MDNI: smut w feelings, established relationship, fingering, p n v, quickie, slightly risqué circumstances but nothing crazy, Ididntproofreadthisimsorry
Leon x reader (any Leon after re2)
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The smells of food and sounds of laughter drift in from the backyard. Leon drops his keys and work things on the dining room table, staring out into the backyard through the glass deck door. Your family insists on this get together every year, and since you and Leon have the idealic backyard, you get voluntold to be the venue. Leon lets out a long tired sigh and rolls a cramped shoulder. Your family can be a lot to deal with, but your step-dad makes the best prime ribs, so he figures he can handle it one afternoon a year.
He looks around for you. No sign of your pretty face anywhere in the little crowd socializing outside. Which is odd, because usually you're out there with everyone else, mingling and cooking and having a good time. As if on cue, his phone buzzes, face up on the table.
You: Psst. are you home yet?"
Untucking a hand from his pocket, he picks up the device to respond.
Leon: yeah. just got in.
Immediate reply:
You: come upstairs a sec. Guest bathroom.
HIs feet lean into action and turn to take him in that direction. He heads for the stairs as he texts back.
Leon: what's up? you okay?
You: just get in here pls
He pockets his phone and jogs up the steps, brow knitting in a mixture of confusion, concern, and genuine curiosity. His mind runs through a million different scenarios, some worst case, others compensating with soothing logic that's telling him it's not as serious as all that. Still, slightly unusual behavior on your part, but as he sees the bathroom door appear as he rounds the corner, he figures he'll get his answer soon.
You stand in the bathroom against the wall, staring at yourself in your sundress and light makeup. Your cheeks feel unusually warm, and there's color peaking out from beneath your makeup that is not the blush you put on earlier. You heave a deep breath and let it out slowly. There's a heaviness that's coiling from your chest down into your belly and making your blood pump a little hotter than what's usual for you. Your thoughts wander, only startled out of their reverie when the bathroom door cracks open.
Leon slips inside, closing the door right behind him. You feel a flush of relief, and an even more intense warmth, upon seeing him. The smell of him hits you immediately as he turns to you, brows knit in gentle concern as a large, gentle hand reaches out for you. It settles warmly on your ribs.
"Are you alright? What's going on?"
His gaze flickers between your eyes, then down your body, as if trying to determine an invisible source of some discomfort or concern. But what's plaguing you is not the discomfort he's probably imagining.
"You don't look sick. Are you hurt?"
Your hands feel cool and clammy as you reach out for him and tug him closer by his shirt collar. He comes willingly, flush against you, still staring at you with that intense look of concern. You shake your head.
"It's not any of that." Your voice drops down to a whisper, and you squirm a little bit in your skin. Your fingers of one hand uncurl from his shirt to relax flat against his chest.
"I just..." Words never seem to come easy for you when it comes to things like this. You just let yourself take him in, your eyes wandering down the length of him and appreciating every bulge and ripple visible through his shirt, and the broad round of his shoulders. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip thoughtlessly, then release when you realize you're doing it.
Leon stares at you, for a second not really understanding what you're trying to get after. Then it dawns on him with the way your body is leaking heat and the way your hips don't manage to hold still very long. A hand slips behind your hair to feel the heat radiating off your neck. His face relaxes and he lifts an eyebrow.
"Here? Now?"
You snag your lower lip between your teeth again, tucking your chin close to your chest as you nod. He readjusts his grip on your torso. It's a touch more secure. His eyes flit over you, studying you.
"Baby..." It's affectionate with a touch of a sigh. He glances at his watch. "Dinner starts in 30 minutes."
"That's enough time," You insist. He glances to the door and back at you, lowering his voice.
"I don't know if you can be that quiet, baby."
"I can!"
He gives you a dubious look.
"Promise?"
You give an eager nod. He spends a few more final moments assessing you before he exhales the air from his lungs, relenting.
"Alright. But quick. And quiet." He emphasizes that part, and you don't know whether to laugh or be annoyed.
He doesn't let you have the time to agonize over the choice though. He kisses you, but it's light and fleeting and barely enough to be more than an unsatisfactory taste. He reaches down and hikes your skirt up, slightly rough textured palms finding your bare, quivering thighs. He runs his hands up to your hips, looking for your panties to pull them aside, but finding none. Glancing up at you through a cocked eyebrow, he gives you a look, but doesn't say anything. You give him a sheepish smile. His fingers dip between your legs.
You bite down on a moan. You're wet, but definitely not wet enough. And someone take him out back and shoot him the day he hurts you because he was too impatient. Leon's not the type.
He spits on two of his fingers, pushing them back in between your swollen lips and massaging the makeshift lubricant into you. You fight your inner demons trying not to make a sound, and his soft cooing at you isn't helping.
"Shh, I know, baby, I know." His other arms keeps you upright, already knowing that you and your wobbly legs need the extra stability. You lean into him, pressing your mouth against his arm.
He doesn't touch the spot inside you with his fingertips. He just massages the walls and the folds until he's satisfied that they're dripping enough, and he withdraws. He hears your soft gasp at the sudden absence.
"I know. Just hang on," He soothes as he braces you against his one arm and the wall, freeing up the other to undo his own belt and fasten. The sound of it Pavlov dogs you into wanting it so bad you practically drool and let slip a whimper.
"Shh. Don't make me cover that pretty mouth of yours," He whispers into your ear as he pulls himself out and draws your hips flush against his so the tip can rub against you for a bit of lubrication. He knows it'll just help you get wetter, and he's right. You shove your mouth against his shoulder.
He tuts softly, a small smile tickling the corner of his mouth. "You're already shaking. You poor baby."
All you can do is nod against his arm, eyes squeezed shut as your face twists into a pathetic expression. That does something to him, and you can feel him grow a little stiffer against your soft, sensitive folds of skin. You shudder. He chuckles.
"I haven't even put it in yet." He takes himself in his hand and prods at your opening, tightening his grip on you when he feels you stiffen. "Can you be quiet for me?"
You nod crisply.
He's going to take your word for it. Dangerous little risk for sure, but as long as nobody comes looking, they should be fine. Not that he can trust his nosy mother-in-law, but like he told you, it'll be quick.
He makes sure your back is pressed against the wall for stability insurance, and sinks himself into you. You shudder, and the way you pulse and tighten around him as he slides himself inside your warmth makes him shut his eyes and draw in a deep breath to keep from groaning himself. Oh, you were dying waiting for him to get home from work.
As much as he loves to take his time with you, he knows he can't. Later. For now, he starts moving almost immediately, threading his fingers through your hair to pull your face more securely into his shoulder when you start whimpering. Quiet, broken little whimpers, sure, but he can't afford for you to get any louder.
As for you, your head is empty. Your eyes have rolled back beneath your closed eyelids as a rush flows and pulses through your whole body. Your breath comes out in short, barely controlled bursts as you focus all that remains of your present mind on not making a sound. You're not one who usually likes risks, but right now everything feels ten times hotter than usual.
His hips adjusts, and he hits the perfect spot. You stiffen, straining a groan against his shoulder.
"Sh- shhh..." He pants, his breath blowing a few flyaway strands of your hair. His hand soothes over them. "I know, baby, it feels good."
Your insides twist and clench and bring you higher. You ram your palm into his chest in a few quick, repeated successions, signaling.
"You close?" He huffs, and you nod against his shoulder, using all your strength to focus on the build, and anticipate the noise that's going to want to come.
You feel him twitch and you know he's on the edge too.
"What do you need?" You feel his breath at your ear. It makes goosebumps multiply down your back.
You can't speak.
"Harder?"
You shake your head.
"Deeper?"
Another shake. You're starting to feel sweaty.
"Faster."
You nod, and he takes his cue, his hips picking up a pistoning pace that rocks your body so perfect, your mind goes blank.
You tried to be quiet, you really did. But as it all washed over you and you bit down on his shoulder, a pathetic, tortured moan ripped from your throat and muffled into his shirt. That sends him over the edge, and he jerks out of you just in time to make a mess on your thighs.
You almost fall over, but Leon's still got that arm anchored around you. The dull throb between your legs is satiated for now, but you know it won't be for long. It'll be back before the evening is over for sure.
But as for now, you feel tingly and warm and safe. And the way he's cradling you right now, like he's holding you together, is making you want to close your eyes and go to sleep right now.
But you can't do that. Regrettably.
You feel him kiss your forehead gently, and you allow yourself a moment to pretend you could fall asleep while he reaches for a towel to clean you off. The rough fibers feel like a douse of cold water on your sensitive skin. When he's done pulling down your skirt, Leon returns to wrapping his arms around you once more, and giving your forehead another kiss.
"We should get downstairs," He whispers to you, his voice raspy from what's just transpired.
"Yeah," you sigh reluctantly, still not moving.
He smiles and gives your temple a final kiss, before pulling away from you and helping you stand up on your own two wobbly feet. He smiles at you and smoothes out your hair.
"I love you."
He gets a tired, slightly wrecked smile in return.
"I love you, too."
He pulls you in again, though not quite as close. His hand smoothes down your side and rubs a circular motion around your hip. Another kiss, but before pulling away his lips glance over your ear.
"I've got plans for you later. Be ready."
A kiss is left like an offering on the shell of your ear, he pulls away and opens the bathroom door. The outside world is none the wiser.
So Im playing DOS2 and what Im learning right away is that larian used to be less hinged???
Its been 15 minutes- I've been insulted by a sheep, killed two people, got fireballed, been asked to solve a murder, been called wife, been called honey, and an elf has offered to lick me
I imagine re9 Leon, but really any Leon after re2 is applicable
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Leon, slumped in a chair or against the headboard of a second grade bed, bleeding, bruised and breathless but having no energy to clean himself up.
“Lemme just catch my breath.”
Your heart breaking a little bit as you move over to him, bare feet noiseless on the floor. Each movement is laced with unbearable softness as you curl yourself up into his lap, as if any wrong move or too much weight could break him. His hands move from muscle memory, resting on your hip or thigh, helping your leg tuck under itself as you settle in his lap.
