleared, he reaches for you like he thinks you’re going to slip through his hands.

If this is just getting ready to get on the plane, you might have to drug him when you’re actually taking off.

“Was it this bad when he and Sam worked the demon case?” You ask Bobby while grabbing lunch, and Bobby just shrugs.

“You know as much as I do, kiddo. It’s a real fear he’s got, long as I can remember. You know he wouldn’t be whimpering around ‘less he couldn’t help it.”

You hum, frowning at the menu of the airport Shake Shack. “I just- Sam said it was bad. That he hasn’t even looked at a plane since, like, ’05-“

“And last time he was on one, it almost crashed. That ain’t gonna help him.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “Was I ever like that about anything? When I was a kid?”

“What, like a fear?”

You nod, and Bobby tilts his head.

“No, nothin’ like planes or clowns. You’d wake up screamin’ about the sky, about blood, about doom and dead things. Sounded a lot like Cas does now, actually.” He gives you a long look, lips pressed in a tight line. “Sam and Dean weren’t allowed to feel fear, kiddo. Manifests in different ways. But your fear wasn’t what most kids are dealing with anyway. If I’d tried to raise you like John did, well-“ His jaw ticks. “We wouldn’t be standin’ here.”

That’s probably true. It doesn’t stop the sting in your chest, to imagine a smaller, softer-eyed Dean having a nightmare and swallowing it down instead of going to tell his dad. You always told Bobby about your nightmares. Him telling you things were going to be okay was the only thing that made you able to fall back asleep.

“They sell sleepin’ pills, for people who don’t like planes.” Bobby mutters after you order the food, standing next to you near the pickup counter. “Jody’s grabbin’ some for me. You know how my neck gets.”

You nod, fidgeting with Dean’s amulet through your shirt and glancing over your shoulder. You left him with Cas and Claire, who are hopefully proving a distraction and not a problem. “How much do they cost.”

“Much as anything in an airport does.” Bobby grunts. “I’ll text her. Tell ‘er to get some for Casanova.”

“Tell her I can pay her back-“

“She ain’t gonna want that.”

You bite on your lip, but don’t argue. “So that’s… going well?”

Bobby pauses, then nods. You shift on your feet, offering him a small smile.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. It is.” He sighs. “Y’know, didn’t think I’d ever want it again. Not for real, after Karen. Figured I got lucky as hell gettin’ a kid. One she woulda liked, too.”

“You think Karen would’ve liked me?” You ask softly, and Bobby chuckles.

“Oh yeah. She liked pickin’ up strays, how you think I got the damn dog?”

You snort. “Are you calling me a dog?”

“I’m callin’ you a stray. But don’t worry. Runs in the family.” He gives you a pointed look. “She picks me up, I pick you up, now you got that poor boy sweating ‘cause you ain’t there.”

“Bobby-“

“He’d stand outside your door when you two weren’t talkin’, y’know.” He says flatly. “Never seen a man act like their arm was bein’ ripped off just ‘cause they exiled themselves to the damn couch.”

You don’t answer, just grabbing the massive bag from the service worker, biting back your smile. A small, childish part of you wants to tell Bobby that you’re in love with Dean, like a giddy schoolgirl getting to gush about her first boyfriend. Getting to play him up for her father, even though Bobby already knows Dean perfectly well, and there’s nothing you could really play up when Dean’s a mountain of a man as it is.

And you can’t say you love him. Not aloud. Not to anyone.

So instead you just smile, and pass Bobby the food so you can take the drink tray.

“He’s treating me really well. He- I-“ You swallow, staring at your shoes as you walk. “He’s… Mine.”

That sounds stupid, and your face immediately heats. It’s even worse than fluttering and giggling around about how handsome and strong he is.

But Bobby only huffs in amusement, rubbing your shoulder lightly. “I know, kiddo. I know.”

You wrinkle your nose—you wish people would stop acting like this whole thing had been obvious—but break out into a smile the moment you see Dean slumped into his seat. Cas and Claire are on the floor playing a card game, and Dean’s got his own hand, but he doesn’t really seem to be paying attention at all. He stares out at the tarmac with a pale hand, the cards bending in his hand, and you sigh, dropping down next to him.

“They had a specialty milkshake.” You murmur, picking up his free hand to pass it over. “Cherry Bomb. Thought you’d like it.”

He hums, shooting you a tiny smile. “Thanks, Princess.”

You hum, kissing his cheek, and pass out the rest of the drinks as Bobby doles out food. Claire and Cas take theirs without looking away from their game, obviously a lot more invested than Dean is even pretending to be. Claire’s eyeing Cas’ innocent expression wearily but it’s a big improvement from anything else. You’re lucky Claire’s even willing to sit in the same room as him. If an angel possessed Bobby when you were twelve, you’re pretty sure at least a handful of people would’ve gotten murdered about it.

You lean your head on Dean’s shoulder, and his arm wraps around your back, but he’s still staring, empty eyed at the tarmac.

“What’re we playing?” You ask softly, and he only grunts, kissing the top of your head and not offering anything else.

“It is a game called Bullshit.” Cas provides. “Dean has not been properly participating. The sun was gone. He drifted to far into space.”

“Oh.” You glance at Dean, and feel his hand rubbing up and down your side. He’s developing a deeply unhelpful habit of that. You can’t bring yourself to wish he’d stop. “De?”

He grunts, and you raise your voice. When you still get nothing, you snap your fingers in front of his face, and he jumps.

“Winchester. Earth to Dean.”

“Uh- Yeah?” He’s blinking at you, eyes still unfocused, and you sigh.

“Okay. Come on.” You stand up, and he moves with you.

“What, is it-“ He’s paper-white, and you can see the sweat beading on his brow. “Is it happening? Now?”

“No, we still have an hour.” You start to pull him around Claire and Cas. Away from the damn window. “We’re going for a walk.”

You’re hoping that getting him to a quieter part of the airport, with less plane visibility and less people bustling around will help, and you’re right. There’s a corner of the terminal, where it’s more wall than window, and the flight isn’t populated enough to cause any noise. You and Dean sit on the floor, and you watch him eat his burger until the color returns to his face. He’s got his knees pulled up, and you’re leaning against him with a hand on his thigh.

The calmer he gets, the more you start to feel yourself going feral again. You’d been tampering it in the car, when Dean himself was your biggest concern. But now he’s breathing like a normal person and not like a diver, not sure when he’s going to find another space to breathe. His face is more flushed than usual, and he’s so tense that you can see muscles flex whenever he so much as shifts, and you’re getting the fever again. The hunger, that starts between your legs and blooms out.

