Cosimo Galluzzi
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
will byers stan first human second
macklin celebrini has autism
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
titsay
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Cosmic Funnies
Janaina Medeiros
No title available
KIROKAZE
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
ellievsbear
Discoholic 🪩
art blog(derogatory)
Love Begins
Xuebing Du
oozey mess
blake kathryn
No title available
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Lithuania
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Ukraine
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Vietnam
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Panama
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@maddithefangirl
masterlist!
*= Smut
ACOTAR BINGO
Azriel x Reader (ACOTAR):
Midnight Wedding Series
Wait for Me (part 2)
Widowed
A Chance With A Stranger *
Big Boys (Cassian x Reader x Azriel) *
Until Sunrise
Things Unsaid (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)
Rest
The Greenhouse
Video Games
Tears
All Those Years Ago*
Late Night
Exhausting
Old Friend
Forgotten Birthday
In the Cove Part 2
Daydream
...
Cassian x Reader (ACOTAR):
Big Boys (Cassian x Reader x Azriel) *
Your Last Wish
Moving
Nipple Piercings*
...
Lucien x Reader (ACOTAR):
Smile
Needing a Date For a Wedding
...
Feysand x Reader (ACOTAR):
A Third (Series)✨ 2✨3✨4
...
Helion x Reader (ACOTAR):
Cockwarming*
Hula Hoop Code - Jack Abbot x fem!reader
Summary: In the middle of a night shift, a hula hoop code changes everything.
Warnings: weapons, hostages, hula hoop code, feelings, angst with fluff, happy ending. (I dreamed this, so I wrote it in a hurry, so it might not be that good, sorry)
The night shift was something difficult to describe.
The chaos of the day was nothing compared to the chaos of the night.
As if during the day, people were a little more sensible, had a little more patience. But the night? The night was an abomination. It was as if every night was a night of crime, of despair, of bad choices and just the right amount of bad luck.
Who better to deal with that than Jack Abbott?
Jack Abbot, ex-military, SWAT volunteer, terrible at golf and (for some reason he refused to explain) had a flight attendant costume in his closet.
He was the best on the night shift.
And every best person needs a helper as good as they are. In Jack's case, it was Nurse yn.
They met recently, about six months ago, when she started working there.
And as if written by someone up there, the two simply… clicked.
They met amidst trauma. Literally.
Jack was assessing a patient when a new face appeared in his peripheral vision. Hair hastily tied back, eyes already scanning the room as if looking for something to do.
"I don't know you yet," he commented, without taking his eyes off what he was doing on the stretcher.
"Same here," she replied, handing him the intubation cannula before he could even reach out. "Yn. It's my first day… night, actually."
"Welcome, Yn. Jack."
"Just don't make me yell 'HUU-AAH' every night, okay?" she teased, placing the IV in the patient's arm while he checked the intubation.
Jack paused for a second. He raised his head.
"What? Why not? It's fun!"
She laughed, a low, dry sound that somehow echoed in his chest.
"Jesus… I must have been practicing medicine longer than you've been alive."
" It's okay" she shrugged, still smiling. "I like older guys."
This time, it was he who laughed. It had been a while.
On her second shift, a forty-year-old man was admitted with a stab wound to the abdomen. Internal bleeding. Jack went into autopilot: firm voice command, hands busy, eyes scanning the room for anything that could go wrong.
"I need a 14-gauge IV. Now."
She was already there. No need to repeat. The needle went into the patient's vein as if it had been born there.
"Norepinephrine."
The syringe was already in her hand.
"Two liters of Ringer's solution."
The IV tubing was already connected.
When he finally looked up from the wound, she already had the next step ready. As if she could read his mind.
Later, in the hallway, he stopped her.
"Where did you learn to do that?"
She shrugged.
"Training."
"No. That's not training. That's…" he searched for the word. "Intuition."
"Or maybe you're just very predictable, Dr. Abbot."
He laughed. A light laugh. A laugh he hadn't given in years.
But all synchronicity had its price.
Jack's price was a burden too heavy for any relationship to carry.
Depression came like a tide, ebb and flow. The nightmares of PTSD woke him sweating, screaming, confused. On bad nights, he relived the explosion that took part of his leg. On worse nights, he relived his wife in his arms, cold skin, glazed eyes.
Therapy. Medication. Support groups. He tried everything. He was still trying. But some mornings, putting on his prosthesis, he looked in the mirror and saw a man too broken for someone like her.
She's young. She has her whole life ahead of her. She doesn't deserve to carry his baggage crate.
That's why his flirtations never went beyond that.
Even though his feelings, those had already crossed all boundaries.
"You know I can see you looking at me, right?" she said one night, while they were restocking the gauze in the trauma room. It wasn't a job he was supposed to do, but he did it. Because it kept him close to her.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, feeling her hip bump against his in a teasing gesture.
He responded with another bump.
Outside, technician Mateo whispered to nurse Lena:
"How long until they take over?"
Lena smiled without taking her eyes off the monitor.
"Want to bet?"
That shift started like any other. Three low-complexity calls, an elderly man with shortness of breath, two cases of alcohol poisoning. Jack was already in his fourth hour of work when the phone rang.
"Arriving in five minutes. Car accident, female victim, thirty-something, conscious but with multiple traumas. The police are on the scene," Lena said, looking at Jack.
"Where's Yn?"
Lena could barely contain her smile.
"Attending to a little boy in central station four. When she's finished, I'll have her meet you, Romeo."
Jack rolled his eyes, but didn't deny it.
The victim was a woman with glazed, shocked eyes, her right leg at an impossible angle. Jack plunged into the work. Chest, abdomen, pelvis. Primary assessment. Gasping for breath. Weak pulse. He ordered tests, blood, CT scan. The team moved like gears.
But it felt wrong.
Without Yn by his side, the gears turned slower.
Central Four
"Hi, dear. My name is Yn. What's yours?"
The dark-haired boy in superhero pajamas answered with a hoarse, wheezing voice.
"Thiago," he replied grumpy.
"Thiago? What a nice name. You know I have a nephew with that name? He's not as grumpy as you."
The boy almost smiled. Almost.
"He has asthma," the man by his side interrupted, his voice gruff and impatient. "We should have started the procedure already."
She looked up at the man. Thirty-something, sweat on his brow, stained shirt, messy hair. The tension on his face was familiar, she had seen that desperation in thousands of caregivers. But there, in that desperation, there was something more. As if a piece was missing.
"I'll start right now," she said, turning on the nebulizer. "Thiago, this is going to release a magic cloud, okay? You just need to breathe deeply."
The boy obeyed. While the device hissed, she quickly took his vital signs. Saturation 89%. Heart rate 120. Altered auscultation, but expected.
"How long will this take?" the man asked, now pacing back and forth.
"About ten more minutes. Then we'll assess again."
"Ten minutes? And we can go home after that?"
"Let's see how he responds to the treatment. If you want, I can ask the doctor to come talk to you."
She smiled at Thiago.
"Relax, warrior. You're in the best place." The man didn't relax.
He stopped beside the door, looking at the glass, the hallway, the ceiling. She noticed he kept one hand on his hip, under his shirt. Style, she thought. Many people dress like that.
"You can sit down," she offered. "It'll be a little while longer. Would you like some coffee?"
"I don't want coffee. I want to know when my son is leaving here."
My son. So it was the father.
"As soon as he's better, we'll let him go. I promise."
The man grunted.
She turned her attention back to Thiago, humming a children's song softly. The boy began to relax. His oxygen saturation rose to 92%. The wheezing subsided.
That's when the two police officers passed through the glass door.
The man saw them.
His face changed. It wasn't fright. It was recognition, as if a piece he'd been waiting for hours had finally fallen into place.
He pulled the gun from his waist.
"DID YOU CALL THEM?" The black barrel pointed at her face. "ANSWER ME!"
Yn's world stopped.
The revolver trembled against her head. The man's voice echoed like thunder in the small room.
"I didn't call anyone!" Her voice came out strangely, as if it were someone else's. Her hands trembled above her head. She didn't even realize when she raised them.
"Liar! I saw them! They passed by and looked this way! You gave them away!"
"I swear I didn't, Thiago needs the treatment, I just—"
He hit her forehead with the gun.
"SHUT UP!"
Thiago started to cry. The sound of his crying mixed with the beeping of the nebulizer, creating a cacophony of terror.
Mateo saw it first.
He was taking medication to another patient when, through the glass door, he saw the man with the gun. He saw Yn recoiling with nothing but panic in his eyes.
He dropped everything.
"CODE HOOP! CODE HOOP! CENTRAL FOUR!"
The entire corridor exploded. Nurses retreated. Security guards ran. The two police officers, who had just come through the door, turned, drew their weapons, and retreated for cover.
Inside the trauma room, Jack heard the scream.
He had his hands buried in the accident victim's abdomen, stopping a hemorrhage. The scream came from afar, but the name "Yn" traveled down the corridor like a trail of gunpowder.
Jack raised his head. He saw the police officers running. He saw the movement.
"Shen, take over" he removed his blood-soaked gloves. "Now."
Shen didn't ask anything. He just stepped into Jack's place.
Jack left the room, following the crowd that was gathering in front of Central Four. Lena was pale. The police officers had their weapons drawn, but no one moved.
"What's happening?"
"Code hoop," Lena replied.
"Aren't you going to do anything? Help her!" Mateo shouted, but before Jack could turn around, Lena grabbed his arm.
"It's Yn, Jack. She's in there."
Jack's blood ran cold.
He had felt that temperature once before. In Afghanistan, when they saw the ambush. When he lost his leg. When he held his wife's body in his arms and felt the weight of a life that would never return.
It was the coldness of someone who knows the worst is yet to come, but needs to act before feeling it.
"We can't go in," one of the police officers replied to Mateo. "There's a child and a hostage."
"Bullshit!" Mateo spat.
Then Jack saw.
Through the tinted glass of the door, the room was almost dark; Yn had probably turned off the light to make the boy more comfortable. Thiago was curled up in bed, the nebulizer mask still on his face, thick tears streaming down his face.
The man had Yn in front of him, facing the door. A clean shot was impossible. The gun pressed against her temple. A trickle of blood ran from her eyebrow to her cheek.
Her eyes met his through the glass.
She was terrified. He could see the panic growing every second.
Jack made a decision.
"I'm going to talk to him."
"No. It's too risky," the policeman said in a tone that didn't allow for a reply.
"He's with one of my nurses. I'm going to talk to him."
Now it was Jack's tone that didn't allow for a reply.
He heard one of the policemen whisper to the other: "Leave him alone, he'll buy time."
So he went. Jack approached the door with his hands raised.
The man saw immediately. He pressed the gun harder against Yn's head. She groaned.
"NO ONE COMES NEAR!" the man shouted. "I SWEAR I'LL KILL HER!"
Jack stopped.
He looked at Yn. Tears streaming down her face. Her hands trembling. Her body frozen.
He was going to save her. Even if it was the last thing he did.
"I'm not going to come any closer," his voice came out calm. Calm. Inside, his heart pounded like a jackhammer. "My name is Jack. I'm a doctor here. I just want to talk."
"I don't want to talk! I want to get out of here!"
"And you will get out. But nobody's going to get hurt, right? Look at me. We'll figure this out."
The man hesitated. The gun trembled.
Jack noticed his eyes shift to his son. Take advantage of this, he thought. Use the boy.
"Your son needs to finish his treatment," Jack continued, taking a microscopic step into the room. "He's still wheezing. We can't interrupt now."
"I don't care!"
"You care. Of course you care. You brought him here. You want him to get better." One more step. "Let the nurse leave. I'll take her place. I'm a doctor. I'm worth more."
"JACK, NO!" she screamed, and her voice shattered his chest.
"Shut up!" The man pressed the barrel against her head. She sobbed.
"It's okay," Jack said, raising a hand. "It's okay. Nobody's going to scream. We'll talk calmly." One more step. Now about two and a half meters from the gun. "Tell me your name. What can I call you?"
"Why do you want to know my name?"
"Because I like to know who I'm talking to. My name is Jack. She's Yn. The boy is Thiago. And you?"
The man hesitated. His eyes blinked rapidly, nervously.
"Jefferson."
"Jefferson. Right. So, Jefferson, listen to me. The police aren't here for you. There was a car accident a little while ago. They came to talk to the victim. That's all. Nobody called anyone."
"LIE! She called! I saw them looking this way!" “They look everywhere, Jefferson. It’s their job. But it wasn’t because of you. Look at me.” Jack waited until the man’s eyes met his. “She didn’t call anyone.”
Jefferson took a deep breath. The gun still trembled, but now the tremor seemed like doubt, not certainty.
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“Why would I lie to you?”
“To save your bitch over there!”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Yn closed her eyes. Jack felt his chest tighten. All he wanted was to get her out of there. To take her away from that madman and take care of her. To take her far away. To protect her.
“Let me take care of your boy, Jefferson. Let her go. I’ll stay. We’ll finish the nebulization, and then we’ll talk about how you’re going to get out of here. Without violence. Without anyone getting hurt.”
“And her?”
“She’ll get out. And I’ll take care of her too.”
Jefferson looked at Jack, then at the woman held in his arms.
"You like her, don't you?"
The question caught Jack off guard.
But he didn't hesitate.
"Very much. Very much indeed."
She made a sound—a choked sob, almost a laugh.
"You're dating, is that it?" Jefferson asked, strangely interested.
"Not yet," Jack replied, because now there was no reason to hide it. "But I was hoping that would change soon. I like everything about her. The way she works. The way she laughs. The way she takes care of each patient as if they were family." He took the last step. He was an arm's length away. "She's intelligent, kind, and the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. And she deserves to keep living. You deserve it too. And your son deserves a living father."
Jefferson blinked.
The gun barrel wavered.
Just a second. But enough.
Jack moved.
His right hand rose, twisting Jefferson's wrist outward. His left hand gripped the barrel and forced it upward.
The gun fired.
The bang was deafening. The shot went into the ceiling. Plaster fell like snow.
Jack spun Jefferson's body, using the momentum to throw him against the wall. The prosthesis creaked with the effort, but held. He locked the man's arm behind his back, immobilizing it with his knee.
"DROPP THE GUN!" he yelled.
Jefferson obeyed.
On the floor, yn crawled to Thiago, hugging the boy, hiding his face against her shoulder so he wouldn't see.
The police entered. Handcuffs. Confused voices. Jack released Jefferson and stepped back, breathless.
Nurses burst into the room, surrounded Yn, and pulled her away. Someone took Thiago from the bed. Someone called pediatrics.
Jack stayed there.
On his knees on the plaster-covered floor. Breathing as if he'd run a marathon. His heart pounding. His hands trembling.
She's alive. She's alive. She's alive.
He repeated that like a mantra until he managed to stand up.
Yn was sitting on a bed in an observation room. A blanket over her shoulders. A glass of water in her hand. Her forehead was still bleeding, but she didn't seem to notice.
She trembled. She couldn't stop.
The door opened.
Jack entered, and she was startled by the noise. He hated seeing that.
He looked more serious than usual. Disheveled hair. His right hand was bruised, probably from punching Jefferson after the police handcuffed him. Jack couldn't quite remember.
"May I?" he asked, pointing to her forehead.
yn nodded.
He pulled up the stool, calmly put on his gloves, and began cleaning the wound. Yn didn't react. Her eyes fixed on some distant point. In shock. Jack didn't know if it was better this way or if it was better for her to react.
He was more careful than usual. Each movement slow, controlled. As if she were going to break.
Two false stitches. Nothing deep. Relief.
When he finished, he started to step away.
Her hand gripped his scrub. Her knuckles were white from the force.
"I…" her voice faltered. She tried again. "I thought I was going to die."
Finally, she looked at him.
Jack saw the change. Those eyes that always had light, always had life, were now dark. Empty. Tears came before she could stop them.
"I thought I was going to die, Jack."
He pulled her into a hug. Her body molded to his, and he felt every tremor.
"I wasn't going to let this happen."
"He was so angry… I don't know what I did wrong…"
"You didn't do anything wrong. You did everything right. Everything as you should."
"I thought he was just worried about his son. I didn't know he was armed. I didn't know, Jack."
"There was no way to know, darling. There was no way."
"I was panicking."
"I know. Me too."
She lifted her head from his chest. Her eyes were red, swollen, tears streamed down her face. Somehow, still beautiful.
"You were? You seemed so calm…"
"Calm? Darling, I was panicking. Every second that gun pressed against your head, I felt the ground disappearing beneath me."
"But you seemed calm…"
"I was trained to appear calm" he reminded her, carefully running his fingers through her hair. "Doesn't mean I was."
She was silent for a moment. Then:
"What you said in there… about me… was a good idea."
"Was it?"
"It distracted him. It worked."
Jack felt his heart clench.
"That was the goal, wasn't it?" she continued, her voice small and fragile. "To lie and distract?"
"The goal was to get you out of there" He cupped her face in his hands, making her look into his eyes. "And I didn't lie."
She blinked.
" Not a word " he said. "Not one"
"Why…?"
"Why didn't you ever say anything before?" He finished. He took a deep breath. "Because I thought you deserved someone better. Someone without so much baggage. Someone who doesn't wake up screaming at night. Someone who doesn't have to put on a prosthetic leg every morning and pretend they're whole."
She fell silent.
"You're not the one who decides that," she said finally.
Jack let out a short, wet laugh.
"No. I'm not."
"I was so scared," she confessed, as if it were a secret. "So scared, Jack."
"I know. I know, darling." He hugged her tighter. "But it's over. You're here. You're alive."
"I heard the gunshot. I thought it hit me."
"No. It hit the ceiling. I wasn't going to let it hurt you."
"You saved me."
"I did. And I'll save you again if I need to. Always. I won't let anything hurt you."
He placed a kiss on her forehead. Long. Warm. A promise.
She lifted her head.
For a second, Jack thought he had gone too far.
Then she kissed him.
It wasn't a kiss of panic. It wasn't a kiss of relief. It was a kiss of finally. Her lips met his with an urgency that had been building up for months, in the glances in the hallway, in the hands that brushed against each other, in the unspoken jokes, in the almosts and the whats. Jack reciprocated in kind. One hand rose to her face. The other held her firmly against him.
When they separated, both were breathless.
"I like you too, Jack," she said, her forehead resting against his. "Very much."
He smiled. The first genuine smile of the night.
"Good. Because I was starting to think I'd have to repeat that whole declaration in front of the entire shift."
She laughed a trembling, wet, but real sound.
She kissed him again.
And again.
And when they finally stopped, still embraced, still trembling, the noise of the hospital outside no longer seemed so threatening.
Outside, through the glass of the room, Mateo looked at Lena.
"Finally," he whispered.
Lena smiled.
"I accept my payment in cash."
Speaking In Plurals
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader
Summary: When Jack met you, his world shifted. He began to speak in plurals, in groups of three. It was him, and then it was you, and then it was Penny. He’d do anything for his girls, and he wanted to make that clear. Official. Concrete with titles and questions and the ring he kept mulling over. And then life happened.
Word count: 5.1k
Warnings: Angst!, injury, inaccurate medical happenings, accident/crash
a/n: GIRL DAD JACK 🗣️ This was fun to write let me know if you'd like something without so much angst for this little family 😌 but you all voted angst in my last poll so this is the outcome. Heheheh anyways love you bye <3
~~
Jack Abbot had stopped assuming children were in the cards for him. In another lifetime, another decade, he had considered the possibility—him as a father, his wife a mother. But life changed, time passed, and Jack Abbot had given up on that notion. Instead, he lived vicariously through his coworkers and told himself that he liked the freedom of a childfree life. He volunteered his time to dangerous proclivities in the name of the greater good and sat in the silent hum of his apartment.
And then he met you.
And he met what came along with you.
You had been dodgy about your daughter at first, sharing the information as if it were a combination of landmines and wincing as if he were already edging up from the table to run. It made sense that he didn’t know about her. He had met you in a coffee shop after a fourteen-hour shift and still thanked whatever higher power was responsible for the delirium-infused confidence that led him to you, but he didn’t know much. He just knew you were beautiful and you were in front of him and you stared up at him with eyes that made him blink faster, so he asked you out.
You told him about her on the third date, and Jack couldn’t stand the way you flinched, so he held your hand across the table, rubbed his thumb along your knuckles, and said, “Whenever you’d let me, I’d love to meet her.”
“Are you serious?” had tumbled out of your mouth directly after, and Jack couldn’t take that either, knowing that so many people had missed out on you and told you that that reaction was warranted. So he pressed your fingers to his lips and quirked his mouth into a smile despite his uncovered frustration.
“Of course I’m serious. I’m always serious.”
Jack Abbot fell in love with Penny almost as fast as he fell in love with you. Middle-of-the-night illnesses frequently tainted his exposure to children, so Jack had almost forgotten how energetic and full of life a four-year-old could be. Penny was shy, bashful in ways like her mother, but she was also intelligent and loved squids (you said it was a phase) and asked Jack questions about bones because you told her he was a doctor and she had just learned about bones in preschool.
“Have you ever seen a bone?”
“I’ve seen lots of bones,” Jack had whispered back to her, eyes flashing wide for emphasis.
“That’s literally crazy,” Penny had gasped, looking over her shoulder at you as you paid for a snack at the farmer’s market stall. “My mommy says that if I ever see one of my bones, I need to tell her right away.”
Jack knelt beside Penny on the grass. “Your mommy’s right. You want to see something cool? I don’t have a bone in my leg.”
“What!”
It hadn’t taken long for Penny to become accustomed to Jack’s presence. She asked about him when he wasn’t around. She joined calls when you checked in early during his shifts. She saved a book full of stickers to show him when he came over for dinner, which he did often. Said stickers also somehow appeared on his prosthetic, something your daughter still had a hard time believing to be real.
And Jack hadn’t been expecting it, but he had begun to think of children again—thinking of his life in squid stickers and irrational questions and a weight on his lap as he sat on your couch and watched an animated dog teach him a life lesson.
He had begun to enjoy getting out of work. He got to bring bagels to your place early in the morning and kiss you against your kitchen counters and fix Penny’s wild hair as she tumbled into the living room. His hobbies had changed; adrenaline was replaced with soccer games and sticky fingers and lying in bed with you right up until he had to throw his scrubs on.
Everything had become simple in Jack’s life. There was work, there was you, and there was Penny. And in a few weeks, he would ask you to make his life even simpler.
~~
A gratefully unfamiliar dread pulsed through Jack’s chest as he turned the corner of the Pitt and saw you. He took inventory instantly, cataloging the tone of your skin, each of your limbs, the small smile on your face as you spoke casually to Mateo. You were fine, you looked to be fine, but Jack still picked up the pace because you were in the emergency department, and you never came to visit without Penny.
Jack’s eyes shot to your legs, and more panic filled him at the empty space.
“Hey,” Jack breathed, his mouth twitching into a smile that did not reach his searching eyes. He placed a hand on your cheek and tried not to furrow his brows. “You okay? Where’s Penny?”
Your smile was much warmer. You gripped his wrist, and Jack felt the almost imperceptible way you leaned your face into his touch. “I’m fine, and Penny’s fine. I did late pickup so I could see you before we take the train upstate.”
Upstate. Upstate—right. Jack had primed his brain to work a double, so that often meant blocking the shifts with tasks. He was just about finished with the day shift, and your trip to see your family was a night shift event. Your train was leaving at 7:30 pm—an in-between-shift event, then.
“You coulda brought her by, too,” Jack quietly replied, brushing his thumb along your cheek as Mateo swiveled his stool to the other side of the nurse’s hub. Relief was slowly trickling through the shock of seeing you unannounced.
“Oh, I see. If I don’t bring Penny, I shouldn’t come at all?” you teased.
Jack moved his hand down to fix your scarf, tucking it closer to your neck. “Didn’t say that,” he argued. “I just wanted to say goodbye to both my girls.”
Your face heated furiously, an outcome Jack had been hoping for. He loved to get you flustered, and that was the quickest way to do it. Never failed.
“We would’ve missed our train if I brought her.” You poked Jack’s chest. “You two always get into it, and then I have to drag her away because she gets too upset to leave you.”
“Can’t help it. I’m just so much fun to be around.”
“Yeah, well, you’ll have to be fun over FaceTime for the next few days, Dr. Abbot.”
Jack tsked, looking off to the side to tamp down his disappointment. You’d had this visit planned for a few months now, but it didn’t make watching you go any easier. He had wanted to go with you, eager to meet your family, but the Pitt needed an attending on doubles, and Jack was the only one available. You’d assured him several times that it was fine, and there would be more opportunities to come. He knew it was fine. What wasn’t fine was watching his family leave and feeling incomplete.
He needed to ask you that question.
“You sure you can’t wait until tomorrow so I can drive you up?” Jack tried. He moved his fixing touch to the zipper on your jacket, tugging it up to keep in the warmth. “No train that way.”
You brushed his hand off and stepped closer, raising your brows. “Right. Have you drive that far after working a double? Just for you to drive back home, sleep for 45 minutes, and then work again? Not happening, Jack. The train is fine. We’re fine.”
“You keep saying that,” he murmured under his breath. He placed his hands along your jaw, holding you again, even though he knew several eyes watched on. “Call me when you get on the train. And have Penny bring that spray hand sanitizer she made me spend ten dollars on. It’s flu season. And—”
“Jack,” you gently interrupted. “I love you. So much. But when I say we’re fine, I mean it. And stop buying her everything she sees in Sephora. She doesn’t even need to be in Sephora. She’s five.”
“I love you more,” was how Jack decided to respond. He tilted his head back and looked at you fully, his hands moving your face to one side and then the other.
“Memorizing me?” you teased.
“Something like that.”
Continuing his shift was difficult. Jack had already felt the weight of the double being exacerbated by your departure, but then you FaceTimed him on the train, and the night got heavier. Penny held up her hand sanitizer with a mouthful of marshmallow muffling her words, and Jack just wished he could be sitting beside you on that stupid train. He’d paid more for the two of you to have a private compartment, and it was nice knowing you were cared for, but he had become the one taking care of you.
He felt his back stiffen as the night went on.
“You gotta loosen up, Dr. Abbot,” Mateo called out after five minutes of Jack scrolling through his camera roll. He’d stopped on a picture of you and Penny on the hood of his truck. “You knew they were leaving all day. We still got nine hours before you can go home and make scrapbooks.”
Jack hooked his chin over his shoulder, placing his phone face down on the charting station. “Mind your business.”
Mateo put his hands up in surrender. “They’re coming back in three days. You work all three of those days. It’ll be quick.” The younger man patted Jack’s shoulder. “Then maybe you can finally fish that ring out of your locker.”
“What do you know about that, huh?” Jack accused, crossing his arms in a show of intimidation that didn’t match his almost-smile.
“Nothing you didn’t just confirm,” Mateo quipped back. “I’ve babysat at her place enough times to catch a vibe.”
“Catch a vibe?”
“Yeah. It’s emanating from you.”
Dr. Shen passed by the pair, settling into a stool and logging into the computer. “What’s emanating from him?”
“My vibe, apparently,” Jack spoke to the ceiling.
Mateo cut in, resting his arms on the counter. “That he’s gonna propose.”
“I did not say that,” Jack shot back.
“You don’t have to say anything if it’s a vibe,” Shen informed him, gaze focused on his notes. He took a casual sip of watered-down coffee. “Can you do it within the next three months, though? I want to win the pool to pay off my car.”
Mateo let out a hiss, resting his head on his elbows. “Dude. He wasn’t supposed to know about the betting pool. Now he’s gonna be weird about it.”
“He’s not going to—”
“Okay, what?” Jack almost sighed, head jolting back. “There’s a betting pool? Since when?”
“Since you started wearing that little bracelet with the sea creatures on it. It got bigger after y/n came by that one time with lunch and you practically ran down the hallway.”
Jack stared at Shen as he recounted the betrayal happening under his nose. “Alright. Who’s in it?”
“Who isn’t—”
“Got incoming traumas. The T Line crashed. Unidentified number of casualties, but we’re getting at least a dozen wounded.”
It took a moment for the humor to dissipate from Jack’s body. He heard the charge nurse’s calls to clear the trauma bays and could recognize the movement in the room. Mateo was staring at the side of Jack’s face and Shen had shot up from the charting computer to do… something, but Jack was swimming in a state of thick confusion.
He did some math in his head.
It might not have been your train. You FaceTimed him thirty minutes ago, and the train hadn’t left yet. You were just sitting with Penny. You had said there was a small delay, but you both were settled into the “stupidly-priced private seats,” and Penny was eager to watch Bluey during the wait. You were wearing an old college sweater he’d left at your apartment.
But that was thirty minutes ago.
It could have been your train.
“Dr. Abbot?” Mateo’s call was a jumbled haze. “Dr. Abbot, what can I—”
“My girls are on the train,” Jack muttered to himself.
“What?”
“My girls are on the train,” he said again, clearer this time. His gaze shot to the board as if he’d see your name, a pinpoint focus washing over him. If he were calm enough, nothing could happen.
Mateo said something else, maybe a reassurance or a passing encouragement, but Jack couldn’t register it. He took his shaking hands and donned the PPE needed for a disaster of this magnitude, drowning out the orders ringing through the ED. Shen had taken over as head, and Jack couldn’t remember if he’d told him to do that. He probably hadn’t.
The first patient wasn’t you. Neither was the second. Or the third. At some point near the beginning, Jack had texted you—a quick text, asking if you were okay, even though that was a ridiculous question. But if you weren’t a patient, and if you didn’t answer him, then the unidentified number of casualties Lena announced was a harrowing reality.
But it couldn’t be you.
Jack was doing everything right. He was calm and working doubles and he had paid for you to have better seats. Penny wouldn’t get the flu and he was going to have the lattice on your balcony fixed before you got home.
You couldn’t be an unidentified casualty.
“Hey, you good?” Dr. Ellis barked at Jack as he blinked hard in a trauma bay. The man lying in the bed had his arm in the wrong direction, bruises already covering the left side of his body.
Every moment he wasn’t checking the incoming patients was a moment he couldn’t be sure of you. A moment Penny could be wheeled by.
Jack cleared his throat harshly. “I’m good. Roll him on three.”
You weren’t the fourth patient he saw, either.
But you were the fifth.
He had prepared himself for it, but nothing would have been enough, he soon realized. No amount of grounding or breathing exercises or visualization would have made it easier. Your eyes were open, but they couldn’t focus on him, not even as he stuttered out a breath and shot to the side of the gurney, his feet quick beside you.
He said your name, repeated it, but your eyes kept flashing past the overhead lights. An EMT was shouting out your vitals and Jack heard them, but his waterline was burning and the collar of your sweatshirt was rimmed red with blood. His sweatshirt. He’d left it at your place a few days ago.
Crush injury. Fully conscious but lacks verbal response. Jane Doe—you weren’t Jane Doe. You were his.
As they landed you in trauma one, Jack began to assess. He ignored that his hands had begun to shake again. “I need you to hear me, baby,” Jack called as he moved meticulously through his assessment. “I just need to know that you can. Can you do that for me? Let me know if you can hear me?”
A nurse was untangling an ultrasound machine as Jack moved to palpate your abdomen. You flinched. He felt himself unravel.
“I needed that yesterday!” he shouted, ripping the machine from the older woman’s hands. It wasn’t her fault. Jack would apologize later if he could ever form words again. “Why isn’t anyone giving me info?”
Dr. Ellis entered the trauma bay, confusion laced with apprehension at the sound of Jack’s anger. All the confusion was wiped clear when she saw who was on the bed. When she saw the blood sticking to the cracks in Jack’s hands and the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“You need me to take this?” Dr. Ellis asked, but it was hardly a question. She was direct when she needed to be, even towards an attending, but Jack was not in the mind to be overpowered by reason and level-headedness.
“No,” he simply replied, eyes glued to the grainy screen of the ultrasound.
“Are you sure you should—”
“Free fluid in the abdomen. I need—”
Jack stopped cold when a sound escaped you. It was breathy, barely even there to make out, but he felt his gaze drop to your face before his mind could even register it. Someone took the Doppler from his hands and the room erupted in movement and calls and beeps from machines, but Jack had his hands on your face as he had just a few hours ago, begging your eyes to focus on him.
“What was that?” he breathed back, eyes racing over every inch of your face. He cataloged four bruises before you finally found his eyes. “There you are. There’s my girl. You’re doing so good, and we got you, okay?”
“P-Penny,” you uttered. Your hand twitched up to grasp Jack’s arm, and he silently thanked god that you could move it. “Penny.”
Jack had been thinking about Penny since you entered the Pitt. He had hoped, in some unreasonable way, that she would be with you. That you both would be fine, maybe with minor injuries, and he would sweep you away into the break room while he managed the crisis. But you were the crisis, and Penny wasn’t here. He had no idea where she was.
“I know, baby. I know. I’m gonna find Penny. She’ll be just fine. Both my girls will, okay? Promise. Promise on everything.”
He was speaking so low, his hand on the top of your head and his face close. He felt the dread pool in his gut at the lies he was telling. Jack had no way of finding Penny. He couldn’t leave you and search the wreck for a little girl. They probably wouldn’t let him past the police tape.
“F-find. Her. Jack, please,” you pleaded. Your nails dug into his arm and Jack had to move his jaw to stop from crying. Your face was becoming pallid and someone was calling surgery.
“I’ll find her,” he smiled. A sad smile. A waning one. “You don’t worry about a thing. I’ll find her and bring her right to you.”
“Jack.”
It was Robby’s voice that tore Jack’s face from yours. He had to have ridden fast to get there. His hair was swept back and he still had his jacket on and Robby was supposed to be out on vacation for another few days, but he was there. He was there, and he shook his head when Jack turned to find him.
“Let them take her. You gotta back up.”
They must have been asking for a while. Jack hadn’t registered a single request for him to move; he had been too caught up in tracking each minuscule twitch of your face—in remembering you before life changed, because it still felt the same, just more urgent, more scary. If he stopped looking at you, if you were taken away, there was the chance that you wouldn’t come back. That he would look up and find that Penny was gone.
He hadn’t been ready for the after.
Robby forced it, anyway.
Jack felt like he was going to throw up as they wheeled you away, Dr. Walsh sending worried looks to each person in the trauma bay who wouldn’t meet her eye. Your blood was on the floor in free-flowing streaks that Jack couldn’t look away from, and he felt like he was going to throw up. The bay felt stagnant. The walls moved when he did not. His back hit a hard surface, and Jack let it hold him as he sank to the floor.
He went to press his face in his hands, but stopped when he saw your blood filling the lines in his palms.
He hadn’t told you he loved you. He let them take you, and he hadn’t reminded you.
Robby crouched in front of Jack, hands flexing between his knees. “She’s gonna be okay.”
Jack felt his head roll against the wall as his jaw trembled. “What’re you doing here?” he croaked out.
“Mateo called me. Said your girl was in the crash. I was already home, so I came as fast as I could.” Robby paused, scratching his jaw. “Is Penny—”
“I don’t know where Penny is.”
“Okay. Okay, we wait then. We wait and see, and we fix what we can—”
“I can’t just fucking wait, Robby,” Jack finally sobbed, the adrenaline from keeping you awake and talking wearing off in a hard crash. “I can’t wait to hear that she didn’t make it. Or that y/n doesn’t get out of that surgery. I can’t—I have to do something, and there’s nothing—there’s nothing I can do.”
Jack's hands were raised in a helpless motion, his eyes fixed on the back wall of the trauma bay. He couldn’t see much through the tears, couldn’t feel much past the all-consuming fear, but he would try for you. For Penny. If the two of you were gone, he wasn’t sure if he could.
“They’re all I got,” Jack nodded to himself, hands hanging over his tented knees. “And if I have to walk out there into a world where I’m alone again?” Jack pointed towards the door, finally meeting Robby’s pinched expression. “Not sure what I’d be doing it for.”
“Don’t say that,” Robby cut through. “You don’t know that they won’t make it. You don’t. Stop giving up before you have to.”
“I don’t even know where my little girl is.”
“So we find out. But we can’t do that from in here. We can’t do that when you’ve given up already.”
So, Robby hauled Jack up from the floor of trauma one, and Jack followed him to the nurse’s hub. He washed his hands, he cracked his neck, and he let the central heating dry the stickiness of his tears as he stared up at the news reports of the crash. He wouldn’t be able to work; that was why Robby came in, but he could make calls. Jack knew people who knew people, and those people were in law enforcement. Those people would know more than he did.
Jack was glued to the red phone in the Pitt for fifteen minutes, asking about a little girl that no one could find. Lena had sent him a concerned look one too many times and had yet to scold him for using the emergency line, but Jack hardly noticed. Robby was popping in and out of rooms in the role he was supposed to fill, but Jack hardly noticed.
“Sorry, Abbot. Haven’t gotten the list yet. I’ll send you the info as soon as I get it.”
Jack squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the growing ache above his nose. He shot out a quick thank you that didn’t sound genuine, and jumped out of his skin when a hand met his shoulder.
“Anything I can do?” Lena asked.
Jack only shook his head and went through his contact list in his head once more. It was all looking bleak. Jack’s world was looking bleak. And then the ambulance bay doors burst open, a bed being shoved down the hall, and Jack dropped the phone onto the counter. And then he was sprinting.
“Straggler from the crash. Says she’s five and asking for her mom, but mom couldn’t be found on scene. No obvious signs of trauma other than some cuts and bruises, but—”
“Oh, fuck. Penny,” Jack gasped out, reaching for her on the bed that was far too big.
To her credit, it was only then that Penny started crying. She had been strong-faced when she got in, fear a shadow on her innocent face, but the moment she saw Jack, that was gone. Penny threw her arms around Jack’s neck and let out a wail he hoped never to hear again. She was trembling against him, retelling events no one could make out, and Jack pressed his nose to her temple as he rocked her where he stood.
“I know, baby,” he shushed, words so similar to the ones he had spoken to you. “But you were so brave, you hear me? So brave. Your mom’s gonna be so proud of you.”
Through hiccuping breaths, Penny asked, “Where is mommy?”
Jack’s chest caved. “She’s getting fixed up upstairs. Mommy got hurt, but they’re fixing it.”
“I didn’t get hurt because mommy was holding me.”
“What was that, baby?” Jack asked, tucking Penny’s hair back from her face as he continued to sway.
Penny looked up at him with big, watery eyes. “When the train started making noises, mommy grabbed me and held me really tight. I didn’t get hurt, but she did.”
And of course you did. Of course that was why Penny was safe in his arms, and you were fighting for your life upstairs. Jack couldn’t imagine a world where that wasn’t the outcome. You would do anything for her. You were always going to do anything for her.
Jack looked for you in Penny’s face as he offered the best smile he could muster. “She’s gonna be alright. She was protecting you, Penny. Mommy always protects you.”
“Like how she used to check for monsters?”
“Just like that. But I check for the monsters now. Safer that way.”
“I wish you were with us on the train,” Penny choked out, clutching Jack’s scrubs in her tiny fists. “To make mommy safe, too.”
Jack’s chest hurt. He pressed his forehead back to Penny’s temple, collected himself with a tight scrunch of his eyes, and grounded. “C’mon, sweetheart. I gotta check you over, okay? Make sure nothing’s wrong.”
Jack cared for Penny in the same meticulous way he did you. He cleaned her scrapes and assessed her bruises, relishing the small giggle she let out when he prodded around to make sure nothing was happening internally. He felt the weight of the day in a lopsided, confusing uneasiness, one part of his life complete, the other in the balance. He would start to think of you, start to feel the dread, but then Penny would lay her head on his chest as he held her in the break room, and he had to snap back.
You would want your daughter to feel safe.
He needed to be a safe place.
So Jack held Penny, bumping his knee to help her sleep, and he considered what he would have done a year ago. If he had been inundated with a tragedy, he would have thrown himself into work as a distraction. He would have thrown caution to the wind and taken case after case until his leg ached too much to continue. They would have had to tell him to stop, forced him to go home, and Jack would have done so only when he knew he would fall dead asleep the second he hit the mattress.
Because that was what his life used to be.
Today, no one had had to beg Jack to slow down. No one pulled him from patient rooms and gave him a stern talking to. They had called Robby as soon as they knew you were involved. They had expected him to slow down for you—for his family.
Jack pressed a kiss to Penny’s head and enjoyed the difference.
It was another hour before any news of you came. Penny had finally dozed off, and Jack’s left arm was dead from the weight of her head, but he was alert when Dr. Shen poked into the dim room and smiled softly.
“She’s out. Asleep, but in recovery. They said she can have visitors, but I don’t know if—”
Jack gazed down at Penny, still knocked out on top of him. “Can you get Mateo?”
The pass-off was seamless, Jack running a hand over Penny’s head as Mateo nodded to the older man and promised to take care of things. It would be better for her to wake up with someone she knew, and Jack wasn’t going to leave her with anyone he didn’t trust. He trusted the entire staff, but Mateo was different. Mateo loved Penny.
Jack cleared his mind on the elevator ride up, and then cleared it again as he walked through the maze of the ICU to find your room. He would bring Penny up when you were more stable, when he had a better idea of the state you were in. You hadn’t looked scary, but you were her mom. You were her mom, and Jack was—
“Jack?”
He hadn’t been expecting your voice; Jack felt the breath knock from his lungs at the sound of it. His tears were fresh as he rounded your bed, checking vitals in a quick sweep before putting his hands anywhere they could reach. Your eyes were hazy as he leaned over you, but you had said his name, and something in him righted.
“Hey,” he practically cooed, brushing your hair back as his eyes traced the shape of your face. “Didn’t think you’d be awake.”
“Penny—”
“Penny’s okay. She’s not hurt, sweetheart. Mateo’s got her.”
Jack wasn’t sure he’d ever spoken so low before, so soft amidst beeping machines and the footsteps of nurses in the hall. You let out a breath, and your lashes fluttered shut, and it was clear to Jack that you shouldn’t be awake. That you had fought through exhaustion just to make sure your daughter was okay.
Pride swelled in his chest, the first emotion to override the fear. “I’m so damn proud of you,” he softly stated. He fixed the blanket around your shoulders and felt his mouth twitch. “Protecting our girl like that. Making it through.”
In response, Jack saw your own lips form a tired smile, hoarse voice asking, “Our girl?”
“Yeah, our girl.” Jack kissed your forehead, then your cheek, and then checked the vitals again. “I’ll make it official soon,” he said, almost under his breath.
“What—does that mean?”
You were losing the fight to sleep, relief palpable in the room and lulling you off. Jack swung a chair by your bed, clicked his phone ringer on low for any texts about Penny, and waited for you to sleep. Waited to be there when you woke up.
“You’ll see,” he affirmed, ignoring the wetness still on his cheeks. “I love you. Sleep. I got you.”
for april fools we’re deleting this entire site sayonara you weeaboo shits
break room coffee
leon kennedy x dso!reader
Author's Note: fuck my stupid fucking chungus life, these blonde men can't keep getting away with this
Summary: You meet Leon Kennedy at work, the absolute last place you should be looking to date anyone. Too bad you're a sucker for blue eyes and vaguely pathetic-looking men.
Word Count: 15.1k
Content: 18+, smut, vendetta era!leon, pining, leon is shyyy, reader knows what she wants (hint: it's leon), leon is dealing with trauma, reader heals him with her pussy, leon whimpers bc of course he does, fingering, oral f!receiving, oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v sex, lowkey breeding kink as per usual, no use of y/n
To Read on AO3
Masterlist
You meet Leon Kennedy at work.