He lifts his head as you bring a cotton pad, soaked with alcohol, to the cut on his cheek. He doesn’t wince—but you do— as the stinging disinfectant comes in contact with the open wound. He just watches you through eyes that are steely, but only for a moment. In the next, they soften to something you can’t distinguish as tender gratitude or finally the first crack in his armor that you’ve ever seen.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, his voice low and far more gravelly than it usually is. It induces a small cough, and you can feel the subsequent movement of his abdomen and chest under you. Your heart bleeds.
“Shush, you,” you reply with equal quietness, moving the cotton in your fingers down to wipe a scratch on his jaw. “I want to.”
He shifts a little uncomfortably under you. He’s not used to being the one on the receiving end. He never feels like he can do enough. And now, he’s making you clean up his messes. The ones he makes to protect you.
The expression in his eyes turns to one of guilt. He knows it’s irrational, but he can’t help the self-loathing that comes from this. He goes quiet, the silence punctuated only occasionally with small grunts and stunted breathing.
You unzip the top of his shirt as far as it will go, and he hates the look that twists your pretty features when you see the bruising. Your hands feels cool and so delicate when they trace over the marks. He can feel the slight tremble in them.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he rasps.
You blink, and he feels worse seeing the edges of your eyes and the way they shimmer.
“I have bad dreams about this sometimes.” You let your hands slip away from his neck to settle on his chest.
“Hey.” Gentle as ever, he reaches one dirty, roughed up hand to touch your clean face. It prompts you to tilt your chin up, and even though Leon wants you to look at him, he won’t force it. His thumb traces the softness of your cheek. Finally you meet his eyes.
“We’re okay. Yeah?” He waits for a response, feeling more in control when he can reassure you like this. You nod, and he takes that as his cue. He nods along with you, stroking his fingers back into your hair at the nape of your neck.
“Yeah, we’re okay,” he repeats, his voice nothing more than a feathery whisper. Your head bows foreward and he catches your forehead with his lips.
He lingers.
He lets you patch him up. He feels better when he can see that the act itself soothes you. The guilt goes silent again, for now. It was always easier for him to swallow things like this when he could believe they were about you.
When you’re finished, he’s shirtless and covered in bandages. You kiss him, as if it was the final ingredient he needed to start feeling better. Your lips are soft against his, and they only last a moment. The corners of his lips turn up when you pull away, not quite a smile. His fingers gentle pinch your chin before you crawl off him.
He reluctantly releases you, your warmth missed as soon as it’s gone. It doesn’t really matter, because when the lights go off and he gets to pull you closer in bed and hold you until you fall asleep, every drop of blood he sacrificed is worth it.
You and older!Leon tangled up in bed together, naked and wrapped in that post-intimacy warmth. Now you lay on his chest as you trace the hard lines of his face with a gentle touch. There’s something in his eyes… the way they reflect the light looks heavier than usual. Your fingertips slip to the edges of his jaw.
“What is it?” Your words are almost a whisper as you reach out to feel what he’s feeling.
He doesn’t look up from where his calloused fingers are fondling your elbows and the soft skin of your arms. Not at first.
“You’re beautiful.”
A soft smile tugs at your features, quickly dampened by the melancholy creasing his face a touch more prominently.
“Why do you say it like that?”
He looks up at you finally, head reclining against the pillows as he regards you through a half lidded gaze.
“Because look at you.” His hand reaches out to touch your face, fingers slipping beneath the tendrils of loose hair to touch your soft skin. His intense eyes flicker over your beloved features. Then he loosens, and his fingers slip away.
“And look at me.” The cadence of his words fall off into self reproach, which sounds more like resignation to the fact that he’s aged. His skin is rough and scarred, his eyes are dark and tired. But that’s not how you see him.
Your cool fingers come to cup his face.
“I am looking at you,” you murmur, leaning in. “I’m always looking at you.”
His rough hand wraps gently around your upper arm as you bend down to softly kiss his lips. A tender, faint smile tugs at them when you pull away. His eyes remain closed for a sweet moment longer. You bring your lips to his ear.
“And I adore what I see.”
He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his arms. You settle in comfortably against his chest as he presses his face to your hair and stares at the ceiling for several beats. Finally, a kiss finds its way to your temple, and you can hear him softly breath you in.
“You make me want to lay you out under me all over again.”
You smile, and hide your pink cheeks against his neck. He looks down and your eyes meet. His thumb brushes your cheek.
“If it wasn’t so hard on my back.”
You slap his chest and laugh quietly. “Oh stop it.”
He pulls you close again and the two of you lie there for several long, sweet minutes, enjoying each other’s warmth. His lips brush your hair again, and then his voice is at your ear.
“Hey.” His nose brushes the shell, and your shoulders tense lightly with a shiver. “Stay with me, yeah?”
“Forever and ever?”
“Mm. Forever and ever.”
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This may or may not have been inspired by the re9 Leon reveal I NEED HIM SO BAD MY SHAYLA he looks so good but I know that man is tired 😭💛
Leon Kennedy x reader, old Wild West, cowboy/sheriff Leon, forbidden feelings
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She was pretty.
Fuck. She was pretty.
And Leon Kennedy was so screwed.
In her pretty little pale blue dress, with her hair let down and pulled back with the pretty little bow. With her clean face and her shining eyes the way she flitted around like a little bird talking to everyone.
She was a picture.
It could have been anyone in town, but it had to be her. The preacher's daughter. The one man in town that Leon clashed with more than anyone as Sheriff. And believe him, he had plenty of dynamite to clash with.
He wasn't much of a religious man by any means, but that didn't mean he was opposed to it. He didn't want any trouble, but Reverend Foster seemed to be of the mind that if you weren't part of the church, you were part of the problem. When the county had finally taken matters into it's own hands and assigned the growing settlement of Sleepy Hill a Sheriff, the reverend-- who up until this point had been trying to absolve the town's growing unruly cowhand problem with bible verses and impromptu saloon sermons-- took something of a personal offense to it. I suppose he thought he and God were doing just fine before Leon showed up.
Leon wasn't gungho about it either, but when he was given a job he finished it. This ragtag little town in the tumbleweed territory of the frontier was the last place he would have chosen to settle down, but it's not as though the choice was his to make in the first place.
No use crying about it, he was here now and his biggest problem was unexpectedly the self-righteous Reverend. The cowhands and troublemakers knew how to listen to a firm hand, a good warning, and a night in jail. But how does one get through to a proud, holier-than-thou minded man who thinks baptism is the answer to violence?
Leon shakes his head at it. It's not something he understands; he's probably stepped foot in a church no more than four times in his wind-ruffled, trail-beaten life. He looks across the room at her again: the very picture of grace and purity and everything good. He glances down at his hands, one of them holding this town's version of good brandy. They were rough and leathered from hard work and harder whiskey. For some reason, the thought of him touching her felt so wrong... so out of place. Even destructive.
And he's never wanted anything more.
He looks away before he can think about it anymore, or catch her eye. He'd rather not incur the dislike of her father more than he already has with being here, and being more effective in a few months than the reverend has been in years.
The sounds of the gentle townsfolk are lively and happy as they dance and eat and celebrate the first moment of peace they've had in a long time. The schoolhouse has been decorated, the learning desks pushed to the sides to make room for a dance floor and a table with food and drink. He should be celebrating this (however small in his estimation) accomplishment as much as they are, but truly he feels the thanks is unnecessary.
And besides that, he can only look at her. Like a piece of forbidden fruit.
He sighs, downing the rest of the drink in his hand and setting the empty glass on the windowsill he was leaning up against. As much as it's fulfilling for him to see everyone in good spirits for a change, he needs some air.
The evening is cool as he slips out into it. It's quiet, only the crickets singing their evening songs, and a frog or two echoing a call and response from the pond nearby. Nothing can calm his mind like a breath of fresh air. The outdoors have always been his friend since he was a boy; and when everything else failed him, nature still extended her sweet presence as compensation for leaving him alone in this world.
He hears the door of the schoolhouse open, but pretends he doesn't. Delicate steps descend the stairs, and he's really hoping it's not Mrs. Schneid again trying to stuff him full of her apple pie and gush about her daughter and how single she is for an hour. Don't get him wrong, her pie is good. But there's only so many pieces of pie a man can eat before he never wants to see another apple again in his life.
"Lovely evening, isn't it?"
The voice that calls out to him when the footsteps stop a few feet away isn't Mrs. Schneid's. It's far softer, far sweeter, laden with youth and dipped in honey.
He turns to see her, the one he's been trying to escape from all evening. But she's been everywhere, and now here she is: under the same tree he's standing by, looking at him so sweetly.
Fuck. And they're alone.
He looks down at his hands as they hold his hat. His gaze lifts to see the fireflies as they glide around the cattails, to the dwindling luminance of twilight as it slowly fades. His shoulders hold tension, convinced that her father is going to come barreling out of the schoolhouse to demand what he's doing talking to his daughter.
"Very." He finally answers her as she draws up beside him, and for a moment, they both admire the quiet evening. He can feel her glancing at him shyly from time to time, and all he can do is take a moment to compose himself.
"You did a good job organizing tonight," he finally says after fighting every urge and running through a million awkward options he could say to break the silence.
He can feel her smile rather than see it.
"Thank you. But I had help."
"Still. All this was your idea. It’s mighty nice for the townsfolk."
She turns and it makes him turn his head to look back at her. His breath nearly catches in his lungs. She's even more beautiful up close. And there's a subtle, but warmly sweet, scent wafting off her skin.
She glows a little when she smiles.
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Mm." Leon gives a nod, glancing out toward the pond again. "I don't think I'll have to eat again for another week."
Her laugh is soft and graceful, and it hardly feels like a burden when silence falls over them again.
"You're really the one we should all be thanking," she adds quietly after a minute. He looks back at her and their eyes meet.
"You don't need to thank me. Besides, the problem's far from solved."
"I know. But you've done so much for us already. The way you showed those cowboys what's what. We're all indebted to you."
"You owe me nothing."
She looks up at him, and there's a soft glisten in her eye with the way the moon reflects off the pools of color. Her throat bobs, and he senses the shy way her lashes flutter.
"I do feel like I owe you something. Personally."
He tilts his head, gaze slowly scanning the pretty contours of her face. "You don't owe me anything. Really-"
Her hair flutters as she leans up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. The hand she laid on his arm burns into his flesh, even long after she withdraws it. There's a flurry of skirts and she's gone in a flash. He watches her run back up the steps to the schoolhouse, turning around once to look at him over her shoulder before she ducks back inside.