Your fingers trace up the inseam of his pants, and his whole thigh ripples under your touch. You press your face into his arm, hiding your own flush and praying he doesn’t notice your legs folding tight together. Now is not the place, nor the time, for your thoughts to be clouded like this. You think the cinnamon scent of him might be a drug you want to get high on forever. You don’t think you’d ever find a need for a pill or bottle, as long as you were allowed to burrow into Dean’s neck, sinking yourself down until you were split open on the thickness in his jeans, letting him drive everything out of your head until you were just shaking with love for him, the whole world in harmony and his name falling from your lips like prayer. 

Dean catches your hand on his thigh, and for a second you foolishly think he’s going to give you what he wants. He hesitates like he might. Pulls you a little down, so you’re brushing closer to his crotch. And that perverse, burning sensation between your legs grows, and if he shoved your hand onto him right now, you’d find a bathroom or closet or something, just so you could get on your knees and show him just how grateful you are, how happy that he even exists, let alone close enough to let you fall down, down, down into his gravity.

He moves your hand away, just holding it tight in his. You sigh, and try not to sound disappointed.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” He clears his throat, setting down the empty milkshake. “I don’t mean to be- Uh- Maybe you shoulda brought Sam.”

You look up, and find him glaring at his hand, hanging limp from his knee. You reach up and gently pull his face in your direction, giving him a tiny smile and shaking your head.

“Maybe. But I could’ve done this hunt blindfolded.” You squeeze his hand three times. “And I’d always rather do it with you.”

Dean smiles. It’s small and still unsure, but it’s there, and that counts. His arm slings around your shoulders, pulling you right into his side, and you go easily. He kisses the top of your head, and you smile at the floor.

The Silver is mostly peaceful. It’s been mostly peaceful, coating over everything around you but not enough for you to notice. But right when you’re about to try and distract Dean with some random, pointless conversation, it tugs.

Not urgent. More like a notification or bell, telling you there’s something interesting. Something that’s not entirely normal, that’s it’s trying to parse with its instincts—your instincts—and what you know. You know the air, and the dust particles floating in the sunlight. You know the crows outside the walls, picking at crumbs lost to the wind and the dandelions growing between the cracks in the pavement. You know the few werewolves that you passed earlier in the terminal, but who fed on cows’ blood and weren’t going to hurt anyone. You know every single human soul, bleeding into each other like watercolor and staining all over the airport like residue of a million, rainbow bombs.

You’ve been practicing ignoring it. You’re getting better at being in louder places, with Dean’s amulet around you and the reminder that every color means something is real. You don’t like it, but it means everything is real, and that’s enough.

But the Silver drags your attention to something you don’t know.

A man, standing a large handful of feet away, talking into a phone. His soul is a sandy yellow, with his core at the top of his head and drizzling like sand through his whole body. That’s not uncommon. It’s just a slightly rare way for a soul made of earth to display itself, you’ve seen it before.

It’s his back, that catches your attention. Something is sparking and bursting against it. It looks almost like… A second core.

You’ve never seen a second core.

You turn, covering Dean’s mouth with your hand before he can say anything. The closer you look, it’s not exactly a second core. It’s more like a spot where the soul has been bunched together, like fabric in a fist.

Still strange. Still suspicious.

You turn back to Dean, so your ear can stay trained on the man. He’s speaking in a low voice, and you can’t make out many words.

But you can make out enough. You can make out bathtub, and big hat.

That’s it. Easier and faster than you thought—you’d been planning to try and mark someone for the flight back, if you didn’t get lucky on the flight there—you found the person marked for the Pari to take.

You grin at Dean, and find him raising his brows, then looking down to your hand over his mouth. His soft, plump mouth that wanders over your skin, that leaves little fires in its wake, that kisses over your core until your head is spinning and everything is just color and bliss-

You yank your hand away, swallowing tightly. “Sorry.” You whisper, and he grins.

“It’s okay. Know that face.” He bumps your knee with his. “Got something.”

“Got it.” You glance back to where the man is wandering away. “You want to do some stalking with me?”

“With you, Princess?” He kisses the back of your hand. “Always.”

You giggle despite yourself, and he helps you up to your feet. There’s a vague plan you’re forming, as you and Dean wander after Sandman, keeping a plausible distance. He has to be going to either Hawaii or Alaska. You’re in the domestic terminal, and the flight has to be overseas for the Pari to strike. You luck out again when he returns to the exact terminal where everyone is waiting for you, setting him to Hawaii. All you need to do is keep an eye on him, and interfere when the Pari come for him.

Easy. Compared to everything else, easy.

Once again, you’re mostly just worried about getting Dean on the damn plane.

There’s going to be a handprint-shaped bruise on your forearms, when he lets go. They start boarding not long after you get back, and you focus on coaxing Jody’s sleep-med into him before he starting to dry gag on the air. He takes it with a grumble about not needing a damn pill, all while watching the call screen like the letters are going to fly off the screen and attack him.

“De-“

“’M fine.” He’s holding your arm even tighter than before. “All good.”

You give him a disbelieving look, but don’t push it. There’s no point in it, when you really just want him onto the plane. Bobby herds everyone through when they call your group, but you and Dean stay in the chairs until the last possible second, when you squeeze his hand and drag him like a deadweight to his feet. You don’t offer soft encouragement or praise. It would just make him more tense.

Instead you let him hang around you, looking at the gate attendants like they’re more terrifying than any monster as you scan the tickets.

“He afraid of flying?” The honey-souled, dark-haired receptionist nods to Dean, and he scowls.

“It’s not natural.”

“Well, it’s perfectly safe-“

“That’s what everyone says, ‘till it’s not safe.”

You sigh, squeezing his hand. “Dean. You’re stalling.”

“She asked me a question-“ He cuts himself off under your gaze, bowing his head. “Fine.”

You smile, leading him down the tunnel, and the gate attendant laughs softly behind you. As much as you’re willing to rip out a throat with your teeth, just to protect Dean’s honor, you let that one slide. It is a funny sight, and you’d really be laughing if you didn’t love him so much his fear was aching in your chest.

A massive, rugged-face man, pouting and staring around the cabin like he thinks he’s in a haunted house. Clinging to your hand as you lead him through the aisle, and fumbling the seatbelt with shaking hands the moment he sits down. You put him in aisle, so he feels a little more free, and Cas took the window seat, leaving you smushed between them with no arm rests.