That fact alone should be enough to prevent you from entertaining any romantic notions that pop into your head when your eyes meet his baby blues during your introduction. You're a fresh transfer from the West Coast office, and your job doesn’t really leave room for much socializing—your abysmal dating history shows that. So, maybe you're just a glutton for punishment because you bat your eyelashes a little more than necessary as a coy smile appears at the corners of your lips.
He offers his hand for you to shake, his skin warm against yours—it's brief as your supervisor quickly whisks you away to meet the next person, and you can't help but call out innocently to him, "I look forward to working with you."
You chance a glance over your shoulder, noticing Leon's eyes lingering on you. When he realizes you've caught him staring, a red flush spreads up his neck, and he swiftly turns away. You struggle to hold back a grin as you follow your superior, nodding along to what he's saying as if you've been paying attention the whole time.
You see him again the next week during a mission briefing as you lean back in your seat, notebook balanced on your crossed legs while you chew the end of a pen. When your eyes cursorily shift to him, his gaze, which you know has been steadily on you the entire meeting, flicks pointedly down and away, and he raises his hand to scratch the back of his head as his cheeks turn pink. Once everyone is dismissed and you're gathering your things, he quietly whispers a 'good luck' as he brushes past, his hand grazing your lower back. You respond with a wink and a 'you too'.
Three weeks later, you're sitting at your computer, a strain in your eyes as you stare at the screen, mindlessly typing your report for the mission—the bruises on your face are starting to yellow at the edges, blending with the deep purple into a sickly, painful color. The rest of your body isn't faring much better after falling nearly twenty feet through a skylight during a chase through an old Umbrella facility. Honestly, it's a miracle you didn't break a limb or two—or your neck.
"What happened to you?" The voice prompts you to crane your head toward the source, causing a wince as you see Leon standing next to your desk with a worried frown. You take a moment to observe him, noticing a few scrapes on his cheeks that weren't there the last time you'd seen him. He and his partner had been on cleanup duty for the mission—not that you'd left them much to clean up; there's a reason the DSO hired you, and it wasn't because of sloppiness.
"Fell through a skylight," you answer blankly. When his eyes widen, you let out a huff of laughter that only causes your ribs to ache. "Could've been a lot worse, trust me."
"Looks like it," he says. "Maybe avoid high places next time."
The tone in his voice sounds like it's a reprimand—a warning for something most people would see as a rookie mistake—you're not a rookie—but you notice the smirk that flickers at the edges of his mouth. "I'll make sure to put the request in," you joke as you take a sip of your coffee that has, admittedly, been sitting on your desk for way too long, grimacing when the bitter liquid hits your tongue. "God, that tastes like sludge."
"Someone should've warned you about the break room coffee," he jokes. "I'm pretty sure it could be considered a biohazard."
You purse your lips, willing the taste from your tongue, knowing it's going to linger in the back of your throat all day as you nod in agreement. "I'll file a complaint with OSHA."
The small smile that creeps onto his face at your joke makes the butterflies in your stomach go wild. He shifts slightly on his feet, looking as though he wants to say more, or maybe he's just reluctant to end the conversation. Regardless, he taps lightly on the top of your cubicle wall with his palm, signaling he's going to take his leave. "Well, I'll let you get back to your reports," he says, about to walk away before pausing, hovering for a moment before adding, "I'm glad you're alright."
The sincerity in his voice makes you soften, your shoulders dropping as you stare at him with gratitude. "Thank you, Agent Kennedy," you say, turning back to your computer, though you watch him leave from the corner of your eye until he's gone from your sight.
Later that night, you're joylessly chewing on a bland granola bar while walking back to your desk after a much-needed break among a sea of cubicles that have long since cleared out for the day. You come to a stop just a few feet from your destination when you notice a paper coffee cup deliberately placed in front of your keyboard. The logo of the fancy coffee shop down the road stares back at you—the one you always tell yourself you're going to stop in on the way to work but never wake up early enough to do so.
Your head swivels from side to side, glancing around the office to make sure you didn't just miss some other poor soul lingering after hours under the threat of looming deadlines, but the rest of the office remains resolutely dark except for the glow of your own computer and its blinding blue light—probably why you've had an impending migraine for most of the night.
Stepping closer, you see a bright pink Post-it note tucked underneath, one taken from your own stack that sits right under your monitor. You toss the half-eaten granola bar into the trash beside your desk before picking up the coffee cup and then the note, gazing down at it curiously.
'Hope this is better than the breakroom sludge.
P.S. Don't stay too late.'
There's no name or even initials signed at the bottom, but you still know who it's from. You huff through your nose as if trying to dispel the ridiculous amount of giddiness that swells in your belly at the kind gesture. You were only gone from your desk for thirty minutes, so you're surprised you didn't even see him skulking about like some wayward food delivery driver.
The coffee is still pleasantly hot when you take a sip; it's a medium-roast, smooth, and a bit sweet. You savor the taste, warming your palms against the cup. As you take a seat, you tuck the note into your top desk drawer with a fond smile.
Despite his words, you stay later than you intend to, but he doesn't need to know that.
Thus begins a little song and dance between you and Leon.
You leave a cup of coffee for him on his desk the next morning—just a black coffee with no extras, but you set a small bag filled with creamers and a variety of sugar packets you pilfered from the coffee shop next to it, along with a note that says:
'Didn't know how you like it.'
You drop it off quickly before you can talk yourself out of it, telling yourself you're just returning the favor from last night, and ignoring the fact that you specifically woke up thirty minutes early to ensure you had enough time to stop at the coffee shop this morning before work.
If you're a bit more aware of who comes in and out of the office, peeking over your cubicle wall for a familiar mop of dirty blonde hair, that's your own business… at least until your neighbor gives you an inquisitive look and asks if you're waiting for someone. You blanch, shake your head, and sink a little deeper into your seat, then redirect your gaze to your computer. The blush of being caught spreads to your cheeks as you idly pretend to check your emails.
When you finally see him, it's in passing in the hall, but he's holding a familiar cup and sends you a shy smile, mouthing 'thank you' before ducking into a conference room. It's a high you ride through the rest of the day, even if you're mildly embarrassed by how the man and his pretty blue eyes have invaded your frontal lobe.
You feel like a teenager pining after a crush.
Between him being sent out on assignment and you being medically cleared for field work again after your fall, you don't see each other for a few weeks. Luckily, when you return from this mission, you're mostly unscathed, though the same can't be said for Leon. Scrapes that are just beginning to scab over mark his face, and one arm is cradled in a sling. Overall, he looks rather pathetic—you hate how much it's working for you.
Leaning over his cubicle wall, you place a coffee cup down in front of him before giving him a sympathetic glance. "Skylight get you too?" you ask, straight-faced.
He lets out a hoarse, wheezing chuckle, wincing and putting a hand over his ribs. "Don't make me laugh," he says as he grabs the coffee. "Try an elevator shaft."
Grimacing, you take a sip of your own drink before muttering, "Bummer."
"At least I get some good coffee as a reward," he offers optimistically with a playful smile on his lips as he reclines more comfortably in his chair.
"I fear your standards may be too low, Agent Kennedy," you tell him.
"Leon," he quickly interjects.
Quirking a brow, you let out a curious hum, not understanding what he means.
"Leon," he repeats. "You can call me Leon."
A moment of silence passes between you two before the corners of your lips curl up, and you lean closer to him over the half-wall of his cubicle. "Okay, Leon," you agree, your tongue curling around his name experimentally, low and intimate in a way that's completely inappropriate for the workplace.
You notice the subtle change in his expression—how his pupils dilate, and his mouth hangs open slightly. Someone in the office coughs somewhere, and he snaps back to himself, his one good hand gripping the armrest of his chair as he looks away from you, shifting in his seat. You smirk, eyes glinting with amusement; you hadn't expected the man to be so shy.
As much as you'd like to stay and prod him a bit more, you decide to take pity on the poor man instead. "I'm glad you're alright," you say, echoing his sentiments from a few weeks ago as you turn to head back to your own desk.
He calls your name before you can get more than a foot away, and you stop, glancing over your shoulder with raised eyebrows. "Would you—" He closes his mouth, swallowing thickly as if his throat suddenly has gone dry. "—Would you like to get dinner sometime?"
Several heads peek over their cubicles, curious coworkers probably eager to hear this juicy bit of office gossip—Infamously aloof Agent Leon S. Kennedy asking out the pretty transfer from the West Coast? Yeah, that's going to make its rounds.
Leon is so absorbed in you that he doesn't even notice the nosy onlookers. There's nervous tension around him; you can see his jaw muscle twitch as he clenches his teeth, anticipating your reply—maybe even thinking you'll say no, as if you haven't been flirting with him since day one.
You step back toward him, holding a hand out expectantly, and when he gives you a confused stare, you clarify, "Your phone."
He scrambles to grab his phone from his pocket, and it's surprising how endearing it is to watch a man in his thirties eagerly offer it to you. When you swipe up on his phone and see he doesn't have a passcode, you give him an incredulous look but say nothing before typing in your information. You even send yourself a message, ensuring you have his number, knowing the chance of him chickening out isn't exactly zero percent. You feel your phone vibrate in your jacket.
In a swift motion, you lock his phone and toss it back to him, which he catches with ease, calling out, "Text me," as you walk away.
It takes him three days to text you.
Even as you continue to see each other in the office, leaving coffees on each other's desks and chatting in the break room, the only text in your message thread with Leon is the little coffee emoji you'd sent from his phone. It's Wednesday, and for the first time in weeks, you've managed to leave work at a decent time, and to celebrate, you're plopped on your couch, folding laundry and enjoying a glass of cheap wine while watching your favorite shitty reality TV show.
The muffled pings of your phone—three times in rapid succession—catch your attention, making you pause and toss the towel you'd been folding aside. When you search around for it, you realize you must've accidentally buried it under piles of clean clothes. "Fuck," you mutter as you carefully begin to peek under each stack until you find it in between pairs of underwear.
You're only mildly surprised to see three texts from Leon—or rather, 'Large Coffee, Light & Sweet,' as you've named him in your phone after learning his preferred way to take his coffee. A little surprising because you definitely pegged him for a plain black coffee kind of guy.
Hey.
It's Leon.
…Which you know already because you have my number.
You snort as you read the texts, hesitating to tap out a reply, thinking you might make him suffer for making you wait so long, but unfortunately for you—or fortunately for him—you lack that kind of impulse control.
Still, you can't help but make him sweat a bit, and only reply with a simple:
hi
The response is almost instant and makes you immediately regret the slight pettiness:
How was your day?
The question makes you want to do unspeakable things to him, you think sourly as your eyes narrow at the message on your phone. Every lackluster interaction you've had with a man in the last decade flashes before your eyes when you realize not one has ever asked you something as simple as how your day was.
Probably a talking point to bring up to your therapist.
finally got to leave the office on time :)
You send a picture of your hand holding your half-empty wine glass, backlit by your TV, being careful not to include any piles of laundry in the background—you don't want to scare him away with pictures of your delicates after he finally worked up the courage to text you.
You wait a few moments, biting the inside of your cheek as you watch your phone expectantly. When you finally set it down on your coffee table to resume folding laundry, it pings again. The speed with which you pick it up would be embarrassing if anyone else were around to witness it, but in the safety and solitude of your apartment, you permit yourself this humiliating instance of desperation.
He sends a picture back, with the top half of his face at the bottom, as the rest of the image shows the empty, dark office behind him. Unashamed, you click on the picture and zoom in to get a better look at him—his sandy hair, which usually falls into his eyes, is pushed back slightly, offering you a clearer view. The back of your neck warms as your gaze meets the still image of his that stares back at you, and you quickly click away to read the message.
Wish I was as lucky.
And just as you're about to type a reply, another message comes through.
What are you watching?
crappy reality tv
You type back.
gonna be a late night??
Resolutely, you put your phone back down, watching intently as the little dots pop up signaling that he's typing as you absentmindedly fold the rest of your laundry, knowing if you stopped now, you'd never get it all done tonight. It stops and starts several times before you finally get another message.
I hope not, all I have is the breakroom sludge to keep me awake.
Smiling, you speed through the rest of your laundry before replying:
maybe you should spend a little less time texting women then?
Woman.
You frown, brows furrowing.
what?
I'm only talking to one woman.
An unnamed feeling swells comfortably in your chest, as if it belongs there. You stand, hooking your laundry basket onto your hip with one hand while staring down at your phone in the other. You walk the entire way to your room with your eyes fixed on your screen, setting the basket on your bed before gnawing your bottom lip raw as you type and erase a response.
After several attempts, you hit send before you can rethink it anymore.
is she cute?
He doesn't make you wait long for an answer; clearly, he doesn't intend to get his reports done tonight.
I think beautiful would be a better word.
You toss the phone away from you as if it burned you, hands on your hips as you sway your weight from one leg to the other—nervous energy flooding through you. Maybe you expected him to deflect or be coy about it; you definitely didn't expect such a sincere response.
Another message pops up in the chat.
I'm also hoping she'll agree to go to dinner with me on Friday even though I was a coward who took three days to text her.
A grin works its way onto your face as you grab your phone.
i suppose it depends on where you plan on taking her. it'll have to be somewhere prettyyyy nice if you made her wait three days for a text
He sends a link to a restaurant—it's an Italian place, and a quick glance at the menu shows it has no prices listed—pretty nice, indeed.
Is this nice enough?
If he were any other man, you might think he's being facetious, but in the few months you've known him, you've exchanged numerous sarcastic remarks with each other, never with any malice.
Another text pops up, as if he's getting nervous by your lack of reply.
I can find a different place if you don't like that one.
You smile to yourself, tapping out a response.
no that's perfect
I'll pick you up at 7
sounds good, i'm gonna head to bed, don't stay too late
I won't, I promise.
When you see Leon the next morning, he's already at his desk like he never left last night, and there are bags under his eyes. The sling he'd been wearing all week is notably missing; likely, he'd finally been cleared to stop wearing it. As you hand him his drink, you tease, "Hey, look at you, two working arms again."
"As good as new," he replies, accepting it tiredly.
"I take it you ended up staying late," you say.
He takes a gulp of it like it's the elixir of life, sighing contentedly into the cup. "Yeah, and I still didn't get the report done—might be easier now that I have two hands." His eyes finally scan over your figure, brows pinching together like he's taking notice of something. "You look nice."
The urge to poke at him a little wins out before you can even think better of it. "Do I not look nice normally?" you ask, no trace of humor on your expression.
His eyes widen, and you can see the way panic tenses through his entire body. "No," he says quickly. "That's not what I meant. You always look nice. I've just never—" His gaze flicks down to the pencil skirt you're wearing, different from the normal pantsuits you wear in the office, even more so from the tactical gear he's seen you in heading out on missions.
You come round the side of his desk, sitting against the edge of it as you lean over, voice low so none of the office busybodies hear, "Does the skirt do something for you, Agent Kennedy?" you question.
It's like he doesn't know what to do with his hands, gripping the faux leather of the armrests on his chair before lowering them to rub his sweaty palms flat against the tops of his knees. "Yes," he admits shyly at first, but he sees the teasing glint in your eye and grows bolder. "Would like to know the occasion so I might see you in it again."
You chuckle at his words, take a sip of your drink, and say, "I've got a deposition this afternoon on the Hill." You're not thrilled about it, and it's clearly written on your face. "Those idiots in Congress already like to rip into me for some shit that happened in West Africa a few years ago, like that wasn't BSAA's screw-up. I try not to give them much ammunition to use against me, which means dressing to old white conservative men's standards."
Leon seems to take affront to this answer, brows furrowing as a sneer makes its way onto his lips. "They make a habit of commenting on your clothes?" he asks.
Laughing a bit louder, you cross your arms before staring at him and realizing he's serious. "Leon, I'm a woman, of course, they comment on my clothes." That answer does nothing to diminish the perturbed expression. You soften your stance a bit, reaching out to comfortingly pat his shoulder. "Trust me, it's nothing I can't handle."
Before you can pull your hand away, he grabs it. You remember his skin being rough and callous from when you shook hands on your first day. It should be off-putting, but the way his thumb carefully caresses the top of your hand is anything but. "I know you're capable of handling a bunch of asshole politicians," he says softly. "I've seen you in action, I've read the reports—I know you're a great agent, and I wish you didn't have to bend to the whims of those people."
You fall silent for a moment, warmth spreading through your body originating from where your hands are joined. Admittedly, it's nice to hear someone acknowledge your hard work—you've spent so much of your career fighting and clawing to get to where you are. It hasn’t been easy; the constant dismissal you've faced because you’re a woman in this field—you just want to be taken seriously.
"I appreciate you saying that," you say. You squeeze his hand before reluctantly drawing away. "I gotta go meet my lawyer before we head down, but I'll see you later?" You don't mean for it to come out like a question, but there's a twinge of hope in your voice.
"Yeah, you'll have to let me know how it goes," he says with a smile.
"Bye, Leon," you breathe out as you leave.
Leon's eyes stay glued to you until you disappear into the elevator.
Several excruciating hours later, you're finally stepping out of your deposition, your ass numb from the god-awful chairs they force you to sit in, and you squint as if you've never seen sunlight before when you walk out of the building.
Pulling your phone from your purse, you see you have a text from Leon from only a few minutes ago.
Thought I might try this place.
It's accompanied by a picture of a coffee shop's storefront, different from your usual one. Cute is the first word that comes to mind as you stare at the photo—the building is bright pink with neon signs and flowers in the window.
feeling adventurous today agent kennedy?
The heels you're wearing are digging into the backs of your ankles and pinching your toes in all the wrong ways. You can't wait to shuck them off in favor of the more sensible shoes you have back at the office that you regrettably forgot to take with you to change into. Your phone pings again.
Are you finished with your deposition?
While you're walking, you snap a quick selfie—not caring that your hair is windswept or that it's probably from a bad angle. You just flash a thumbs up to the camera before sending it.
all done! mostly painless though congressman fowler is going to get my size 8 shoved up his ass if he makes another comment about how i conduct myself before the "esteemed members of congress" gagggg
As you make it to your car, your feet feeling like you're stepping on shards of glass with each step, you burst out laughing at Leon's next message.
I can call in a bomb threat to his office if you want.
is there actually going to be a bomb?
You reply as you slide into the driver's seat before typing out a second message.
actually don't tell me, i need to have plausible deniability
If I go down I'm taking you with me.
and just when i was beginning to think we were friends </3
You receive another picture: a cup holder safely placed in his passenger seat with two drinks in it.
I guess I just got these two drinks for myself then since we're not friends.
They must be from the new place he'd found, and for some reason, it amuses you to think of Leon Kennedy, dressed in all black with his furrowed brow, in a cute coffee shop ordering you coffee.
nvm all is forgiven <3 what did you get me?
Oh, how quick your tune changes when coffee is at stake.
You wonder if he's smiling like you are you type out your response.
i am a simple woman please don't take my coffee from me i had to deal with politicians today :(
I'll see you back at the office.
what does that mean leon
There's no answer.
leon what does that meaaaaaaan
When no reply comes, you figure he must be driving, so you start your car and head back to the office. As you pull into the parking garage, you spot a familiar figure leaning against a sleek black car. You pull into a nearby parking spot, not caring that your feet are aching as you saunter up to him, watching him as he watches you. "So, what did you get me?" you ask as you reiterate your previous query, reaching out toward the cup in his hand that he isn't drinking from, but he holds it up just out of your reach at the last second.
"Who says this is for you?" he questions with a smirk.
Your mouth drops open as if scandalized, as you recoil back dramatically with a hand poised at your chest. "I didn't know you could be so hurtful, Agent Kennedy."
In the privacy of the underground garage, Leon bends down closer to you, tilting his head as his gaze meets yours, eyes flicking briefly toward your lips before quickly looking back up. You feel your cheeks flush, nervousness flooding your insides from the intensity of his stare. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you glance down at the small space between you.
A fond smile forms on his face—maybe with a satisfaction at being the one to fluster you for once. "I'm just kidding," he assures softly as he gives you the coffee cup. With his now free hand, he plays with a lock of your hair that falls over your shoulder. "I'm excited for tomorrow."
You study his features, the sharp cut of his cheekbones contrasting with the gentle pout of his lips. There's an earnestness in his eyes—they burn cold, sharp like the ice that cracks beneath your feet on a frozen lake.
It is a plunge you think you'd gladly take.
A smile spreads across your lips as you take a sip of your drink, eyebrows rising at the new flavor. It's flowery—not as sweet as one might expect, but not bitter either. This is part of the little game you and Leon have been unintentionally playing over the past few weeks. While you've been able to pin down his favorite drink, he hasn't managed to find yours, so each time he gets you a coffee, it's a different one.
You've begun texting him a star rating for each one, though a 5-star rating remains elusive.
"Getting braver with your choices," you comment slyly.
He raises his eyebrows. "Do you like it?" he asks, and you see the flash of worry in his eyes. "I can go back an—"
Pressing a hand to his chest, you stop him mid-sentence, feeling how he leans into your touch. "Leon, I like it," you assure. "A solid... 3-stars." He frowns at the rating but seems at least pleased that you don't completely hate the drink he got you. "As much as I'd love to sit here and chat all day, these shoes are killing me, and I left my comfy pair at my desk."
"I can carry you," he offers quickly.
You glance up at him incredulously. "Yes, because that wouldn't make people talk, seeing you carry me into the office because of my poor choice of footwear." Your eyes quickly shift to the faint outline of his biceps through his suit jacket before a mischievous smile spreads across your face. "Besides, I don't think you'd be able to carry me that far." With that, you turn on your heel and begin walking toward the elevator.
"What is that supposed to mean?" he questions, clearly offended by your little quip.
"Nothing," you call out in a singsong voice, hearing his footsteps scramble to catch up with you.
You think he starts to say something about how much he can bench before deciding how self-absorbed that sounds, and instead he settles on a muttered, almost pouting, "I could carry you no problem."
"Mhm," you hum as you push the button to call the elevator and take a sip of your drink; for some reason, it tastes even sweeter with the simmering agent beside you.
You step in as the doors open, and he's close behind; you can feel the warmth of his body at your back. "Now who's being hurtful?" he whispers into your ear as he leans into you. The tickle of his breath against you sends a tingle all the way down to your practically numb toes.
When the doors close, you spin around and lay your hand against his chest. He seems surprised, but he doesn't resist as you push him back until he feels the cold metal of the elevator wall through his suit. "I'm just kidding, Leon," you murmur as you close the gap between you. His free hand moves to your hip, thumb tracing circles into the fabric of your skirt—resisting the temptation to dig his fingertips into your waist, to become more intimate with the curve of your body. "I know you could carry me."
"I could," he confirms quietly. His lips are so close to yours that you can almost taste the coffee on his tongue. There's something ravenous building in you, and you see it reflected in Leon—can see how he's about to surrender to the hunger as his eyes flutter shut and he slants his head to the side.
You're a hair's breadth from the edge when the elevator dings, signaling you've arrived at your floor. "I know," you whisper, then step away as the doors open. "Thanks for the coffee, Leon."
He's leaning against the elevator wall, left staring at you as you walk away, his gaze dropping to the gentle sway of your hips in the pencil skirt, committing it to memory.
That night, you're tearing through your closet, the panic of your date finally setting in. It's been far too long since you've gone on a first date—the nature of your job didn't leave much time for a social life, and even less time for relationships. Most people you've been with have been less than understanding of the weeks, sometimes months, you spend away on missions—if you even get to that point to begin with.
The perpetuity of an endless cycle of talking stages is soul-crushing.
You had almost given up on anything that wasn't a quick, one-time hookup.
As such, most of your wardrobe is dedicated to business wear for the few stretches of time when you're home long enough to be in the office, and more sensible, tactical clothing you wear when you're in the field. With the entirety of your closet now spread across your bed in various piles labeled 'no' and 'absolutely not', you're left staring at the final piece of clothing in your wardrobe.
It's a slinky black dress you bought on a whim a few years ago, probably a size too small now, if you could manage to squeeze into it, and made of a sleek silk. It's simple—maybe too simple for a first date, but your only other option is to find something tomorrow... if you even have time before the actual date.
You groan, grabbing the dress from the hanger, cursing Leon for scheduling a date so soon, and yourself for agreeing to it so easily. You hold your breath as you pull it on, and only after ensuring it actually zips do you release it, relief washing over you. Standing in front of your long mirror, you twist every way, smoothing your hands over the fabric.
You look… nice.
Really nice.
At least, you think you do.
You will yourself not to focus on where the dress hugs a little too tightly, knowing you'll only hyperfixate on things that you have no control over. Instead, you nod to yourself, muttering a soft and accepting, "Okay."
Excitement wells up in you as you take the dress off, carefully hanging it up on the back of your bedroom door. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you snap a picture of it, sending it to Leon with the message:
a little preview for tomorrow night :)
Setting your phone face down on your nightstand, you start putting everything back in your closet, trying not to give in to the impulse to just sit there staring at your phone until he responds. Even when you hear it vibrate, you resist the urge, only looking at it after you've put everything away nearly thirty minutes later.
Are you trying to kill me?
You grin.
no if i was trying to kill you, i'd show you what i was going to wear underneath
You quickly send a second message before putting down your phone.
goodnight!
You hear your phone go off once, then twice, and then a third time as you settle into bed. You take a peek at the notifications while promising yourself you won't respond.
Wait what are you wearing underneath?
Hellooo?
Sweet dreams.
Walking into the office the next day, you're smiling when you spot Leon hovering around your desk. It quickly drops from your lips when you finally see the grim expression he's wearing. As you set your stuff down in the chair, you ask, "What's wrong?" There's already anxiety tightening your chest.
"I'm being sent out on a mission," he says, a frown on his face.
You try to keep a neutral countenance as you accept the coffee cup he holds out, cradling it in your hands, appreciating the warmth it provides when the rest of your body suddenly feels cold. "When do you leave?"
Glancing down at his watch, he can hardly look you in the eye as he says, "Three hours."
"Oh," you murmur, trying not to let your disappointment show but ultimately failing. It's not like you didn't know this was a possibility—maybe you just naively thought you'd at least get through the first date without your jobs getting in the way.
Reaching out, he grabs your hand. "Can we reschedule?" he asks.
You nod, forcing a smile—this isn't Leon's fault, and you don't want him to feel worse than he already no doubt feels. "Yeah, of course."
"I'll text you, okay?" he offers—it's an olive branch, one you're glad to take.
"Okay," you say. "Make sure to check in when you can—" You freeze and grimace, realizing you might be overstepping some boundaries. You're not his girlfriend, you have no right to request him to keep in contact while he's away. "—If you're able to, or want to—"
"I will." He cuts you off before you can dig yourself deeper into a hole, a tender smile on his face as he holds your hand in his. "I'm really sorry," he murmurs.
"It's okay," you assure him, because it really is. "I get it, trust me, I get it." Your fingers play with his, thumb mapping the callouses built up along his hand from shooting—there's one right on the pad of his index finger that you find yourself delicately brushing against. "Just means I get to order the most expensive dessert on the menu when we go."
"Gonna make my wallet hurt, huh?" he teases.
You wink. "Think of it as a rescheduling fee."
He carefully extracts his hand from yours, as it pains him to do so, and checks his watch. "I have to go to the briefing, but I'll see you when I get back," he says as he pulls away, but he stops short just a foot or so away from you as if he's remembered something."You didn't answer me last night."
"Hm?" You pretend not to have a clue what he's talking about, sipping at your drink—it's a caramel macchiato, you realize.
He lowers his voice to make sure no one else can overhear. "About what's underneath."
Your eyes are wide with faux innocence. "Nothing," you answer.
His brows furrow. "What?"
"Nothing is underneath."
Understanding dawns on his face gradually, and you can see the flush that spreads up his neck to his cheeks, tinging the tips of his ears. You hide the shit-eating grin behind another sip of your coffee. "Right," he chokes out, as he forces himself to walk away before any of the follow-up questions escape his mouth.
You watch him go, eyes tracing the broad planes of his back, the tension clear in his shoulders, and you giggle to yourself.
You're not given much time to dwell on Leon's absence, as two days after, you're sent to Alaska—of all places—to follow up on a lead about a suspected BOW facility. It's cold, but a change in scenery is always welcome—especially when it helps distract you from the blue-eyed, brooding agent who's been plaguing your thoughts lately.
Speaking of—
You snap a picture of the snowy landscape—the sun has begun to set behind the snowcapped mountains. The clouds rolling across the sky are bathed in the purple of twilight, casting a soft pink glow against the white-coated crags. It's beautiful in a way that makes you feel insignificant.
You send it to Leon, not expecting an answer as you haven't heard anything from him since he left.
hope you're some place warmer than me right now
You get an answer four days later, and smile at the simple picture of a nondescript forest and the message that reads:
Why don't we ever get sent somewhere nice like Hawaii?
The lead ended up being a bust; you'd spent the better part of your time here trekking through the Alaskan wilderness with your team, though it wasn't as bad as you'd thought it'd be, even when you were trudging through snow waist-deep that left your entire body frozen to the bone. You send a selfie back, cheeks flushed red from the cold and face surrounded by the insulating fur of your heavy jacket.
idk the tundra has kind of grown on me
It's late in the day when you touchdown back in D.C., you snap a picture on the tarmac of the sun setting, sending it to Leon.
home
It's nearly 2 AM when you receive a similar message from him, though the sky is dark and the moon faintly hangs behind a cloud bank.
Home.
Even being woken up out of a dead sleep by your phone going off, you grin like an idiot against your pillow, barely able to type out a 'yay' in response through your bleary-eyed vision before you promptly pass out again, knowing the jetlag is going to be killer in the morning.
Predictably, you're dead on your feet as you walk into the office, two cups of coffee securely in your hands as you shuffle instinctively toward Leon's desk. You spot him hunched over his desk, seeming just as tired and miserable, though he lights up when he sees you coming his way. He's on his feet, meeting you halfway and guiding you toward the empty breakroom with his hands on your shoulders, where no prying eyes can watch your reunion, though you notice a few curious eyes following you both.
You let out a laugh as you hold out his coffee to him. "Good morning." He takes it before gently pulling you close. The tenderness he shows makes your heart swell. You reach up to wrap your arms around his waist, being careful not to spill your drink, inhaling his scent of smoke and gunpowder, muttering into the shoulder of his jacket. "Did you miss me or something?"
"Shut up," he murmurs into your hair, inhaling deeply. "Did you know there's no cell service in rural Poland?" He withdraws slightly to catch your eye, his hand reaching up to trace the line of your jaw with something like reverence. You take a moment to survey him, searching for any injuries—you notice some bruising around his eye, a scab just above his lip, but apart from that, he looks unscathed.
"Probably about as much service as Alaska," you answer. "Deluca almost got mauled by a bear."
Leon's brows raise high on his forehead, eyes wide at the sudden shift in conversation, though he can tell by the giddiness in your voice that you've been waiting to tell him this little bit of information. "What?" he asks.
You're already laughing as you take your phone out of your pocket. "Yeah, I got it on video. The idiot thought he was a bear whisperer," you say as you hold your phone up for him to watch.
His gaze keeps darting between you and the screen, too distracted by your own reaction as you giggle behind your hand, watching Agent Deluca run for his life from a large grizzly bear he tried to approach like a scared dog in the streets. He's so captivated by the sparkle in your eye and how a dimple forms in your left cheek from smiling so hard.
"I was thinking, maybe this Saturday we could try for our date again," he says abruptly, cutting over the faint screams of Deluca in the background of your video.
You pause the video, tucking your phone back into your pocket as your face softens and you nod. "Yeah, I'd like that."
"I have a mission in Bethesda on Thursday, but it should be a quick turnover," he assures.
"From your mouth to God's ears, Leon Kennedy," you joke as he draws you back into a hug, and you feel his lips press to the top of your head. "Don't jinx yourself."
He jinxed himself. It's the only thing that comes to mind when you hear the news that his team, along with their target, Senator Eyre, were killed by explosives rigged to their vehicles. Remarkably, Leon managed to walk away relatively uninjured, or at least, that's what the report states.
He hasn't answered any of your texts or calls.
You try not to take it personally. You understand how this career can be—it's isolating, and most days, it's tough enough just to get out of bed. When something like this happens, though, it's devastating even for the most seasoned agents.
So you keep texting—sharing little updates, sending pictures of the sunset, your morning coffee, a bird hopping around on the sidewalk, just because it reminds you of him. You figure he hasn't told you to fuck off yet or blocked you, so maybe he's seeing them, or maybe he's not.
But you still want him to know you're thinking of him.
"Hi," a voice hesitantly calls out.
It jolts you, so focused on the screen in front of you that you didn't hear anyone sidle up next to your desk—and admittedly, you're running on barely any sleep after returning from a week-long mission in Vietnam.
You glance over at the blonde woman standing at your desk—she's young, and wearing a smile. Your gaze flicks down to her name badge—Sherry Birkin. "Hi," you greet back a bit awkwardly. You know the name—you're aware of her association with Leon, although it's only from official reports.
"I'm sorry, I know we haven't met before," she says as she extends her hand. "Sherry Birkin." The warmth in her demeanor makes it easy to respond kindly, so you take her hand to shake and offer your name, although you suspect she's already aware of who you are. "We share a common acquaintance—" She pauses. "Leon Kennedy."
Coldness washes over you as your stomach fills with dread. You turn in your chair to face her, giving the woman your full attention. "Is he okay?" you ask, voice shaking slightly as if you're anticipating the worst.
"I… think so," she says, uncertain. "He hasn't spoken to me—"
"—Hasn't spoken to me either," you interject, your expression mirroring her own dejection, though you suppose there's some solace in the fact he's not just ignoring you.
She frowns. "That's what I was afraid of," she murmurs to herself. "I may have… looked into it."
You quirk a brow. "Oh?"
She nods, leaning closer and talking in a hushed voice. "After he didn't answer my calls," she explains. "I… politely inquired with HR about his whereabouts—" You give her an amused look that signifies you definitely don't believe her. "—He's in Colorado, apparently he put in for an… extended vacation."
You're not sure what it is that swirls in your stomach—disappointment or maybe hurt, but your face falls. "Ah," you breathe out.
It's easy for Sherry to pick up on the sudden shift. "I just wanted to let you know," she says. "He… talked about you—a lot."
This information surprises you. "He did?" Your voice raises a pitch.
"He was really looking forward to your date… wouldn't shut up about it. I just—" She glances down, contemplating her next words. "—I want to ask you not to give up on him."
You're quiet for a moment as you observe her, seeing the way concern pools in her eyes. You don't know their relationship, but it's clear they're close, and she cares a great deal about him—you expect the opposite to be true as well. "I don't plan on it," you assure her.
A soft smile tugs at her lips. "Thank you," she says. "He's… he's gone through a lot, and I just worry."
"I get it," you tell her. "This job—this life… it takes a lot out of you."
You've faced more than your fair share of horrors and lost plenty of people along the way—you've fought your own demons and had to scrape and claw your way out of despair. Some days, it still feels like you're drowning in it—those are the days when you think it might be easier to just give in to the feeling.
Even before you befriended Leon, you knew who he was—of course, you did. One of the survivors of Raccoon City, the USSTRATCOM Agent who saved the President's daughter from the Los Iluminados nearly a decade ago. You can only imagine what he's seen—what he's had to do.
"Yeah," she agrees softly. "It does."
"I appreciate you letting me know," you say. "If—If you hear from him, could you let me know? Just so I know he's okay?"
"Of course." There's something so sincere about Sherry Birkin, you note. "It was nice to finally meet you—we should… get drinks or something sometime."
You smile. "Yeah, that'd be nice."
An incoming call from Leon lights up on your screen a week later. You're out on assignment—stateside, luckily, or rather unluckily, given the recent events that transpired. You answer the call immediately. "Hey," you greet casually, as if you're not perched atop a building, peering through the scope of your sniper rifle, phone cradled between your ear and shoulder.
"Hey," you hear him reply. He sounds tired, and there's a tug on your heartstrings.
"How was New York?" you question, eyes scanning through the scope as you track your target through the streets below—too many people around, you realize.
The question is enough to break the tension, and he gives a huff of laughter, though he sounds no less exhausted. "Not all it's cracked up to be," he answers. "Chris Redfield says 'hi', by the way."
You let out a disgusted noise at the mention of him. "I can't stand that man," you say bitterly.
The BSAA operator has been a thorn in your side for years, even before you started working for the DSO. His impulsive and stubborn disposition was the cause of most of your headaches when you first joined the FBI after leaving the army, thinking you'd left the world of military jugheads behind you—oh, how young and naive you were.
"He only had nice things to say about you," Leon muses, and you can tell from his tone that’s most definitely not true.
"Oh, I'm sure," you snort as you adjust your grip, keenly watching as your mark breaks from the crowded streets toward a more secluded area. "How did I even come up in conversation anyway?"
You hear him cough as if he had breathed in awkwardly. "I was… telling him about you."
"Oh?" you hum. "And just what were you telling him, Agent Kennedy?"
"Told him I had a date planned before everything went to shit… that I probably fucked it all up—"
You take the shot, and the man goes down like a sack of potatoes. "Target down," you say into your comms before giving the coordinates.
"—Are you on a mission right now?"
You begin to disassemble your rifle, quick and precise, as the clean-up crew no doubt makes their way onto the scene to take care of the body. "I was," you say. "It just ended." You press the clips on your gun case back into place with a firm click. "You didn't fuck anything up, by the way."
There's silence on the other end—you almost think you lost service as you enter the stairwell of the building through the roof access door you'd kept propped open until, "You free tomorrow?" he asks.
You smile, moving swiftly down the steps. "I'm sure I could pencil you in," you reply.
"I'll pick you up at 7," he says. "Get home safe, okay?"
When you reach the fire exit door at the bottom, you push through and find yourself in a side alley. "Good night, Leon," you say before hanging up, pulling your hood up as the police sirens start flooding the streets, and then you're gone, blending into the crowds.
He's at your door at 6:59 PM, and you're busy fastening an earring when you open it. The air leaves his lungs as he takes you in—seeing you in your black silk dress, hair done up, and a bit more makeup than you normally wear to the office.
You're busy giving him a once-over, you don't see the subtle shift in his expression, the way he closes himself off. "You clean up nice," you compliment as you finally get your earring in, fluffing your hair a bit more as you look in the mirror by your entrance.
"Thanks." He's quiet. "So do you."
"You ready to go?" you ask as you grab your purse.
"Yeah," he nods, and you lock your door behind you, offering him a smile that he doesn't return.
A frown forms as he begins to walk away—part of you expecting he would have offered his arm or hand. You try to shake off the uneasy feeling settling in your stomach, thinking maybe he's just nervous—you definitely are.
It only gets worse as the night progresses.
The car ride is mostly silent except for the low rumble of the local rock radio station — you try to ask a few questions, but are met with one-word, noncommittal answers that leave you feeling defeated before you even reach the restaurant. Every time you glance over at him, his eyes stay fixed on the road ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turn white.
When you arrive at the restaurant, he maintains a respectful distance from you as you walk in, only doing the small courtesy of holding the door open for you. After you're finally seated at a small table, a candle burning low between you, hope flickers that now, face to face, he'll be more willing to talk as you both thank the hostess. "Any idea what you're going to get?" you ask.
"No," he answers, gaze focused solely on the menu in his hands.
"I was thinking—"
"Good evening," the waiter greets as he sidles up to your table, pouring water from a pitcher into the empty glasses in front of you. "Any drinks to start?"
"Just a glass of your Cabernet Sauvignon, please," you reply, and the waiter smiles at you before turning to Leon.
"Just the water is fine," he says, not even looking up at the man.
You see the waiter's brow twinge just slightly, and you give him an apologetic smile. "Thank you," you say weakly.
He inclines his head to you. "I'll be back with your wine," he assures.
Silence settles over the table. Surrounding you are other people—couples—talking and laughing together over their meals, and your heart tightens as you watch Leon from behind your menu. He hasn't even looked up at you once since you've sat down—probably has read the menu seven times by now.
"Do you know what you want?" Your voice is small—unsure and so unlike you that you can hardly believe it's your voice coming out of you, but now you're feeling like this whole situation has been a huge mistake that you've somehow pushed him into. There's a chasm forming in your chest, filling with dread.
"Yeah," he murmurs, though he doesn't set the menu down.
You gnaw at the inside of your cheek until you taste blood, mind desperately trying to find something—anything—to talk to him about that he hasn't already shut down in the car with his lackluster answers. "I met Sherry the other week," you decide on.
For the first time, his eyes briefly flick up to you. "She told me," he says.
"She's really sweet," you continue. "She… she seems really fond of you."
"I've known her since she was a kid," he answers in a way that doesn't invite any further comment.
You try to smile—try to come up with something else to say, but you're left floundering until the waiter returns with your glass of wine and takes your order. He must see the disappointment on your face because he offers you a sympathetic look as you tell him your order, while handing the menu back to him, and Leon does the same.
Without anything to focus on, he fidgets with the cloth napkin in front of him, expression impassive except for the clench in his jaw, as if he's grinding his teeth. You feel a familiar sting in your sinuses as you idly sip your wine, which is practically tasteless in your mouth, trying to stave off the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.
With every second that passes, your heart pounds against your ears so loudly it feels like the world around you is muffled, though you're keenly aware of your own breathing. A thin sheen of sweat forms on your skin even though you feel completely freezing. The dress you were so excited to wear now feels suffocating, as you've become hyperaware of all the parts of your body that it fits too tightly on.
Abruptly, you set your glass down and say, "Excuse me, I'm going to go to the bathroom."
You don't give him a chance to say anything with how quickly you get up, though you doubt he would have anyway. Once inside the safety of the bathroom, you find yourself staring at your reflection in the mirror, taking a inhaling deeply to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. Your chest feels like it's caving in, and you're now sure that you've somehow misunderstood the situation between you and Leon.
It's making you feel crazy.
You exhale shakily, grabbing your phone to scroll through your message thread with him, searching for any sign that he wasn't as interested as you initially thought. It only makes his current behavior even more confusing. You try to recall every single interaction you've had, where he was the one to reach out to you, and you can't understand this sudden coldness.
There's a second when you consider calling Sherry to see if she might have any insight into why he's acting this way, but it feels wrong to involve her in whatever is going on, especially since she was the one who told you how excited he had been about the date. Instead, you tuck your phone back into your purse and try to breathe steadily as you turn the faucet on.
As you pump some of the fancy-smelling soap into your hands, you start to scrub your skin, your mind spinning in circles. Maybe while he was away, he realized he didn't like you as much as he thought, and this dinner was meant to let you down easy. Or maybe he met someone else and doesn't know how to tell you.
Every single reason that comes to mind only causes anger to grow inside you because there's no excuse for him to treat you so coldly. You at least believed you were good enough friends for him to be honest with you.
When you think you've rubbed your skin raw, you shut off the water and violently grab the paper towels to dry your hands. Your walk back to the table is more dignified, the tears gone from your eyes, replaced by a quiet fury.
You see that your food was brought out while you were gone, and Leon is slowly picking at his plate. As you sit down, you grab your wine glass, knowing you might need the extra bit of courage for whatever is to come, and down the rest of it in one gulp. "Food good?" you ask as you wipe at the corners of your lips.
He gives an indecisive shrug, and that's your breaking point.
"What is going on?" you question, low, but firm.
He must hear the anger in your voice because he actually looks up at you, expression feigning confusion as if he doesn't know where your unexpected question is coming from. "We're… having dinner?" he offers.