She was beautiful.
Fuck. She was beautiful.
And Leon Kennedy was so screwed.
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Inspired by this fanart of cowboy Leon by @gn0czi. See here, send love I'm freaking obsessed.
Tags: DARK THEMES, MDNI themes of kidnapping (not by Leon), abuse and trauma, SA and the effects of it, bondage and unwillful captivity, consensual smut (fingering, p n v, afab anatomy, fem orgasm, light descriptions) as a plot point, Leon x reader but use of author’s name in place of y/n.
7.7k words
A/N: This has been in the works for a hot minute, partially because it didn’t all come to me in one go, and partially because I’ve be putting off posting it until I was ready. I set it in the old Wild West because idk why it just made sense in my head lol. If you like to self insert and this resonates with you (if it does I’m sorry 🥺 here’s a hug from me 🫂), feel free to replace my name with yours <3 This one is kind of heavy, but I feel like people don’t talk about this side of SA and trauma that much and I wanted to explore it; and also Leon is my comfort character. I put my heart and soul into this I fear, so I hope you enjoy it.
Enjoy <3 if any of you ever feel like need to talk to someone, I’m no therapist but my dms are open 💛 happy reading have a cookie 🍪
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The dry grass scratches my legs as I move silently through it. Dark, angry clouds are gathering in the sky, but I don’t notice. The gentle breeze has turned into a gusty wind, whipping the blades of grass into knives that slice against my calves.
But I don’t notice that either.
My gaze is fixed on the solitary, dilapidated cabin in the middle of the clearing. The sight so morbid even the trees cough for some nourishment. It’s hardly a cabin at all, really, but a shack; a shack where my demons live to spin bad dreams for another night.
My hair, usually pulled up, whips loosely around my face and shoulders as I take another step forward. I know I shouldn’t be here, but something keeps calling to me, dragging me back to it time and time again.
I want it to stop but it won’t, haunting my sleep and whispering to me every time I pass the road leading in to the clearing. I can hear the old house creak and groan in the push and pull of the wind. It’s calling again, taunting me. And I know if I get closer it’ll snap its shackles around me again. But I have to come back.
The step creaks as my boot levies its weight onto the rickety boards. The rough, splintering wood of the banister beam is a strangely welcoming pain in my hand. I struggle with the darkness that makes it so pleasurable, feeling a dull, confusing ache settle in the bottom of my spine. My fingers press into the wood, counting the steps as I ascend them:
One… two… three…
…four… five… six.
Even the devil’s number resides in the porch’s morbid architecture. I swallow, hearing the preacher’s voice booming from the pulpit in the back of my mind.
Condemnation. Sin.
And yet I keep coming back to the house with the six porch steps.
The rational part of my mind tells me it’s just superstition. Maybe even coincidence. Many houses probably have six of something. But it doesn’t even really matter if this porch had six steps or twelve; darkness lives in its walls.
I reach the top step, the old boards groaning under my weight as I stare at the slightly ajar front door. The hinges squeak and wail in the wind, the rust in them preventing the door from swinging open so I can take a peak inside. No matter, I’ll just cross the porch and push the door open a little—
“I thought I told you to stay away from here.”
The voice behind me startles me and I freeze in my steps. I don’t turn around to look at the owner of the voice; I know who it is. I bite my lip, eyes still fixed on the creaking door. It’s right there in front of me. A few feet away and I could have had the answers I’ve been seeking, the closure that keeps evading me.
My shoulders slump as his presence holds me back. I bow my head with an imperceptible sigh through my nose.
“I wasn’t gonna go inside.” I lie through my teeth, and the gentle scoff behind me tells me it’s obvious.
“Doesn’t matter.” I hear the tinkling of Leon’s spur as the toe of his boot comes to rest on the bottom step. “I told you not to even come near here.”
I deflate, finally turning around to look at him. The strands of hair peaking out from underneath his hat rustle in the wind as he leans with his forearm against the banister at the bottom of the stairs. The stern, serious expression he’s fixing me with makes me feel like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. My gaze flicks to the deputy sheriff’s badge scintillating on his chest. He must have just gotten off duty. For some reason that makes me feel a little extra guilty.
“Why does it even matter?” I argue. My fingers curl into fists at my sides. “He’s not here. I’m not going to touch anything.”
Leon doesn’t respond at first, simply studying me beneath furrowed brow.
“Why do you want to come back here?” He finally asks, voice even and calm. It seems a mystery to him. In all honesty it makes him nervous even though he knows that my kidnapper is rotting away in jail waiting for his day before the judge.
He takes a step forward, coming to stand on the first step.
“There’s nothing good for you here, Mir.”
My hands uncurl and I turn to look at the door again over my shoulder. How was I supposed to explain things to him if I didn’t even understand them myself? I could scream. The inner walls of my mind are full of them, the screams.
My fists turn white knuckled as I clench them again.
When I don’t answer, he hangs his head with a sigh. I can tell that I’m a puzzle to him; I have been lately. But he’s still patient as he ever was, even when he doesn’t understand.
“C’mon.” He holds a hand out towards me, an unspoken expectation for me to take it. “Let’s get you home.”
“But-“ I look back at the door once more, reluctant to obey when I feel so close to plunging the proverbial knife in and killing whatever parasite sits heavy in my chest and grips my spine day after day.
“Now, baby.” His voice turns a touch more stern. I know he’s after my best interest. I know that eight months without knowing if he’ll ever see me again took a toll on him. He’s trying to protect me. He’s worried. And I understand that.
But I still can’t help the feelings of frustration stirring in a bubbling pot inside me. Feelings that cry day and night to make some sense of the shit that happened to me in those eight months he lost me. Eight months of torture right under his nose.
I know he lays awake at night with the guilt.
And I sleep with the nightmares.
I bite down so hard on my lip I think I might burst a blood vessel. I want to be stubborn and insist for just a peek, but I know he’d just drag me out himself. With a petulant sigh I turn around and plonk back down the steps the way I came, brushing past him and his outstretched hand.
He sighs and turns to follow me.
I pull myself up onto his horse without even waiting for him. He mounts behind me, arms circling me to grab the reins he’s left looped around the saddle horn. I want to be mad, but the warmth of his chest has been my biggest comfort and it’s right up against my back.
He feels me relax, even if it’s just a smidgen. His nose and lips nuzzle my soft, loose hair and plant an affectionate kiss against it.
“You know I’m just looking out for you.”
I know it. I know he just wants me to bury it and come back to him.
But I can’t. I can’t let it go.
***
“Have you told Mira yet?”
“No. And I’m not going to. It’s better she didn’t know.”
I pause at the side door of the Sheriff’s office, cracked just enough for me to hear. I clutch the basket in my hand that I’d come to deliver for Leon’s lunch, straining to hear his voice a little better from the shadows.
“If you think that’s best.” I recognize one of the other deputies. The click of a cartridge being loaded into a shotgun makes me grip the handle of my basket a little tighter.
“She doesn’t need anything extra hanging over her. The knowledge of that bastard roaming free isn’t going to do anything for her.”
The gasp slips free of my lips before I can stop it. I clamp a hand over my mouth.
“How’d he even get out anyway?” They must not have heard me, because the other deputy continues, a chair creaking as he leans back in it.
“Don’t know. But I’m gonna find him if it’s the last thing I do.”
Hearing his footsteps trek across the floor toward me and the door I hide behind, I scurry away, heart sinking so low into my stomach that I feel sick.
***
I haven’t slept for three days. I’ve been lying about it, but I think Leon is catching on. The lines under my eyes are dark and heavy, and I’ve lost the spark I’d only just started to get back. My nightmares are three times the size they had been, and every creak and groan of our cabin is a shadow come to drag me away.
It’s driven me to insanity apparently. I know that it’s the most foolish endeavor on the planet, but it’s as if I don’t have control over my legs as the wind and rain plasters my skirt to them.
Leon’s working late. He’s been doing that a lot lately, and giving me feeble excuses for it. I don’t believe any of that bullshit about paperwork. I know why he’s out. I know he’s out looking for him. I know Leon’s bound and determined to find him before he finds me.
Again.
But what do I know, he might be halfway to Washington by now. He may not even be looking for me. Or… he’s lurking in the shadows, waiting until I’m alone and vulnerable to snag me again. I wrap my soaked shawl tighter around me, but it doesn’t do any good to chase away the chills and paranoia that are latching onto my spine.
Lightning strikes. I see the shack in the distance, across the clearing. Something screams at me to turn back and go home, that he’s waiting for me in there, and that the moment I step foot over the threshold I won’t be so lucky this time and Leon will never see me again. But I can’t ignore the draw that’s pulling me in like it’s got a grip on my hips.
He wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back to his old cabin when half the county is looking for him.
…right?
I scramble up the steps, and this time I don’t hesitate. I push the rusty hinges open with my shoulder against the paint-peeling door. Thunder makes me jump and I step across the threshold with a start.
I still, and so does time. The wind and rain fades into the background. The musty smell in this cabin is the same and I clutch at my throat as it sucks the air from my lungs. Lightning flashes, and suddenly I’m trapped in here again like a dog in a cage.
I slump agains the doorframe, gathering my bearings.
It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. I can leave anytime I want to. You’re not trapped.
Once I’ve gotten more of a hold of myself, I stand, knees shaking a little as I take the first few steps back inside. I don’t know what it is I’m looking for, but something is driving me. Something dark, something desperate. Something is screaming inside me, and I don’t know what it’s saying.
Beer bottles are broken on the floor, a window or two is shattered, and the others are boarded. Bloodstained rope still hangs on that damned hook on the wall, and I can still feel it around my wrists, around my ankles… around my throat. I raise a hand to touch it, feeling the contraction when I swallow. Things look almost identical to the day I slipped out the back window and didn’t look back. I turn to look at the chair at the other end of the table.
He was sitting right there, drunk out of his mind that night. I shudder, remembering. I almost trip over the cattle whip that lays haphazardly on the floor at the top of the stairs to the cellar.
The Cellar.