Bobby’s knocked out before they close the cabin, but he’s mostly here to help you control the Pari once you’ve got it. Jody’s reading, and Claire’s got headphones on, staring at the tarmac like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. They’re here to go to Hawaii. Your side of the aisle is the only one that’s going to actually be in action.

Really just you, now that you’re thinking about it. Cas is frowning at the seats in front of him, and you’re mostly hoping he doesn’t accidentally offend someone. Dean’s pills haven’t kicked in yet. You’re pretty sure he’s actively fighting against them.

“De.” You whisper, patting his forearm. “We aren’t even moving to takeoff yet.”

“They’re checkin’ the plane.” He grunts, eyeing a passing attended suspiciously. “Any of ‘em looking like demons? Angels? Vamps, or- Witches-“

“Only monsters here are me and Cas.” You say it lightly, but he shoots you a glare.

“You aren’t monsters. You’re- You.”

“Cas is an angel. I’m a… me.”

“Exactly.” He grunts, and you sigh.

“Dean, I can crush souls-“

“’Cause you’re awesome. You’re not gonna crash the plane. You’d pick it up. Like Superman.”

You blink. “You think I’m Superman?”

“No. Yes. Superwoman, I dunno-“ He runs a hand over his face. “You’re you, Princess. And Cas is Cas. ‘S different.”

“Hm.” You lean your head on his shoulder, running your fingers over his knuckles. “So you think that if something did go bad, Cas and I would be able to take care of it?”

He nods, glowering down at the cockpit. You smile at his pretty, dumb face, so worried—for once—about something that’s really going to be okay.

You decide you can find him cute for being willing to dive headfirst into a demon pit with nothing but a machete and a gun, but a mess of a man when he’s in a well-engineered plane. You got him here. He’s stuck. And you can tease him and comfort him at the same time. You’re versatile like that.

You’re going to be very careful with it, like you’re handling a baby bird, but you’re going to do it.

“So if you think Cas and I would take care of it,” you murmur in his ear. “Why are you so worried about something going wrong?”

Dean’s head snaps in your direction, his eyes narrowed as you meet him with only a sweet smile. He lets out a sharp, startled laugh and shakes his head, ears tipped red.

“Jesus, woman.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No-“

“So breathe.” You squeeze his hand three times, making your voice firm. “We’re fine.”

Dean inhales, then exhales. Slow and heavy, giving you a dry look when he’s done. “That good enough for you, your majesty.”

“Nope. Do it again.”

His lips twitch. “Bossy, sweet girl.”

Your knees bump, and your breath hitches as he leans forward. Kisses just the tip of your nose, before dropping his brow to yours and breathing deeply, his eyes still squeezed shut. You watch him, your mouth hanging slightly open, that heat starting to build once more. You glance around to check if anyone’s watching, and  swallow. They aren’t. That only makes you want to climb into his lap more.

The attendant comes around, and the plane lurches soon after. Dean grunts, his head shooting up like a gazelle hearing a lion, and you grab him quickly by the back of his neck. He lets you tuck his face into your neck, and you felt him almost melt into your body, his arms wrapping tight around your body. You pet the top of his head, glancing over to find Bobby, Jody, and Claire exactly as you left them, and Cas still staring at the seat.

It’s difficult, with Dean wrapped around you like an octopus, but you manage to set Cas up with headphones and a game of snake on your phone.

He stares at it with a frown, keeping his voice down for Dean’s sake. “I don’t understand. What am I supposed to do with this… electricity.” His frown deepens. “Is it a metaphor? For the old brothers that fall for new grace?”

“Nope. It’s got nothing to do with anything.” You swipe at the screen, showing him how to play. “You make the snake long, and eat the apples. If you beat that, I can show you solitaire. Or pong.”

“Pong.” Cas echoes. “Does that also have one of your beasts?”

“No. But it had a ball.” Your snake runs into the wall, and you give Cas a smile. “Play it. It’s fun.”

He tilts his head at the screen, then starts to swipe, mimicking your movements almost exactly. You’re sure he’ll figure it out for himself. In the meantime, it’s also pretty cute to watch him try.

The plane rests on the runway, and you can feel Dean humming to himself against your skin. You rub his shoulder, really wishing he’d get more than the cheapest phone possible he could find. You’d be able to play him music. Instead, you’re just staring at the ceiling, letting the Silver turn in your body, waiting for it to give you the alert. It will be a while. At least two hours, until you’re over the water.

What a fun two hours that’s going to be.

The plane starts to pick up pace, and Dean starts humming faster. You laugh softly, kissing the top of his head. He’s warm, around you. When your fingers brush his neck, you can feel the burn of his skin, the race of his heart. You’d be worried he was sick, if you didn’t know it was pure fear. His Gold is drenched in it, and it’s making the stains on your even more potent than usual.

You let him keep holding you, through take off. He’s almost panting, and by the time you’re allowed to wander the cabin, he’s knocked out around you. You’re more than willing to bet it was his own fear that got him, more than the med. You thank Jody anyway.

“No problem.” She murmurs over Bobby’s head, smiling at you gently. “You want a book?”

“Yes, please.”

You settle into the seat. Two hours to kill, before the work begins. You’re basically trapped by Dean’s body over yours, and Cas has your phone, so you just lean your head over Dean’s and read. When the attendant asks if you want a drink, you take a coke and those cookie biscuit things. You’ll try and get some into Dean, when he’s up. Especially since you’re a little worried he’s going to vomit up his burger and shake.

He’s up after about an hour and a half, proving your theory right. You think he might’ve been up for longer—he’d stopped snoring—but you know for certain when you try to tip him back into his own seat, and he grabs you tighter. There’s a low growl, that rumbles through his chest. You push down a giggle, running your fingers through his hair.

“Dean.” You whisper. “I know you’re awake.”

He grunts, voice rough against your skin. “Don’t remind me.”

“I need to go talk to Bobby-“

“Then talk to ‘im from here.”

You sigh. “De, I’m not having a conversation over your head.”

“Why not. I’ve done it over your head with Sammy all the time-“

“That’s a false comparison and you know it.”

“Don’t know what the hell a false comparison is at all. Sound like some smart shit-“

“And you’re smart.” You grab the nape of his neck, pulling him up with a stern look. Again, he lets you, limp like a scolded dog in your arms.