"You've barely spoken to me all night," you say, voice rising slightly as you swallow the lump in your throat, feeling the hot sting of scorned fury prickling under your skin.
"We've… talked," he tries to assert, though you can tell even he doesn't believe his own words.
You cock your head, staring at him like he's the stupid one. "Are you serious?" You twist the napkin in your lap so hard you think you might tear through the fabric. "Do you even like me, Leon?"
He seems taken aback, recoiling away from you as if you struck him, and his eyes drop to the table between you, but he stays silent, which is more than enough of an answer for you. Swiftly, you push your chair back, toss your napkin onto your untouched food, and grab your purse.
"Wait, where are you going?" he calls out, but for the first time tonight, you're the one ignoring him as you march out of the restaurant, unconcerned with the curious stares that follow you, intending to walk down the street before you realize he'd driven you here.
You huff in frustration, pulling out your phone to find a number for a taxi service, but your anger has shifted to sadness, and tears cloud your view, making it impossible to read the screen. You hear him call out your name, and you let out an exasperated noise as you begin to walk further down the street away from him.
Hurried footsteps approach you, and you feel hands gripping your shoulders, stopping you in your tracks. You finally realize how cold the night air is when you feel the warmth of his body behind you. "What are you doing?" he asks, confused.
"Calling a cab," you manage to say, though your throat constricts as you try to pull away from him to no avail. Embarrassment wraps around you as your voice breaks, despising how pathetic you sound.
"Hey," he murmurs tenderly, with more care than he's shown you all night, as he circles around to face you, hands gripping the exposed skin of your upper arms. "No, if you—if you want to go home, let me drive you."
"Why?" you spit out. "So you can ignore me some more?" It should feel childish to say that, and maybe tomorrow you'll think differently, but right now your feelings are hurt, and you just want to go home.
He shakes his head. "No, c'mon," he urges, trying to get you to look at him, but you're stubbornly refusing, settling to stare at the repeating pattern on his tie—you'd thought it was cute that he'd worn a tie on your date. "I'm sorry, okay?"
"If you didn't like me, you could have just said so from the start instead of pretend—"
"I do like you," he interrupts like he's desperate to get you to understand.
Sharply, your eyes snap up to him, and his face falls when he sees the tears that are beginning to streak down your cheeks. "You're sure not acting like it tonight," you argue. "I thought I was going crazy—that I… that I just missed some sign that you didn't feel the same about me."
"You didn't miss anything," he says. "I'm just… I'm an idiot who is terrible at this."
You give him a look of disbelief, nostrils flaring. "At what? Conversation? Yeah, I'd say so after tonight's performance."
He winces even though he knows he deserves that scathing remark. "No—I mean, well, yes, apparently. It's just… being vulnerable, and… letting myself look forward to something," he explains. "Everything just kept going wrong, and you're just… so understanding even after I fell off the face of the earth for weeks."
"You went through something traumatic, Leon," you murmur, arms crossing and gaze settling on the lampost just over his shoulder.
"See?'' he says, gesturing toward you. ''You're… you're so put together, and I'm a mess.'' Your eyes jerk back up to him, and you see the defeat in his eyes, like he thinks he doesn't deserve the kindness you've shown him. It makes the tightness in your face soften, hands falling to your sides, abandoning your defensive posturing. ''You opened the door tonight, and I realized you're something I don't ever want to ruin, and I'm so afraid I'm going to do that.''
"Do you think I'm not a mess, Leon?" you question with a humorless chuckle. "You don't get into this business without having more than a few skeletons in your closet. Some people are just better at hiding theirs than others."
His brows come together. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like you don't understand what I'm going through."
"I was worried for you," you admit, reaching out and tugging him closer by his tie to bridge the gap between you. "You can't just… disappear to Colorado to get shitfaced. It's not healthy—and I…" You pause. "I felt sad for you, but you can't just keep it bottled up. You need to talk to someone—me, Sherry, or hell, even Chris fucking Redfield."
He lets out a laugh. "Yeah," he nods, staring down at you fondly. "You're right."
"I know I'm right," you say sharper than you mean to, but you take a deep breath to calm yourself. "I'm not asking you to be perfect. I just… I really like you, Leon, and you hurt my feelings tonight."
"I know," he exhales as he reaches up to cup your jaw. "I'm sorry, I'm such an idiot."
"And you're not going to ruin me," you say. "I'm built pretty sturdy. I just need you to be willing to communicate with me."
A small smile forms on his face. "Okay," he agrees softly.
You feel lighter, most of the anger and sadness of the night washing away. "Okay," you repeat back, tender and pliant as your thumb rubs at the fabric of his tie.
"I really like you, too," he says. "Probably more than is appropriate."
At the confession, you simper, head tilting into his touch as you gaze up at him from beneath your lashes. "Is that so?" you ask.
"Mhm," he confirms, thumb brushing up against your cheek. "And now I keep thinking about what you told me about the dress."
Confusion tints your expression. "What about the dress?"
"About what's underneath." You can see his pupils blown wide as his hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer to him.
"Would you like to find out?" His fingertips dig into your hip at the question, breath hitching in his throat. "I could think of a few things that would turn this night around."
He's leaning closer, like he's caught in your orbit. "What would that be?"
You think it must be the glass of wine finally kicking in as you say, "I might be inclined to forgive you depending on how many times you can make me cum."
The muscle in his jaw flexes as he clenches his teeth. You can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly. "How many times for me to repent?" he asks.
You pretend to think, gaze flicking up to the dark sky above as you hum. "Maybe I'll consider it after two."
He exhales a shuddering sigh. "C'mon," he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he leads you toward where he parked his car. A perfect gentleman now, he opens the door for you, ensuring you're settled into the passenger seat before closing it and rounding to the driver's side.
His hand stays on your thigh throughout the drive—firm and steady. The closer he gets to your apartment, the tighter his grip on your thigh becomes—anticipation coiling inside of him. You're no better, the heat of desire scorching through your veins, though a small part of you wants to make him suffer just a little, so you diligently keep your hands to yourself.
If he pulls into the parking spot a little crooked, you don't comment on it as he cuts the engine before sending you a warning look when you go to open the door. With more patience than you probably should have at this point, you wait for him to open the door for you, grabbing his outstretched hand and letting him haul you out of the car.
He holds you to his side as you walk into your apartment building, and once you're inside the elevator, he's behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he kisses into your neck, leaving you a giggling mess.
"This is the slowest elevator ever," he complains gruffly into the bare skin of your shoulder just as it dings, signaling your arrival on your floor.
You already have your keys in your hand, knowing that if you take too long to open your door, he might just break it down. He's quick to usher you into the apartment once you've gotten the door open, closing it behind him.
In one swift motion, your back is pressed to the door, and before he closes the distance between the two of you, he questions, "This is okay, right?"
You nod hastily, breathing out a soft 'yeah', and then there's just the warmth of his lips against yours. Your heart feels like it's about to burst out of your ribcage as he deepens the kiss, a noise of contentment resonating from his throat as he runs his hands up your sides. Your own trail up his chest coming to rest at the base of his skull, curling your fingers through his hair to draw him even closer.
His mouth is hot against yours, growing braver with each passing second as his tongue licks against your bottom lip before he nips it gently, drawing a gasp from you. He's grinning as he pulls back to look at your flushed cheeks, adoration heavy in his gaze. "Leon," you pant out, eyes half-lidded and want swelling in you.
"Turn around." He doesn't give you the chance to, as he manhandles you into position, the coolness of your door against your cheek as you brace yourself with the palms of your hands. As he rucks up your dress, you hear the sharp inhale as he pulls it over your ass. "Fuck," he practically groans, hands kneading the globes of your ass, spreading them just enough to see the glistening slick of your bare pussy from behind. "You weren't lying."
"Did you think I was?" you ask, breathless from the way the cool air hits your hot core.
"Didn't want to get my hopes up," he admits as he kicks a leg in between yours, forcing your legs apart before sliding a hand down to rub at your cunt. Moaning, you arch your back against his touch, a shiver running through you as he brushes against your clit. "God, you're so wet."
You close your eyes, focusing on the slide of his fingers against you, coating his fingers in your juices. His nose jams into the crook of your neck as he plunges a singular finger into you, lips pressing against the quickening pulse in your neck.
"All this for me?" he murmurs, as his other hand slips one of your dress straps off your shoulder, palming one of your breasts with a satisfied noise, before adding a second finger just as he tweaks your nipple, relishing in the way you gasp, arching back into him.
You're nodding your head to his answer, gasping out a 'yes' as you turn to lay your forehead against your door to cool off the fevered temperature of your skin, though it does nothing for the rest of your body, which feels like it's on fire.
"Can't wait to taste you," he murmurs lowly into your ear, sending goosebumps trailing up your spine. "Need you to cum on my fingers first though." The hand on your breast trails down your front, the pads of his fingers catching onto your clit and circling it in slow, purposeful patterns. "Can you do that for me, sweetheart?"
"Yeah," you moan, fingernails scraping against the wood, trying to find purchase on anything as the coil in your stomach tightens with every precise swipe of his fingers. You feel it in your toes, head dizzy as he whispers words of encouragement into your ear, pressing soft kisses into your jawline so sweetly like he's not knuckle deep in your pussy with your slick dripping down his wrist. "Leon, oh—"
He can feel the way you clench around his fingers as you teeter over the edge, gasping out his name in a way that makes him strain painfully against his pants. "That's it," he says, talking you through it. "Sound so pretty when you cum, know that?"
Your moans pitch higher as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, ensuring you're thoroughly worked through your orgasm before finally withdrawing them. The steady presence of his body behind yours is the only thing keeping you upright as your legs feel like they might give out beneath you at any moment. His hands grip your waist as his lips press to your temple.
"Where's your bedroom?" he asks quietly.
You vaguely gesture over your shoulder toward the hall. "First door on the left," you manage to say as you think you're finally regaining feeling in your lower limbs, and then you're being hauled up with a surprised squeak, your hands coming up to grab Leon around his neck as if he would drop you.
"Told you I could carry you," he grins as he heads toward your bedroom.
"Mm, yes," you murmur, a renewed desire pooling in your cunt at the display—not that you would ever admit that to him aloud. "Glad those muscles aren't just for aesthetics."
He laughs as he carefully navigates through the doorway of your bedroom, then haphazardly throws you onto the bed while tugging at his tie, loosening it just enough to undo the top two buttons on his shirt before grabbing your ankles and dragging you until your backside hits the edge of the bed.
"Leon—"
"Told you I wanted to taste you," he interrupts as he kneels in front of you like you're a sacrament he's about to receive. His fingers bore into the plush flesh of your thighs as he spreads you open for him, your dress gathering up at your hips, leaving you bare before him. "Fuck, you're so pretty." His voice is practically a whimper as he fights the temptation to palm himself through his slacks, mouth watering at the way your cunt glistens in the dim light of the moon that filters through the sheer curtains on your window.
He leans down, gently kissing your inner thigh before nipping at the tender skin, taking pleasure in the sharp gasp that escapes above him. Trailing his lips up until his breath fans against your pussy, and your chest blooms with suspense, the anticipation of his hot mouth against you consumes your thoughts. His eyes flick up to meet yours as you're propped up on your elbows, staring down at him through half-lidded eyes. Your breasts spill out of your dress, heaving. "You waiting for an invitation or—"
His tongue licks a wide stripe up your center, your words getting caught in your throat as you moan. He doesn't tease; instead, he dives in as if he intends to devour you, eyes staying focused upward, watching as your head tilts back. One hand grasps desperately at the comforter beneath you, while the other instinctively finds purchase at the back of his head, fingers weaving through his hair in an unrelenting grip that sends a wave of searing thrill straight to his cock.
The noises are obscene as he eats you out, his own spit mixing with your slick, dripping down his chin. The sting of you tugging at his hair only drives him, paired with your hitched moans, and the way you gasp out 'fuck, Leon' when he sucks at your clit just right. He's savoring the taste of you, swallowing you down with every flat press of his tongue against you, moaning into your pussy as your scent envelopes him.
While one hand stays firmly on your thigh, feeling the way your muscles tense with every swipe of his tongue, he uses the other to thrust two fingers into you in a way that makes your eyes roll back in your head, your head lolling. No longer able to hold yourself up, you collapse onto your bed. He doubles his efforts, crooking his fingers to make your toes curl as your orgasm rapidly approaches.
He's steady in his administration, keenly listening to every one of your reactions to every flick of his tongue, and thrust of his hand, deciphering precisely what you like in record time.
"Leon, I'm—"
That's all the warning he gets as your thighs clench around his head, fingernails biting into his scalp as you thrust your hips up against his face, and he only groans, not caring when he finds he can't breathe, and his eyesight gets spotty, all noise muffling around him in favor of the sweet pressure of your thighs crushing him.
As the final waves of your second orgasm crash over you, your legs fall open as you pant heavily, the world sounding like you're swimming in a fishbowl, a thin layer of sweat covering your skin. Leon is no better, cheek resting against your inner thigh as he catches his breath, pressing one last kiss to your cunt before crawling up to you and gently laying a kiss on your lips. You return it with much more enthusiasm, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and mashing your mouths together, not caring that his is covered in the taste of you.
He licks into your open mouth, before pulling back just slightly, leaving a trail of spit between you. "That was two," he murmurs against your mouth. "How am I doing?"
"Exceptional," you sigh out. "I'm almost inclined to say all is forgiven."
He grins; it's far too endearing when he has your slick glossing his chin. "What else does a guy gotta do to earn your forgiveness?"
You press a hand to his chest, and he moves away willingly until he's sitting at the edge of the bed, watching with curious eyes as you stand before kneeling between his legs, which spread to accommodate you.
His breath stutters as he exhales your name. "What're you doing?"
"Sucking your cock," you say as you begin to undo his belt.
"Oh," he says rather lamely. "This is supposed to be about you—"
"Well, I want to suck your cock," you reaffirm, gazing up at him. "You gonna stop me?"
"God, no," he says as his hands scramble to join yours, undoing his pants and adjusting so he can pull them down. You're met with the pretty sight of his cock bobbing in front of your face, and you wrap your hand around him. He's painfully hard, tip reddened and leaking with precum—the weight of him in your palm makes your pussy clench around nothing, and as you give him an experimental stroke, he gasps.
You bite your lip to hold back a smile, slowly moving your hand up and down, spreading the precum along the shaft, appreciating how you can see the muscles in his lower abdomen tighten as he pulls up his shirt out of your way.
Tentatively, you lean down, licking the fat tip of his cock, and he whines out a 'fuck' as he gathers your hair up into his fist, keeping it out of your way as you open your mouth to take more of him in. Carefully, you bob your head up and down, taking more and more of him into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat. Letting your jaw hang open, you will yourself to relax while he tries to restrain the way he wants to cant his hips up to gag you on his cock.
"You're so good," he groans. "Fuck, you're so good for me."
You can feel the way you're dripping down your thighs at his words as you hollow your cheeks and suck in a way that makes his vision go white while your one hand works the rest of his shaft that you can't fit into your mouth. Drool pools out of the corners of your lips, and you moan around his cock as you shove your other hand in between your own thighs, plunging your fingers into your cunt, though after being stuffed full of Leon's, it hardly compares, and you're only left aching.
The sight of you in between his legs, fingering yourself while you're sucking his cock makes his control falter. His fingers curl around the back of your head, forcing you further down onto his cock in a way that makes you gag, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, but it doesn't deter either of you as you try to swallow around his cock, the sensation causing his breath to catch in his throat. "Fuck, fuck," he whines, and he can feel his balls tightening, his own orgasm quickly about to settle over him.
Hastily, he yanks you off him, panting heavily as he tries to rein himself in. You wipe the corners of your mouth, blinking back the tears that had gathered from how deep in your throat he'd been. "You okay?" you ask.
"Almost came," he admits.
You give a huff of hoarse laughter. "Yeah, that's the point, Leon."
He shakes his head, grabs you, guiding you back on your feet, so you're standing between his legs. He gathers your dress, pulling it up and over your head, leaving you standing naked in front of him. "I'll cum down your throat another time," he says as he allows you to completely undo his tie, tossing it somewhere in your room before you start to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way. His fingers wander up your bare skin, indenting into the plushness of your curves. "Wanna cum in you first."
You grin as he palms your breasts, something like satisfaction in his expression at the weight of them in his hands, while you settle yourself into his lap, his cock pressed between the two of you as you bend down to kiss him. "Awfully bold of you," you murmur.
His hands reach down, grabbing the globes of your ass and pulling you further against him, grinding the shaft of his cock against your pussy. "Name your price, sweetheart," he whispers. "I'll do whatever you want, just wanna be dripping out of you by the end of it."
"How about—" You lift up, grabbing his cock with one hand as you usher him toward your entrance. "—You be a good boy and let me ride you, and once I cum again, I'll let you cum inside, okay?"
He's nodding eagerly, the words 'good boy' coming from your mouth instantly making him compliant. His eyes roll to the back of his head as his tip slips into you; the wet, tight heat of your cunt would probably make him agree to anything you request at this point. "Whatever you want," he repeats in a desperate whimper, fingertips digging into your waist—it would no doubt leave bruises in the morning—as you slide down his cock in one fluid motion that knocks the wind out of both of you.
"Leon," you moan, and his head drops forward, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as you start to rock your hips back and forth in a delicious cadence.
"God, you're so tight," he grits out, mouth biting at the delicate skin at the crook of your neck, intending to leave his mark on you. "Been thinking about this for so long."
"Yeah?" you murmur. "Spend a lot of time thinking about me bouncing up and down on your cock, Agent Kennedy?"
He groans. "You're the reason half of my reports are late."
Your hand rises, lightly pressing against the base of his throat, and when you hear his sharp inhale, you increase the pressure slightly. "Poor Agent Kennedy," you lament sarcastically. "How will you ever cope?"
He lets out a shuddered sigh as the rhythm you've set begins to build him back to the precipice. Lips press to your shoulder before his teeth dig in; his bruising grip is constant, but not unpleasant—the painful sting is just enough to make your cunt flutter around him.
Closing his eyes, he tries to stave off his release; the need to please you is far greater than his need to cum. "Hopefully buried deep in this pussy," he answers before opening them to look at you once more.
You grin, it's devastating and vicious, hips canting faster as the muscles in your thighs burn, but it only adds to the pleasure pooling in your core. You grab one of his hands that has a death grip on your hip, wrenching it from you to bring it up to your mouth, tongue flicking out against his thumb before your lips wrap around it, and he is enraptured by the sight, cock twitching inside of you as his gaze grows hazy.
"Fuck," he whines, watching you coat his thumb with your spit.
"Make me cum," you order as you guide his hand down to your pussy, and he follows your lead, thumb finding your swollen clit to begin tracing slow circles against it. He sees the way your eyes briefly close at the sensation, your hips stuttering just a bit before you continue to ride him in earnest, every sweet drag of his cock in your pussy driving you closer and closer to the end.
"C'mon," he nearly begs, trying to compel you toward completion, not knowing how much longer he himself can hold out. "Cum for me, sweetheart, c'mon," he says.
With one last swipe against your clit, you feel yourself fall over the edge as you grind down on him. "Shit, shit, shit," you moan as your thighs shake, movement coming to a shuddering halt as pins and needles start to prick all throughout your body. Leon feels the gush of your liquid release around his cock, and that's all it takes for him to have you on your back in the next instant.
He's pounding into you now with reckless abandon, the slap of your skin against his paired with the sound of his cock bullying into your sopping wet pussy is intoxicating. He gives you no time to recover from your orgasm, enjoying the way the overstimulated tears streak down your flushed face before his eyes focus on the way your breasts bounce up and down with each hard thrust.
"Gonna let me cum in you now?" he asks breathlessly as he cages you between his arms, muscles tense from the strain.
You're holding onto his shoulders, gasping with each hard thrust into you, still bleary-eyed from your last orgasm, nails biting into his skin, digging crescent divots into him, but nodding desperately. "Want your cum," you keen. "Please, Leon."
"Fuck." His hips snap into yours as he sinks his head into the crook of your neck, moaning out your name as he cums, burying his seed deep inside of you. You can feel the warmth of it, the twitching of his cock as he empties into you, and you clench around him, listening to him whimper into your ear. He continues thrusting until he's sure he's filled you.
You're both gasping for air as the aftershocks of your orgasms subside, and Leon pulls away just slightly to press a kiss to your lips, tenderly cupping your jaw.
"Was that okay?" he questions, panting heavily.
You laugh, and it makes him smile. "Five stars," you say, giving a weak thumbs up, your entire body shaking.
He chuckles against your cheek, kissing up the side of your face to your temple. "Where's your bathroom?" he asks.
"Across the hall," you answer.
He's careful as he pulls out of you, gently massaging your hips when you wince. "You okay?"
"We're going to be putting your ability to carry me to the test tomorrow," you say. "I don't think I'm going to be able to walk."
He rolls his eyes, but there's a fond grin on his face as he makes his way to the bathroom. He comes back a few minutes later with a warm, wet washcloth, and the care he takes in cleaning you up almost brings you to tears. You mutter a soft 'thank you' as he tucks you both into bed, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you into him.
The lull of sleep settles over you rather quickly, and you're barely awake, listening to the steadiness of Leon's breathing behind you as his thumb traces circles onto your hip. "You're forgiven," you murmur into your pillow, unsure if he's still awake or not.
He holds you tighter in response.
The next morning, you're both cuddled up on your couch, watching reruns of your crappy reality TV show, sharing a plate of slightly burnt pancakes, and enjoying your morning coffee… or well, tea for you.
"Why didn't you tell me you preferred tea?" Leon asked as he watched you prepare your beverage.
You only grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "I don't mind coffee, plus… I enjoyed seeing what you thought I might like."
"So, why is she mad at Gino?" he questions as he tries to follow along with the drama.
As you're busy explaining the intricate dynamic of the couple on the screen between bites of breakfast, his phone pings, and you both instinctively look down at it. That's when you notice the lockscreen—it's a picture you'd sent him a few weeks ago of a cute sidewalk mural you found, with the shadow of your figure cast over the ground, holding up a peace sign.
"Is that my photo?" you question, already knowing the answer.
"Uh," he stutters, embarrassed. "Yeah."
You blink, processing the information. "I wasn't sure you were looking at those," you admit.
"I was," he says before opening the gallery on his phone. "I saved them all."
You're unsure why tears form in your eyes upon seeing a folder in his phone; no actual name, just a small coffee cup emoji as the label, and when he opens it, you notice every single picture you've sent him safely stored inside.
When he hears you sniffle, he stares at you, startled. "Wait, why are you crying?"
"That's just so nice!" you blubber, nearly sending the plate of pancakes flying as you quickly reach up to brush away the tears.
Laughing softly, he carefully takes the plate away from you and sets it aside, wrapping you in his arms and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
new hyper fixation has been unlocked as per my reblogs hehehehe
Heyy!!! If your requests are open I was thinking of reader doing that trend on leon where you glue the lid on a jar and ask for help but leon just opens it in seconds
Leon vs. Superglued Jar Challenge
A/N: This is such a good idea for Leon (any version tbh), I paused everything to write this immediately!!
You stand at the counter, turning the jar in your hands like it personally offended you. The lid does not budge.
Of course it doesn’t.
Because you made sure of that.
There’s a faint, traitorous curl to your lips as you glance over your shoulder—already a little too pleased with yourself.
Your boyfriend is leaning against the doorway, one shoulder braced into the frame, sleeves pushed up just enough to expose his forearms. Your mind lingers, briefly, on the unfairness of how he can dismantle a bioweapon outbreak and still come home and look like that. The stress lines at the corners of his eyes, the salt-and-pepper at his temples, that rugged little frown—if anything, it only makes him more handsome.
Leon taps idly at his screen with that same unreadable calm he carries everywhere, completely unsuspecting.
Perfect.
Because today... you weren't staring simply to admire.
You huffed a bit and tighten your grip on the jar, giving it another very performative twist.
It doesn’t move.
You sigh, just soft enough to be heard.
“…Leon?”
He hums, low in his throat, not moving yet.
“Yeah?”
You hesitate— still struggling against the jar that's permanently sealed, like this isn’t the entire point.
“…can you help me, please?” you pout in frustration. "Dumb thing won't budge."
There’s a beat.
When he pushes off the doorway, his hand gently brushes against the small of your back as he steps up beside you. It does something very unfortunate to your heartbeat.
“You try popping the side?” he hums, voice faintly amused.
You try—try—to look a little embarrassed. You even press your lips together, shoulders dipping just slightly, like you’ve already accepted defeat.
“Yes,” you insist, soft, earnest. “But it’s really tight.”
His fingers brush yours when he takes the jar—and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to tamp down the grin threatening to surface.
Leon finally glances down at the lid, turning it slightly with the other hand, thumb pressing along the edge like he’s checking the seal.
And then—
He twists.
There’s a soft, clean pop.
The lid comes off like it was never sealed with the extra strength brand you made sure to buy in the first place.
You gape.
Leon hands it back to you, eyes already returning to the work email on his phone. You barely feel the cool glass as your eyes shift back and forth from him to the open jar in your hand.
It takes him a second.
Then he looks up again—does a small double take when he catches your expression.
"What?" He asks cluelessly.
"I-I superglued that," You blurt out. "And you just..."
Leon raises an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He turns the lid once between his fingers, examining it.
“…huh. Felt normal to me.”
You scoff, shoving lightly at his chest—but he catches your wrist before you can pull away, and the exasperation melts into giggles as he tugs you closer, pressing a scatter of kisses along your neck, the sound of combined laugher filling the kitchen.
All I Wanna Do
leon kennedy x fem!reader
summary: an unavoidable trip to a nature resort has you discovering something new about yourself, all thanks to the handsome owner.
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, older!leon, kissing, oral sex, masturbation, dry humping, p in v, spit kink, praise kink, daddy kink, age gap, aftercare
wc: 8.3k
a/n: been going feral over leon since the re9 trailer <3
also on ao3!
You couldn’t remember the last time it had been this cold.
A white puff of air forms from your lips as you stare out at your surroundings. Snow hadn’t fallen yet, but the grass under your feet was wet and slippery, half frozen over. A frown pulls at your lips as you stare out at the cabins, pulling your jacket around yourself tighter. Some of them were lit up, a couple lingering on the porch outside with their arms wrapped around each other.
Your frown deepens, bitterness seeping in and mixing with the chill of the air. This was meant to be your big break, your relaxing trip away from home. Only it wasn’t relaxing to be out in the middle of a forest freezing your ass off with a bunch of strangers for company. Not to mention, you weren’t meant to be here alone. The trip had been planned months ago, back when your boyfriend was kind and caring, and all that other bullshit he had managed to convince you into thinking he was before he had gone and ended up between the thighs of your supposed, and no longer, friend.
A groan escapes you when the memory comes back to mind, and you pat your cheek in an attempt to self-soothe. The booking deposit was non-refundable much to your dismay, and whilst you didn’t exactly want to be here, you’d been too busy wallowing in self-pity to badger an unassuming customer service rep who probably didn’t give a shit about all your woes.
So you’d shoved a few clothes into a duffel bag, along with a few other necessities and made the trip out here, into the freezing – and somewhat beautiful, you could at least admit – wilderness.
Your gaze flits back towards the couple, now entangled in a kiss, the thought of throwing a frozen rock at their heads briefly crossing your mind. Another white puff escapes. You really were pathetic.
You grumble to yourself as you haul your duffel bag to the large, warm-looking wood lodging situated a little way past the cabins, pushing through the doors to find yourself engulfed by heat. It soothes you a little as you poke your head around, examining the large space. There's a cozy fire going, a few tables set out in an open area, a kitchen set off to one side with staff milling around, most probably preparing for the dinner service.
“Hi,” you say tiredly as you trudge up to the receptionist, giving her a wane smile in an attempt to at least appear polite. “I’m here to check in.”
“Sure,” she chirps happily, clicking across the keyboard rapidly, “could I please get your name?”
You tell her, watching with slight bewilderment as her fingers fly over the keyboard again. She glances up at you, her head tilting to look behind you, her brows furrowed.
“I know it’s been booked for two people,” you interrupt. “But he won’t be making it today.” You glance towards a window, taking in the foggy darkness that was beginning to settle in. “Snowstorm,” you explain breezily, forcing a brighter smile onto your face, unsure of why you were trying to explain yourself. “He’s uh– stuck in a snowstorm.”
“Oh, that’s too–”
She’s interrupted by the sound of heavy footfalls, and you glance behind you to find a man trudging his way through the doors, an axe in hand. Serial killer, your tired, wretched mind conjures dramatically as you stand there, rooted to the spot.
“Leon!” the receptionist greets cheerily, smiling at the man as he rounds the reception desk.
He murmurs something you can’t quite catch, and you find yourself leaning forward, curiosity sparking through your veins as you let your gaze trail over his brown hair and broad shoulders.
When he turns to face you, you feel your breath catch. He’s older than you – you figure by the few streaks of graying hair – but he’s… handsome. His hair is a little long, hanging over an eye and you swallow when you spy the stubble covering his jaw. You would keep staring if you could, but he clears his throat and you snap out of your trance, thrusting your hand forward awkwardly.
Leon glances down at your hand, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement before he takes your trembling hand in his.
Warm, you think dazedly as you introduce yourself, feeling his calloused skin against yours.
Warm, warm, warm–
You manage to let go before you latch on, watching with barely disguised curiosity as he disappears back out the doors.
“That’s Leon,” the receptionist explains as she hands the keys to your cabin. “He owns the place.”
“The entire place?” you ask, brows raising incredulously.
The receptionist nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! The forest is huge, a couple of acres, actually. He opened up the cabins after he stopped working for the government!” She winces when she realizes what she’s said, giving you a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have told you that. I’m… technically not meant to know either.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” you reassure her.
She draws a path on a small map to your cabin and you give her a small smile before you leave, following the path.
The cabin is nice. The fireplace is already lit up, spare wood tucked neatly into a corner nearby. You hum to yourself as you unpack, pulling your jacket off once the warmth in the cabin becomes too much. Exhaustion pulls at your weary limbs, guiding you towards the large bed.
You realize it’s meant for two people when you lay down, curling onto your side to find the space next to you empty. You’re unable to stop yourself from wallowing in self-pity and sniffling, the sleeve of your shirt brushing across your cheeks to wipe your tears. You were meant to be over him, meant to have forgotten about the aching memories, but all it had taken was the size of the stupid bed to send you spiralling.
Wallowing a little more, you eventually drag yourself out of bed for dinner. To your disappointment, the man from earlier – Leon, is missing. You wouldn’t have minded staring at him a little more to ease your sadness, to let your gaze travel over him and figure out what secrets he was hiding.
When the night grows colder, you return to your cabin, shedding your worn clothes. A hot bath later, you burrow under the heap of blankets you’d been wise enough to bring with you, sprawling over the entirety of the bed.
It’s warm and cozy, and in the haze of sleep, you think of Leon’s hand.
–
The next morning – against better judgement – you decide to explore the forest.
Drowning in self-pity wasn’t exactly how you wanted to spend your days here, and you’d figured that the fresh air would do you some good. Your nose scrunches as you walk along the marked trail on the map, fingers tugging at your scarf to ward off the cold.
It was still misty when you had set out, the unforgiving chill biting at your skin. Your eyes squint as you stare down at the map, not quite sure which turn you had taken on the trail. Blinking confusedly, you play with the map, glancing around at the surrounding forest, the cabins and main lodging nowhere in sight.
You spin on your feet, sweat beginning to bead across your forehead. Fingers trembling, you glance up towards the sky only to see that it’s covered by the dense forest canopy.
“Fuck,” you breathe out, feeling your stomach churn. “Fuck, fuck, fuck–” you frantically yank your scarf from around your neck when your body blisters with heat.
You were lost.
And it was all his fault.
“I hope you’re happy!” you snap at the sky. “While you’re too busy fucking her, I’m lost in a fucking forest!” Another irritated shriek escapes. “I hate you! Fuck you, you cheating, vile excuse for a–”
Something crunches in the distance.
You stiffen, clamping your mouth shut. You’d seen one too many true crime documentaries to meet an untimely end in a forest in the middle of nowhere. The leaves crunch against the forest floor once more and you stumble backwards, bumping into something firm.
Head tilting back, all you need is a glimpse of shaggy hair for a scream to tear its way out of your throat. The man behind you sighs heavily, as though you’ve managed to inconvenience him somehow, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you still as you thrash wildly like a fish out of water.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low, “stop screaming.”
“Fat fucking chance,” you screech, trying to claw at his arms. “I’m not fucking dying today, you creep!” Your voice is so shrill that it hurts your own ears. “Help! Let go of me, you fucking– Help!”
He grunts irritatedly, clamping his gloved hand over your mouth. Your eyes widen in panic, a muffled squeak escaping you when he turns you around to face him. Your cheeks flush hot with embarrassment when you see who it is.
Leon.
“You gonna stop screaming?” he asks, his grip on you loosening.
You nod rapidly, sucking in a sharp breath of crisp air when he removes his hand. Leon stares down at you, his brows raising and you clear your throat awkwardly, giving him an equally awkward smile.
“Just– um– just testing out the ol’ vocal cords.” You rub your throat.
“Right,” Leon says skeptically, his gaze flitting over you with mild interest. “The uh– not so dulcet tones of you being lost, is that right?”
You blink up at him, eyes narrowing when you spy a smile playing on his lips. “I have a nice voice!” you protest, stumbling after him when he starts walking back through the forest.
“Sure, sweetheart,” he rumbles, “you nearly took out my hearing with all that screeching.”
“That’s because I thought you were a serial killer,” you chirp, glancing around when he stops in a clearing, several wooden logs stacked into an orderly pile.
Leon glances at you, his brows raising. “Serial killer?” he echoes, reaching down to grasp the axe you had seen him with the day earlier.
“Case in point,” you say pointedly, gesturing towards him. “You have an axe and you own a huge forest, Leon. That’s like, textbook serial killer.”
You flinch when he brings his axe down, stepping back when stray pieces of wood fling about. Leon doesn’t say anything more, instead moving the wood unceremoniously. You decide not to interrupt, squirming on your feet as you watch him, strangely enamoured by the swing of his arms, the flex of his shoulders.
It’s hot, you decide, to watch Leon chop wood. There’s hair falling over his eyes messily, but he doesn’t push it away, instead bringing down the axe over and over again methodically. You bite back an indecent noise when he sheds his heavy jacket, the map in your hand crinkling as you ogle the outline of his broad shoulders and thick biceps through the fabric of his black shirt.
Leon grunts sporadically and you force yourself to look away towards the dark trees, squirming a little more when you feel how sticky your panties are.
“Remind me why you’re out here again?” Leon asks, drawing your attention back towards him as the axe comes down against the log, the wood splintering.
“Character building,” you reply vaguely, shrugging.
Leon lets out a low laugh – the kind that warms you – propping his axe up to run his hand through his hair. You swallow at the action, refusing to let your eyes drop anywhere lower than his stupidly handsome face.
“There are better places to do that,” he muses, his head tilting.
“Sure,” you shrug, kicking at a rock, “but maybe I like the great outdoors.”
Leon hums, stepping closer. “In the middle of winter?” he drawls, a smile pulling at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling. The sight is boyish enough to have your heart kicking up in a wild flutter.
“Especially in the middle of winter,” you shoot back, faltering under his line of questioning.
He smiles knowingly and you frown, distracted by the motion of him removing his gloves. You think you can see a few scars littered over his skin, your eyes finding his when you catch him staring down at you intently.
You decide to hold your tongue, lips pursing instead as you rock on your feet awkwardly.
“You’re nervous.”
“For good reason,” you scoff, “you might chop me up to bits with that axe of yours.”
“If I wanted to kill you, you would’ve already been dead, sweetheart,” Leon replies drily, his fingers flexing.
“Well, you–”
He interrupts you with a hush, Leon’s arm curling around your waist to pull you into him. You open your mouth to protest, but his hand is sliding over your mouth once more, his gaze directed towards the forest.
“Shhh,” he soothes, nodding towards a flash of gray. “Look.”
You have half a mind to ask him whether he’s insane, but the gray thing seems to grow larger until it finally appears through the thick foliage. Your breath catches when you see that it’s a wolf, its ears pricked up as it turns to look at you.
Leon hushes you once more when you whimper, his grip on you tightening. You can feel the warmth of his body seeping in through all the layers you’re wearing, lashes fluttering when his chin rests on your shoulder lightly. It’s difficult to keep your eyes on the wolf when all you can think about how nicely he fits against you, how nice it would to feel his weight against yours, his hips settling between your thighs–
You dispel the thoughts as quickly as they come, stumbling against him when the wolf pads closer, its head tilting in curiosity. The overwhelming and entirely stupid urge to reach out flares up inside of you, to coax it closer and let your fingers run through its soft fur.
“Pretty, isn’t she?” Leon murmurs, his hand stroking over your hip soothingly.
You manage a slow nod, sulkily wishing that he was talking about instead. Leon holds you against him for a few moments longer while the wolf examines its surroundings before it’s gone, padding back into the trees leisurely.
“You okay?” he breathes out, turning you to face him, his hands still on your hips.
“I– yes,” you sputter out, peering up at him. “You have wolves?”
Leon runs his hand through his hair. “They usually don’t get so close. You must’ve startled her earlier.”
“What?” you hiss, throwing your hands up. “It– it could’ve eaten me!”
“I highly doubt that,” he laughs softly, letting go of you to pull his jacket back on, his fingers wrapping around the handle of the axe. “Well… unless you taste good.”
You stare at him blankly, following the line of his broad shoulders when he starts to walk away. Not wanting to get lost for the second time today, you follow after him closely.
“Do you?” he asks, offering you his hand to help you climb over a large log.
“Do I what?”
“Taste good?”
Your breath catches in your throat, fingers tightening around his hand. His words leave your brain scrambled, so much so that you lose your footing, yelping as you lurch towards him. Leon grunts as you fall onto him, trying to grab ahold of you. It only causes you to flail more, both of you crashing down onto the fallen leaves covering the forest floor.
You blink down at him dazedly when you realize you’ve landed on top of him, fingers sliding over the back of his head when he groans.
“Sorry,” you wince, shifting in his lap as he sits up, your fingers rubbing at his scalp gently.
“It’s okay,” Leon rasps, his eyes squeezing shut in pain. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I thought you uh–” he trails off, letting out a soft laugh, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “I thought you might be into me,” Leon finishes, his eyes fluttering open to peer up at you, “guess I just read into it too much.”
“Oh,” you say, sounding shrill. “Oh! No– I mean–” you stumble over your words, feeling hot with embarrassment. “You didn’t read it into it,” you say finally when you get your brain back in working order.
Leon stares up at you, his brows raising. “I didn’t?”
“No,” you murmur, feeling shy under his intent gaze. “I– I am into you. It’s just… I’ve never been with someone that’s older.”
He nods, his fingers tracing over the curve of your cheek gently. You tremble when he leans in closer, his lips pressing against your cheek gently.
“That’s fair,” he whispers, “it’s a first for me too, being with someone younger.”
You give him a small smile, hands slipping up over his firm chest, arms wrapping around his neck. Leon leans closer, his fingers sliding over your jaw to gently grip your chin. You swallow nervously, gaze flitting from his eyes to his lips.
“You should probably know,” you whisper, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “My boyfriend cheated on me. It’s why I’m out here in the first place.”
“Not for character building?”
You laugh, shaking your head.
“Too bad,” Leon murmurs, cupping your cheek. “I was looking forward to your transformation.”
“Really?” you whisper when he draws you closer, breath hitching when his nose nudges against yours playfully.
“No,” he muses, kissing the corner of your mouth.
Your lips part, a retort sitting on the tip of your tongue, but Leon is surging forward, slotting his lips over yours. A soft gasp escapes you, eyes fluttering shut in surprise before your fingers tighten, drawing Leon closer.
He groans, the sound rumbling against your lips, his hands smoothing over your waist and along the length of your back. You’ve never been kissed in the way Leon does. It’s soft, insistent and wanting, his lips working against yours feverishly as though the next moment might be the last.
The scratch of his stubble against your chin and cheeks has you shivering and mewling, fingers slipping into his hair to tug at the soft strands. Leon jostles you in his lap, shifting you closer until he’s able to kiss you more firmly, his hand cupping your jaw to hold you in place.
You’re dazedly concerned about the fact that you’re making out with Leon with wolves around, but your concerns are soon forgotten as he licks into your mouth, tongue stroking against yours. Whining, you squirm closer, twitching in his lap when he sucks on your tongue lazily. Leon lets out a low, rasping laugh when he hears you, and you whine louder, toes curling in your socks as you pull at his hair harder, desperately wanting more.
He grins up at you when you pull away, eyes lit up with mirth. You let out a petulant huff, pulling his hand towards you again, making him cup your cheek. Nuzzling into the warmth of his calloused palm, you sigh, peering over at him.
“Did–” you sound embarrassingly breathless, “did you want to do more?”
Leon raises his brows, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he pulls you into another soft, slow kiss.
“Yeah,” he whispers, “is that okay?”
You nod, trying not to look too eager, but Leon must see the glint in your eyes because he’s standing up, pulling you to your feet. He says something about his cabin not being too far away, but you’re too busy lacing your fingers together, heart fluttering happily when you see how easily your hand fits against his.
Leon’s cabin is tucked away, past a line of heavily shrouded trees. The main lodging is visible when you step up onto the porch, leaning against the wooden railing as you rock up onto your toes to observe the sprawling expanse of land.
There’s a warmth pressing against your back from behind, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. You sigh, head tilting as you bare your neck to Leon, your fingers tracing over his knuckles when he kisses your neck.
It’s hard to keep your eyes open when he pants into your ear softly, his stubble brushing against your skin as he drags his lips over the length of your neck.
“You like it?” he asks quietly, his chin settling on your shoulder as he looks out at the sweeping trees and dark, misty sky.
“It’s nice,” you murmur, reaching back to play with his hair, “a little dark, but… nice.”
“You flatter me,” Leon says drily, his teeth scraping over your neck in retaliation.
You gasp, fingers tightening around his forearms before he’s pulling you inside his cabin, letting you kick off your boots. He grunts when you push him against the closed door, going willingly when you yank him down using his jacket, moaning into your mouth as you kiss him eagerly.
He’s grabbing at every part of you he can, smiling against your lips when you whine as he grabs your ass, squeezing gently. You paw at his chest, arms slipping around his neck as he hefts you up into his arms, pressing you against a nearby wall as he kisses you.
“I– I wanna–” you whisper, squirming in his arms in an attempt to get him to put you down.
“Wanna do what, baby?” Leon murmurs, pressing closer, capturing your lips in another deep kiss, his hands squeezing at your thighs greedily.
Baby. You nearly swoon right then and there in his arms, the deep, rasping timbre of his voice almost enough to send you over the edge. You squirm a little more, returning his kisses with equal fervor until you manage to pull away with a whimper.
You blink up at him, swallowing harshly. “I wanna suck your cock,” you demand stubbornly.
“I–” Leon trails off, looking a little dazed. “I uh– wasn’t expecting that.”
But his grip on you falters all the same, his mouth opening and closing as he watches you settle onto your feet before you sink down onto your knees.
“Baby,” he tries again, his hand reaching out hesitantly, settling on the top of your head gently. “Are you sure? You don’t have to–”
“Leon,” you say, shifting on your knees to get a little more comfortable on the rug underneath you, “I want to.”
“Okay,” he breathes out, noddily jerkily. “Okay, sweetheart. It’s– fuck, it’s been a while so–”
You smile up at him, biting your lip. “I’ll be gentle, old man.”