My heart stops and throbs in my throat as I stare down the dark stairwell that leads to the heavy cellar door that locks from the outside. I can hear my demons screeching and moaning from behind it, begging to be set free, but I remind myself it’s just the wind.
I hear everything. I feel everything again. Those whispers beckon me to venture down the stairs, to open that cellar door and see if I can’t find the piece of me that was stolen from me there.
I can almost hear his boots behind me, coming to shove me down the stairs for the final time—
The scream is ripped away from my lungs and silenced when hands grab me from behind. He had found me again! He had come to take me away, far away, to somewhere Leon could never find me again!
“What have I told you, huh?” I can’t even make a move to fight before I’m spun around and flinch as I wait for the strike across my face.
But it never comes. Instead, Leon’s scowling face, scored with worry penetrate me down to my soul. I’m shaking worse than the rafters against the violent storm outside. As soon as I see him the damn breaks and the tears flow as sobs hitch out of my chest.
“I told you!” He shakes me for emphasis, but I see the fear behind his stern expression. “How many times did I tell you?!”
He’s breathing heavy, and soaked to the bone. I can only imagine his anxiety when he came home and didn’t find me anywhere. It makes me feel worse for not listening to him, for being so reckless and unable to fight the pull clawing from the inside of my belly.
He sees the terror in my eyes and gentles his grip on my arms. He seems to soften a bit as his eyes rove over me, seeing that I’m not hurt. His hands are shaking, and he lifts one of them as if to touch my face, but decides against it. Instead, taking me in his arms, he lifts me to sit on the edge of the table.
I watch him attempt several times to speak before he purses his lips and closes his eyes to take a deep breath. His hand scrubs over his face.
“I’m sorry.” I say, the snivel soft and pathetic and utterly guilty.
He steps toward me, resting his hands on either side of me on the table.
“You… you don’t get it, do you?” He’s struggling with his words. Struggling not to tell me why he’s so worked up that I didn’t listen this time. But he doesn’t have to, I know why.
He finally releases a breath, his tone softening a little. “It’s not safe for you here.”
I hang my head.
I hear him sigh. He pauses to study me for a minute.
“You know it’s not that I don’t think you can’t take care of yourself. It’s not that I think you should be under constant surveillance, or locked up in the house.”
Another sigh.
“All I asked… was that you just stay away from this damn cabin!” His fists clench the edge of the chipped counter.
I stare at my dangling feet.
He sighs, pausing for a quiet moment to gather his thoughts and get his emotions under control.
“Baby…” His hands are calloused but gentle as they tilt my chin up to look at him, and he sounds almost at his wits ends for lack of understanding. “What are you looking for?”
If only I could figure that out, I would tell him in a heartbeat. I stare past him again, eyes glued on the dark mouth of the staircase down to that cellar. A lump forms in my throat.
I feel the decision settle deep in my bones, curling in my stomach and snaking up to wrap around my heart. I need to go down there. But I don’t know how to tell him that. I don’t know why it’s pulling me so strongly, why it wraps itself around my throat and won’t let me sleep at night.
He watches the way my eyes don’t focus on him, instead zoning in on a point behind him. He glances over his shoulder to see what I see.
I feel him look back at me after a moment, his shoulders slumping with a gentle sigh. I feel it coming off of him, like a warmth of gentle understanding he reluctantly resigns himself to. He’s fighting with the side of him that just wants to keep me safe, even from my own demons and memories if necessary. I know he’d fight the devil for me if the occasion called for it.
And I couldn’t love him more for it.
“You want to go down there.” It’s not quite a question, not quite a statement. I don’t look at him directly but I can see him studying my face in my peripheral.
I nod.
“Why?” He rasps, and I can hear him struggle to understand. I wish I knew. I wish I could explain myself to him. It kills me not to be able to. To have my voice silenced like my kidnapper’s gag is still in my mouth.
I don’t realize I’m touching my lips until my fingertips brush over them. They’re smooth and soft now, but all I can feel are dry, cracked skin against a scratchy rag, tears mingling with the drool that leaked out of the corners from my screams.
Leon’s hand wrapping around mine and pulling it away from my lips brings me back to him.
I finally drag my gaze back to his. I watch his Adam’s apple bob and he parts his lips to carefully weigh the word he knows I need to hear. He tugs on my hand.
“C’mon.”
He helps me down off the table and leads me by the hand. My eyes lock on the foot of the dark stairwell as he leads me toward it. My heart hammers in my chest and I swallow down the sickened curiosity that makes my nerves tremble. Even though I know exactly what’s down there, even though I could trace those shadows in my sleep, some black sickness that’s settled in the bottom of my pelvis is begging me to go back.
He pauses at the top of the stairs, turning to look at me.
“Do you want me to go first?”
My fingers tremble as his slip from mine, and I almost give into the urge to chase them down. But I don’t as I take the first step down and shake my head, answering his question without a word spoken.
He follows close behind, watching carefully as I descend the steps in slow motion. About halfway down, something in me screams to go back, and I almost listen. I pause on the step, and feel my shoulders stiffen. Until I feel a hand on the back of my neck, caressing the baby hairs on my nape beneath his thumb like a soft kiss of courage.
“We can go back.” His voice is low and rumbles like a gentler version of the storm outside. “Just say the word. I’ll take you home.”
The thunder cracks like a whip around the sky making my shoulders jump. He’s giving me an out if I need it, and it gives me the strength to take another step.
And another. And another.
Until I reach the bottom and stop before the gate of hell.
The preacher thinks that hells gates are large iron doors with fire reaching out for you through black bars of forged steel, licked with the charcoal of the eternal flames. That it’s guarded by demons with forked tongues and goat hooves. But the gate of hell is none of those things. It’s a heavy oak door, carved by the hands of a working man, engraved with the initials of a dead woman and the image of rose thorns, twisting around the frame.
My fingers shake as I reach them out to touch the rusty old latch. It won’t give when I tug on it. I retract my hand and take a step back, my shoulder bumping Leon.
I’m breathless, my fingers massaging my wrist anxiously.
“I want you to do it.” I say, quiet but he hears me. He looks at me for a moment.
“Are you sure?” He asks, and I nod.
“Mhm.”
He takes a step closer, chest brushing my back as he grasps the latch. It clatters as he slides it open and my heart races so fast I think it’ll break my rib cage. I feel his other hand slide over my waist as he pushes on the door to get it to crack open.
I move forward.
Hand on the door, he helps me work it open as I put my shoulder to the wood. The old hinges creak, echoing a sound that sends a heavy feeling of dread drop my stomach straight down to my ankles. The smell hits me the moment I cross the threshold, along with a million memories that I try to tell myself I’ve buried, but that come haunt me in my dreams at night. My knees feel weak but I step into the room.
Chains. There are too many chains everywhere. A couple over-cured pig corpses hang along the wall, and I remember them as if they were yesterday. I remember staring at them, feeling like one of them as the shackle around my ankle kept me tethered to the wall, and the bitter cloth in my mouth kept me as silent as a grave I was sure was being dug beneath my feet. I almost trip over the heavy iron chain sprawled across the floor. Leon grabs my elbow.
I can hear him control his breathing behind me. I feel guilty for bringing him with me, but at the same time I’m glad he’s here. As much as I arrived here with every intention to, I’m not sure I could have done this alone.
I reach the center of the room, where the bloody butcher table stands in all its shuddering memories and nightmarish stained boards. Most of it is animal blood, but a few spots I can pick out, blotched into my memory as my own dried evidence of torment. I reach out and touch one of them.
Leon’s hands slide up to my shoulders, digging into them and massaging my tense muscles. I grip the edge of the table, splinters digging under my skin, but I don’t even feel them.
I want to cry but I can’t. My tears are stopped like a broken spring. And all that it’s doing is making all the slime, and the dirt and grime build up until it chokes out every moment of peace. And there’s no happiness bubbling up from my heart anymore.
I swallow. It’s so unfair. Leon will never get back the girl he lost.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper, so weak and quiet I’m afraid he doesn’t hear.
But he hears. He takes me by the arms and turns me around to face him.
“What for?” He rumbles, brushing damp flyaways back off my face. What could I possibly have to be sorry for when nothing about the past eight months is my fault? I know that’s what he’s thinking, and even if he’s right, I still can’t help but feel like I have to apologize.
“For not coming back to you.”
There’s a silence, brooked only by the whistle of the wind through the cracks between the wall boards. He takes my chin in his fingers, lifting it up to make sure I’m looking at him when he opens his mouth to respond.
“You have come back to me.” His thumb brushes back and forth over my chin, gently. His voice is so low and gentle. “It may just take you a little bit longer to find all the pieces.”
What do I even say to that? I—
I swallow, and it hurts so damn much I think my heart might strain a muscle.
“Look at me.” He nudges your chin again. “I’ll help you. I’ll help you find them. It’s no big deal.”
A loud crack of thunder drives me into his arms. They envelope me against his chest and tuck mine close to my body. He rests his face against my hair. I stare at the table beside me, stained with the drops of innocence I shed without volition. I feel that ache coil low in my belly again. It’s angry, it’s sad, it’s so terribly confused.
“You’re still my baby.” His gentle words make me close my eyes.
My trembling is too much for him, and he gets me out of the basement. Once the door is closed and the demons are locked away once more, I thought I’d feel better. But I don’t.
He sets me on the dining table again once we get back up to the ground floor of the one-room cabin. He pulls away to grab me a sip of water, but I don’t care about that. I grab his shirt, fingers latching onto it like a leech on a dog.
“Mira…” His reprimand is so gentle when he turns back to me, it’s almost not a reprimand at all. I wrap my arms around his neck and thread my fingers in his hair. He rests his forehead against mine. His hands settle on the table’s surface on either side of my hips once again, bracketing me in. Lips brush the button of my nose.
“What is it, baby?” He knows I need something, his keen senses trying to determine what. “You need me to take you home? I can take you home.”
I shake my head. If he takes me home, it will all be meaningless. I’m not done here, yet, but I’m still searching for the missing piece.
“Can you kiss me?” My eyes flutter between the two of his. His gaze mirrors my own, like he’s searching deep in my eyes for a source of my oddly timed request.
“I can kiss you…” I can feel him so close to tacking a ‘why’ at the end of that sentence, but he decides against it and leans in instead.