He’s even fixing you with the puppy-like please stare that Sam pulls on him all the time. You weren’t sure you knew he could do that. It’s sort of dizzying.

“Dean, we-“ You glance over at Bobby, still deeply knocked out. Which means you have to talk to Jody. And you’re not doing it leaning around them again. Not when the conversation is going to make you sound crazy to any eavesdroppers.

But Dean’s still staring at you, his face barely an inch away over yours. You sigh, looking back between him and Jody, and bite on your lower lip.

“You can hold my hand, while I stand in the aisle. But- I need to be able to look for our guy, too-“

“I’ll come with you for that.” He says quickly, and you almost laugh.

“Yeah. Okay. Can you-“ You start to roll over him, and his hand flies up to your hips. For a second, you think he’s going to try and yank you back down.

You stare at each other, your face hovering a breath over his, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips and his mouth hanging open. You swallow, unable to look away, to move, to do anything but breathe him in and hope—despite the hundreds of people around, despite the tight space and all his fear—that he’ll just drag you down into him and never let go.

Dean’s throat bobs, his eyes dropping to your lips. He looks back to you, something flashing over his features.

His grip loosens.

You sigh, and stand up. Dean keeps himself planted on your thigh, instead holding your hand. His arm is wrapped around your leg, his fingers brushing your knee, and it’s so casually possessive you think the Spiderweb  might be short-circuiting. You’d be worried about that taking you out, if you weren’t basically in charge of this whole case going smooth.

You push forward. Lean over Bobby’s sleeping form to have a hushed conversation with Jody about what to do once the Pari shows up. You don’t know when it will hit, once you’re over the ocean, but you know you’ll have to be quick. You have the salt, and you spent the days before the flight perfecting an angel trapping spell with Rowena.

There are a few other things you can pull out if you need them. Personal projects you’d been working on, from when Raphael was a threat. They’re last resorts, for Cas’ sake. But if the Pari turns hostile—rare, but not unheard of—you’re going to need a plan B.

When you fake going to the bathroom, looking for where Sandman is sitting, Dean hangs off your arm just like in the airport. You’d been considering faking the actual bathroom part, before it became evidently clear Dean wouldn’t be able to stand on his own feet, and he might give himself a heart attack if turbulence hit while you weren’t there.

It’s a good intuition. It hits the second you’re back in your seats, and he sits up like he heard a gunshot.

“Fucking- Son of a bitch-“

“It’s okay.” You grab over his hand, and he flips it up in a second, twining your fingers together. “It’s turbulence-“

“That- That word doesn’t mean freakin’ shit-“

“It’s rough air.” You reach up, turning his panicked face onto yours. “Like a bumpy road. That’s it. Even you hit bumpy road, De.”

He grunts, pressing his head back against the seat and squeezing your hand tight. You wiggle closer, pressing your head on his chest, and you can feel his tense exhale fanning over your ear.

You smile when he kisses the top of your head, his arms around you holding you like a stuffed animal.

“Are you okay?” You whisper, and he shakes his head.

“I hate this. Fuckin’ hate it-“

“I know.” You trace your hand over his thigh. “I told you, I could’ve taken Sam, or Jo-“

“No.” He says quickly, holding you a little tighter. “No. I- I can do it.”

“Mhm.” You lean back, letting your smile become teasing. “You kind of have to, now.”

Dean’s lips twitch, and his laugh is sharp, like you tore it from his throat. “Yeah. Alright, smartass. You wanna I told you so?”

“I’m okay. You know. “

“Yeah. Guess I do.” The plane rattles, and Dean’s breathing gets shallow again. “It’s- Goddamnit- Can you keep talking?”

“I-“ You glance around. Cas has moved onto Pong, and you’re pretty sure he’s setting a world record as you speak. Jody’s on a new book, Bobby passed out on her shoulder, Claire watching the window with the same fascination as an hour ago. “Me?”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, Princess. You. C’mon.” He squeezes your hand. “It- It helps.”

That pulls a small smile to your face, and you settle back into his arms, pulling his arm from around your chest to play with his fingers. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything.” He rasps, his face burying in the top of your head. “Just- Talk, please.”

“Okay.” You pause, thinking for a long moment. “Do- Do you want to hear more about the cage?”

That’s a stupid suggestion. He’s already stressed, that’s just going to make him more stressed, and you don’t even love talking about the cage, it just fucking slipped out-

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Alright.” You take a deep breath, staring down at his palm. He’s got the watch you stole him on his wrist, and there’s a thin, pale line on his palm. A scar that matches yours, left over residue from the Mandurugo fight. “I- I told you how they put me in all these different… Worlds, I guess. Right?”

Dean grunts, and you push on.

“Well, I guess I didn’t hate all of them. I mean, a lot of them were fine, until I-“ You swallow. “Until I realized they weren’t real. But before that- They kept me down for a reason.”

You laugh weakly, but Dean doesn’t. He mutters, low and rough against your skin, “Did you have a favorite?”

“No.” They were all equally amazing, and horrible, because you loved me all the time and then suddenly it wasn’t real. “But- There were some I guess I remember better. That held me for longer.”

“Like what?”

“Um- There was one where we were all normal.” You sigh. “Jo, Cas, and I worked at the high school. You were a mechanic. Bobby was, like- My real dad. We had a dog named- Named Indy.” You flush. “And a cat named Velma. So- You know.”

Dean’s silent for a long second, before he rasps, “We?”

Shit. “Um- Yeah. You and me.”

“What, were we like- uh- roommates. Or…”

“Together.” You whisper, your hands wrapping over his. Over the Gold, so you can keep it if this all falls into another illusion. “Like- Together, together.”

Dean doesn’t immediately answer, and you’re counting every small bump and scar on his hand. Ther one on his palm, the callouses at the base of his fingers, the little knicks from years of hunting and manual work, and it’s real, it has to be real-

“Were we together,” he mutters slowly. “In a lotta these?”

You could lie. He’d know. So you just nod, and hold his hand tighter.

Dean breathes sharply on your head. “Did we always have a cat?”

That pulls a tiny, surprised laugh from your lips, and you feel him smile against your head. “No. Most of them- They weren’t cat friendly scenarios.”

“What, like we lived in a city?”

“No. Like- I told you about the superhero one.” You twist to look at him, and he nods slowly.

“Yeah. Superstrength and fire or something.”

“Or something.” You echo. “But there was also- I was a vampire, and you were a village person.”