“Don’t be a smartass,” Leon rolls his eyes, his fingers running through your hair before they splay out over your scalp.
Your eyes slip shut at the motion, leaning up into it as he strokes your hair lazily. It’s gentle, sweet, and you hazily realize that no one’s ever treated you like this – like you’re soft, like you matter.
Leon’s belt buckle clinks, and you lean forward unconsciously, eyes fluttering open lazily to watch him pull his trousers down. The outline of his half-hard cock sits prettily on his dark boxers, Leon’s hand drifting over it to squeeze gently before his hand settles back into your hair again.
You hum when Leon gasps, nuzzling into his clothed cock contentedly, rubbing your cheek along the thick length. It’s big, you can tell that much just from the outline, drool pooling on your tongue.
“Shit,” he breathes out, his hips bucking when you mouth at his boxers, sucking lazily through the fabric. “Baby, fuck–”
“Can I take it out?” you ask sweetly, your own hand slipping past the waistband of your pants and into your panties to stroke at your sticky folds. You’ve never felt so empty, the ache between your thighs making you rock your hips needily as you mouth at his hardening cock.
“Yeah,” Leon rasps, his darkened eyes watching you, “yeah, sweetheart, go ‘head. Take my cock out.”
You tug his boxers down, throat drying when you see his cock. It’s pretty, flushed dark at the tip, several veins running along the length. You bite back a moan when you see the pre-cum beading at the tip, tongue lolling just in time to catch a glob that falls. Leon mutters a low curse, his hand pressing against the back of your head.
“‘s pretty…,” you whisper, your hand wrapping around his cock, delighted by its thickness and heat, eyes dropping to take in his heavy balls. “‘s really pretty, Leon.”
“Hah– Thank– Thank you, baby.”
His politeness has heat flaring in your stomach, lips pressing against the head of his cock in a fleeting kiss. Leon groans as you kiss along the length of his cock, his fingers flexing against the wall, curling into a fist before long. You take him into your mouth, unable to hold off for much longer, moaning when you feel the weight of his cock on your tongue.
He tastes intoxicating, the silky skin of his cock sliding over your tongue as you wrap your lips around him daintily, letting your lashes flutter up at him.
“Fuck,” Leon says, his brows furrowing in need when you swirl your tongue around his cock, beginning to slurp. “Sweetheart, fuck– look so pretty down there taking my fat cock.”
You preen, batting your lashes up at him a little more, your fingers curling around his thighs greedily, nails digging into his skin. Leon’s hips rock forward when you suck, a hoarse moan escaping him as he watches you hollow your cheeks with wanton intent, his hand slamming against the wall when you begin to bob your head.
“Takin’ me so fuckin’ good,” he snarls, his head tipping forward, eyes squeezing shut.
You watch through the misty haze of lust, your fingers working against your aching clit, rubbing at the swollen bud rapidly as slick pools into your panties. The fabric is probably ruined by now, with how wet you are, a muffled mewl escaping you as you use your other hand to play with his balls. You massage them gently, squeezing and letting your thumb brush over his skin, gagging when Leon’s hips buck too far forward, burying his cock down your throat.
“Shit!” Leon gasps when he hears you, pulling back, pushing his hair out his eyes. “Baby, I’m sorry, you okay?”
“Yeah,” you mumble, cheeks flushed and eyes drooping. You lick your lips. “I– I can take it, Leon,” you say petulantly, leaning forward to nuzzle into his warm thigh, biting into him needily.
He huffs out a hoarse laugh, his fingers cupping your jaw to tilt your head before he’s lowering his head, kissing you sweetly. You whine, hugging his leg tighter with an arm while your fingers slip into your needy cunt, hips rising and falling as you fuck yourself on your hand.
“So pretty,” he whispers, his nose nudging against yours as he wraps his hand around his cock, stroking the length as he watches you writhe on the rug, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “Can I try something, sweetheart?”
You nod, desperate for attention, for his touch. Leon’s thumb is sliding over your tongue, pressing down as you open your mouth wider, eager for his fat cock back in your mouth. But he doesn’t give you his cock. Instead, Leon’s lips purse, a soft noise leaving him as he spits down into your mouth.
It’s filthy, so terribly obscene and yet it makes your cunt throb harder, thighs squeezing together as violent need unravels through the crevices of your brain until you’re moaning and swallowing, tongue sticking out for more.
“Please,” you gasp, holding your mouth open, staring up into his eyes. “Please, Leon.”
“You’re driving me crazy,” he mutters, shaking his head as he watches you bounce on your knees, his thumb pressing down on the soft wetness of your tongue, hissing when your lips latch on unforgivingly, slurping at the digit. “Didn’t think you’d get me this fucking insane.”
You whine louder, a sliver of brattiness breaking through as you let go of his thumb in favor of lurching towards his thick cock again. You manage to get your lips around it, squirming closer until it’s half-way into your mouth, feeling the tip of it nudge against the back of your throat. You’d never taken it so deep, but you’re feeling stubborn and the uncharacteristic need to please has infiltrated your mind, setting your nerves alight.
“Sweetheart,” Leon grunts, muttering out a low curse when he watches you shift, settling on his boot. “Needy fuckin’ girl, huh? Okay, I’ll give you what you want, greedy little thing.”
His hand finds the back of your head, pressing gently as he urges you forward. You moan around him, hips rocking against his boot, holding him closer as it presses up right between your legs, giving you the friction you need, the relief you need.
“Good girl,” he whispers, letting his hips inch forward slowly. “Good fuckin’ girl.”
You whimper, hollowing your cheeks, trying to relax your throat as he strokes your hair. It’s a little uncomfortable, but Leon taps your nose and you mewl, managing to suck in a deep breath before letting you go lax as he pushes in deeper, just enough to feel your throat convulse around him.
Leon moans hoarsely, holding you there for a brief moment before he pulls his cock out of your mouth, brushing his thumb over your messy, spit-covered lips.
You blink up at him tearily, reaching for him when he leans down to kiss you, panting into his mouth.
“Leon,” you whimper, tears threatening to fall over your lash line at how good it feels to be here with him.
“I know, baby,” he croons, dipping his head to kiss your tears, trailing his lips over your cheeks. “You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, slow and gentle, letting his nose nudge against yours. “You wanna cum? Hm? Go ‘head and rub that needy little pussy all over my boot, baby, go on.”
You nod rapidly, kissing him eagerly as he cups your jaw, letting your hips roll once more, your fingers worming back into your panties to press against your swollen clit, circling the aching bud desperately. The coil in your stomach grows tighter with every kiss Leon gives you, every brush of his lips against your skin.
Through your hazy gaze, you can see him stroking his cock, pre-cum wetting his hands, the slick sounds emanating through the quiet, dark cabin. It’s a little difficult to get your fingers inside of you with how you’re settled on his boot, so you stick to rubbing your clit, grinding against his boot.
“Gonna cum,” you whisper dazedly, rocking harder, eyes rolling back when Leon’s hand slides over your throat, gently squeezing before he’s tipping your chin up so you can watch him fist his cock.
“Yeah?” Leon rasps, “just from grinding on my boot? You’re so dirty, baby.”
“‘m– ‘m not!” you protest, arching into him. “‘m not dirty!”
“No?” he coos condescendingly, licking into your mouth feverishly until he’s devouring your needy sounds, letting his tongue tangle with yours momentarily before he’s pulling back and spitting into your mouth. “But you’re gonna cum, sweetheart.”
It’s all too much for you. Leon’s hand on your hair, the low, rasping laugh that leaves him when you nuzzle into his thigh, the soft kiss that lands on your cheek.
You cum with a cry, shaking and shuddering and wanting, squirming towards his cock despite the violent twitches that rack through your body. Leon’s laugh is broken by a guttural groan when you suck his balls into your mouth, slurping and letting your tongue run over the hot skin.
“Fuck,” Leon snarls, his voice trembling as he strokes his cock faster, “fuck, baby– fuck!”
He grunts as he cums, hips jerking forward unevenly when you wrap your lips around the spurting head of his cock to swallow his cum down. You lap at the head, letting his heady cum pool on your tongue before you show him, batting your lashes up at him in a way you hope is pretty.
He sinks his teeth into his fist as he watches you swallow it down, fingers coming down to stroke over your throat gently before he kisses you, pulling you up onto shaky feet. You flush when Leon cups your cheeks, fingers trembling against his chest.
He smiles down at you, letting out a soft, disbelieving laugh. You smile back, unable to help yourself, leaning into him as he lets his head drop forward, resting on your shoulder.
“That was fun,” you say breathlessly, running your fingers through his hair.
“Fun,” Leon echoes, letting out a snort. “Sure, baby. Think you might’ve sucked my soul outta my cock.”
“Shut up!” you laugh, hitting his chest.
“What?” he grins, holding you in place as he peppers kisses all over your face making you laugh and squirm, his stubble scratching across your skin. “Gorgeous,” Leon whispers, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “You’re so gorgeous. My pretty baby.”
Your heart lurches in your chest, beginning to thud so violently you think it might somehow tear its way out of your chest and find its rightful home in Leon’s scarred hands. He kisses the tip of your nose and you shiver, voice soft when you speak.
“Thank you, daddy.”
You pause when you realize what you’ve said, eyes widening in mortification as Leon’s brows shoot up in surprise. Your mouth opens to apologize, to back-track, to say something to explain why the fucking word daddy has slipped out of all things, but your mind is utterly devoid of thoughts.
All you can manage is an incoherent gargle, the noise making you sound choked.
You’re half-expecting him to turn and pull away from you, but all Leon does is just… stare at you.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, “I don’t know where that came from.” You throw your hands up, growing panicked. “I mean, you were just kissing me and stroking my hair and I felt wanted and so fucking safe and I don’t fucking know why I–”
“Hey,” Leon’s voice is soft when he catches your hands, lacing his fingers through yours tightly. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”
“It is?”
“Yeah,” he nods, lifting your hands to brush his lips over your knuckles. “It’s just…,” his brows furrow, “not what I was expecting.”
Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses you, his hands slipping over your sides until he’s pulling you impossibly closer, deepening the kiss. You think there might be some sort of magic laced into the kisses with how they’re easing the tension in your shoulders, the anxiousness in you bleeding out with every press of his lips and stroke of his tongue.
Leon pulls away with a chaste peck, his forehead pressing against yours. His breath is hot as it fans across your face, and you lurch forward to steal another kiss from him. Leon catches you before you can, his thumb pressing against your lips.
“You want daddy to take care of you, baby?”
You blink up at him owlishly. The way he’s speaking to you – soft, low and deep – is rewiring the synapses in your brain, carving out a place just for Leon.
“Yes,” you whisper, head tilting to let Leon kiss your cheek. “Yes– yes, daddy.”
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his hands cupping your thighs as he lifts you up into your arms.
You’re too distracted by his mouth to notice that he’s carrying you to his bed, lashes fluttering as he lays you down. He leans back to shrug his jacket off and you’re doing the same, pulling at all the layers you’re wearing, discarding them hurriedly until you’re moving to tug your socks off.
“Leave ‘em on,” Leon says, pulling his shirt over his head. “They’re cute, baby.”
You’d disagree if you weren’t so distracted by his chest and abdomen. There’s a dusting of hair on his chest and you swallow, letting your gaze travel down over his muscled abdomen spattered with scars. You bite your lip, following the trail of coarse hair that lies below his navel, whimpering when you see his cock hard again.
Leon’s crawling over you, capturing your lips in another deep kiss, his hands brushing over your bare skin.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, staring down at you, “so fucking pretty for me, sweetheart.”
You mewl, fingers sliding through his hair as he mouths at your breasts, back arching when he sucks one into his mouth, his tongue swirling over your areola and flicking at your hardened nipples. If his cabin is cold, you don’t notice, not with the way he’s rubbing against you, the hot heat of his mouth making your eyes roll back as he tugs your nipple with his teeth.
“Daddy,” you whisper, bucking your hips, “daddy, please.”
“Use your words, baby,” Leon murmurs, switching breasts, kissing over the soft skin reverently, his hands squeezing at your thighs. “What do you want from daddy?”
“You!” you gasp desperately, tugging at his hair as he laves over your breast, sucking it into his mouth lazily before he’s letting it slip out of his mouth with a muted pop. “Want– want you to fuck me, daddy.”
“Yeah?” he says, hand sliding between your thighs to cup your pussy, his thumb sliding through your puffy folds to press against your aching clit. “Want daddy deep inside this pretty, little pussy?”
“Yes– ah– yes,” you whine, voice hoarse and broken, hands pawing at his broad shoulders as he slinks lower, head settling between your thighs.
A sharp squeal escapes you when Leon’s mouth latches onto you suddenly, his tongue gliding through your folds, lips sealing around your clit as he sucks it into his mouth. Your legs kick out, hands pushing at his head at the overwhelming sensation, but Leon doesn’t let up, wrapping his arms around your thighs, palms resting on your lower stomach to hold you in place.
You wail, toes curling as you thrash, back arching involuntarily when he fucks his tongue into your aching cunt. The motion has his stubble scraping deliciously along your skin – scratchy and rough.
“Daddy!” you squeal, “‘s too nghh– much!”
“You can take it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice muffled by your pussy as he laps at your cunt, working his tongue into every now and then until you’re shaking and yanking at his hair desperately. “Be good for daddy.”
You whimper, nodding to yourself as you reach for his hand, heart fluttering when he gives it to you, letting you hold his hand tightly. Broken moans and gasps fill the air as he laps at your pussy, over the slick folds, drinking down the taste of you greedily. He groans into your pussy, the sound travelling through your sensitive flesh, making you twitch.
Leon’s tongue swirls over your clit, flicking against the sensitive bud until you’re squealing louder, your feet slipping over his broad back in an attempt for purchase, only to find none.
“Fuck me,” you say dazedly, pulling at his hair, pouting down at him. “I said– hah– I wanted you to fuck me, daddy.”
He huffs out a laugh, peppering your clit with soft kisses until you whine and squirm again.
“You’re being bratty, sweetheart,” Leon muses, letting his hips roll between your thighs, his fat, heavy cock dragging against your slick pussy. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, groaning when you slip your hand between your bodies, guiding his cock against your pussy.
“Sorry, daddy,” you mumble, not sounding very sorry at all as you let your thumb brush over the head of his cock, mewling happily when Leon whimpers, pre-cum dribbling from the tip of his cock and onto your clit, coating the swollen bud.
“I– fuck– I don’t have a condom on me,” he says, kissing your neck.
“You can pull out,” you offer, peering up at him when he reappears, an arm wrapping around his neck as you roll your hips, feeling the head of his cock nudge against your empty cunt. “Just want you inside, daddy. It aches.” You pout a little more.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, pushing your hand aside to grasp his cock, stroking it once before he presses it against your aching hole. “Okay, baby, take my fat fuckin’ cock then.”
Your eyes widen when his cock starts to push forward, scrabbling at his shoulders when you feel the stretch of his cock pressing inside.
“‘s big,” you whisper, staring up at him, gaze flitting about his face. “Daddy, ‘s too big.”
Leon smiles, his cheeks flushed prettily. “Thought you wanted me to fuck this sweet little cunt, sweetheart. Hm? Should daddy pull out and kiss you instead?”
“No!”
The refusal slips out of you quickly and Leon laughs when he sees the flare of panic in your eyes.
“Sorry, baby,” he says, kissing your cheek. “Daddy’s being mean.”
You pout, pulling him down for a bratty, sloppy kiss as Leon lets his cock sink into you deeper, feeding inch after inch into your until your pussy flutters around him, desperately trying to accommodate his size.
Leon lets you adjust for a moment before he’s drawing his hips back and snapping them forward. You gasp, the sharp noise ripped out of your throat as he watches you, brows knitted together as he fucks his cock into you, setting a pace that has you seeing stars already. He brushes your messy hair out of your face, hand settling on your hand as he drops his weight down onto you, pushing your legs up so that they wrap around him, your ankles locking together tightly.
There’s drool leaking from the side of your mouth, Leon’s tongue catching it as he feeds it back to you, spitting into your mouth filthily as you babble incoherently, eyes rolling back.
“Perfect fuckin’ pussy,” Leon growls, his hands squeezing your hips, so hard that you can feel the bruises beginning to bloom. “Good fucking girl, taking daddy’s cock like a fuckin' champ.”
You preen at the praise, managing to draw a gasp out of Leon this time when your pussy clenches around his fat cock, his hips jerking forward when you claw down his back in delirium.
“Daddy– love daddy’s cock,” you slur, feeling his chest press against your breasts, the weight of him so comforting that you coo, legs tightening around him to hold him closer to feel his cock pounding into you with abandon, balls slapping against your ass. “Daddy– ah! daddy, daddy!”
“Daddy’s got you, baby. Doing so fucking good for me,” he snarls, mouth slotting over yours messily, his fingers moving to grip your ass to hike your hips up a little higher.
The new angle has him hitting deeper and you’re squealing, so loud that you think it might be enough to scare off the wolves outside. Leon groans and grunts, shifting his hips until he’s able to hit exactly where you need him, his fat, girthy cock carving its way through your pussy.
You can vaguely hear his bed creaking with every thrust, head tilting as Leon whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his fingers finding your clit. Every brush of his skin against yours has you crying out, the heat of your bodies becoming blistering.
“My perfect girl,” Leon whispers, his fingers splaying over your jaw as he watches your wanton expressions. “My pretty, perfect girl. All for me, hm? Tell me, baby, is this all for me? All for daddy?”
“Y– nghh– yes,” you whisper dazedly, feeling your body rock as he thrusts into you, driving his hips deeper and deeper. “All for you, daddy,” you tremble underneath him, “no one’s– ahh– no one’s ever made me feel this way.”
“Oh sweetheart,” Leon says, his brows furrowing as he watches you pucker up your lips for a kiss. He gives you what you want, letting his lips brush over yours, his hand tangling into your hair. “Tell me what you are then, pretty baby. Tell daddy what you are.”
You blink up at him, lower lip trembling for a moment before Leon kisses you again gently, his nose brushing against yours in silent encouragement.
“‘m daddy’s pretty, perfect girl,” you mumble out shyly, smiling faintly when he kisses your cheek.
“That’s right,” he soothes, brushing his fingers over your clit, beginning to rub faster, in tight, little circles. “Such a good girl for daddy, hm?”
You nod, giggling dazedly when he peppers your cheek with kisses, toes beginning to curl when he grinds his cock into you briefly before he’s fucking you again with long, deep strokes.
He’s moaning into your skin and you whine back, heels digging into his ass when he buries himself to the hilt in your fluttering pussy.
“Gonna cum, sweetheart,” Leon rasps, trying to pull back, his hands settling on your waist as he tries to detach from you. “C’mon baby, you gotta let daddy go.”
“N– no!” you protest, shaking your head at the thought of him wasting his cum when he could cum inside you. “Want it inside, daddy… want your cum inside,” you sound embarrassingly desperate. “Fill me up?” you try, “please?”
“Fuck,” he breathes out, running his hand through his hair as he glances down to where his cock is still buried inside of you.
You blink up at him, arching your back a little, squeezing your breasts before letting your hand drift between your thighs to rub at your clit.
“Please?” you whisper, your other hand reaching to scratch at his abdomen, grazing the coarse, dark hair below his navel. “Fill me up, daddy. ‘m so– so empty.”
“You’re a bad fucking influence,” Leon rumbles, grabbing your chin. “If you want daddy’s cum, you’re gonna have to take every fuckin’ drop.”
You smile at him hazily, lolling your tongue out playfully. Leon’s groaning and rolling his eyes, but he gives you what you want, spitting down into your mouth, letting his tongue glide over yours before he’s moving his hips again.
He seems to be close with the way he’s groaning into your ear, his movements stuttering with each consecutive thrust, fingers digging into your skin tightly. You kiss him sweetly.
“Cum, daddy,” you mewl, peering up into his eyes. “Wanna watch you cum, daddy.”
“Too fuckin’ good to me,” he rasps, his fingers playing with your clit.
Leon’s hips stutter forward one final time, a low whine leaving him as he cums, inching forward to bury his cock into you. You keen when you feel his cock throb, eyes rolling back when his hot, thick cum spills into you, your own thighs twitching as Leon rubs at your clit a little harder.
“Let go, baby,” he manages through rough pants, “cum on daddy’s cock, pretty girl.”
You cry out when he thrusts into you once more, clinging to him as your orgasm hits you, thighs shaking and body twitching as you cum. Leon kisses you lazily through it, his hands stroking over your sides as you ride it out, sagging against the sheets limply.
Leon pulls you into his side after he pulls out and you frown when you feel his cum beginning to leak out of you, pressing your thighs together stubbornly until the heady fog of lust fades and you realize that you’d let Leon cum inside of you.
You watch him when he leaves the bed, silently appreciating his broad back as he stokes the fire before disappearing through a door. He reappears, a warm, damp cloth in hand and clad in a pair of sweatpants and hoodie.
A yawn escapes you as he sits down on the bed, letting him clean you up with a kind of reverence that has your gaze clouding over again. Leon helps you get dressed, forgoing your panties as he helps you into a pair of his boxers, dressing you in his warm clothes, pulling you into his arms soon after.
“You okay?” he murmurs, kissing your cheek. “That was pretty intense.”
“Yeah,” you say, curling into him as he pulls the blankets up over you both. “But it felt good,” you flush a little, burying your face into his chest. “It felt good with you, Leon.”
He laughs, kissing your forehead, rubbing his hands over your back soothingly until you relax against him a little more and come out from where you’ve been hiding.
“Are you okay?” you ask, leaning into his palm when he cups your cheek. “I’m sorry if I was too much–”
“You weren’t,” Leon interrupts, tracing the curve of your cheek. “I told you, you’re perfect, baby. And yeah, I’m okay,” he grins down at you, “think you left a little ache in my joints though.”
You huff out a breath, trying to feign annoyance but he looks so boyish when he grins that you can’t help smiling back. You squirm closer, kissing his cheek before pecking his lips, nuzzling back into his warmth.
“So,” you begin, letting your hands slip under his hoodie to feel his bare skin, “what’s the story with the scars?”
“There’s a few,” he murmurs, nosing into your cheek, “all bad, I’m afraid.”
“Worse than serial killers?”
He snorts, hugging you closer. “Yeah baby, worse than serial killers.”
You bite your lip, eyes softened with affection. You kiss him again, your lips lingering against his like a promise.
“At least you’re here,” you murmur when you see the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. “Alive and warm and um… in the middle of a forest with a pack of wolves?”
Leon lets out a low laugh, his eyes boring into yours intently.
“And with you,” he adds quietly, holding you tighter.
“I’m here with you, sweetheart.”
☆ the family protection act..
☆ summary: a quiet life was never supposed to be possible for leon. but somehow it happened anyway — a beautiful wife, a house in a wooded suburb outside the city, a son who thinks he has the coolest dad ever, and another baby on the way. for the first time in years, things are calm. normal. until one morning, leon receives a photo taken from within his home. in it, his family is asleep. someone has been watching.
☆ caution: age gap relationship! don’t shoot! reader in mid twenties to early thirties. pregnancy, motherhood, stalking, canon typical resident evil tension/violence/danger (though, this instalment is pretty tame).
☆ word count: 3,000.
what is that noise..?
it’s subtle at first— drawers opening, something heavy set down on wood, the soft zip of a bag? your brain tries to ignore it for a few seconds, trying to cling to sleep because god knows you need it. but the sounds are continuous and you’re now registering them somewhere down the hall and it pulls you up the rest of the way.
the bedroom is still dark with the exception of the night light across the room and the digital clock at your side of the bed.
2:17 AM.
you sit up slowly, blinking blearily as the oversized t-shirt you slept in slides off one shoulder. there’s a heatless curl ribbon still tied in your hair from when you set before bed, stray ends that came undone in your sleep hang down in soft loops— you don’t even know where your bonnet went. but its almost always stuck somewhere between the mattress and the headboard or somewhere discarded on the floor.
your stomach rises in a precious round curve beneath the cotton when you shift. for a moment you just lie there, then something warm shifts beside you and a small heel presses into your side. you blink slowly and turn your head to see your three year old son sprawled across the bed sideways; half on your pillow, half on your arm, breathing softly with the deep and heavy sleep only toddlers seem capable of after a long day of terror (play). one of his hands is tangled in the hem of your shirt and you're certain he fell asleep holding onto you. his hair is messy, sticking up in soft tufts against the pillow— he looks just like his father. you almost want to take a picture.
your son stirs with a sleepy little noise. “..mama..”
“shh,” you murmur, brushing your fingers through his curls. “go back to sleep, baby.” he sighs softly and curls deeper into the blankets.
you’re six— almost seven months along in your pregnancy now and everything takes a second longer than it used to. your back is a little tight and your breasts feel sore and heavy, it takes you a few moments to gather yourself before your legs swing over the side of the bed and push yourself up with a small grunt, rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you waddle toward the hallway.
the light in the living room is on. that’s the first thing you notice.
the second is your husband, leon. how strange. was this a dream? he wasn’t supposed to be home for a couple days. and you know that for a fact because you were counting down the days with a little pochacco widget on the homescreen of your phone. you’re not upset by any means, you’re just very confused, disheveled and half asleep.
leon’s moving quickly through the living room, tossing things into a duffel bag on the couch with urgency that makes your chest tighten before you even understand why. jacket. flashlight. an ammo box. something metallic you don’t recognize and there’s a couple more bags by the door already packed too.
“leon?” your voice comes out soft with sleep and he freezes for just for a second before he turns toward you. oh. you know that look. that’s the look he gets before missions— really focused, distant, already five steps ahead of wherever he is.
“..is he awake?” he asks.
you shake your head. “no.”
leon nods once and relief flashes across his face for just a moment. “good.”
you shuffle further into the room, one hand instinctively resting over the curve of your stomach and the hardwood floor is cold under your bare feet.
“what are you doing..?” you ask. he doesn't answer right away, he zips the duffel bag closed instead then moves past you toward the front door where another bag is already sitting by the entry table.
you frown. “leon.”
he stops again and this time when he looks at you, his eyes soften just slightly. enough that it almost makes you more nervous. “we’re going for a drive, baby.” he says.
your eyebrows knit together. “..a drive?” you glance toward the windows. it’s still dark outside— early enough that the sky hasn’t even started turning gray yet. “leon, it’s like two in the morning.”
“yeah.” he reaches for his jacket off the chair and slips it on, you take another few slow steps toward him.
that’s when you see the axe and the gun holstered at his hip like it always is when he’s working, but seeing it here in the living room in the dead of night, makes your stomach dip unpleasantly. he already knows how you feel about live guns in the house, you don’t care about what he does for a living. he’s not to bring weapons in you guy’s home if its not an emergency.
“why do you have that on?”
leon doesn’t look at the gun when you ask; he looks at you. but really looks this time— taking in his shirt that swallows you almost, the sleepy confusion in your face, the ridiculous polka dot, satin ribbon wrapped in your hair, the way you’re standing there barefoot and pregnant. christ, you’re beautiful.
his jaw tightens. “go grab shoes,” he says instead.
you blink at him. “…what?”
“shoes, sweetheart. your shoes.” he repeats, already reaching for the car keys on the counter. “and maybe a sweater. it’s chilly outside.”
you don’t move. “leon, you’re being weird.”
he exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s trying very hard to keep his head on. “i know.”
“well that’s not really great to hear, weirdo..” you shift your weight, wincing a little when the movement pulls at your lower back. “did something happen?”
“nothing you need to worry about,” he says.
you give him a look. “i’m seven months pregnant, leon. everything is something i need to worry about— don’t piss me off.”
he runs a hand through his hair, clearly losing patience with the conversation. “just— go get your shoes and i’ll let you know what’s going on.”
“no.” the word comes out before you can stop it.
leon’s head snaps back toward you. “no?” he repeats, brow raised.
you cross your arms loosely under your chest, the fabric of the big shirt bunching over your stomach.
“no,” you say again, stubborn now. “not until you tell me why you’re packing like the house is on fire.”
you hardly have time to react before your husband is closing the gap between you both so quickly it nearly startles you. he reaches up and places both of his hands on both sides of your face. the contrast between his warm hands and the cooler wedding band feels so familiar— it's only then you realize you haven’t physically touched each other in almost two weeks since he left.
“listen to me.” his voice is low, tight with something that makes your heart drop. “i need you to cooperate right now.”
you blink at him and leon’s eyes search your face like he’s trying to make sure you actually understand what he’s saying.
he’s serious. you know it because he has a look in his eyes— something akin to desperation..
“okay..” you nod in his hands. “can i least know what’s going on.. please..?”
silence stretches between you then leon’s eyes flick briefly toward the kitchen counter and you follow the movement without thinking.
there’s a phone there, his personal phone actually. you close the gap and unlock the phone with the passcode— your birthday.
the photo is already pulled up on the screen, the brightness catches your eye before you even realize what you’re looking at, but your stomach drops so suddenly it feels like the floor shifted beneath you. your fingers loosen around the device and you immediately set it back down on the counter like it burned you, taking a small step backward before you can stop yourself.
when you look at leon again there’s fear in your expression before you can hide it.
it was a photo of you and your son. you recognize the room immediately. the angle of the shot, the dim amber glow of the nightlight, the familiar shape of the blankets pulled halfway up your body. your son is curled against your side in the image, one small arm thrown across your chest the way he does when he crawls into your bed during the night. his face is buried against your shirt, hair sticking up in every direction from sleep. you’re asleep too, one arm loosely wrapped around him. even in the low light, the shape of your pregnancy is obvious beneath the shirt.
the picture.. wasn’t taken from across the street. hell, it wasn’t even taken earlier in the evening while you were awake. whoever took it had been close enough that the details of the bedding, the edge of the nightstand, even the small toy car on the floor beside the bed were perfectly visible.
someone had been in your while you were sleeping.
close enough to see your son. close enough to take their time lining up the shot while both of you slept completely unaware.
“leon..” his name barely leaves your mouth and hen you look back at him, he’s already watching you. there’s no surprise in his expression, no confusion— “what—okay, um—what do you want me to do?”
“shoes, phone, documents,” he says quietly. “and grab my kid.” he pauses. “please.” he adds on, still wanting to have some manners about his orders.
the house suddenly feels different, like its no longer your little slice of life’s pie. you rest one hand against the underside of your stomach as you walk down the hallway again supporting the weight of it as the baby shifts, it draws a labored breath from you. its probably because you’re moving about a bunch at an hour you’re supposed to be replenishing your rest. the satin ribbon tied around your hair has slipped crooked from sleep, one end hanging loose against your shoulder as you walk.
the bedroom is still dim when you step inside and your son hasn’t moved much since you left. he’s still sprawled sideways across the mattress in a tangle of blankets, face buried halfway into the pillow. one leg sticks out from under the comforter, his small foot hanging off the edge of the bed. you move closer and sit carefully on the edge of the mattress, easing your weight down with a soft exhale and the bed dips slightly beneath you. your fingers slide gently through his messy hair.
“hey,” you murmur softly. “buddy.”
he reacts with a little whine, rolling his face deeper into the pillow and you rub slow circles on his back.
“i know, honey..” you whisper. “mommy’s sorry. but we have to get up for a little bit, okay?”
he squirms, one arm reaching out blindly until his fingers find your sleeve and he bunches the fabric in his fist and tugs weakly. “..mama.”
“i’m right here.” another sleepy noise escapes him as he drags himself halfway upright, eyes barely open. he leans heavily into you, resting his forehead against your chest and you smooth his hair down.
“we’re gonna go for a drive, okay?”
he blinks slowly. “..drive?”
“mhm, with papa.” you nod and ge considers this for a long moment in sleepy silence, then lifts his head just enough to mumble: “…papa?”
a small laugh escapes you despite the tight feeling in your chest. “yeah.. papa’s home, lovebug.” and that seems good enough for him. he lets you pull his sweater over his head with minimal protest, though he keeps leaning against you like he might fall asleep standing up.
by the time you make it back to the living room, your shoes are finally on, you have sweats on and a sweater pulled over the shirt. leon is already outside again, the front door standing half open and letting the cold gray light of early morning moon spill into the house. you can hear the dull thud of the trunk closing and reopening, the shuffle of bags being moved around as he rearranges things.
your son has gone almost completely limp against you in the few minutes it took to get dressed. the moment you lifted him from the bed he buried his face into your shoulder and never really woke back up. now his arms hang loosely around your neck, his cheek pressed warm against your collarbone as he breathes slowly into the fabric of your sweater.
you adjust him carefully, one hand supporting his weight under his legs as you walk toward the door. the cold air hits your face the second you step outside; leon’s car is parked in the driveway with the trunk wide open, the interior light casting a warm glow over the scattered bags already inside. leon stands at the back of it, moving quickly, lifting another duffel and shoving it farther in before slamming the trunk down with a solid thud.
he turns at the sound of the door behind you, then he’s already walking toward you.
“hey,” he murmurs quietly as he reaches you, his voice lowering automatically when he sees how deeply asleep his son is. you shift your weight slightly, adjusting the small body slumped against you. even half asleep, your son instinctively curls closer, his fingers tightening weakly in the fabric at the back of your sweater.
“didn’t wake up,” you whisper.
leon’s eyes soften when he looks at him. “figures.”
he reaches out without hesitation, one hand sliding carefully under the boy’s back while the other supports his legs. the transfer is gentle and your son barely stirs as leon lifts him away from you, just making a soft sleepy noise before his head drops against leon’s shoulder instead.
you exhale quietly when the weight leaves your arms, and leon notices immediately. “i got him, go sit.” he says softly as ge turns and walks to the back seat, opening the door and leaning in to settle the boy into the car seat already strapped in place. he works slowly, carefully buckling the harness without jostling him too much. your son squirms once, eyes fluttering halfway open before he sinks right back into sleep, his head tipping to the side.
leon adjusts the strap gently near his shoulder, making sure it sits right. only after he’s satisfied does he shut the door softly.
you’ve made your way around to the passenger side by then, lowering yourself carefully into the seat. the cushion dips under your weight and you lean back with a quiet breath, one hand resting on your stomach out of habit. leon walks around the car, stopping when he sees you watching him through the open passenger window.
“baby, can you do me one favor?” you ask.
leon pauses with his hand resting on the roof of the car. “what do you need?”
you glance back toward the house. “i left my bear on the bed.”
his eyebrows pull together slightly. “the one i won you?”
you nod a little, almost sheepish. “i know it’s stupid,” you say quietly. “but you know i can’t sleep anywhere without it.”
leon exhales softly through his nose, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “not stupid.”
he's leaning down so he’s level with you and up close you can see the exhaustion in his face,
“two minutes,” he says but before he straightens, you reach out slightly, your hand catching the sleeve of his jacket.
“hey.” you call out softly and he pauses.
you lean toward the open window just enough to press a quick kiss to his lips. it’s soft and brief, but warm— something sweet in the middle of everything that suddenly feels uncertain. you also didn’t get a chance to give him his welcome home kiss.
leon lingers for half a second when you pull back, his forehead almost brushing yours before he finally straightens again.
his hand briefly touches your cheek.
“love you too,” he murmurs. then he turns and jogs back toward the house. a minute later he steps out again with the plushie in his hand, walking straight over to the passenger side and passing it through the window to you. the fabric is worn soft from years of being held, but you recognize it instantly.
“almost left without your emotional support,” he mutters.
you take it from him and put it between your thighs.
“thank you, bub.” you smile a little, despite the anxiety.
leon taps the roof of the car lightly before finally moving around to the driver’s side, hopping in and starting the engine before backing out of the driveway. your thumb fidgets with your wedding ring; a pretty princess cut, four and a half carat diamond.
leon turns onto the empty road, heading toward the highway that cuts through the wooded suburbs outside of dc. at this hour the neighborhood is still dark, porch lights glowing faintly between the trees as the car slips past sleeping houses.
it was going to be one hell of a night.
© leonarchive
BRINGING HOME HOPE
Spoilers for major plot points of Resident Evil Requiem
[RE9!Leon / CIA Agent!Wife!Reader]
(You’re waiting for the call that will make you a widow. And then the front door opens.)
Word Count: ~ 4.7k Rating: E - a lot of hurt, a lot of comfort, some very emotional smut in between Author's Note: So this is me coping and my version of this scene we all apparently need. Love all the different takes I've seen so far, and all aimed to just give Leon the peace he deserves. I sat with a lot of unpeaceful feelings for quite a few days and am a little embarassed actually that this game had such a big impact on me. I really got emotional damage from this, from Leon's whole arc (no pun intended), from going through Raccoon City, from effing Victor Gideon writing that damn note what the helly...all the way to where we now stand. Writing it down and talking to some people helped a lot though 🥰 I don't know why but I see Leon being married to another Agent, it crystallized for me over time. Glad we can cope together. All the love, Milli 💕
Somewhere in that dim space between sleep and consciousness, your mind betrayed you.
It tormented you with the single worst nightmare your brain could conjure – showing you distorted faces of strangers, a revolver, blood. He was on his knees, holding himself upright for as long as he could, because he wouldn’t give up until the very last second. But what your mind wanted to show you was that last second.
You knew it was a dream. You fought against it with everything you had, trying to claw your way back to reality – the one where you had forced yourself to stay awake for over 24 hours, nerves strung tight like wire, your eyes glued to your laptop, searching for an answer.
Exhaustion had overtaken you. And the moment your eyes closed, something slipped in that your waking mind would never allow: hopelessness.
You were half there, half here. The presence of the computer mouse in your hand clashed violently with the horrific image behind your closed eyelids. The way he coughed up blood, the black markings now everywhere – his hands, his arms, his face.
It was as if he was looking at you one last time. When he spoke, no sound left his lips – but you knew the movement better than anyone. Three words, unmistakable:
“I love you.”
A gunshot – your scream made real. It tore from your throat and jolted your body upright. You looked around wildly, half-expecting it all to have been nothing but a nightmare, that your husband would rush into the room and ask what had happened.
It didn’t take long to realize that being awake wasn’t any better than the torment of sleep. The real world was hardly kinder. Your dry throat ached as you swallowed, your racing heart refused to slow, just like the panic twisting in your stomach.
Your laptop still sat open in the darkness of the ongoing night. Your desk was covered in stacks of folders – more or less illegally obtained and printed documents – and a long list of numbers. People who still owed you a favor or two.
Despite your position at the CIA, despite digging deep into the servers, despite giving Sherry every bit of access she needed – no matter the consequences – you had hit nothing but dead ends. And now you hadn’t heard from Sherry in far too long.
You expected the call any second. The one telling you that you were a widow. Those calls always came no matter what time it was.
If only you had gone with him. You were just as trained. Just as resourceful. Just on a different side of the government.
But he hadn’t allowed it. Said he wouldn’t be able to focus if he had to worry about you.
Not that you weren’t used to it. Not that you didn’t know the dangers. You had always lived with the risks of the job.
But this time was different.
This time, Leon wasn’t fighting something – not the next bioweapon.
He was fighting time.
By the time Sherry had given you the update about the Raccoon City Syndrome – ridiculous name – Leon had already been too far away. You never would’ve caught up to him. And Sherry had convinced you, far too skillfully, that the two of you could help him best by continuing to search for answers.
Rarely had you ever felt this helpless. If Leon died, you would die. You might both be trained agents, but when all was said and done, you were just two people. And you couldn’t live with the knowledge that you hadn’t saved your husband. You couldn’t carry the same burden he had all these years. You weren’t that strong. Not like him.
You were just about to reach for your phone – to call Sherry again, or try Chris, or Rebecca, anyone who might know something – when a familiar sound ripped your body out of the desk chair before your mind could even process it.
The apartment door.
You stumbled forward, bracing your hands against the doorframe, forcing yourself upright through a dizzy spell. Your vision was still blurred as you stared into the hallway.
With sheer willpower, you waited for your sight to steady – until you could finally focus on the figure standing down the hall.
A heavy breath left you.
He stood there. Holding a damn bouquet of flowers.
The contrast was almost absurd. The bouquet was full of bright, untouched blossoms – and he looked like he’d been dragged through hell. His clothes were dirty, his face covered in cuts – yet there was a careful smile on his lips.
One heartbeat passed.
“Hey honey… I’m home.”
There was hesitation in his voice, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay for him to be here.
“Oh my god,” you breathed, the last bit of air leaving your lungs.
You pushed off and crossed the distance between you as fast as you could.
Leon knew.
As you ran toward him, his shoulders dropped, his gaze melting into something soft – devotion, exhaustion – and he opened his arms just as you reached for him.
The paper around the bouquet crinkled as your bodies collided. His arms were strong, just like you remembered, wrapping tightly around you. He pulled you in with force, his large frame folding into yours, his forehead resting against your shoulder.
Standing on your toes, you pressed yourself into him, clinging to his familiar, broad shoulders, reveling in the fact that he was here – that he was breathing, that you could feel him.
“What happened?” you asked, trying to pull back, but he only held on tighter, didn’t answer.
“Leon,” you insisted, loosening your grip from around his neck and pressing against his upper arms.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against your shoulder, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck, pressing a kiss there.
“Why are you sorry?” you asked quietly, giving his bicep a reassuring squeeze.
“You’re shaking.”
With his request that you stay behind – that you help Sherry search for a cure instead of going into the field with him – he had asked everything of you. He knew that. He could never tell you how close he had come to shaking hands with death. Never tell you how many times he had thought of you, how many times he feared he wouldn’t be able to make it right.
Only the thought that you were safe from the most dangerous virus in the world had kept him going. And in the end, even that reason would have been futile.
Leon could never tell you that this time, he hadn’t even been able to save himself.
“It’s okay.” You pressed gently against his arms again, and this time, Leon let you push him back.
Your gazes locked as your hands traced the contours of his arms, all the way down to where his hands now rested on your hips.
No gloves. His skin was smooth. You felt his wedding band beneath your fingers.
Your eyes flicked to his neck – to the spot that had already been blackened when he left.
No black marks. No Raccoon City Syndrome.
Relief flooded your entire system.
You guided his hands forward, took the bouquet from him, and set it down on the counter beside you. His palms were warm in yours – no trace left of the illness that had been consuming him, the reason he had to leave, the reason everything in you had been so certain there would be no way out this time.
“What happened?” you asked again, finding his eyes “The last thing I heard from Sherry was that you found ARK.” Your hand rose to his cheek, fingers slipping into his hair, your thumb tracing along his jaw – anything to make sure he was really here. “What happened down there, Leon?”
Leon caught your wandering hand, never once breaking eye contact – not even as he pressed a kiss into your palm.
Waiting for answers was becoming unbearable. You had to suppress the urge to shake him, while he simply looked down at you with so much love in his eyes that your chest tightened.
How close had you really come to losing him?
“A lot,” he finally said. “I’ll tell you everything… under the shower? Look – I got blood and dirt all over you.”
His hand brushed over your neck, trying to wipe away the mixture of blood and grime from your skin. Sherry hadn’t been able to reach you, your phone probably dead from not being charged as you somehow managed to forget regularly – so Leon hadn’t wasted a second.
He had come straight home.
Straight back to you.
“Yeah… okay,” you agreed quickly. You just wanted to feel him – to wash away what had happened to him, to wash away Raccoon City.
Even if that would never truly be possible… you would try. Again and again.
Leon let out a quiet, satisfied sigh as warm water cascaded over his head. He ran a hand through his hair, then over his face. Dirty streams trailed down his solid frame.