His lips brush the tenderest kiss against my nose.
My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt at the back of his neck. I grit my teeth, frustration and dissatisfaction swirling in my stomach like a not quite boiling pot.
“Not there.” I keep my voice quiet.
He studies me, his clear blue eyes tracing the delicate curves of my face, each line creased with something he wish he could understand better. He knows what I want, but he doesn’t just go for it.
The one time I wish he would.
His rough thumb brushes over the softness of my cheek.
“Tell me where, baby.”
I swallow the tension in my throat.
“My lips.”
He studies them for a moment, eyes tracing over the softness before his thumb follows. Then his lips, soft and slack and only very gently prodding my top lip open to slot between.
It does something to me. It’s so gentle and tender, yet it tastes just like him and the way his strong hands feel around my back when he holds me. It nudges that beast in my belly, the one that’s demanding and violent and has been clawing at my insides since that man forced him there. The beast that destroyed my once bubbling spring.
Leon could go harder, suck my lips in more securely and fist his hand in my hair. But he doesn’t. He releases my lips and pulls back just far enough to look at me.
My eyebrows twitch, and I want to whine at him for giving me nothing when the beast is demanding so much more. I’d been trying to suppress him, starve him into submission, but somehow he’s only gotten bigger and angrier. My hips squirm a little on the table. But all he does is look at me.
“Leon—“
“Talk to me.”
“I can’t.” The gag is still in my mouth, choking down all the calls for help that I need to cry. My nails drag over the back of his shirt, bunching it in my palm. Why won’t he just take it? He used to before. He used to throw me on the bed, and tear my nightgown open and kiss me until I was sore.
I feel a thin sheen of moisture paint my waterline. More is growing on my skin under my damp clothes. I bite my lip, just staring at him, trying to figure out what he’s expecting me to do. His palm soothes over the side of my hair above my ear.
“It doesn’t have to make sense. Just tell me what your body is telling you.”
A spark of hope ignites in my chest, and my gaze bounces between his eyes. He understands there’s something there, something I need to get out. Something I need to act on rather than repress. But it’s so wrong right…? Would I be called a Mary Magdalene and spit upon on the church steps if they knew? Why do I want to dig at my old wounds? Confusion mingles with the need for catharsis, and my stomach coils in anticipating knots as heart hammers out of my chest.
“K-kiss me.”
“Where?”
“Here.” I drag my finger down my neck to where the red marks of teeth that didn’t belong to Leon are still fading. His hand braces the back of my neck, curving it gently so I’ll tilt my head back for him. His lips brush the spot so gently, but I can feel it throb like the day it was given to me. I wince. His thumb soothes over it.
“And… here.” My fingers brush over the shell of my ear where threatening words of manipulation and humiliation that were not Leon’s were whispered.
Leon lets his lips trace the contours of it. A small kiss is left on the edge before the gentlest words are whispered into it, creating a ripple of shivering goosebumps down my spine.
“I love you.” It's not something he says often. The sentiment he's better at showing than telling. But they seem to come off his lips so effortlessly when I need it. His hand smoothes up and down my waist. One of my hands slips down around to touch his chest. A steady, reassuring heartbeat hums under my fingers.
Something cinches in my own chest and I grab his shirt harder. How could his gentle, adoring words for me not change? How could they only have gotten gentler, more affectionate when I can’t even meet my own eyes in the mirror?
“Shhhh,” He soothes into my ear, his warm breath calming over the cold shell. My hand shakes as it finds his and drags it down my body.
His palm smoothes over my bodice, rounding my hip, to rest on my thigh. He watches my face as my eyes remain downcast, like he’s reading me. Like he’s understanding more than I give him credit for. His eyes are slow as they trail down, skimming over my body as they go, to watch as I slide his hand under my skirt.
He smoothes over my thigh, fingers wrapping around the side of it to grip and caress the soft, squishy flesh with his thumb. The monster in my belly stirs like mad, and my expression pinches. He looks up as my chin tilts back a little, and feels the way my thighs shift to press together.
“That bad?” He whispers. And even though he sounds gentle, I’m waiting for the reprimand. The bellow like the one from the pulpit on burning in your sin and unholy thoughts. For the disapproval of my twisted, depraved, confusing desire.
I nod. And the reprimand doesn’t come.
Instead his thumb is gently against my chin, turning it down to get me to open my eyes and look at him.
And all I see is patience.
“It won’t leave me.” The words exhale from my lungs like a confession long overdue. My voice shakes. His brows pinch together in sympathy.
“I know baby.”
He knows?
“It’s awful. I want things—“
“I know.”
“—things I shouldn’t want.”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
“Because…” I don’t even want to say the words. They feel even worse on the tip of my tongue than they do sitting in that dusty corner of my mind. The dirty, dark corner I wish he could help me with but I can’t even stand the thought of him seeing it. His thumb gently brushes over my bottom lip, downward.
“Some itches don’t go away unless you scratch them.”
I’m quiet. The storm gets louder. Thunder crashing and clouds pouring out a chaotic compulsion of feelings I can’t begin to control or dissect. Leon’s hand cradles my jaw in its palm, the tenderness bitter-sweetly mixing with the stench of tortured memory.
My throat hurts when it contracts to speak. “It’s not an itch.” I swallow again, searching his eyes for something, anything to help me make sense of things.
“It’s a rash.”
The corner of his lips lift just enough as he smoothes my hair over my ear. It slides around to brace my back, and the other joins it. Hands startle and grab his shirt as he begins to lower me back to lie on the table.
“I have something for that too.” His lips brush over my skin, reassuringly touching my cheek, my temple. The beast in my belly begins to claw and gnash at its cage. I twitch on the wooden surface, uncertainty clouding my judgement.
“Shhh. You trust me.” He whispers, keeping his nose against my temple as his hand slides down my skirt.
I do trust him. I clench, a pang of arousal severely twists my gut again as he slides my skirt up my legs, letting the fabric bunch on the curve of his fingers. The shame and guilt should be making me feel bad, but somehow they’re only awakening that beast more. His body remains over me, sheltering me from the cold, blocking out the storm that’s thundering in my ears.
I wrap my hands around his shoulders, and hold on.
“Talk to me.”
There’s that gag again, pulling further in against my mouth and wrapping itself around my throat. I shut my eyes, hoping it will go away. My nails dig into his shoulders through his shirt when it doesn’t. I feel paralyzed.
My flailing fingers catch the bandana around his neck. Ideas and desires bubble up inside of me, but they all feel *so wrong*. I shouldn’t want them. Not after what I’ve been through. But they’re all I think about. All I can think about is pleasure, twisted pleasure, and him giving it to me.
Leon.
Not that motherfucking monster.
And it’s my pleasure. Mine. Not someone else’s that’s tearing into my body for a drop of their own satisfaction. No, me. I get to feel good. I get to pitch and convulse and cry as loud as the storm above me in the arms of the man who ripped apart heaven and hell to find me.
My fingers feel numb as they unknot the corners of the bandana. It loosens, sliding off his neck into my fingers. I touch the body warmed fabric, and he watches the movement as I stroke over the worn pattern. It’s such a soothing shade of blue. I turn it over and run my finger over the name I stitched with my own fingers.
His name.
“Leon-“
“I’ve got you.”
He doesn’t even question me. He gently pries the bandana from my fingers and gathers my wrists in a hand. I bite my lip to curb a sound of satisfaction as he cinches it around my wrists, the pressure rippling through my body like a huge sigh of relief. He lays my hands on the table above my head.
“Tell me ‘yes’, Mira.” His hands are on my waist.
“Yes.” My voice loses itself to the storm, and takes me with it.
He kisses me. It’s not rough, and it’s not gentle. It’s consuming. It’s alive with tension that’s stretching like a rubber band. His hands move down again, pulling up my skirt all the way until it pools around my hips. My abdomen clenches and twitches as he spreads my legs with his hands, like my body is trying not to remember the fear.
“Shhh.” His lips break apart from mine the second he feels me tense. “Relax those hips.” His hand smoothes down the dip of my thigh socket. “It feels good,” he reminds me as his fingers hook my panties and pull them down.
I jump as the monster inside me lurches so hard he makes the cage tilt. My wrists snap against the bandana, and I want to grab him, but there’s a satisfaction in not being able to. My chest heaves, the rough boards of the crude table digging into my shoulder blades.
“Leon!”
“Right here, sweetheart.” His voice is so even and deep, and I can feel the vibration of it deep in his chest, like he understands that I don’t want him to go far. To stay close. To not stand up and let me feel the cold barreling in through the cracks in the window boards.
I couldn’t stand the cold. I couldn’t stand not feeling his heart beat against mine and the warmth of his breath on my lips.
“Ngh!” I squeak, tensing. His thumb brushes down the length of my slit from the top of the nub. It barely dips into me to feel the slick glide of lubrication he always checks for, just to be sure. He watches my face as my eyes remain tight shut, taking in the curves and lines of all the emotions twisting my expression.
Every bone in my body tenses as he eases two fingers inside. My mouth drops open, the beast inside me going feral as it crashes against the sides of its cage and screams into the howl of the wind. I try not to writhe, but it’s hard to stay still when my walls are fluttering so uncontrollably. He shushes me gently as they sink to the knuckle.
They move, feeling around inside of me as if familiarizing themselves with the silky crevices again. As if touching to make sure I’m not hurt. As if kissing each inch with a gentleness it almost feels like it had forgotten.
And then they withdraw, leaving me feeling empty. My eyes flutter open and I stare at the ceiling above me as lightning lights it up for the briefest of seconds. His lips against my cheek bring me back to him, and I hear the sound of a belt and zipper being undone.
“Leon-“
“Mhm. I’m right here.”
His hands are propping my legs open more and suddenly I feel his hips against mine, the brush of cotton against my naked pelvis. And then something hard and fleshy circles my rim.
I gasp and jerk. His hand settles on my abdomen, pushing down gently as he works himself inside.
“Shhh, don’t clench. Let me in.” He coaxes gently. “You’ll hurt yourself if you fight it.”
I shudder on the hard table, struggling to not go back to the place I ran from. I confuse myself. How can i want it so badly and be scared of it all at the same time? But all I can see are the ceiling rafters, and I can hear his heavy boots on the floor coming for me.