His brow furrows. “Why’d I have to be the village person-“

“I wasn’t making the casting decisions, De. Take it up with Michael and Lucifer.”

“I will.” He grumbles. “I’m not a damn village person. Don’t even like the YMCA.”

You giggle. “Well, you were a mechanic in like- Three of them. And, um- A knight in another.”

“A knight? I can get down with bein’ a  knight.” His mouth curves up. “Were you a princess, baby?”

“Uh huh.” You drawl. “Intuitive.”

“I just made a damn good call with that one.” He chuckles kissing the tip of your nose. You smile despite yourself, twisting back to look at his hand.

“Well, maybe I should call you cowboy more.” You mumble. “That was another one.”

Dean pauses, his hand slowly curling into a fist. You can hear something wired, under his voice when he speaks. “Cowboy, huh.”

“Yep. We ran a saloon.”

“In the desert?”

“That’s where they usually are.”

“You, uh- You wear corsets, in that one? And like- Frilly skirts, or whatever?”

You nod, glancing back at him with raised brows. “It was just like Utah, actually. But- Older. And less toothless miners trying to kill us.”

Dean laughs, but there’s something faraway in his gaze that you can’t place. It’s not angry, and if anything he’s pulling you closer, but it’s still strange. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, when the flight attendant comes around with the drink cart. Dean orders you another coke, and himself the most stupid expensive drink on the menu.

He listens to you talk more about the worlds as he drinks, and you do your best to weave around the fact that it was all, every time, about him. You’re hoping it sounds like you’re cherry picking the worlds where you were together, to calm him down. And it’s not that you’re ashamed of it, or that you want to hide it, but this is new. All of this is new. It’s fragile and precious, a garden starting to bloom between you, and you don’t want to stomp all over the flowerbed. If you sit on his lap and tell him that every single time, the only thing that Michael and Lucifer used to placate you was the idea of Dean loving you back, that’s a little much.

Online dating guides say that you shouldn’t come on too strong. That if you like someone, you should be honest with them, but not put on any extra pressure.

I love you so much you’re my ideal world is very strong. It gives a lot of extra pressure. And you’re not allowed to say I love you, either.

Dean passes out from the wine before he can ask anything too revealing, and you kiss his hairline before holding him to your chest and glancing over to the window. Cas has had it closed the whole time. You don’t think he likes seeing the vastness of the sky around you either. Neither of you need the reminder, of what’s watching—or not watching—you.

The toilet flushes, somewhere behind you, and your attention draws to it on instinct.

You see it for only a split second. Long enough to know it’s not just a trick of your brain.

Bronze, electric wings, fluttering in a vessel before vanishing down the cabin.

Shit.

The Silver hadn’t alerted you, but it’s not something unfamiliar. If anything, the Silver trusts him, the same way it never goes on alert for Cas. And when you glance at Cas, he’s still engrossed in the Pong game, dead to the world like a toddler with a shiny new toy.

Dean’s deeply knocked out. His heartbeat is steady, and the plane isn’t actually going to crash. You ease him back into his seat, and crawl over his body carefully.

You couldn’t bring your knives on the plane, but Jody has a plastic one that they handed out for a sandwich. You take it with a mouthed be right back, and slip down the aisle.

The Sand Man is exactly where you left him, near the front of economy. You’d been giving him small checks while talking to Dean, and the most he’s been up to is reading, then looking around like he can tell someone’s watching him. But he’s not who you’re after. And right now, neither is the Pari that’s going to come for him.

You walk slowly through the rows, ands most people don’t even pay you a single glance. You find his empty seat fast—fizzing with little zaps of bronze, like static electricity—and look up to the back. He couldn’t have just vanished. If he’s on this plane, it’s because he knows you’re here too.

When you reach the back of the plane, where the flight attendants should be, you pull the curtain slowly. A thin hand grabs your arm and yanks you forward, and the rush almost kicks fully in. You raise your plastic knife, the Silver rearing for an attack, and spin out of the grip. You drive the knife forward, straight into Balthazar’s eye, then wince when you realize you might have overreacted.

“What the hell?” He pulls the knife out, tossing it into a trash bag, and you grimace in apology.

“Sorry. But- You shouldn’t have grabbed me-“

“I thought we were friends,” he drawls your name, the vessel’s eye already healing. “Yet, the first you see of me in months, you’re trying to take out my favorite eye.”

“I said sorry.” You cross your arms over your chest. “And it wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t fucking grab me-“

“I grab people all the time. I never get stabbed.”

“Well, maybe it’s a good thing. You learned something new.” You sigh, glancing over your shoulder, then back to Balthazar. “I- What are you even doing here?”

“I’m helping!” He spreads his arms wide, a smug grin plastered on his face. “You’re welcome!”

You don’t bother to fake impression. “Uh huh. Helping with what.”

“Ah, see- I don’t want to tell you that. I’m just letting you know you should all get off this plane, and then I’m going to go back into hiding. I’m risking a lot to be here, you know- Christ-“

You grab another knife from the attendants’ supplies, slam your forearm against Balthazar’s neck, and pin him against the wall with the knife angled over his still-healing eye.

“Well, darling,” he smirks. “I don’t think Old Dean Boy will approve, but if you’re that instant-“

“Balthazar.” Your voice is cold and firm, and he snaps his mouth shut. “I’m not in the mood to fuck around. What, exactly, are you helping with.”

Balthazar sighs, eyeing you and your plastic knife carefully. “You must promise not to stab me again.”

“No.”

“Well, at least go for my other eyes-“ He flinches as you leer forwards. “Never mind. I’m fine like this. This is wonderful.” He lets out a slow breath, working his mouth once or twice before speaking. “See, Heaven has been a bit of a… Mess. Since you and Castiel left.”

You blink, tilting your head. “What?”

“I’m offering backstory.” He shrugs. “It’s important to my narrative. You and Cassie swept in, took over-“

“I didn’t take over-“

“Castiel used you to take over. If a man with a dragon for a pet or wife or whatever you are-“ He waves a hand dismissively. “Walks into a country and declares himself the new ruler, it is quite hard to argue. Especially when the dragon gives him extra dragon-gift powers.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“You are bigger and brighter than God, darling. He had you on his arm. You helped the takeover.” Balthazar sighs. “But I’m afraid Castiel might have gotten a little… Blinded, in trying to cure you. He used many of heaven’s resources. Killed many who disagreed with him, not wanting to bother with the time of a trial. He was a tad of a madman, and a few new factions started to brew, and- Well, we’re not quite in a Civil War again, but there’s quite a reckoning. New leadership, with new ideas, and a bit of a vendetta, against Castiel and any of those who supported him in hiding the Bride.”