With careful fingertips, you traced the numerous cuts and bruises. Aside from the usual injuries after an intense mission, he looked… good.
Not just good – he carried himself differently. Straighter. Lighter, somehow.
“Elpis wasn’t a virus,” Leon began without preamble. “Pass me the shampoo?”
You reached behind you to the shelf, opened the shampoo – the one you had insisted your husband use instead of his beloved 5-in-1 shampoo, shower gel, industrial filler – and poured some into your hands.
“So it was a cure?”
Leon’s gaze dropped to you, soft, yielding – taking in the way the water beaded over your hair, the shine in your eyes as you lifted your arms and let your fingers slide into his.
“Yeah,” he confirmed your, quite obvious, conclusion. If Elpis wasn’t a virus, not a bioweapon, then it had to be a cure. “Actually… a cure for everything. Every virus out there.”
Leon closed his eyes, savoring the gentle pressure of your fingers against his scalp. Another low, content sound rumbled from his chest. His large hands found your body, gliding over your soft, wet skin.
God, it felt good to touch you. To know he had time again – time with you.
“Well, thank god.” You exhaled deeply, not even willing to begin unpacking what a universal antiviral would mean for the world. The only thing that mattered was that it had saved your husband. “How did you find out?”
Your hands slipped from his hair, down along his neck, over his shoulders, his arms, flattening against his strong chest – a silent cue for him to rinse.
The foam washed away everything on the surface. Dirt loosened from his hair, from his skin – but like always, so much remained. This time, even with Elpis offering a chance to make things right… the memories of Raccoon City clung stubbornly.
“I didn’t,” Leon said, tipping his head back into the stream of water. “It was Grace.”
“Grace?” you echoed, surprised for only a second before collecting yourself. Anyone in this line of work knew how quickly people could be pushed beyond their limits.
The FBI girl had saved your husband.
You gave a tired smile. “Guess I’ll have to write her a thank-you note, then.”
You swallowed the small pang of regret – that it hadn’t been you. You couldn’t have done what Grace did. Couldn’t have set the same chain of events into motion.
Leon chuckled softly.
“Come here,” he murmured, opening his arms, inviting you in.
You melted into him, skin against skin beneath the steady rain of the shower. The water drummed gently against your head, and a quiet calm settled in – until you felt the crushing exhaustion of the past day begin to catch up with you, adrenaline slowly draining away.
“Tell me what happened down there,” you mumbled anyway, your ear pressed to his chest, eyes closed, listening for his heartbeat.
“Mhm,” he hummed, his hands moving up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes. “Okay… but don’t get mad.”
You smiled faintly. “Try me.”
Leon couldn’t really refuse you, not when you asked like that. The least he could do was soften the edges. Leave out some amounts of blood he’d coughed up, the brief blackout in the dump – anything that might reveal just how close he had come to dying.
But it was enough.
Cold fear crept back into your body as he spoke. You knew your husband. He hid the worst of it behind cheeky remarks and bad jokes. He couldn’t fool you.
He had almost died.
And worse – he had been forced to relive it all. Raccoon City. The R.P.D., files you knew, too. You didn’t press him about what it had felt like, not directly – but your heart cracked when he made a passing remark about the West Office, the “WELCOME LEON” banner, and Gideon's note beside it. Just a throwaway comment, but you heard it.
“Jesus. If that asshole wasn’t already dead, I’d go and shoot him myself,” you muttered.
You were lying in bed now, facing each other, having done little more than dry off before collapsing naked into the familiar sheets, shutting the world out.
Leon let out a quiet laugh. “I bet you would, baby.”
You studied his face closely. The face you knew like the back of your hand, and yet… different. Softer, somehow. Some of the lines smoothed out, the blue of his eyes deeper again, his complexion healthier.
Strange, how used you had become to a sick version of your husband.
Strange, how much the virus had actually taken from him over the years.
It was unbearable to think about.
“You look good,” you whispered.
Your wedding ring caught a soft ray of the rising sun as you lifted your hand to brush a strand of hair from his face, the light slipping through a narrow gap in the heavy curtains of your bedroom, drawn tight to keep the outside from ever touching him again.
“Feel good.”
Gentle fingers traced along your upper arm, your bodies completely wrapped in the weight of the warm, fluffy blanket. Heat spread around you and between you. Now that he lay beside you – alive, breathing, and for the foreseeable future – you finally began to settle again. Not least because of his way of taking everything so lightly. It rubbed off on you, whether you wanted it to or not. His content expression rested slightly crumpled against his bent, strong bicep, affection in his eyes as you continued to touch each other softly.
With the calm, however, came concern, and you found yourself worrying more about his mental state than his physical one.
“I’m sorry.” Your voice stayed quiet, as if you didn’t want the world to hear words meant only for him in this moment.
His gaze grew a little more serious, but the soothing movement of his fingers on your skin didn’t stop.
“That you had to go back there,” you finished your thought. “I hate it. Even if it – right there –” you could hardly grasp it yourself, that the last piece of Raccoon City inside him could only be destroyed in Raccoon City itself, “ – even if there was no other way. Just the thought of it is torture to me. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there with you.”
Your heart felt heavy. There were so many questions on the tip of your tongue – questions that could potentially break you. First, you needed to calm down, to process Leon’s return, his healing. Then, maybe then, you could confront him with them.
A warm, living hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin.
“It’s okay. I’m actually glad you weren’t there for it. It was ugly.”
“I can handle ugly,” you replied quickly.
“I know.” His face moved closer. “But I couldn’t have handled watching you suffer for me.”
You sighed. You understood. You really did. But you wished so much you had been at his side. Even with Grace, so you could have helped them both.
“I love you.” His hand slipped into your damp hair, resting at the back of your neck.
You let yourself be drawn in by the gentle pressure and his even gentler eyes, giving in as you closed the last distance between you.
His lips were as soft as ever as they met yours with a reverence you could only describe as worshipful. Feeling him again, after those endless hours of fear, was like breaking the surface for air – though with every movement of his mouth against yours, he stole more and more of that breath away.
His large body, which had lingered at a loving distance just to take you in, shifted closer until warm skin met yours – and it felt more like coming home than walking through that door ever could have. And suddenly, it was impossible for Leon to imagine a reality where he didn’t return to you. As always, after he had nearly lost his life.
But this time, something was different. This time, he had been healed of something that had plagued him all along, without him even knowing it, until it had almost been too late. The last piece of Raccoon City had been purged from his body. The memories remained, but the past no longer possessed him. Not in the way that made him chase something unreachable.
He felt you in an entirely new way – his beautiful, strong wife, who knew everything about him and had chosen to marry him anyway. Who gave him safety in a world where nothing was safe. His anchor – no, his harbor – where he could simply… be. No expectations. No hero. No agent. Just a husband who wanted to make his wife happy.
He would make it up to you.
His hand moved to the curve of your neck, gently tipping your head back. You followed, opening yourself to him, your arm draped over his solid body. Leon murmured softly against you – the kiss deepened, more sensual now, just a touch hungry. Skin brushed against skin, fanning slow-burning flames within both of you – that ever-present fire that would never go out.
It grew hotter, warming everything you were, until a burning longing rushed through your veins – the need to be close, to feel each other in the way only you could.
Leon’s hand wandered down from your neck, tracing slow, indulgent paths over your soft skin, never breaking your connection, only deepening it.
Those exploring touches tingled along your nerve endings, goosebumps rising wherever his fingers passed.
You drew in a breath at the growing pull in your belly, the soft throb at your core, anticipating Leon’s touch.
“Leon…” you breathed against his lips, making him real – well, more real.
“You are everything, you know,” he murmured back, his breath mingling with yours.
Your palm rested flat against his chest, feeling his heart pounding wildly – for you, for both of you.
“I love you,” you said, and for some inexplicable reason your heart tightened just before a quiet moan slipped from your lips against his, as his hand moved between your thighs.
Almost automatically, you rolled onto your back, opening yourself to him, giving him better access to the place he knew so well. His lips brushed your cheek, your jawline, your neck, while his skilled touch drew slow circles over your clit that made your breath hitch. He moved his fingers further down, slid first one, then two fingers into you, pushed deep, finding the spot inside you he knew you liked best.
He watched your reactions, noticing them more clearly than ever – the way your lips parted slightly, your eyelids fluttered closed to savor it, then opened again to meet his gaze. The small, adorable sounds that escaped you. He would listen to them until he died of old age, and not a second sooner.
“Turn around, baby,” he instructed gently, his voice deep and comforting.
You followed again, letting his presence guide you as you rolled onto your side, him settling behind you. With one smooth movement he freed your upper bodies from the blanket before his hand trailed down your form, over your thigh. He grasped it gently, lifting your leg as far as the covers allowed.
The air around you buzzed – not with reckless hunger, but with intimacy, with trust. That was what made you arch toward him.
Leon reached for his cock, already aching for you, searching for you, and aligned himself carefully. He pressed forward slowly, easing into you inch by deliberate inch, savoring every bit until he was fully buried inside you and a soft sound hummed from your throat.
He stretched out one arm to cradle your head, offering you the best pillow in the world, and drew you close with the other. His large, warm body wrapped around you like a living blanket – except the first slow thrust stole the air from your lungs before you pulled it back in again.
Leon groaned into the curve of your neck, pressing a kiss into your hair as he held you as close as possible and moved inside you again, and again. He knew your body so well it didn’t take much to send you both drifting toward that shared state of bliss.
His movements were deliberate, deep, almost reverent, aimed not just at pleasure, but at closeness, at dissolving into one another. Low, satisfied sounds rumbled in his chest whenever your velvet walls tightened around him.
They traveled straight to your ear, and you answered with eager sighs of your own.
More than anything, it was comforting to be here like this again – feeling whole, unified – while he whispered into your ear. Not just sweet nothings, but promises. Declarations of love. Vows that he would remain at your side.
“You saved me. You did, and you always will.”
The words rushed through you, and a choked sound escaped your lips. It overwhelmed you. The intensity of it. You had been intense like that before – but today something in Leon had shifted.
“Only because you saved me first,” you answered softly, affectionately, reaching back to take his hand.
Leon exhaled sharply.
Your fingers intertwined, skin sliding against skin as his rhythm faltered slightly. He tried to hold onto it, to keep taking you slowly, deeply – but your words had struck something possessive and tender inside him.
“Fuck,” he breathed hoarsely. “I married the perfect woman.”
He moved through you with what restraint he had left, drawing higher sounds from you, a soft whimper. His exhausted body began to betray him, chasing that place where you would both end up spent and tangled together. His hand found your hip, pulling you back against him.
You clung to the arm beneath your head, moaning quietly, not searching for the perfect climax, but for him. More of him. All of him.
“I’m gonna come,” he breathed against your ear.
A soft exhale left you. “Yes,” you whispered your consent.
His fingers tightened against your skin as a shudder seized him, running down his spine and through his entire body. His breathing turned ragged as he spilled inside you, giving everything his tired body had to offer, knowing it wasn't enough, but with all the will in the world to show you that you belonged to him, and he to you. As long as he could, he drew out the moment, letting the wave slowly subside with increasingly smaller, fading thrusts, until a deep sense of peace settled over.
“You okay?” he asked breathlessly, still inside you, his eyes searching for your face.
The aftershock of everything – the unbearable search for a cure; the fear; the relief that he was alive; the closeness you had thought, at times, you had lost forever – cracked your composure wide open. Where adrenaline had carried you before, your soul now lay completely exposed, stripped bare in front of Leon and everything he was.
The moment the question left his lips, tears flooded your eyes, unstoppable. For a second you tried to hold them back, but it quickly became clear it was useless. They blurred your vision, stealing your view of your fingers intertwined with his.
Your chest tightened, your heart aching. You squeezed Leon’s hand, searching for something to hold onto. A sob broke free.
“Hey, heyhey – ” Leon pressed himself closer, hoping you could feel his steady breathing against your neck, the kiss on your shoulder – that he was here, that he was holding you, that he wasn’t going anywhere.
Even as his own heart grew heavy, as he felt more helpless than he had in any moment of his infection. He had almost made you a widow. And he knew you knew that he would do it all again in a heartbeat. Maybe minus the wrongly made assessment. But he would take every measure to keep you safe.
His tenderness didn’t make it better. Quite the opposite. The tears streamed freely down your face. You hated how you looked when you cried. Covering your face with your hands, you let yourself sob harder, more openly, with every passing second – lost in that maelstrom of fear and overwhelming relief.
“I thought I lost you,” you sobbed into your hands.
Leon exhaled heavily, scattering small kisses wherever he could reach. He nudged you to turn around, breaking your position only to pull you into his arms as tightly as possible. Against his chest, he felt the dampness of your tears as your hands clutched at him, crying everything out.
Your mind fired wildly, your control gone – gone even enough to keep your questions buried.
“What if Grace hadn’t known the password?”
Leon tensed slightly, no answer ready.
“What if she had destroyed Elpis?”
He said your name softly – a warning, a plea not to follow that line of thought.
But you barely heard him through your sorrow. He would have died there. He had walked in willingly, like always, without asking for backup. And in the end, it had been Chris Redfield and his Hounds who pulled him out.
“You were ready to die, weren’t you?” The words sent panic surging through your body, your sobs turning harsher, shaking you. “Oh God, you expected it.” Your lungs tightened, breath coming in shallow, strained bursts, your face aching with the force of it.
“Look at me,” Leon said, gentle but firm.
“No.” You pressed yourself desperately against his chest. Even after all these years, you didn’t want him to see you like this.
“Please. Look at me.”
You didn’t stand a chance in that state. Leon created just enough space to tilt your chin upward.
He had seen you cry before, but not like this. Not so completely undone. You usually cried from anger, not from this kind of grief. The sight made his chest tighten – and before he could stop it, tears welled in his own eyes, blurring his vision.
He wiped at them quickly, but you had already seen.
Tears in your husband’s eyes were a rare thing – so rare it startled you enough that your own tears faltered.
“Leon…” He leaned into your hand against his cheek.
“I love you,” he said again, as if he could never say it enough. “And I’m here. And we have so much time.” A small, careful smile appeared. “No more T-Virus.”
No more virus – and with it, no more shadow of Raccoon City. Elpis would erase the T-virus and every other virus in the world. What that would mean for the world… you would face that together. What mattered more was that Leon’s guilt could finally come to an end. The villains of this world might try, again and again, to convince him he couldn’t save anyone…
He reached for a tissue on the nightstand and held it up to your nose.
“Hard blow,” he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
You blinked, then rolled your eyes. “Gimme that.” You snatched the tissue and blew your nose. “Bet this isn’t the hard blow you envisioned for your return.”
He chuckled, and you couldn’t help the small smile that followed from your own lips. “Ah, it was fifty-fifty.”
…even if Leon had believed it himself for a long time, you would prove to him that he was so much more than what people said about him. More than just someone who had to save the world.
Because he saved your world every time he came home.
And that he never had to bear the burden alone, and never would again.
Bulking Smut 18+, Leon bulks for the winter
You don’t know what prompted your husband to even go on a bulk; he was massive, arms adorned with thick muscle, defined abs. In no world would you have ever guessed him to be in his late forties. But winter was coming up and he liked food. More specific the food you cooked, so might as well get fed by the missus, be happy and double as heat radiator for the colder months.
Doesn’t track calories, only asks you to double the cooking if it was convenient with these pretty eyes of his, the promise of an even bigger, warmer and softer version of him already reason enough.
You can hear the rustling from the door and just know he’s back from the gym, wishing you had joined him to see him effortlessly hip thrust your body weight all while he filled out that shirt of his so goddamn nicely. He had gotten stronger; before he already had been handling you easily, hands on you, guiding you with the broadness of his shoulders, arms around you like a wall. But right now? He could carry things like they weighed nothing, two weeks of groceries on one arm, you in the other. The thought alone made you bite your lip.
“Hey, doll.”
Heavy steps approach you standing by the stove, his hands coming right down to hold your hips as his cold nose buried into your neck.
“Tickles, Leon.”
“Mhm. How has my beautiful wife been?”
His hair was still damp. He must have showered at the gym, much to your dismay. He should have at least sent you a gym pic today or so.
“Missed you. How was the gym?”
“Great. Always feels good to get some movement into these old bones of mine.”
He has the audacity to softly grind into your ass.
“So what is my perfect girl cooking up? Smells like heaven in here.”
“Burgers. Cookies in the oven and salad in the fridge.”
He hums, pressing a soft kiss against your nape.
“What did I do to deserve you?”
“Save the world multiple times and being a good husband.”
You softly laugh, your left hand resting on his, feeling the cold metal of his wedding band.
“Only good? Need to step up my game if the wife thinks I’m only ‘good’.”
“Just set the table. Lunch’s ready in a few.”
He nods, but doesn’t let go quite yet, hand moving under your apron, travelling higher until you smack him.
“After lunch. We’ve let the food get cold way too often these days.”
You can feel him pout against your neck, but off he goes like a good boy, fetching the plates.
He gets his reward after lunch. A warming up for the cookies that stood on the counter, too hot to be eaten, really. Face buried between your thighs right after he threw you on the couch, only caring to slide off you’re pants. You’re head is thrown back as his nose nudges your clit and he starts slurping against your folds. Between your legs, he felt impossibly big, taking up more space than you’re used to, eating you out with a feverish focus.
“Thanks for the meal, doll.”
He hums into your cunt.
“Feedin’ me so well with your body.”
His lips ghost over your clit and his hot tongue swirls against the pink pearl, squishing it around. Had he always been able to hold your hips so tight? Like vices, his hands were holding onto you, fingers sunk into the plush, giving you no way to wiggle free if you wanted. Your hand wanders to where his head rested under the apron, wanting to feel him under your palm.
“God baby-…you’ve gotten so big.”
You mumble out and he gives your clit a soft little kiss.
“’s all thanks to you. Y’like it, doll?”
“F-fucking love it.”
“Yeah?”
He sinks two fingers in.
“Tell me more.”
Hot breath fanning against where your pussy was dripping, now focused on giving your sensitive nub all the attention she deserved.
“Mhm…you’re just so b-big.”
His fingers curl into you and you clench your thighs, hard.
“Carry me around so easily.”
A soft frown appears on your face, trying to muster up words.
“You j-just feel so good against me.”
“Go on.”
He was smugly smiling with his mouth buried in you.
“…Everything’s j-just so big on you. Your shoulders look so good to bite on a-and your thighs got thick.”
Running your hand down his body early in the morning was heavenly. Soft tissue over hard muscle, comfortably warm. And just thinking about what he could do to you, pressed down by his body’s weight had you clenching.
“I just wanna be in your lap all the time.”
You whine.
“Oh doll.”
The stretch of a third finger felt so good with him sucking your clit.
“Your thighs jus’ look s-so good.”
He pulls out, just to rub all your slick onto your folds and sink them right back in, second hand massaging your ass. Heat blooms deep inside you, a coil building up.
“Makes m-me want to bounce on your cock w-with your arms around me.”
It pushes him to the edge, yanking down hard until your slid onto your back and he gets obscenely loud, pressing open mouthed kisses against your cunt, fingers fucking you much faster.
“F-fuck, L-Leon!”
You whimper out, eyes shutting tightly. The orgasm washes over you with unmatched intensity, his fingers rubbing against your clenching walls, soothing them through your climax while he keeps on licking your clit. Slowly, until sensitivity takes over and you start trying to pull away, dizzy from him eating your pussy like a man, starved.
His head pops out from under your apron, big smile on his face.
“Cookies or bedroom?”
Til' Death Do Us Part
Pairing: husband!Leon x wife!Reader
Word count: 11.3k
Summary: A mission meant to be routine becomes a race against the clock when you’re bitten, and the only antivirals are destroyed. With the infection spreading and time running out, Leon Kennedy abandons everything except the one objective that matters: getting you back alive.
Warnings/tags: bite injury (reader), infection themes (fever, delirium), mentions of blood/wounds, mission-related violence, guns, angst, protective leon
The hallway smells like antiseptic and old rain, sharp enough to taste at the back of your throat. Emergency lights pulse a slow red, painting everything in the color of a heartbeat that refuses to settle. Somewhere deeper in the facility, something metallic groans, the sound carrying through the walls like the building itself is shifting in its sleep.
Leon moves ahead of you with that familiar economy, every step deliberate, shoulders slightly rounded forward as if he's braced against a wind no one else can feel. Years ago, you would have called it tension. Now you know it's simply how he stands when he's ready to protect something.
You.
He lifts one hand without looking back. Two fingers. Hold. You stop immediately, rifle angled down but ready, covering the rear out of habit. Your breathing slows to match his. In the quiet, you can hear it, the faint rasp of fabric as he adjusts his grip, the tiny click of leather at his wrist. He glances over his shoulder, blue eyes catching red light, and the corner of his mouth tilts.
"Tell me you hear that too," he murmurs.
"Ventilation system struggling to keep up with poor life choices," you whisper back.
His mouth twitches a little more. "Comforting."
"Very."
He turns forward again, advancing with a careful sidestep around a fallen gurney. You follow close, boots landing where his did, stepping into the spaces he clears without thinking. Years of missions have worn this path between you into muscle memory. You could navigate a battlefield blind if he were moving ahead of you.
Sublevel three, quarantine wing. The official report had said that the outbreak was contained. Minimal hostiles. Data retrieval only. You and Leon had both read that and packed extra ammunition.
Something scrapes faintly above you. You both stop again. A wet sound follows, soft but unmistakable, like raw meat dragged across tile. Leon's shoulders go rigid. He tilts his head, listening, then slowly raises his pistol toward the ceiling vent ten feet ahead.
"Don't," you breathe.
Too late. The grate explodes outward in a shower of dust and rusted screws. A shape drops hard onto the floor between you, limbs hitting at angles that don't belong to anything living. The body spasms once, twice, then snaps upright with a sound like tearing cloth. Its eyes are wrong. Its mouth is wrong.
Leon fires twice. The creature barely stutters before lunging. You're already moving. Your rifle cracks, recoil thudding into your shoulder as you pivot left to avoid Leon's line of fire. The rounds chew through rotten muscle, splashing something dark across the wall. The thing keeps coming anyway, a puppet yanked forward by invisible strings.
"Persistent," you mutter.
"Understatement."
It reaches Leon first. He sidesteps, grabs a fistful of its ruined jacket, and uses the momentum to sling it into the wall hard enough to dent the drywall. Before it can recover, he drives a knife up under its jaw with brutal precision. The body convulses, fingers clawing weakly at his sleeve, then goes slack.
For a moment, the only sound is your breathing and the slow drip of something unpleasant onto the tile. Leon exhales through his nose, shoulders lowering a fraction. He wipes the blade on the creature's shirt before sheathing it, movements efficient, practiced, almost weary.
"You okay?" he asks without turning.
"Fine."
He turns anyway, eyes scanning you head to toe, checking for tears in fabric, blood that isn't yours, the small tells you can't hide from him even if you tried. His gaze lingers on your face a second longer than necessary.
"Your heart rate's up."
"So is yours."
"Occupational hazard."
You step closer, bump your shoulder lightly against his arm. "You jumped."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"I adjusted my stance."
You snort. "Sure you did, hero."
His hand comes up automatically, settling at the small of your back as he guides you past the body. The touch is brief, grounding, gone almost before you register it. He does it all the time now, in doorways, on stairs, whenever the path narrows. Years ago he used to keep that kind of contact locked away behind professionalism. Marriage burned that barrier down to ash.
"Remind me why we didn't retire somewhere with a beach," you say quietly.
"You hate sand."
"I could learn."
"You said that last time. Then you threw a shoe at a seagull."
"It started it."
He huffs, a sound that might be the ghost of a laugh. "We're not buying a coastal property just so you can wage war on wildlife."
"Coward."
They're soft words, familiar words, the kind that live comfortably between you, even in places like this. Especially in places like this. If you stop talking, the silence fills up with too many ghosts.
Ahead, the corridor splits. One path descends into deeper shadow. The other ends at a reinforced door marked MEDICAL ISOLATION.
Leon studies it, jaw tightening slightly. "That's our best bet for antiviral storage."
"And our worst bet for everything else."
"Probably."
He reaches for the panel. It flickers, unresponsive.
You lean in, shoulder brushing his. "Stand back."
"I am standing back."
"Further."
He sighs but obeys, stepping aside as you pull a compact breaching charge from your pack and set it against the seam. Your hands move quickly, efficiently, though you can feel his eyes on you the entire time.
"Try not to blow yourself up," he says.
"Try not to worry so loudly."
"I don't worry."
You glance up. "Leon."
"...I worry a normal amount."
You smile despite yourself. "Uh huh."
You trigger the charge and pivot away, grabbing his vest to pull him with you behind the corner. The explosion is sharp, contained, dust puffing into the air like a violent exhale. When the ringing fades, the door hangs crooked on shattered hinges. Leon looks down at where your hand is still gripping his gear. His expression softens in a way that has nothing to do with combat.
"You can let go," he says gently.
You realize you're still holding on and release him, suddenly aware of how solid he feels under your fingers, how warm even through layers of tactical fabric.
"Right," you say, clearing your throat. "Professional."
"Very."
But he brushes your knuckles once before moving past you, so quick it could almost be an accident.
Inside, the medical wing is colder, air conditioning still struggling on backup power. Cabinets hang open, supplies scattered across the floor as if someone had tried to pack in a hurry and failed. A hospital bed sits abandoned in the center of the room, sheets twisted into ropes. You sweep left. Leon sweeps right. The familiar dance resumes. For a few seconds, nothing moves.
Then something thumps weakly from behind the bed. You both pivot, weapons raised. A figure drags itself into view, lab coat smeared dark, face gray with fever. Human. Barely.
"Help," he croaks.
Leon lowers his weapon first, but doesn't relax. "You're infected?"
The man nods frantically, clutching his side. "Bite... hours ago... there's... antivirals... storage fridge... code..."
His hand trembles as he points toward a small sealed unit in the corner. Hope flickers, fragile and dangerous. You step forward. Leon catches your arm immediately.
"Careful," he murmurs.
"I know."
His grip tightens just a fraction before he lets go, thumb brushing your sleeve as if memorizing the texture.
The man coughs wetly, body shaking. "Please... I don't want to... turn..."
Leon's jaw flexes. You can see the calculation in his eyes, the grim understanding of how this story usually ends. You move past him anyway, crouching by the fridge, fingers already working the manual override. The seal pops with a soft hiss. Inside, rows of vials gleam faintly in the emergency light, liquid clear and precious as water in a desert.
"Jackpot," you whisper.
Behind you, the man makes a sound that isn't quite human.
Leon's voice snaps sharply. "Back."
You turn just in time to see the change sweep across the man's face, muscles locking, eyes clouding over like frost creeping across glass. Too fast. Leon fires once. The body collapses before it can lunge.
Silence crashes down, heavy and absolute. Your hands are still wrapped around the cold vial when Leon steps in close, one hand settling at the back of your neck, fingers warm against your skin. He leans his forehead briefly against your temple, a gesture so intimate it almost hurts.
"Hey," he murmurs. "Stay with me."
"I'm here."
"Good."
"Leon," you say, unable to keep the lift out of your voice. "We've got—"
The ceiling tile above the doorway caves in with a thunderous crack. Something drops through in a tangle of limbs and teeth. Leon fires before it even lands.
The room detonates into motion. Another body slams through the door behind it, then another, drawn by noise or scent or whatever twisted instinct drives them now. The first infected hits the floor crawling, jaw snapping, fingers scrabbling for purchase on slick tile.
"Back!" Leon snaps.
You're already moving, grabbing the case and pivoting away from the fridge as gunfire shatters the sterile quiet. Your rifle kicks against your shoulder, rounds punching into torsos that refuse to care. The air fills with the acrid stink of cordite and something fouler underneath.
One lunges for your legs. Leon intercepts it, boot driving into its chest hard enough to send it skidding across the floor. He doesn't even look as he fires downward, ending it with clinical precision.
More are coming. The hallway beyond the ruined door is a writhing mass of shapes pushing over each other, hungry, relentless. The lab equipment rattles as something heavy slams against the wall.
"Too many," you shout.
"Move!"
You sidestep, firing, trying to carve space, trying not to hit Leon as he crosses your line. Your shoulder clips the edge of the bed. The case slips in your grip for half a second.
A larger infected barrels through the doorway, body swollen, movements jerky but powerful. It collides with a rolling cart, sending metal instruments clattering across the floor like thrown knives. Leon pivots to engage, emptying three rounds into its upper chest. The creature staggers backward. Straight into the open refrigerator. Glass explodes.
The sound is high and crystalline, almost delicate beneath the gunfire, like a chandelier being smashed in a ballroom no one will ever dance in again. Vials shatter against metal shelves, against tile, against each other. Clear liquid splashes across the floor, instantly indistinguishable from the spreading mess of everything else. You see it happen in horrible, slow clarity. Hope, reduced to glittering debris.
"Leon!"
He fires again, dropping the brute for good. The body collapses forward, crushing what remains of the storage rack beneath its weight. For one stunned heartbeat, neither of you moves. Then another infected claws over the fallen bulk, and survival yanks you back into motion. You fire. Leon fires. Bodies drop. The noise is deafening, claustrophobic, relentless until at last the hallway falls silent again, littered with unmoving shapes.
Your ears ring. Smoke hangs in the air like a dirty veil. Slowly, cautiously, Leon lowers his weapon. His gaze drifts past the carnage to the refrigerator, to the floor, to the glittering field of broken glass and spilled medication soaking uselessly into grout lines and fabric and things you don't want to identify. He doesn't say anything. Neither do you. The man on the bed has gone very still. His eyes stare at the ceiling, clouded over, whatever fragile thread holding him to himself finally snapped in the chaos. A drop of liquid slides off the shelf edge and hits the tile with a soft, final tick.
Leon exhales, long and controlled, like he's forcing the air out through a space too small for it. "...We'll find more," he says quietly.
He steps closer to you, one hand settling on your shoulder, firm and grounding. His thumb moves once, a brief stroke through dust and sweat, as if confirming you're still solid beneath his palm.
"You hurt?" he asks.
You shake your head, throat tight. "No."
"Good."
His hand lingers a moment longer, then drops. He scans the room again, already shifting back into mission mode, but the tension in his jaw has sharpened, lines around his eyes etched deeper by the red emergency light.
"Storage areas are usually clustered," he says. "If there was one unit, there are probably others."
You nod because he needs you to nod. Because forward is the only direction that exists anymore.
Together, you step around the shattered glass and the ruined promise it once held, boots crunching softly with every movement, and head back into the corridor where the dark waits patiently for you to return.
The corridor beyond the lab is narrower, older, the walls traded from clean hospital white to poured concrete stained by decades of leaks and neglect. Emergency lights hum overhead, casting everything in a tired amber glow that feels less like an alarm and more like a dying sunset that forgot to go away. Your boots echo differently here. Hollow. The sound carries too far.
Leon slows without saying anything, adjusting his pace until you're shoulder to shoulder instead of single file. His arm brushes yours with each step, solid and reassuring in a way that feels deliberate without calling attention to itself. After a minute, you realize he's listening to your breathing.
"You know," you say quietly, "most couples go to dinner."
He huffs under his breath. "We tried that."
"You got a call."
"We both got a call."
"I didn't even get to eat my pasta."
"You ordered something with fourteen ingredients I couldn't pronounce."
"That's not a crime."
"It should be."
You bump his shoulder lightly. "You promised dessert."
"I'll buy you dessert."
"You said that last time."
"I meant it last time, too."
His hand comes up automatically, resting on your back as the corridor narrows, guiding you around a fallen chunk of concrete. The touch lingers just a second longer than necessary.
"When this is over," he adds quietly, "we'll go somewhere that doesn't have reception."
You glance at him. "You're serious."
"Dead serious."
A small smile pulls at your mouth. "You'd last two days."
"I'd last three."
"Two and a half."
He considers it like it's a tactical estimate. "Two and a half."
The next door is heavier than the others, industrial steel with a small wired-glass window clouded by years of grime. A faded placard reads BIO STORAGE B in letters that have peeled into something ghostlike and hard to trust.
Leon raises a hand automatically, stopping you just short of the threshold.
"Hold."
You halt with your boot inches from the seam, rifle angled down but ready. He steps past you, placing himself between you and the door without thinking about it. He always does that. As if the hinge of the world were located somewhere in his spine.
He wipes a sleeve across the glass and peers through, eyes narrowing as he adjusts to the dim interior. "Don't see movement," he murmurs. "Shelving units. Containers. Could be clear."
"Could be."
He glances back at you, reading your face the way other people read weather. "You good?"
"Always."
One eyebrow lifts. Not convinced.
You roll your shoulder where your gear has started to dig in, trying to work out the stiffness before it becomes a problem. "Just cramped."
"Switch packs with me."
"I'm fine."
"That wasn't a suggestion."
"It wasn't an order either."
For a moment, you just look at each other, the quiet argument unfolding in expressions instead of voices. Married diplomacy in a war zone.
Finally, he exhales through his nose, conceding the point without admitting defeat. His hand comes up instead, settling briefly at the side of your neck, thumb brushing the muscle there in a grounding stroke.
"Tension," he says softly.
"Observation skills of a seasoned agent."
"Comes with the badge."
"You don't even carry a badge."
"Metaphorical badge."
You lean into his touch for half a second before you can stop yourself. He notices. His thumb stills, then presses lightly once more before he lets his hand fall away.
"Stay behind me on entry," he says, voice shifting, professional edges sliding back into place.
"I take left. You take right," you counter automatically.
He gives you a look. You give him one right back.
"...Fine," he mutters at last. "But if I say fall back, you fall back."
"Yes, dear."
His mouth twitches despite himself. "Don't 'yes, dear' me in a mission."
"Yes, sir," you salute.
Leon grunts and shakes his head, trying not to smile. You reach past him to test the handle. Locked.
"Stand clear," you say.
He moves aside this time without commentary, covering the door while you pull a compact bypass tool from your vest. The metal is cold against your fingers, humming faintly as it interfaces with the ancient locking mechanism.
For a few seconds, the only sounds are the tool's soft electronic chirp and your breathing. Then the mechanism clicks. You don't open it immediately. Instead, you glance sideways at him. Close enough to see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the tiny scar along his jaw, the exhaustion he carries like a shadow that never quite detaches.
"After this," you say quietly, "we're getting that dessert."
He studies you for a long beat, something unspoken passing through his expression. A deep, stubborn refusal to imagine a future where that doesn't happen.
"Yeah," he says at last, voice low and certain. "We are."
Your hand brushes his wrist as you shift your grip on the handle. He turns his palm just enough to catch your fingers, squeezing once, firm and warm. A promise disguised as reflex. Then he releases you, raises his weapon, and nods.
"On you."
You pull the door open. Cold air spills out, stale and chemical, carrying the faint scent of something spoiled long before anyone stopped coming down here. The room beyond is a maze of tall storage racks and plastic containers, shadows pooling thick between them like standing water.
Leon moves through the doorway first, silent, precise, clearing angles with ruthless efficiency. You follow a half-step behind despite earlier negotiations, covering what he can't see, trusting him to do the same.
All you hear is the hum of failing lights. The soft creak of metal settling. The distant, almost inaudible drip of water somewhere in the dark.
Leon lifts two fingers, signaling pause. You freeze. He tilts his head, listening.
"...Thought I heard something," he whispers.
You hold your breath. The room holds its breath too. Then, very softly, something shifts deep between the shelves. A scrape. Leon's posture tightens, every line of him sharpening toward the sound.
"Stay close," he murmurs.
You move in beside him, shoulder brushing his arm, the warmth of him grounding against the cold air of the room.
"Always do," you whisper back.
The air grows colder the farther you go, heavy with the stale tang of chemicals and something faintly organic beneath it, like fruit left too long in a sealed container. Your flashlight beam skims across plastic bins, sealed crates, labels bleached into illegibility. Dust floats in slow spirals each time you move, disturbed ghosts reluctant to settle again.
Leon advances at a measured pace, weapon steady, shoulders tight enough to telegraph that he hasn't liked this room from the moment the door opened. You mirror him, covering the angles between shelving units, eyes darting through the narrow gaps where shadows knit together into something almost solid. Another scrape, closer this time.
A container shifts on a shelf to your left with a soft plastic thud, tipping just enough to rock in place. Your rifle swings toward it automatically.
"Probably just settling," you whisper.
Leon doesn't answer. He takes one careful step forward, angling to get a better view past the rack. The beam of his light cuts across the gap, illuminating stacked boxes, a collapsed cart, nothing that looks immediately threatening.
Your shoulders start to loosen. That's when the hands shoot out of the darkness. They clamp around your calf, iron strong, nails digging through fabric as something drags itself from beneath the lowest shelf with a wet, hungry sound. You don't even have time to shout before you're yanked off balance.
"Leon—!"
He pivots instantly, dropping his aim to avoid hitting you as you hit the floor hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. The infected is half-crushed, lower body mangled, but its arms work just fine. Its mouth snaps inches from your boot, teeth clacking together with a sound that vibrates up your bones.
You kick, connecting with its face, but it barely registers the impact. Its grip tightens, hauling you closer, closer, jaws opening wide enough to show the slick black of its throat.
Leon moves. He doesn't fire. Too risky. Instead, he lunges forward, grabbing the back of your vest and hauling you backward with brutal force. The infected comes with you, still latched on, dead weight and fury combined.
"Let go!" he snarls, driving his boot into its shoulder.
Bone cracks. The grip loosens just enough for him to wrench you free, dragging you behind him as he finally gets a clear shot. Two rounds. Point-blank.
The body jerks, collapses, and goes still. For a moment, all you can hear is your own ragged breathing and the thunder of your pulse. Leon stays crouched in front of you, one arm braced across your chest like a barricade, gun still trained on the corpse in case it decides death is negotiable.
"Hey," he says, voice low, urgent. "Hey. Look at me."
You blink, vision swimming, lungs finally remembering how to work. "I'm... I'm good."
His eyes scan you anyway, fast and thorough, hands already moving, checking arms, shoulders, gear, the way he always does. Routine. Training. Care disguised as procedure. Then his hand stops at your leg.
The fabric of your pants is torn where the creature grabbed you. Dark spreads through the rip, wet and unmistakable even in the dim light. Leon goes very still. Slowly, carefully, he pulls his glove off with his teeth and tosses it aside. His bare hand is warm when it closes around your ankle, steady but not gentle as he angles your leg into the beam of his flashlight.
You follow his gaze. For a second, your brain refuses to interpret what you're seeing. Just shapes. Color. Shine. Then it resolves. Deep teeth marks on your ankle. Blood wells from the punctures, thick and bright, running down into your boot.
"Oh," you say softly.
Leon doesn't speak. His jaw tightens so hard a muscle jumps along his cheek. His thumb presses near the wound, not enough to hurt, just enough to assess depth, damage, and reality.
"How bad?" you ask, because someone has to.
He inhales slowly through his nose, like he's trying to pull the air all the way down to somewhere that doesn't exist anymore.
"...Through the muscle," he says at last, voice roughened at the edges. "No arterial spray."
You almost laugh. Of course, that's what he notices. Of course, he frames it in survivable terms.
"Good news," you murmur.
His eyes snap to yours, sharp, bright, furious at something that isn't you. "Don't."
The word isn't loud. It doesn't need to be. Silence floods back in, thick as the dust hanging in the air. Carefully, he releases your leg only long enough to tear open a pouch on his vest. Gauze. Compression wrap. His hands move with practiced efficiency, but there's a tremor there now, small and stubborn, like a fault line threatening to split.
"This won't stop it," you say quietly.
"I know."
He presses the gauze down anyway, firm, unyielding, as if pressure alone could force time to behave.
"You didn't get grabbed anywhere else?" he asks without looking up.
"No."
"Scratch? Contact with fluid?"
"No, Leon."
He nods once, wrapping the bandage tight enough to hurt. You don't complain. Pain feels reassuringly human. When he finishes, he doesn't pull away. His hands remain braced on your leg, head bowed slightly, shoulders rising and falling with measured breaths. From this angle, you can see the faint silver threaded through his hair, the lines carved deeper by worry than age. You reach out before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing his jaw. He freezes.
"Hey," you say softly.
His eyes close for one heartbeat, leaning just slightly into your touch, like a man starving who just found water. Then he opens them again, focus snapping back into place with visible effort.
"We're moving," he says, voice low and absolute. "There will be another storage area. Another lab. Something."
You nod because you believe him. Because you have to. Because you don't want this to be the end. Because you don't want Leon to have to go through that. Because you want your dessert.
He rises first, then offers you his hand. When you take it, he pulls you up carefully, keeping his other hand hovering at your waist in case you falter. You put weight on the leg. It holds, though pain flares hot and sharp.
"Can you walk?" he asks.
"Yeah." A lie. A manageable one.
He doesn't call you on it. Instead, his arm slides around your back, anchoring you against his side as you take your first step. Protective. Supportive. Refusing to let distance exist.
"Stay with me," he murmurs.
Your head rests briefly against his shoulder, just for a second.
"Always," you whisper.
Adrenaline still burns hot in your veins, dulling the edges, convincing your body it can outrun consequences if it just keeps moving. Leon keeps his arm locked around you, pace adjusted to match yours without comment. Not slow enough to feel patronizing, not fast enough to make you stumble. Perfect. Infuriatingly perfect.
"You don't have to babysit," you murmur.
"Good," he says quietly. "Because I'm not."
His hand shifts slightly at your side, fingers spreading as if to support more of your weight without making a show of it. The corridor slopes downward. Each step sends a dull shock up your leg, deeper now, heavier, like the pain has roots instead of edges. You grit your teeth and keep going. After a dozen paces, something else creeps in. A warmth. Not the healthy kind. Not exertion. This feels wrong, thick and syrupy, pooling under your skin like fever deciding where to settle. You swallow. Your throat feels dry. Too dry.
"Leon," you start, then stop, because you're not sure what you were going to say.
He glances at you immediately. "What?"
"Nothing. Thought I heard something."
He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. Instead, he shifts you a little closer, your hip brushing his with every step now, a steady rhythm of contact that keeps you oriented.
The lights flicker overhead. For a split second, the world tilts. You blink hard, waiting for it to right itself. It does, but not completely. The edges of your vision feel soft, as if someone smeared petroleum jelly across reality.
"Hey," Leon says quietly.
You realize you've slowed. "I'm fine."
He stops anyway.
"No," he says, voice calm and immovable as bedrock. "You're not."
Before you can argue, a shape lurches from a side passage ahead. Its movements are jerky and uneven, its head twitching like a broken marionette. Leon eases you behind him with one hand, weapon already up. He takes it out, waiting a few seconds to make sure it's down.
When he turns back to you, his focus narrows, shutting out the rest of the world. "Sit," he says.
You shake your head. "We don't have time."
"Sit."
There's no edge in it. No raised volume. Just absolute certainty that this is happening. Your legs decide for you. The moment you stop resisting, they wobble, knees threatening to fold. Leon catches you instantly, one arm wrapping around your back, the other under your uninjured leg, guiding you down against the wall with careful control.
The concrete is cold through your gear. It feels strangely good. He crouches in front of you, close enough that your boots nearly touch his knees. Up close, you can see every tiny tension line in his face, every sleepless hour etched into skin that has forgotten what "rested" means.
His bare hand comes up again, settling against your neck, fingers sliding to your pulse point. You shiver.
His brows draw together. "You're burning up."
"Shock," you say weakly.
"You know that's not true."
His thumb presses lightly, counting. You can feel the rhythm under his skin, your heart hammering like it's trying to break out of your chest.