“Leon-“
I see him snarling over me, working off his belt with shaky, uncoordinated hands. Hands too eager to indulge to be steady. Too happy to cause pain, to take take take.
Leon sheathes the whole way in a final stroke, and my whole body has a response.
“Leon!”
The response to my cry of panic is reflexive; arms slide under my back and gather me close. A patient hand guides my tied wrists to loop around his neck, locking himself together with me to feel everything that I’m feeling.
“Easy, sunshine. It’s me.”
My hand fists in his hair, the other the back of his shirt. My mouth hangs open, every panting breath not feeling like enough air as I search his face for an anchor. I find one in his eyes. He doesn’t flinch, except for the purse of his lips and the twitch of his brows when I squeeze erratically around him. His thumb lays itself over my cheek.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs in a rough voice. It’s so sexy and so comforting at the same time, the monster in my gut rolls. I bite my lip against the whimper that hitches in my chest.
The dip between his thumb and index braces the back of my neck as he brings my forehead against his. I close my eyes.
“Feel good?” He’s panting shallowly, and one of my wrists jerks against the bandana, forgetting it’s restrained to the other. I arch my chest against his instead, wanting to feel the way it lifts up and down against mine. It’s a stretch and I relax after a few seconds.
“Mhm.” I nod on a release of breath.
A hand smoothes over my hair.
“You wanna stop?”
I shake my head. There’s a silence for a moment, a few tender beats where he just holds me and allows me to have this.
“I’m gonna move a little, okay?”
I nod again, and his hips begin a very gentle, lulling, rocking motion. So different from the violence my body remembers. I bury my face in his neck, catharsis gradually bleeding through each corner of my body like an April shower cleansing the earth. I squeeze around him, my body remembering every ridge of what he feels like.
And debris begins to crumble away from my broken spring.
Maybe if I focus on it hard enough I’ll forget what violence felt like. I squeeze around him again, intentionally. My hands tighten their grip on his hair and his shirt. His gentle hushes flow directly into my ear.
“Shh…” More caresses carved into my hair. “Do what you gotta do.”
My chest squeezes, wringing the moisture out of my eyes. I gasp and wheeze as every demon trapped on the inside of my chest is finally exorcised through my lungs. The tremors start in my muscles as the intensity wracks through me— months of torture and guilt and horror shuddering out of my body.
I cry his name into his shoulder, and he just holds me tighter, whispering into my ear and talking me through the process. The monster inside of me crashes around against the walls of my pelvis, screeching to be released.
In one big, unexpected heave, he breaks free, and I scream and sob against Leon’s shoulder as his arms tighten around me. My wrists writhe against their ties, rubbing my skin raw and biting into my circulation. The beast tears down walls, ripping me open as waves upon waves of sparks rain down on me. I grip Leon so hard I feel his breath hitch and his body tense, but he doesn’t relent. He doesn’t let go.
And then it all goes quiet. So terribly quiet, I wonder whether I’m still here. I slump back, the only thing holding me up are my wrists tied around Leon’s neck. His hand grabs my arm as he pulls me back supportively with a hand on my back. His thumb traces over my cheeks which have gone suddenly pale.
“You okay?” He only speaks after I’ve had a few moments to gather myself again. Not enough time to become completely coherent, but I have a feeling that won’t be for another few days anyway. My brain is so rarely peaceful and quiet, and I want to stay here for as long as I can. A broken sob leaves me when I feel Leon move me.
“No-“ I hear myself sob as he gently pulls out, and she sounds so far away. Like she doesn’t even belong to me. A piece of me still feels missing, but at least the beast in my belly is quiet for the time being.
“Hey, I’m not going anywhere.” He brings me back down to earth as he gently lays me down on the table again and frees my wrists to clean my legs with the bandana. Reverent hands replace my clothing, and in a blur of movement and time, I lose my sense of surroundings for a moment.
I still feel small, and a little lost, and I don’t think I’m done having nightmares. But I’m not alone anymore. The magnetic drag to this place has released its grip on me, and I don’t have to punish myself anymore.
He gathers me up in his arms like I’m breakable and delicate. I cling to him. The strength in his arms doesn’t even flinch as his heavy boots cross the scuffed floor for the last time; as he steps over the threshold and carries me down those rickety steps. Out into the field where the rain has slowed to a gentle shower.
I inhale a sudden, deep breath of fresh, earthy air.
Because I’m never coming back here again. I got what I needed. I closed that door that had been gaping behind me for so long. There’s no need to open it again. And even though I’m probably far from being out of the woods yet, at least I know what’s here. And I know I don’t have to keep coming back.
My head lays against his shoulder, the rain cooling the frenzied fever in my body to a cool and quiet flush in my cheeks. His lips find my temple, resting against my damp hair.
“I love you.” He whispers again as he carries me toward his horse waiting patiently by a tree that’s beginning to bud.
And a little trickle begins to flow from my broken spring.
Tags: slight body gore, typical of zombie/horror action nothing too bad
Part I and Part II here
A/N: I did end up to just using my name because ofc I’m self inserting duh why not instead of Y/N because it’s easier. I’m still not adding physical descriptions (aside from the fact that fmc is afab) so that you can replace my name with yours in your head to your heart’s content if you so desire, because I still want it to be x reader. But if you hate the use of Y/N (i get itttt) you also don’t have to deal with that lol. Anyhoooo, if you guys have any ideas for an official name for this series let me know I love ideas. Mkay, let me know how I did I love hearing from you alll bai ☺️
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The smell hits me– worse even, than in the hospital– as soon as I step foot on the street. Warmer air reeks of decaying flesh, and the adrenaline is running out. The world spins and my stomach lurches as reality sets in. Arm over my stomach, I heave over the side-walk.
I feel a hand on my back.
“Easy.”
I wipe my mouth, stepping away from him skittishly, eyes peering up cautiously from behind my arm.
Leon, was it? Is that what he said his name was? His arm pauses midair, half reaching out toward me. He doesn’t attempt to breach the gap, understanding of my need for space. But he does look at me with concern, an unexpectedly soft look from someone so…
I glance over him, noting the intimidating muscles and the way he carries himself like he knows what he’s doing. Like he’s almost… indifferent to the shitshow. Like he’s fucking built for it. There’s a lot of words I could use to describe him actually. He looks weathered, but not in an old way. In a ‘he’s been around this block before’ way, oddly. There’s a dullness to his eyes, like he’s tired for more than just a good night’s sleep. But yet there’s still a kindness behind them. Empathy. That makes me feel a whole slew of mixed emotions I can’t unpack and I take an extra step back.
“Can we get out of here already?” Gus huffs, catching up to us. That’s what Leon told me his name was anyway. He’s got a grizzly old beard and a stupid logging hat on his head. He’s also a little burly and intimidating, but he respects my space the same way Leon does.
Odd.
A hot breeze flutters by, reminding me that I’m equipped with not much more than a thin hospital gown. I suddenly feel very bare in the presence of two strange men. I tug the paper-thin fabric around me, as if I could make it fit better.
“What do you want from me?” I hate how my voice shakes and I can’t even try to appear intimidating as my eyes fall to my feet.
Gus looks a little flustered after the two exchange a glance, but Leon doesn’t look any further than my face. “Probably find you some clothes for starters.”
He starts walking before anyone can respond.
“C’mon.” He taps my elbow as he passes me, nudging me along as Gus follows behind.
My mind whirs. I don’t know where we’re going, or what’s going to happen to me. I don’t even know what’s going on, or why there are humanoid monsters everywhere. I can only hope that these two strangers aren’t after something more. And even though I tell myself if they’d wanted to hurt me they probably would have done it already, I still feel uneasy.
As I’m trailing down the street, overthinking, Leon suddenly stops on the sidewalk in front of a big, picture-window mall. It looks like it had been a nice building at one time, but a lot of the windows are shattered, and the inside is trashed. Leon turns to his companion, readying his shotgun under his arm.
“Ready?”
Gus sighs, looking like he’s tired of this shit already.
Me too, buddy.
“Yeah. T’ hell with it.”
Leon shoulders open the broken door, and we step inside.
There’s broken glass everywhere. I pause, standing up on my tiptoes, and looking for a path through that won’t cut up my feet. There is none.
Dammit.
An outstretched hand appears in my field of vision, palm up.
“Here.”
I look up at Leon, his features pulled into that serious look he seems to have more often than not. I hesitate, leaning away from him.
“I’ve got you.” He makes a motion toward me with his chin, prompting me to trust him. I glance at the scintillating shards on the floor, the edges waiting to dig into my soft soles if I dare walk over them myself.
I don’t really have much of a choice.
His hand is warm when I take it. He takes a step closer to me, levying his weight to pick me up easily. I feel my heart bob with the buoyancy of uncertainty as my feet are lifted off the ground.
This is the second time he’s done that. First was when he lifted me onto the windowsill in the hospital. I swear my heart dipped down into the bottom of my heels. He doesn’t really look at me as he bounces me once, making sure he’s got a secure grip under my knees and against my back. My arms wrap around his neck by force of circumstance, and I grip the back of his shirt.
He’s… really warm actually. Just like his hand. Are human beings typically this warm…? His soles crunch against the glass, and time seems to move in slow motion for a second as he carries me up the long silent escalator. Saying I can’t remember the last time I was held is a little redundant, but seriously, is it supposed to feel this nice?
My feet are set on the ground long before I’m ready, and I reluctantly let go of him. I side-eye him as he steps past me. I still don’t trust him but… I can’t lie and say that it wasn't really sort of nice for someone to be kind to me for no reason. There’s some glass here and there from a few shattered store windows, but not as much as at the entrance. I can make my way through to the clothing store Leon starts towards.
It’s not hard to get inside with all the windows and glass doors busted wide open. I’m tossed some clothes, and I find myself a fitting room to change. My mind whirs and gets nowhere at all like a truck stuck in the mud, as I pull the soft cotton t-shirt over my head. I blow away a strand of fly away hair that falls over my face, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror.
…Who am I?
I find pause, watching the reflection of my body turning towards its own reflection. The surreality of it haunts me, making me feel like I’m watching someone else in slow motion. That I’m looking at a stranger, and all she does is stare back at me with a hollow, haunted look. There’s a gaping cavern in her soul, and I can’t see farther than the hellish black mouth of it.