There’s a chilling buzz of the Silver up your spine, but you ignore it. “Balthazar, the point-“

“I’ve been banished.” He sighs. “Joshua has his immunity from our father, but I believe there’s radio silence between them. Things are a mess.” He shrugs. “I needed a job.”

Your eyes narrow. “What did you do.”

Balthazar sighs, letting out a huffed laugh. “Maybe, just maybe, I have been working with my brothers and sisters as a… matchmaker. They want humans. I know humans. You understand how it is.”

He throws you a winning smile, and you grit your teeth tight enough to feel it in your skull.

“But- That’s what the warning is!” He adds quickly, probably seeing the anger washed over your face. “I didn’t matchmake any flights on this plane! So, you know. Suspicious.”

That makes you falter. You glance back to the Sand Man, still in his seat. “But- There’s someone marked, already.”

“I know. I’m telling you he should not be. So- Get off the plane.” He gestures to the emergency exit, and you scowl.

“We can’t fly, dipshit.” You push away from him, spinning the knife in your hands. “But- You know what. I don’t care. A Pari is a Pari.”

Balthazar frowns. “Well, yes, but I also think you should be taking my warning a little more seriously.”

You shoot him a flat look, but before you can snap something back, Cas says your name from right behind you.

“There you are.” He’s still looking at his game of pong. “The world is looking for you.”

“He’s awake?” You frown, and Cas nods.

“A very gooey.”

“Yeah. Isn’t he always.”

Balthazar clears his throat from behind you, and Cas glances up with a frown.

“Balthazar. You’re dirty.”

You snort, and Balthazar sighs.

“I’m broke, Castiel. Which is all your fault, while we’re keeping record-“ Balthazar pauses, squinting slightly. “You are… Strange looking.” He glances at you. “What happened to him?”

“He, um- He ate a bunch of monsters, then vomited them, and now-“ You wave loosely to Cas, frowning around the cabin.

The Silver is lighting up.

It just started now. The moment Cas reached you. A strange feeling dragging through the Silver and over your skin, like oil being poured into water. You bite the inside of your cheek, spinning the knife between your fingers, and walk slightly forward. Enough to see out the windows.

To see the clouds. Rushing past you, but never changing. Like a tape caught in a loop, playing on itself over and over again.

Cas is behind you again. “The dunes are rising.”

“Yeah.” Fuck. “I know.”

There’s nothing new in the cabin. No angel with a million wings and eyes like the two behind you, no vessel dripping with poison or filled with smoke. No new, hollow body with bright eyes. Just the exact same passengers as before. The Sand Man isn’t being kidnapped. He’s just sitting there, leaning out of the aisle like he’s looking for an attendant.

“Fucking- Shit.” You mutter under your breath, looking around, praying a Pari would just fall from the damn sky. You’re not that lucky.

Plan B it is.

“Balthazar, give me your angel blade.” You hold out your hand, shooting him a glare before he can argue. “Now.”

He rolls his eyes, but shoves the long, angular blade into your hands. You spin it once, twice in your hands, then raise it up to your forearm. Dean and Bobby are going to be pissed. They’ll live.

You slice neatly down, biting down the hiss of pain. The angel blade is worse than iron, worse than those knives Hell’s Assassins used to us on you. It’s cold, like liquid nitrogen. But the numb helps. You stay on steady feet, shoving the blade back into Balthazar’s hands before swiping your fingers through the blood.

It’s a simple sigil. Simple for you. It took months to design, and you never did get to use it, but it’s supposed to work on an archangel. You’re assuming it’s going to work fine on the pari.

You slam your hand on the drawing, and a wave of netting-patterned light bursts outwards. Trapping every angel inside the plane, blocking them from angel radio, and—hopefully, this is the part you were working on, that if you messed up might cause a very messy explosion—tethering their grace to you. You can feel Balthazar and Cas humming behind you. And something coming from further down the cabin, that you can’t quite pinpoint.

The good news is it worked. You might’ve taken a bigger risk than needed, but it worked perfectly.

The bad news is you still have no fucking clue where the pari is.

You mutter for Balthazar and Cas to follow, walking down the aisle, towards the pull of the third angel. It’s not concentrated, like they are. It’s more of a general hum, coming from your area of the plane. The Sand Man left his seat, but when you look up with wide eyes, you just find him a few rows down.

Standing with a pale, sunken-faced Dean.

He’s trying to talk to Dean, but your amazing, frightened idiot is looking up at him like he’s speaking a different language. His hands are fiddling in his lap—pulling at his sleeves and twisting his watch—and his eyes are wide and nervous. He looks a little like a lost child.

And his face lights up, when he spots you. He leans forward, looking like he’s going to stand, but the plane shakes and he shoots back down. You smile to yourself, scooting past Sand Man with a tight smile, holding out your hand for Dean to take.

“You okay, Deano?”

He scowls. Or it’s supposed to be a scowl. It looks like more of a pout. “You freakin’- Woke up and you weren’t there-“

“I know. I’m sorry.” Your words are soft and sincere—you really don’t like leaving him, this afraid and rarely vulnerable—and he grunts.

“’S alright. Just- Didn’t like it. You gonna sit?”

You sigh. “Um- Soon. I’m dealing with something.”

“Something?” Dean’s glances at your arm. At the blood, seeping through your sleeve. “Fuckin’-“ He swears your name, and you shake your head.

“No, I did that on purpose-“

“That’s- Son of a bitch, that’s worse-“

“It’s just a cut, Winchester. I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding-“

“I will heal her after.” Balthazar drawls from behind you. “As soon as my leash is off.”

You shrug, voice flat. “Sorry.”

Dean frowns, craning his neck just enough to see Cas and Balthazar waiting behind you. “Is that-“

“Yeah. He’s been working with the pari, he thinks this is something weirder than usual, and- I agree. But it’s fine.” You say quickly. “I’m fine. Honestly, it’s more annoying than anything. Um- Jody?” You twist, still holding Dean’s hand. “Can you keep an eye on, what’s your name, sir?”

You acknowledge sandman for the first time, and he just blinks at you. Dean answers for him.

“This is, uh- Daniel?” He looks up at the man with a frown. “He was tellin’ me about how he’s used to flying. And it gets easier.” He tugs on your arm, pulling you a little further down. “I don’t wanna do this shit enough to make it easier, baby.Ain’t worth it.”