"Too fast," he murmurs, mostly to himself.
A tremor runs through your hands. Small at first, then stronger, fingers twitching against your thigh as if they belong to someone else and forgot to tell you. You curl them into fists, but it doesn't help. Leon notices. He reaches down slowly, deliberately, and wraps his hand around yours. Not restraining. Anchoring. His grip is warm, solid, impossibly steady compared to the jitter under your skin.
"Look at me," he says softly.
You do. Blue eyes. Tired. Fierce. Terrified in a way he would deny under oath.
"We're going to fix this," he says.
"You don't know that."
"Yes," he says, so simply it almost hurts. "I do."
Your vision blurs. You blink rapidly, trying to clear it, but the edges keep fuzzing out like a badly tuned signal.
"Everything's... weird," you admit. "Like I'm underwater."
His jaw tightens. "Any nausea?"
"No."
"Dizziness?"
"...Maybe."
"Confusion?"
You hesitate.
His expression darkens. "How long?"
"Ten minutes."
He leans forward suddenly, pressing his forehead to yours. The contact is gentle, deliberate, his eyes closing for a brief moment like he's drawing strength from proximity alone.
"You stay with me," he murmurs. "You hear me? No drifting."
"I'm right here."
His hand slides to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, holding you there. Making sure you don't slip away. For a few seconds, neither of you moves. Somewhere far off, metal clatters. A distant echo of something collapsing. The facility settling into deeper ruin. You swallow. Your throat feels raw now, like you've been breathing dry air for hours.
"Leon."
"Yeah."
"If I start to..."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes sharp. "Don't."
"You need to be ready."
"I am ready."
"That's not what I mean."
His hand tightens at the back of your neck, just enough to stop you from looking away.
"I'm not leaving you," he says quietly. "Save it."
Your chest aches, and not from the bite. You nod because you don't trust your voice. He studies you another moment, memorizing something only he can see, then exhales slowly and shifts back into motion.
"Okay," he says, tone sharpening into mission focus again. "We move in short intervals. Next sector should have auxiliary storage or research offices. More supplies. Maybe antivirals."
"Maybe," you echo.
He rises, then hesitates, looking down at you like he's recalculating physics.
Without warning, he slips one arm behind your back and the other under your knees.
You blink. "Leon—"
"Save your strength."
"I can walk."
"I know."
And that's the end of the discussion. He lifts you with controlled ease, settling you against his chest. Your head ends up tucked under his chin, close enough to hear his heartbeat, steady and stubborn as a drum calling soldiers back to formation. You don't argue again. Your hand fumbles for his vest, gripping the fabric as another wave of heat rolls through you, deeper this time, almost nauseating in its intensity.
"Still with me?" he murmurs into your hair.
You nod weakly. "Yeah."
"Good."
He adjusts his hold, one hand splayed protectively across your back, and starts down the corridor again, footsteps measured, unhurried, as if he has decided that time itself can wait its turn. The world sways gently with each step. Your eyelids feel heavy.
Leon's voice cuts through the fog, low and insistent. "Stay awake."
"I'm trying."
"Talk to me."
"About what?"
"Anything."
You think for a long moment, chasing thoughts that scatter like startled birds.
"...Dessert," you mumble finally.
A soft breath leaves him, almost a laugh, almost something else entirely.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "We're still getting that."
You clutch his vest a little tighter, grounding yourself in the solid reality of him.
"Don't let me fall asleep," you whisper.
His arms tighten around you, careful but unyielding.
Leon adjusts his grip as you shift in his arms, not because you're heavy, never that, but because your body no longer anticipates his movement the way it usually does. You used to lean into turns before they happened, tighten your hold when he stepped over debris, and match his rhythm without thinking. Now you lag by half a second behind every motion, like your connection to gravity is buffering. He notices. He notices everything.
Your skin is too hot even through layers of fabric. Heat seeps through his sleeves, through his gloves, into his palms like you're burning from the inside out. Your breath ghosts unevenly against his throat, sometimes shallow, sometimes too deep, like your lungs can't agree on a pattern. Fever, he tells himself. Infection. Not the other thing. Not yet. Your fingers twitch where they clutch his vest, loosening, tightening, loosening again.
"Hey," he murmurs quietly. "Still with me?"
A pause. "...Yeah."
The word is slurred at the edges, dragged through molasses. His jaw tightens. He keeps moving.
The corridor stretches ahead in dim amber light, empty except for the occasional smear on the wall or abandoned equipment pushed aside by people who ran out of time. His footsteps are steady, deliberate, conserving energy, minimizing jostling. He's carried wounded before. Teammates. Civilians. Strangers. None of them felt like this. None of them felt like carrying his own heartbeat outside his body.
Your head shifts, cheek pressing against his collarbone. For a moment you go very still, so still that something cold claws down his spine.
"Talk to me," he says, softer now. "You promised."
A long silence. Then, faintly, "Cold."
He stops. A clean halt, like someone pulled a lever inside him. Cold is wrong. You're burning up. He lowers you carefully to one knee without setting you fully down, keeping one arm wrapped around your back so you don't tip sideways. His other hand comes up to your face, bare fingers brushing your cheek. Your skin is blazing. But you're shivering. Small, violent tremors run through you, teeth chattering softly against each other, lashes fluttering as if your body can't decide whether to wake or sleep.
"Hey," he says, sharper now. "Open your eyes."
You do, slowly, unfocused at first. Your pupils look blown wide in the low light, swallowing what little color remains in your irises.
"It's... dark," you mumble.
His chest tightens. The lights are still on.
"I'm right here," he says. "Look at me."
Your gaze drifts, struggles, and finally locks onto his face. Recognition flickers there, fragile but present.
"...Leon."
Relief hits him so hard it almost feels like pain.
"Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, it's me."
Your brow furrows faintly, confusion knitting your expression into something painfully vulnerable.
"You look... tired."
He almost laughs. "Occupational hazard," he says quietly.
Your hand lifts weakly, fingers brushing his jaw as if you're mapping terrain you've walked a thousand times but suddenly don't trust your memory of.
"You should sleep," you whisper.
The tenderness in it is what breaks him a little.
"Soon, sweetheart," he says.
Your hand slips, falling back against your chest. Silence stretches. Your breathing grows uneven again.
Then you say, very softly, "Did we make it home?"
The words land like a physical blow. For a second, he can't answer. His throat closes around something sharp and unmanageable.
Home. Not the facility. Not the mission. Not the outbreak. Home. He swallows hard, forcing air back into his lungs.
"Not yet," he says, voice low and steady by sheer force of will. "Working on it."
Your eyes drift past him, unfocused, as if you're looking at something over his shoulder that isn't there.
"...Smells like coffee," you murmur. "Burned it again."
His vision blurs. He blinks hard, refocusing on the concrete wall behind you. You're not smelling coffee. There is no coffee. There hasn't been coffee in hours. Just dust and chemicals and rot. Hallucinations, a cold voice in his mind supplies. Neurological involvement. He hates that voice.
Your lips curve faintly, a sleepy little smile that belongs in a sunlit kitchen, not here. "You always do that," you mumble. "Say you're watching it, then forget..."
Your head tips sideways, resting against his arm. Your eyelids droop. Panic slices through him, clean and immediate.
"Hey," he says sharply, fingers tightening on your shoulder. "No. Stay with me."
You stir weakly. "...'m tired."
"I know."
"So tired."
His thumb presses against your pulse again. Still fast. Too fast.
"You can sleep when we're home," he says, leaning closer, voice dropping to something rough and urgent.
Your eyes open a sliver.
"...Promise?"
The question is so small it barely exists.
He bows his head until his forehead rests against yours, eyes closing for one heartbeat, he allows himself.
"Yeah," he whispers. "I promise."
He doesn't know if he's promising sleep, survival, or something else entirely. It doesn't matter. Your breathing evens out a little, not better, just slower, drifting toward something that looks dangerously like unconsciousness. Not yet, he thinks fiercely.
He slides one arm under your knees again and lifts you back against his chest, more carefully this time, as if you might come apart if handled too roughly. Your head lolls against his shoulder, then settles in the hollow of his neck, breath hot and damp against his skin.
"Stay with me," he murmurs into your hair. "Just a little longer."
Your fingers twitch weakly against his vest, not gripping anymore, just resting there like they forgot their job.
"...Love you," you whisper, so faint he almost thinks he imagined it.
He stops breathing. The entire world narrows to the weight in his arms and the fragile thread of sound still hanging in the air. His hold tightens, protective, desperate, careful all at once.
"I know," he says quietly, voice breaking on the edges despite his best effort. "I know."
He presses his cheek briefly against your hair, eyes closing, grounding himself in the reality of you. The heat. The softness. The terrifying fragility. Then he straightens and starts moving again, steps faster now, less cautious, urgency bleeding through the discipline he's clung to since this began. Somewhere ahead, there has to be another lab. Another storage room. Another chance. There has to be. Because the alternative is unthinkable, and Leon Kennedy has built an entire life on refusing to accept those.
"Hang on," he murmurs. "I've got you."
The corridor opens into what used to be a patient ward, rows of metal-framed beds bolted to the floor, privacy curtains hanging in limp, dusty folds like flags after a lost battle. Most of the mattresses are stripped bare, plastic covers cracked with age, but the room is quiet. No movement. No shuffling breath. Just the low electrical hum that seems to haunt every corner of this place.
Leon slows, scanning automatically, mapping exits, sightlines, choke points. Good visibility. Single main entrance. Minimal clutter. Defensible. More importantly, close.
A reinforced door at the far end bears a faded hazard symbol and the words AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY stenciled beneath it. The hinges are external. The frame is thicker than standard interior construction. Lab access. Or something close to it.
"Okay," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "This'll do."
He crosses to the nearest intact bed and lowers you with painstaking care, one arm supporting your shoulders, the other guiding your legs so the injured one doesn't twist. The mattress sighs softly under your weight, springs complaining but holding. For a second, he doesn't let go. Your head rolls slightly to one side, hair falling across your face. Your eyes are half-open, unfocused, lashes trembling like you're dreaming with your eyes still in the world.
"Hey," he says quietly, brushing the hair back with fingers that are gentler than anything else he's done today. "Stay with me."
Your gaze struggles to find him. "...Hi," you whisper.
"Hi," he echoes, voice rough.
Your hand lifts weakly, searching. He catches it immediately, folding his larger one around yours, grounding you with solid pressure.
"Where are we?" you murmur.
"Almost there," he says. Not a lie. Not quite the truth. "I need to check something."
Your fingers twitch in his grip, barely there. "...Don't go far."
His throat tightens.
"I won't," he says. "You'll be able to hear me the whole time." That seems to satisfy something in you. Your eyes drift closed, not fully unconscious, just sliding along the edge of it.
He gently lowers your hand to rest against your stomach, then hesitates. After a moment, he reaches up and unzips his jacket, shrugging it off despite the chill. He drapes it over you, tucking it around your shoulders, creating a cocoon of familiar warmth and scent. Leon rests his palm against your cheek one last time, thumb brushing your skin in a soft arc.
He forces himself to stand. Every instinct screams not to leave you. To pick you up and run until the world ends, the cure appears, or both. But the door at the end of the room waits, silent and stubborn, and something in his gut tells him that whatever hope exists is behind it.
He moves. Slow at first, reluctant steps that keep him within arm's reach, then a little farther, turning back every few seconds to make sure you're still breathing, still there, still you. Halfway across the ward, a shape shifts behind a curtain. Leon's weapon is up before the fabric finishes swaying.
A figure stumbles out, skeletal, skin pulled tight over bone, eyes reflecting dull amber in the emergency light. Its mouth opens in a soundless snarl as it lurches toward the nearest movement. Leon intercepts it before it gets anywhere. Two suppressed shots. One to the chest, one to the head. The body collapses in a boneless heap, momentum carrying it forward until it skids to a stop across the tile.
Another groan answers from somewhere deeper in the room. He pivots, firing again, dropping a second infected as it claws its way over a bedframe. Efficient. Controlled. No wasted motion. No unnecessary noise. Three heartbeats of silence. He listens, counting breaths. Nothing else rises. Only then does he glance back. You haven't moved. Relief floods through him so sharply his knees almost unlock.
"Still here," he murmurs under his breath, as if confirming it makes it true.
He reaches the reinforced door and tests the handle. Locked. Of course it is.
Up close, the barricade becomes obvious. Heavy shelving units have been shoved against the interior side, metal edges visible through the narrow seam where the door meets the frame. Whoever sealed this room meant to keep something out. Or in.
Leon leans closer, ear to the cold steel. Nothing. No breathing. No scratching. No shifting weight. He steps back and scans the frame. Electronic panel. Dead. Manual override slot intact. Hope stirs, cautious and unwelcome.
He glances over his shoulder again. From here, he can still see you on the bed, small beneath his jacket, chest rising and falling in shallow motions that make his own lungs ache in sympathy.
"Almost there," he says quietly, whether to you or himself, he doesn't know.
From a pouch on his belt, he pulls a compact breaching tool, the metal catching the light as he slots it into the override housing. The device hums softly, vibration traveling up his wrist.
Behind him, the ward remains still.
Then your voice drifts across the room, thin and fragile. "...Leon?"
He spins instantly. Your head has turned toward him, eyes open again, unfocused but searching, panic flickering in the small movement of your hands against his jacket.
"I'm here," he calls, already crossing back toward you. "Right here."
You stare at him as if trying to memorize his face before it disappears. "...Too many," you whisper. "They're everywhere."
"There's nothing here," he says gently. "You're safe."
Your head sinks back into the thin pillow. Consciousness slips away from you like water through open fingers. Leon stays there a second longer than he should, watching your chest rise, fall, rise again. Then he stands and turns back to the barricaded door, something steely settling over him, heavier than anger, sharper than fear.
The tool in his hand whines as it bites into the locking mechanism, sparks spitting in brief, angry bursts. Metal protests. Screws shear. The smell of hot circuitry fills the air.
"Hold on," he murmurs, not looking back this time because he won't stop if he does. "I'm getting us in."
Behind him, the bed creaks softly as you shift in fevered sleep. Ahead, the door shudders as the final bolt gives way. Leon shoves the door inward, the weight of it grinding against the barricade until the gap is wide enough for him to slip through sideways. Inside, a toppled shelving unit leans against the opposite wall, confirming what he already suspected. Whoever sealed this room did it from within and didn't plan on leaving.
The air is colder here. Cleaner. Sterile in that artificial way that smells faintly of alcohol wipes and plastic, like illness reduced to a controlled environment.
Emergency lights glow a sickly green, illuminating rows of lab benches, overturned stools, racks of glassware frozen mid-experiment. Papers lie scattered across the floor, curling at the edges. A monitor flickers weakly on one station, casting a pulsing rectangle of pale light that feels almost alive in the otherwise stagnant room.
Leon clears the space in seconds, weapon sweeping corners, checking behind doors, under desks, anywhere something could hide. Nothing lunges. Nothing breathes. Just abandonment, sudden and absolute, like the people who worked here evaporated mid-sentence.
He lowers the gun a fraction, chest rising and falling a little too fast to be purely tactical.
"Okay," he murmurs, voice rough in the quiet. "Okay."
He moves to the nearest workstation, scanning labels, cabinets, drawers. Chemical reagents. Disposable supplies. Data drives. Everything except what he needs. Another bench. Same story. He opens a refrigerated unit. Empty trays. Frost buildup. Power too low to maintain temperature.
His pulse hammers harder.
Not here. Not here. Not here.
"Come on," he mutters, rifling through containers faster now, less methodical, more desperate. Glass clinks sharply as he shoves aside vials of things that don't matter, powders with long names, syringes sealed in sterile plastic. Nothing labeled antiviral. Nothing labeled serum. Nothing labeled hope. A cold weight settles in his stomach.
He moves to the flickering computer, fingers flying across the keys, waking it from whatever half-dead state it's been trapped in. The screen brightens sluggishly, revealing a login prompt already bypassed, system hanging on by a thread.
"Don't do this to me," he whispers.
Folders populate slowly. Research logs. Incident reports. Containment protocols. He scans titles with ruthless speed, opening anything that looks remotely relevant, eyes burning as line after line of technical jargon scrolls past.
Mutation rates. Transmission vectors. Failure rates.
Failure rates.
His jaw tightens.
A crash echoes faintly from the ward beyond the door. His head snaps toward the sound. Silence follows. He waits three seconds. Five. Ten. No approach. No impact against the door. No dragging footsteps. Still there, he tells himself. She's still there.
He turns back to the screen, forcing his focus to narrow again. A document catches his eye.
ANTIVIRAL DISPERSION PROTOCOL – EMERGENCY USE
He opens it. Paragraphs of dense instructions spill across the display. Stabilization procedures. Delivery methods. Storage warnings. STORAGE LOCATION: SECURE BIOCONTAINMENT VAULT B-2. His stomach drops. Not here.
Coordinates blink uselessly on the screen, pointing deeper into the facility, farther than he wants to think about, farther than you may be able to survive the trip.
Something inside him finally gives. He grips the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening, shoulders bowing as if someone just added fifty pounds to his back.
"Damn it," he breathes.
The word fractures on the way out, barely more than air. He squeezes his eyes shut, forehead dropping toward his clenched fists, fighting the surge of helpless fury that threatens to tear through discipline, training, every wall he's built over years of surviving the unsurvivable. Not enough time. Not enough distance. Not enough anything.
Out in the ward, you lie alone on a metal bed, burning up, slipping further away with every second he spends standing here empty-handed. His chest tightens until breathing feels optional.
For one dangerous moment, he imagines walking back out there, picking you up, and never stopping. No cure. No mission. Just distance and denial. Just the selfish hope that if he runs fast enough, the virus won't catch you.
He exhales sharply, dragging himself back from the edge. Running never saved anyone.
"Think," he mutters hoarsely. "Think."
His gaze drifts across the lab again, slower this time, less frantic, searching for patterns instead of miracles. That's when he notices it. A sealed medical kit is mounted on the wall near the exit. Standard emergency issue. Bright white casing. Untouched, pristine compared to the chaos everywhere else. Too pristine. He crosses the room and pops it open. Bandages. Burn gel. Basic trauma supplies. Nothing else.
His shoulders slump. Then his eyes catch a thin seam along the back panel, almost invisible unless you're looking directly at it. Not part of the original design. Too clean. Too deliberate. He taps it with his knuckle. Hollow. Hope flares, sharp and painful.
He wedges a knife into the seam and pries. The panel resists for a second, then snaps free with a brittle crack, revealing a narrow cavity hidden behind the kit.
Inside rests a single reinforced container, matte gray and no bigger than a paperback book, sealed with a biometric latch long since disabled. Not government-issue, but research-grade. Whoever put this here didn't have the chance to get it.
Leon's hands shake as he pulls it free. The lid pops open. Nestled in foam are two glass syringes pre-loaded with clear liquid, labels printed in blocky lab script:
ANTIVIRAL SERUM — FINALIZED STRAIN
For a second, he just stares, brain refusing to trust what his eyes are telling it. Air leaves his lungs in a sound that might be a laugh or might be something closer to a sob strangled before it can exist.
"Okay," he whispers, voice breaking anyway. "Okay. We're good. We're... we're good."
He presses his forehead briefly against the cool plastic case, eyes squeezing shut, letting the relief hit him in one violent wave before he can stop it. Shoulders shake once, twice, a tremor he doesn't bother to control because no one is here to see it. No one except the person who needs him most. He straightens abruptly, wiping a hand across his face, composure snapping back into place like a mask he's worn too long to misplace.
"Hang on," he says, already moving for the door, clutching the case like it's made of glass and prayers. "I'm coming back."
Your skin is still hot. That's the first thing he registers when his palm cups your cheek. Heat floods into his hand, fever-bright, but there's a wrongness to it now, a brittle quality, like warmth without life behind it.
"Hey," he says softly. "I'm back."
No response. Your lashes rest against your cheeks, unmoving. Your mouth is slightly open, breath slipping in shallow threads that barely stir the hair at your temple. The shivering from before has stopped. Your body lies too still beneath his jacket, as if it finally decided movement was optional.
A cold spike of terror drives straight through his chest.
"Hey." Louder this time, but still gentle, still careful, as if volume alone might break you. "Come on. Open your eyes for me."
Nothing. He slides his hand to your neck, fingers pressing to your pulse point. It's there. Fast. Thready. Irregular in a way that makes his own heartbeat stumble trying to match it.
"Okay," he breathes, more to himself than to you. "We're okay."
His other hand trembles as he fumbles the case open, snapping it back with a soft plastic crack. The syringes gleam under the emergency lights, their clear liquid looking impossibly calm compared to the storm in his chest. He sets the case on the bed beside you, movements deliberate, controlled, forcing precision where panic wants chaos.
"You're gonna hate this part," he murmurs, fingers working to clear space at your collar, tugging fabric aside so he can reach skin. "But you can yell at me later. I'm counting on it."
Your head lolls slightly with the movement. No protest. No reflexive tension. He swallows hard.
"Hey," he says again, softer now, thumb brushing your jaw in a slow arc. "Stay with me, okay? You don't get to check out early. We still owe each other dessert."
His voice catches on the last word. He pushes through it.
"Remember that place downtown? The one with the ridiculous chocolate cake you said was worth the calories?" A shaky breath. "I figure we'll go there."
He presses his forehead briefly against yours, eyes squeezing shut for a fraction of a second.
"You hear me? We've got plans."
Your breathing hitches faintly, a tiny irregular stutter that might be a coincidence or might be something else. He latches onto it anyway, desperate for anything that looks like a connection.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Right there. Stay with me."
He lifts the syringe, checks it automatically, habit stronger than fear. No air bubbles. Fluid clear. Needle steady despite the tremor in his hand.
"Okay," he whispers. "Here we go."
He slides his arm behind your shoulders, lifting you just enough to support you against his chest, cradling you there so the injection won't jostle too much. Your head falls against him, cheek resting over his heart, breath warm and frighteningly faint through the fabric of his shirt.
"You're doing great," he says softly, even though you're doing nothing at all. "Almost there."
The needle presses into your skin.
He hesitates.
Not because he doubts the serum. Because once this is done, there's nothing left to do but wait, and waiting is the one thing he has never learned to survive gracefully.
"Don't be mad," he murmurs. "I'm not giving you a choice."
He depresses the plunger slowly, watching the liquid disappear into you, as if he can track hope molecule by molecule. His other arm tightens around your back, holding you upright, holding you together.
"All right," he says, voice barely above a breath. "You did good. See? Easy."
He withdraws the needle and sets it aside with mechanical care, as if any sudden movement might undo what he's just done. Then he just holds you.
Seconds crawl past, each one stretching thin as wire. Nothing happens. Your breathing remains shallow. Your pulse, when he checks again, is still fast, still erratic. His chest starts to feel tight, air coming harder, like the room has quietly stolen oxygen while he wasn't looking.
"Okay," he says hoarsely. "Sometimes these things take a minute."
He shifts you slightly, thumb stroking your arm in absent circles, the same motion he uses when you're half asleep on long flights or bad nights. Comfort muscle memory kicks in even when the situation is far beyond comfort.
"You're not allowed to do this," he whispers. "You hear me? Not now. Not like this."
Your hand slips from where it rested against his vest, sliding down between you, fingers loose and unresponsive. He grabs it instantly, folding it back into his palm, pressing it against his chest.
"Come back," he says, the words fraying at the edges.
Another long stretch of nothing. Fear blooms, cold and suffocating, filling every hollow place in him. Too late, a voice in the back of his mind whispers. Too slow. Too far gone.
He shakes his head sharply, jaw clenching.
"No," he mutters. "No, you don't get to do that."
He bows over you, pressing his forehead to your hair, eyes squeezed shut, breathing you in like oxygen.
"You promised," he says roughly. "You don't break your promises."
Your pulse stutters under his fingers. He freezes.
There it is again. A strange hitch, a pause that stretches too long, then a sudden rush, as if your heart forgot the rhythm and is trying to find it again. His own heart stops in sympathetic terror.
"Come on," he whispers. "Come on..."
Your body jerks. A sharp, involuntary spasm that arches you slightly against him before you go slack again. Leon sucks in a breath, half panic, half hope colliding in his chest.
"That's it," he says urgently. "That's something. That's good. Keep going."
Your brow creases faintly, expression tightening as if pain is finally breaking through the fog. A weak sound escapes you, barely audible, more exhale than voice. His grip on you tightens, careful but fierce.
"I know," he murmurs. "I know, sweetheart. It's okay. You're okay."
Your breathing changes, deepening suddenly, as if you're pulling in air like someone surfacing from underwater. It catches, stutters, then comes again, stronger this time, dragging oxygen into lungs that finally seem interested in using it.
"There you go," he breathes, voice shaking openly now. "That's it. Stay with me."
Your fingers twitch weakly against his chest. He presses his cheek against your hair, eyes closing, holding you like you might still vanish if he loosens his grip.
"I've got you," he whispers. "You're okay. I've got you."
He keeps you cradled against his chest, one arm locked around your back, the other braced across your shoulders, hand splayed as if shielding you from something that no longer exists. His cheek rests against your hair, breath uneven, dragging in through his nose, out through parted lips like he's relearning how to do it.
Your pulse is stronger now beneath his fingers. Still fast, still fragile, but steady enough to count. Steady enough to believe in. Only then does the tension start to bleed out of him. It comes all at once.
His shoulders shudder. Not violently, just a small, contained tremor that he tries to swallow down and can't. A sound escapes him, rough and broken, something halfway between a breath and a sob he never intended to make. He tightens his hold instinctively, pressing his face into your hair as if hiding there makes it less real.
"Okay," he whispers hoarsely. "Okay... you're okay."
Warmth hits your scalp. At first, your fogged mind can't place it. Wetness. A second drop follows, sliding along your temple before disappearing into your hair.
Leon doesn't notice. Or he does and can't stop. He bows over you, forehead pressed to the crown of your head, shoulders shaking in small, uneven pulses he's trying desperately to keep silent. Years of training, years of surviving, years of holding everything inside, finally cracking under the simple fact that you are still here.
"I've got you," he murmurs, voice wrecked, words stumbling over each other. "I've got you, I've got you..."
Your fingers twitch. This time, the movement is stronger, a weak curl against his shirt, fabric bunching slightly in your grasp. The sensation filters through layers of fog, heat, exhaustion, and the lingering echo of pain. Consciousness creeps back in like dawn through heavy curtains.
Your throat burns. Your body feels impossibly heavy, as if gravity doubled while you were away. Every muscle aches with a deep, bone-level fatigue that sleep alone could never fix.
Sound reaches you first. A heartbeat. Loud. Steady. Close enough to be yours, except it isn't. Breath above you, hitching, uneven. Fabric shifting faintly with each inhale.
Someone is holding you. You force your eyes open.
The world swims into view in slow, watery shapes. A blurred patch of green light. A shadow that resolves into the curve of a shoulder. Blond strands of hair brushing your cheek.
Leon.
He doesn't notice you're awake yet. His face is buried against your head, one hand cupping the back of your skull with fierce gentleness, thumb moving in tiny, repetitive strokes like he's soothing a nightmare that hasn't ended for him yet.
Your voice comes out as a rasp. "Leon...?"
He freezes. Absolute stillness, like a statue suddenly unsure whether it's allowed to move. Slowly, he lifts his head. His eyes are red. Not just glassy, not just tired, but openly, unmistakably wet. Tracks of tears cut through the grime on his cheeks, catching the light as he blinks hard, as if blinking might erase evidence before you can register it.
For a second, he just stares at you, something raw and disbelieving cracking across his face, like he expected this moment and still isn't sure it's real.
"You're..." His voice fails. He clears his throat roughly. "Hey."
You try to smile. It feels wobbly, incomplete. "Hi."
Relief hits him so visibly it's almost painful to watch. His shoulders sag, tension draining out of him like someone cut the strings holding him upright.
"Hey," he repeats, softer this time, thumb coming up to brush your cheek in a careful sweep, as if confirming you're solid. "You're back."
"Was I... gone?"
His jaw tightens. "Not allowed."
You attempt a small laugh. It comes out as a weak breath. His hand slides to the side of your neck, fingers resting over your pulse again, counting, grounding, refusing to trust his eyes alone.
"You scared me," he says quietly.
Your gaze drops to his chest, to the wrinkled fabric where you must have been gripping him earlier. "Sorry."
His head snaps slightly. "Don't."
The word is sharp, then softens immediately.
"Don't apologize," he adds, voice rough. "Just... don't."
You nod faintly. Even that feels like work.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. You just lie there in his arms, breathing the same air, sharing the same small pocket of reality after hours of separation that happened without distance. Then you notice how tightly he's still holding you.
"Leon," you murmur, "I can't breathe."
He releases you instantly, horror flashing across his face. "Sorry. Sorry."
He shifts his grip, supporting you more carefully, one arm still behind your shoulders but no longer crushing you to him. His other hand lingers at your jaw, thumb brushing your skin as if he can't quite stop touching you.
"You're okay?" he asks, scanning your face like he's looking for cracks. "Dizzy? Nauseous? Vision?"
"Everything hurts."
He exhales, something that might be relief ghosting through the pain in his expression. "I'll take it."
Your eyes drift past him, taking in the ward, the beds, the dim light. Memory trickles back in jagged pieces. Teeth. Heat. Falling. Darkness.
"...You found it," you whisper.
He nods once. "Yeah, told you we would.
Your mouth twitches, not quite a smile. "Yeah. You did."
You study him more closely now, the red around his eyes, the dampness he hasn't fully wiped away, the way he keeps blinking as if his vision is unreliable.
"You were crying," you say softly.
Immediate denial rises to his lips. You can see it form. Then he looks at you. And whatever excuse he was about to give dissolves.
"...Yeah," he admits, voice low. "Maybe a little."
A tear slips free anyway, tracking down before he can stop it. He doesn't bother hiding it this time. Doesn't look away. Just lets it exist.
"You weren't waking up," he says, as if that explains everything. It does.
Your chest aches in a different way now. You lift your hand slowly, muscles protesting, and touch his face. Your thumb brushes the damp track on his cheek, wiping it away with clumsy tenderness.
"I'm here," you whisper.
He leans into your hand without thinking, eyes closing briefly, relief and exhaustion and something deeper collapsing together inside him.
"Yeah," he murmurs. "You are."
He covers your hand with his, pressing it lightly to his skin as if anchoring himself. After a moment, his gaze sharpens again, mission awareness bleeding back in.
"We need to move," he says gently. "Facility's not stable, and we don't know how long before more of them wander in."
You nod, though the idea of standing feels ambitious at best. He notices the hesitation immediately.
"Hey," he says softly. "I've got you."
He shifts, sliding one arm behind your back again, the other under your knees, lifting you with the same careful strength as before, only this time you help a little, arms coming up weakly around his neck. Your head settles against his shoulder.
"Still getting dessert?" you murmur against his collar.
A real smile breaks through at last, small but bright as sunrise after a storm.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "We're still getting that."
He turns toward the exit, steps steady, protective hold unyielding but gentle now that he knows you're truly there.
Three days later, the world smells like coffee and clean laundry instead of antiseptic and decay.
Sunlight spills through half-closed blinds, laying soft gold across the rumpled bedspread and the tangle of blankets around your legs. The air is warm, carrying the faint hum of city life from outside, tires on pavement, a distant horn, someone laughing somewhere far below.
Leon sits beside you, forearms resting on his thighs, watching with that quiet intensity he hasn't quite learned to turn off yet. He looks cleaner than before, shaved, hair damp as if he showered quickly and came right back, but the exhaustion still clings to him in the set of his shoulders.
"You're staring," you murmur.
"Monitoring," he corrects.
"You blink?"
"Sometimes."
You huff a small laugh, the motion tugging at sore muscles that remind you exactly how recently everything went wrong. His gaze sharpens instantly, concern flaring before you even realize you winced.
"I'm okay," you assure him.
He searches your face a moment longer, then nods, not convinced but willing to accept it for now.
"You hungry?" he asks.
"Always."
He disappears into the kitchen and returns with coffee and a plate of pancakes that look slightly uneven but deeply sincere. You eat, he watches, tension slowly unwinding from him with each bite you take.
When you finish, you lean back, warm and heavy with food, eyelids drooping in content exhaustion.
"So when is our dessert date?" you ask softly.
Leon goes still. Then he stands without a word and leaves the room again.
You hear the soft thud of the door opening, the faint clink of something ceramic, the careful movements of someone handling something fragile. When he returns, he's holding a small white bakery box tied with a thin ribbon, the bow slightly crooked as if it had to survive transport in a large, impatient hand. He sets it on the bedside table with surprising delicacy.
"I didn't make this," he says gruffly. "Figured we've both suffered enough."
Suspicion and curiosity spark together. You pull the ribbon loose, lifting the lid. Inside sits a slice of decadent chocolate cake, glossy frosting catching the sunlight, layers dark, dense, and unapologetically indulgent.
Your chest tightens.
"You remembered," you whisper.
He shrugs, looking suddenly very interested in a spot on the wall. "You seemed pretty sure it was worth surviving for."
You lift the cake plate slightly and notice something tucked beneath the ribbon, partially hidden against the cardboard.
An envelope. Your fingers hesitate, then slide it free. Leon doesn't look at you. He's staring out the window now, jaw set, shoulders a little too rigid, like he's bracing for impact.
Inside the envelope are two plane tickets. Beach destination. Departure in two weeks. Round trip. Vacation time from work. A hotel confirmation tucked behind them.
For a long moment, you can't speak.
"You said somewhere boring," he mutters quietly, still not turning around. "Figured that would be perfect."
"Leon..."
He finally looks back, expression carefully neutral, but there's something vulnerable in his eyes, something that says this mattered more than he wants to admit.
"You don't have to go," he adds quickly. "If you're not up for travel yet, we can postpone, or cancel, or—"
You set the tickets down and reach for him. Your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer until he's standing right at the edge of the bed, close enough that you can see the faint pulse at the base of his throat.
"Thank you," you say softly.
Not just for the vacation. Not just for the cake. He understands anyway. His face softens, tension draining into something warm and quiet and deeply relieved.
"Yeah," he murmurs. "Anytime."
You pick up the fork, take a small bite of cake, then hold it out to him. He leans in, accepting it, eyes never leaving yours. For a second, neither of you pulls back, the space between you charged with something gentler than urgency, heavier than simple affection.
"Worth it?" he asks.
You nod. "Absolutely."
You set the plate aside, your hand finding his again, fingers threading through his with familiar ease. He squeezes back immediately, grounding, protective, like he did in the hallway, only now there's no fear behind it. You both crave this closeness after it was almost ripped away just days before.
You tug lightly, coaxing him down to sit beside you on the bed. He goes without resistance, one arm coming around your shoulders automatically, careful of lingering soreness. Your other hand lifts, brushing his cheek where faint redness still lingers if you look closely enough.
"I love you," you whisper.
His eyes close briefly, leaning into your touch in a way he never would in public. Just here, just now, where it's safe to be human.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "I love you too."
Leon leans in first. The kiss is slow, gentle, nothing desperate or urgent, just warm lips and shared breath and the simple reassurance of contact. He stills for half a heartbeat, like he's afraid you might break, then melts into it, one hand cupping the back of your head. When you pull back, his forehead follows yours, resting lightly against it, eyes still closed.
"Careful," he murmurs. "Doctor said no overexertion."
You smile. "Pretty sure that wasn't what they meant."
"Still."
His arm tightens around you, drawing you closer until your head rests against his shoulder, fitting there like it always has. His chin settles lightly against your hair, breath warm, steady.
Outside, the city moves on. Inside, time slows to match the rhythm of two people who fought hard for the right to sit in a quiet room and eat cake.
"Two weeks," you murmur.
"Yeah."
"You think you can handle boring?"
He huffs softly. "I'll manage."
You laugh, the sound light and real and alive. His chest rises under your cheek, its vibration grounding you in the best possible way. For a long moment, neither of you says anything else. You just sit there, sunlight warming your skin, fingers loosely entwined, the promise of salt air and quiet days waiting ahead like a horizon you can finally see. Sharing cake, and kisses, and being alive, and together in your home.
Dividers by @uzmacchiato <3
Thanks for reading<3 Just a reminder, my requests are open! I would love to hear from you!
PERSISTENT LEON KENNEDY
SUMMARY three times leon has asked you out and the one time you said yes.
PAIRINGS leon kennedy x communications expert!reader
WORD COUNT 4.5k
WARNINGS some dialogue was taken from re4r. reader is basically hunnigan. reader is described to like bright colors (basically penelope garcia). cheesy scenarios and dialogue. leon has feelings and reader is oblivious. not proofread. lowercase intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE this was inspired by a post i saw that wanted someone to write a leon fic with a dynamic with the reader that is similar to morgan and garcia from criminal minds hehe. sorry it took so long, i struggled writing this.
1. SPAIN, 2004
you entered your office in a hurry, heels clacking loudly against tiled floors. you sat in your chair, spinning it to set the files in your arms down with a huff before placing the headset on your head. you took in a deep breath, steadying yourself. this was your first big mission and you were desperate to make sure it went well, not just for you, but for the agent that you were supposed to be directing through it.
“roost, this is condor one.” agent kennedy’s crackled through your headset. you swung your chair to face the main monitor.
“l/n, here. what’s your sitrep?” you kept your voice steady, hands resting on the keyboard as you readied yourself.
“the president’s daughter — baby eagle. it’s likely she’s in this village.” you pulled up the map of the village, reading through the intel you had been given.
“our intel was correct, then. well done.”
“need a location on a nearby lake. she may have been taken there.” you adjusted yourself in your chair before beginning to rapidly type.
“copy that. i’ll see what i can find.” you heard the sound of slight shuffling as if he was looking through something.
“hurry up. something’s happened to the people here. my escorts are —” agent kennedy stopped talking as the sound of heavy footsteps came close, close enough for you to hear. “gotta go. talk later.”
the line went dead, leaving you to wait for the agent to contact you.
your training had taught you that for agents, concentration was key and any sort of distraction could cost them dearly, so you didn’t try contacting agent kennedy. you didn’t want to distract him from the mission at hand. he knew that if he needed something he could easily get a hold of you. still, you were nervous. he hung up so quickly and the noises you heard gave you cause for great concern.
you brushed your nerves off, instead beginning to look for a route to the nearby lake. you waited until you found it, finally making contact. “roost to condor one. i’ve identified a route to the lake. look for a large windmill. there’s a path on the far side of it.”
“windmill. copy that.” agent kennedy acknowledged.
“be careful. roost out.” you disconnected, taking in a deep breath. to keep yourself occupied while you waited, you pulled the files you had hazardously set down closer to you. your job recently was to digitize old case files. it wasn’t fun but it needed to be done. anything to keep in your boss’ good graces.
you had only been working at the FOS for about six months, your main job being more that of a receptionist than a communications expert. you had done a few small missions for other branches of government, but working with members from the DSO was your goal. so when your boss came to you with the mission file, you jumped at the opportunity to prove yourself.
normally missions of high stakes such as this one would’ve gone to someone like ingrid hunnigan or any other high ranking member, but she was on leave and the other experts were already preoccupied with other missions. it had been a busy month for the FOS. but, now this was your chance to prove yourself.
it took a while before your headset began to beep again, agent kennedy’s voice crackling in shortly after. “condor one to roost. i’ve located baby eagle. it sounds like she’s being kept in some church.”
“great! that’s good news.” you smiled, happy that this was going smoothly so far.
“i heard it from this guy i met. said his name is luis serra. there was something fishy about him. i need you to run a background check.” you wrote down the name agent kennedy gave you.
“wilco, condor one. i’ll see what i can find. in the mean time though, make your way to that church.”
“right. i’m probably due for a confession anyway. condor one out.” you withheld your small laugh at his confession comment. you had heard of his sense of humor.
you turned toward the main monitor once more, fingers crossing the keyboard rapidly as you began your research into luis. as you found out information, you began to write it down on your notepad. any detail could be important so you wanted to make sure you didn’t forget anything.
you gathered your notes when you came across a detail that seemed vitally important. “roost to condor one, i’ve got the intel you requested on luis serra. it seems he used to be a researcher for umbrella.” you informed agent kennedy.
“umbrella?” agent kennedy’s voice was loud, his shock clear. “i should’ve left him to rot.”
“i’m sending you the details. take a look. but baby eagle is your priority.” you reminded him before sending your research to his device.
“copy that. making my way to the church. condor one out.” the line went dead, leaving you to the silence of your office as you waited for the agent to need you again.
you looked around your messy office, looking for a way to fill your time without fully taking you away from the mission at hand. you began to clean up some of the trinkets and decor that littered your desk. you had made the choice when you started to make your workspace as happy and bright as possible, to help with the rough things you would likely deal with. they stood as a reminder that there is always light even in the darkest of places.
“condor one to roost. the church is sealed up.” agent kennedy came through on your headset once more, pulling you from reorganizing your desktop.
“and baby eagle?” you moved back to your monitor, ready to help him out.
“negative. nothing yet. but they sure do have this place locked up tight.” agent kennedy explained, the sound of footsteps could be heard as he presumably walked around.
“i see, i can think of one reason they’d want to do so.” your lips curled into a smirk. he was getting closer to the target which was good.
“oh, she’s here. that’s for sure. i’ll find a way in. condor one out.” the call dropped once more. you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. you had reorganized your desk, digitalized the files you had been assigned, and all the research that was needed so far was complete. you spun slightly in your chair, standing up to get yourself some coffee. you were going to need it if the mission kept going like this.
you walked to the break room, a pit of nervousness opening in your stomach. you were worried the longer you stayed away from your office, the more likely you could ruin the mission. you began to pour the coffee into your mug, which was pink and sparkly. you poured a concerning amount of creamer into the black coffee, ignoring the odd looks from the other staff members that were in the room.
once the coffee was sweet enough to your liking, you made your way back to your office, you footsteps hurried. you shut the door closed behind you, taking a seat back in your chair as you patiently waited for agent kennedy to contact you again.
“condor one to roost, do you read me?” you jolted up, half asleep. you had been fighting sleep for so long you were worried you had missed something. you looked to the time on your computer, shocked to see how much time had passed.
“condor one? you’ve been radio silent for three hours! are you alright?” you questioned, a slight tremble in your voice. what if he had gotten hurt? what if baby eagle was dead? what if—
“yeah, i’m fine. won’t let it happen again. though i do have to say, i think i’m growing on you.” you broke from your anxieties, missing the last part.
“and the church?” you asked, your heart still pounding in your chest.
“still looking for whatever key i need.”
“copy that. i’m glad you’re okay. roost out.” you quickly dropped the call, trying to even out your unsteady breathing.
thankfully the next time agent kennedy contacted you he had made contact with baby eagle and had her with him. you let out a sigh of relief, a weight lifted off your shoulders.
you should’ve known better than to think the mission was practically over. the weather had worsened as the mission progressed leaving you worried that the chopper might not make it to the extraction point. what started as a worse case scenario quickly became the reality.
“this is roost. i have bad news, condor one. due to the weather, the chopper can’t make it to the extraction point. can you standby until it passes?” your fingers tapped nervously against your desk as you broke the news.
“negative, it’s too dangerous. we will find a safe spot until then.”
“i’m so sorry. i wish there was more i could do.” you apologized even though it was out of your control.
“don’t worry about it. hell, we will swim back if we have to.” you laughed slightly.