She could use some mascara.
I turn away, dressing quickly so I don’t have to feel her haunted eyes watching me for another minute. I bustle out of the dressing room, swooping up a bag I left outside with a few things in it.
Leon said to pack light.
I wander through the isles of the quiet store. It feels odd. I remember being in a store once. The memory is foggy, but I remember the hum of the lights and the air conditioners. The occasional crackle of the intercom and the radio. People talking here and there.
Now it’s as silent as a graveyard. Because I guess that’s what it’s become.
The whole world has become a graveyard.
I pause in front of a shelf, the flash of a familiar tube in a familiar color catches my eye. Turning toward it, I reach for the mascara in cheery lavender packaging, turning it over in my hand. I squint at it, the hand feel and the shade all seem so stupidly familiar. But it’s so vague I can’t even tell if I’m feeling right, or if everything has become a deja vu moment.
I know he said just the essentials, but what if I just…
“There you are.”
I nearly jump out of my skin when Leon spawns out of the blue behind me, his deep voice catching me off guard. I shove the mascara back on the shelf as though I’ve been caught elbows deep in a bushel of forbidden fruit. It clatters against the others, making a mess of the display, but I turn my back.
He’s a man, he’s not gonna think mascara is essential. And frankly, it’s probably stupid to grab anything trivial at this point anyway. Some stupid paint for my eyelashes is hardly considered essential.
Right? …right.
Just please don’t scold me.
“You ready?” If he noticed me checking out the makeup, he doesn’t show it.
“Yeah… just… need a toothbrush.”
He nods behind him towards an aisle about three down.
“Over there.”
“Thanks.” I brush past him awkwardly. Damn me, I don’t know what to do with myself. Why am I acting like a three hour old giraffe who doesn’t know how to use her legs yet?
I’m alive, that’s all the matters. But I’m beginning to question whether that’s a positive or a huge pain in the ass.
I stuff a toothbrush into my bag. My mind hasn’t stopped racing since my feet touched the second story floor of the mall. It was… oddly quiet when Leon was carrying me though. I pause, mind drifting back to how warm he felt. The way his bicep flexed against my back. Just how strong is he? How do you think he got all that muscle in the first place…?
That’s a question. Maybe he’s ex-military? He sure doesn’t seem surprised by literally anything we’ve come across so far. He’s got to have some experience with some fucked up stuff, otherwise he’d be as disturbed as I feel.
Not that he isn’t disturbed. He shakes his head from time to time, like everything is so predictable, but it still unsettles him deep down. It makes me so goddamn curious what he’s seen.
I nearly shed my skin a second time when I almost smack into him as I round the corner out of the aisle. Speak of the devil.
Damn nerves. I press my hand over my racing heart as the three of us come together again, Gus right behind Leon.
“Gus found this map.” Leon holds out a dog-eared piece of paper, folded a million ways to Sunday creating crease lines over the dirt smudged surface. It’s been marked up, scribbles and circled locations in red marker are sprinkled across it.
I adjust my bag strap.
“What is it?”
“Looks like it’s showin’ some safe houses or survivor camps that have clustered about the countryside,” Gus responds in that twangy accent of his.
Leon’s finger taps a circle on the map.
“This is the closest one. If we hurry, we can make it in maybe two days.”
Two days? That means spending at least one night out there with those… those things. I shudder at the thought. Leon folds up the map.
“Let’s get goin’. See if we can’t find us another ride.” He pockets the map, catching his rifle midair as he flips it out from under his arm. “Probably better to not hang around here.”
I feel small as I trail him out of the mall. I stare at the rifle in his hand. It looks used, but it’s a sleek, dangerous looking beauty. He holds it like he knows how to handle it too. Like it’s an old friend, like his grip in the trigger is familiar and habitual. I bet it could blow someone’s head off, and I’m sure I’ll get the chance to witness that first hand. Not a thrilling thought, but it’s more comforting than the thought of feeling completely defenseless.
Like how I felt in the hospital. How I felt when I woke up and the world was dark, and its dead were after me.
How I still feel despite the sight of a high-powered, flesh-ripping weapon a foot away from me.
I wonder if that feeling will ever go away. Is it any minute now? Because I’m waiting. I’m waiting to feel even a spark of courage in the face of hell and a blank memory. We reach the bottom of the escalator, and I still haven’t found it.
I don’t find it when we make it into the parking garage across the street either.
It feels dark and cold in here. No flickering of white garage lights makes it extra foreboding, and I hug the strap of my bag as we shuffle forward, looking for anything that could be a promising ticket out of here. Leon finds a Jeep with the door hanging ajar. It starts when he turns the key abandoned on the floor in the front seat, and I think we all breathe a collective sigh of relief.
I begin to climb into the backseat, tossing my bag in ahead of me. The echoes of the groans and hungry growls of the infected are starting to multiply and get closer, and we don’t waste time.
I glance over my shoulder before hopping in, one foot on the running board. Ugly, rotting faces catch what little light there is, glowing eyes reflecting in the darkness as their mindless hands reach out in front of them for a mouthful of fresh meat. I swear my heart stops for a second, beating hard and sickening against my rib cage. Their noises fill my ears, sounding so inhuman and guttural, saliva spitting out of their blue lips. I feel the stench of their rotting bodies twist around some part of my soul and yank the noose tight.
And one of them is right in my face.
My scream echoes off the walls of the garage, loud in my ears and bouncing off the walls back at me like it did in the hospital. A boot connects with the rotting chest, making it cave in a little bit as the monster stumbles back. Red soaks the front of blue plaid as wet, inhuman gurgles of pain rasp in its throat.
I didn’t know they could bleed.
That baby under Leon’s arm does indeed blow heads off. That isn’t going to be haunting my nightmares for a while. I feel his hands on my waist from behind, boosting me into the backseat.
“Go!” My door slams behind me, and he jumps behind the wheel.
“Hang on!” He slams the Jeep into reverse and peels out of the garage, leaving Gus and I to brace against the inertia. The infected head straight for the car, but Leon just floors it, spraying their guts on the windshield and wiping it off with the wiper fluid.
I shut my eyes to block out the sight and the nausea.
If I squeeze them tight enough and sing a little song they might go away. I think about being in a field of flowers. Flowers… how do I know what they look like? I don’t know, I remember seeing them once. Was it in a book? I can’t tell now. But I can almost smell them if I concentrate hard enough.
The squealing of tires and the swiveling of the car around a bend pitches me off my balance, and I grab a headrest. It all feels like a blur before we’re on the highway, dodging around abandoned cars and a few wandering dead. I watch it all whiz by like a dream.
Gradually, the tension eases from the atmosphere, and I hear Gus release a breath. I slump back into the seats.
“Everyone okay?” Leon sounds a little hoarse as he glances between Gus and me to make sure everyone got out okay.
The further the city fades over the horizon behind us, the smaller I feel. I feel everything and nothing all at the same time. I’m not technically, physically alone, but I still feel alone. Lost without a memory in a world that’s going to hell.
“You okay?” I hear Leon’s voice again, I look up to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. I realize he’s talking to me, and I sit up a little bit.
“Yeah. Thanks for… back there.”
“Just making sure you’re okay.” He brushes it off and turns back to the road, and the car falls into silence again.
It’s not really a tense silence, but a tired one. Everyone lost to their own thoughts and their own way of processing.
I think I doze, the sweet embrace of unconsciousness tugging on the edges of my sanity.
Have this tiny little blurb because the bigger projects I’m working on are taking me a minute 🙃😇
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“Leon!”
Your fingers stretch out up above your head, so tantalizingly close to the prize sized blackberries growing just out of your reach. Biggest you’ve ever seen, they taste like sugar exploding in your mouth. And the higher up, the bigger they are.
Your problem? Leon calls it being vertically challenged, but you say you’re just pocket-sized. He laughs and ruffles your hair or pokes your forehead. It’s not your fault that you’ve got short arms and shorter legs. You remind him that that’s why you have him.
He smiles lazily as he gets up from where he was lounging in the shade on the picnic blanket. The breeze ruffles the white cotton of the short-sleeved, button-up he’s wearing, tugging at the edge of the unbuttoned top buttons. He looks good in light colors, you don’t know why he doesn’t wear them more often.
He saunters over to you, not in any sort of rush for a change. He takes any slow moments that he can get, especially if they’re with you. His hand slides around your waist as he reaches you, thumb absently caressing the bare skin where your shirt doesn’t reach your skirt. The floral fabric tickles around your bare ankles, a picture so pretty it could be a dream, Leon thinks.
He reaches above you, gently thumbing some berries off the bush into his hand. You watch, smiling, as he lowers them down to spill into your cupped palm, reaching for the biggest one almost immediately.
You don’t lift it to your lips like he was expecting. Instead, you touch it to his own with that pretty smile of yours.
“Here.”
He opens his lips, accepting the offering; eyes never leave you as he slowly chews it down.
“Good?” You ask, eagerly searching for a reaction.
“Mhm.” He nods, swallowing down the last bit of pulp. His hand smoothes over the top of your head. “Very sweet. Just like you.”
He kisses your hair, and you giggle at the predictability. You pop a berry into your own mouth, and savory the juicy flavor as it spreads over your tongue. Leon dips his head for a kiss.
“That one was sweet too.”
You giggle again. “But not as much as me?”
“Nah.” His lips curve up at the corners just slightly as he thumbs some blackberry juice off your chin. “Never quite that much.”
You're cooking dinner and he wanders into the kitchen to get something out of the cupboard above you. A hand settles nonchalantly on your waist as he leans over you a little bit to reach the higher shelf. He smells like sandalwood soap and a scent that's uniquely him, and he's warm. A kiss on your hair before he pulls away is the toll he pays without a thought or hesitation.
You're both lounging on the couch on a day off. You're reading a book and he's tackling some stupid paperwork. Your foot is on his lap, and he massages it methodically, eyes and focus directed at his computer screen.
You're in the bathroom, sat on the counter as he shaves, with a toothbrush in your mouth. You're talking his ear off even with a mouthful of toothpaste. The corner of his mouth twitches from time to time when it hits him how cute your rambling is, and how much he enjoys it. He's an active listener, and likes the hear about the dumb drama at school or work.