You give him a fond smile, brushing your fingers through his hair. “I got that, Deano.”

“Your boyfriend is quite afraid of flying.” Daniel hums, his voice laced with a thick accent you can’t quite place. “Are you fine, seeing him suffer in such a way?”

Your eyes narrow, and you regard Daniel coldly, a burn lighting up through the Spiderweb. “I’m sorry?”

“I am just saying. If I had such a man-“

“But you don’t.” You move to block Dean from his view, and maybe you should just let the pari take him. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know that you’d drain all the water from the oceans and pull the sky to the earth, just to protect your Dean.

Daniel takes a small step back, something almost fearful flashing over his features, but he doesn’t fully retreat. “I- Ah- Well-“

“Cas.” You snap. “Keep an eye on him.”

Cas nods slipping between you and Daniel, putting down his phone with a dramatic sigh. Balthazar shifts awkwardly on his feet, and you gesture for him to follow you.

“I’ll be right back.” You hook your pinky though Dean’s, and he looks doubtful, but just gives a tiny nod. “Balthazar, you’re going to do a memory wipe after this, then I’ll let you out.”

Balthazar nods, giving you a cautious expression. “And what, pray tell, do you need a memory wipe for?”

You sigh. “The domestic terrorism I’m about to do.”

“Ah. Of course.”

You march down the aisle, place your hand flat on the cockpit door, and let just enough of the Silver out to weave through the cold, resolved metal. Weaking it’s willing, coaxing it to relax. To let you in.

The door clicks. You slip inside, and the piolets jump up with wide eyes. You point Balthazar forward, and he snaps his fingers with another dramatic sigh. The piolets are immediately tied to their seats and knocked out, and you stalk towards the control panels.

“This all feels like a bit much-“

“We’re not flying anywhere.” You mutter, squinting at the radar. “And time isn’t moving.” You tap the clock. “We’re all stuck here, until I fix this. So it feels appropriate.”

You reach out a hand, flexing your fingers in a silent request for the angel blade. Balthazar passes it over without a word, and you shoot him a grin.

“Good boy.”

“You are quite mean, when you’re not about to have a fit.”

You stick out your tongue, spinning the blade in your hands, and go back out the cabin. Your attention is narrowed down to finding the pari, but really it’s just narrowed down to Dean. He’s not going to breathe easy until you get him out of here. You’re not getting out of here until you grab that damn hidden pari.

So you’re not fucking around.

You stalk down the rows, and everyone seems to have clued into something going on. You feel a pang of guilt, when you see a little girl curling away from you, and you hide your blade behind your back. Her soul is a soft, lilac purple. It reminds you of Sam’s. You offer her a gentle smile, and she relaxes slightly. Her father glowers at you, but you smile at him too, and somehow they’re not reading it as the smile of a single-minded psycho bitch hijacking a plane. They smile back, their souls soothing down, and you blink.

You smile at another person. They relax too.

The Silver isn’t really moving out of you, but you can feel it buzzing under your skin. A little over it, too. Like it’s just sweat, falling from your pores.

Everyone seems more relaxed by it, though. You decide some questions can be saved for when you’re not in the middle of an active hunt.

You go up and down the plane three times. You even check the back, in case you’re wrong about the pari’s location. But it’s not there, or in your estimated area, or anywhere. You’re gripping the blade tighter and tighter, chewing on your mouth until it starts to bleed, and when you get back to Dean’s side, fucking Daniel is still there, still trying to talk to him over Cas’ shoulder. Cas, to his credit, is answering every flirty question with his typical, dry insanity. Dean seems more amused by that than anything Daniel is doing.

“Where are you headed?” Daniel asks, and Cas shrugs.

“I like Jupiter. But I have to wait for it. I owe it many apologies.”

Daniel blinks in annoyance, Dean grins, and you sigh.

“Cas, are you feeling anything-“

“Just you.” He says. “Can we go back to the rivers?”

“Not yet. I- I’m working on it.” You glare back down the cabin. There’s nothing. No strange vessel, no strange soul, nothing but a feeling in the air that even the Silver can’t place. Maybe you should just fucking toss Daniel and his weird fucking sand overboard and go home-

Daniel.

And his weird sand.

You stand a little taller, moving Cas gently to the side with one hand. You narrow your eyes, examining his two cores. One in his head. One bursting at his back. Like a hat. And wings. You glance down to Dean, and swallow.

It’s hidden all the sludge of his fear, so potent it’s even coating the blinding rush of you through him. But it’s there. Curled in his back, less like a blooming flower and more like a growing parasite. Or a rope. To be yanked on.

You’re a fucking idiot.

You spin the blade in your hands, and charge Daniel without a warning. Balthazar shouts, Jody shoots up from her seat, and Dean does the same with slightly shakier legs. Daniel’s eyes widen in fear, and whatever fucking shield he’d been tricking you with dissolves the moment you grab his collar.

He’s not a man with a sandy soul. He’s made of sand. Electric sand, whirling like a storm, crackling with occasional, pale golden lightning. The core on his head shoots up into a round, tall hall, and the core on his back bursts into wings, furled tight in his vessel. His hands fly up in quick surrender, and he cowers like an animal, but you don’t falter. You press the tip of the blade against his gut, one hand pinning him to the toilet door by his chest.

“My- My lady-“

“Shut up.” You snap, and he swallows. “It’s you. How the fuck did you hide from me.”

He blinks, opening and closing his mouth, and you sigh.

“You can talk to answer a question.”

“Right. Of course.” He swallows, looking back and forth to the silent, gaping human audience. “Well, I’d like to start by pleading that I meant no disrespect-“

“Disrespect-“

“Of your human. We- We understand that he is… It is Dean Winchester. He should not be touched by any other than… Um- Our lady.”

“Uh huh.” You shove down the bile at our lady. “It kind of looked like you were touching him, though.”

Daniel pales. “I- I had to. She told me that was the only way, for us to have a home- I didn’t have a choice-“

“Ah.” You press the blade a little further, and Daniel falls silent. “Who’s she? Eve?”

Daniel nods, and you take deep breath.

“Okay. What did she promise you.”

“That if we brought her Dean Winchester, she’d give us a home.”

“A home?” You frown. “Don’t you have like- A whole kingdom?”

“Not anymore. We- We were banished with everything else.” Daniel’s eyes cloud over with something you recognize all too well. Something tired. Something homesick.