“roost out.” and the waiting begins again. you found yourself quietly hoping and praying that the rest of this would go smoothly.
oh, how you were wrong. “condor one to roost. everything went to shit.” the connection began to break. “got… from… eagle.” your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to make out what agent kennedy was saying.
“repeat that, condor one. what happened?” the static was louder than kennedy, “condor one, do you read me?” the static was so loud until the call suddenly dropped. you began to try to contact agent kennedy but nothing was going through.
you knew something was wrong, very wrong. against your better judgement, you called in a combat chopper. the weather wasn’t perfect but the conditions had gotten much better than they had been. as you waited for confirmation that the chopper had arrived, you continued to try to make contact to no avail.
“condor one, this is roost, do you read me?” your voice was filled with worry, hoarse from the excessive use. “is this thing even on?” you felt frustrated and upset. you were beginning to wonder if you were meant to do this, that you could do this job. “agent kennedy, are you and ashley alright?”
the louder the static got, the more you began to lose hope. just as you went to find your boss, a cackling noise broke through the static that had overtaken the headset. “condor one to roost, can you hear me?” your eyes widened as you sat back down.
“agent kennedy, thank god!” you didn’t bother to hide your panic. “are you two alright? what do you need?”
“we’re okay. the island has been destroyed. we are on our way to the nearest island.” you let out a sigh of relief.
“i will dispatch a chopper, do you have your coordinates?” agent kennedy read off his coordinates as you called for a chopper.
“thank you, roost. say, when i get back, how about you and i get dinner? as a thank you.” your face heated up, your breath hitching slightly.
“a verbal thank you works just fine, i’m just doing my job.” agent kennedy chuckled at your response.
“fair enough, condor one out.”
2. FOS HEADQUATERS, 2005
in the near year you had been working with leon kennedy as his communications expert, you hadn’t actually met him in person.
after spain, leon had requested you to be his permanent FOS agent. your boss had protested it at first, but an agent with as good as a reputation that leon kennedy had meant his request would be approved. he had said that you had remained calm, which wasn’t entirely true but he didn’t need to know that, and you were a quick thinker. you were the right fit for him as he had explained to your boss. begrudgingly, your boss agreed, probably so he wouldn’t piss off the guy who saved the president’s daughter.
so, you began to help him on his missions. before long, you two had created a dynamic, a mix of both jokes and seriousness. being stuck behind a computer screen could get boring, but not with leon. the man had an insane amount of luck, which evened out his bad luck. more times than not, his mission would go sideways but you were to guide him through.
while you had learned a lot about leon, he had come to know a thing or two about you as well. how you wore bright colors and collected silly trinkets to remind you that the world isn’t always so dark. that you had an immensely large sweet tooth, especially when it comes to chocolate. you always tried to brighten his day, occasionally throwing out silly fun facts that somehow correlated with the mission. you would send the cheesy motivational quotes that always got a small smile out of him, even if they were horrid.
you appreciated not only leon’s humor and willingness to survive, but his compassion. how he’d try to save everyone before he’d save himself. he knew how hard missions could be for you sometimes, especially with your research. your screen always seemed to be flooded with images of bodies and destruction. as a token of his gratitude, after every mission leon would send you a bouquet of flowers.
it had started after you mentioned how much you loved the smell of fresh flowers but you hadn’t had time to go get new ones. after his mission had been completed, he ordered you a bouquet. and as much as you told him that he didn’t need to do that for you, you couldn’t help but look forward to them.
he knew so much about you and he trusted you with his life, yet he hadn’t even seen you in person and it was driving him crazy.
leon knew it was wrong to fall for a fellow agent, the DSO made it clear that it was highly frowned upon. the last thing they needed was a messy breakup between partners. and he hadn’t meant to fall for you. it started out as a joke, he knew you wouldn’t say yes to his dinner offer. but, his flirtatious jokes and offers became more serious over time, not that you seemed to notice.
leon walked into FOS headquarters under the guise of talking to your boss about a recent report you had sent in. it wasn’t necessarily unusual for agents to come in, especially not for someone like leon who wasn’t the biggest fan of email. however, he came in early for his meeting with the intention of finding you.
he had come in previously but each time he stopped in, you were out. still, leon was determined to officially meet the woman who had saved his ass more than once. he walked down a lowly lit hallway, his eyes finding your office. your name plate next to your door stood out against the others. you had decorated it with pastel colors, which popped in contrast against the neutral walls.
your door was shut and for a moment leon thought you were gone again. he almost decided to turn back, to forget that he had made a meeting in hopes he might run into you. his mind, however, changed when he heard muffled sounds of footsteps coming from inside your office.
he tapped his knuckles against the wooden door, hoping it wasn’t loud enough to spook you. “come in!” your voice was familiar, comforting in a way. he had heard it a million times and his body had grown to associate it with that of safety, if that makes sense.
leon turned the doorknob, slowly pushing the door open. you had sat down in your chair, nails gliding against the keyboard with ease. you weren’t looking at him, too focused on writing up a report. leon looked around your office, taking note of all the color that drowned out the depressing neutral colors. you had a pink lamp turned on, which helped slightly with the terrible lighting.
you had heard the door opening, finally pulling your attention from your computer as you turned to see who had entered your office. you recognized him immediately, his face having graced your monitor on many occasions. he looked even better than he did on the screen, his face less bloody and bruised. he wore a gray suit that looked awkward on him. you could tell he preferred anything but that suit. “leon?”
“hey.” he straightened up, quirking his lips up into a smile. “sorry to barge in.”
“no, no it’s all good! i just wasn’t expecting to see you.” leon took in your appearance. much like your office, you were covered in bright colors. you had on pink jeans and a white shirt, your neck and fingers covered in beautiful jewelry. you looked like everything he thought you would.
“sorry, yeah. i just had a meeting about our recent mission and i thought i’d stop by and say hi. i wanted to finally meet my guardian angel.” you laughed, your face heating up his words. he looked to the flowers that sat on your desk, a pink vase holding the most recent bouquet. “i see you got my flowers.”
you looked over, a smile gracing your lips. “yeah, they are beautiful like always. not that you need to send me any.” you shot leon a look, “but thank you.”
“of course, sweetheart.” he went to leave before he stopped, turning to face you once more. “i’m going to go get some lunch, care to join me?” you went to nod almost instantly before you remembered what you were doing before leon interrupted.
your smile dropped slightly. you had so much work to finish before the end of day. “i’m sorry, leon, i wish i could but i’m drowning in work.” leon’s grin faltered ever so slightly, which you barely missed.
“don’t sweat it, maybe another time.”
“yeah, raincheck.” you waved goodbye as leon left, shutting the door behind him. you wished more than anything you could get lunch with him, to get to know the man you were directing through missions but your boss was on your ass about finishing those damn reports. with a sigh, you continued with your work.
3. PRESIDENTIAL GALA, 2005
you entered the large, beautifully decorated ballroom, a pit forming in your stomach. this was out of your comfort zone, you were used to being behind a computer screen not attending fancy parties.
after the spain mission, president graham had invited you and leon to the next annual presidential gala where he was set to honor leon for his heroic actions. you had tried to decline, not that you weren’t honored, but you felt like you didn’t deserve it. you had been handed the mission because everyone else was swamped with work. plus, leon did almost all the work, you just provided some information and a chopper. you were no hero.
still, the president insisted and finally, you caved. you told yourself it was to support leon but really, you just wanted an excuse to see him in person again.
now, you felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb compared to everyone who was dressed to the nines in expensive outfits. you had bought a dress for the occasion, a purchase that was more expensive than you wanted to admit, but you felt pretty in the dress. however seeing all the beautiful women wearing designer dresses made you self-conscious.
you made your way further into the loud ballroom, looking around with uncertainty. you walked toward the bar, desperate to ease your nerves. you looked at some of the cocktail options, unsure about what most of the drinks were. they were far too fancy for you.
“i see you found the bar.” you jumped, turning to face the person who had snuck up behind you.
“leon! don’t do that!” you placed a hand over your heart, feeling its rapid beating. “you scared the shit out of me.” you whisper-shouted at him.
leon smirked, withholding a laugh. “sorry, sweetheart.” you had grown used to his use of sweetheart but hearing it from him in person still had your cheeks warm. “old fashioned, please, and whatever she wants.”
the bartender looked to you expectantly. you quickly looked at the menu again, landing on a drink that was familiar, “a long island iced tea, please.” you went to pull out some cash but leon beat you to, swiftly setting his card down. the bartender swiped it before handing it back, leaving you two to make your drinks. “i could’ve paid for my drink.”
“don’t worry about it.” as smooth as leon spoke, his body said something different. he looked good in his black suit but you could tell from his posture alone that he too felt out of place.
a silence blanketed both of you, not really awkward but not the most comfortable either. the bartender set down your drinks before moving on to the other patrons. leon handed you the long island iced tea, his grip tight on his old fashioned. he seemed almost, nervous.
“are you okay?” you asked, following leon to a quieter area, away from the large crowds of people. he looked back, his mind seemingly somewhere else.
“hm?” you looked at him with concern which broke his mind from whatever he was thinking, “oh yeah. this isn’t really my scene.” you hummed in agreement, sipping the alcoholic drink absentmindedly. “wanna ditch this and go get something to eat?” you looked at him with shock.
“leon! we can’t just leave!” you looked around to make sure no one heard you. “it would be incredibly rude.” you tsked, although you would’ve said yes had this not been a super important event.
leon opened his mouth, probably to argue, when a official looking lady stepped in. “mr. kennedy?” he nodded begrudgingly, annoyed at the interruption. “we are about to start, follow me.” he couldn’t even get a word in before the lady was leading him away from you.
you found a seat at a table in the back, sitting there long enough to see leon recognized for his heroism before you slipped out. by the time leon had gotten back to where he had left you, you were long gone.
4. FOS HEADQUARTERS, 2005
you shift was finally over. you thanked the gods above as you hurried to grab the last of your things. you needed to move quick before your boss found another reason to keep you there.
you locked the door to your office, the sound of your heels clicking against the floor echoed around you. the office was quiet, which was rare. raindrops tapped against glass as you hurried toward the front door.
you pushed the door open, hurrying to the parking lot. you hadn’t checked the weather, leaving you unprepared but you weren’t about to let that ruin your mood. you were excited to get home, cuddle on the couch with your cat as you watched a movie.
opening your car door, you throw your stuff into the backseat before clambering into the front seat. you placed the key in the ignition, turning it. the car stuttered, and stuttered, and stuttered before dying fully. you tried to turn the key again but it was no use. there goes your relaxing night at home.
the rain came down harder, pelting against your car as you rested your head against the top of the steering wheel. it had been a long day and you had managed to maintain a good mood until now. a car pulled into the spot beside yours, someone getting out as they opened an umbrella. you didnt seem to notice the person approaching your car, too distracted as you decided your next options.
you jumped when knuckles tapped against your window, surprised to see leon standing there with an umbrella in hand. “leon?” you asked, opening the door slightly as thunder rumbled above.
“car troubles?” he asked. you nodded, accepting the hand he offered, “come on, i’ll give you a ride.”
“you don’t have to do that. i can call-” you began to decline, but leon simply opened the passenger door.
“nope. i’m here, i’ll just take you home.” you knew it was no use arguing with someone as stubborn as leon kennedy. you slide into the car, noting the new car smell. it was nice and sleek, much nicer than your piece of shit car. leon shut the door, walking to the drivers side. he closed the umbrella, shaking off the water, which was useless with how hard it was raining. he placed the umbrella in the back seat before sitting behind the wheel. “you got everything you need?”
you remembered your stuff you had hazardously thrown into your backseat. none of it was super important, not worth stealing at least. you nodded, “yeah, i think so. you can just take me to my apartment.” leon shifted the car into reverse. he looked back, making sure he was clear before backing out quickly. you gave him your address, as leon pulled out into the main road.
“how’d you know i was having car problems?” you asked, a thought dawning on you. “oh my god, you fucked with my car!”
“what? no.” leon looked at you incredulously, shocked by your accusation. “no, i was leaving a meeting and saw you trying to start your car. jesus, what’s wrong with you?” he laughed, clearly not hurt by your baseless accusation. you shrugged, looking out the window at the passing cars. the car fell silent, the only sound being the rain plummeting against the car and your stomach growling. “hungry?”
“oh, yeah. i skipped lunch so i could get out at the end of my shift. i’ll eat when i get home.” you explained, keeping your eyes trained on the window. you were nervous. leon made you nervous.
“want to stop and get a bite?” leon asked after a pause, his eyes still trained on the road. you almost said no. it had been a long day and after your car breaking down and being given a ride home from leon kennedy, you wanted nothing more than to go home and crash.
“sure. why not?” you smiled at him, leon’s mouth twitching up into a grin.
“you can pay me back for giving you a ride.” leon said, still grinning.
“more like you can pay me back for all the times i saved your ass.” you joked, your smile widening.
“well, that would require more than one dinner.” he smirked, eyes flickering between you and the road.
“ah, shucks.” you giggled, “guess i’ll need your number then.” leon shook his head, his grin never leaving his face.
“i guess so.”
Take All My Love
leon kennedy x fem!reader
summary: to your chagrin, you get partnered with an irritating DSO agent who happens to take an interest in the case you're working on.
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, re9!leon, fbi!reader, age gap, kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex, blow job, p in v, spanking, choking, finger sucking, brat taming, praise kink
wc: 10k
a/n: obsession's gotten so bad i started having dreams about him <3
also on ao3!
There’s a man sitting at your desk.
You’d arrived at work a little before 9, steaming cup of coffee in hand and a stack of case files tucked under your arm haphazardly. It was only until you’d heard the curious, hushed whispers that you’d realized your desk was currently taken, occupied by an unfamiliar man clad in a leather jacket.
Were you being relocated? Promoted? Demoted?
A barrage of thoughts flits through your mind as you approach your desk slowly, mentally preparing yourself to give the man a piece of your mind. The man doesn’t even flinch when the case files drop onto your desk loudly, your coffee cup following soon after as you set it down roughly before crossing your arms over your chest.
“Can I help you?”
His head tilts towards you, shaggy hair shifting as his gaze travels over you with interest. You stare back at him blankly, brows furrowing when you take in the scruffy stubble covering his jaw and the weathered look to his skin. He had to be at least twice your age, but even you could admit the man was stupidly handsome. You’re only left with more questions than you started with as you continue to stare at him, feeling bewildered. The flex of his gloved fingers catch in your periphery, distracting you as you glance down to find him piecing together a disassembled gun with practiced ease, the parts set out neatly on your desk.
His voice is gruff when he speaks. “You’re younger than I expected.”
“You… were expecting me?” you ask, irritation seeping into your voice, patience growing thin. “Who the fuck are you?”
The man’s brows raise at your blunt question, fingers still moving deftly, his eyes flickering with mirth.
“You know, the FBI promised me a warm welcome,” he says, the chair swiveling as he turns to face you fully. “Can’t exactly say you’re delivering on that promise.”
“Yeah well, I didn’t make any promises,” you retort, giving him a tight smile, watching as he leans forward, sliding his newly assembled gun back into its holster. “Besides, you still haven’t answered my question.”
He sighs, leaning forward, his arm outstretched as he offers you his hand. “Leon–”
He’s interrupted by the Unit Chief calling out your name. Your eyes narrow when you see the case file in his hands, glancing back at Leon before you leave him, stepping inside the Unit Chief’s office, the door clicking shut behind you.
“We’ve got two new bodies,” he says, handing you the case file. “Unsub’s been crossing jurisdictions and the local police department is… well, concerned to say the least. Think you can handle it?”
You nod, flicking through the pages, nose scrunching when you see the images of the crime scene – each more grisly than the last. Mutilated bodies, blood smeared across the walls, messily carved symbols etched into the wooden door of the victims’ home.
“Seems ritualistic,” you murmur, reading through the reports. You glance up at him, clutching the case file to your chest protectively. “You’re letting me take this alone? I’m flattered.”
“Ah,” the Unit Chief shakes his head, nodding towards Leon. “Not exactly.”
“What?” you scoff, looking at Leon who gives you a smile and waves through the glass. You glare at him, yanking the blinds shut. “The old man?” you hiss, “he’ll only slow me down.”
The Unit Chief sighs, taking a seat in his chair. “That man is Leon Kennedy. DSO. It’s only a precaution. He’s more experienced than any team we could put together and after what happened with Agent Ashcroft, the FBI is trying to be more… mindful.”
“Ashcroft?” you echo, remembering the Rhodes Hill incident. “That’s– that’s because they sent an analyst into the field of all things. She must’ve been terrified. I’m a field agent, I can handle myself.”
“Agent Kennedy took an interest in the case,” he replies, hands clasping together. “If there’s bioterrorism involved, he’ll be useful. If there isn’t, use him as an idea board. The Unit Chief peers up at you, his expression stern. “My decision is final.”
Your jaw works irritatedly before you huff out a heavy breath, nodding reluctantly. “Yes, sir.”
Despite your sour mood and the urge to slam the door shut, you carefully close it, making your way back to Leon. You drag a spare chair towards your desk, sinking down onto it. Leon shakes his head when you offer him the case file.
“I’ve already read it.”
“Huh,” you stare at him, lips pursing while your eyes squint in recognition. “Leon Scott Kennedy,” you drawl, jabbing your finger at him, “you’re the Raccoon City cop. I’ve heard stories about you. Shouldn’t you be…” you gesture to him pointedly, “retired?”
“Ouch,” Leon says, his hand moving to press against his chest as he feigns being hurt. “You really don’t want me here, do you?”
“All I know is that you’re some big-shot DSO agent that I don’t need on my case, Leon,” you shoot back, flipping open the file to read the autopsy reports more thoroughly.
“The first case you’ve ever been in charge of,” Leon muses, his leather gloves creaking softly as he picks up a stray pen, putting it back into its place. “I’m impressed. Not everyone gets to be a lead on a case like this. Then again, you’re pretty good at this kinda thing.”
Was he buttering you up? He had to be. You don’t bother looking up as you mark a few things of interest off on the report.
“Thank you,” you murmur, scrawling a few notes down on a notepad before you pause, head turning to find him watching you carefully. “How did you know that?” you ask, a hint of suspicion in your voice, “we’ve never met before.”
Leon shifts, grunting softly as he tries to get more comfortable in your chair. “I took the liberty of reading your file,” he replies flippantly, his expression darkening as he tries to work the chair’s jammed lever. “Fuckin’ chair… how do you sit in this all day?”
“I don’t sit all day!” you snap, “and you read my file? I don’t care if you have the fucking clearance, you can’t just–”
You’re interrupted by a loud snap, teeth gritting together when you realize he’s pushed the lever too hard – or perhaps, underestimated his own strength – the lever cleanly detached and now clutched in Leon’s gloved hand.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmurs, setting the lever down on your desk, patting it awkwardly. “I’ll buy you a new chair.”
You have half a mind to reach over and strangle him. You even consider doing it, until he grumbles under his breath and shrugs off that jacket of his, your murderous intent forgotten as soon as you catch sight of his thick biceps. With those things, Leon could probably strangle you and have no problem doing it.
The sheer size of him renders you incapable of tearing your gaze away, your stare settled firmly on his shoulders, arms and chest – every part of him unfairly thick and muscular – his skin-tight shirt leaving you barely conscious of the way your throat was beginning to dry up.
Your newly broken chair creaks once more under Leon’s weight, the sound piercing through the haze of your shameless staring. You blink uncertainly, taking another lingering peek at his biceps while he’s too busy trying to get comfortable.
“We’d better get going,” you announce, grabbing the file before standing up abruptly. “The local PD is probably waiting for us.”
“We can take my car,” Leon says as he follows you into the elevator.
“I’m not in the habit of getting into cars with strange men,” you say testily, pressing a button before turning to face him.
“And I’m not in the habit of babysitting FBI agents,” Leon drawls, leaning against the wall of the elevator, his arms crossing over his chest.
The movement makes his shirt stretch tighter if anything, the fabric clinging to his broad forearms stubbornly, his watch glinting softly in the lighting. Your head tilts, eyes narrowing with irritation when you register his insult.
“No one asked you to babysit,” you say, shaking your head. “I have a gun,” you take it out of the holster attached to your hip, pointing it at him, “and I’m smart. I’ll have this case wrapped up in a day or two, so stay the fuck outta my way.”
A smile pulls at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he lifts his hands in mock-surrender. The amusement in his eyes makes him look a little younger, your heart fluttering with delight for a moment before you tamp it down violently.
When the elevator comes to a stop, Leon takes your bag before you can protest, his gloved fingers brushing yours briefly. You step after him, brows raising with begrudging respect when you see his car. Big-shot DSO agent, your mind supplies as he puts your bag into the backseat, gesturing for you to get in. You sigh heavily, opening your mouth to argue but Leon’s already disappeared inside his car, the engine rumbling to life. Muttering a curse under your breath, you get in his car, pulling the door shut firmly.
–
“What do you mean there’s only one room available?”
“What’s there to understand?” Leon asks, dangling the singular key in front of your face. “Rooms are all booked out. They’re celebrating some special harvest festival according to the receptionist.”
“Harvest festival?” you echo, peering up at him. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. That’s like the perfect cover for our unsub.”
“I would help,” he murmurs, nudging your shoulder gently to get you to step aside, “but you wanted me to, what was it?” you roll your eyes when he snaps his fingers, pretending to think. “Ah yes, stay the fuck outta your way.”
You snatch the key hanging from Leon’s finger, ignoring his aggrieved sigh as you push past him and stomp back down the stairs to the reception, ready to demand another room. All the receptionist does is give you an apologetic smile and offer you a discount. You swallow your pride as you trudge back up the stairs, doing your best to avoid Leon’s eyes when you find him leaning beside the room’s door, his brows raising amusedly.
“I don’t want to hear it,” you mutter, slotting the key into the lock.
Leon shrugs non-committally. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
The door is heavy as you push it open, Leon’s hand moving to keep it open for you as you step inside. You fumble in the darkness for the light switch at the same time Leon does, his strong, calloused fingers brushing over yours. It’s enough to have an unwanted shiver running down your spine, warmth blooming in your chest and a flush settling high on your cheeks despite your stubborn annoyance with him.
“Fuck me.”
You follow his gaze when he swears, taking in the lit room. There’s a shitty couch in one corner, a tiny area with a coffee machine and table, and… a bed.
“Okay,” you say slowly, staring at the one, pitiful bed you had been afforded. “Great! So I think you should go and chew out the receptionist.”
“I’m not doing that,” Leon scoffs, bending down to take off his boots, his gun clattering against the table as he sets it down. “I can take the couch.”
You look back at the couch, brows furrowing. “That’s really nice of you and all, Leon,” you begin, stepping further inside the small room, “but I don’t think you’re exactly going to fit.”
“You care about me or something?” he drawls, looking over at you with a smile as he opens his duffle bag to pull out a towel and a set of clothes.
“Get over yourself. I’m just worried about your…” you gesture towards him vaguely, “potentially geriatric bones.”
Leon chokes on a laugh, his brows shooting up. “Geriatric? I’m 49. My bones are in perfect working order.”
“Right, nevermind. You did break my chair.”
“I did you a favor,” he retorts, slinging the towel around the back of his neck. “It was a hunk of junk.”
“It was in perfect working condition!” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Do you always defend inanimate objects with such passion?” Leon muses, stepping closer until he’s only a few inches away, head cocking to the side.
“When they’re close to my heart, yes.”
“A chair is close to your heart?”
You decide to double down. “Yes, Leon.”
“Huh,” he nods slowly, clicking his tongue. “You got attachment issues?”
“Did my file not tell you that?” you smile up at him snarkily.
Leon grins, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I skipped over your psych eval.”
He turns, disappearing into the bathroom. You glare at the door and huff out a sigh, removing your shoes before grabbing the case file and flopping down on the bed tiredly. You flick through the pages absentmindedly, settling on the symbols carved onto the door. You hadn’t seen anything remotely like it before and the database search you’d done earlier in the car had come up empty.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, glancing towards the bathroom.
You’d exhausted all your options save for one. A reluctant groan leaves you as you stand, approaching the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe.
“Hey, Leon?” you call out when you hear the spray of water come to a stop. “I… might have been a little difficult earlier,” your voice sounds strained, “but if you could maybe take another look at the file, then I would… you know, probably appreciate it or whatever.” You swallow, face twisting with discomfort. “Please?”
Leon laughs, the rich, deep sound seeping through the crevices. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he says, sounding entirely too entertained by your attempt to ask him for help. “I’ll take a look for you.”
You frown at the door, jolting when it swings open suddenly. A few wisps of steam escape, and you blink owlishly, finding yourself face-to-face with his bare chest. It’s hard to keep your gaze from wandering over his exposed skin, a light dusting of hair covering his chest coupled with a few scars. A strange, gurgling noise escapes you when he shifts back to grab his towel, his broad, muscled back now visible to you. You sway, moving to grip the doorframe, knees feeling weak.
“You okay?” Leon murmurs, glancing over at you as he ruffles his damp hair, brows furrowing.
“Yes!”
Your voice is shrill, pitching up awkwardly until you clear your throat and give him an equally awkward smile.
“Perfectly fine,” you clarify, this time sounding breathless as you try and fail to not look down, inhaling sharply when you see his defined abdomen and the dark, coarse hair below his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.
“It’s just that you look…” you trail off, fingers itching to reach out and squeeze and touch. Hot. Attractive. Fuckable. Really fucking fuckable for a 49-year-old man. “Like shit,” you settle on, the words tumbling out of you in a strained manner as you force yourself to meet his eyes. “You– you look like shit, Leon.” You pat his shoulder jerkily. “Unfortunately.”
“Right, sure,” he says, his head tilting as he stares down at you, unconvinced. “You really know how to flatter a man.”
“I’m charming like that,” you say, hands clasping behind your back.
Leon hums, and you stare back up at him, gaze flitting away for one moment to get a glimpse of his left hand. No ring. Perfect. You pinch yourself as soon as the thought comes.
“You gonna let me out?”
“What?”
When Leon gestures towards you, you realize you’re still standing in front of him, blocking the way out. You move to the side sheepishly, pushing the case file into his chest quickly before locking yourself in the bathroom.
You let out an embarrassed groan once you’re in the shower, burying your face into your hands. What the fuck was wrong with you? There was no way that all it took was some dorky, attractive, older man to have you feeling out of sorts. A dull ache flares between your thighs at the thought of Leon, fingers sneaking past your folds to rub at your traitorously swollen clit. It doesn’t take much, just the image of his body pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around you, mouth pressed against your ear while he grunts–
You cum with a muffled whine. Scrubbing the rest of your mortification off of your skin with soap, you dry off, slipping into a pair of sleep shorts and a hoodie. You pad out of the bathroom to find Leon sitting at the table – thankfully with a shirt on – a few containers of food littered across its surface while he’s hunched over his laptop.
“Hey,” he greets when he sees you, gaze travelling over you briefly before turning his laptop towards you. “I had a look. Your guy might be part of a cult,” Leon brings up another image, showing it to you, “they’re not the exact same, but similar enough. Might be worth looking into.”
“Cult? That’s fun,” you murmur, dropping into the chair beside him, watching as he runs his hair through his hair. “Thank you for taking a look, and the food.”
His brows raise. “Those might be the most sincere words to come out of you today.”
“Shut up,” you say, although a small smile pulls at your lips.
Dinner is quick as you both make a plan for tomorrow – visit the local PD, check out the crime scene and investigate a few related areas of interest. Leon settles down on the couch soon after, adjusting his pillow a few times before grunting as he tries to get comfortable. You were right, he doesn’t fit. He looks so awfully crammed, knees bent and back hunched at an awkward angle that even you feel bad about it.
“Leon,” you say exasperatedly, “we can both fit on the bed. That can’t be good for your back.”
“This is fine,” he replies stubbornly, shifting onto his back uncomfortably, arm hanging off the edge. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
“I can’t deal with you complaining about your back tomorrow,” you say, gesturing towards the bed. You lay down, squirming to the side to make space. “See? You can have the other side.”
“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind?”
“What?” you ask confusedly, sitting up on your elbows. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Leon grunts as he gets to his feet, dropping down onto the bed without further protests. It’s a tight fit, but you both manage, a sliver of space left between your bodies. You stare up at the ceiling, lips pursing, feeling antsy.
“Did you…” you glance over at him, feeling entirely too bold for your own good, “did you ask because you were interested?”
He stares back, brows raising. “Interested in what?”
“In what?” you repeat irritably, “are you seriously playing dumb?”
Leon smiles back at you, shrugging lazily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Maybe if you clarified what it was you wanted from me–”
“I don’t want anything from you!” you sputter, flushing hot. The bed creaks as you flop onto your side, facing away from him. “You’re old and weird and infuriating and–”
“I feel like you’re avoiding my better qualities.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, I know you want to, baby.”
It’s a miracle your neck doesn’t snap with how fast you turn to look at him.
“May I remind you that this,” you gesture between your bodies wildly, “is a professional relationship?”
“Yeah?” Leon murmurs, raising his brows, “is that why you got off in the shower? Rubbed one out to make yourself feel better ‘bout liking me?” He looks unfazed when your jaw slackens, tapping the wall behind his head. “Thin walls.”
“That is none of your business.” You lean closer, eyes narrowing in an attempt to hide your growing embarrassment. “HR is going to have a fucking field day with you.”
You flop back onto your side, trying to put some distance between you, but there’s such a little space on the bed that you end up half-dangling over the edge. Leon doesn’t say anything, the silence between you thick and stretching on uncomfortably until you sit up, turning to face him.
He stares back at you, the bed creaking softly as he shifts, folding an arm under his head. His shirt stretches tight, thick bicep flexed and the sight is enough to make you lose your last nerve.
Your hand cups his jaw, head dipping to press a kiss to his lips. It’s meant to be quick, fleeting, to get whatever the fuck you have bottled up inside of you. Leon doesn’t seem to agree as he returns your kiss roughly, stubble scratching against your skin, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, blocking your escape.
“Where’re you going?” he murmurs, lips brushing over yours.
“This–” you whine softly when he kisses the underside of your jaw, fingers tightening into his shirt. “This is a bad idea.”
“I happen to be full of those.”
“You’re so fucking corny,” you groan, mouth dropping open as he trails kisses along your jaw lazily.
His lips are soft, calloused fingers massaging your scalp whilst an arm slides around your waist to pull you into his side. Another whine escapes you, head tipping towards him as his hand wanders under the hem of your hoodie, hot skin drifting over your waist and higher, his thumb grazing the curve of your breast.
“And you’re a fucking brat,” Leon says, watching your expressions closely as you whine and pant, pulling him towards you for another kiss, arms wrapping around his neck tightly.
He groans into your mouth, lips slotting over yours feverishly, his hand squeezing at the back of your neck. You squirm, throwing your leg over his hip, mewling when he licks into your mouth. Leon’s a good kisser, you think dazedly as his tongue strokes against yours in a filthy motion that has heat blistering in your stomach. His hand moves, circling around the front of your throat, squeezing gently.
You blink up at him hazily when he pulls away, lips slick with spit and pupils blown out. A smile spreads across your lips as you arch into him, hands sliding up over his strong forearm, fingers wrapping around his wrist.
“You can squeeze harder,” you whisper, pressing his fingers into your skin harder, gasping when he grants your request, eyes rolling back as the pressure around your throat constricts.
“That’s a little fucked up, baby,” Leon breathes out, watching as you writhe and suck in a ragged breath, his brows furrowing.
His brows raise when you glare at him, leaning over you to let his nose nudge against yours, kissing you gently before he tightens his grip a little more, drawing out a choked noise from you. There’s a heady fog settling over your mind the more he keeps you from barely breathing, something slow and syrupy creeping into the crevices of your brain as he presses a kiss to your cheek. He’s letting go before long though, brushing the pad of his thumb over your lips roughly.
“I can handle it,” you mumble hoarsely, head tipping as he massages your throat, huffing out a breath when he laughs against your cheek.
“Yeah?” Leon rasps, his gaze darkening when you suck his thumb into your mouth, tongue swirling around the digit needily, head lifting as you feign bobbing your head. “What, you want me to put you in your place or something? Is that what you need?”
The idea is appealing. You’ve been strung tight for months, between work and the never-ending cases that were stacking up on your desk, you hadn’t exactly gotten much time to yourself, to wind-down from the constant wear and tear brought about by the commitments demanded from you by the FBI.
“Maybe,” you say slowly, looking away. “I don’t know. I guess I just want some… attention or whatever.”
“From me?” Leon says, his fingers sliding over your jaw to guide your gaze back to him. “Your way of asking for attention is acting bratty?”
“I don’t know!” you sputter, pushing at his chest, feeling shy.
“Oh, that’s cute,” he coos, smiling down at you. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll give you all the attention you fuckin’ need.”
You squeak when he moves suddenly, sitting up before he’s dragging you towards him, maneuvering you until you're bent over his lap. A whimper is punched out of you when he squeezes the fat of your ass through your shorts, lashes fluttering when each consecutive grope grows rougher until it stings lightly.
“Guess if you’re into choking, you should be into something like this,” Leon murmurs thoughtfully, squeezing your ass greedily. “‘s been a while since I’ve done this with someone.”
“Since you’ve– ah– groped someone?” you ask, hips wiggling when his touches disappear, ass lifting involuntarily to chase after his touch.
“Kissed, touched,” he sucks in a sharp breath, “groped… fucked.”
You glance at him over your shoulder, brows raising curiously. “Can you still get it up?”
A sharp yelp escapes you when his hand comes down on your ass, hard and punishing. It stings, the pain spreading out over your ass unforgivingly. You try and glare at him but his hand is coming down again, landing another heavy spank to your other ass cheek.
“It was just a question!” you protest, squeaking when he spanks you again and again, eyes squeezing shut as the red-hot pain spreads over your ass, the ache in your pussy beginning to burrow deeper.
“I know,” Leon murmurs, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “Do you want me to stop?”
You pout into the sheets, voice quiet. “No.”
He huffs out a soft laugh, tapping your hip. You lift them, letting him tug your shorts down, mewling softly when he squeezes your ass, his fingers dipping past your panties, stretching them before letting them snap back against your skin.
“Cute panties,” he says, his hand rubbing over your stinging ass, fingers sneaking between your thighs, brushing over the drenched, ruined fabric. “Too bad you’ve made them all messy, baby. So fucking wet for me. You like my hand on your ass?”
“Yes,” you grumble, glaring at the wall. “Stop asking stupid questions, you jerk.”
You jolt when he spanks you, letting out an agitated breath when his hand palms over ass before coming down again in several repeated motions. A whimper escapes you when pleasure bleeds through your body, teeth sinking into your lower lip when the pace of Leon’s slaps quicken. It hurts but feels so good all the same, your thighs trying to squeeze together with how uncomfortably wet your pussy is becoming.
“Don’t– fuck! Don’t stop,” you mewl, arching your back, tears prickling at your eyes. “Leon– please ah–”
“Please?” Leon echoes, “look at that, you’re back to being polite. Good fuckin’ girl.”
You whine in agreement, nodding dazedly as you look back at him, unfocused eyes finding his lopsided smile, heart fluttering in your chest. You reach back for him, hand fighting his shirt, lips parting, eyes slipping shut when he leans towards you, head dropping to kiss you deeply, his fingers squeezing at your ass gently.
“You gonna stop being a brat? Hm? You wanna be my good girl, baby?” Leon rasps against your lips, stealing another soft kiss, his hands still palming at the blistering flesh of your ass, squeezing every now and again to force a pitiful whine out of you. He clicks his tongue when you slur, nose nudging against yours gently. “I asked you a question, sweetheart. Use your words for me.”
“Yes,” you manage out, pushing your ass back into his greedy, awaiting palm, a few stray tears dripping down your cheeks. “‘m gonna be– nghh– ‘m gonna be your good girl, Leon.”
“Yeah?” he breathes out, voice sounding rough as his thumb strokes over your cheek, wiping away the tears. “My sweet, pretty girl.”
“It– it hurts,” you babble, jerking in his lap when he rains an unsuspecting slap down onto your ass, teary eyes rolling back when his fingers slip between your thighs suddenly, rubbing at your swollen, aching clit through the dampened fabric of your panties. “Leon– ah fuck!”
“I know it does,” he soothes, pressing harder against your clit until your legs kick up, “but you asked for this, baby. Remember? You came up to me all pretty and said you wanted attention.”
“Stop being mean,” you hiccup, leaning into his palm when he offers it to you, nuzzling into the warm, rough skin.
“Mean?” Leon whispers, “‘m taking care of you, sweetheart.” He hums as he wipes away the saliva beading at the corner of your mouth, spreading it over your lips before his thumb presses down more firmly, a grunt of satisfaction leaving him when your lips part obediently. “There you go,” he breathes out, “suck on my thumb while I play with this needy, little pussy, baby.”
You whine, fingers clinging to his wrist as you suck lazily, tongue swirling around his thumb. His fingers rub against your wet panties, drawing out a soft mewl from you as he pets your clothed pussy.
“You can take them off,” you mumble around his thumb, biting gently before sucking again, happy to have your mouth occupied. “Want you to touch me.”
“I kinda like ‘em on,” Leon murmurs, his fingers grabbing at your thighs before they move, slipping past the waistband. “Besides, I can touch you like this.”
Your eyes flutter shut when his fingers glide through your sticky, puffy folds, breath hitching while Leon groans when he feels your wet pussy. His fingers are thicker than yours, slipping over the soft skin before the calloused pads find your clit. Your thighs twitch, toes curling when he starts to rub your clit using slow, measured circles.
“Is this how you do it?” he asks, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Did you play with your clit til you came in the shower?”
“Mhm,” you nod, peering up at him, lashes fluttering. You lap at his thumb, tongue flicking against the tip playfully, letting him watch.
“Fuck,” Leon rumbles, his thumb brushing over your bottom teeth before rubbing against your tongue. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart. Look at you.”
You smile, lips wrapping back around his thumb soon after, eyes rolling back when his fingers leave your clit to play with your fluttering hole. A long whine leaves you when he circles your hole teasingly, the tip of a finger pressing in briefly before he draws them back out to rub at your clit.
“Put ‘em in,” you mewl, hips beginning to roll against his hand, one of your hands squirming underneath you to try and move his wrist. “Leon,” you grumble, pulling his thumb out of your mouth when he tries to press against your tongue again. “Put ‘em in.”
“What happened to being polite?” he muses, dipping his finger in again and then pulling it out.
“If you put ‘em in, I’ll be polite,” you reply, blinking up at him sweetly, a smug smile on your face.
Leon laughs, watching as your mouth drops open when he finally inches one finger inside of your clenching pussy, beginning to slowly fuck it in and out of you.
“Go on then,” he coaxes, “beg all pretty for me, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”
“P– nghh– please fuck me with your fingers,” you whimper, fingers moving to rub at your throbbing clit. “Please, Leon? Want– fuck– want another finger.”
He doesn’t make you beg any further, sinking another finger into you. You shove your face into the sheets, hips wiggling back to meet the thrust of his fingers, your fingers quickening their pace against your clit.
“Taking me so good,” Leon murmurs, using his other hand to spread you open. You flush, feeling entirely too exposed as he stares down at your pussy stretching around his fingers. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy just sucking my fingers in.”
Your walls flutter around his fingers at that, hand reaching out for him blindly, fingers managing to curl into his shirt. You yank him down, mumbling something incoherent around his lips before dragging him down further, lips pressing against his. You moan into his mouth when he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you harder, curling them just right.
“Leon,” you pant against his mouth, biting his lower lip before tugging it. Leon groans, his fingers scissoring before you moan again, lapping at his lips. His eyes roll back when your lips find his neck, head tipping to bare more of it to you until you manage to move, crawling up onto his lap, his fingers slipping out of you momentarily.
His back hits the bed when you push at his chest, his fingers finding your pussy again, thumb rubbing at your clit while his fingers sink back inside. You shove your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in with a mewl, pawing at his firm chest as you let your hips drop, fucking yourself on his fingers.
“You gonna do that on my cock?” Leon moans, his fingers tangling in your hair when you kiss his neck feverishly, teeth scraping against his throat, the action enough to draw a hoarse growl from him. “Gonna ride my cock like you’re riding my fingers, gorgeous?”
“Yeah,” you murmur against his neck, latching onto his skin and sucking, all with the intent of leaving a mark of your own, like he had done on your ass. “Wanna– ahhh– wanna ride your cock, Leon.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, an arm clamping around your waist to hold you flush against him, his thumb pressing against your clit harder, the lewd noises of your pussy growing louder with every snap of his wrist. “You’re gonna drive me fucking insane.”
You smile against his throat, kissing the underside of his jaw when his throat bobs uncertainly.
“We haven’t even fucked yet,” you whisper, fingers slipping into his hair, pulling at the strands to make him expose his neck further, drawing out a pretty whine from his lips. “Think you can handle me?”
Your smile fades when his fingers pull out of you suddenly, a sharp yelp leaving you when he grabs your hips and manhandles you onto your stomach, the fabric of your panties tearing loudly as he rips them off of you and pulls your ass into the air.
“Those were comfy!” you protest, glaring at him. “Leon?” you jolt when he slaps your ass hard, pulling your asscheeks apart. “Leon, wait– ah fuck!”
You squeal when he buries his face between your thighs, lurching forward unsteadily on your knees, hands grabbing out for the pillows. He’s ruthless, tongue gliding through your warm folds, drinking down your slick with a rough growl, his hands squeezing at your hips, tugging you back onto his mouth when you try and squirm away. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw isn’t helping, scratching against your skin deliciously as he nips and spits onto your cunt.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he snaps lowly, biting punishingly into your thigh when you try kicking at his chest. “Huh?”
“I didn’t–” your leg jerks when Leon bites the back of your thigh, fingers curling into the pillows tightly when he bites the fat of your ass soon after, tongue laving over the bite.
“You didn’t what?” Leon asks, thumb finding your swollen bud, his tongue drifting over the inner crease of your thigh, barely shy of your aching pussy. “You didn’t mean it, is that it, baby?” he drawls, wet fingers rubbing over your pussy.
“Yes!” you choke out, hand slapping against the pillow when he sucks your clit into his mouth lazily, his nose pressing into your pussy, rough hands massaging your ass. “I– nghhhh– I didn’t mean it, Leon.”
“Oh, I think you did,” he sighs heavily, feigning disappointment. He clicks his tongue condescendingly. “I thought you were being my sweet girl, but turns out you’ve just got one hell of a mean streak. Just can’t help being a bit bratty, can you, pretty baby?”
“I’m not a brat,” you wail, shoving your face into the pillows the same time he presses his face into your pussy.
You don’t think anyone’s touched you like this before, let alone used their mouth like this. Leon’s strong, his hands clamping down onto you to keep you in place as he flicks his tongue over your clit, teeth scraping over the sensitive bud. You drool messily, whimpering and whining as he laps at your cunt, his tongue prodding against your hole.
“Oh fuck,” you whisper, glancing behind you, eyes wide to find Leon looking at you hungrily, his gaze dark and feral. You swallow nervously, thighs twitching when he kisses the curve of your ass. “Leon, Leon– oh fuck!”
A squeal escapes you when he presses his tongue into your clenching cunt, eyes squeezing shut so tightly that you feel dizzy, hips pressing back needily to meet the movements of his tongue. He fucks it into you, head tilting as he holds you against his mouth, a hand moving under your hoodie to stroke over the length of your back.
You arch, mewling, hips swaying dazedly as he caresses your pussy with his tongue. A soft, ragged moan leaves you when his mouth moves, returning to your clit, toes curling when he presses his fingers back into you.