You're out with him running errands. He pushes the cart for you, leaning on it and watching you as you try and decide between strawberry shampoo and vanilla coconut.
Eating a meal with him that you cooked together. Or watching him try something new you made for him. Grinning from ear to ear when he says he likes it, and watching him smile softly at your enthusiasm as he thumbs some imaginary sauce off your chin.
Coming into the living room to see him passed out on the couch after recently coming home from a mission. Tiptoeing quietly across the floor, and trying not to wake him as you curl in beside him. He's such a light sleeper, it's a failure of course. But his arms fold up around you to trap you against his chest as it inhales deeply.
"Hi sleepyhead." You have to run your fingers over the lines under his eyes.
"Hey yourself." His fingers rake some hair out of your face as he adjusts his chin to look down at you. "You come to cuddle with me?"
"Mhm. Always."
Always knowing he's there, just within reach somewhere in the house in case you need him. Or wanna come crawl into his lap and annoy him while he does something important. The feeling of having him close, even if he's in the other room and you can't see him.
I actually need to coexist with him so bad, it's not funny anymore. 😩
i hope that you know i live for your leon kennedy drabbles
Aww thank you ml!! 😭💛 You have no idea what that means to me 🙏🥹 If you want to see something specific please don't hesitate to send me requests I love them! I'll do my best to fulfill them.
And I hope that all you guys know that I love hearing from you. It gives me motivation knowing that people are loving and resounding with my writing. I love the feedback and interacting with all of you! So please don't be shy ☺️
Thinking about Leon answering a phone call from you.
“Hey.” His slightly rough, low voice rumbles on the other end of the line like a comforting timbre you can’t reach. When there’s no reply from you, his voice comes back, quizzical.
“Baby?”
Then he hears the sob.
There’s shifting, movement from his end. “Hey, hey… what’s wrong?”
“I-I’m really upset right now and I can’t calm down.” Your nails dig into your palms as you clench and release your fingers in vain. You rarely get upset enough to get so out of control and start hyperventilating, but here you are— needing him when he’s not close.
“Okay. Hey, it’s okay.” His voice comes through so calm and even, it eases the vice-grip of frustration on your heart just a little. “Take a deep breath. Inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 4, release for 4. You know the drill.”
Taking a deep breath feels like a flood of helium into your brain. You shut your eyes.
“I’m genuinely so upset, baby.”
“I know, sweetheart.” His response doesn’t change in tone, doesn’t lose patience. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“That’s okay, too. Another deep breath for me, k?”
You nod even though he can’t see you. Your chest feels like air being let out of a tire. Gradually, even though there’s still a dull ache, you begin to calm.
“Better?”
“Yeah, don’t leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
If you could only have him within reach you’d never let go of him again. Calm returning, exhaustion settles in. Your nose crinkles up and you fight the urge to start crying again.
“I just wanna go home.”
“I know you do. But you gotta be a big girl and make it through today. Can you do that?”
“Yeah. But I don’t want to.”
You can hear him smiling, and it’s soft and affectionate. “You’ll be alright. It’ll be over soon and we can order in whatever you want and watch a movie tonight. How’s that sound?”
Sounds worth getting through the rest of your shitty day if you’re honest.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” His voice softens. You can tell he’s preparing to let you go and you’re not ready. “It’s only a few hours and I’m a phone call away.”
You want to beg him to please don’t go, but you’re already putting on your brave girl face. “Okay,” you repeat. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I love you more.” You can practically feel his lips brush your forehead through the phone.
And even though it sucked just as much, you suddenly felt like you could hang on for a couple hours.
Thinking about re4r!leon coming back from a mission, roughed up and exhausted. You walk in on him after he’s just taken his first shower in weeks. He didn’t mean for you to see of course; but it was hard to miss with his back to the door you came in through and nothing but a towel around his waist. It was inevitable but he still inwardly cringed when he saw your face, staring at his back.
It looked awful. A whole rainbow of blues and blacks and yellows. He sees your hand freeze on the knob and your eyes go a little bit wide, and you know he’s cursing himself out for not locking that damn door. His hands, flushed from the shower and trembling from the pain, grip the tube of ointment he’s got, fumbling to close the cap with his palm like he’s been caught doing something shameful.
A smaller, softer hand catches it before he can discard it onto the counter.
“It’s no big deal.” He says, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re gently nudging him to face the mirror and popping open the ointment cap yourself. You squeeze some onto your fingers and rub it so gently into his back, it almost hurts worse than when he was trying to do it.
He winces, knuckles growing white as he grips the counter. It always hurt worse when it was all over and he was home. He grits his teeth, but everything melts away into nothing when he feels the featheriest flutter of your lips against his shoulder blade.
And then his spine.
And he twitches when he feels it on his lower back.
“Hey, what are you-“
He feels another kiss against his tricep, and before he knows it he’s turning around and catching your lower lip between his own. Shamelessly.
And then it gentles. And he pulls away, and your giggle is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. He gathers you up in his arms, and you squirm like a fish. The laughter is better than ibuprofen.
Your hands curl, crushed against his chest. Your eyes meet his, and your laughter dissolves gradually. You cock your head, fingering a smaller bruise on his shoulder.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” You mumble quietly, saddened by the thought of how much pain he must be in.
Leon’s nose nudges your own, and your forehead rests against his as your fingers settle against the ball of his shoulder.
Tags: fluff, comfort, mentally heavy and sensitive reader, mental stuff because i understand his brain too well 😭 have a cookie 🍪 while you read and enjoy ☺️
Word Count: 1k
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Bones aching, muscles sore, and a really soft couch at the end of a long day. Leon Kennedy was a simple man really. He didn’t need much, just a little bit of peace every once in a while. No distractions, nobody shooting at him or ringing his phone off the hook. He was a popular guy. And even though to a degree it made him feel good to be so needed, eventually government requests turned into demands. And before he knew it, his life was more often dictated by federal dirty work than not.
He downs a few swallows of the cold beer he’d pulled out of the fridge. It’s later in the evening, and he’d been out nearly all day. You were asleep, napping in the bedroom and he didn’t want to come in and disturb you. The quiet monologue of the TV in the background keeps him company as his aching shoulders sink back against the couch cushions.
This is the kind of quiet he craves more than anything.
The door to the bedroom swings open soundlessly and a pair of bare feet shuffle across the carpet. Leon looks up as you rub your eyes, sleepy and a little puffy. You keep your chin down as you pad across the carpet to him, his t-shirt hanging loose on your shoulders.
“Hey baby.” His voice is low and gravelly as he moves the throw pillow beside him out of the way for you to come sit next to him. You curl up in the spot, without a word, laying down and curling up with your head on his abdomen. You lay perpendicular to his body, and his fingers come up to card through slightly knotty hair.
“Y’ okay?” He murmurs for a nod from you, oddly quiet and still against him. But you’re probably half asleep so how can he blame you?
He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, turning his attention back to the TV and taking another sip from his beer. The slow rise and fall of his torso beneath you is soothing. It’s times like these where he really has to try not to think about the what ifs.
The subtle twitch of your shoulder doesn’t alert him the first time. But by the fourth time they begin to vibrate, and his attention draws back to you.
Shit, something’s wrong.
“Hey…” He sits up, leaning over you, trying to see your face while he sets the nearly empty beer can on the coffee table.
“Baby…” Hands gentle but firm, he pulls you back by your shoulder to roll you onto your back so he can see your face. His stomach drops at the tears he uncovers.
“Hey, hey… what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Callouses thumb away your tears, but more just replace them. He takes the side of his palm and swipes it over your whole cheek, letting a fingertip round the edge of your jaw, chin-ward.
“‘m not crying.” You whimper, swiping the back of your hand over your drippy nose.
“No? Your eyes just sweating?” The subtle tease isn’t delivered with any hint of mirth, just a focused optic sweep of your face.
“Yeah.” You snivel.
He sits there studying you for a moment, just letting his hand soothe over your cheeks as his other smoothes your hair. Soft. Slow. In no hurry to get you to stop crying. Just silent patience and presence.
“You wanna talk to me?” He offers after a minute. “I’m here.”
You sniffle, the tears having slowed a little. “Too many feelings.”
The corner of his lip quirks up, but only a hair. He knows how that is. He knows better than you think he does.
“Poor girl. You just feel too much, don’t you.”
His words stab you in the very center of your heart. You feel seen and understood and you nod your head.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” his hand continues to pet your hair. “I know that’s hard.”
Fuck, he’d probably be a completely different person if he didn’t feel and care as much as he does. But just for a moment, it lifts a burden off of him to understand for someone else. To be the one who’s seen it all and be able to tell you that it’s okay.
It’s a relief. Because then maybe all that suffering wasn’t completely senseless.
He continues to caress your face and hair, watching as you quiet under his touch. Your lashes are lowered as you stare at the arm of the couch. He can feel the way your mind churns with thoughts he can’t fight for you, as he smoothes over your forehead.
“You know…” He rumbles quietly after giving you a moment. “The world is full of people who don’t care.”
You lift your eyes to look at his face.
“Someone’s gotta care too much or there’ll be nobody to care at all.” His eyes trail down over your soft, tear-reddened features.
“Really?”
He can ignore and deny and turn his back on the fact all he wants, but that the guiding principle locks around his heart like a gold chain. He’ll always care, no matter how many times he tries to tell himself he doesn’t. No matter how many times it cuts him, beats him, leaves him to bleed out on the floor, he will always fucking care.
And it’s not fair. The rookie cop inside him might be bound and gagged, but he’s not dead.
“Yeah.”
You grow quiet for a long moment, turning his words over in your head. He knows he’s being a cynic and a little hypocritical, but he hopes for your sake, that you believe him. You’re not as cold and corrupted as he is. There’s still hope for you.
“C’mere.” He reaches out for you, and you sit up reaching for his neck. His arms lock around your back as yours wrap around his neck, and the way he squeezes you clicks something back into place a little bit more than before. One press of a button, and the TV goes dark.
“Thank you,” you mumble, soft voice falling over his shoulder as he stands with you in his arms.
“Don’t mention it.” It’s a low rumble against your body as he carries you back to bed.