“To Purgatory.” You murmur, and he nods.

“We were offerings. We- We were food.”

Food.

A phantom smell clogs your nose, and a memory of teeth gashes flashes through your head. That dead world, from the Oracle’s cave.

Food.

“I won’t take him.” Daniel says quickly. “And I- I will tell my siblings to stop baiting. But- Please, my lady, you must understand-“

“You were desperate.” You mutter. “You- You didn’t feel like you had another choice.”

Daniel nods eagerly, and you let him go. Step back with a deep breath.

“Tell Eve.” You say slowly, holding his gaze. “That if she’s trying to talk to me, she can do it herself. And if she wants Dean-“ You drop your voice, your voice cold. “She should start thinking about where she wants to be buried.”

Daniel pales, but nods. “Yes. Of course-“

“Don’t call me my lady.”

Daniel nods again, and you sigh. You recognize that look on his face. It’s the same one all those angels had, when they saw you in Heaven. Like they’re ready to follow you over Heaven, over everything, off the edge of the deepest fucking void. You don’t think the pari will be a problem again. Not if the influx in abduction was just bait, and Daniel is looking at you like that.

You wish he wouldn’t.

The only person you’d ever want—ever need—to follow you is Dean. And for once, even your loud, angry brain can’t find a way to twist how he’s tensed until the moment you sit back at his side. How he curls right into your arms like you’re the only thing he knows, and doesn’t move until the plane touches the ground.

It was a neat clean up, with Balthazar to help. None of the passengers or crew remember anything going wrong, and Balthazar and Cas weren’t hurt by your spell. When you get off the plane, you feel the relief shake in Dean’s shoulders, and you’re going to have to find him a real knock-out drug to get him through the flight back.

You sit on the floor of the terminal together, while Claire drags Jody to get lunch and Bobby—yawning and rubbing his neck—calls Sam with the update you relayed him.

“You feeling better?” You whisper to Dean, and he nods, kissing the side of your head.

“Feel awesome. Uh- Don’t tell Sammy. ‘Bout any of that.”

You laugh, giving him a teasing grin. “Why? You were so cute.”

“Ha ha.” He pinches your side, dragging you fully between his legs. “Glad you find my suffering cute.”

“I don’t, I just find you cute-“

“Aw. You got a crush on me.”

You flush, turning your face away from his gaze. “Shut up.” You mumble, and it doesn’t even sound convincing to yourself.

Dean laughs, nosing a kiss under your jaw, and you almost go limp in his arms. Like he’s found a button, turning you to putty in his arms.

“I got a crush on you, Princess.” He mutters, and you can’t force down your stupid, giddy smile.

It’s dumb for that to mean so much. He sleeps in your bed. You’ve had sex, three whole times, not that you’re counting. You love him so much the whole world seems to feel it, knowing that there isn’t a line you wouldn’t cross to keep him safe. Knowing that for every flower your love grows, you think you could turn into something worse than a hurricane if he was taken away. You love him enough to create new worlds, and destroy them too.

And he clung to you through the whole flight, and kisses you all the time, and pleads that he needs you when you fight. He waits for you like you’re a rising star over the horizon, and you’re going to be something that guides him home every time you return. Which you always will. For Dean.

But he says he has a crush on you, and it’s like you’re eighteen years old in a tiny motel room again.

“You’re a dork.” You grunt, resting your head on his shoulder, and he just laughs.

“I’m your dork.”

And fuck, he really is. You think your heart would beat out of your chest with the shot of euphoria that sends into your blood, if there wasn’t something still lingering on the edge of your thoughts.

Something made of things that don’t quite add up. Homeless angels, teeth, and Eve. They blur into and over each other, leaving gaps you don’t know how to fill.

And that dead world. You keep seeing it, when you close your eyes too long. More and more as you think about it.

You don’t know what’s coming, this time. You don’t have even a clue, for the first time in a while, what you’re facing at all.

But you’ll be strong enough this time. Death warned you.

You don’t think you’re going to have a choice.

✦End note: might need to do a whole bonus chapter based on this ones ending. we'll see. let the squad go on vacation.✦ ✦If you like this story, please reblog, like, or leave a comment! <3✦ ✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦ ✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

[godmadeaterribleerror]

@dyhsversion @laurakirsten0502 @megara0224 @funkenniffler @disappearintofanfiction @kr804573 @krabog @bejeweledinterludes @nadlx33333 @dclover27 @solsborg @lokigonnakmsforbucky @sheneedsjesus @bonkydarnes @whimsicalcherry @maydayfigment @charliethemanticore @rogueifshewaslame @forzalando @kaz-2y5-spn @roseblue373 @fxckingjo @angrydragon90 @biodegradable-glitter-fest @idontwannabehere78 @mystic-writings @miss-marmalade @bluesunrise02 @pandareesstuff @mgchaser @littlebitb @starrylanex @slyregg @rejitheveggie @avontuurloes @cotton-redvelvetmoon @gojoswaterbottle @cookiemonstermusic258 @ladykitana90 @buckmybarnes @juliperezsilveira @sbwifey @amelya5567 @allthingswickedpodcast @cupidzbunny @kayleezee @robynn9436-blog @lexx-exe @annoyingrebelsoul @lunaleah

[godmadeaterribleerror]

@strawberrykiwisdogog @iprobablyshipit91 @auroraeves @itserickalove @deerandbunnies @lori19 @kimxwinchester @wvffles @nuggets16 @mrsjenniferwinchester @lupinslibraries @rach5ive @jensenacklesfan69 @huang-the-geek @mayushkabar @stilestotherescue @shanimallina87 @alexxavicry @bonbonnie88 @david-10inch-blog @lapsangsouchong52 @iloveyou2mia @theprettylittlebambi @taurusslibra @xamapolax @pressedwater @radioactivatedspider @cupidluvzz @fuckingdamnitdean @indyredhead @ardentgrace @soullessambs @podiumackles @its-in-the-woods @helloxgoodbi @fucking_avocados @toocrazyunsexycool @kittycats1324 @thatdezigirl @lexeevee @justaswifti @cherrygirl444 @itsmaria-2520 @dangerdaize @godhelpthisbtch @stellamagicmoon @sp00derman03 @thomasdelongswife @diamondlp11 @looking1016

[lexeevee]

Dean is OUR dork 🥹🥹🥹

[godmadeaterribleerror]

yes he is (i like the new pfp!🧡)

[lexeevee]

ty ily🩵