“You sound so pretty falling apart on my tongue,” Leon murmurs, rubbing his tongue over your clit with a groan, his fingers crooking inside of you. “You gonna cum, baby? Pretty pussy’s clenching around my fingers.”
“Nghhh–” you slur into the pillows, trying and failing to keep your eyes open, your lids drooping shut when his fingers press against that spot inside of you, his fingers rubbing over it with just the right amount of pressure.
His stubble brushes against the backs of your thighs, lips soft as he trails hot kisses all over your skin. Your hips jerk when he fucks his fingers into you harder and faster, the pressure in your lower stomach growing greater. When his mouth latches back onto you, you moan loudly, knees beginning to buckle.
“Fuck! ‘m gonna cum– ‘m gonna fucking cum, Leon,” you whine, hugging the pillow to your chest, a sharp breath of air leaving you.
“Cum then, sweetheart,” he whispers, “be a good girl and cum for me.”
You cry out when he sucks harder on your clit, his face pressing harder into you, nose buried into your pussy. Leon groans loudly, the vibration shooting up through you, making your pussy clench around his fingers tightly. Your body trembles, knees giving out finally when his tongue flicks at your clit, another moan tearing its way out of your throat as you cum.
“That’s it,” Leon snarls, managing to hold you up despite your arms feeling rubber. “Cum just like that. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”
You whimper, still twitching as he laps at your cunt gently, tongue sweeping over your folds as he slurps down your slick, his thumb rubbing against your clit to draw out the final waves of your orgasm while his fingers slow their pace inside of you before pulling out completely.
Leon’s body is hot when he hovers above you, his hands brushing away the sweaty hair clinging to your skin, head dipping to press soft kisses to your cheek, his stubble oddly soothing as it rubs along your skin.
“You okay?” he asks softly, hands drifting down over your back, squeezing your waist soothingly, hands petting at your still reddened and slightly bruised ass. “I guess I’ve been a little pent up.”
“A little?” you murmur, fingers sliding into his hair when he kisses your neck. “I think you’re more than a little pent up, Leon.”
He grunts in agreement, dropping another kiss to your neck before laying down on his back, letting out a heavy breath.
“I haven’t exactly had time to relax,” he sighs, “too many fucking responsibilities ever since Raccoon City.”
You hum, sitting up, arms still a little wobbly. Leon watches you, his eyes tracking your every movement. You smile at him, eyes twinkling, fingers hooking into the hem of your hoodie before you pull it up over your head, tossing it to the side. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees your breasts, hand reaching out before he pauses mid-reach. You take his hand, pulling it toward your breast, smile growing wider when he squeezes.
“Are my tits helping you relax?” you ask innocently, hands landing on his chest as you swing a leg over his hip, straddling him.
“Guess so,” Leon says, his other hand joining the fray, squeezing your untouched breast. “Pretty fuckin’ tits, sweetheart.”
Your eyes flutter shut as you let him play with your tits, distracted momentarily by the way his fingers move – pinching and tugging, thumb sweeping over your hardened nipples. It’s when you shift on his lap that you become aware of how hard his cock is, hips rolling against the clothed length.
“To answer your question,” he murmurs, tracing the curve of your breast, gently cupping one in his hand, thumb stroking over the soft flesh. “I can, in fact, still get it up.”
You snort, unable to stop the laugh that bubbles out of you. Leon grins back, his head tilting as he peers up at you, hands sliding down over your sides to grab your waist.
“I didn’t doubt you for a second,” you breathe out, voice laced with amusement, your hands beginning to pull at his shirt. He helps you, lifting his arms so that you’re able to pull it up over his head easily. “You do look pretty good for a 49-year-old.”
You lean forward, kissing him gently before you trail kisses down his neck and over his chest, lips brushing over his thick pecs. Leon sighs, his eyes slipping shut, a hand cupping the back of your head as you continue to lay his skin with kisses. You kiss his scars tentatively, squirming lower to kiss his abdomen, tongue darting out to trace the defined ridges of his abdomen.
“You tryna make me cum?” Leon rasps, half-lidded eyes watching you as you bite at his side playfully.
“That is a priority, yes,” you say, following the trail of coarse hair that lies under his navel and the thick bulge laying further down.
His hands in your hair tighten when you nuzzle into his sweatpants, nose brushing against the fabric. When you breathe in, you can smell him, all heady and musky and arousal is seeping into your bones once more, mouth sucking at his clothed cock.
“As much fuck– I would like that,” he grumbles, hips bucking when you mouth at him again, spit dampening his sweatpants, “I’ll cum if you put your mouth on me, baby.”
“Just one suck,” you mumble stubbornly, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down.
Your eyes widen when his cock bobs heavily, struggling with its own weight. You swallow, blinking dazedly as you take in the length and the thickness and the heavy balls that sit underneath. The tip is flushed angrily, darkened and dripping with globs of pre-cum that don’t seem to stop, his cock twitching when you lean towards it slowly.
“It’s big,” you whisper, glancing up at Leon before your eyes find his cock again, pussy beginning to throb as you imagine the stretch. “Really fucking big. You’re– you’re that hard for me?”
Leon grunts, his hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a quick pump. “Yeah, just for you, sweet girl.” He pumps it again, holding his cock towards you. “You said you wanted a taste, go ‘head, pretty baby.”
You don’t need any further invitation, licking your lips hungrily, tongue lolling out. You drag your tongue along the hot length of his cock, feeling the smooth skin and saltiness of his pre-cum. Leon groans, his hips bucking again, another glob of pre-cum dribbling out. You lean forward just in time, catching it on your tongue before your lips wrap around his thick cock.
“Fuck– fuck, baby,” Leon moans, twitching underneath you as you bob your head, beginning to suck. “Your mouth– hah– fuckkk.”
You peer up at him, eyes glittering as you let your tongue swirl around the head before you pull off, pressing a wet, sticky kiss to the tip of his cock.
“Don’t do that,” he mutters hoarsely, shaking his head, “don’t fucking kiss my cock like you’re fucking in love with it.”
You do it again, brows raising when his cock twitches, looking over to find his hand clenched into the sheets, knuckles nearly white.
“I think you like it,” you tease, moving to wrap your hand around his cock, stroking it slowly. “And… I think your cock likes it too.”
“Fuck me,” he growls, head tipping back when you take his cock back into your mouth, sucking and slurping lewdly. He groans and grunts through it, eyes peeling open to watch you swallow around his cock, your pupils blown wide with lust.
When his head lolls to the side, you take your chance, head dipping before he can stop you to suck one of his balls into your mouth. He tastes so dizzyingly nice, spit beginning to leak from the corners of your mouth. Leon’s cock kicks and you land one last kiss to the tip before he’s pulling you up towards him, muffling your whine with a messy kiss.
“Wanna ride it,” you mumble against his lips, worming closer, breasts squishing up against his firm chest.
Leon doesn’t answer, too busy tipping your head up by your chin to kiss you again, stealing your breath. You paw at his chest, fingers finally latching onto his thick biceps. Squeezing, you moan into his mouth when his tongue strokes against yours, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls back up onto his lap.
Your hips roll, bare pussy gliding along the length of his cock, the tip catching on your newly swollen clit, making you twitch. He refuses to let up with the kisses, groaning into your mouth when you pull at his hair, feverishly swallowing up every little noise that bleeds from your throat.
“Yeah?” he breathes out finally, head tipping back for a moment as he catches his breath, calloused hands squeezing at your hips. “You wanna bounce on it? Hm? This needy pussy of yours need a fat cock to keep it happy, baby?”
“Mhm,” you nod, biting your lip, arousal blistering over your skin, lust beginning to cloud your thoughts once more. You press closer, lips brushing against his ear as though telling him a secret. “It needs your fat cock, Leon.”
“C’mere,” he mutters roughly, moving you up onto your knees, hand grasping the base of his cock to hold it steady for you. “Sink down on it, sweetheart.”
You shift, lowering yourself slowly, letting out a muffled gasp when you start to take his cock, the head of it already beginning to stretch out your pussy as it bullies its way past your entrance.
“‘s just so fucking thick,” you moan softly, peering up at him.
Leon hums, his thumb stroking over your lower lip while his other hand strokes over your hip soothingly.
“You got it, baby,” he smiles, dropping a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You took my fingers and my mouth so fucking good. Only got a few inches left, yeah?”
Your brows furrow as you bite your lip harder, gasping when you finally take all of him, pussy fluttering around his cock wildly in an attempt to adjust to his sheer size. You feel so full, so much so that you think you can feel him in your stomach.
“Good fuckin’ girl,” Leon whispers, his arms wrapping around your waist as he leans against the headboard of the bed. “Take what you need from me, sweetheart. ‘s all yours.”
“Leon,” you mewl, dragging out the syllables of his name, whimpering against his mouth when he kisses your cheek. “I… I can’t,” you say, flushing hot, “it’s too big, I don’t–”
“Good girls don’t give up,” he breathes out, hands moving to squeeze at your waist, “not to mention you were so headstrong earlier. Where’s that attitude now, baby?”
“You fucked it outta me,” you retort poutily, shoving your face into the crook of his neck.
“And to think you said I was old and weird– shit, baby–”
You relish in the loud, guttural groan he lets out when the walls of your pussy squeeze around him. Nuzzling closer, you kiss the spot under his ear before your hips move, rocking and rolling in a lazy rhythm as you get used to his size.
“I’m not giving up,” you murmur, glancing up at him as he watches you, head tipping back when his hand moves up over your breasts, slipping between them to wrap around your throat.
“Atta girl.”
Leon squeezes and you moan, grabbing his wrist as your knees dig into the bedding, hips beginning to rise and fall. He pulls you into a sloppy kiss, growling into your mouth, panting as his tongue slips over yours messily, his thumb prying your mouth open. You pant, tongue lolling out as you ride his cock, the bed creaking from your motions as you fuck yourself on his cock needily.
“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Leon rasps, watching you with dark eyes, his hair messy and hanging over one side of his face. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart.”
You smile at him dopily, breath slowing when his hand tightens, starting to cut off your intake of oxygen. His nose nudges against yours, breath hot as he kisses you, lips working against yours eagerly until his grip loosens, letting you suck in a breath.
“You trust me that much?” Leon asks, smiling back at you with a feral look in his eyes when your hand wraps around his throat. “You think that’s a good idea, sweetheart? You wanna choke me out while you ride my cock?”
“Oh, you can take it,” you whisper, tightening your grip. Your movements don’t slow, thighs smacking against his as you bounce on his lap, your hand landing on his shoulder for leverage as you drop yourself down on his cock harder, setting a firmer rhythm. “Heard you– ahh– kicked ass back at Rhodes Hill.”
He grins, eyes glinting, a ragged noise leaving him when you pant into his mouth, licking at his lips.
“Yeah, I still hah– got it,” Leon muses, hands squeezing at your ass.
Your brows furrow when his grip tightens, a moan punched out of you when he grips your hips starting to lift you, using you as he fucks you on his cock.
“That’s it,” he drawls, controlling the rhythm and you, his forehead pressing against yours as he jerks you up and down his thick, throbbing cock. “Take my fat fuckin’ cock, baby. Cute, little pussy’s just swallowing me up.”
You whimper, hand sliding to cup the nape of his neck, your bodies moving together as his cock carves its way through your pussy, nestling against that spot before it glides out and drives back in. His chest is pressed against yours, firm muscle pressed against your soft breasts, the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing along your clit.
“Harder,” you whisper, eyes finding his, hips starting to sway back to meet his thrusts when he plants his feet into the bed, knees bending as he fucks his cock up into you. “Want it– nghh– harder, Leon.”
“That might strain my joints, baby,” he says softly, smiling up at you when you huff out an annoyed breath. “What? You were concerned about my bones.”
“Fuck your bones,” you groan, pushing at his chest, squirming off of his lap onto your hands and knees, ass swaying up into the air. You look back at him over your shoulder, hand worming between your thighs to spread yourself open for him, wet, dripping pussy all on display for him. “‘m so empty,” you whisper, voice lilting. “Fill me up?” You bat your lashes, “please?”
Leon mutters a low curse, his chest heaving as he rises up onto his knees, using your ankle to pull you toward him, his hand stroking his cock with uneven motions, knuckles tightening when he sees the slick webbing between your puffy folds and clinging to your thighs.
You’re half-expecting some witty remark, but all Leon does is brush a rough kiss to your shoulder, grunting into your ear before he’s notching the head of his cock against your aching pussy and driving his cock into you.
“Too– fuck! Too fast!” you squeal when he starts thrusting hard and fast, the bed beginning to rock with every snap of his hips.
“But you said you were empty,” Leon rumbles into your ear, “‘m just filling up this needy, pretty fucking cunt for you, sweetheart. So stop squirming,” his hand clamps down on your hips, “and fucking take it.”
You wail into the room, thrashing under him when his hips smack into your ass, balls slapping against your throbbing clit, the lewd noises echoing through the small space. He draws moan after moan out of you, his cock pounding into your pussy unforgivingly. You think you can feel it in your throat, his fat cock sliding through your gripping, fluttering walls.
Leon’s body is draping over your back, his mouth settling right next to your ear as he grunts and groans. Your toes curl, back arching when he pushes down on the small of your back, his breathing ragged as he grinds his impossibly thick cock into you.
“Fuck,” you mewl, spying his flexed bicep near your head, drool pooling into your mouth. Your head tilts as the muscle bulges, all inhibitions lost when you follow the line of his arm to stare hazily at his veiny forearm. You lean towards his bicep, teeth sinking into the thick muscle with a moan.
Leon’s breath hitches, his hips stuttering for a moment when he realizes you’ve bit him before his thrusts start up again, his hot, heavy cock pounding back into your needy pussy. You lick his bicep, tongue laving over his warm skin, eyes rolling back when his arm moves, wrapping around your throat, his bicep pressed up against the side of your neck.
“You keep– fuck– staring at my arms, sweetheart,” Leon rasps, grinning against your cheek when you let out a choked moan, his breath cut off by a low moan of his own. “Is this what you need? A strong arm wrapped around your throat, fat cock pounding into your needy cunt and sweet, little kisses?” He punctuates his question by kissing your temple.
“I– nghhh– need you,” you whine, feeling dazed as he drops his weight onto you a little more, enough so that you can feel every inch of him against your back.
You can’t really do anything but take it, his skin slapping against yours and breath rough in your ear. When his fingers move, finding your clit to rub the swollen bud, you whimper, clutching the sheets, nails raking against the fabric as the string of pleasure draws tighter.
“‘m gonna cum,” you say hoarsely, cunt clenching around his cock desperately. “Leon– Leon, Leon, Leon!”
“‘m right here, baby,” Leon whispers, kissing your cheek, “taking my cock so well. Doing so– fuck– good for me, yeah? Cum whenever you want, sweet girl, I’ve got you.”
Your body jerks when his fingers rub against your clit faster, a ragged scream erupting from you as you cum violently. Leon swears, his grip on you faltering, the arm on your throat drawing away as you twitch on his cock, grasping at the sheets, at the pillows until Leon offers you his hand.
Your fingers lace together with his and you squeeze tightly, gasping uncontrollably until his mouth finds yours, capturing your lips in a kiss. You whimper into his mouth, knees weak and thighs tired, your death-grip on his hand loosening when he soothes you with soft kisses. Your pussy clenches and Leon groans into your mouth, his hips jerking forward unevenly.
“‘m gonna cum too, pretty baby,” he grunts, fingers pushing at your ass gently, hips beginning to pull away. “Greedy, little pussy’s clenching around me too tight, I can’t–”
“Inside,” you mumble, letting your hips sway back tiredly, trying to swallow down the length of his cock. “Cum inside.”
“That’s– shittt– a bad idea, baby,” Leon groans, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder as his hips rock into you, pace stuttering.
You can feel his cock throb and twitch, a soft mewl escaping you. “You said you were full of bad ideas.”
Leon lets out a startled laugh, his breath coming out in short, choppy bursts. “I did– hahhh– I did say that. Take my cum then, sweetheart, gonna flood this perfect fuckin’ cunt with cum.”
He grips your hips, thrusting forward with a hard drive of his cock. Leon swears under his breath, his hips jerking into your ass as he cums, cock kicking and throbbing as hot, thick cum floods your pussy.
You let out a contented noise when he moans into your ear, low and guttural, the sound making you feel warm. His softening cock slips out after a few moments and Leon pulls himself away from you, the bed protesting under the weight of you both. You curl up into his side, head dropping over his chest, eyes drooping when you feel the steady beat of his heart.
Leon’s hand settles on your head, stroking over your hair lazily as he pants, chest rising and falling.
“Do you feel relaxed?” you murmur, peering up at him with a sleepy smile.
“I feel fucked out,” Leon mutters, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek, rubbing at the spot of drool that had pooled at the corner of your mouth. “You did a number on me, sweetheart.”
“I aim to please.”
He laughs, hauling you closer and you smile, kissing the underside of his jaw. “You went above and beyond, I can tell you that much.”
You snort, arms wrapping around his neck. “Am I gonna get that in writing?”
“I’ll think about it,” Leon murmurs, his fingers slipping under your chin to tip your head, lips pressing against yours. You hum into the kiss, fingers tangling in his soft hair, a quiet noise leaving you as he squeezes your ass.
When Leon pulls away, you chase after his lips, eyes fluttering shut when he returns your kiss just as eagerly, your thigh hooking over his hip, brows furrowing when you feel his cock against your thigh.
You look down, cheeks flushing when you find his spent cock beginning to harden, the fat length bobbing gently as it fills out.
“Already?” you murmur, sighing softly when he leaves stubbly kisses along your jaw.
“What can I say?” Leon whispers, his hips bucking when your hand wraps around his hardening cock. “You uh… bring out the best in me, I guess.”
You raise your brows, unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across your face. “Your best attribute is your cock? That’s a little disappointing.”
He grins, groaning when you kiss his pec.
“You didn’t seem to think it was disappointing when I fucked you with it.”
“It is nice,” you acquiesce, head tipping back as he leans into you, trailing hot kisses down your neck, his hips beginning to rock lazily, meeting the strokes of your hand.
“I do have other nice, non-sexual attributes,” Leon says, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin gently. There’s a light flush settled on his cheeks and he clears his throat, sucking in a soft breath when you squeeze his cock. “Maybe you’d like to find out sometime?”
Your smile softens, affection beginning to creep in through the cracks of your ribs. Leaning forward, you kiss him gently.
“I’d like that, Leon.”
girl get off that c.ai and embrace the 'x reader'
THE FICS WERE SO GOOOOOOD PLS WRITE MORE
Children aren't the best source of information
Re9! Leon x wife! Reader
Summary: Leon and your daughter Isabella had told you both interesting information which led you both to believe a cheating scandal ensued. 5k+ words
Warnings: no actual cheating happens, lowkey crazy Leon ( bc it's funny writing him that way), comedy and fluff, slight angst of insecurities from Leon and reader, children suck lmao can't trust the fuckers to give accurate information
Leon often is gone for days, weeks and months at a time. That's how it's been since Raccoon City. Never staying in his apartment for longer than a week and he told himself he was fine with it; that this is what is expected out of him after becoming a tool for the government.
Until he met you. Honestly, Leon didn’t believe he was worthy of love because who would love a man that failed on his first day of being a cop? He went through the motions of life and felt it was too cruel to weigh someone down with his emotional baggage.
You accepted him as he is. Trauma and all — loving him on the days where he felt fine; he was able to go out to places with you and treat you to a gourmet meal. Wine and dine you. Then of course out of nowhere, the random wave of emptiness — the sudden feeling of his body going numb and the world around him distorted.
He tried to hide that part of himself in the beginning of your relationship. But you noticed. You always did. You would drive back to the apartment and lay him on your chest so he has something to ground to. Leon never thought he would find someone that could care this much especially after ruining a dinner date from one of his PTSD attacks.
How can you love him when he failed so many people?
Leon could hardly accept your love at first and it took a while — a lot of emotional distance, arguments, running away. Until he finally accepted he wanted love — that was after the incident in Colorado and New York with Glenn Arias; he wanted to change and he did. That was over ten years ago.
Leon didn’t take missions often anymore recently, just the occasional ones that really needed him or he felt like he couldn’t walk away from. Especially when he had to find a cure of his disease — that was over with. And the trauma of Raccoon City of 30 years weighed off his chest after killing Victor Gideon stopping him from releasing more chaos.
He was done with the chaos of missions and decided to take a long break from being an agent to focus on what really mattered. His family. Ten years ago, Leon decided it was time to marry you ( he was done running away from you and he tried to prove himself every day you made the right choice in marrying him ) and have a family. It’s what he wanted for so long but never felt like he deserved it until you had told him you were pregnant six years ago; fuck he was so nervous and terrified that he would mess up being a father.
But you being you; you helped him go through the motions of fear and Leon allowed himself to breathe to figure this out with you –and he couldn’t be a better father. And now that he had time away from missions, he was going to spend it as he always did with you and his daughter Isabella.
Sundays were always reserved for his daughter. His six year old daughter had your hair and skin color but her eyes were entirely Leon's. You often joked by putting your hand over their eyes saying how their blue eyed stare scared you.
He never thought his life could turn out like this. At times he didn’t think he deserved this life yet with all he’s been through he tries to appreciate while he can because the world was too cruel and took innocent things quickly — and he would not allow it to take his wife or daughter.
That's why Sunday was for his daughter. To preserve this innocence before anything can take it away from him. Leon always did activities with his six year old daughter — take her to see that God awful spongebob movie though he liked watching the series and used some of the jokes when he was on missions.
Different movies that came out and of course family friendly movies — he hated the new shows for kids and went back to the basics of Oswald, Mickey Mouse clubhouse, Dora ( though that was a terrible idea because now Isabella only responded to Spanish words at times and his Spanish has been lackluster since the Las Plagas mission ), PBS kids cartoons.
Leon hated Barney and apparently so did your daughter because she began to cry from how terrifying he looked and he couldn't be more pleased to never have to watch that show again.
Though he caught her one time watching anime on Netflix and he was going to turn it off until he saw Dragon Ball z. He did the typical dad pose with his arms crossed and stood by the couch while you joined later to do whatever activities in their presence. (His daughter wanted to be Piccolo for Halloween, he took a photo of how ridiculous she looked and made it his home screen on his personal phone.)
Or other activities from taking her to the park, a family friendly activity involving sports ( which had his back aching from trying to stop a hyperactive six year old from bouncing all over the place.) Then to the more quieter moments where he would take her along with you out on a picnic around a lake watching her look and poke at everything curiously.
She was untouched by the world. And Leon wanted to keep that way as long as possible. So he didn't mind playing with dolls or dressing up with his daughter (as ridiculous as he might look) whenever she didn't want to go out. He was happy with whatever she wanted to do.
Today was a doll house activities — a major storyline that was ongoing, complex and utterly complicated. How did a six year old come with a story line as complex as this? He had no clue, he suspected it was because you let her watch some of the shows you watched while you did the laundry. He almost felt like his daughter was narrating a telenovela.
“And then, Miss Marcy came home to her husband kissing the maid only to find out the maid was Miss Marcy’s long lost sister who wanted to hurt Marcy for taking her candy when they were younger.” Isabella explained while holding the dolls up to Leon with each narration — the Barbie dolls he got her last month and the Goku figure she insisted on having for her dolls as the husband all while they lived in the Barbie dream house for her birthday.
Leon blinked at the story and muttered, “I need to talk to your mother about letting you see those shows on Netflix.” He took a deep breath while crossing his legs on the ground holding his own dolls making them do backflips off the house into the pool.
“No, no no!” Isabella shouted which made Leon look at her with a quirk concern eyebrow but her lips were pouting and glaring at her father. “You cannot make Miss Tracy do that, dad! Only Miss Darcy can because she's like you. You're ruining the story.”
Like him? Oh right, Isabella didn't know his true profession and believed he was some kind of hero from how you tried to explain why he was gone for long periods at a time. Not as often as he used to be but long enough that made her question where Leon went.
So you told her Leon's job kept him away because he was fighting bad guys like how Batman does. And of course she believed it.
“Wouldn't it be cooler if she was doing back flips off the house and into the pool? It makes the story dramatic.” Leon pointed out but his daughter wasn't having it, snatching the doll out of his hand that he sighed heavily. She definitely got the attitude from you. He’s too old dealing with your attitude but his six year old daughter’s too? He’s not excited for the teen years.
Leon just allowed his daughter to narrate and play with his dolls while he watched her. His eyes softened watching the sight in front of him. It was still hard to believe that he was allowed to have a life like this. That he earned it from years of fighting bio-terriosm. His family was the only good thing that came from all the trauma he suffered from.
That’s why he was quietly taking many photos on his personal phone of his daughter and was sending them to Grace. Bless her heart for enduring all the photo’s Leon has sent her recently. He believed that he was her only friend besides Emily at the current moment and he didn’t mind that fact nor mind sharing his life with her after what they experienced – he was close to her now.
Leon wanted Grace to meet you and Isabella once she had processed more of what had happened in Rhodes Hill and Raccoon City. He could already imagine how you would treat Grace, she needed that security and safety you bring; he was sure she would get attached to you too once she met you. He sent the attachments of the photos and immediately got a response.
Grace: ISTG she’s so cute
ISTG? He thought with furrowed brows. Leon blinked at her text behind his glasses (h his eyesight suffered terribly from the amount of flashbangs he had thrown over the years.) Too many times she sent him messages that he didn’t understand the meaning of. He didn’t understand today’s youth and their need to shorten words.
And he thought he was bad when he would send Hunnigan selfies with dead zombies.
Grace sent a picture of Emily playing in the park. He smiled at the picture and he breathed because at least he was able to save them from Raccoon City even if he was too late the first time in 1998 – Grace and Emily almost felt like his atonement for what he couldn’t stop back then. During his texting back and forth with Grace, Leon felt a small tug on his shirt. Immediately, he put away his phone to focus his attention on Isabella. “What is it, baby?”
“Do you think mommy will see that man again?”
Leon stared confused and tilted his head. “Man? What man?”
“The one that comes over. He comes around whenever you’re gone.”
Leon stayed silent. Too quiet. There were thoughts forming his mind and each one worse than the last. Children weren’t known to lie, they were painfully truthful like the time Isabella had said she hated Leon’s beard ( he was growing it out ) and he looked like a lumberjack that eats children. That hurt his ego and he was sulking for days after he shaved and felt extra sulky when you were laughing at him every time you looked at him.
Now, this? Some man was coming over in the presence of their daughter? Were you cheating on him? Dread filled his heart if that was the case and felt his palms sweating as they often did when his anxiety spiked.
He knew there was trouble in the past after China where he disappeared emotionally for a year and stayed in Colorado without saying anything but many times he tried to make it up to you over the years. He believed he redeemed himself enough. Was it because he was still taking missions? Were you feeling lonely and frustrated by him? He didn’t realize his hand was crushing around his phone to the point that it was making a creaking sound.
Isabella stared at him innocently before going back to playing with her toys. He had to take a deep breath before he got any more information. “Have you seen,” his teeth clenched as he seethed out the last part, “this man, baby?”
“Yeah, daddy.”
Oh, that was worse. Not only were you cheating but your daughter had seen his man. Interacted with him. Now his thoughts worsen: Did Isabella think he was going to be her new dad? Is my happy life over with because I’ve been an inadequate husband? Am I never going to see my wife or daughter anymore?
Leon needed more information. He was used to getting information out of enemies during missions with methods. Obviously, he wasn’t going to harm his daughter and had to choose a route that would get a six-year old to talk. “Stay right here, baby.” He pushed himself up from the floor trying to ignore how his bones creaked with age as his legs felt like jelly from all the anxiety being bottled up.
The route Leon chose? Getting Isabella’s favorite candy from the kitchen cabinet that she was limited on. You weren’t home at the moment since you were staying overnight at your parents house and he thought this was a perfect opportunity to get his daughter to talk without you knowing.
Leon came back into his daughter’s room, kneeling beside her. “Okay we’re going to play a game, baby. It’s called negotiations that we're doing.” His hand held out pieces of candy and her eyes immediately lit up. “Every piece of information you give me, I give you candy as an exchange, okay?”
Isabella nodded excitedly, placing her dolls back into their respective rooms to turn towards Leon. “You promise to give me candy?” She said in a skeptical tone, narrowing her eyes at him for a moment.
Leon let out a breath of amusement and nodded. “Of course, baby. I promise.” He said and closed his hand before she had the urge to reach out and snatch one out of his hand. “How often does this man come to the house?”
Isabella hummed in thought. “Like I said, daddy everytime you leave the house. Mommy said she likes playing with him.”
“Oh? Does she like playing with him?” Leon said through clenched teeth. He could only imagine what playing could mean. And he had a lot of images flooding through his head when he would play with you in the bedroom – now this random man was playing with his wife in his home? Fuck that.
“Mhm.” Isabella held her hand out expectedly. Right, Leon almost forgot his end of the bargain and unwrapped the candy, placing it on her smaller hand gently despite the anxiety and crawling anger he felt. She ate with a big smile, never sensing his inner turmoil.
He forced himself to take a deep breath and began more negotiations. How often did the man come to the house? Too often from the way Isabella explained. More candy was given. What did he look like? Isabella happily replied ( dark blonde hair, blue eyes and pale skin.) And finally the most important, Leon needed to know the guy’s name for. . .personal reasons.
Leon took a deep breath and held the last piece of candy in the air just out of Isabella’s reach. “Okay, you’ve done such a good job so far, baby but I need to know one final thing before you get the last candy.” Isabella nodded with her eyes wide on the prize. “So what's the guy's name?”
“Ryan.” Isabella answered quickly using her hands to make a grabby motion.
But Leon completely went still for a moment, and then, “Ryan?!” Leon nearly shouted then composed himself once he saw his daughter flinch from the sudden loud noise coming from her rather quiet father; he hardly ever raised his voice around Isabella because he vowed himself to never be like his father but this was a situation that required a little shouting.
That was the name of your instructor at your pilates class. Leon never liked Ryan; he caught him staring at you multiple times and he stepped over the line too many times to count that maybe Leon had asked nicely for Ryan to back off if he wanted to keep getting money for his classes.
But never did Leon imagine that you would actually fall for the asshole charms. Insecurity crept up for a moment since Ryan was fifteen years younger than him. He had a fresher face than him, he clearly saw you more since Leon was often gone for days and weeks at time when the mission required it. Were you that bored with him that you had to run to your pilates instructor?
If you wanted to be with someone younger, fine, but he wasn’t going to go down without a fight first. Leon gave his daughter the last piece of candy and began formulating a plan he had to ask Sherry to find his address to have a talk with him. But first, once you came back; he was going to hear from you first hand when he came back from the office and you returned home.
“Are we done with our game, daddy?” Isabella asked with a bouncing stance.
Leon blinked and sighed. Great, he had to deal with a hyperactive six year old while having a potential cheating scandal in his mind. “Yeah.”
“Okay, then catch me if you can.” Isabella shot up and dashed out of her room.
“Wait, don’t run-”
Coming home to your daughter while Claire babysat her for the morning time made you sigh from how much you missed your daughter. You just came right in time to take her to kindergarten and you thanked Claire for being the best Godmother who only chuckled while taking her leave.
Driving your daughter to school was one of the best times spent with her, especially showing her your favorite songs from the 90s and 2000s. She seemed to like it more than the music that was played – while Leon showed her some rock music that didn’t have inappropriate songs, you showed her more R & B and pop music.
Your finger tapped against the steering wheel from the playlist bumping your favorite 2000s pop song while Isabella nodded to the music. Isabella was absentmindedly talking about what normal six year olds talk about and today’s topic was Star Wars. You firmly believe she might be a nerd when she grows up because on her fourth birthday, she dressed up as Yoda which got a laugh out of Leon.
Leon only laughed a lot because of the mix up of party invitations where Isabella said she wanted a princess theme so Leon told her friend's parents to dress up as princess too. But then she told you she wanted a star wars theme party; she was the only one dressed up as Yoda at the party and the photo taken that day cracks you and Leon up from how scared her friends looked surrounding her.
You listened to her talk about Star Wars until the sudden change of topic came up. “Do you think daddy will say sorry to that pretty lady?” Isabella questioned.
Confusion settled over you as your brows pinched together. You couldn’t remember if Leon had to apologize to you for anything. He hasn’t done anything in the past couple months that would warrant an apology. “What pretty lady, baby?”
“The one he sees while you’re gone. She came over yesterday while you were at grandma and grandpa’s house.” Isabella replied, messing with the hem of her uniform skirt.
You stayed quiet and turned the music to hear your daughter correctly. The only notification you got from the front door camera yesterday was Leon and Isabella leaving in the morning to go to breakfast and coming back. Then in the morning Claire and Leon trading places with a brief exchange and then nothing else. Could Leon snuck some woman through the backdoor or through some window? Or, did she somehow sneak in?
You didn’t want to think Ada Wong would be a homewrecker but that was the only person you can think of in this scenario. You knew the history between Ada and Leon from before you met him; and you had met him after Spain – he wasn’t shy in telling you that he had run ins with her since then and something had occurred a long time ago before he met you but nothing else has happened since then.
No, you didn’t hate Ada Wong but a doubt of insecurity came over you. Did he still want her? Was he tired of the boring family life especially with you because you weren’t an agent or mercenary? Fingers were rubbing on the leather of the steering wheel trying to calm your anxious heart.
“Do you know what she looks like, Isabella?” You asked carefully, trying to dispel the lump in your throat focusing on making sure you don’t get in a car accident.
“Yeah, I’ve seen her a lot of times, mommy.” Isabella said in an annoyed, obvious tone which made you huff from her attitude. Sometimes, you wished she got more of Leon’s personality than your own from how much attitude a small thing like her has. “Um, black hair, brown eyes. She’s not white, mommy.”
Your throat tightened harder. “Asian?” Isabella nodded. It was worse than you thought. Did Leon see Ada in Raccoon City again and somehow it brought up old feelings that he realized that she was the one he wanted. You couldn’t blame him, she was hot and cool; too badass compared to how you were.
At times, you often compared yourself to her. You were a simple scientist that worked with Rebecca Chambers and you were proud you were able to find cures and analyze viruses to help aid in bioterrorism. Nothing can take that away from you but then there was people like Leon, Jill and Chris who fought it head on to prevent it to spreading,
And somehow Ada was always just there too. You met her once before and that’s all it took to realize that Leon could have chosen her instead.
You wanted to ask more information from your daughter but the school was in view and you parked right by the entrance where the staff took care of the students. Leon chose this school because of the high clearance security and they were offering martial arts lessons which he made Isabella take; both of you knew that you could never be too careful.
“Have a good day, sweetie.” It was hard to keep a steady tone for your daughter that didn’t make it seem like anything was wrong when everything was wrong.
“Bye, mommy.” She reached over as you did to give each other a hug then she opened the door and got out of the car to find the attendant that escorted her through the school’s gates.
Being alone, thoughts swarmed in your head about the situation. What were you going to do about this situation? The very thought of going ballistic on your husband seemed like a good idea but no, you were past the stage of losing your shit. It would just be easier to ask him and figure out the next step because if he really wanted Ada Wong then he can have her, you weren’t going to beg for a man to stay.
Especially Leon Kennedy. No, when he came back home would be a perfect time to ask him.
Leon may have gone overboard with the situation. As soon as he got to the DSO building, he immediately found Sherry and asked her to look up Ryan. To find out everything and anything about that man. Unfortunately, the man was squeaky fucking clean. 3.5 GPA in College, never been arrested for anything serious. Was in a sorority but apparently was the outcast for being too nerdy. It was only after college that he gained popularity for gaining muscles and changing his appearance.
Leon scoffed each time Sherry had given him more information that didn’t give him a reason to go beat him up. His arms were tensing with each cross he kept doing across his chest and Sherry just stared at him. “What the hell is your problem, Leon?”
“Nothing.” He grumbled.
Because there was no real reason to start anything besides speculations that Ryan might be fucking his wife; Leon had a shitty day at work filing reports for the Rhodes Hill and Raccoon City incident. Fine, if Ryan had nothing against him; he was going straight to the source.
You.
Coming home was fairly easy when Leon practically ignored traffic laws. The questions in his head had been driving him insane all day that he kept mistaking his reports. He couldn’t focus on work; all he can think about was the possibility that Ryan might have been in his house right now fucking his wife on his favorite couch or bedroom.
The Porsche handled excellently as he did an abrupt turn and parked in the driveway. He didn’t even take his briefcase out. He got out, locked his car and immediately took his house keys to get inside. Leon wasn’t sure he was expecting, possibly hearing you moan or scream but it was quiet as soon he entered the entryway.
Perhaps, the fucker couldn’t please you well. Leon hoped that was the case because then he can feel a bit better about that. He closed the door quietly and walked inside the house further; the aroma smell of food hit him for a moment. He didn’t want to believe that Ryan was also using his kitchen, it wasn’t safe to be around knives if that were the case.
He popped his head over the corner like a cat trying to sneak up on a mouse but all he saw was you poking at your food with a huge frown and narrowed eyes. He didn’t see Ryan around which he let out a breath of relief and came out the corner with his arms crossed his chest.
Leon didn’t say anything for a moment and neither did you, but you acknowledge his presence from looking up. You were glaring at him. And he didn’t know why. A stare off ensued and neither of you broke contact; then both of you open your mouths.
“You’ve been cheating on me.”
“You’ve been cheating on me.”
Leon and you stared at each other and blinked confused. Now both of you are confused about what has been said. “Wait, what did you say?” Leon questioned, offended when the words processed in his head better.
“You’ve been cheating on me.” You said slowly, putting your fork down on the kitchen counter to hear him correctly too. “Wait, what did you say, too?”
“That you’ve been cheating on me. . .” Leon trailed off and uncrossed his arms to run his fingers through his hair. “You thought I was cheating on you?” A disbelief laugh came out of him from how absurd the situation became. “Sweetheart, truly, I mean this with love but are you dumb? I spent ten years begging for your forgiveness and tried everyday to make sure I never become the man I was after the President was killed again. Why would I cheat on you?”
“Why would I cheat on you?” You questioned back, equally offended and scoffed from the mere thought of ever finding another man who could be better than Leon. “I dealt with your shit for years. I loved you through the toughest moments in your life. I gave you a whole child and that shit hurt. I wouldn’t dream of having another man that isn’t you.”
Confusion laced on Leon’s face and he suddenly relaxed. But that didn’t make sense to what Isabella had said because children weren’t known to entirely lie about stuff like this. They didn’t know about infidelity so then what the fuck was going on?
“Isabella told me that a man named Ryan comes around when I’m not home and you like to play with him.” Leon pointed out with furrowed brows. “So I assumed you were screwing your pilates instructor. . .”
“What? Ugh, ew!” You exclaimed in disgust. “He’s way too young for me, Leon. Besides, I also say this with love but he’s bi and he’s dating a man right now.”
Leon stayed quiet yet his cheeks reddened with embarrassment for assuming the worst and practically went insane by having Sherry look up this man’s location. Because he thought if you confirmed you were cheating on him, he was going to pull up to Ryan’s house and politely show him what a DSO agent can do. “Oh.” Leon mumbled and sighed tiredly, “then who the hell is this man coming over she’s talking about?”
You paused for a moment and rolled your eyes realizing fully what Isabella had meant. “Our storyline with her dolls. I got her the new Barbie set from the movie and I told her that Ryan Gosling played Ken so we decided to use the name Ryan for her dolls instead of Ken. I told her I liked with Ryan when you weren’t around because he reminded me of you.”
Leon felt his face got hot now. The situation was utterly stupid for believing you would ever cheat on him and the whole time he went crazy was over a doll named Ryan. Leon felt dumb and insecure for thinking you would want someone younger than him. He was glad you express your disgust at the thought of being with someone younger because then that means none of them had a chance of taking you.
But that didn’t solve the issue of why you thought he was cheating. “Okay, then why did you think I was cheating?” Leon questioned, curiously now that he was beginning to calm down.
“Isabella told me some woman came over while I was gone.” You stated and that confused Leon more because he could not remember for the life of him some woman coming over when it had been just Isabella and Leon the entire time. “She described her as black hair, brown eyes and asian.”
Leon understood the implication on who you were trying to say and he scoffed. “You think Ada was here? Sweetheart, I haven’t seen her in forever and I don’t care to.” Leon replied.
“Then why would she tell me this?” Your voice went high which was a sign of insecurity Leon knew too well when it came to Ada Wong and how you felt about her. He wished you would stop comparing yourself to her when he chose you over and over. “There’s only one person that fits that description and she said you had to say sorry to her.”
“I literally have no fucking clue who she’s talking about.” Leon replied then paused trying to come up with a logical answer before you spiraled. Then something dawned on him. Asian, black hair and brown eyes. It was Miss Darcy, the stupid doll he kept making do backflips off the Barbie Dream house which he refused to apologize for because he thought making dolls do backflips were cool.
“Oh, Isabella was talking about Miss Darcy.” Leon paused with an exhausted sigh. “Her doll. Not Ada. She wanted me to apologize to her doll because I messed up the storyline.”
You blinked a couple times and groaned in equal embarrassment from the miscommunication situation that Isabella had created. “Well, you definitely should apologize because Isabella isn’t going to let her storyline be ruined. You know she is particular when it comes to her dolls storylines.”
A small laugh came out of Leon as he crossed the kitchen to you. His arms wrapped around yours and you immediately melted around his embrace. Relief flooded out of the both of you that a cheating scandal was definitely not happening and his lips began pressing rapidly around your temple in an effort to apologize. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to accuse you of cheating.” He mumbled against your skin.
“I’m sorry too.” You mumbled, wrapping your arms around his waist tighter. “I don’t know why I’m still insecure after all these years about Ada Wong. She really is cool and I wouldn’t be surprised if you did leave me for her.”
“Stop talking like that. Whatever I had with her was long done and it has been done since I met you.” Leon reassured you with a tighter hug. You nodded against his chest trying to ease those doubts that sometimes came. “Honestly, I thought you wanted someone more available than me if we’re being honest.”
“A man with too much time on his hand? Baby, those men are on podcast harassing women.” You joked and Leon snickered. “No, all I ever wanted is you.”
“Wrinkles, back aches and whiskey dick?” Leon joked yet there was undercut of insecurity that sometimes came out when he allowed himself to feel his emotions.
“That makes you hotter.” You confessed with giggles against his chest.
Leon rolled his eyes playfully and placed a lingering kiss on your forehead. The very sensation made your eyes flutter and sigh. Ease finally fell between you both in each other’s arms like this. “What do we do about Isabella giving us a scare like this?” Leon questioned. “Because I’m pretty sure she got these crazy storyline ideas from the shows you watch which by the way aren’t appropriate for a six year old.”
“Don’t scold me. You let her listen to rock, Mr. Kennedy.” You bit his chest through his shirt which he groaned. “This situation is the first for me so I guess we just ease up on playing with dolls with her.”
“Yeah, this situation was odd. . . by the way, where is our daughter?” Leon questioned, confused. He hadn’t seen his daughter come out running to him like she normally did when he came home when that was the best part of his day.
“Oh, Claire took her out just in case I almost murder you if you were cheating.”
“Fantastic.” Leon deadpanned.
Notes: Random Ada Wong glaze in this but I love her. Birthday Requiem gun fucking special coming Saturday hopefully. Request are open if yall want me to write specific stuff if not I'm just gonna write whatever lmaooo.
Xaden Riorson would beat the shit out of ICE agents
